by Lannah Smith
Chapter 19
“You didn’t eat again. I told you to eat, April.”
I didn’t look at him nor did I answer. Sitting on a chair next to the floor-to-ceilings windows, I stared out at the sea.
A year could have passed me by and I wouldn't have noticed.
I had been returned to my old room. And living in a fog of grief, I stayed inside that room. Sleeping more than usual. Barely eating. Only using the toilet when necessary. But most of the time, I was staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows or at the ceiling, wishing my heart would just stop beating.
"April," Christopher whispered, going down on his heels in front of my chair, placing a hand on the arm. "Talk to me."
For some reason, Christopher stayed away from my room. He only came to make sure I ate something. And I only did so he would leave me alone. Initially, he tried to get me to talk to him but I always shut him out. He gave up soon after.
But apparently, he was done letting me ignore him.
“Say something, April. Anything. Please.”
"What do you want me to say?" I asked in a detached voice, keeping my gaze out of the window.
A pause, then, "Tell me what you need."
"I told you. I don't need anything from you."
"Why are you making this so hard for yourself?" he said in a voice tinged with frustration.
I didn’t answer and resolutely kept my gaze out the window.
"You're safe. Away from your father. Don't you see that? You can start anew."
His words brought a flicker of anger through me.
"Start anew?" My voice was angry, cutting. "You want me to start anew? With you?"
I felt him rise and my gaze went to him. He was pulling a chair over to me the he sat, his jaw tight with irritation.
"I have something for you,” he then said.
"I don't want it," I replied immediately.
"You might want, no, need this."
"I don’t care. I don’t want it.
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees, wiping his face with a hand. "I don’t want to give this to you too." He stared at his hands for a long moment, then muttered, "But you need this." In a firmer tone, he said more to himself than to me, "You need this. And the sooner you find out, the better."
What the hell was he saying?
"I thought it would be better not to tell you," he was frowning. "But I guess I have to."
"Tell me what?" I spat.
"About Daniel Grant."
I flinched. The sound of his name unleashed a deep, sharp pain that knocked me breathless again.
Cupping my hands over my ears to block out his words, I pressed my face to the top of my knees as tears crawled up my throat.
"April."
His fingers came to pull my hands away from my ears. I lifted wet eyes to him. His face was no longer irritated but a mixture of sadness and regret.
"They found him."
"Shut up," I mumbled, my heart thundering with dread. I tried to pull my hands free from him but he tightened his hold.
"They found him in a cabin."
"Stop talking," I begged him. "Just stop talking. I'll do anything you want. Just stop—."
"They just left him there.”
My body grew numb once his words registered.
“So my men buried him." Christopher's face had turned stony as he stared at me. "In the middle of the garden. And I made certain that they bury him properly."
I closed my eyes tight as my body slackened with grief.
"They informed his wife," he went on gently. "And made sure to break it to her gentle."
At that, my head fell forwards and I started to cry.
He didn't comfort me right away. He sat there, holding my hands, watching and listening to me cry. I yanked my hands free from his grip and covered my face, my tears and grief shaking my whole body in quakes. The pain inside my chest was ripping me apart and I sucked in breath, trying to breathe but I couldn't. I just couldn't.
They left him. They just left Dan there.
They didn't even give him a proper burial.
They just left his body to rot.
Oh, God. How could my father be so fucking cruel?
"I'm going to kill him," I whispered shakily into my hands, my body jerking when fresh pain sliced through me. "I'm going to kill that monster."
"April..."
A sob tore out of my throat, a sound that bounced back from the walls and beating into me like fists. "Dan was only trying to protect me. But now he's dead.”
Both his arms went around me then, gathering me close until my head was on his shoulder, my face in his neck. I didn't struggle, lost in my pain and anger.
“My father… no. Not him. It was me.” I sucked in breath and it hitched so many times my body bucked violently with each. “It was me who killed Dan. I didn't pull the trigger but I… I killed him just the same."
My tears kept shaking me and he kept firm hold of me. I didn't know how long I cried or how long he held me. All I knew and could see was Dan's rotting body. Hatred, grief and despair consumed me so much, I just knew I’d never be the same again.
After sometime, Christopher pulled away from me. Gently forcing me to lift my head up, he wiped the tears away from my cheeks.
“He left a letter for you.”
There was no emotion in his voice when Christopher said those words. I didn't dwell on that, I was holding my breath at the possibility that Dan had left something for me.
"My men found it while they were searching for things that you might want from that cabin. It was behind a loose brick in the fireplace along with other documents."
A sob escaped my lips when he gave me a letter-sized envelope the color of cream. I took it with shaky hands. I recognized Dan's handwriting immediately and my emotions almost overwhelmed me again. Lightheaded, I glanced at Christopher. The expression on his face was devoid of any emotion, just like his voice.
"I'll give you privacy to read it," he muttered, looking away from me.
My breath snagged and I nodded once.
Then he stood and left the bedroom.
Night had fallen when April finally came out of her bedroom and down the stairs to find him in the great room. Her eyes and nose were red. Her face was pale. She was clutching the now crumpled letter in her hands.
Alec stood up from the chair, muttering about feeding the dogs when they didn't have any. April didn't even glance his way when he passed her. She only had eyes for Christopher.
Christopher stood up from the couch and gestured for her to take a seat on the chair Alec had vacated. She nodded absentmindedly and sat down, her hands with the letter on her lap. The piece of paper looked damp. Hell, she'd cried over it.
"Did you read this?" she asked quietly to her lap.
He sat back down and shook his head. "I wanted to. But I didn't."
She digested his reply silently.
Then she met his gaze and asked, "How much do you know?"
There was a brand-new light in her eyes, a light that Christopher couldn't decipher quickly.
"Everything," he answered.
Her face turned stone cold when she said, "And how did you know about everything? What means do you have to find out?"
Ah. So it was that kind of light.
He could feel Alec's gaze on him when he played dumb and said, "What do you mean?"
Her eyes narrowed on her. "You know exactly what I mean, Christopher."
He glanced at Alec then. Alec was standing at the mouth of the hall beside the stairs, warning him with a look to tread carefully. He almost snorted with laughter. He wasn't a dumb fuck.
"I hired people," he told her. "And those people got me the information that I wanted from the right people."
"Right people?" her eyebrows lifted. "You mean my father's men—?"
"You know as well as I do that loyalty and information can be bought with money," he said dryly. "Don't worry. I was discrete."
&n
bsp; "I don't care if you were discrete," she shook her head, "I just cared that you were crazy enough to risk your life by meddling with my father.”
"You already know that I'd give my life, my everything for you."
"Don't," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Don't say that."
He inclined his head to the side. "Why?"
"You know why."
"So is it safe to say that you don't want to lose me too?"
"Don't be arrogant," she snapped. "I just don't want the burden of your death on my shoulders too. I don't want to be blamed for getting you killed."
Christopher wanted to push her more to give him a more appropriate and satisfactory answer but he let this drop. He didn't push. She was becoming upset.
"What did the letter say, April?" he asked her softly.
Her face started to crumple but, taking in a deep breath, she managed to compose herself.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"You're going to find out anyway," she mumbled. "I wouldn't put it past you to read this letter in secret. If you haven't."
He chuckled. "I swear to you. I haven't read the letter."
Her eyes went to the side. "What about Jackman?"
"He might have," he amended. "He's very thorough when it comes to these things."
Her eyes honed on him. "And what are these things?" she said with a raised brow.
Leaning forward, Christopher reached a hand out. "So can I read it?"
"No," she instantly blurted, holding the crumpled letter in a death grip to her chest. "No," she said in a softer tone.
Christopher tamped down a flash of irritation. He suspected she wouldn't let him and it seemed wise not to give her more reasons to hate him even more.
And besides. Alec did read the letter.
"I have my people bring some of the stuff that you might want and need from that place," he said. "Do you want to see them now?"
She hesitated for a brief moment before shaking her head. "Not now," she whispered. "I can't bear to..." Trailing off, the sadness was back on her face. She was wallowing.
"You're blaming yourself for something that was never your fault," he told her. "It's not like you asked for this. You didn't choose this kind of life and yet you're trying to make up for all of it."
"Because I'm part of it," she disagreed lightly.
He shook his head. "You can choose to throw it all away. And you did try to throw it all away."
"But I'm still here. I keep coming back. That's why I'm hoping, foolish as it may be, that I'll get some credit for trying."
"Because you didn't come to me."
Her mouth pressed together into a straight line.
"You didn't come to me, April."
She shook her head. "Even if we were the last two people in the world, I still would never come to you," she said in a hard tone.
Then, saying that, she rose from the chair and went back up the stairs again.
Alec whistled as he came into the room. "That was harsh."
He shrugged. "That's what you call tough love, Alec."
"I agree with April." Alec sighed. "You are indeed crazy."
He looked straight into Alec's eyes and smiled coldly when he said, "It would be weirder if I weren't."
Alec didn't return the smile. "And you wonder why the boys call you mad dog, you masochistic fuck."
Laughing, he bounded up the couch and crossed the room to snatch the water bottle in Alec's hand.
"If I knew a fucking letter could bring her down the stairs, I would have penned it myself."
Alec shook his head. "I doubt you would. One, you have terrible handwriting. And two, you might be a selfish asshole but you wouldn't do that to her."
"So what did the letter say?"
Alec barked out a laugh. "And you acted so fucking cool with her."
Twisting the cap, Christopher took a sip. Alec had just returned that day and had just finished complaining about being sent on a fucking cold assignment to him when April came down. And he was still pissed about it.
"You’ve already told me what I needed to know about Daniel Grant," he pointed out. “Tell me.”
Alec gave him a pissed-off look.
Then he told him.
And when he did, Christopher knew that April's heart had to be breaking.
Chapter 20
I woke up screaming.
And when I did, my head began to swim with memories of my mother, in a bathtub filled with blood, and memories of Dan, with a bullet hole through his forehead.
I kept screaming and crying, trapped in my memories and nightmare, that I didn't notice him immediately.
"Jesus, April." I felt my body gently being pulled up, sliding into someone's lap. Strong arms wrapped around my trembling body, pulling me to warmth, holding me safe. "You're going to damage your vocal cords if you keep screaming like this."
"Mom." The word scraped through my throat and I winced and let out a sob. "Dan."
"Calm down, honey." A hand began to trail gently up and down my back. "It's alright. You're safe."
Breathing deeply, I kept my eyes close, my forehead pressed into someone's neck. The warmth was lulling me back to sleep and I found myself calming down, my breathing returning back to normal.
"That's right," the voice came back, familiar, deep and gravelly. "Go back to sleep."
"What?" I mumbled, trying to clear the sleepiness away, get my bearings.
The arms tightened around me.
"Go back to sleep, honey."
"Okay," I whispered, sliding my arms around what felt like a man's waist, pushing closer.
His body shook when he chuckled. "You're sweet when you're asleep, April. But God damn," he let out a sigh, "I'd trade anything for you to be rid of your fucking nightmares."
Same, I thought, as I started to drift off to sleep.
Then a realization hit me.
And with it, my eyes flew open.
Instantly awake, I jerked my head back.
I was on Christopher's lap. I was in Christopher's arms. And I had Christopher in my embrace.
He was looking at me, the gentleness in his face slowly turning into wariness.
"You're awake."
I pushed him away and he released his hold around me. Frantic, I slid off his lap and away as far as I could in the limited space between him and the headboard, looking around the semi-darkness. The only light in the room came from the lamp on the bedside table.
"What are you doing here?" I asked hoarsely. My voice sounded strange. My throat painful.
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned to stand and picked up the laptop from the chair.
"There's some warm water with honey on the night stand," he instructed. "Drink it to soothe your throat."
"What are you doing here?" I demanded. "Have you…” I gasped. “Have you been taking advantage of me while I slept?"
He turned his head to me, his eyebrows risen in blatant disbelief. "Do you actually think you'll be able to sleep through it?"
"Then why are you here?" My throat was hurting so I grabbed it with a wince. "Why are you—?"
"Stop talking, April," he ordered quietly. "You'll hurt your throat even more."
I opened my mouth but closed it when he suddenly took a step towards me.
"I swear to you. I may be a lot of things but I won't ever take advantage of you or any women like that." He sounded so insulted I almost felt chastened. "Now take your fucking drink."
My eyes went to the bedside table. There was a small stainless-steel bottle on top of it. I must have stared at it too long and not moved because he made a noise of impatience and moved to retrieve it himself.
"Here."
My eyes went up to him. "You probably drugged it, didn't you?"
He made no sound as he unscrewed the cap and took a long sip. Bringing it down from his lips, he offered the bottle to me again.
"Now drink."
After a moment's hesitation, I accepted the
bottle, knowing he'd be standing there all night until I did, and took a sip cautiously. It was a soothing hot honey lemon ginger drink, the same drink the Martha woman used to give to me in the mornings. And immediately I felt its effects, relieving the pain in my throat.
