Reclaiming Brave: The Kane Brothers Book Three

by Gina Azzi

  "Is it about Mom’s gemstone? Are you scared of committing? Are you even listening to me?" Daisy slaps an open palm on the butcher block next to my cereal bowl.

  I look up and her eyes narrow. "You look like shit," she says.

  I nod, taking another bite of my cereal. I feel like shit. Complete and total shit. What the hell am I doing? Am I becoming the man I swore I'd never be like?

  "You're ruining everything." Daisy's voice drops, her eyes swirling with anger and bewilderment and...questions I can't—won't—answer. "You're ruining everything, and when you wake the hell up and realize that, you'll only have yourself to blame."

  I nod again, her voice ringing with truths I already know.

  "Stop nodding at me and say something. Den, please, help me understand why you're shutting Sierra out. Why are you pushing her away? What happened with Dad?"

  I wince at the mention of our father, and I know Daisy catches the movement because her eyes widen with a flare of understanding. "He got to you, didn't he?"

  "Just drop it, Dais. None of this concerns you. It's not your problem."

  "Doesn't concern me? Not my problem?" she repeats, her tone incredulous. "You're breaking my best friend's heart. You're walking away from the best woman you're ever going to meet. From your child. Your kid, Denver, and for what? A few stupid thoughts and words from our sperm donor?"

  I wince at her expression "sperm donor." She said it because Darren was never present in her life, just like I'll never be present in my kid's life if I keep this up.

  I fix Daisy with one last look, pleading with her to let it go, before I cut around her and storm out the back door to the porch.

  It's been raining on and off all day, and the musty air and heavy pressure hanging around me is both soothing and stifling. Staring out over the back yard, I scrub my hand down my face and try to even out my breathing.

  On some level, I know Daisy is right. I am breaking Sierra's heart, and that cuts deep, to the bone. But Darren's threat was clear; he'll go after her, after them, if I don't let them go. Isn't that what parents are supposed to do? Make decisions in the best interest of their child?

  Despite the fact that Darren was right, that I can never give Sierra or our baby the life they deserve, despite all the doubts and questions he filled my head with, he also served a blatant threat.

  And as much as I don't want to believe him, I do. I know he'll have someone go after Sierra. After the baby. And I'll be powerless to stop him.

  Then what? How will I deal with the fact that my own baby and girl are hurt because of me? Because of my father? Because of my last name?

  "Fuck!" I yell out into the wind, slamming my fist down on the railing of the porch.

  No matter what I do, I lose. But I'll be damned if Sierra loses our baby because of me.

  It's better this way.

  It has to be.

  "What the hell are you doing?" The anger in Jax's voice is barely contained when he calls me the next day. "I vouched for you. Called in a favor for your benefit, and Migs tells me he hasn't heard from you."

  I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, the pressure in my head lifting for a nanosecond.

  "And then Daisy tells me you're ending things with Sierra? One minute, you’re planning on a future. The next, you’re breaking her heart. What the hell did Darren say to you?"

  "I didn't mean to mess things up between you and your buddy."

  "The hell with that, Den. What's going on with you? Three days ago, you were all about creating a family, building a future, and now, you're acting like a deadbeat, like a coward, like our father."

  I groan at his words but don't fight back. He's looking for a battle, and I'm not willing to give him one. He wouldn't understand unless I told him the whole truth, and I can't do that because he'd try to convince me we can find another solution. That we could somehow beat Darren at his own game.

  But we can't. No one can. You can't beat a man who has nothing to lose. I know that because I've been that man, once. I'm not anymore, and I have too damn much to lose to risk it.

  "Get your head out of your ass. I'm giving you twenty-four hours before I blow my small savings account on a flight home to knock sense into you." He hangs up and I curse, the pounding back in my head.

  I know it will only get worse when Carter shows up.

  He kicks my feet hard and I start, banging my head against the undercarriage of the truck I'm working on. I’m relieved Dean flipped it to me to work on for the next two days just so I can keep my hands busy, my mind occupied. Dean didn’t say anything to me about telling Sal I needed to take some time off, he didn’t say anything about anything. Just took one look at my face, sighed, and offered me the truck to work on.

  "Fuck, Carter!" I yell out, the wrench I'm holding clattering to the ground and just missing my eye.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" My brother's voice is low but filled with venom.

  I slide out from under the car and peer up at him. "I could have lost an eye."

  "You're going to lose a lot more than that if you don't cut this shit and grow up."

  "Grow up? Are you kidding me right now?" I finally lash out, the hours of pent-up aggression and silence bursting out of me.

  "No, I'm dead serious. I know you, Denver. And I know Darren, almost as well as you. He's playing you—that much is obvious. What isn't, is the reason why? So what is going on?"

  "Nothing. Nothing is going on."

  "Bullshit." Carter paces in front of me, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he's agitated. "He's got something on you. He has to; that's how he operates." he says slowly, talking to himself, trying to sort out my mess on his own. The way he always does.

  "This has nothing to do with you, Carter."

  He stops suddenly, his neck snapping to me. "Oh really? I'm supposed to just cut off my nephew or niece because their father is acting like an asshole?"

  I glare at him, wanting nothing more than to tackle my brother to the ground and get one good punch in just to release some of the anger I feel at being manipulated by Darren and not doing anything about it. My head is all over the place, and I don't know how to sort out the jumbled thoughts ricocheting in my brain, but I do know how to fight until exhaustion finally claims my body.

  "Denver, man, just tell me what's going on." Carter finally stops moving, his body sagging against the wall of the garage, as if all the frustration just leaked out of him. He crouches down in front of me, so we're practically at eye level. "I've been where you are. Manipulated and desperate because of Darren. I get it. I really do. But I can't help you if you don't let me in."

  "Oh, just like you've let me in all these years?" I throw back in his face, still itching for that fight.

  His face contorts, grief-stricken for a moment before it hardens. "I knew you were still pissed about that. Look, I didn't want you to get bogged down in my mess."

  I raise my eyebrows at him; he basically just proved my own position.

  "But this isn't the same thing. This affects your child, a baby that needs your love and protection. Can't you see that, Den?"

  I sigh, leaning back until my head hits the truck door. "Carter, I can't do this right now. I need to finish this job, and my head's all over the place."

  My brother nods once. "I'm calling off Jax's ridiculous solution of flying here to make you see reason. I'll back off for now, but just know that the more time that passes, the harder it's going to be for Sierra to forgive your sorry ass. If she even decides to."

  He gives me one last look before he leaves the garage, and I hit my head back against the truck, hard. Why doesn't anyone trust that I'm making the right decision? Why can't they understand that I'm doing this for Sierra and the baby?

  Because you're being stupid. The unbidden thought appears in my mind, pissing me off even more. You had an opportunity, a chance, and you're throwing it away for a man who already jeopardized your future once.

  Scrubbing my hand over my fa
ce, I lean back and slide under the truck once more. I need to finish this job and clear my head. I need...an image of Sierra fills my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight.

  More than anything, I want to reach out and hold her and feel her in my arms.

  Am I risking everything, or am I protecting her and the baby?

  I don't know anymore, and the confusion eats at me almost as much as the guilt riding in my stomach.

  I don’t know how to make sense of any of the thoughts in my head. I don’t know how to explain myself. I never did.

  Except this time, my entire future could depend on it.

  23

  Sierra

  It's been one week since Denver and I broke up, or whatever you want to call it. While I've been hurting, suffering even, each morning I wake up without a message from him hurts less than the day before.

  I throw myself into my painting. Creating canvas after canvas of dark colors and swirling lines, my paintings take on an abstract element that is out of character for me but soothing in this moment in time.

  I reach out to my father again, not at all surprised when my call goes unanswered. For some reason, the usual sting that accompanies his rejection isn't as sharp.

  I suppose I have Denver to thank for that. His sudden and unexpected dismissal of me has toughened me up in a way I never anticipated. It's shifted my priorities, and now I'm focusing solely on my peanut.

  And myself.

  I emailed Lachlan and Callum and let them know I'm ready to discuss the job next week. Immediately, Lachlan blew up my cell, but I sent his call to voicemail, not yet ready to deal with all of the questions.

  I've taken more control of my life and my future in the past seven days than I have since the moment I found out I was expecting. Always thinking of Denver and our future and his role in our baby's life halted me from making any decisive plans for myself. But now that he's out of the picture, it's been easier to forge ahead and make the choices I should have been focused on over the past several months.

  I sigh, placing my paintbrush down and tilting my head as I study my latest painting.

  Daisy called earlier and asked again about my Thanksgiving plans. She offered to come up and spend the holiday with me. I ended up crying, not able to commit one way or the other. Just get through today. Keep moving forward. By next week, I vow to have a solid plan for at least the next year of my life. Knowing that I'm making decisions settles some of the uncertainty in my stomach, and finally I manage to crack a smile.

  The cramp is sharp and intense, waking me from my sleep. I curl into a ball, my hands automatically flying to my belly as I take a deep breath. It’s probably just round ligament pain. I've been experiencing pulls and twinges for weeks now, and Dr. Leona assured me that it's just my ligaments stretching to accommodate the growing baby.

  It happens again, sharper this time, and I cry out, my voice echoing in the darkness of the penthouse. I reach out next to me in the empty bed, knowing Denver will never claim the pillow next to mine, but wishing he were here anyway.

  Shuffling to the bathroom, I sit on the toilet and squeeze my eyes shut tight, already knowing what I'm going to see but desperately hoping I'm wrong.

  Except when I look down, blood fills my underwear, streaking my inner thighs.

  Oh God.

  I'm bleeding.

  A panic I've never experienced before claws at me, turning me into a useless heap as I sit and try to think of what to do next.

  Do I call 9-1-1?

  Page Dr. Leona?

  Uber to the nearest ER?

  I don't know what to do.

  The tears swell unbidden, dropping over my lower lashes and tracking my cheeks. Fear and anxiety and uncertainty flood me, locking down my limbs, even while my mind continues to race.

  I sit for several seconds. Think, Sierra. Oh, my God. My baby! The thought finally breaks to the forefront of all the confusion swirling in my mind, and I jump into action. Stripping down, I grab a pair of clean underwear and slap a sanitary pad inside. Pulling on a bra and T-shirt, I slip into a pair of leggings. Running around my room, I notice the bright red blood staining my bedsheets and comforter. Unable to deal with it at the moment, I leave everything the way it is and slide into a pair of sneakers before grabbing my coat, purse, and keys and frantically hitting the button for the elevator.

  The second my feet hit the lobby I call out for Tom, the doorman, to hail me a cab.

  Moments later, I'm zooming down Park Avenue toward Lenox Hill Hospital.

  My hands clench and unclench, my heart pounds, and adrenaline spikes in my blood stream. Dear God, please, please just let my baby be okay.

  Oh, my God. I never told Denver. Should I tell him? Would he even care?

  Pulling my phone from my purse, I tap on his name, and my thumb hovers above the call button. Shaking my head, I scroll up to Daisy and call her instead.

  The phone rings and rings, and I'm about to hang up when I hear, "Sierra?" Her voice is thick with sleep.

  "Daisy." It's all I say, and yet I hear the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

  "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

  I swallow back the tears that surge forward at the sound of her voice, at the concern in it. I take a fortifying breath, about to tell her what happened.

  "Sierra? What's going on?"

  "I'm bleeding."

  "What do you mean? Why?"

  "I don't know, Dais. But it's kinda a lot. I'm, God, I'm so scared. I wish my mom were here. Or Denver."

  "Where are you?"

  "In a cab on my way to the hospital."

  "A cab? Like a freaking taxi?"

  "Yes, I'm almost there."

  "What hospital?"

  "Lenox Hill."

  "Are you okay? What do you need from me in this moment?" I hear noises in the background that I can't completely decipher, but it sounds like she's pulling open her dresser drawers and banging them shut again.

  "I think so." My voice sounds small, and I close my eyes, wishing I was brave and independent instead of yearning that Denver was here with me. Or Daisy. Or my mom. Anyone really so I wouldn't have to do this alone.

  My hands cup my stomach, and I remember I'm not alone. I have my little peanut with me. God, please, let the baby be all right.

  "I'm on my way," Daisy says, and I hear a door slam.

  "What? Now?"

  "Head to the ER, Sierra. Demand whatever you need from the hospital staff. I'll be on the next flight to New York. You're not alone. I'm coming. You can do this. You're the strongest person I know, and you can do this. Okay?"

  "Okay." I yawn, suddenly feeling completely fatigued, like I could doze off any moment.

  The insides of my thighs are sticky, and when I touch my pants, my fingertips are stained red.

  Shit.

  "Dais, I'm really bleeding," I say, shock lacing my words, even though I don't feel much of anything at the moment. Just tired. And cold. "I'm cold."

  "You're okay, Sierra. Everything is going to be fine. Just get to the hospital. Just get there and let the doctors take over. Everything is fine."

  "Miss? We're here," the driver says.

  I nod, pushing a bunch of cash toward the driver.

  "Are you okay?" the driver asks, turning in his seat to look at me.

  "I need help," I admit.

  "Sierra!" Daisy calls through the line. "Stay on the phone."

  But at that moment, I drop the phone and forget what we were even talking about.

  I hear the frantic voice of the driver and a rush of cold air skates over my skin as he pulls the back door of the car open.

  The lights outside the hospital blur, and black spots appear before my eyes. Tiredness weighs down my arms and legs, and coldness seeps into my bones. I'm supposed to do something now. I just can't seem to remember what it is. I can't seem to remember anything at all.

  24

  Denver

  "Wake up," Daisy demands, shaking my shoulder ha
rd.

  I squint up at her and sit straight up in bed when I take in the seriousness of her expression, the barely concealed panic on her face.

  "What's going on?"

  "It's Sierra. She's bleeding. Badly."

  "What?" I jump out of bed, falling forward and just catching myself against my dresser as my legs tangle in the bedsheets. "Motherfucking hell," I roar.

  "Get your stuff together. We need to get to the airport. Like now."

  "How do you know this?" I glance at my phone. Did I miss Sierra's call?

  "She called me."

  "Why didn't she call me?" I ask, dread working its way through my body as the realization of my actions over the past week slams into me. She doesn't trust me. I pushed her away, and now she doesn't need me. At all. Not even if our baby's life is in danger will she reach out to me. I swallow past the guilt and shame in my own throat, as Daisy stares at me with wide eyes.

  "Is that a real question?" Daisy throws my duffle bag at me and pulls a handful of T-shirts out of my dresser drawer.

  I frantically pull on a pair of jeans and throw another pair in my duffle bag. I look around my room, waiting for the things I need to pack to magically appear in my hand.

  My sister sighs and I look at her, knowing I need her. I need her help. I need her advice. I need her to pack my bag, book my plane ticket, and make sense of everything happening. Oh Jesus, what did I do?

  Did I cause this?

  Was it too much for Sierra? Did I place too much stress on her?

  "Denver, pack some underwear and a sweatshirt. Socks. Your toothbrush. Everything else we can grab in New York." My sister's voice is calm and steady, and I'm so relieved that she's here with me in this moment.

  Until I realize that Sierra is all on her own. All by herself in a hospital in New York, and guilt mixed with fear practically chokes me as I breathe heavily, my head spinning.