31. Carter
C ristian’s shout startles me out of sleep. My heart is racing as I sit up and turn the lamp on—the routine familiar enough by now that I’m able to go through the motions despite my own panic.
Seeing my husband’s face twisted up in pain, even in his sleep, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do—the hardest being having to tell our son his father was gone.
Carefully, I reach out and run a hand down his arm, not wanting to startle him, but hoping to coax him out of his nightmare.
“Cris,” I say in a firm tone. “It’s just a dream, Honey.”
He turns toward my voice, and makes another distressed sound. “Alessandro…” he says, his voice rough and slurred with sleep.
“Come back to me, Cris,” I tell him just a bit louder. When I touch his shoulder this time, putting pressure on him, he jerks and opens his eyes, but I can see he’s not really taking anything in.
Removing my hand from him, I say his name again. “Cristian. It’s me. You’re okay, Amore Mio. We’re both okay.”
His body jerks again and he lets out a sob, closing his eyes before reopening them, and this time focusing on me.
I reach my hand out and he takes it, his touch bruisingly tight, but I don’t complain—though I am grateful it’s not the one that just got out of the cast. Doc would kill me if I hurt it again so soon.
“Carter…” he says, his voice wrecked and thick with tears.
“I’m here, Honey. It’s okay.”
I’ve never seen my husband cry before. After all the shit we’ve been through, all the pain and heartbreak, and yet he’s always been good at holding his emotions back. But ever since he returned, he hasn’t been able to, at least not in private.
The tears, the nightmares, the Pandora's box of emotions he’s trying to pretend isn’t there, just waiting to be opened, it’s all starting to come to a head, and I wish I knew how to help him beyond simply holding his hand.
“Same dream?” I ask quietly, once the tears have dried up and his grip has eased.
His breathing is steady now, and the tension I’ve held since being woken eases.
“Always is,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no.” Sliding down the bed, I lay on my side and face him, letting go of his hand to touch his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry, Honey. What you went through was traumatic, and anyone in their right mind would have lingering pain.”
He snorts. “I don’t remember Ten having such a hard time after being kidnapped and tortured.”
I laugh a little. “I said right mind, Amore; he doesn’t count.”
He chuckles, his body relaxing as some of his tension eases. “Fair enough. I hate feeling like this. The weakness of being trapped in that place.”
“It’s human, Cris, not weakness. That’s your uncle in your head, and if he were alive, I’d make Tennant look like a damn bunny rabbit with what I’d do to him.”
His eyes soften and he smiles a little. “I would have liked to see that. You’re so very good at killing when you want to be.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll still get to see a bit of that once I get my hands on fucking Campbell.”
“And you will, Caro. I promise you that; you’ll have the vengeance owed to you.”
Sighing, I shuffle in closer to him. “Yeah…” Moving my hand from his face down to his side, I hold him tightly. “Sure you’re okay?”
He sighs, and for a moment, I think he’s going to give me the same empty reassurances, like he has for the past month, but instead, he shakes his head. “No, but I will be. I just need time. You remember how it was after Roman was taken? This is the same.”
It’s my turn to shake my head. “But it’s not.
It’s one thing when it’s our kid, and yeah, that was scary as fuck, and sometimes, that incident still rears its ugly head when I’m least expecting it.
But this…this happened directly to you, Cris.
You and Allesandro. I’m not surprised you’re having nightmares, or reactions to when people make too much unexpected noise, or pass too close to you when you’re not paying attention.
” He grimaces and I smile softly. “Yes, I have noticed those, too. I notice everything about you, Honey. You should have expected that. I love you, Cristian. I am worried for you.”
Taking a breath, I voice the one thing I’ve been playing around with, but haven’t wanted to bring up until the right moment. “Have you thought about talking to the therapist Doc knows? Enzo says he’s been very helpful with what he went through.”
Cristian immediately shakes his head, and I sigh internally.
I knew that would be his answer. Therapy is a hard no for him because of what happened to Tennant when they were younger, but seeing him struggle so much has been slowly killing me.
I also know I can’t force him to do anything, that’ll be worse for his mental state than not seeking help.
“Okay, but the option is there, should you need it, yeah?”
He blows out a breath, and those dark eyes of his look endless in the shadows of the room. “I love you, Carter. Thank you for being so…understanding.”
I roll my eyes and squeeze him a little tighter, mindful of the healed wound on his side. “I love you too, even when I don’t know how to help you.”
“This…” He reaches his hand out and brushes some hair from my forehead, before running soft fingers down the scar across my cheek.
“This is more helpful than you know. Seeing you, feeling you, knowing you’re alive.
” His voice hitches. “I keep dreaming about when they took our fingers. I was left alone in our cell for the first time afterwards. In pain, tired and thirsty, and pissed as fuck. I was also terrified because he wasn’t with me. ”
He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling while I stay where I am, placing a hand on his chest. Covering my hand with his, he grips my fingers tightly as he continues.
“When they brought him in, he was beaten to shit. Worse than I was. They had cut him, beat him, and stolen his finger. I don’t know what he did or said to piss them off so much, or maybe it was revenge for me not speaking much.
Whatever the reason…he was unconscious, and I dreaded to think about what would happen if he never woke up.
The pain of losing someone I consider a friend was bad…
but the thought of telling Emilio?” He swallows and holds my hand just a little tighter, the bones grinding together.
“I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he had to tell you I was dead. Knowing you like I do, I know it would have killed you, too. I didn’t want to put Emilio through that.”
“So the nightmares…” I whisper, not sure if I actually say the words loud enough to be heard.
“The nightmares are him never waking up,” he replies just as softly. “It’s just me, alone in that cell. Me and the person he used to be.”
I cry, tears soaking into my pillow as they fall unhindered down my face. Cristian turns back to face me, gathering me in his arms.
“We’re both here,” he says. “We made it out.”
“I should be comforting you,” I say on a gasp, clutching at him.
“Shh. You’re the heart of me, Caro. You’re allowed to cry for my pain, allowed to feel when I can’t.”
That makes me cry harder for him, because fuck his uncle for tainting his views of what a Boss should be like. It’s the same bullshit my father and brother tried to beat into me, but I was older when I was sent to them, so the “lessons” didn’t stick.
“Have you talked to Allesandro about this? The nightmares, the…lingering struggles and fear, your time in captivity?”
He laughs bitterly. “No, of course not. We were not raised to talk about our emotions, let alone our hardships, with anyone, much less another Boss. Allies or not, friends or not, this is the stuff you keep private.” He hesitates for a moment before saying, “Ten knows.”
I figured he did. There isn’t anything those two don’t know about each other. Their bond was established long before I or Allesandro entered the picture. I can’t be upset over it. Maybe some would expect me to be, but as long as Cristian isn’t keeping this burden to himself, how can I be?
“It might help if you talked, since you both went through the same thing. Experiences like that, they can change you.”
Cristian pulls back enough to meet my eyes, and gives a small, broken smile. “I’m not like you, Carter. Feelings aren’t easy for me.”
“You do better than you think.”
“Only because of you and Roman.”
And Tennant. And Il Padrone now. Not that I’ll say it, not yet at least. He needs time to come to terms with the still-shifting dynamics of our Family.
“I love you, because you’re a good man, an even better father, and I can’t ever imagine myself without you,” I tell him softly. “I want to raise another child with you because we deserve to have happiness, even though our lives and hands are soaked in blood. You’re allowed good things, Cris.”
“You’re my good thing,” is his reply.
I kiss him, slow and soft, hoping he can feel all the love I have for him in my touch. When the kiss breaks, the soft emotion in his eyes is gone, and I know what’s coming.
“I’m going to go downstairs,” he says. “I won’t get back to sleep tonight.”
“Want me to come with you?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’ll wake Ten. Fucker doesn’t deserve to sleep with the shit he’s still putting me through.”
I laugh. “He and Benjamin are sweet together. I hope you get a chance to see it soon.”
He grumbles but slides out of bed. “Not today at least,” he says. “I was contemplating having the meeting at the Martelli mansion, but after tonight…”
I nod in understanding. At least he’s admitting that the nightmare knocked his equilibrium around, and is willing to stay home to try to find his balance again. Not that I believe it’s what he needs, but I won’t push, not today.
He kisses me again. “You should sleep more if you can.”
“I’ll try,” I lie.
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but kisses me one last time before heading into the bathroom for a shower, so he can get his day started at—I check the time—three in the morning. Could be worse, I suppose. At least three hours of sleep is better than none.
When the shower turns on, I reach for my phone, bringing up a contact I never thought I’d have to use, at least not for this.
CARTER
He needs you…
I don’t say anything else, knowing Il Padrone will understand the meaning of the text, and if he doesn’t, well then, good for Cris or not, he doesn’t deserve him.
But, if my instincts are right, my husband isn’t the only one who caught feelings in that cell.
It’s just a matter of when they’ll stop being stubborn and start being honest with themselves.