Feathers and Thorne Series Books 1 - 3: The Complete Collection

Chapter Seventeen

Isabella

I wrap my wet, bare arms over my breasts and follow Carter’s wet steps into the office next door. I didn’t notice this stuff in here before, but it’s a nice office. It’s not finished and organized like mine is, but it has a big, sturdy desk and some file cabinets in the corner in case he wants to work.

For now, he stands naked behind the desk, clicking rapidly around the keyboard of his laptop that he has yawned open. Water gets on the screen, and some seeps through the keys, making me wonder if it will short out like mine had earlier today. But that’s the least of his problems, apparently. He clicks around the keys for a long time and then turns the computer to face me.

I can already sense the tone of the article before I get halfway through the first paragraph.

Thankfully, there is somewhere to sit because I melt into the chair slowly, covering my shivering frame with my hands that seem warm with humiliation—same as my warm and flushed face.

My eyes skim over the words typed out alongside every photo, portraying a scene that didn’t actually happen with how the writer spun it. Then comes the comments at the bottom of the page, filled with personal ridicule against me. They don’t even know who I am personally, but the worst accusations and assumptions are made about me.

It’s hard to keep track of them all.

There are new comments about every ten seconds, and they’re far from kind.

“What is this—”

“That’s what you get for seeking out a good listener,” Carter spits. He slams the screen down, but the damage is done. “Rich is no better than a Lacey, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he set you up, dove. You fell for it, too. You let that man set you up to look like a slut searching for a rich guy and betraying the man you love.”

“I would never.

I’m whimpering now, the tears pouring from my eyes, sliding down to the sides of my jaw and continuing down my neck. I hope they are masked with the shower water, but I don’t think they are. If anything, they feel like they are laced with highlighter ink, making noticeable streaks down my pale skin to show how weak and gullible I am.

And gullible I will forever be.

“How would he even… He couldn’t have known that I… If this was his plan, why would he come after me, Carter? What I have done to…”

“You are the reason the war with Jacob Lacey started. Sure, Jacob had it coming, but if he hadn’t expressed such outright interest in you from the start, and I didn’t have to step in to save you, he would have lived a lot longer. Maybe that’s what Rich wants. Maybe he is punishing you for the start of the domino falling that caused this chain reaction.”

I cry harder, my body shaking in angst. “I thought you said this wasn’t my fault, Carter. You’ve always said it’s not my fault, and now this is retaliation. But for what, exactly? I’ve done nothing but love and trust you. Do you not trust me?”

His eyes widen with every accusation.

I don’t stop there, though.

“Do you feel jealous of Rich, Carter?”

He picks up his laptop in a single swoop, throwing it against the nearest wall. It rattles the house, and it doesn’t stop there. He grabs at his desk, his fingernails digging into the wood as he leans forward, absolutely seething beyond sexual measure now.

“I am not jealous, dammit! I am trying to protect you! Why are you making that so fucking hard?”

“Because I don’t need to be protected, Carter. I can handle my own problems!”

“Bullshit. If I let that happen, Jacob and William would have had their way with you, Bella. You know that. You’re just trying to hurt me.”

I flinch, unsure where this is even coming from.

He’s never accused me like this, and I can’t help but wonder if the riffs in his family are sending him on a rampage to find the loyal and pick out the ones who aren’t being exactly like he wants them to be. Loyal, blindly in line, and on his team one hundred and ten percent.

I thought I was being loyal to Carter.

“Do you think I’m not loyal, then?”

He stiffens in posture, his fingertips reddened, and his face flushed in the coldest shade of ivory I’ve ever seen. He’s like a ghost now, too far gone to save, his life withered away into nothing but smoke and mirrors. He’s an enigma and an illusion, and there’s no catching him now.

“Tell me the truth,” I whisper. “Do you think I am not loyal to you, Carter?”

“I think you are loyal, dove. I do. But this can’t be overlooked. Whether you knew it at the moment or not, you had to have known that hanging out with Rich was going to get back to me.”

“I wasn’t trying to hang out with Rich, he just—”

“Silence,” Carter orders, slamming his fist into the wood and breaking the skin on his knuckles.

I bite my bottom lip, his command too harsh to ignore.

Brushing his hands through his hair, blood dribbles from his hairline and mixes with the water on his face like a watercolor painting. It’s disturbing, but it’s Carter Blackthorne in his element. Pain doesn’t hurt him like it hurts everyone else.

Sometimes, I wonder if he’s inhuman because of the way he can switch emotions with such ease.

He only does it when he’s threatened with pain that could touch his heart, and I see those walls building right before my eyes. He’s going to leave me out here in the cold, outside the dark shadow of the walls he’s creating in front of his soul, and it’s going to be hell to get those down again.

After this hell of a fight, I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to take them down.

“I’m sorry,” I finally offer, not sure what else to say at the moment. “It was a coincidence that he was there. Or at least that’s what I thought it was. If you think he’s out to get me, to get us, then I won’t ever speak to him again, okay? I’ll stay in this house, wait day and night for you to come home, and won’t do anything that makes you question my loyalty again.”

For the first time tonight, his features soften. “I didn’t say I wanted that, Isabella.”

“You don’t sound like you know what you want, Carter. And I’ll do anything to help you. If it means staying safe, learning my lesson, and keeping out of trouble, then I’ll do that. I don’t want you to not trust me. I love you more than I love anyone else in this world. You are my life now. I will change everything to appease you and make you feel safe with me.”

He fully breaks now, slowly sitting in the chair behind the desk. He rests his elbows on the edge of the polished wood and presses his tired face into his palms. He looks rough and beaten, and I can see this argument has bested the man I love.

It’s not what I wanted to happen, but at the same time, I can’t ignore the irony of it all.

He has secrets that he’s not telling me, ones I have to look out for, and now he’s accusing me of the same indiscretions. As if I have a history with Rich Donahue. As though I have any other man out there on the streets of Manhattan with a past that connects to mine in a salacious manner.

Whatever he had with Lilian, I know it exists without knowing exactly what it was or what happened between them. I’m not stupid.

But to be accused of lying and hiding things with another man by a man who’s doing the same to me—it’s funny to see. It’s not humorous to laugh at, but it’s funny in a way that hurts my chest. It’s a joke that hits home, one that incites pain, but the only way to get through it is to grin and play like it’s nothing. Like the sting of it doesn’t exist.

Like he isn’t projecting his worries onto me because that’s exactly what he’s doing.

He’s hiding something that I can’t know about, and he’s very purposeful in his attempt to keep whatever happened between him and Lilian in the shadows. Well, I’m in those shadows now, and I need to find out what happened, but not like this.

Not with the accusations multiplying between us.

I love Carter, and he saved my life in many different forms when we first met, and I will never be able to give him that back. But I can give him peace of mind, at least for a little while. When his family trouble stops boiling over, maybe this will change, but I’ll tie myself to the bedpost in the morning and not move until he gets home at night if that’s what he wants from me.

I’ll tell him he’s the best listener in the world, that I can tell him anything without fear of backfire because of how understanding and subjective he can be, even if it’s a lie.

And it is a lie.

I think our conversation has proven that, but he won’t listen to reason now.

Instead, I move across the office, push him to sit up, and lay back into his lap and his cradling arms. We kiss briefly out of formality and fall back into place as usual. He’s the one who needs support right now, and even if I’m dying for a little bit of support, I’ll let it go if it means he gets what he needs.

I owe him that much… right?