The Perfect Wrong, page 36
His strength fades fast.
It doesn’t take more than sixty seconds to put him down when I’m on top, pushing down with all my might, growling like a wounded animal determined to survive.
Thank God I’m so much more than that now.
Thank Delia.
And I know I’ll spend the rest of my life doing that a few minutes later, listening breathlessly at the footsteps pounding toward me.
A huge man emerges in full tactical body armor and instantly starts grinning when the blinding light from his gun sweeps over us.
“Triton? Holy shitfire.” I recognize his thick Louisiana accent. Gabe, one of the senior security workhorses close to Strauss. “Is that—”
“Yeah. He’s still breathing. Just keeping him warm for you,” I say slowly, coughing several times. The blood tastes like coppery syrup in my mouth. “I’d have him tied up nice and tidy but my hands are a little occupied.”
“Shit,” he whispers, shaking his head as he steps toward me. “Hang on, we’re gonna get you the hell outta here.”
* * *
I wake up being pawed at by the medics crawling over me.
Hands and instruments poke me, disconnected voices flying around, and then the steady whirr of jet engines fades to the muted silence of a hospital.
More nurses. More doctors. More bleeting machines.
More hours—days?—flat on my back as they fuss over fixing fractured bones and rehydrating my desiccated husk of a body.
When I can sit up long enough to choke down food without passing out again instantly, some wiry guy who sounds like a military shrink comes in.
I tell him to give the commander more attention. Sexton is a fuck of a lot more screwed up than I am and missing a couple fingers. Not that the hard old goat is likely to care about anything besides the fact that he kept his granddaughter safe.
For the first time since I slept with Delia, I pass out without any nightmares gnawing at my brain. Sleep comes in sporadic fits but it returns like an ebbing wave.
I need to rest. I need to get ready for her.
And I only have one dream.
Every time, it’s the same, the one that sustained me for all the weeks I was rotting away in that dank fucking tomb.
Delia.
Sweet, naked, strawberry-mouthed Delia.
The only cure I’ll ever need for body, mind, and spirit.
As soon as I get my lips back on hers, I will fucking drink her up like a man who’s been wandering the desert for twenty years.
I just don’t want her to see me like this.
Not fucking yet.
Not when I’m welded back together with screws and surgeries, bandages on every limb. I’ve probably had at least thirty or forty pounds melt off under the stress, and sad to say some of that is muscle.
That sick son of a bitch left me a shell, and I have to reach deep to find the man who’s still worthy of an angel like her.
Even if I don’t lay it on the shrink, I worry they’ve left me with a few traumas I’ll only realize some long dark night, when I wake up roaring with sweat dripping down my neck, ready to strangle the motherfuckers who tortured me like an animal.
Whatever.
I’m still alive.
Still breathing.
Still whole, once my bones have a little time to set.
Still able to claim what’s mine and fuck her as hard as I missed her face.
If there was ever a time to stop dicking around with a new lease on life, it’s now.
I’m going to marry her.
We’ll start working on our family the second she graduates and jumpstarts her career—hell, maybe before, if I can’t contain the boiling need in my veins to breed.
A couple days later, I wake up feeling better than death warmed over. I finally have a raging hard-on again, and I’ve got half a mind to ask the nurse to run me a cold shower.
But she tells me I have a visitor.
I straighten up and try to look like more than a guy who took a brickbat to his face as Landon Strauss comes strolling in. Sex is at his side, a few yellowed bruises on his face and one hand bandaged.
Fuck.
My heart sinks.
“You want my debriefing, I’m guessing, since I’ve been too occupied to make the meetings,” I say carefully.
Strauss shakes his head fiercely, his midnight-blue eyes flickering. “Hell no. I want to thank you in person, Triton. Without you stringing them along with bad intel, you all would’ve come home in far worse shape than you did. You bought time while we set up the extract. The fact that you still delivered that sorry fuck for justice without strangling him won my respect, too.”
“Yeah, well...” I hope they can’t see my face reddening behind all the swelling.
“Triton, you did damn good,” Sex chimes in.
My eyes flick to his destroyed hand and linger there. A harsh reminder I could’ve done a hell of a lot better.
“Sex, I’m sorry as hell for what they did to you. If I could’ve just drawn their focus a little while longer—”
“Bullshit, son,” he clips. “You kept my Callie safe. Long enough for the company to get her to a safehouse where they’d never find her. I owe you my life for that.”
For a second, there’s a heavy silence.
I’m not used to these two older men staring at me with so much respect shining in their eyes, showering me with praise like I just saved the whole goddamned world from a meteor strike.
“Just did my duty, guys. Nothing more. Is that it?” I ask, hoping Strauss isn’t about to force some big public ceremony or a heap of money on me just for doing what I’m trained to do.
This was hardly a flawless mission.
Feels more like a minor miracle that we all came back alive.
If I’d handled the bad intel just a little better during the initial raid, we never would’ve wound up on a detour through hell, taking casualties.
“No. Something happened while you were captured, and I want you to hear it straight from me,” Strauss says, his eyes shifting darkly. “I paid a visit to Bruce Burr and handed over that letter you left. I’m happy to say it saved your family a heap of trouble.”
Oh, fuck.
My shame damn near turns my stomach. What did my mother do while I was down for the count? What kind of trouble does he mean?
“Boss, I’m sorry to hear it.” I drag a restless hand over my face and wince when I press on the bruises before asking, “How bad?”
“From what I’ve gathered, your mother pushed hard to have Cordelia institutionalized.”
“Delia? Goddammit, she should be finishing school!” I pound my fist on the bed.
“The damage was limited,” Strauss says with a reassuring nod. “Bruce called me a couple days after he’d read it. I vouched for you telling the truth—especially when he told me his daughter was found with cocaine and a clean drug test—and I had James dig up the old police reports for him.”
My jaw tenses so hard it could break.
Cocaine? She planted fucking drugs on my girl?
“You listening, Triton?” Sexton cuts in. “He’s saying you’ve got nothing to worry about besides what you’ll say when you see her again. From what I hear, that last dustup when your mom went crazy nixed the family factor.”
My breath stalls as I look back and forth between them. “What? You mean they split?”
“That’s what I gathered the last time I called Bruce to tell him you were coming home safe.” Landon nods, a whisper of a smile hidden in his beard. “Your mother took off when he offered her some treatment. Whenever she surfaces again, she’ll find divorce papers waiting.”
“Shit,” I whisper.
My brain spins, this unexpected freedom whirling in a new blur of possibility.
“I see you’ll need some time,” Strauss says, a chuckle at the edge of his voice. “If you’d like, I can arrange to have Miss Burr here with you tomorrow.”
“No. Not yet,” I say sharply. “She can’t see me like this.”
Sexton snorts, shaking his head.
“Like hell. If she loves you, that girl won’t give your appearance a second thought.” Strauss gives me a heavy look like he’s talking from experience. “You almost lost her, flirting with death. You really want to waste another second? I don’t need to remind you how short life can be.”
I open my mouth and close it again, hanging my head.
“I need time. A few days might help. Fuck, my face alone feels like a bag of turnips, thanks to how they beat me...” I trail off as my eyes flick back to Sex’s missing fingers.
Guilt rips me in two. I realize how stupid this sounds when I’m still battered, but still have all of my digits.
“Have you ever heard about my wife, Kenna?” Strauss asks softly.
I look up, confused. “A little? She’s some big-time author, right?”
“Yeah,” he says with this hazy, affectionate look in his eyes. “But her kick-ass career isn’t the point. Before I married her, she thought I was a monster. We were friends when we were young. I had a messed-up family dynamic. Then one day she found my journal, saw what I wanted to do to my old man, and I ran her out of my life.”
My eyes widen with surprise. Even Sexton looks on intently, his head slightly tilted.
“Anyway, we didn’t talk for years. I figured she’d never want anything to do with me, much less the man I’d become. I thought I was too hellbent on revenge, too mentally wrecked for her, but she proved me wrong. Now all these years later after she’s been the light of my life, I only regret one thing.”
“Yeah?” I ask in the heavy pause.
“Every minute we wasted alone when we could’ve been together. That’s time I’ll never get back, and I still hate it, even if I plan to be with her until my dying day.” He looks back at me again, his eyes heavy with emotion. “I can’t order you to man up and see your girl, of course. But I hope you will. I hope you’ll realize how meaningless the little things are—hell, even the big ones—when it comes to having your woman at your side.”
I’m surprised as fuck he’s throwing down something so personal.
“Point taken,” I say. “If you want to help get her here, I’ll be grateful.”
Strauss turns with a parting smile while Sex slaps me on the back.
As I settle back in my pillow pile, I realize how much I appreciate the pep talk. Before the operation, I thought Delia was the only person I had in my life.
She’s still my whole universe, but I’m damn glad to find out I’m wrong, and that galaxy of people who give a shit is a little bigger than I thought.
* * *
The next day, I’m finally on my feet, moving, taking pained laps around the room. I even drag myself to the bathroom a couple times.
No one will ever tell you how nice it is to piss in privacy again.
They tell me I shouldn’t have much trouble walking, outside the initial shock. I came away with my legs looking like a painting of bruises, but the bastards managed not to break anything below the beltline.
After lunch, I’ve got another visitor lined up. I shuffle into the bathroom as fast as I can and try to look fucking clean, thinking it must be Delia.
When I step out, though, I’m surprised to find Bruce in the chair next to my bed.
His face is lined with worry. He forces a smile when I plod into the room and sink down on the edge of the bed.
“Thanks for blocking what Ma tried to do. It couldn’t have been easy,” I say firmly.
“You kidding?” His brows lift. “I should be down on my hands and knees, thanking you, Chris.”
I snort. “That thing in Vegas? Shit, like I told you in the letter, it was my fault. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t saved her.”
“But you did,” he says softly, inhaling sharply as he smiles. It’s not his usual genteel businessman’s smile—more like a father who’s been sick with worry, the same look I saw on Sexton with his granddaughter. “You proved how much you care for my peanut.”
I look away, unsure where this is going, even if it sounds good.
Bruce clears his throat, shifting in his chair. “Look, this isn’t easy. What I’ve been through the last few weeks with Evie, with Delia, with stepping down from the airline...it can’t hold a candle to the torture you suffered. But for me, it all comes back to one thing.”
He pauses.
We lock eyes.
“...I misjudged you, Chris. Terribly. I wanted my marriage to work so badly I bought her lies, no matter how ridiculous. Worst of all, I went digging for proof of what you said about Evangeline even after you told me in that letter how much you love my daughter. If I’d had my damned wits, I shouldn’t have ever doubted you.”
“Don’t know what you’re getting at, but it’s water under the bridge, Bruce. I get it. It’s not every day a guy falls for his own stepsister.”
Again, that pained smile. I can tell it’s aimed inward, though, like he’s riddled with guilt.
“There’s no need to beat yourself to a pulp,” I tell him. “Especially if you’re cool with us now. I know I’m not the kind of dude you imagined dating her. Probably. I don’t have your money or fancy college degrees—and I’m happy I don’t. All I can give you is my word that I’ll always love Delia with my all. More than I ever knew I could love anyone, honestly.”
“We’re more than 'cool,' Christopher. Any man who talked sense into me on top of saving my little girl and putting a criminal mastermind away is more than fit for my little girl. If you hadn’t left that letter, I’d like to think I’d have come to my senses, but...Christ. What if I hadn’t? What if I kept plummeting deeper into toxic decisions? You didn’t just save Cordelia. You saved me.”
I’m frigging shook.
The agony on his face startles me. I hate my mother even more for what she’s done to him, shattering his confidence.
Still, he’s a good man. If so much can change in his family, I have every reason to believe Bruce can pull himself back together again.
I lay a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Stop it. You don’t need to keep coming with the blame and apologies and I don’t want to hear it. If I’ve got your blessing, that’s it. That’s everything I need,” I tell him.
He shakes his head slowly. “Yes. Absolutely. Please take care of my daughter. She needs you more than ever while she’s about to graduate and go out into the world. She’s a strong young woman—I don’t need to tell you—and she could make it on her own. However, I’d rather have her stepping out in the world with a boyfriend like you at her side.”
I flash him a grin, honestly touched.
Now I just have to make sure there’s no misunderstanding.
Clearing my throat, I lean forward before I say, “I’m only planning to be her boyfriend for a little while, Bruce. If she’ll have me, I plan to keep her. For life.”
He looks at me numbly for a second before his eyes light up. “You’re asking for—oh. Oh, God.”
Shit.
I hope like hell I haven’t overstepped my line. Maybe it’s a bit much asking for him to sign off on a ring when he’s just gotten used to the thought of us dating.
“Yes. Hell yes!” He almost shouts it when he throws his arms around me and squeezes until my damaged body hurts. “I’ll be happier to have you as a son-in-law than a stepson.”
I don’t even care about the pain as I slap his back and pull away. His phone buzzes loudly in his pocket, prompting him to retrieve it.
“Ah. There’s your mother’s lawyer,” he says, the smile sliding off his face. “I hate to cut this short, I’m afraid, but—”
“It’s all good. We’ll have all the time to catch up later.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” he says with a grin. “Delia’s waiting outside. Rather impatiently, I bet, because I haven’t ducked out to send her in yet. You ready?”
I smile and nod.
I can’t even feel my swollen face or the broken ribs anymore.
I’m so damn ready for the rest of my life with this woman that I wish it’d started years ago.
Bruce turns to go.
“Wait, one more thing!” I call after him. “Whatever happens in the divorce, don’t let her get anything without treatment.”
“I’m afraid that’ll be up to an agreement and the judge,” he says glumly. “Genius that I am, I didn’t bother with a prenuptial agreement. I expect she’ll reach for whatever she can under the circumstances, but my lawyer says it should be reasonably limited due to the short duration of the marriage. I’m prepared to agree to everything, within reason, just to get this over with.”
“You can’t,” I say.
“Come again?”
“She’s an addict, Bruce. I don’t care what her tests said when she was living with you. She had that coke she tried to plant on Delia, and I’ve got zero doubt she dipped into it. If you give her money without any help in the state she’s in—even six figures—she’ll be dead in a matter of weeks.”
I sigh, hating that I even have to bother with this shit.
Nothing’s changed how I feel about Evangeline Triton.
If anything, after all this, I fucking hate her more than ever. I intend to keep her cancer out of my life unless there’s ever proof she’s changed her colors.
Still, I can’t let his payoff send her to an early grave.
She doesn’t deserve that. And neither does Bruce after the other damage she’s done, tainting him with more dreary fucking guilt he’ll carry for life.
“Right.” He nods slowly as it sinks in. “I’ll consult with my attorney and see what I can do.”
“If you need a statement backing you up to get her into treatment, you know where to find me.”
With another smile, he’s gone, leaving me counting down the seconds until I’m truly home.
* * *
“Chris? Chris! Oh my God!”
Delia runs toward me the second she sees me standing, damn near bowling me over when we collide.
I hold her against my chest, fingers tangled in her hair, nose against her forehead just breathing her in.
It doesn’t take more than sixty seconds to put him down when I’m on top, pushing down with all my might, growling like a wounded animal determined to survive.
Thank God I’m so much more than that now.
Thank Delia.
And I know I’ll spend the rest of my life doing that a few minutes later, listening breathlessly at the footsteps pounding toward me.
A huge man emerges in full tactical body armor and instantly starts grinning when the blinding light from his gun sweeps over us.
“Triton? Holy shitfire.” I recognize his thick Louisiana accent. Gabe, one of the senior security workhorses close to Strauss. “Is that—”
“Yeah. He’s still breathing. Just keeping him warm for you,” I say slowly, coughing several times. The blood tastes like coppery syrup in my mouth. “I’d have him tied up nice and tidy but my hands are a little occupied.”
“Shit,” he whispers, shaking his head as he steps toward me. “Hang on, we’re gonna get you the hell outta here.”
* * *
I wake up being pawed at by the medics crawling over me.
Hands and instruments poke me, disconnected voices flying around, and then the steady whirr of jet engines fades to the muted silence of a hospital.
More nurses. More doctors. More bleeting machines.
More hours—days?—flat on my back as they fuss over fixing fractured bones and rehydrating my desiccated husk of a body.
When I can sit up long enough to choke down food without passing out again instantly, some wiry guy who sounds like a military shrink comes in.
I tell him to give the commander more attention. Sexton is a fuck of a lot more screwed up than I am and missing a couple fingers. Not that the hard old goat is likely to care about anything besides the fact that he kept his granddaughter safe.
For the first time since I slept with Delia, I pass out without any nightmares gnawing at my brain. Sleep comes in sporadic fits but it returns like an ebbing wave.
I need to rest. I need to get ready for her.
And I only have one dream.
Every time, it’s the same, the one that sustained me for all the weeks I was rotting away in that dank fucking tomb.
Delia.
Sweet, naked, strawberry-mouthed Delia.
The only cure I’ll ever need for body, mind, and spirit.
As soon as I get my lips back on hers, I will fucking drink her up like a man who’s been wandering the desert for twenty years.
I just don’t want her to see me like this.
Not fucking yet.
Not when I’m welded back together with screws and surgeries, bandages on every limb. I’ve probably had at least thirty or forty pounds melt off under the stress, and sad to say some of that is muscle.
That sick son of a bitch left me a shell, and I have to reach deep to find the man who’s still worthy of an angel like her.
Even if I don’t lay it on the shrink, I worry they’ve left me with a few traumas I’ll only realize some long dark night, when I wake up roaring with sweat dripping down my neck, ready to strangle the motherfuckers who tortured me like an animal.
Whatever.
I’m still alive.
Still breathing.
Still whole, once my bones have a little time to set.
Still able to claim what’s mine and fuck her as hard as I missed her face.
If there was ever a time to stop dicking around with a new lease on life, it’s now.
I’m going to marry her.
We’ll start working on our family the second she graduates and jumpstarts her career—hell, maybe before, if I can’t contain the boiling need in my veins to breed.
A couple days later, I wake up feeling better than death warmed over. I finally have a raging hard-on again, and I’ve got half a mind to ask the nurse to run me a cold shower.
But she tells me I have a visitor.
I straighten up and try to look like more than a guy who took a brickbat to his face as Landon Strauss comes strolling in. Sex is at his side, a few yellowed bruises on his face and one hand bandaged.
Fuck.
My heart sinks.
“You want my debriefing, I’m guessing, since I’ve been too occupied to make the meetings,” I say carefully.
Strauss shakes his head fiercely, his midnight-blue eyes flickering. “Hell no. I want to thank you in person, Triton. Without you stringing them along with bad intel, you all would’ve come home in far worse shape than you did. You bought time while we set up the extract. The fact that you still delivered that sorry fuck for justice without strangling him won my respect, too.”
“Yeah, well...” I hope they can’t see my face reddening behind all the swelling.
“Triton, you did damn good,” Sex chimes in.
My eyes flick to his destroyed hand and linger there. A harsh reminder I could’ve done a hell of a lot better.
“Sex, I’m sorry as hell for what they did to you. If I could’ve just drawn their focus a little while longer—”
“Bullshit, son,” he clips. “You kept my Callie safe. Long enough for the company to get her to a safehouse where they’d never find her. I owe you my life for that.”
For a second, there’s a heavy silence.
I’m not used to these two older men staring at me with so much respect shining in their eyes, showering me with praise like I just saved the whole goddamned world from a meteor strike.
“Just did my duty, guys. Nothing more. Is that it?” I ask, hoping Strauss isn’t about to force some big public ceremony or a heap of money on me just for doing what I’m trained to do.
This was hardly a flawless mission.
Feels more like a minor miracle that we all came back alive.
If I’d handled the bad intel just a little better during the initial raid, we never would’ve wound up on a detour through hell, taking casualties.
“No. Something happened while you were captured, and I want you to hear it straight from me,” Strauss says, his eyes shifting darkly. “I paid a visit to Bruce Burr and handed over that letter you left. I’m happy to say it saved your family a heap of trouble.”
Oh, fuck.
My shame damn near turns my stomach. What did my mother do while I was down for the count? What kind of trouble does he mean?
“Boss, I’m sorry to hear it.” I drag a restless hand over my face and wince when I press on the bruises before asking, “How bad?”
“From what I’ve gathered, your mother pushed hard to have Cordelia institutionalized.”
“Delia? Goddammit, she should be finishing school!” I pound my fist on the bed.
“The damage was limited,” Strauss says with a reassuring nod. “Bruce called me a couple days after he’d read it. I vouched for you telling the truth—especially when he told me his daughter was found with cocaine and a clean drug test—and I had James dig up the old police reports for him.”
My jaw tenses so hard it could break.
Cocaine? She planted fucking drugs on my girl?
“You listening, Triton?” Sexton cuts in. “He’s saying you’ve got nothing to worry about besides what you’ll say when you see her again. From what I hear, that last dustup when your mom went crazy nixed the family factor.”
My breath stalls as I look back and forth between them. “What? You mean they split?”
“That’s what I gathered the last time I called Bruce to tell him you were coming home safe.” Landon nods, a whisper of a smile hidden in his beard. “Your mother took off when he offered her some treatment. Whenever she surfaces again, she’ll find divorce papers waiting.”
“Shit,” I whisper.
My brain spins, this unexpected freedom whirling in a new blur of possibility.
“I see you’ll need some time,” Strauss says, a chuckle at the edge of his voice. “If you’d like, I can arrange to have Miss Burr here with you tomorrow.”
“No. Not yet,” I say sharply. “She can’t see me like this.”
Sexton snorts, shaking his head.
“Like hell. If she loves you, that girl won’t give your appearance a second thought.” Strauss gives me a heavy look like he’s talking from experience. “You almost lost her, flirting with death. You really want to waste another second? I don’t need to remind you how short life can be.”
I open my mouth and close it again, hanging my head.
“I need time. A few days might help. Fuck, my face alone feels like a bag of turnips, thanks to how they beat me...” I trail off as my eyes flick back to Sex’s missing fingers.
Guilt rips me in two. I realize how stupid this sounds when I’m still battered, but still have all of my digits.
“Have you ever heard about my wife, Kenna?” Strauss asks softly.
I look up, confused. “A little? She’s some big-time author, right?”
“Yeah,” he says with this hazy, affectionate look in his eyes. “But her kick-ass career isn’t the point. Before I married her, she thought I was a monster. We were friends when we were young. I had a messed-up family dynamic. Then one day she found my journal, saw what I wanted to do to my old man, and I ran her out of my life.”
My eyes widen with surprise. Even Sexton looks on intently, his head slightly tilted.
“Anyway, we didn’t talk for years. I figured she’d never want anything to do with me, much less the man I’d become. I thought I was too hellbent on revenge, too mentally wrecked for her, but she proved me wrong. Now all these years later after she’s been the light of my life, I only regret one thing.”
“Yeah?” I ask in the heavy pause.
“Every minute we wasted alone when we could’ve been together. That’s time I’ll never get back, and I still hate it, even if I plan to be with her until my dying day.” He looks back at me again, his eyes heavy with emotion. “I can’t order you to man up and see your girl, of course. But I hope you will. I hope you’ll realize how meaningless the little things are—hell, even the big ones—when it comes to having your woman at your side.”
I’m surprised as fuck he’s throwing down something so personal.
“Point taken,” I say. “If you want to help get her here, I’ll be grateful.”
Strauss turns with a parting smile while Sex slaps me on the back.
As I settle back in my pillow pile, I realize how much I appreciate the pep talk. Before the operation, I thought Delia was the only person I had in my life.
She’s still my whole universe, but I’m damn glad to find out I’m wrong, and that galaxy of people who give a shit is a little bigger than I thought.
* * *
The next day, I’m finally on my feet, moving, taking pained laps around the room. I even drag myself to the bathroom a couple times.
No one will ever tell you how nice it is to piss in privacy again.
They tell me I shouldn’t have much trouble walking, outside the initial shock. I came away with my legs looking like a painting of bruises, but the bastards managed not to break anything below the beltline.
After lunch, I’ve got another visitor lined up. I shuffle into the bathroom as fast as I can and try to look fucking clean, thinking it must be Delia.
When I step out, though, I’m surprised to find Bruce in the chair next to my bed.
His face is lined with worry. He forces a smile when I plod into the room and sink down on the edge of the bed.
“Thanks for blocking what Ma tried to do. It couldn’t have been easy,” I say firmly.
“You kidding?” His brows lift. “I should be down on my hands and knees, thanking you, Chris.”
I snort. “That thing in Vegas? Shit, like I told you in the letter, it was my fault. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t saved her.”
“But you did,” he says softly, inhaling sharply as he smiles. It’s not his usual genteel businessman’s smile—more like a father who’s been sick with worry, the same look I saw on Sexton with his granddaughter. “You proved how much you care for my peanut.”
I look away, unsure where this is going, even if it sounds good.
Bruce clears his throat, shifting in his chair. “Look, this isn’t easy. What I’ve been through the last few weeks with Evie, with Delia, with stepping down from the airline...it can’t hold a candle to the torture you suffered. But for me, it all comes back to one thing.”
He pauses.
We lock eyes.
“...I misjudged you, Chris. Terribly. I wanted my marriage to work so badly I bought her lies, no matter how ridiculous. Worst of all, I went digging for proof of what you said about Evangeline even after you told me in that letter how much you love my daughter. If I’d had my damned wits, I shouldn’t have ever doubted you.”
“Don’t know what you’re getting at, but it’s water under the bridge, Bruce. I get it. It’s not every day a guy falls for his own stepsister.”
Again, that pained smile. I can tell it’s aimed inward, though, like he’s riddled with guilt.
“There’s no need to beat yourself to a pulp,” I tell him. “Especially if you’re cool with us now. I know I’m not the kind of dude you imagined dating her. Probably. I don’t have your money or fancy college degrees—and I’m happy I don’t. All I can give you is my word that I’ll always love Delia with my all. More than I ever knew I could love anyone, honestly.”
“We’re more than 'cool,' Christopher. Any man who talked sense into me on top of saving my little girl and putting a criminal mastermind away is more than fit for my little girl. If you hadn’t left that letter, I’d like to think I’d have come to my senses, but...Christ. What if I hadn’t? What if I kept plummeting deeper into toxic decisions? You didn’t just save Cordelia. You saved me.”
I’m frigging shook.
The agony on his face startles me. I hate my mother even more for what she’s done to him, shattering his confidence.
Still, he’s a good man. If so much can change in his family, I have every reason to believe Bruce can pull himself back together again.
I lay a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Stop it. You don’t need to keep coming with the blame and apologies and I don’t want to hear it. If I’ve got your blessing, that’s it. That’s everything I need,” I tell him.
He shakes his head slowly. “Yes. Absolutely. Please take care of my daughter. She needs you more than ever while she’s about to graduate and go out into the world. She’s a strong young woman—I don’t need to tell you—and she could make it on her own. However, I’d rather have her stepping out in the world with a boyfriend like you at her side.”
I flash him a grin, honestly touched.
Now I just have to make sure there’s no misunderstanding.
Clearing my throat, I lean forward before I say, “I’m only planning to be her boyfriend for a little while, Bruce. If she’ll have me, I plan to keep her. For life.”
He looks at me numbly for a second before his eyes light up. “You’re asking for—oh. Oh, God.”
Shit.
I hope like hell I haven’t overstepped my line. Maybe it’s a bit much asking for him to sign off on a ring when he’s just gotten used to the thought of us dating.
“Yes. Hell yes!” He almost shouts it when he throws his arms around me and squeezes until my damaged body hurts. “I’ll be happier to have you as a son-in-law than a stepson.”
I don’t even care about the pain as I slap his back and pull away. His phone buzzes loudly in his pocket, prompting him to retrieve it.
“Ah. There’s your mother’s lawyer,” he says, the smile sliding off his face. “I hate to cut this short, I’m afraid, but—”
“It’s all good. We’ll have all the time to catch up later.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” he says with a grin. “Delia’s waiting outside. Rather impatiently, I bet, because I haven’t ducked out to send her in yet. You ready?”
I smile and nod.
I can’t even feel my swollen face or the broken ribs anymore.
I’m so damn ready for the rest of my life with this woman that I wish it’d started years ago.
Bruce turns to go.
“Wait, one more thing!” I call after him. “Whatever happens in the divorce, don’t let her get anything without treatment.”
“I’m afraid that’ll be up to an agreement and the judge,” he says glumly. “Genius that I am, I didn’t bother with a prenuptial agreement. I expect she’ll reach for whatever she can under the circumstances, but my lawyer says it should be reasonably limited due to the short duration of the marriage. I’m prepared to agree to everything, within reason, just to get this over with.”
“You can’t,” I say.
“Come again?”
“She’s an addict, Bruce. I don’t care what her tests said when she was living with you. She had that coke she tried to plant on Delia, and I’ve got zero doubt she dipped into it. If you give her money without any help in the state she’s in—even six figures—she’ll be dead in a matter of weeks.”
I sigh, hating that I even have to bother with this shit.
Nothing’s changed how I feel about Evangeline Triton.
If anything, after all this, I fucking hate her more than ever. I intend to keep her cancer out of my life unless there’s ever proof she’s changed her colors.
Still, I can’t let his payoff send her to an early grave.
She doesn’t deserve that. And neither does Bruce after the other damage she’s done, tainting him with more dreary fucking guilt he’ll carry for life.
“Right.” He nods slowly as it sinks in. “I’ll consult with my attorney and see what I can do.”
“If you need a statement backing you up to get her into treatment, you know where to find me.”
With another smile, he’s gone, leaving me counting down the seconds until I’m truly home.
* * *
“Chris? Chris! Oh my God!”
Delia runs toward me the second she sees me standing, damn near bowling me over when we collide.
I hold her against my chest, fingers tangled in her hair, nose against her forehead just breathing her in.
