“When did you get so cold blooded?” he asks.
I frown and think over all the things I’ve done for this family over the years. His family. Cold was something I just needed to be to get the jobs done. He knows that well enough. He was the one who taught me how to be a heartless asshole in the first place. “When I became a Cane.”
He smiles faintly and nods again, as if that’s answer enough. It should be because there isn’t any other answer. None that I know of anyway. Who knows what I would have been without them?
Dead, probably.
He looks over to the door, sighing. “You know why I came to find you all those years ago?” he says, still musing at the doorway.
“From our conversations, I've assumed guilt.”
“Fuck that. I don’t own guilt in any way, Carter. You should know that by now, but Emily does. She made me come find you.” She did? I didn’t know that. I look on, intrigued. “Decent women do that. She made me question myself, made me do things that were out of character.” I smile at that, knowing it’s probably true. “Still does. That’s the thing about love, it gives you a new perspective. Without her, I wouldn’t have given a damn about you.”
Nice.
“I’ll thank her next time I see her.”
He chuckles and drinks some more coffee, looking back at me. “You should. I have done enough through the years. Trouble is, someone I consider a son has just brought a fuck load of crap to my door because of his actions.”
My brow arches at his choice of word—son. It doesn't stop me internally wincing at the directness of the statement, though, because there it is, out loud and unavoidable.
Vico and Cane trouble.
“My sister is on her way. Furious. And my niece is out there waiting for you because she probably thinks she’s in love. Maybe she is, but either way, she’s scared and lost. I need to know if you’re gonna make that better or worse before I make decisions.”
“What decisions?”
“The kind I don’t want to make until you’ve spent some time with her and told me how you really feel about her. I know you, Carter. There’s not a fucking chance you would have brought this to our door unless you didn’t have a choice.” He stands up and puts his cup on the side. “But I’m not doing anything until you admit it yourself or tell me I’m wrong.”
My mouth opens to argue, to tell him I’ll leave and then he’ll be able to smooth things over somehow, because he shouldn’t be thinking like that. He should be getting me gone and protecting his family, Fia, and Hope if she’s coming, too. Vico will bring all hell down on Cane if he feels like he’s losing them both.
“Keep your mouth closed until we’re home and you’ve had a few days to recover,” he says, dismissing my protest before it even starts. “We’ll be ready to leave in a few hours. The cops were easy enough to handle. We just need you fit enough to travel now. Until then, you can talk to her. Work it out.” He dumps his jacket in a bin and walks over to the door, opening it. “See if you can find some warmth in that heart of yours. I’ll send her in now.”
“But I’m not ready to see her yet,” I manage to stutter.
“Men like us never are, Carter.”
And then he’s gone.
Fuck.
The sound of someone else’s footfalls come so quick in the hall outside I barely get a chance to pull a blanket across me, certainly not allowing me to calm down enough for her, but it’s a nurse who comes in first. She fucks around with machines, and then takes my pulse and checks over my paperwork.
“You’re doing well, Mr Wade,” she says, opening my eye and shining a torch into it.
Am I, fuck? I’m suddenly not doing well at all. I’m staring at the door, not knowing what to say when she walks in. I don’t even know what I want to say, or if I want to say anything in the first place. “Two fractured ribs and a hairline fracture to the nose, but your blood work and glucose are both in good order now. We should also talk about your dietary schedule and—”
“Get out,” I grumble, animosity heavy in my words. I’m not interested in anything but what I’m thinking about right now, which is all screwed up with Fia and Vico, and what the hell that all means going forward from here. I glare at her as she backs away from me, a frown on her face because of my attitude. I couldn’t care less. “Out.”
“Mr Wade, I—” My temper rises, chasing the hell out of calm.
“I said, get, the fuck—”
“Carter?”
My head swings at the sound of Fia's voice cutting through my tirade, my mouth not able to finish the sentence I was aiming for. She hovers there in the corner of the room, eyes flicking between me and the nurse. “I can come back if you’re not ready for visitors. It’s just Uncle Quinn said…” she trails off, bringing her eyes back to mine.
Fuck, she looks good. Messy. Real. She should climb up on this bed and help me recover. Naked. With her lips around my dick and…
“I thought that maybe we should…” Again, she leaves the sentence hanging, like she has no words for the situation we’re in. The bastard in me doesn’t help her out either, and it takes the nurse to walk in between us mumbling a disgusted ”you’re welcome to him”, as she picks up my tray of vomit, to make me realise I’m acting like a grade A dick.
I break eye contact with her and look at the bed rather than acknowledge that fact, listening to the nurse continuing to mutter something as she leaves. Fia giggles. Don’t know what at, or fucking care. Jesus. I’m a mess. Again.
She comes closer after a few beats and looks at me, checking out all the proof of her father doing his worst. “You okay?” she asks.
“No.”
“Right.”
I watch her look me over again, her fingers fidgeting with her top as if she’s as nervous. She shouldn’t be. It’s not like she’s done anything wrong. I have. And I still am by being as cold towards her as I am. I frown and nod at the chair, showing her the way and chastising myself.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, sitting. The fuck for?
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” I mumble. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have been there to see it. Your father is a cunt.” Her eyes widen, part of her unhappy about that word being used. Tough. He is. Not because of what happened to me, but because she was made to witness it all.
“You could have run. Should have, probably,” she says quietly.
That statement alone shows how little she knows about me, or this world we’re in. I sigh and look at her, remembering her innocence in this whole scenario.
“I don’t run. From anything. I told you that. And even if I was the type, running would have made it worse. You might not understand but standing up in front of him was the most respectful thing I could have done. Short of not sleeping with you in the first place, which would have been fucking sensible.” She sits there all wide eyed, as if the words I’ve just said are completely alien to her. “I knew what I was getting myself into, Fia. This isn’t your fault.”
“Yet knowing all that, you still did? You always knew you'd just stand there and take it when the time came?”
“Yes.”
And I'd take it again.
Damn, I need a brain scan while I'm here.
She drops her eyes and plays with the hem of her top again for a few minutes, looking at it rather than me. It gives me a chance to check her over, too. Still beautiful. Enough so that I get lost in her features and find myself wanting to reach for her face, to bring it up to mine. The fact that her cheek still has the faint blush of a slap lingering pisses me off.
“And do you, you know…” I bring my mind back at the sound of her voice, blinking to make me see straight again. “Still?” She looks up at me and stares, eyes drilling into mine. “Because I can go if not. I don’t mind. After this, I guess you might not want to anymore and that’s okay. I’d understand.”
No, she wouldn’t. And she doesn’t understand the bigger picture yet. The one that I’ve caused. She sits there so
quiet and innocent, reminding me of what I’d rather be doing with her, but she doesn't have a damn clue how much hell is coming if I carry on letting these feelings I have for her dictate the future.
“Fia, it's not that I—”
“Right.” She stands, ready to leave on those words alone.
“Sit down.”
“No. I get it. I do,” she says, heading towards the door. Fuck that. No, she doesn’t. I haven’t finished yet. “It’s okay. My dad and…”
My stumbling legs have me at her side and blocking the doorway before I know what I’m doing, hands up in front of her without actually touching her. “You don’t know, Fia. You don’t get it at all. Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit and be told, Carter. I thought…” She looks at the floor, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I thought, but I’ll be fine. You’ve made your point.”
“How the fuck have I made my point?” I growl, voice raised. She backs off a step, fear crossing her eyes. Good. Or not. I don't fucking know. I'm in a state still, wound up by my body being weak and useless. I step into her, softening my features. “Fia, my own agenda would be to be up inside you again so quick you couldn’t blink. You have no fucking clue how much I want that, want you, but it’s not just about me and you now. It’s about your family. Mine, too. It's about business and connections and…" I shake my head, unsure how the fuck to explain everything these two families are to each other. "I’m not having anyone I care about hurt because of this, Fia. You included.”
She nods and keeps looking at the floor, a sniff coming.
Fuck.
I lean down and get in her face, knocking her chin up with my fingers to see the beginnings of tears. “I thought my actions would be enough. They’re not now. You weren’t supposed to see it, and I wasn’t supposed to go into a fucking coma because of my fucking blood sugar. And now Quinn’s involved, and your mom…” I back away from her, one hand on the door to steady myself and the other out to my side rather than risking touching her. It’s all I want to do. Pull her close. Not give a fuck all over again. It’s not that simple, though. Never damn well was. “This was my fault, Fia. Mine. You understand? It's all on me. I should never have touched you or put any of us in this position. I'm not a good man, but I'm damned if anyone else is getting the wrath of your father because of my actions. Hearing him hit you was enough.”
I don't know what's going on in her head as she processes that, but it's the truth for what it's worth. Maybe I can't do romance, or love if Quinn thinks that's what this is, but I can give her honesty. I'll never give her anything but that.
“You’re grey.”
What?
She takes hold of my arm abruptly, dragging it back towards the bed with me in tow. “We shouldn’t be doing this now. You need to heal.”
What the fuck? I need to do this now I’ve started, need to explain so she knows it’s not her. She shoves me onto the sheets easily, more strength in her hold than I’ve ever felt. Short of her hitting me in the goddamn jaw. I turn to carry on talking, trying to make sure she understands. “Please, Carter. Not now, okay? Just stop,” she says, spinning on her heel and walking to the door. “NURSE!”
Two of them run in, one of them straight over to my side and fiddling with machines again while I try to bat her away.
Jesus Christ.
“Get the fuck off me,” I snap, annoyed I can’t get to Fia, and physically shoving her to the side.
Quinn appears in my line of sight and stares at me before looking back to Fia. She shakes her head at him and keeps walking, her ass leaving before I get a chance to explain anymore.
“Get her back in here, Quinn. I haven’t finished with her yet. She needs to understand and…” I don't know what else I want to say, but I want to goddamned say it.
He just walks in and closes the door, eyes focused on me without looking back.
“You’ll see her on the plane. For now, you rest.”
Twenty-Four
Seeing Carter in the hospital helped to heal the piece of my heart that had broken apart when he was unconscious and beaten on the floor in that warehouse. Just when I think I’m getting to grips with my emotions, he goes and breaks another part by dismissing me like he did. Sure, he tried to explain what he feels for me, but really, after everything that’s happened, how can he have anything but regrets when it comes to me. If my feelings weren’t confused before, they are now. I don’t know what to think, how to act, but I do know that he means more to me than I’m familiar or comfortable with.
The journey to the airfield is quiet, and I can’t bear to make eye contact with Carter. Looking at him and the purple marks marring his beautiful face reminds me of everything my father put him through, everything he is. A well of sadness brims over inside me when I remember the look on my dad’s face, when I saw what he was capable of.
Running away was something I had no choice but to do. My sanity demanded that I look for answers and seek my own kind of freedom, but I never expected these repercussions.
We arrive at the airfield and Carter, despite struggling to walk, hustles out of the car and onto the plane without a second glance. By the time I’ve grabbed my bag and made it up the steps, he’s eased back into his chair with his eyes closed. If that’s not a hint, I don’t know what is, and it's fine because I couldn’t handle sitting next to him anyway.
At least that’s what I tell my fragile heart.
Uncle Quinn’s company is a safer option right now. He’s handled everything. I did as Mom said and made sure I stuck to Carter until he arrived, and I didn’t speak to anyone. As soon as Quinn turned up, the police and the hospital stopped hovering. He took over, and I could finally take a breath rather than worrying about how to handle everything.
“Hey,” I greet, as I drop down into the plush leather seat opposite him. Quinn just nods at me and carries on rolling his dice. “Why do you do that?” I tilt my head and look at the two cubes rolling in his palms.
He takes a moment to answer, as the flight crew work around us to get us on the journey back to Chicago.
“What, specifically, are you talking about?”
“The dice. You always have them.”
“Lucky charm of sorts.”
“Can I see?” I ask, suddenly interested to see if they are regular dice or have some special markings carved on them. I can’t remember a time when I’ve seen Uncle Quinn without them.
He hands them over, and I take a look, rolling them between my fingers. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing special about them. They feel warm, though, worn, as if he’s been rolling the same dice in his hands for years, which I suppose he has. The dots on them aren’t as clear as they should be, the little black bits disappearing.
“Thank you.” I hand them over, and he raises his eyes to me.
“What for?” His confused look is endearing in its own way.
“For coming to help. I wouldn’t have known what to do without you or Mom.” The panic that gripped me sets my pulse alight for a moment, even now.
“You’re smart. You’d have figured it out.”
“Seriously? Handling the police, the hospital staff questions? Having book smarts does not mean I’m cut out for dealing with these situations. It’s hardly a regular occurrence, although perhaps for my father it is. I certainly don’t want to see the man I…” I pause, not sure how to classify Carter. “Another man beaten half to death by my father any time soon. There isn’t a book to help you with that in school.”
“And what exactly is Carter?” Quinn’s eyes scrutinise me, and I want the ground to swallow me up rather than have this conversation with my uncle.
“He’s… a friend. Who I like. A man. Not a boyfriend. Of course, he’s a man. You know that. It's not like…” I stop my verbal spew and shake my head, embarrassed at how lame and pathetic I sound. Carter stood up to my father for me. Took a beating for me. And in return I protected him the best way I could—firing a gun at my own dad. Yet, I can’t
even tell Quinn that I like him? More than like him.
He goes back to twisting those dice in his hand, and I look out through the cabin window at nothing but air. The view doesn’t help, and I squirm in my seat, my fingers rubbing the healing marks on my skin that have scabbed over. I look between the gap at Carter. His body is relaxed, his head to the side, exposing the white scar that runs from his neck down onto his chest. My fingers itch to run through his hair, to provide some form of comfort to him after all he’s been through. To show him that I don’t see him as weak, but rather incredibly strong and resilient for having both the courage and the strength to do what he did. For me. For us. My heart whispers the last thought, and I grasp hold, desperate for it to be true.
“I can tell you’re looking at me, Fia.” Despite his low, sexy voice, his awareness startles me.
“Sorry.” I dart back to facing Uncle Quinn, feeling rather like I got caught staring at something I shouldn’t.
Namely, the hot guy.
Uncle Quinn doesn't help my plight, either. The corners of his mouth creep up, even if his face is concentrating on something he's reading on the laptop.
The rest of the flight I lose myself inside my own head, a dangerous place to be given the present circumstances. I think about everything back in New York. My friends, my school, and what I’d hoped to be my career. Everything has been flipped and turned around. I don’t even think I can go back home after everything that’s happened. Or maybe I’ll need to? Can I really cut myself off from everyone I’ve known just like that, and assume that Uncle Quinn will let me stay with him?
My brain protests at the myriad of possible paths and options open to me, because without all of the facts or answers, without a conversation with the man sitting behind me about reality, I’m tying myself up in knots.
Quinn has a smirk on his face the entire way to his house. Carter and I sit at opposite ends of the back seat, as if we’re magnets repelling one another, and all the way my frustrations grow, burning hotter inside my chest and desperate to vent.
Forbidden Eyes: A Cane Novel 4 Page 25
