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Feathers and Thorne Series Books 1 - 3: The Complete Collection Chapter Three 82%
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Chapter Three

Isabella

Bright light dances behind my eyelids. I hear a beeping sound and lift my hand up to my face. When I tug, there’s a strange pull, like something is holding me back. Slowly, I force one eye open, spots dancing in and out of my field of vision. I blink, and the world tilts into focus, showing me the IV drip poking out of my arm. I frown at the drip and lift a finger up to trace it.

The monitor next to me makes a loud beeping sound.

My frown deepens as my fingers close around the drip, and I try to remove it. Suddenly, Carter is by my side, fingers circling my wrist. Wordlessly, he pushes my hand away and steps forward, blocking my view of the monitor. I rub my hands over my eyes, and when I look back, I see Carter in a wrinkled shirt with specks of dried blood, bloodshot eyes, and tufts of hair standing up on top of his head.

He looks nothing at all like the man I love. Carter looks more like a ghost, a shell of his former self.

And as I inhale, I struggle to remember why.

Little by little, the rest of the room comes into focus, and I realize I’m in a hospital bed, in a paper-thin gown, with a blanket draped over me and a window overlooking the city’s skyline. In the distance, I can make out the squeak of shoes and wheels rolling against the linoleum floors. Gingerly, I sit up straighter, and Carter’s hand darts out to fluff the pillow behind me. He smells like sandalwood and sweat, and it makes some of the knots in my stomach unfurl.

Until he leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead. “You’ve been asleep for two days, dove. How are you feeling?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I swallow and try again, my voice coming out thick and hoarse. “Why am I in the hospital?”

Carter frowns and pulls a chair up to sit next to me. He takes both of my hands in his. “You don’t remember what happened?”

I pause. “I remember you being here when I was drifting in and out of consciousness. Did… did something happen?”

Carter’s face is smooth and expressionless, giving nothing away. But I know something is wrong by the way he holds himself and by the tight set of his shoulders.

Why can’t I remember?

Carter releases a deep breath. “A lot of fucked up shit has happened, dove, but you don’t need to worry about any of that right now. The important thing is that you and the baby are safe.”

My mouth falls open. “You know about the baby?”

“I saw the note. I almost missed it, by the way, so the next time, you should try telling me instead,” Carter says, his lips lifting into the ghost of a smile. “This isn’t the kind of thing I should find out from a note.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Carter searches my face, some of the shadows lifting from his face. “You want to keep the baby, right?”

I grip his hands tighter. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but I want to be a mom, Carter. For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to make a great father.”

Carter releases my hands and stands up. “I don’t know about that. I’ve had to do a lot of shit the past few days to keep you all safe.”

“Why would you…” I trail off as an image comes to mind. When I blink, I see Rich standing across from Tristan, who is panting and bleeding profusely. My heart starts to pound in my chest when another memory comes to mind. One with the gun Carter had given me, the same one I held to Rich’s chest.

All at once, I see the two of us wrestling for control, and I can smell Rich’s blood wafting up my nostrils. I see his mouth form a surprised “O” before he crumples into a heap on the ground. I gasp, sit up straighter, and turn tear-filled eyes to Carter.

“What’s the matter, dove? What happened?”

I shake my head. “I… I can’t tell you.”

Carter’s expression is wounded. “What do you mean you can’t tell me? We don’t keep secrets from each other, dove. Not when it really counts.”

I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders heaving. “I can’t tell you because you’re not going to look at me the same way if I do.”

The bed dips, and I hear Carter sit down. He moves closer to me, but the bed is too small, and I can’t get away from him fast enough. I don’t want to feel his arms around me, and I don’t want him to stroke my hair. I especially don’t want him to be kind and understanding because I don’t deserve it.

“I’m not the same woman you fell in love with,” I whisper from behind closed fingers, my voice catching toward the end. “I’m spoiled now, Carter.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

My hands tremble as I pull them away and meet Carter’s gaze directly. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry you wasted your time on me.”

Carter stands up, his eyes sweeping over my face. “Whatever fucked up joke this is, you need to stop. It isn’t funny.”

Tears roll down my cheeks now. “I’m not kidding, Carter. We can’t go back to the way things were. I… I don’t even know if I can be a mom anymore.”

Or if I should be.

Our baby deserves better than two parents with blood on their hands and a slew of dead bodies in their wake. But I can’t change what I’ve done, no matter how much I wish I could.

Carter’s expression darkens. “No.”

“What do you mean no?”

Carter draws closer until he is mere inches away from my face. His eyes blaze with emotion, and his body is coiled. “I am not going to let you push me away. Not again.”

I try to look away from him, but he won’t let me.

Carter places two fingers under my chin and holds my head in place. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

My lower lip trembles and quivers. “No.”

Carter doesn’t look away, and he doesn’t release my chin. “So help me God, dove, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m going to turn this whole room inside out.”

More tears spill from my eyes. “Oh, and that’s your solution to everything, is it? Why does it always have to be violence? Why can’t you choose something else?”

Carter releases my chin and takes a step back, a shadow settling over his face. “Is that your issue? You knew who I was when you met me, Isabella.”

“I know that, but things are different now.”

Carter takes another step back, and I see him ball his hands into fists at his side. “So, that’s why you didn’t want to tell me about the baby. You think I’m not good enough.”

My heart sputters. “No, it’s not that at all. I think you’ll make a great dad someday. I just—”

Carter crosses over to me in two strides and pushes his head forward so we lock eyes. “You just what? You thought you could mold me into a different kind of man? Like Rich, perhaps.”

I place two hands on his chest and shove Carter away. “How could you even say that? After everything he’s done to us. He used me and lied to me, and you let him string me along.”

Carter winces and runs a hand over his face. “I admit that I could’ve handled that better, but you were in a really bad place after your dad died, and I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

I cross my arms over my chest and level him with a look, something cold hardening inside my chest. “You didn’t tell me because you don’t know how to be honest. Because you always like keeping a trick or two up your sleeve. How could I possibly forget the man I’m engaged to?”

Carter’s nostrils flare, and one of his eyes twitches. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

I throw the covers off the bed and swing my legs over, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over me. “Yes, let’s pretend like we’ve already been doing and like we’re going to keep doing for the rest of our goddamn lives.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ve had a stressful few days, so I’m not going to say anything—”

“Or what? You’ll bring your belt?” I turn so I’m facing Carter directly. Even from across the room, I can see how much effort he’s exerting to hold himself together, to keep from doing something stupid.

But I know Carter wouldn’t hurt me. Not like that.

Still, a part of me wants to punish him for dragging me into all of this. For pushing me into the deep end and expecting me to figure out how to swim on my own. And another smaller part of me wonders if it’s too late for me to walk away.

Was this Carter’s plan all along to ruin me so I’m just like him?

Carter’s expression darkens. “You and I both know that’s not the kind of man I am, Isabella. The fact that you’re insinuating that is further proof that you aren’t in the right frame of mind.”

I struggle with the needle in my hand, but I can’t rip it away. “That’s where you’re wrong. My thoughts have never been clearer.”

Carter presses his lips together and says nothing.

I stand up, my arm half bent at an odd angle, my other arm hanging limply at my side. “I want to know the real reason why you didn’t tell me about Rich.”

“I told you why.”

I search his face. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Carter’s expression is one of disbelief and shock. “Do you think I wanted this to happen? Do you think that I wanted to put you and Tristan in the line of fire?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Carter.” I run my free hand over my face and try to ignore the ringing in my ears. “But I do know that I’m tired of being lied to. I’m tired of being used and abused and everything else under the sun.”

“Isabella, I—”

I hold a hand up and shake my head. “I really don’t want to hear it, Carter.”

With that, I climb back onto the bed and flip onto my side so I’m not looking at him. Carter comes to stand in front of me, but I squeeze my eyes shut to ignore him. All I can see is Rich, crumpling to the ground in front of me, over and over again. I keep seeing myself patting his pocket for his keys and running away.

I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep till I shoot up, drenched in sweat and with my heart hammering against my chest. I rub my eyes and lick my dry lips. On the table next to me, there is a large glass of water. I down it all in one gulp and sink back against the mattress, my heart still pounding uneasily. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement, and I realize Carter is propped up on a chair across from me.

He has fingers linked together and is looking directly at me. But he doesn’t say anything.

I flip onto my other side and ignore him.

A few hours later, Carter crouches in front of me, a tray of food in his hands. I look from the food to his face and back away again. He holds up the spoon to my mouth, but the smell of broth sends a wave of nausea through me. I push past him, stumble into the connecting bathroom, and sink onto the tile floors. I’m bent over the toilet, dry heaving, when I hear Carter come in.

When my stomach stops recoiling, I push myself up to my feet and use the back of my hands to wipe my mouth. Then, I flush the toilet and prop myself against the sink. Cupping both hands together, I splash cold water on my face and shiver. After patting my face dry, I glance back up, and Carter is still in the doorway, having changed out of his wrinkled and dirty clothing into a fresh pair of clothes.

I don’t say anything as I walk past him and climb back into bed.

As soon as I draw the covers up to my chin, Carter walks over to me and reaches for the tray. “You have to eat something.”

I shake my head and stare at an unmarked spot on the wall.

Outside, the world is changing colors, from pink and purple to dark grey. In the background, I can make out the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor and the rise and fall of murmured conversation. Then, there’s a loud cacophony of voices as a monitor beeps in the distance. Through the glass window, I spot a group of medical personnel racing in the opposite direction, white lab coats flapping behind them.

It feels like I’m watching all of it happen from a distance. Like I never made it out of the car crash, to begin with.

Carter climbs onto the bed and holds the bowl up to my face. “I know you’re angry with me. I know I fucked up, but you can’t punish yourself for this, dove. This is my fault, not yours.”

My gaze flicks over to Carter, and I don’t say anything.

He shifts closer, his expression turning hopeful. “For the baby’s sake, please. You need to keep up your strength.”

I open my mouth and allow him to feed me a few mouthfuls of soup.

By the fifth spoonful, I’m feeling sick again. Abruptly, I push Carter away and throw myself back against the mattress. Although my eyelids feel heavy, I’m reluctant to shut them because I don’t want to face what’s waiting for me. Rich’s face is already hovering in my field of vision, smiling cruelly at me.

Against my better judgment, I drift off and wake up drenched in my own sweat.

Carter is standing outside my room, a phone pressed to his ear. His free hand runs through his hair, and he keeps pacing. I swallow past the lump in my throat and pick up the glass of water next to me. I down it all and lean back again, feeling weaker than before. Then I drape a hand over my stomach and glance down, my chest tightening.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do better,” I whisper in a cracked voice. “I should’ve done better.”

When I fall asleep again, I’m in a large field, with blades of grass everywhere I look. I have a baby in my arms, a pink bundle sleeping soundly. With a smile, I bring him up to my face for a kiss, and he coos. I lower my head to kiss him, and his face transforms, changing to that of Rich. He pulls back his lips to reveal a row of white teeth stained with blood.

“What’s the matter, Isabella?” Rich says in a taunting voice. “Something on your conscience?”

The baby in my arms squirms as he begins to bleed, little droplets at first that stain the ground beneath our feet. Suddenly, it grows stronger and stronger until most of my clothes are covered in blood, the overpowering stench making my stomach recoil. Then the baby grows too heavy, and I drop him with a yelp. I scramble to my hands and knees and crawl to the baby, but he disappears. Once I stand up, I see Carter on the edge of the field, holding the bundle in his arms.

I race to them, my hair whipping behind me. “Wait, I want to see my baby.”

Carter shifts, his grip on the baby tightening. “Why would I want you anywhere near our son? You’re going to turn him into a murderer, just like you.”

I wince and skid to a halt on the edge of the field, within arm’s reach. “That’s not true. I didn’t mean to. I was trying to protect myself and the baby. Rich would’ve hurt us.”

Carter lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Is that what you tell yourself? Is that how you justify killing someone like that? I’ve killed a lot of people, Bella, but even I have better excuses than that.”

“But I—”

Carter’s expression darkens, and he holds the baby behind his back. “You’re not fit to be his mother. You’re not a dove anymore. You’ve got blood on your hands now. You’re no better than the other women I was with.”

I start crying, the tears flowing freely down my face as my shoulders shake. “Carter, please. Don’t do this. Don’t keep my baby away from me.”

Carter points a finger at me and smiles, the kind of smile that sends a shiver racing up my spine. “You did this to yourself. You’re a fucking murderer, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”

I blink and find myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling and listening to the monitor next to me go crazy. Slowly, I bring my free hand up to my face and shove my hair out of my eyes. The room is mostly dark except for a small light to my right. I turn to it and find Carter propped up on the chair, his head tilted to one side, and his eyes squeezed shut.

He’s twitching in his sleep.

I shift to sit up, and Carter’s eyes fly open. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

He scrambles over to me and takes both of my clammy hands in his. I look away from him and squeeze my eyes shut. Another wave of tears threatens to drag me under. Carter stays on the floor, holding my hands until I start to drift off. Then he tucks me in and drifts back to his chair. Before I fall asleep, I open one eye and study his vague outline slumped against the chair.

In my dreams, Rich is still chasing me.

In the morning, Sam is the one sitting next to me, her hair a wild mess around her face while bundled up in a too-large coat. She sits up straighter when I stir and does her best to offer me a smile. I take one look at her face, see Tristan’s anguished expression, and my shoulders begin to shake.

Sam is by my side in two seconds. She climbs onto the bed, drapes an arm over my shoulders, and tucks me into her side. “You’re okay. You and the baby are okay, Isabella. Everything’s going to be fine.”

I throw an arm over Sam’s middle and sniff. “It’s not, though. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

Sam squeezes my shoulders. “What for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I lift my gaze up to hers and swallow past the tightness in my chest. “It’s my fault Tristan got stabbed, and then I had to leave him behind and—”

Sam shook her head. “What were you supposed to do, Isabella? Rich manipulated you.”

I press my lips together and say nothing.

Slowly, Sam stands up and walks over to the chair. She takes out a large bag and brings it over to me. “I didn’t know what else to do, so Paul took me to buy some clothes for the baby.”

The low pounding in my head intensifies.

Sam rummages through the bag and pulls out a dark-colored onesie. Then she takes out a few socks, a bib, and an assortment of other baby clothes. While she’s showing them to me, I study her face, everything from the dark circles under her eyes to the pale, ashen color of her cheeks. A part of me doesn’t want to be around Sam, either.

I can’t stand how patient and kind she’s being. Especially when she and I both know the truth.

Although Sam won’t come out and admit that she’s falling for Tristan, I know the truth. Since I’ve known her, I’ve watched her go through the same struggle, fighting a similar battle to mine, only to end up losing completely. Even if she won’t admit it, I know the truth.

Tristan means as much to her as Carter does to me. But since he is Carter’s second in command, he’s in the line of fire more often than not. Because of me, Tristan has been shot, stabbed, and beaten—his position within the Blackthorne empire threatened because he refused to fall in line.

I can’t help but wonder if his hate for me is justified.

“If you don’t like anything, I can return it,” Sam adds in a lighter voice. “Don’t feel pressured to accept any of it.”

I bite down on my bottom lip. “I love all of them, Sam. You didn’t have to do all of this.”

Sam shrugs, her cheeks regaining some color. “I wanted to. Besides, it’s good to have something else to talk about, and it gave Paul something to do. He’s been so worried about Tristan.”

My tongue feels heavy and awkward in my mouth. I open my mouth, but I have to swallow a few times before the words come out. “How is he?”

“Tristan’s fine. Doctors say he’ll make a full recovery, but he’ll have to take it easy for a few weeks because he lost a lot of blood.”

Knots form in the center of my stomach and tighten. “How bad was it?”

Sam begins to fold a few of the items, her gaze darting away from mine. “Bad enough that Carter was freaked out. He’s the one who found him first. He and Ernesto were in a panic when they did, and then when they couldn’t find you…”

I scrub a hand over my face. “I left Tristan behind.”

Sam shoves the last of the clothes into the bag and tucks it bag under the chair. “Yeah, because Rich made you. Tristan told us.”

I shake my head, a low ringing beginning in my ears. “Rich didn’t make me leave Tristan. Well, he did at first, but after we struggled with the gun, I took Rich’s car and left.”

Sam wheels around to face me, a furrow appearing between her brows. “What are you talking about?”

I close my eyes against the onslaught of images and bow my head. “I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong and that Rich was lying. I kept asking him to talk to Carter, but he kept giving me excuses.”

Sam takes my hands in hers. “Isabella, you don’t have to tell me any of this if you’re not ready.”

“I have to tell someone,” I say in a thick voice. “Because if I don’t, I’m afraid it’s going to eat me up alive.”

Sam squeezes my hands and says nothing.

“The harder Rich tried to get me out of the house, the more confused I became. I finally pointed the gun at him and demanded that he give me answers.”

Sam’s sharp intake of breath reverberates inside of my head.

“We fought for control of the gun, and I tried to get away,” I continue in an impossibly soft voice. “But he wouldn’t let me go. I thought he was going to kill me and the baby.”

Silence stretches between us.

“Isabella, d-did you shoot Rich?”

My eyes fly open, and I look directly at Sam. “I thought he was the one who shot me until I saw the stain, and I… I have no idea what came over me after that, but I took his car keys and left.”

Sam’s eyes widen, and her face pales. “Carter doesn’t know, does he?”

“I can’t tell him… not yet. I… I didn’t get far before I remembered Tristan,” I add, my voice cracking toward the end. “I should’ve remembered him sooner. I don’t know why I don’t.”

Except that I hadn’t been thinking of him at all. At the time, all I could think about was getting the blood off my hands.

Literally.

And when I changed out of my clothes and was calm enough to drive, I’d been worried about the baby. I’m ashamed to realize it took me too long to think of the Blackthorne cousin. Far longer than I’d like to admit.

“You were in shock,” Sam says, finally, her voice surprisingly clear. “You went into flight mode to protect your baby. I understand that.”

I shake my head, more tears spilling freely now. “You shouldn’t. No one should. I’m not this pure and perfect person everyone has to protect anymore. Instead, I’m just… I’m just…”

Sam climbs back onto the bed and holds me to her. “Isabella, this doesn’t change anything. I still love you, and I’m sure everyone else does, too. What you did, you did to defend yourself and your baby. No one can possibly blame you for it.”

I cling to Sam as if my life depended on it. Her words are like a soothing balm over my aching soul. But they do nothing for the demons lingering in the shadows and in the back of my mind.

It’s not that I don’t want to believe Sam.

It’s that I can’t.

“No one is going to think less of you,” Sam repeats in a louder voice. “And if they do, then they can all go and screw themselves. Every one of us would’ve done the same in your position, and I don’t blame you for Tristan because you tried to come back.”

I’m crying harder, ugly and loud sobs when Carter comes in and freezes. He looks between Sam and me, and a shadow settles over his face. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Sam answers in a clipped and even tone. “Isabella had some things she needed to get off her chest.”

Carter takes a step in our direction, his expression growing darker. “You’re not supposed to upset her. The doctor said she doesn’t need any more stress.”

Sam’s grip on my shoulders tightens. “I’m not the one causing her stress right now.”

A look passes between the two of them, one full of charged intensity and meaning.

“Stop it,” I murmur without looking at them. “Stop fighting.”

Sam releases a deep and uneven breath. “You’re right, Isabella. I’m sorry. I should go.”

I shake my head, wisps of hair smacking me in the face. “No, don’t go, please.”

I catch the wounded look on Carter’s face as he folds his arms over his chest. “I have a few phone calls to make, dove. I’ll be back with some food later.”

Without waiting for a response, Carter turns around, and the door clicks shut behind him. My shoulders deflate, but I continue to hold onto Sam. She strokes my back and my hair, the repetitive and rhythmic motions lulling me to sleep. A short while later, I feel the bed dip and creak, and Sam moves away.

The smell of her fruity perfume lingers behind her as I bury my face against the pillow and try to sleep.

I’m drifting in and out of consciousness when I hear the door open, and Carter comes in. He and Sam are exchanging furious whispers when I open an eye. As soon as Carter realizes I’m watching, he stops and looks over at me with a smile. I give him a weak smile, then twist onto my side. Carter presses a kiss to the top of my head and adjusts the blanket over my body. When I wake up again, Anita and Ernesto are in the room, standing near the window, overlooking the hallway outside my room. I try to sit up but give up after a few tries.

Anita twists to face me, and her expression softens. “How are you feeling?”

I shrug and sink lower against the mattress.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement, and Carter is next to me, holding up a bowl of soup. “I know you don’t feel like it, and I can’t make you fucking tell me anything, dove, but you need to eat.”

I press my lips together.

Carter doesn’t move. “You need to eat, and you need to take care of yourself. If not for me or for yourself, then for the baby.”

My lips part, and I allow Carter to give me a few spoonfuls of soup.

But it isn’t long before I’m pushing the bowl away again, spots hovering in my field of vision. I lower myself onto the mattress, pull the blanket up over my head, and go still. Anita, Ernesto, and Carter’s voices all blend together, but I can’t make out anything.

I’m not even sure I want to. Because what good is it going to do me? Knowing what happened isn’t going to change anything, not as far as I’m concerned.

My last thought before I drift off is that the past few weeks were for nothing. Having to be locked up in the Blackthorne manor, day in and day out, with no one but Tristan for company, was for nothing. Instead of keeping the chaos and destruction outside our doorstep, I invited it in with open arms.

And I have no one to blame but myself for not seeing the signs sooner. I should’ve known Rich’s friendship was too good to be true.

He was part Lacey, after all.

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