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

Chapter Fifteen

Isabella

I groan when Sam throws the curtains open, allowing bright sunlight to flood the room. “What are you doing?”

She spins around to face me and places both hands on her hips. “You need to get out of bed.”

I pull the covers up over my head and let my head rest against the pillow. “I don’t want to.”

Sam yanks the covers off, and I shiver at the exposure. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping you.” Sam grunts as she lets the covers fall to the floor. “Come on. You need to shower and change. We’re going out.”

I sit up and rub my hands over my eyes. “Why?”

“Because it’s been three weeks, Isabella,” Sam replies with a frown. “You can’t keep living like this.”

I stop rubbing my eyes and give her an annoyed look. “I can if I want to.”

Sam leans over me and gives me a pointed look. “Really? So, this is how you’re going to spend your days? Wallowing in bed and wasting away till you’re practically skin and bones?”

“I eat,” I responded, pausing to drape an arm over my stomach. “I’m not endangering my baby.”

“You’re eating just enough, and you and I both know it.”

I fold both hands over my chest. “So?”

Sam makes a low noise in the back of her throat. “So, this isn’t right. You have to do more.”

I throw myself back against the mattress and stare up at the ceiling. “I’m already doing everything I can.”

Considering the amount of effort it takes for me to get out of bed in the morning, Sam should be thankful. It takes every ounce of energy and self-control I have just to make it to the living room to allow Anita and Sam to fuss over me for a couple of hours. Over the past few weeks, they’ve done everything they can to coax me out of my shell, but very little has worked.

Because of the baby, I try to keep my strength up, and I take short walks around the backyard, but I haven’t set foot beyond the grounds of the house.

And I’m not going to.

All of Anita’s gentle coaxing and encouragement simply falls on deaf ears. Because I can’t bear the thought of the outside world without Carter. A part of me believes if I stay here long enough, Carter will eventually come back. Another part of me is horrified at the thought that I’ll step out of the house at the same moment Carter returns.

What if he comes back for me, and I’m not here?

He needs to know that I haven’t abandoned him, and I haven’t given up on us.

Sam takes both of my arms in hers and yanks me to my feet. “You and I both know that’s not true. You’re a fighter, Isabella, and you’re a survivor, so I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

I lean against the nearest wall and give Sam an annoyed look. “It’s called grieving.”

“It’s called wallowing in self-pity,” Sam retorts, with a shake of her head. “You can’t actually stay like this hoping Carter is going to come back.”

There’s a low ringing in my ears now. “He is going to come back.”

Sam blows out a breath. “Yeah, but you need to prepare yourself for the other possibility. I’m not trying to be mean—”

“You could’ve fooled me,” I mutter, pausing to push myself off the wall. I shove my overgrown bangs out of my face and level Sam with a pointed look. “I know what you’re really thinking, Sam, so you can go ahead and say it.”

A muscle ticks in Sam’s jaw. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. You think Carter isn’t coming back, and that’s why you’re doing all this.” I make a vague hand gesture to indicate the room being tidied up by Sam before she threw the curtains open. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove here, but I don’t appreciate it.”

Sam throws her hands up in the air. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to save my best friend from herself.”

I frown. “Save me from what? From grieving the loss of my partner and the father of my baby?”

“There’s grieving, and there’s putting your life on hold,” Sam points out after a brief pause. “And I can’t take one more day of you laying there, listening for the sound of his voice. This isn’t good for you, Isabella.”

I stride past her and climb back onto the mattress. “It’s a good thing it’s not up to you then. No one is asking you to be here, Sam.”

Sam gives me a wounded look. “You did. You wanted me here, remember? We’re sisters, Isabella, and I wouldn’t be a very good one if I didn’t point out what you’re doing.”

I get up, pick the covers off of the floor, and unfold them. “You just want to go back to your life with Tristan so the two of you can laugh and shake your heads at how pathetic I am.”

Sam’s expression tightens. “That’s not fair. Tristan and I don’t do that. We’re worried about you.”

I draw the covers up to my chin. “Well, don’t be. I’m not a baby, and I don’t need you two hovering over me.”

Especially Tristan.

He knows exactly where Carter is, and he’s refusing to tell me. And I can’t look at him without feeling the urge to sink to my feet and beg him for something. Anything to let me know that the man I love still loves me.

But it’s like banging against a steel door. No matter how many times or how many ways I come up with to soften his resolve, Tristan isn’t budging. And I’m terrified of being angry at him and Sam and Anita.

I don’t want to be angry at the world all the time. And I’m tired of being sad, but what other choice do I have? Living without Carter isn’t something I know how to do.

Every morning, when I wake up, I reach across the bed for Carter, and I wait for the familiar smell of him to fill my nostrils. And each morning, when I open my eyes and Anita’s guest bedroom swims into focus, I realize all over again that I’ve lost him.

I have no idea if he’s coming back.

If it weren’t for the baby I’m carrying inside of me, I’m not sure what I would do, but I don’t think I’d be sitting around Anita’s, hoping and waiting.

Because Carter has made it clear that he doesn’t miss me at all. Not a single phone call or a message since he left, and I’m dutifully waiting at his aunt’s.

I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, but the alternative scares me too much to consider. At least at Anita’s, I have people who care about me, people who are going to make sure this baby and I are taken care of, whether I like it or not.

Selfishly, it’s what I need right now.

Sam exhales and perches on the edge of the bed. “Isabella, please, it’s been weeks. I’ve tried to be patient, and I’ve tried to give you your space, but this really can’t go on.”

I curl onto my side and draw the covers over my head. “So leave then. No one is making you stay.”

Sam’s sharp intake of breath makes me realize I’ve said the wrong thing.

I throw the blankets off and sit up straighter. “No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sam stands up and clasps her hands behind her back. “Yes, you did. You absolutely meant it like that, and I have to accept it whether I like it or not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re beyond my help, Isabella.” Sam throws her hands up, and her expression tightens. “You want to sit in bed and feel sorry for yourself, go ahead and do that. Just don’t expect me to sit around and watch.”

“Fine.”

Sam stiffens. “Fine.”

Without waiting for my response, she spins on her heels and throws the door open. It bangs against the wall with a thud, and moments later, I hear voices blending together. Then the front door opens and bangs shut. I throw myself back against the mattress and bury my face in my hands.

What have I done?

Sam is one of the few people I have left in this world, and a part of me knows she’s trying to help, but the other part of me doesn’t want her to be here.

As helpful, patient, and considerate as she’s been, looking at her every day, day in and day out, for the past few weeks has been hard. Because every time I’m around her, she reminds me of what I can’t have and the life I’ll be forced to leave when Carter returns.

If he ever comes back.

Sam and Tristan mean well, but they have everything Carter and I don’t. And I hate the pit that burns in the center of my stomach whenever I see them.

Someone raps on the door, so I remove my hands and tilt my head to the side. Anita hovers in the doorway, a bowl of soup in her hands and wisps of ash blonde hair escaping from her bun. She gestures to the bed, and I nod. Slowly, I sit up and prop myself against the pillow. Then I busy myself with smoothing out the edges of the blankets, all to avoid her knowing gaze.