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

Chapter Eighteen

Isabella

I push my chair closer to the desk and drum my fingers against the wood. “You do know this isn’t about money, right?”

Anita is moving from one end of the room to the next, folding clothes and tugging on the edges of the bedcovers. She stops behind my chair and places a hand on my shoulders. “As I said, there’s plenty of money if you need anything. All you have to do is ask.”

I twist to face Anita and look up at her beautiful face. “I know, but I need something to fill the time.”

And I know I can’t rely on their good graces forever. It’s been a month since Carter left, and in that time, he’s shown no indication that he wants to come back. After our run-in at the bar a week ago, I’ve called him a few times since, but I’ve received nothing but silence in return.

But nothing hurts as much as his cruel dismissal at the bar. Watching as he went out of his way to ignore me and then force Sam to take me away still stings.

Every night, I toss and turn, and I replay the look on his face as he stepped away from me and barked out an order at Sam. And every night, I hear his sharp intake of breath when I move closer, and I see the myriad of emotions dancing across his face. A part of me wants to believe that sending me away was as hard for me as it was for him, but the other part of me isn’t sure anymore.

A man like Carter has to be laser sharp and focused at all times. Especially if the rumors about him losing control are true.

Anita has remained quiet about the matter, only giving me the bare minimum when it comes to information, and since Sam and I still aren’t on the best of terms, I have no one else to ask.

It kills me to know I’m on the outside looking in. I hate not knowing what Carter is thinking or which direction he’s leaning toward.

Because the longer I’m cooped up at Anita’s, with the same four walls and nothing but my thoughts to keep me warm at night, the more paranoid and anxious I become.

Has he found another brunette to share his bed, one who doesn’t have my complications?

I shove the thought away and tell myself that Carter has proven himself over and over, but a tiny voice remains, reminding me of all the things I still don’t know about the man I love. As Anita gives my shoulder another squeeze, I turn my attention back to the screen in front of me. Then Carter’s aunt exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Outside, I hear music wafting from the window upstairs. With a frown, I glance up at the ceiling and sigh.

Then my laptop screen blares to life, a bright white light that momentarily blinds me. When the spots clear, I push myself closer, and my fingers hover over the mouse. It isn’t long before I have everything set up, leaving me with nothing else to fill the time. Reluctantly, I stand up, walk over to the window, and stick my head out.

A waft of cold air caresses my face, smelling like freshly cut grass and wildflowers. I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale.

More music wafts out, interrupting the silence. When I tilt my head up and lean forward, I can barely make out anything. Abruptly, the music is switched off, plunging me into silence again. I retreat into the room, bolt the window shut, and wander over to my chair.

On the desk, there’s a mug of hot tea, wisps of steam rising up from it.

I sit back down on my chair, pull the blanket over my lap, and curl my fingers around the mug. After a few more sips, my laptop pings, startling me out of my reprieve. Slowly, I set the mug back down on the coaster and toss my hair over my shoulders. On the laptop screen, a box comes to life, revealing a dark-haired kid with pimples scattered across his cheeks and too-large wire-framed glasses.

“Ms. Julis?”

“Yes, hi.” I glance down at the sheet in front of me and squint at the name. “Shihaz, is it? Did I pronounce that right?”

Shihaz nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

I laugh and glance back up at his face. “There’s no need to call me, ma’am. Online classes are a little less formal than that.”

Shihaz doesn’t say anything, his face half-lit up by the glow of the laptop but giving nothing away.

I clear my throat. “Well, anyway, I understand that you’re looking to improve your language and accent, so I’m going to be helping you with that.”

Without waiting for a reply, I immediately launch into my lesson plan.

While I have no idea what sparked the idea in the first place, after some digging, Anita managed to find me an education platform that was in desperate need of online teachers. Although I am far from qualified and have never taught anyone anything before, I know it’s better than nothing. Being able to help other people is a far better alternative to sitting around all day, trying to figure out a way to pass the time in between my naps.

The truth is I’m no closer to finding out when Carter is coming back. Or if he’s ever going to come back, in spite of what his family says. No one else seems to know what he’s planning, and even Tristan seems on edge.

Not being able to control the bad things that happen to me is one thing, but figuring out a way to navigate unfamiliar terrain in the best way that I can is another. I want to feel useful and productive, and since I can’t work on Carter’s construction plans for the docks, giving English classes online is the next best thing.

Or at least, I hope it is.

During our hour-long class, my student barely says anything. He only excuses himself once to retrieve a glass of water, but other than that, he hangs on my every word. I see and hear him jot down a lot of notes, but any attempts on my end to coax him into the conversation are futile. By the end of the session, I’m sure I’ve done more harm than good until I see the review he’s left me.

Feeling pleased with myself, I finish the rest of my now lukewarm tea and carry it into the kitchen. With no one else around, I stare out the window and run the mug under warm water with some soap. After I’m done, I lean against the counter and study Anita’s backyard. Tristan is outside, a bandana tying his long hair back and pit stains already forming underneath his arms.

Sam is sitting on the other side of the yard, sunglasses perched on her nose and a book held up to her face. When Tristan inches closer, the lawn mower still running steadily, she lowers her glasses to look at him. The two of them exchange a tender look as he yanks on a cord and pauses. She curls her fingers around his neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

I know I shouldn’t invade their privacy, but I can’t help myself. Seeing other people together is painful, but it reminds me of what I’m fighting for. I don’t know if Carter has given up yet, but I’m not ready to. And until Carter tells me the words himself, I’m not going anywhere.

Straightening my back, I turn away from the image of Sam and Tristan, smiling lovingly at each other, and fill up the kettle with water. When Tristan comes in through the backdoor, his shirt is soaked through, and his cheeks are bright red, but he looks pleased with himself.

Until he looks over and sees me in the kitchen, lingering over my tea.

The smile fades as he straightens his back. “How’s it going, Isabella? How was your first online class?”

I clear my throat. “It was fine. He was shy, so he didn’t say much, but I’m sure I’ll be able to get through to him in time.”

Tristan pauses. “And you’re sure this is safe, right?”

“The platform was developed by an old friend of Anita’s.” I take the tea bag and throw it into the bin under the sink. “So, as sure as I can be.”

Tristan’s expression is still doubtful. “I’ll talk to Anita. In the meantime, try not to give away anything too personal. Your first name should be fine for now.”

I raise an eyebrow. “This feels familiar.”

Tristan blinks, a sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry, old habits die hard.”

He wheels around to leave, but my voice makes him stop in his tracks. Slowly, reluctantly, Tristan twists back to face me, his eyes tightening around the edges. I leave my mug on the marble kitchen counter and bridge the distance between us. A few feet away, I stop and shove both hands into my pockets.

I can already tell Tristan isn’t going to tell me anything new or anything I like. But I know it isn’t his fault.

Carter is his cousin, and the two of them have been through a lot together, so I shouldn’t expect him to betray Carter like that. Even if a part of me is desperate for any glimmer or morsel of information to tide me over. Little by little, I’m trying to return to some semblance of a normal life, but I feel like I keep getting pulled back, and Carter’s hold is everywhere I look.

I don’t want to be free of him, but I can’t survive on the memory of him either.

“Isabella—”

I hold a hand up. “I know you can’t tell me where he is, and you don’t know when he’ll be back. It’s not that I don’t believe you…”

Tristan studies my face. “It’s that you don’t want to believe me.”

“Something like that,” I admit, with a sigh. “Can you at least tell me if he’s still pissed about the bar thing? Sam did try to tell him that you knew where we were and that you had eyes on us, but he didn’t want to listen.”

Tristan snorts. “Yeah, Carter isn’t the easier man to get through to when he’s made up his mind.”

I shift from one foot to the other. “I know.”

Tristan rubs a hand over his face. “He’s still mad, but he’ll get over it. Mostly, he’s just mad at Sam for putting you in that position.”

“She was trying to help us move past our fight,” I remind him with a shake of my head. “I hope you told him that, at least.”

Tristan stops running a hand over his face and lets his hand fall to his side. “Carter isn’t really in the listening mood, Isabella. He’s got a lot on his plate, no offense.”

I wince. “I get it.”

Being away from me gives him the perfect excuse to focus on his empire, the greatest threat to our happiness and survival.

Tristan gives me an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re important to him, too, Isabella. Fuck, it’s just… he still needs time, okay?”

“How much time? And before you tell me that’s a conversation I need to have with Carter, I know that it is, but it’s not like he’s answering my calls. Hell, he wouldn’t even talk to me when we saw him a few days ago…”

And I feel like things are getting worse, spiraling further and further out of my control.

Tristan takes a step back and glances over his shoulder. “I honestly don’t know what to tell you, but I think you should talk to Sam about this. She’ll be able to help you much better than I can.”

My hand darts out and closes around Tristan’s wrist. “You’re in touch with him. You’ve seen him.”

Gently, Tristan pries my fingers away and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I don’t have anything else that I can tell you.”

I stop and stare at the space he occupied for so long that Anita voices her concern.

When I offer her a weak smile, she loops her arm through mine and leads me into the living room. There, she pushes me onto the couch and drapes a blanket over me. She opens and closes several cupboards in the background, all while singing a tune in a language I don’t recognize. With a sigh, I twist to face her and bring my head to rest against the pillows.

“What language is that?”

“Italian,” Anita replies without missing a beat. “My mom used to sing us this lullaby when we were younger.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Will you teach me so I can sing it to my daughter?”

Anita ties an apron around her waist and offers me a maternal smile. “I’d love to. I think there’s a box here somewhere of Carter’s old things. We can go through it together if you’d like.”

My lips lift into a half smile. “I would love that.”

Anita takes out a bowl and some eggs and starts to whisk. “I’m going to make you one of Carter’s favorite meals. Whenever my Matteo was away, eating his favorite foods helped me feel closer to him.”

I nod and offer Anita a more genuine smile. “I really appreciate that.”

“When is your next class?”

“In a couple of hours,” I reply without missing a beat. “I like having something else to do.”

Anita sets the bowl down on the counter and adds a few more ingredients. “I’m like that too. I’ve never liked idle hands.”

After a brief pause, I throw the covers off and wander into the kitchen. In silence, Anita and I work together, with the Blackthorne family matriarch going out of her way to keep me busy. She keeps up a steady stream of conversation the whole time, mostly one sided, but I don’t mind. I like listening to the cadence of her voice and the warmth in it.

And I like feeling closer to her.

As I help her lay out the pasta sheets for lasagna, I hang on to her every word.

Each story, each laugh I’m privy to, makes me feel less alone like Carter is in the kitchen with me. I keep imagining him as a teenager, running around and wreaking havoc, and a smile springs to my lips when I think how protective he’s going to be of our daughter. By the time Anita sets the pot to a slow simmer, I slide the lasagna into the oven and smile at her.

She shoos me out of the kitchen and sits down at the counter for a glass of wine.

In my room, I pick up and set down several random items, a strange restlessness building up in the center of my chest. When I circle back to the window, I push the curtain aside and peer out. The sun is peeking out from behind a slew of dark clouds, and I can make out vague chirps in the distance.

“You should come and sit outside. It’s surprisingly warm today.”

I spin around and find myself face-to-face with Sam. “Thanks, but I’ve got another online session in a few minutes.”

Sam pushes herself off the wall. “Tristan and Anita told me that it went well.”

“As well as can be expected.”

Sam stops in the middle of the room and gives me a concerned look. “Hey, we’re good, right?”

I blink. “Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

“I know I didn’t exactly apologize for the other day, so in case it wasn’t obvious, me trying to drag you out to the bar was my apology. Until Carter ruined it.”

“I figured as much.”

Sam’s lips lift into the barest hint of a smile. “I did get you something to make up for it.”

With another smile in my direction, she ducks out of the room and returns with a few shopping bags. Carefully, she spreads them out so they cover every inch of the bed. Then she pulls a chair out and sits down, pausing to fold her hands in her lap expectantly.

I burst into giggles. “You know you didn’t have to do any of this, right? You already got me a lot of clothes when I was in the hospital.”

More than I know what to do with. The baby has more clothes than Carter and I combined.

Sam shrugs. “I heard that babies need a lot of clothes, so I figured it can’t hurt. Also, I got this online job. It’s not much, but I like the freedom and autonomy it gives me.”

I sink into my desk chair and push it closer to her. “That’s amazing. How come you didn’t tell me sooner?”

Sam looks away and sighs. “I know things have been weird between us, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“I’m sorry about the other day, too. I knew you were just trying to help. It’s just that…”

Sam glances back at me, and her expression is soft and open. “What is it? You can tell me. I promise I’ll do my best to be supportive.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do any of this without Carter. It feels like I’ve been drifting without him, and he keeps me tethered.”

Sam doesn’t look away from me as she leans forward. “Isabella, you know it’s a two-way street, right? Relying on the people you love isn’t a weakness. It’s a strength, and you’ve definitely made Carter better.”

“I have?”

Sam nods, a smile hovering on the edge of her lips. “I’ll deny this if he ever asks me directly, but yeah. He’s not as much of a pain in the ass anymore. Even Tristan sees the difference.”

I frown, her words like a punch in the gut. “So, why won’t he come back? Why won’t he talk to me?”

Silence stretches between us.

Sam glances over her shoulders and then back at me. “Tristan hasn’t told me anything, but from what I’m getting, it’s because he doesn’t feel ready to come back.”

“He feels trapped,” I whisper, my voice catching towards the end. “I know I shouldn’t have pushed him so hard. I really didn’t mean to get pregnant, you know.”

“I know that, and so does Carter. He just needs to get his head on straight.” Sam stands up, and her hands flutter at her sides. “I know you’re tired of hearing this, but I do actually believe he’s going to come back. And in the meantime, you and I can spoil the baby rotten.”

I give Sam a genuine smile. “I think we passed that point already.”

Sam shakes her head. “Absolutely not. We still have to discuss which school she’s going to go to and which classes she’ll be taking.”

“Classes?”

Sam throws herself onto the mattress, pushing some of the bags onto the floor. “Yeah, I think she should practice some kind of sport, maybe gymnastics. I used to love it when I was a kid.”

“I’ll love whatever she loves,” I reply faintly. “Honestly, I’m having a hard time looking that far ahead.”

Sam waves my comment away. “It won’t always be like this. Have you given the names any more thought?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

Because as much as I love Sam, she and I both know that Carter is the one who’s supposed to be here.

He and I should be pouring over self-help books and scouring the internet for information. And he and I should be discussing schools and the kind of schedule our daughter is going to have.

Sam stands up when my laptop starts pinging. She stretches her arms up over her head, then bends down to touch her toes. Reluctantly, I push my chair closer to the desk, and my hand hovers over the mouse. Before I can maximize the screen, Sam bends down to give me a one-armed hug, and she lingers.

I want her to stay for much longer than the whole minute. Because I’m afraid of being left to my own devices.

Yet, when she pulls away, I know it’s for the best because no one, not even Carter himself, can keep my fears and insecurities at bay. As I greet my next student and take them through the same lesson plan, I go over everything in my head for the umpteenth time. Unfortunately, the more I think about it, the less it makes sense.

On the one hand, I’m relieved to know that I’m no longer a murderer, with blood on my hands and no future for myself or the baby.

On the other hand, being stuck in this limbo state with Carter and not knowing which way to move isn’t any better. For ten days, I assumed the worst about myself, and I wanted to act accordingly, but at least I knew what needed to be done. Now that I know what’s become of Rich and Lilian, at Carter’s hands, no less, I have no idea what to do.

Or how to move forward from this.

Part of me is relieved that neither of them is walking the earth anymore, waiting to taunt and torment us. Another part of me is dreading the thought of how many more bodies need to pile up before Carter decides it is enough.

How much collateral damage is too much?

How many more people does Carter need to kill before he realizes he can’t protect us from every enemy or slay every dragon? And how many more times am I going to turn the other cheek just to keep the peace?

As the lesson progresses, and the student in front of me, a blonde-haired woman with a thick accent, grows more and more lively, I begin to consider the question more seriously. An hour later, when I bring the lesson to an end, I’m no closer to figuring out the answers.

Whatever chasm exists between us, whatever issues Carter and I have, they haven’t miraculously vanished because I no longer have blood on my hands, even if a part of me desperately wishes that were true.

If anything, they’re worse, and they’re going to continue to grow and cast a dark shadow on everything unless we face them head on.

By the time my second session ends, I’m exhausted, and the headache that’s been building in the back of my skull has grown stronger. I press two fingers to my temples and rub in slow, circular motions, but it doesn’t help.

Nothing can help me at this point, not even knowing where Carter is.

When Sam knocks on the door, I’m tidying up the room and unsure of what to do with myself. She takes the bundle of clothes out of my hands and pats the edge of the bed. Together, we sit down, and Sam pulls me into a hug.

I don’t realize I’m crying until my shoulders start to shake.

“It’s all going to work out. It’s going to be okay,” Sam repeats over and over. She says it into my hair and my ear. Then she tucks me into bed, and I curl into her side until I fell asleep. My last thought before I drift off is of my daughter and the kind of stories I want to tell her when she grows up.

And the kind of man I desperately hope her father is becoming.