Shattered Dreams (Dream #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Autumn

“My house,”

he says, and I turn my head forward, watching the street, holding on to my purse in my lap as if my life depends on it. My whole body feels like I’ve been run over. My day started out so fucking good, better than good. It had been such a long time since I had gone riding, and then doing it again with Goldilocks was therapeutic in a way. It was strange to describe, then I went from the best day to sitting down with Charlie at dinner. In. Front. Of. The. Whole. Town. I thought I was going to throw up the whole time. However, even though I didn’t want to crawl out of my skin by the end of the meal, I still wanted to get the fuck out of there.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for running face-to-face into the Cartwrights. I was also unprepared for Charlie to handle it the way he did. The last thing I wanted was for him to be swept up in this. I look over at him, seeing him gripping the steering wheel with both hands, so tight that his fingers are white. He keeps wringing the steering wheel, while his jaw is tight, as if he’s biting down on his teeth. “Are you okay?”

I ask softly, and all he does is shake his head.

I don’t say anything as he pulls up to his house, a house that is bigger than I ever imagined him having but also fitting for him. The lights on in the front show you the four columns that hold up the porch covering in the front. A huge double-wide door with a window is set in the middle, with the same windows on each side. Two rocking chairs are on the left side and then on the right side is a little sitting area. Lights are on in the right-hand side of the house while the left-hand side is dark.

He turns off the car and gets out. My hand goes out to open my own door, and I step out. Charlie waits for me at the front of the car, which he parked right next to his truck. He reaches for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine as he walks up the two steps to the porch and to his front door. Placing his finger on the handle, the sound of the lock opening makes him turn the handle, and he steps in first. “Welcome to my home.”

I take a step into his home, and I turn to him. “Charlie,”

I say his name, “I’m so sorry.”

He slams the door, and I jump at the sound. “What the fuck are you apologizing for?”

He looks like he’s about to throw something.

“You shouldn’t have—”

“I shouldn’t have what?”

He takes a step toward me. “I shouldn’t have protected you?”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer him. “I shouldn’t have put them in their place?”

He grabs one of my hips as I swallow down a lump, but I can’t say anything. “I should have punched him in the fucking face is what I should have done.”

His voice is low and tight. “That is what I should have done.”

“They aren’t worth it,”

I whisper. “It’s not worth it.”

I don’t want anyone else to be at the mercy of the Cartwrights, and even though Charlie and I have created a truce, it doesn’t mean I want him wrapped up in this.

“It’s not worth it,”

he agrees, stepping even closer to me, “but you are worth it.”

His hand squeezes my hip. “Do you want a tour?”

he asks, and I look up at him, wanting to thank him for dinner and for what he did with the Cartwrights before getting the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see where he lives. I don’t want to see any of this because I fear that I’ll want to know more and shouldn’t want to. His eyes never leave mine. “This is the foyer, as my grandmother calls it.”

He smiles, the tightness of a minute ago gone, his features relaxed. “That’s the dining room I never use.”

He points over his shoulder, and I move to the side to look at the big, long table with dark chairs. “And that’s the office.”

He motions in front of me with his chin. “Why I have an office in here I have no idea, but I wasn’t part of the floor plan process.”

I can’t help but laugh at him as he softly takes my purse out of my hand and places it right next to the door before resuming the tour. “That leads to upstairs, where there is a game room and three other bedrooms.”

He points at the staircase against the wall next to the office before sliding his hand into mine again as he walks slowly past the staircase toward the archway that leads to a hallway that goes right and left. “This is butler something,”

he says. “Again, I’ve never used it.”

Then he steps into the living room with a vaulted ceiling. The room feels so big yet so cozy. The vast kitchen has cream-colored cabinets and a massive island with a light brown countertop and cream-colored stools, making it not stuffy. The stainless-steel appliances are top-notch, including the eight-burner stove and the double-wide industrial fridge. “This room is the one I use the most,”

he admits. “Well, this and the bedroom.”

I walk into the room and look over at the living room with the massive L-shaped couch. It’s so deep three people could lie down next to each other and be comfortable. “Do you want something to drink?”

he asks. “I could make you a tea.”

“You make tea?”

I ask, trying not to make it a big deal that I’m standing in his house after the last eight years of hell.

“I have a kettle.”

He walks to the kitchen and opens a cupboard, taking out a stainless-steel kettle. He goes over to the big sink and fills it up. “And I have tea bags.”

He turns the knob on the stove, and the tick sounds until the flame fills under the kettle, then he walks to what looks like a barn door and slides it open. I see it’s his pantry, which is the size of my bedroom. “I have a box of tea,”

he states, looking around the shelves and then finding it before coming out with a big brown wooden box. “Told you.”

He puts it on the counter and flips over the lid. “We have a bunch of tea.”

His eyes scan them. “There is lemon, ginger, and some fruit.”

I can’t help but laugh at his description of them. “There is even sleepy tea.”

He picks up the pack between his fingers. “And then English breakfast, which is probably not for night. There is apple cinnamon and chai and—”

He looks up. “I don’t even know where they got this from.”

“I’ll have the lemon or ginger one,”

I say, and he puts down the sleepy tea one before picking up the lemon one.

“Done.”

He closes the box but leaves it on the counter. “Go sit down on the couch, and I’ll join you.”

He motions to the couch. “Make yourself at home.”

I walk over to the couch and sit down, putting my hands down beside me and feeling how soft it feels under my hands. I stare at the table in front, seeing pictures of Jennifer all over the room, and I get a tightness in my stomach as I look away from her smiling face. I’m about to get up when he’s in front of me, bending to put a mug on the table, the string from the tea bag hanging over the rim. “There you go.”

“I think I should—”

I start to say, and he squats down in front of me. “Go.”

“I think you should drink your tea and relax.”

He walks over to the side of the couch and grabs a big thick knitted blanket. Tossing it down beside me, he squats down again and pulls off one shoe and then the next one. He sits beside me, wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me to him, reaching out and pulling the cover over me. “Relax,”

he says softly, and his smell fills my nose, making me close my eyes and push away all the nerves coursing through me. “What are you thinking about?”

he asks, his hand rubbing up and down my arm.

“I’m worried about what happened with the Cartwrights,”

I admit and push away from him. “Charlie, what you did was”—I put a hand on my forehead—“dumb and irresponsible. You know what they did to my family and our business, not to mention what they held over Brock’s head.”

I’m expecting him to say something, but instead, he moves to the side, grabs his phone out of his pocket, and presses something, then ringing comes out of it. “Hey,”

the man answers, “I don’t hear from you for months and then I get two phone calls in less than two days.”

“Hey, Pops,”

he says to his grandfather, Casey Barnes, and my eyes almost come out of my sockets. “Something happened,”

he says, looking at me, “thought you should know.”

“Is that so?”

he replies, and I shake my head, telling him not to.

“Was out to dinner tonight, and I ran into the Cartwrights.”

He ignores my headshaking. “Words were exchanged, along with a little bit of a threat.”

“How little is this threat?”

He’s not even fazed by the meaning of this. I’m pretty sure if someone called me and said they made a threat, my voice would be skyrocketed to the sky. I wouldn’t be acting like he just told me that it’s going to be a sunny day.

“Something along the line, if he wants to fuck with anyone, he should pick on someone his own size.”

He smirks, looking into my eyes.

I’m expecting his grandfather to freak out, but instead, he just laughs. “Why are you calling me?”

“Just wanted to give you a heads-up in case of blowback.”

This time, Casey laughs even louder and harder. “I’ll try to be ready. Call me tomorrow.”

“Gotcha,”

Charlie says, “later.”

He presses the disconnect button and throws the phone on the other side of the couch. “Happy?”

“No,”

I gasp out. “Why would that make me happy?”

I ask. He gets up off the couch, walking over to the lights and turning them all off. The room is lit with a soft light coming from the other side of the room through a doorway. “Charlie,”

I say his name softly as he comes back.

“Did you enjoy dinner?”

he asks, completely ignoring the fact that there is a huge elephant in the room. “Next time, we should try more than just the pasta.”

He pulls me to him.

“Um,”

I start softly, trying to catch my bearings, “we should.”

“It’s a nice night.”

He looks outside. “Overall, I would say today was a great day.”

I don’t answer him. Instead, I listen to him breathing and close my eyes for a minute, or at least I think it’s for a minute before I feel like I’m being carried. My eyes open, and I look up at Charlie carrying me through the house. The light gets brighter right before it’s being shut off. “I’m sorry I woke you,”

he murmurs, standing in what appears to be his bedroom. “I thought you would be more comfortable in the bedroom.”

He walks over to the side of the bed and gingerly places me down in it.

My back rests on the rows of pillows. “I should go home.”

I sit up in the bed as he puts one knee on the bed beside my hip.

The moonlight comes into his room and I wish the lights were on so I could see him as he stares down at me. “Stay.”

His hand comes up to touch my face, rubbing my cheek with the softest touch, and if I wasn’t awake, I wouldn’t know it was happening.

“It’s better.”

“I want you to stay with me.”

His voice is a whisper. “I won’t touch you. I just want to sleep with you in my arms.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, knowing I should get up and get out of here. “Just stay with me.”