I need to call my dad later.
We used to talk on the phone every Sunday night. I stopped picking up the phone the second Jeremiah walked out. I can’t talk to him about it. He loves Jeremiah. On a larger scale, my heart knows that Dad’s waiting for me to marry off before he departs this earth. He’d never admit it, but he doesn’t need to. I see it in his eyes. I hear it in his words.
“I wish you could’ve met Uncle Leo in his better days.” I sound like I go way back with him. Despite only meeting him two weeks ago, he’s the kind of person who leaves their footprint in your heart. Warm and outspoken and dispensing unsolicited advice with every breath he takes, he’s the old bachelor version of a stereotypical Italian mother.
“Is there anything I should do for Dane?” she asks. “Anything to help him cope?”
My lips purse as my pointed heels click the cement sidewalk with steady strides. “I doubt it. If he hasn’t mentioned anything to you yet, he probably doesn’t want to talk about it. The doctors say it’s going to be any day now. If Dane’s a little more on edge than usual, that might be why.”
“I see.”
We trek into the lobby and approach the elevator, and when we hit our floor, we walk side by side past the reception desk where a gaggle of gawking girls stare us down. I shoot them my best New York bitch glare, and they all glance away, convincing me they share a brain.
“You ready?” Beckham rounds the corner and hooks his arm into mine. There’s a streak of misplaced playfulness in his stormy eyes. Maybe he had a chat with Dane that lifted his spirits? Or maybe he’s pretending, for his own sake, that everything isn’t actually falling apart. “Where’d you go?”
“Coffee.” My arm retracts. “And it was on you, so…thanks.”
“My pleasure,” he teases, one eyebrow arched.
“It was great meeting you, Bellamy.” I place my hand across the side of her arm. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be around this week, but I’m sure I’ll run into you again.”
I follow Beckham to the conference room where Dane waits, scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. He’s frustrated about something, Bellamy perhaps. His uncle.
God, these men are resilient. And stone cold. Their personal lives are in shambles and yet they’re sitting here ready to discuss work as usual.
“Let’s make this quick,” Beckham says. He doesn’t want to be here. I see it in his eyes. I spy him pulling out his phone. His expression falls as he reads a text. Everything about him feels a touch darker than before. “I need to see Uncle Leo.”
Dane puts his phone aside and starts the meeting. I fire off answers, my attention tuned to Beckham. He gazes to the side, his fingers mindlessly toying with a silver ball point pen.
He’s somewhere else entirely.
Before the meeting concludes, I bring up the job offer, asking for a six-figure salary. Dane doesn’t as much as blink before declaring we have a deal. We shake on it, and I thank them for the opportunity, before Dane checks the time and mentions a two o’clock conference call. I’m not sure how he can be so focused and robotic with so much on his plate.
“Ready?” I say to Beckham. He snaps out of his fog and squints at me from across the polished table. “I’m going with you. You’re not doing this alone.”
He rises. “That’s really not necessary.”
“It’s okay to ask for help sometimes.”
His expression darkens, hardening as if he takes offense to my offer. “I’m perfectly capable of visiting my uncle on my own.”
“No, you’re not.” I fold my arms though I may as well be hugging a cactus.
He tucks his pen into a pocket behind his linen lapel and strides along the lengthy conference table like a man on a mission.
“You’re seriously just going to walk away right now?” I should go easy on him. I know. But the burn in my chest is causing a rapid boil of words in my head, and they’re all coming to the surface at once. “Let me be a friend here. It’s all I’m trying to do.”
“What’s the point?” He storms toward the door. I lurch forward, half-wanting to chase after him but knowing I should let him go. My feet plant, and I watch as he stops. His fists clench and release as he grips the doorway.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to speak.
But he says nothing.
And in an instant, he’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
BECKHAM
I hold the old man’s hand for hours.
I’ve never held another man’s hand in my life, but I refuse to let go. I watch him sleep. Sit with him. Tell him goodbye in case it’s my last chance. When the nurse checks on him and leaves, I tell him about Sadie. The whole story. I leave nothing out.
I close my eyes after that, bracing myself for advice that never comes. I’m not sure I’ve ever needed his advice more than I do now.
Visiting hours end at eight, and I head back to Golden Oak, immediately greeted with the sound of pitiful baby cries echoing off the vast mansion walls. Sprinting up the winding stairs, I follow the noise to Odessa’s room.
“What’s going on? Is she okay?” My heart hammers.
Odessa turns around, Sadie screaming in her arms. A half-finished bottle rests in her hand, and Odessa wears an apologetic wince.
“I thought I could get her to stop fussing,” she says. “And Elizabeth needed a break.”
I rush to Sadie, taking her from Odessa’s arms. Lifting her to my shoulder, I adjust the blanket and rub my hand in circles across her tiny back. Despite my best efforts, the crying won’t subside.
“Does she need a doctor?” My stomach twists at the thought.
Odessa bites her lip and shakes her head, reaching for Sadie’s back. How she can stay so calm in all of this is beyond me. “She’s not warm. Her temp is normal. I checked an hour ago.”
I walk around Odessa’s room, holding Sadie close and shushing her. Funny how the most unnatural thing that could ever happen to me suddenly feels organic.
“My niece, Aubrey,” she says. “She had colic, and my sister would take late night drives to help calm her down. The fresh air helped I think. And the car noise.”
I grab Sadie’s diaper bag and slip it over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Downstairs Odessa buckles the baby into her car seat, and I grab a set of keys from the cabinet by the garage. Ten minutes later, we pull onto the desolate road that surrounds my brother’s estate. Glancing up, I see every star in the sky. Most people would consider that a beautiful thing to see.
Not me.
It reminds me too much of home.
My first home.
The Zion Ranch.
New York at night is alive. Vibrant. Lit. Buzzing with life.
The dark and quiet of the Zion Ranch at night was the devil’s playground. He danced between the shadows and lurked among his innocent victims. His bidding was done under the shade of black night and a starry sky. During the day he’d hide in plain sight, parading around with his security and a handful of his young brides and jutting his hand out so whosoever wanted to kiss it had easy access. The devil I knew had a name: Mathias Moon. Everyone else called him The Prophet.
The crunch of gravel beneath the car as I turn onto another dark road brings a soft rumble. Sadie’s cries soften, morphing into whimpers.
“The vibration’s calming her down already,” Odessa says, twisting back to check on her. “She’s wearing out.”
My knuckles clench around the wheel, turning white even in the dark.
I hate that Uncle Leo is dying and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I hate what Eva did. I hate her for bringing an innocent baby into a fucked up situation. I hate the flood of warmth that wraps into tightness in my chest every time I think of Sadie, and I hate the dread that nauseates me at the thought of someone taking her away.
I hate that Odessa’s still being kind to me after what I said earlier.
Most of all, I hate the part of me that wants to run from it all. Push it all away. Shove it in a box, close the lid, and sink it to the bottom of the ocean with a cinderblock.