77. Chapter Eight
Chapter seventy-seven
Carrie
Over the next hour, Reid and I talk to Royce, and despite the fact that Reid doesn’t tell Royce about the murder accusation, he does a good job of getting across our challenging circumstances. I’m listening to them talk and stuffing my mouth with a big bite of some chocolate volcanic concoction when Reid does what I don’t expect, but I should. This is the man I love after all. “I need Carrie’s father protected without knowing he’s being protected.”
“Consider it done,” Royce says. “And Carrie, consider him safe. My team is the best of the best. I’ll be in touch.”
Royce hangs up and I set my spoon down. “If I wasn’t already so damn in love with you,” I say, climbing onto his lap. “I’d be so damn in love with you.”
“Prove it,” he says, picking me up and carrying me to the bedroom where he lays me on the mattress and comes down on top of me. “Sleep with me, baby.”
I laugh. “No fucking?”
“Lots of fucking. That goes without saying.” He kisses me and I have never needed to be kissed so badly in my life. I have never needed him so much and I’m not alone. He is all over me and it’s a matter of minutes before we’re naked and in the bed, facing each other, kissing each other. Touching each other. I can’t explain the depth of what passes between us in the time that follows. There are moments of pure tenderness. His hand on my cheek. My hand on his. His declaration that “No one will take you from me. No one gets between us.” But then there are these intense, fiery waves. He tangles fingers in my hair. He cups my breast and he’s not gentle. I don’t want him to be gentle. I need the roughness. I need the pure escape that is that line between pleasure and pain. I revel in the freedom to be this, that, or anything with this man naked or otherwise.
It’s a long time later when we fall asleep, with him wrapped around me, holding me perhaps a little too tight and yet not tight enough. I sleep because he holds me, because he’s driven away everything but that need. I wake to sunlight and the sound of Reid on the phone in the other room. I’m instantly awake, worried something is wrong, but as I reach the bedroom door, I hear. “Yes. Coffee. Fruit. Hard boiled eggs.”
I step to the doorway as he disconnects the line to find him looking hot and hard in a pair of pajama bottoms and nothing else. My future husband has a perfect, rock hard body. “I woke you up,” he says, walking all that hotness my direction.
“Is anything wrong?” I ask as he stops in front of me.
“Nothing new,” he says, dragging me to him and kissing my temple. “Grayson called to check in and that woke me up. We have a couple hours until the meeting. I was thinking about grabbing a workout. You want to come?”
“Actually, I need to do some work before we head out. You go on without me. I’ll work off my French fries tonight.”
“I’ll work them off for you,” he promises. “I’ll be fast and back within an hour.”
“You know where we’re going?”
“I do,” he says. “I actually went to an event there years ago. And on another note, I ordered coffee and food that wouldn’t get cold. Room service will be here soon, if you can grab the door.”
"Of course," I say. "Coffee is involved. I'm all in. Thanks for ordering."
A few minutes later, he’s headed out to the gym and I have the coffee he ordered shortly after. I settle onto the couch and dial my father, forced to leave another message. I repeat my attempt at contact with my brother and fail. Out of verbal options, I open my computer and decide to type my father an email, and once I start writing, the words pour from a deep, heartfelt part of me:
Father—
You have always been my hero, but even a hero is human. I understand that you and Reid’s father have bad blood. I even understand that you have real reason to hate his father. You loved mom, even if she didn’t deserve your love. But I love Reid and he does deserve my love. He’s not his father. He’s a brother, a son to a mother he lost, who he loved so very much. A son who wishes he’d loved more and done more. A man with emotions and feelings and a good heart. Yes, he can be brutal and hard, but rest assured that he is those things in business, but with integrity. He is those things to protect those he loves. He would, he will, protect me, and isn’t that what every father wants for his daughter? A loving protector? I don’t know how to even explain the depth of which this man has affected my life personally and professionally. He doesn’t go easy on me. He pushes me hard. He has made me a better CEO of the company you created. He’s made me better for you and me. I’d like to think that I’ve made him better, too, in ways that are between him and me, but we make each other better. I hope that you have found that in Montana. I want you to be happy. I want to share your happiness. I want you to share mine. I need my father.
I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t see failures. I just see a father who taught me to work hard and dream big. I see a father I love. If you love me, I beg you to find a way to make peace. I beg you to see Reid for Reid, for the man I love. I beg you to please, be happy for me, because dad, he makes me happy. He is one of my two best friends. You are the other.
Please.
Love,
Carrie
I don’t read what I’ve typed. I hit send and then I dial my father. Of course, voicemail picks up. “Dad, I sent you an email. Please read it. I love you. I don’t want to fight with you.” My eyes prickle as I disconnect and head to the shower.
Thirty minutes later, I’m in a silk robe and I’ve just finished drying my hair when the sound of the hotel room door opening reaches my ears. I grab my phone and hurry to greet Reid. I’ve just stepped into the doorway between the bedroom and the living area and brought him into view when my phone rings. I stop dead in my tracks, glance down and eye the caller ID and then Reid before I answer, “Dad.”
Reid's expression hardens, concern in his eyes as my father says, “I read your email.” His voice actually cracks and I'm relieved that he has an emotional reaction. This shows humanity and I've feared he lost his.
I turn and walk into the bedroom and sit on the bed. Reid joins me, showing silent support as he settles on one knee in front of me, his presence my pillar as I prod my father. “Thank you for reading it. What did you think of it?”
“You really love him that much?”
“Yes," I say, and this time my voice cracks. "I really do.”
“I hate his father.”
“I know, but it’s too much hate for too long. Let it go.”
Reid’s hands settle on my legs and one of mine goes to his. Silence fills the line, long seconds passing, eternal seconds before my father says, “I love you,” he says. “I really do love you, Carrie. Let me talk to Reid. Put him on speaker.”
“Okay.” I cover the speaker and whisper, “He wants to talk to you.”
“Put him on,” Reid says with no hesitation.
I hit the button. “You’re on speaker, dad.”
“Reid?” he growls.
“Yes, Mr. West?”
“Do not hurt my daughter or I will hurt you.”
Reid's eyes meet mine. “I will protect her with my life.” He speaks those words with deep, guttural emotion.
“You damn sure better, and that means protecting her from everyone and everything, including from your father.”
“I will. Always. I love her as completely as any man can love a woman.”
He lifts my hand and kisses it and my heart squeezes with the love in his eyes to match his words.
“I’ll test you on that,” my father promises.
“As long as you don’t hurt Carrie in the process the way you have recently, then I can live with that."
"Pick up, Carrie," my father orders.
I hit the speaker button. “I'm here," I say.
"Congratulations," he replies. "Be happy. Come to Montana and bring that asshole with you. For the wedding, my wedding. And maybe you can invite me to yours.”
My eyes prickle. “Yes, I’d like that.”
“Good. Call me soon.” He hangs up and I throw my arms around Reid. He stands up and takes me with him, lifting me off the ground to hold me before he sets me down.
“How did that happen?” he asks.
“I wrote him a long email while drinking that coffee you had sent up. Really long. I was riding the caffeine and time change.”
“It must have been one hell of an email.”
“What about your father, though?”
“Half of our problems just went away. Let’s celebrate that right now.” He cups my face. “Let’s plan our wedding.”
“Yes,” I say, smiling. “Let’s plan our wedding.” And for now, we don’t think about his father, the one who might have killed someone. The one who might kill again.