His Red Carnation (Forbidden Blooms #1)

25. Sloane

25

Sloane

“ What ?” Tears streamed down my face. “Callan wouldn’t do that.”

“Jake…you can’t be serious,” Mom said, her voice filled with disbelief.

Dad shrugged, shaking his head. “He was acquitted, partly thanks to me. His ex-girlfriend who accused him wasn’t a good person, so it was clear she was lying. But now…now that he’s done this, I don’t know if I ever really knew Callan at all. I can’t be sure if he was guilty or not.”

My heart dropped. “So…he didn’t do it, though. He was accused, but he didn’t do it,” I said, mostly to reassure myself.

“Jake, how could you keep this from me?” Mom asked harshly. “ Sarah did all of that?”

I shook my head at both of them. “Sarah?”

Mom frowned at me, then turned back to Dad. “Answer me, Jacob.”

Dad nodded.

“Well then he definitely didn’t do it. Sarah was crazy!” Mom threw her hands in the air. “That woman was no good.”

Dad shook his head at her and shrugged. “And Callan isn’t crazy? The fucking ex-junkie drunk who I had to save off the streets all those years ago? The one who is now fucking our daughter?” He was yelling and talking about me like I wasn’t right in front of him.

“Dad!” I butt in. “He’s not just fucking me, as you so eloquently put it. It’s not even about that,” I argued.

His face turned red. I wasn’t sure if he ever heard me say fuck before.

“What’s it about then, huh? How do you have anything in common with a man twenty years older than you?” I could tell he was trying to remain calm.

I crossed my arms. “What exactly do you have in common with Mom?” I challenged him.

“Your mother isn’t twenty years younger than me, Sloane,” he disputed.

“What does that even matter, Dad? Shouldn’t all that matter is that I’m happy?”

Dad scoffed and put his hands to his head, exasperated.

Mom sighed. “Let’s all just take a few minutes to ourselves, okay? Let’s all calm down and collect our thoughts,” she suggested.

I immediately perked up, wanting to go find Callan, needing his side of the story. Dad shook his head and pointed at me, as if sensing the shift in my energy.

“Sloane, you’re not going anywhere. I’m not letting you see a fucking perverted child molestor who’s been taking advantage of you.”

“Jake!” Mom scolded.

My jaw dropped. “ Excuse me ? Do I look like a child, Dad? None of this started until I was eighteen, and I’ve consented to everything we’ve done together,” I argued, my voice raised.

Dad raised his eyebrows. “He’s still a fucking pervert, Sloane. You have no idea how wrong this is. A man his age should want nothing to do with a girl your age.”

Anger surged through me. “I am not a fucking little girl anymore, Dad. And you cannot tell me that you won’t ‘let’ me see him. Because legally, I can walk right out of here and never come back.”

“ Ay dios mio. Jake, Sloane…we need to all take a breather, okay? Otherwise we’re going to say things we regret in here,” Mom cut it in, taking my hand and squeezing it.

Dad’s widened eyes never left me. His voice was low and deep as he said, “You and Callan have ruined my reelection. My whole legacy as a president is shattered. The only thing anyone will ever remember is how my fucking thirty-eight year old bodyguard and my eighteen-year-old daughter were fucking.”

A deep ache spread through my chest. Dad had never talked to me that way before, and hearing those words out loud made me start bawling. I already felt guilty, but now it weighed down on me like sandbags were tied to my ankles.

“Jacob Harold Martin,” Mom’s low voice reprimanded Dad as I ran out of the room and into my own.

My heart was shattered. Had we really ruined Dad’s entire career? Would people be that offended by my relationship with someone older than me? Why did it even matter? It had nothing to do with him.

I locked my door and pulled my phone out, my breath hiccuping from the sobs that still escaped my chest. There was a text from Callan: Everything okay? Where are you?

I quickly texted back with shaky fingers: No. I am not okay. I need you.

I stared at my phone, waiting for Callan to respond. A loud knock on the door jolted me, pulling my attention away from the screen.

“Sloane, honey. Are you okay?” Mom’s worried voice called out.

I shook my head. “No, Mom. I’m not okay. I need to get out of here,” I cried. I looked back down at my phone, waiting for Callan. There was nothing. Impatient, I dialed his number.

“Baby, please let me in. We can talk,” Mom continued.

I listened as the ringtone droned on; Callan’s voicemail picked up, and I hung up. I dialed again, desperate to hear his voice.

“Sloane.” Mom wasn’t giving up, but I didn’t respond.

I began to lose it when Callan didn’t answer the second time. I grabbed a small suitcase and began to pile in clothes, books, my laptop, extra chargers. I grabbed my purse, phone, and closed the suitcase as I unlocked the door and swung it open. Mom was standing there with her arms crossed and a sad, concerned frown on her face.

“Baby.” She looked down at my bag and shook her head. “Please don’t leave. I know Daddy said some harsh words but you have to understand how this is all making him feel,” she said quietly.

I shook my head. “How do you think I feel? Dad doesn’t care about me! He only cares about how he looks to the public.” I took a step aside and began to walk away.

“Where are you going?” she called out.

“Where do you think?” I responded as I looked over my shoulder and headed for the stairs.

“At least have someone take you there, baby. I don’t want you out there by yourself,” her voice followed closely behind me.

I hurried down the stairs and found Leo and Julian waiting at the bottom.

“Ma’am, the President asked that no one leave or enter the premises,” Julian said to Mom as she stepped down beside me.

She scoffed. “Well, we’re not just anyone, are we? Move,” she snapped.

They exchanged glances, their feet still firmly planted.

“I said fucking move or I’m firing you both right now!” she yelled.

Leo huffed and took a step back, making room for us to pass. Julian shook his head as he followed suit.

Mom held my hand as we walked toward the row of SUVs. She waved over one of her guards, pointing to one of the vehicles. “I need you to drive Sloane somewhere safely.” She turned to me with wide, nervous eyes. “Baby, tell him where to go, okay?”

I wanted to cry even more; I was so thankful for my mom at that moment.

“Thank you, Mom.” My lip quivered as I reached for a hug. She wrapped her arms around me snugly and gently rubbed my back.

“I’m here for you, okay, baby? Please let me know when you get there.” She let go, kissed my cheek, and stormed back into the house. I was afraid for Leo and Julian and the wrath they would endure from her.

The guard, whom I hadn’t spoken to much, opened the door for me and took my bag. He set it in the back, and then we were on our way. I gave him directions to Callan’s apartment, and ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of his building. Worry consumed me as I stared down at my phone, waiting for a response from Callan.

“Ma’am, can I carry your bag for you?” the guard asked as he opened my door.

“No, thanks.” I smiled and took my bag, heading for the lobby.

I pushed the button for Callan’s floor and waited, my heart racing. Why hasn’t he responded? Will he even be home?

I raised my shaky hand and knocked on the door. After a moment of silence, I knocked again, straining to hear any movement inside the apartment.

“Sloane.”

Relief flooded through me at the sound of his voice, but it quickly shifted to worry as I turned around. Callan stood there, his eyes unfocused, wobbling slightly with a brown paper bag in his hand. I could smell the alcohol on him from a few feet away.

“Cal,” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. “Come here.” I dropped my bag and opened my arms.

His face twisted into a frown as he slowly approached me. He began to sob, and I wrapped my arms around him, crying with him. Had being with me driven him to this? Had his guilt overtaken his strength to stay sober? Even more guilt hit me as I rubbed gentle circles on his back.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go inside,” I finally said, not wanting to let him go.

“I’m no good for you, baby girl. You shouldn’t be here,” he slurred.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. Remember? You’re stuck with me,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood as he released me.

He shook his head, tears still streaming down his face. “Look at you. Then look at me. How does this make sense?”

I tried not to let it sting; I knew it was the alcohol talking.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go inside,” I repeated, pulling him toward the door.

He wobbled beside me. “It’s open, I think.”

I twisted the knob and the door swung open. Relieved, I grabbed my bag and pulled Callan inside with me.

“Let’s make you some coffee,” I said, setting my bag down in the kitchen and beginning to open his cabinets.

The stool near the kitchen island dragged on the floor as Callan tried to sit on it. “My sweet fucking baby. Why do you love me?” he asked, taking another swig from the paper bag.

“Can I have that, please?” I asked, pointing at the bag.

He looked down at it, as if surprised it was in his hand, then held it up, offering it to me. I immediately took it from him and poured the contents down the sink.

“Baby, you just wasted it,” he slurred softly, watching the alcohol swirl away.

“Why don’t we go lay down?” I suggested, hoping to change the subject.

He groaned. “Sloane, you’re so fucking perfect. Am I taking advantage of you? Am I just a disgusting pervert corrupting your beautiful innocence?”

I sighed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes—I knew he was carrying the weight of my dad’s words.

“Do you think you could take advantage of someone that fucked your ass last night?” I asked lightly.

Callan chuckled, smiling. “Doesn’t seem like it. God, baby. I love you. Let’s go get married. Right now.” He stood up, steadying himself by holding onto the counter.

I smiled and took his hand, pulling him out of his self-loathing, even if just for a minute. “Why don’t we take a nap? When we wake up, we can decide what to do next.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m tired. Come on, baby.” He waited until I tugged on his hand and led him to the bedroom. I closed the curtains, pulled down the comforter, then brought him onto the bed with me.

As we lay down, he began to kiss my shoulder, rubbing his hands gently around my breasts and thighs. He was turning me on, but I didn’t want to take advantage of him while he was in such a vulnerable state, especially since I was sure he wouldn’t remember it later.

“Come on, Cal.” I took his hands and pressed them to my lips, gently kissing them. Then I scooted lower on the bed, resting my head on his chest and wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

“I love you, Sloane,” he whispered, and just a few seconds later, he began to snore.

I sighed, letting a tear fall down my cheek. Now that I was safe in Callan’s arms, my mind drifted back to Dad. His words echoed in my head: You and Callan have ruined my re-election. My whole legacy as a president is shattered. Was that really true? How would he ever forgive me for that? And how would Callan and I ever live it down?

My thoughts raced as I held Callan closer. He is not capable of hurting someone the way Dad claimed. Who is this Sarah that accused him of something like this? I was determined to find out what really happened. But first, I needed to take care of Callan.