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

Chapter Twelve

Carter

“I should be with her.” I’m still pacing the length of the living room while Anita lingers by the front door, watching me carefully. “The fucking things I said…”

I know I can’t take them back, but I want to.

Isabella and I have both screwed up, but I should’ve never thrown her mistakes in her face like that.

“Isabella loves you, and we all say stupid shit when we’re angry or hurt,” Anita responds, pausing to shift from one foot to the other. “She’ll forgive you.”

“She shouldn’t.” I stop pacing and scrub a hand over my face. “Because I sure as hell am not going to forgive myself.”

How can I? The life I’ve created is a disease, and I’m the weapon of choice. It’s never bothered me before, but since meeting Isabella, I’ve had to look at the decisions I’ve made through a different prism.

Isabella isn’t wrong to worry because even I have no idea how we’re going to bring a baby into this world.

Not my world, at least.

Anita pushes herself off the door and goes into the kitchen. She rummages through a few cupboards till she pulls out a bottle. Wordlessly, she pours us both a generous amount of whiskey and beckons to me. I cross over to her in two strides and toss the drink back, exhaling when it burns a path down my throat.

My aunt eyes me over the rim of her own glass. “Do you want to tell me what you said that upset her so much?”

“Stupid fucked up shit about how she should’ve remembered to have the implant put back in.” I grip the table and lower my head. “I don’t even know why I said that. I know it was out of line. She was on some serious meds and couldn’t possibly have remembered.”

But I still have no idea why I threw it in her face. All I know is that I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to feel the pain I was feeling at being held accountable.

Anita reaches across the counter and takes my hand in hers. “Carter, I know you love that woman, and I can already tell you’re going to fight for that baby, but this can’t be the way to do it. You need to really think about what it is she said that upset you so much and why you didn’t take it well.”

“I’ve already thought about it.” I withdraw my hand and plunge it through my hair. “She’s absolutely right. We can’t bring a baby into this environment.”

Anita’s gaze stays on me. “Are you saying you don’t want to be a dad?”

I shove my hands into my pockets and begin to pace again as if I can outrun all of this.

When a headache begins to form in the back of my head, I want to shove my hands into my skull and yank it out. Part of me wants to storm over to our house and bang on the door until Tristan lets me in, but given Isabella’s reaction, I know it’s not going to help either of us.

Because no matter how sorry I am, I can’t give Isabella what she wants. Or needs.

I stop when Anita steps in front of me and gives me a pointed look. “What?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Anita folds her arms over her chest, a frown hovering on the edge of her lips. “If you don’t want to be a father, you need to do right by Isabella and your unborn child, and you better figure it out fast.”

I study Anita’s face. “Do you really think so fucking little of me?”

Anita raises an eyebrow and doesn’t say anything.

“Of course, I want to be a fucking dad,” I reply after averting my gaze. “I’m never going to be half the dad I should be, but I’m not going to abandon my kid.”

Not if I can help it.

“I know it wasn’t planned,” I continue, in the same tone of voice. “But I’m going to love that kid, and I’ll burn the whole world down in order to keep her safe.”

“Good.”

I swing my gaze back to Anita’s, a furrow appearing between my brows. “What do you mean good? How is any of this fucking good? Isabella is in our house next door, and she won’t talk to me because I screwed up. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t talk to me again.”

Because after the stunt I pulled, I deserve worse. Isabella taking the time to nurse her wounds is the least of my problems.

“It’s good because at least you know where you stand with the baby and, by extension, Isabella,” Anita points out with a shake of her head. “You both need time to figure this out, that’s all.”

When the doorbell rings, Anita walks over to it and checks the peephole. With a quick look in my direction, she undoes the latch and throws the door open. Tristan comes in, but he won’t meet my gaze. I’m filled with the urge to slam him against the nearest wall and shake him hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to. What good would that do for me, anyway?

Tristan isn’t the reason I’m in this mess. And blaming him and taking my anger out on him isn’t going to solve my fucking problems.

Anita slams the door shut behind Tristan, and her gaze swings between the two of us. “I’ll leave you two to talk. Do not break any of my things.” She gives me another pointed look before disappearing into her room.

Once the door clicks shut, Tristan stands up straighter and finally looks at me.

I narrow my eyes and ball my hands into fists. “Come to dig the knife in further?”

“You know it has nothing to do with you,” Tristan replies evenly. “You would’ve kicked my ass later if I’d let you into the house in that mood.”

“You’re not my fucking shrink.”

“Thank God for that.” Tristan inches closer, a look of apprehension on his face. “Look, you can beat the shit out of me if you want. That’s fine. But I’m your cousin, and I care about Isabella, too. She’s actually growing on me, and I think some space will do you good.”

I scowl. “Everyone is a fucking shrink in this family all of a sudden. Why does everyone think that they have the right to interfere in my relationship?”

Tristan stops a few feet away. “It’s not interfering. It’s helping.”

I bare my teeth at Tristan. “And if I told you to back the fuck off?”

Tristan holds my gaze and squares his shoulders. “I don’t think you mean that.”

I call my cousin something unflattering under my breath.

He doesn’t respond as I take a few steps back and go into the kitchen. After pouring myself a drink, I hand Tristan one and go back upstairs. At the top of the stairs, I hear his footsteps come up after me. In our room, I fling the closet open and rummage through it.

When I spin around, Tristan is eyeing me over the rim of his glass, his eyebrows knitted together.

I carry a handful of clothes and dump them on the bed. Then I get down on my knees to take out a bag. After unzipping it, I begin to throw in some things at random. I feel the weight of Tristan’s gaze on me the entire time, but he doesn’t say anything. Until I’ve thrown in enough clothes and start zipping up the bag.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Until I can figure out how to manage both, I need to leave.” I set the bag down on the floor and stand up straighter. “I’m trying to fucking listen.”

“Manage both?”

“Being a fiancé and remaining the head of the Blackthorne empire. I need to figure this out before the baby comes.” I wheel the bag behind me and hoist it up when I reach the stairs.

In the living room, Anita comes out, and her eyes widen when she takes in the scene. “What did you do?”

“I haven’t done anything.” Tristan throws both hands up and gives me a bewildered look. “We were just talking when he started packing.”

I exhale. “You both told me that Isabella needs space. I’m giving her exactly that, and now you’re fucking upset. Make up your damn minds.”

Anita lurches into action. “Carter, giving her space doesn’t mean you have to leave. You can still stay here, and she can stay with Sam and Tristan.”

I shake Anita’s hand off. “I can’t stay here without her. I can’t stay in that fucking room one more minute, and I can’t stay across from her, not without doing something stupid.”

Something that could cause me to damage my relationship with Isabella for good.

I don’t have the answers or a magical solution. And until I do, I need to get away, at least for a little while.

Anita places a hand on my shoulders and waits for me to look at her. “Are you sure about this?”

I nod. “I have to do something.”

With a sigh, she withdraws her hand and steps back. In silence, Tristan helps me carry the bag outside. We wait on the sidewalk while I peer into the distance, waiting for Ernesto’s familiar black SUV. In the distance, it shimmers with the heat from the sun, and my stomach twists as it approaches.

Tristan tilts his head in the direction of my house. “Aren’t you going to talk to her?”

I shake my head. “If I tell her, I won’t be able to leave.”

Tristan runs a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to tell her? She’s going to think you abandoned her.”

Ernesto pulls up next to the curb, and I hoist the bag up and into the back. He and Tristan exchange a quick look before Ernesto slams the door shut and gets back in the car. I shove one hand into my pocket and glance over at the house. There’s a slight rustling behind the curtain downstairs, but I can’t make out anything.

I look back at Tristan and draw myself up to my full height. “Tell her that I’ll be back.”

Tristan mutters something under his breath.

“And you better take good care of her,” I add after a brief pause. “If one hair on her head is harmed, or if anything happens to the baby, it’ll be on your shoulders.”

Tristan stiffens. “I understand.”

Without waiting for a response, I get into the back of the SUV and look at Tristan through the glass. Ernesto starts the engine and drives away slowly, as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind. I settle back against the leather seats and link my fingers together.

“Where to, boss?”

“To your spare fucking room,” I reply, without meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror. “You’ve been bragging about it long enough.”

Ernesto places both hands on the wheel and clears his throat. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you to a hotel or something?”

I unfasten a button on my jacket. “If there’s something you’re trying to hide, it’s too fucking late. I’m not going to a hotel.”

Not in the state I’m in. I need someone to have my back.

Because leaving the safety of Anita’s means putting an even bigger target on my back.

I know it won’t be long before word reaches my enemies that I’m out in the wild and it’ll be open season. Considering Ernesto is closest in proximity to Anita’s, it makes sense for me to be staying with him, especially with Tristan and Sam in my house.

Fuck.

How have I let things get this far?

I turn the matter over and over in my head as Ernesto drives away from the suburbs and into the city. He takes a series of twists and turns through unfamiliar streets until we reach a nicer, less crowded neighborhood. There, he pulls into an empty parking spot and pushes the door open. I step out of the car and glance down both sides of the paved yet empty streets. Wordlessly, Ernesto retrieves my bag and carries it up the stairs.

In the doorway, he pauses to take out a key card and holds it up. Then, the security machine scans his thumbprint.

It makes a low hissing sound as the door props open, allowing us to step through. Inside, there are polished hardwood floors, a glittering chandelier, and two men seated behind a large desk. Ernesto nods in their direction as we walk past and in the direction of a gilded elevator. Once the doors ping shut, Ernesto punches in a few numbers and sets my bag down.

“Do you live in a building with important people?”

Ernesto nods, looking very pleased with himself. “A few former diplomats, to name a few. The previous tenant caused a lot of problems, so they were pretty eager to rent it out.”

I grunt at his statement.

On the fourth floor, the doors ping open, revealing a carpeted hallway with paintings on either side. At the end of the hallway, Ernesto takes out his key again, and the door beeps open when he swipes. The apartment is the size of my living room, but it’s got two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and an open terrace with a view of the park.

Ernesto leaves my bag by the door and goes into the kitchen. He takes two bottles of beer out of the fridge and hands me one.

“Make yourself at home, boss.”

I take a swig of my beer. “Who else knows you live here?”

“No one.” Ernesto kicks off his shoes and leaves them by the door. “I wouldn’t want to lose a place like this.”

I nod.

Ernesto walks away when his phone rings. After he steps out through the French double doors and onto the terrace, I see him smile. I wheel the bag behind me and into an empty room with a large bed, a TV above the dresser, and a square-shaped closet. After leaving my bag on the bed, I throw the windows open and exhale.

My chest has been tight since I left my aunt’s.

Already, I’m aching to race back to Isabella, to take her into my arms and grovel for forgiveness at her feet. I even pick up the phone and scroll through my contacts until I see her name. But before I can dial her number, I toss the phone onto the bed and rake my fingers through my hair.

I need to keep it together. And I can’t go back to Isabella until I’ve worked on my issues. Taking them out on her isn’t the answer, not by a long shot.

I’m determined not to go back to Isabella until I’ve got my shit together, no matter how long that takes.