Page 92 of Forbidden Eyes
“Nothing. Come on. Let’s get you some breakfast and then maybe you can go shopping?”
“Mom, I spent most of last night feeling like a child. Don’t treat me like one, too, okay? I’m not in the mood to play games. What was going on with you and Uncle Nate?” I take a sip of my coffee and act as calmly as possible, all the while trying to stop my heart thundering in my chest.
When she still doesn’t answer, I start putting scenarios together. “Is it Dad? What’s he done?”
“No. It’s not your father," she says, wandering over to the coffee again. "He will know I’m here, I'm sure. Honestly, I’m surprised he hasn't turned up at the door. But this isn’t about him.”
“Then what?” Still she tries to avoid the question, her hand busying itself with sugar she doesn't even take in her coffee. "Mom?"
“Alright, it’s Carter.”
“Why? What’s happened to Carter?" I fly forward, standing in panic and thinking about all the possibilities surrounding his diabetes. Did he leave the hospital too soon? Is he in some other trouble? "He’s not back in the hospital, is he?”
“He’s fine. We think. But, baby, why don’t you sit down again.” She points at the chair behind me and I slip down into it, desperate for her to spit the words out. It takes an eternity for her to get back to her own chair, and I watch her features growing concerned.
"MOM!”
“Fia, Carter’s left. It seems he’s packed his things and won’t be coming back. Not for a while at least.” Her hands land around mine, clutching me with her grip.
“Sorry, I don’t understand. Why would he leave? This is his home.”
“I know, sweetie. He hasn’t said anything, but Quinn went looking for him this morning and his things are gone. He spoke to him as well. Apparently, he’s made up his mind.”
I let her words sink in.
Made up his mind.So last night was reality and not a horrible dream. He used me and ran away. After what my dad did to him, staying to fight for me was too much.
I leave the kitchen, suddenly consumed with rage. Everyone in my life has tried to dictate and force me in a particular direction, and the first time I do something for myself—something that I want—it backfires. Carter was my first decision for me, my own signal of freedom. He wasn’t supposed to leave and abandon me.
Maybe this was just the universe telling me I’d had a close call, that if Carter was meant to be the one for me then he wouldn’t have left. He’d be staying and fighting for me.
“Hey, sweetie, are you okay?” Mom asks, as she creeps into the room I've ended up in. I stare at the fireplace, fury and hurt creating a feeling I don't know how to handle.
“I’m fine. Please, don’t worry,” I snap, angry at everyone.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. Remember what I said last night.”
“Oh, just stop, Mom. You’ve never even met him, and you’re defending his actions? He's an asshole. If he didn’t want to stick around, he should have been man enough to tell me. Not sleep with me, tell me we're done and then run off." I huff out some of my angst, wishing he was here so I could direct it at him, and stamp over to the door. I'm done with this conversation, other than a curt look back. "Now, I’d like to be alone. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
Her spine straightens at my remarks, and I can see her biting her tongue. No one speaks to Hope Winters like that. And until now, I’ve never dared.
Guess a broken heart can do that to you.
Twenty-Seven
Ahotel was home last night. Expensive. Everything I should want. I woke up in it and felt like throwing up for some goddamn reason, so I ended up walking to try shaking the feeling off. It worked after a while, so I ate and checked out, but I’ve done nothing since but find my way across town, back to the streets I came from, and loiter in bars like a felon on judgement row, waiting for sentence. I thought it would be easier than this, thought I could dismiss them all and just get out of there. Be cold, distance myself like I do with everything else.
Seems I can’t.
My eyes stare out the window, taking in the crumbling sights of the broken city I barely ever see, and I let myself wallow in the reality afflicting me. I'm like this city—broken.
Fucking lost.
A hustle of noise from the bar makes me turn in my seat, eyes flicking towards the door. It’s just a woman and some drunken bums, the three of them stumbling in and announcing their presence. No threat. Yet still I twitch as if there’s something wrong under my skin. I don’t understand any of it. I should be walking out of this life with decency and holding my head up high, ready to move the fuck on. Instead, I’m waiting, wanting nothing more than to turn the car straight back around to them.
To her.
I chuckle bitterly at the futility of my own thoughts and sink some more beer while my fingers turn over a card offering call girl services. I don’t want it, but my fingers won’t stay the hell still. It’s like I’m pulsing with energy, all of it pulling me backwards rather than driving me in the forward direction I should be going. I'm tense, wound up to near furious. My thoughts drift back to her, not that they’ve ever fucking left her, and remember the dinner in Miami, the way she smiled and relaxed on the boat in the afternoon. We should have done more of that. Dates. I could have found out what she likes other than chemistry. Inane shit. Life.