“He hurt me.”
“He paid for it.” Roy’s voice breaks. He coughs and shakes his head slightly, like sorting out unruly thoughts inside his mind.
“My uncle,” I mutter and try to reach out to him. My arm is stiff, bandaged from wrist to elbow, where Sebastian cut through my vein vertically. “We were in St. John.”
His brow furrows. “Ah, I was afraid you were reliving…This is good. Dream of the island.” I nod. “When you’re healed we’ll go back.”
“Yes,” I whisper as the darkness wraps a shawl around me.
Someone’s jostling me. I don’t like it. I wake with a jolt as a woman turns me on my side.
“Only taking some tubes out. Be done in a moment.”
I’m on my back again. I remember her from before. The nurse arguing with Roy.
“Good to have you back. I’ll let Mr. Blackwood know you’re awake.”
Before she gets to the door, he strides in with a face like an angry God as he towers over her. “How is she?” She stands her ground and points in my direction. His whole visage changes when our eyes meet. “I went out for a moment.” He smiles and sits by the bed and takes my hand. “You look better today.”
I take a tentative breath; my ribs are sore, but not as painful. “I’m hungry.”
“I’ll get you anything you want.”
“Hmmm. Egg salad.” I laugh and wince. My ribs do not appreciate the jostling.
With his eyebrow lifted, he asks, “Eggs?”
“I know, I know. I like eggs now. Don’t ask me why.”
He pulls out his cell and taps out a message.
“How long have I been here?”
“Four days.”
“Mae and Stella?”
“Shhh. They know. They’re a mess with worry, but they know you’re in good hands.”
My lips are dry and cracked. Roy immediately holds the straw for me to sip water. Four days. “And they know everything?”
“Yes.” He rakes his hands through his hair. “I thought it the right thing to do.”
I nod. It was. I don’t want secrets lying in the cracks between the ones I love anymore.
“We were so lucky we got to you in time. The cut…” He abruptly rises and paces.
I flex my wrist, the bandage restricting my movement. “How…”
“How did we figure it out?”
“Yes.”
“You have Vincent to thank. The reason Mario, the photographer, couldn’t change your appointment when I requested it was because he was on a shoot in Paris. He was flying in for your test photos and immediately flying back to France. Vincent and Gavin have been texting.” Now it’s my turn to lift my eyebrow. “Vincent sent a message saying the photo shoot had been moved up four hours. I immediately called Mario. The call went to his assistant. Mario was on a plane. So I knew whoever you were meeting was not Mario.”
“How did you get there so fast? Didn’t you have that meeting?”
His shoulders hunch a bit, and his hands go in his pockets. For a moment, I see the small boy he once was. “I blew it off to…”
I finish his sentence, “Protect me.”
His eyes are weary. “I should have been at that fucking studio with you.”
I remember what Gavin told me about his mother. Roy’s imperative to protect me. “No. It’s not your fault. Not my fault.” I fumble with the remote and only manage to make my ribs hurt. How many are broken? I cringe, remembering the sound my body made when he crushed me under his boot. “Who is he? My uncle, I mean?”
Roy’s taken the remote and adjusted the bed until I’m sitting up. “We can talk about this later. You need rest.”
“I want to know.”
Roy lowers the bar and settles next to me on the bed, taking my hand in his. “You don’t need this right now.” He cups my face. “You need to heal.”
I bite back a sharp retort. I’m hurt, and he believes it’s his fault, but I need to know what’s going on. “I’ll worry if you don’t tell me.” I shrug. “I almost died; whatever you reveal will be a cakewalk.”
With a furrowed brow, he continues, “He got away.” He lightly presses his finger against my lips. “We were too focused on you. He slipped out, and the police are looking for him. The police will want to speak with you now that you’re awake. Tell them what you know.” He takes my hand. “You’ve never met Mario, so you had no idea it wasn’t him.”
“It was Sebastian,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “We can’t be sure. The police will bring in a sketch artist. Work with them. Maybe they’ll catch him, and this will go to trial.
I see where he’s going with this. If there were a trial, everything would come out into the open. Who I am and how I’m connected to one of the wealthiest families in the country. No, none of it would be good for my aunts or me. “But—”
“Trust me. Stick to what you truly know about him.”
“Is it wrong?”
“No. Justice is being served. He won’t hurt you or anyone else ever again.”
I believe him.
A middle-aged nurse with a cropped haircut and an attitude like a drill sergeant marches into the room. “Ms. Aldridge, happy to see you sitting up. The doctor will be here soon to check on you and—”
“Out.” Roy stands between her and me. “I need to speak with her first.”
“Mr. Blackwood, I’ve had about enough of you. Now I need to get her ready.”
“You need to step out.” He moves toward her.
“The doctor’s going to hear about this.” She huffs and exits.
“Fucking Nurse Ratched,” he mumbles under his breath.
“She’s doing her job.”
“Tomorrow, we’re going home where I can have my people in charge.”
I take in his appearance. His face is drawn from the lack of sleep and eating. His clothes are wrinkled. “What do you need to speak with me about?” What else could there be? My uncle tried to kill me. He’s either on the loose or wearing concrete boots. I’m thinking the latter. I’ve got busted ribs, which make breathing a living hell, and an arm sliced down the middle.
He turns his back to me and stretches his neck. “Did you leave me because you don’t want it?”
Maybe my pain meds are too powerful. Or I’m not as coherent as I thought. “Don’t want what?”
“Daisy, please, you don’t have to hide it anymore, not from me, not now. Tell me.” He lowers his head. “I’ll accept your decision. Were you afraid I wouldn’t want it?” He rakes his hands through his hair. “All my bullshit about bastards and the way I forced birth control on you. I’ve been replaying it over and over in my head.”
“What? I left you because I needed time. And because I’m all wrong. I’m not natural.” I’m not saying this right. “I could accept Mr. Stanwyck as my biological father, but he and my mother were”—I close my eyes—“siblings.”
“Half.” He turns around to face me. “If the records are correct, they were half-siblings. It makes a difference.”
“Half or full seems the same to me.” Careful of my ribs, I sit up taller. “I love you so much. I can’t stay away. Not if you still want me.”
“Daisy.” He comes over to the bed and kisses my lips, his eyes fixed on mine. His head turns slightly to the side like he’s reading me for truthfulness.
“Are you going to talk to me or observe me like I’m a lab experiment?”
“So you don’t know.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I don’t have the energy to keep this up. “Roy, just tell me.”
“I want you to know I think it’s wonderful. And I’m happy about it, and I hope you are too.”
“Okay.”
“You were almost gone when they brought you in. You’d lost…” He looks at the floor like he remembers my pool of blood at the studio. “So much. Too much. I thought you’d die on the way. And we were here, and everything was moving so fast. They took you back, and I was stuck in the fuc
king waiting room.”
I take his shaking hand. “I’m alright now. You saved me.”
“When the doctor finally came out telling me you were stable, it was like being lifted from purgatory.”
It’s hard seeing Roy unsure, but he’s clearly having a difficult time telling me whatever this fantastic news is.
“When they ran all the tests, they found out you’re pregnant.”
I must not have heard him right. “Pregnant.”
“Yes, they think the baby’s fine.”
“I can’t be pregnant. I took the pill every day.”
“I know you did.” He reaches for my hand. “I think it’s my fault. Or maybe it was meant to be.”
I squint like it will make things clearer. “How can it be your fault?”
“The antibiotic. I got it from Scott, the medic. He assumed I was using a condom; otherwise, he would have told me the risks. Shit, I should have done the research. It was stupid and irresponsible, and if you hate me for it I won’t blame you, but please, don’t punish the baby, our baby.”
On the island, he’d given it to me so I wouldn’t get a UTI; instead, I got pregnant. “I can’t” flies out of my mouth.
His face is stoic. “I know you’re young, and it’s too soon, but I’ll hire nannies and, if you don’t want to be, you won’t be bothered.”
He thinks I don’t want his baby. “No, I’m damaged. I’m a genetic freak.”
“You’re not. You’re healthy, and we’ll have every test run, do everything possible to reassure you. Please, I love you, and I love this baby.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
One month later…
Sunday dinner at our home has become a family tradition. My aunts and Evelyn have been cooking since noon. I’m curled up on the couch, watching them bake and reading a novel and sipping root beer through a straw. It’s snowing outside, giant flakes falling straight out of the sky and only lingering for a short time before melting, the ground too warm to sustain them. Two days ago, it was in the low sixties. Today, it’s snowing. Welcome to Virginia weather in early November.
Roy, Proctor, and Gavin are in the library working on the new venture. Roy sold Titan to another government-contracting company that wanted to expand its foothold in the market. I’m relieved he won’t be going into the field anymore.
I’m healing slower than I’d like, but from all reports, the doctors are pleased with my recovery. I have an impressive/embarrassing—I guess it’s all how you look at it—scar on my left arm where Sebastian sliced me open. My ribs occasionally bother me, but it’s less each day, so I take that as a plus. When I first got out of the hospital, I couldn’t sleep enough. Now, I’m still tired and have to be careful not to do too much, but I’m stronger, more myself. The doctor explained it will take time for me to recoup after losing such a significant amount of blood.
I have a recurring nightmare of lying immobile on the wood floor with my blood pooling out around me. But I try not to dwell on the past.
Vincent swings by with an armful of logs, tossing a few onto the fire and stacking the rest for later.
“Alright, love?” he asks.
I nod and smile and pretend to read my book. He's quiet about whatever is going on between him and Gavin. Usually, he tells me all the gory details whether I want to hear or not.
The flames flare with the new wood, and Proctor walks in. I don’t have to look up to know this because the room goes quiet. My aunts and Vincent are unnerved by him. I get it. I was, too.
The police spoke with me in the hospital. I told them what I knew. I was under contract for a photo shoot with Mario Stain. I have no idea who the man was. He was saying crazy things, and he drugged and attacked me. They were understanding and didn’t take up too much of my time. They told me his name, Sebastian Fitzgerald, and asked if that meant anything to me. I shook my head, not trusting my voice. According to them, he had a long record of criminal activity, including theft, assault, and rape charges. They haven’t found him yet, and I’m sure they never will.
Once we got back home and I’d recovered enough that Roy wasn’t hovering over me every second of the day, he told me what happened to my uncle. When they’d burst into the studio, Sebastian had the knife ready to cut my jugular vein. I guess I wasn’t bleeding out fast enough for him. Roy went to me immediately. Gavin and Proctor removed Sebastian from the building before the ambulance arrived. It seems my uncle owed someone a lot of money. Roy won’t tell me who exactly, but he said my uncle got what he deserved. I’m glad he died. I hope it took a while. And I don’t know if thinking such things makes me a bad person now.
Proctor sits in the chair opposite me. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, as I know I’m still number one on his list.
And then Roy walks in, dressed in old jeans and a crisp, cotton shirt with a slight beard and his hair brushed back from his face. His eyes seek out mine like I’m the only thing of importance in the room. He’s been this way since day one in the trailer so long ago when Jason attacked me. And now Jason’s dead, along with Charlie, and my uncle, Sebastian—gone like dried leaves blown away by the wind.
He comes over and kisses my forehead. “Mr. Stanwyck is here. He wants to speak with you, alone.”
So they’re back from the Hamptons, or wherever they’ve been. I don’t need Roy’s words to know he’d prefer I not talk with Mr. Stanwyck, so I don’t become upset. But after everything, what can he say to upset me more? My uncle tried to kill me so he could be the sole heir to the Stanwyck fortune. “Alright. I want you and Proctor there, though.”
I unfurl from the chair, not wanting to leave the warmth of the fire and the sounds of talking coming from my aunts and Evelyn in the kitchen. Over by the French doors, Gavin and Vincent are laughing. It all makes me happy, thinking this is my family.
I’m sandwiched between Roy and Proctor as we move to the front parlor and close the pocket doors behind us. Mr. Stanwyck has his back to us, as he has my whole life. How is it possible to ignore one’s daughter? To know she’s being cared for by others and do nothing to help? I head to the wingback chair and stand behind it with my hands on the back.
“You wanted to see me.” My voice is flat and lifeless.
“I won’t hurt her.” Mr. Stanwyck turns around and eyes Roy and Proctor.
“Seems to me”—Roy walks into the center of the room—“a man who doesn’t take responsibility for his child is capable of anything.”
Mr. Stanwyck rocks back and cuts his eyes to me. “It would be better if this was between us. At least send the psychopath out of the room.”
Proctor doesn’t react in any way I can ascertain. He stands with his hands at his side, blinks once, and retains his aloof, almost hostile, contemplation of Mr. Stanwyck.
“I asked him and Roy to stay with me.” My fingers, like claws, dig into the expensive fabric of the chair. “If you have something to say, I suggest you do it.”
It’s amazing how much arrogance and entitlement one person can project. He looks around the room like he finds it horribly lacking and distasteful and moves to stand by the fireplace. His arm rests on the mantel like he’s a cheesy model in a magazine spread. “I didn’t come here to apologize.”
I search his face, looking for any traces of me in his features. The eyes, maybe, and the clean line of his jaw, or I’m seeing things I want to see. He’s expecting me to speak. I don’t. I wait.
Roy comes to my side. “Get on with it, or get out.”
Mr. Stanwyck’s right eye twitches. “I thought it time to explain what happened all those years ago.” He takes a seat in the chair opposite mine.
“I know,” I say, though I’m sure there is far more I don’t. “You’ve never wanted anything to do with me. There’s no reason to dredge this up now.”
“There is.” He twists his hands together. “I took after my mother. She was a grand lady. Even my father behaved himself around her. I don’t know if it was love or respect or something els
e. Their families and their wealth complemented each other, and therefore they wed. It was the way things were done then.”
I add, “For the old, wealthy families, you mean.”
His eyelids are almost closed, like he could fall asleep at any moment. “Yes, of course. I learned much later in life, after he’d died, about the children he’d fathered by servants. He was a cruel man to the people he considered beneath him. Unfortunately, Robert took after him.”
“Bobby,” I whisper.
“I found Elizabetta in my mother’s drawing room. She was standing in front of my mother’s painting, crying. When I saw the ring on her finger, I lost it.” He heaves in a giant breath. “You have to understand, my wife had just died. Charlie was a constant reminder of what I’d lost.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t functioning well. Elizabetta was a decent person. From what I knew of her, she was always kind. Far too honest for the likes of my family. She told me Robert had given it to her as his pledge to take care of her and her unborn child. She was terrified. All she wanted was my help, and I couldn’t deal with it.”
“So you had her arrested,” I say.
He nods. “And I confronted Robert. He laughed at me. Thought it was funny. He had no compassion for her.”
It should have hit me sooner. “It’s Bobby. He’s my father.”
Like I’ve said nothing, he continues. “He said he would do right by the two of you. I accepted it. Didn’t question it.” He clears his throat. “Until she came back carrying you in her arms, begging Robert to help her. He taunted her, saying if you’d been a boy he might have considered it, but a bastard girl was no good to him.”
Roy’s hands slide around my waist. “I’m alright,” I whisper.
“Robert got on that crazy horse of his and went riding off straight into the accident that made him like he is today. I stayed with her, gave her money, and called a taxi. She said she was going to live with her mother.”
“Did you know about her mother and your father?”
“Much later… when Charlie showed an interest in you.”
Secrets In Our Scars Page 35
