“Great. Well, I’m ready whenever you want to tell me what’s really going on.”
Shit.
I puff the covers around me, distracting myself with anything and everything before facing the truth. Because admitting things out loud, at least in my own logic, will make them more real. Permanent.
“You went to see Carter, right?” she starts.
“Yes.”
“Shall I assume, from your complete reluctance to speak, that things didn’t go how you’d have wanted?”
“You could say that.” I fight the urge to break into tears and grit my teeth to force back the emotion.
“Well, what did he say? I can’t help if you won’t tell me what the problem is.”
“It’s fine, Mom. There’s nothing for you to help with. He’s told me he doesn’t want to see me again. He made it really clear, so, I just… have to…” My words stick in my throat, and despite all my steadfast intentions, my cheeks catch the tears that constantly seem to fall.
“Come here.” She opens her arms, and I snuggle into her, happy to shield my face.
“Did you sleep with him?”
Her frank question surprises me, but there’s no question I’ll try to hide it from her. What's the point? She probably knows anyway, and although we’ve never needed to talk about boys in the past, I guess we can now.
“We both wanted it," I eventually say, quietly. "That wasn’t the problem. It’s everything else he can’t cope with. My family putting his family in danger. It’s an easy decision against what he’s got to lose, I suppose. He doesn’t really know me anyway. And there was always the chance he was using me. I just hoped I’d be wrong about that.”
“Hey, you don’t talk like that," she says, hugging me tighter. "Don’t assume he was using you. You’ve done nothing wrong here, and you can’t cast doubts. They will eat you alive and do you no good.” Her tone is stern, like she’s trying to embed her words in me.
“I get that, and maybe in time I’ll see that, but right now it’s really tough.”
“Oh, sweetie. Young love is hard.”
“You know that makes you sound really old.”
I try to lighten the mood and raise my eyes to look at her face. She has a sad smile, and I wonder if she’s thinking about me or a love she had when she was my age. She’s never talked about her past, certainly in no detail.
“Thanks, baby, for pointing that out.”
We sit in comfortable silence, as she gently strokes her fingers through my hair, soothing and calming me. The exhaustion that’s been plaguing me sweeps over me like a blanket, and I don’t resist when my eyes drift shut.
“Does it always hurt?” I ask, snuggling into her and wondering if the ache in my chest is only because Carter is my first love.
“What, baby?”
“Does your chest ache—physically hurt inside you when you’re in love?” I’ve never felt more than platonic affection for any of the boys at school before, and now I feel stupid, like the child I wish everyone would see has grown up hasn't materialised at all.
“You still think you’re in love with him?”
“How can I answer that when I don’t know if it was love at all?”
She sighs and keeps rubbing her fingers through my hair, curling her body around me some more. “I think you love him, sweetie. After everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve done for him, you’re just protecting your heart.”
I nod against her, fighting the next wave of tears. I know what she’s not saying. I must love him otherwise I would never have shot at my dad.
“Love comes in all different shapes and sizes," she says. "It can be harsh and cruel, twisting you up inside. But it can also give you hope beyond anything else. It can drive you forward, keep you fighting and fill you with unrivalled happiness, but even when it's good it can still hurt." She squeezes me, enveloping me and making some of the pain subside. "And, you know, my love story isn’t a romance novel. Neither is Uncle Quinn’s, or Nate and Gabby's. We all have our own path to follow and love to find, but we make sure it’s worth the journey. Always. We hope for it.”
She doesn't say anything more and I let my mind race over everything it wants. Of course, it focuses on Carter and everything he did and said to me. How can he mean we’re over? How could he do that to me? I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, determined to let sleep claim me. Perhaps I’ll wake up tomorrow and none of this will have happened. That's what my mind keeps telling me, even if my heart won't accept it.
* * *
“Morning, Aunt Emily.”
“Morning, sweetheart. There’s fresh coffee and breakfast things in the kitchen.”
I nod and go to grab a cup of coffee, walking quietly behind Uncle Nate and Mom as I go. Their heads are crowded over a tablet screen, Nate’s fingers skipping over the projected keyboard in front of him. Mom frowns at what’s on the screen, making me wonder what they’re up to.
“Hi,” I offer, ready to gauge their reactions.
Both heads pop up to stare at me. Mom’s face softens into a calm smile, no hint of the puzzled look she just wore.
“Can I get you anything?” She’s out of her seat and grabbing the coffee immediately. Nate closes down whatever they were working on before addressing me.
“Morning. I'll send you that info over, Hope. A live feed?”
“That would be great.”
He leaves, and so I turn to Mom, who quickly pushes the cup into my hand. “How did you sleep? You were dead to the world this morning.”
“Yeah. Guess I needed it.” I sit in the vacant seat and wait for her to tell me what’s going on.
“So, I’m not sure what our plans are really, but seeing as everyone’s here, it would be nice to spend some time with your aunts.”
“What’s going on?”
The coffee cup she's lifting to her mouth stops, eyes looking anywhere but at me.
“Nothing. Come on. Let’s get you some breakfast and then maybe you can go shopping?”
“Mom, I spent most of last night feeling like a child. Don’t treat me like one, too, okay? I’m not in the mood to play games. What was going on with you and Uncle Nate?” I take a sip of my coffee and act as calmly as possible, all the while trying to stop my heart thundering in my chest.
When she still doesn’t answer, I start putting scenarios together. “Is it Dad? What’s he done?”
“No. It’s not your father," she says, wandering over to the coffee again. "He will know I’m here, I'm sure. Honestly, I’m surprised he hasn't turned up at the door. But this isn’t about him.”
“Then what?” Still she tries to avoid the question, her hand busying itself with sugar she doesn't even take in her coffee. "Mom?"
“Alright, it’s Carter.”
“Why? What’s happened to Carter?" I fly forward, standing in panic and thinking about all the possibilities surrounding his diabetes. Did he leave the hospital too soon? Is he in some other trouble? "He’s not back in the hospital, is he?”
“He’s fine. We think. But, baby, why don’t you sit down again.” She points at the chair behind me and I slip down into it, desperate for her to spit the words out. It takes an eternity for her to get back to her own chair, and I watch her features growing concerned.
"MOM!”
“Fia, Carter’s left. It seems he’s packed his things and won’t be coming back. Not for a while at least.” Her hands land around mine, clutching me with her grip.
“Sorry, I don’t understand. Why would he leave? This is his home.”
“I know, sweetie. He hasn’t said anything, but Quinn went looking for him this morning and his things are gone. He spoke to him as well. Apparently, he’s made up his mind.”
I let her words sink in.
Made up his mind. So last night was reality and not a horrible dream. He used me and ran away. After what my dad did to him, staying to fight for me was too much.
I leave the kitchen, suddenly consumed with rage. Everyone i
n my life has tried to dictate and force me in a particular direction, and the first time I do something for myself—something that I want—it backfires. Carter was my first decision for me, my own signal of freedom. He wasn’t supposed to leave and abandon me.
Maybe this was just the universe telling me I’d had a close call, that if Carter was meant to be the one for me then he wouldn’t have left. He’d be staying and fighting for me.
“Hey, sweetie, are you okay?” Mom asks, as she creeps into the room I've ended up in. I stare at the fireplace, fury and hurt creating a feeling I don't know how to handle.
“I’m fine. Please, don’t worry,” I snap, angry at everyone.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. Remember what I said last night.”
“Oh, just stop, Mom. You’ve never even met him, and you’re defending his actions? He's an asshole. If he didn’t want to stick around, he should have been man enough to tell me. Not sleep with me, tell me we're done and then run off." I huff out some of my angst, wishing he was here so I could direct it at him, and stamp over to the door. I'm done with this conversation, other than a curt look back. "Now, I’d like to be alone. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
Her spine straightens at my remarks, and I can see her biting her tongue. No one speaks to Hope Winters like that. And until now, I’ve never dared.
Guess a broken heart can do that to you.
Twenty-Seven
A hotel was home last night. Expensive. Everything I should want. I woke up in it and felt like throwing up for some goddamn reason, so I ended up walking to try shaking the feeling off. It worked after a while, so I ate and checked out, but I’ve done nothing since but find my way across town, back to the streets I came from, and loiter in bars like a felon on judgement row, waiting for sentence. I thought it would be easier than this, thought I could dismiss them all and just get out of there. Be cold, distance myself like I do with everything else.
Seems I can’t.
My eyes stare out the window, taking in the crumbling sights of the broken city I barely ever see, and I let myself wallow in the reality afflicting me. I'm like this city—broken.
Fucking lost.
A hustle of noise from the bar makes me turn in my seat, eyes flicking towards the door. It’s just a woman and some drunken bums, the three of them stumbling in and announcing their presence. No threat. Yet still I twitch as if there’s something wrong under my skin. I don’t understand any of it. I should be walking out of this life with decency and holding my head up high, ready to move the fuck on. Instead, I’m waiting, wanting nothing more than to turn the car straight back around to them.
To her.
I chuckle bitterly at the futility of my own thoughts and sink some more beer while my fingers turn over a card offering call girl services. I don’t want it, but my fingers won’t stay the hell still. It’s like I’m pulsing with energy, all of it pulling me backwards rather than driving me in the forward direction I should be going. I'm tense, wound up to near furious. My thoughts drift back to her, not that they’ve ever fucking left her, and remember the dinner in Miami, the way she smiled and relaxed on the boat in the afternoon. We should have done more of that. Dates. I could have found out what she likes other than chemistry. Inane shit. Life.
Couples.
“Another beer, honey?” the waitress asks.
I shake my head and sip at the bottle again, staring at the table and rubbing the scar on my neck. It feels tight today, like it's cramping up my neck and chest. I just need some time to process what I’ve done. That’s all. Get used to not being a Cane anymore and dismiss this feeling inside that wants to trash this whole fucking bar. I could go abroad somewhere. I’ll find some country, bed into it and find myself another life. Why the fuck I’ve come back here is a mystery. There’s less for me here now than there was when I was a kid. The Jag parked out front proves it. If it’s still there. Wouldn’t surprise me if someone’s already stolen it, at least the wheels.
“Carter Wade.”
My head lifts at the sound of a woman’s voice, New York vibes all over the pissed off tone.
Hope Winters.
I stand automatically, unsure what the fuck to do, nerves suddenly sliding all over me. She glares at me and places her bag on the table, eyes like slits at everyone else in the place. I can't get a goddamn word out of my mouth.
“Cute,” she says.
A half-hearted laugh splutters out of me. Christ knows why, but it’s the last thing I thought she’d say to me given everything I’ve been doing with her daughter.
“Doesn’t excuse your asshole behaviour, clearly, but I see what she likes about you.” She looks at the booth seat, a sneer on her face at the cleanliness of the place. “Really, Carter. Of all the places you could have run, here was the last place I expected.”
“I didn’t run.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she says, sitting and waving at the waitress.
I slowly sit my ass back down as Fia’s mother orders a scotch, then wait to hear what she has to say. Not that anything about her looks motherly.
She doesn’t say anything for a while. She just looks at me, a calm veneer all over her features as she bides her time. “Christ, you men are pathetic. You’re fucking exhausting. All of you,” she eventually drawls, arms folding over her chest. “You do love her, I assume? Must to have risked Benjamin's wrath.”
I don’t answer that. I ease my hand to my beer again and wait some more, wondering whether this is just her way of venting her frustration. I get it. Fia’s hurting. She needs an outlet for that, some way of helping her out.
“What do you want, Hope?”
“I want to know why a man like you, a man with enough guts to front Benjamin in the first place, would then run and pretend my daughter doesn’t matter to him even though he’s still sitting in Chicago moping like a fool.”
Straight to the point.
Now I know where her daughter gets it from.
“It’s not that easy, Hope. You know it as well as I do. This protects you all and—”
“Fuck easy. If you dare to go near her, you won’t have it easy, as you damn well know by the state of your face. That goes for you or anybody else who risks it in the future,” she cuts in, before picking up her scotch and sipping. “You still did it, though, Carter.”
I nod at that, because I’m damn glad I did, and rub my jaw. Still doesn't change where we're at, though.
“I thought that said something about you. To me, to him. But this…” she continues, waving a hand at me, her disgust making me feel like a goddamn kid again. “This isn’t a man worthy of Fia, not that anyone ever will be.”
I look at the table rather than at her, not sure what to say. She’s right about that, too. I'm not worthy of her, and even if I was, the second I give in and go back to get her is the moment all hell gets thrown at my family, this woman and Fia included.
“What is it, Carter? Isn’t she good enough for you? A quick fuck and fumble. Take her virginity and…”
My head rears back at the words, my feet pushing me upright at her degrading tone and a scowl levelled so quickly she pulls back across the table and shuts her mouth. Doesn’t stop her standing with me and closing the distance down, though, her eyes staying locked on mine.
“Don’t fucking play me, Hope. Of course, she’s good enough for me. Too good. She’s everything a man like me doesn’t deserve. This is the right thing to do, by everyone. You damn well know Quinn will be able to calm shit down if I'm not there.”
She launches the scotch at my face, blinding me, and the full weight of a slap follows it.
“Don’t you dare tell me about playing. I’ve played with worse than you my whole life. He’s coming, Carter. He’s on his way as we speak to lock her away in a fucking cage again and show Cane what he’s made of,” she spits, picking up her bag. “You think he gives a damn what Quinn thinks? Benjamin tolerates Quinn. Nothing more. No real friendship. No real care. He’ll send a r
iot at all of us rather than concede an inch on this. Believe me.”
Her face softens as she pulls in a breath, just enough that I understand her own fear in this. "My advice? Grow a pair and face him again. Protect her from it all. You've done it twice already so don't pretend you don't give a damn. Show her how it feels when the man you love keeps fighting for you."
I wipe my face, a snarl over my features at both her words and my own confusion.
"Or please, fuck off and leave us the hell alone.”
I watch her storm away from me, her heels eating up the ground to the door so quickly it leaves me dazed. “There’s only one chance left here, Carter," she calls back. "One. Make it count if you want her.”
Chuckles come from the bar, focusing my attention at three women. I glare at them and find some fortitude, throwing some cash on the table so I can chase Hope to the door and follow her out. She’s by the side of Quinn’s car by the time I get to her, the alarm bleeping as she ratchets the handle.
“What do you mean cage her?” I holler, studying her reactions.
“What do you think I mean? It was bad enough before you, but now? You’re not stupid, Carter. You know exactly how he’ll treat her. Quinn isn't enough to stop him. Me neither.”
Rage wells at the thought. It comes from somewhere deep down inside me, somewhere untouched before little Fia Vico came along and disrupted my balance. Enough so that I feel like exploding all over him for even daring to try keeping her caged up.
“You don’t care what this means for you?” I ask, searching her face for permission of some kind. Because this could mean the end of them and she knows it. I go back there and stand up to him, tell him to back the fuck off my family, my woman, and it might well be the end of Vico and Winters.
She hovers, her hand still fixed to the car, and looks at me with a shrug of indifference. “What the hell are you worrying about me for? Or Quinn? You do the right thing by Fia. That’s all I want. That’s all that means anything, Carter.”
She gets in and slams the door, and the car sprints off, wheels screeching to get her back home. I watch it go, head a fucking mess of indecision and thoughts, then wonder what the fuck I’m waiting for. I turn and run, striding long and hard for where I left the car. It’s there, thankfully, all wheels still damn well attached. Perhaps the plate means something in this back end of town, like Quinn’s did all those years ago. Who fucking knows, or cares?
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