Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DELLA
The back of the chair digs into my spine. The lights of the speakeasy blur. I’m not crying, but my eyes hurt. If I wasn’t all done up, I’d rub them, but I can’t. I have to look the way he always wanted me to—like a doll without a voice.
I check the clock over the bar. Brothers said Leland would be here by eleven, which means I have ten minutes.
My heart beats so hard. I’m sick to my stomach. The room spins and wavers.
He never hit me. He never had to. I understand exactly what he’s capable of. He laces it through his words, through his touch, through the unused condom in the back of my mind.
I’m going to have to put on the performance of my life.
The waiter appears. I order a martini, because he liked ordering those for me even though I’ve never loved them.
The door opens. Two women and a man walk through and sit at the bar.
They’re beautiful, dressed in elegant club clothes.
The women sit with their backs curved, shoulders back, legs crossed over the other so their feet can be seen in glittering heels.
I correct my posture, trying to look more like them.
They have confidence. I have none when it comes to facing Leland.
I take a sip of my martini, hand shaking.
The door opens again. My heart stops, vodka still on my tongue.
The salty taste of olive trickles down my throat.
Leland walks in, dressed in his good pants and a quarter zip.
He’s exactly how I left him, down to the bored stare and cut jawline.
I saw that face up close so many times, right before shutting my eyes to block him out.
He is so handsome, so charming.
And yet, there’s nothing emanating from him.
After letting Jensen touch me, fill me with his warmth, I understand why Leland is so unnerving.
He’s got no energy, no mind of his own. Nothing but a set of rules.
An expensive suit. A moral code that never made any sense to me.
A last name he carries around like it’s pure gold.
The paintings of his ancestors on the wall of his mansion mean more to him than anything.
He is a vacuum, a black hole at the center of my life, sucking me in, draining the warmth from me.
I dig at my thumbnail. He glances over, looks away, then reels back to stare as he realizes who I am. His lips part, eyes widening. I’m beautiful, Brothers made sure of that, but more specifically, I am beautiful in the way Leland likes.
Neither of us move.
I have to pull it together. I will not let my son be raised as a Caudill. Taking an even breath, I give him a soft look across the table, across the room. He walks over like he’s in a dream and sinks down opposite me. I dip my head like I’m ashamed.
“Della,” he says.
I look up, and there it is—a glimmer of triumph. My stomach roils, but I push it back.
“Leland,” I whisper.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is stiff.
I look up, and I don’t have to try to make tears fall. “I’m so sorry,” I manage. “You were right. I didn’t want to leave. I don’t know why I did in the first place.”
He’s staring, his guard up. “Is this you trying to come back?”
God, I want to vomit at the smugness. He’s trying to conceal it, but I know him well enough to read it behind his mask. I sniff, taking the napkin and dabbing my face before nodding.
“Yes,” I say.
There’s a long silence.
“How can I ever trust you?” he says finally.
In a burst of courage, I hold my hand out for him to take, palm up. He looks down at it, at my long nails done the way he likes.
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” I say.
He doesn’t speak. The clock over the bar keeps etching on. Finally, he clears his throat and spreads his knees, leaning back.
“You embarrassed me, Della,” he says in that refined Southern drawl. “Everyone knows my wife left me and our son.”
Rage bubbles. I never left my son. No, he was taken from me, a bartering chip in the fallout of our marriage. Taking a beat, I force myself to stay tearfully penitent.
“I know,” I whisper. “And I’m so sorry. I’ll make up for it.”
He clears his throat and lifts a hand to the bartender. I sit in silence, hands folded, while he gets a drink. It’s the same old, a whiskey from the top shelf, neat. When we’re alone again, he drags his empty stare back to me. This time, he lets himself look me over.
“It’s my Achilles Heel that you have a body like that,” he says. “It always has been.”
I can’t help but think about how Jensen wants my body as well, but never makes me feel used the way those words do. We fell into bed together the night we met. And yet, I never felt surface-deep. How does he do that?
I don’t answer Leland. He doesn’t want one.
The clock ticks. A few more customers come in and sit at the bar. Leland releases a breath.
“We have a lot to talk about,” he says finally.
That’s when I know I’m in. He’s folding faster than he did the first day we met at the diner, when his eyes followed every step I took. He’s the man who ruined my life, but I still feel a twinge of guilt. Deep down, I think…I hate to admit it, but I think Leland might love me.
His version of love is brittle, self-centered, but it exists.
“Please take me home,” I whisper.
He stands abruptly, holding out his hand.
I drain my glass, swallowing the last of my pride with it, and let him guide me around the table.
He doesn’t try to kiss me. I didn’t think he would, not with the way we left things, but it’s still an enormous relief.
He pays the bill with his hand on my waist. It’s possessive but so cold.
I might know his weakness, but I’ll have to move carefully to gain a fraction of his trust back.
We step out onto the street together. His car loiters at the curb. His driver appears, and I see the shock on his face for a second before it’s gone. He keeps a professional mask as Leland guides me into the back seat, settling in beside me and tapping the roof.
We drive but don’t speak.
I’m aware he’s there. How could I forget? But nothing is stronger than the realization he’s taking me back to the Caudill Mansion. Back to my son, the only person I’ve fully loved before Jensen. It hasn’t been that long, by calendar days, but every one of those days has felt like an eternity.
I bite the inside of my mouth and count the seconds. We’re turning onto the long driveway to the mansion when Leland clears his throat.
“There are conditions to this,” he says finally.
“I understand,” I whisper.
“I can’t trust you,” he says. “I have to be able to trust people on the inside. So, you’ll have to be monitored. No phone, no internet access, and you may not leave the house without me.”
Stomach aching, I nod.
We pull up outside the door. It’s like walking to the gates of hell but knowing the person I love the most is on the other side—confusing, terrifying, heartbreaking.
The driver gets out, and there’s a second when we’re totally alone.
Leland shifts, taking me by the jaw to turn my face up.
In the half shadow, he sends a chill down my spine.
“You will do as you’re told, or you'll never see Landis again,” he says.
Anger floods my veins, reaching my eyes. I hate how he sees our son as his, not ours. I gave up my future, carried Landis in my body for nine months, almost died giving birth to him, and yet, he’s just a Caudill to Leland.
“I’d better not see that look again,” Leland says.
“What look?” I whisper, blinking.
He releases my face as the door opens and he gets out. My heels are so high, I can’t scramble out on my own. He has to take me by the waist and lift me to my feet. We’re close, body heat tingling.
“Defiance,” he says quietly.
I shake my head.
He frowns. “You answer when you’re spoken to.”
My pride bubbles up, and I swallow it down. “No, sir.”
He’s looking at me with intensity. I’m eighteen years old, standing in my kitchen, where he tells me I don’t have a choice about marrying him. I caved, I crumbled in his hands, but not this time.
“I won’t make trouble,” I say.
His mouth thins. “This is going to be a long conversation,” he says. “For tonight, go see Landis.”
Up until now, I kept telling myself I wouldn’t see Landis until tomorrow, so I didn’t lose control.
But the minute he says that, tears start streaming.
I’m through the front door, heels clacking on the staircase and down the hall.
Landis’ room is three doors down from the room I used to share with Leland.
There’s a strip of blue glowing beneath the door from his nightlight.
I turn the knob. Inside, everything is the same. A dinosaur print bed set Kayleigh gave him for Christmas. A matching lamp I bought him for his birthday. A little mound under the covers.
My body is floating, free falling. Somehow, I’m across the room, sinking onto the bed. I peel back the covers, and he stirs, eyelids flickering.
“Mommy?”
My heart breaks into a thousand pieces. He’s confused. Then, he focuses on me and his face changes to shock. My arms are out. He’s falling into them, and I push my face into his dark hair, inhaling. My pulse races almost as fast as the tears falling from my chin.
He’s here. I can feel his chubby arms wrapped around my neck. He smells like toddler shampoo and Landis, the best smell in the entire world.
“Mommy, where did you go?” he asks, struggling to pull back.
I release him, brushing his hair from his eyes. “I just had to take a trip, but I’m back. I won’t leave again. I promise, I won’t.”
He frowns. “Daddy said you went home.”
“It’s hard to explain,” I manage. “But I’m home. Tomorrow, I’ll spend the whole day with you. I won’t leave you again, I promise.”
The door creaks. I glance over and see the outline of Leland in the doorway. He’s got his hands in his pockets, leaning on the wall.
“You say goodnight to your mother,” he says. “We’ll eat breakfast together in the morning.”
“But I want Mommy to sleep with me,” says Landis.
Leland shakes his head. “No, not tonight.”
My heart hurts so badly, I’ll be up all night cleaning the porcelain teacup shards of it and piecing them together.
Landis stares at his father, and a strong crease appears between his brows.
I’m taken aback. That face…that’s my daddy’s bullish expression, the one he wore every day until he died.
Maybe there’s more Cooley in my baby than I realized.
“Say goodnight,” says Leland.
There’s the old Leland, brisk, authoritative, and used to being obeyed.
I take Landis’ face in my hands to kiss his forehead, again and again.
His arms wrap around my neck, and I bury my face in his hair.
He feels like pure sunshine, like a morning in the house I grew up in.
When he pulls back, I kiss him again, laying him back and tucking him in.
“I’ll be here the minute you open your eyes,” I say. “I promise.”
His eyes are heavy. A little smile touches his lips.
“Goodnight, Mommy,” he whispers.
The door creaks. I press one last kiss to his forehead, even though I know I could never hug and kiss him enough times to make up for everything.
Then, I go out into the hall and let Leland shut the door.
He’s dead silent, watching me from the corner of his eye.
This is the part I’m scared of, when we figure out what happens between us at night.
“Leland,” I say, “I—”
“I think it’s better if you sleep in the guest room,” he says stiffly.
Relief washes over me, and I dip my head. “That’s fine.”
There’s a step below us, and I look over the railing to see Georgie.
She comes upstairs with a stack of sheets in her arms. Our eyes meet.
She dips her head and skirts around us, going to the guest room down the hall.
I’m going to talk to her the second I can get away from Leland.
I have a feeling that’s going to take longer than I imagined.
He stands in the doorway as Georgie gets me settled in. She leaves, hands folded over her stomach. Then, it’s just him and me. He clears his throat, hand on the doorknob.
“Was there anyone else?” he says finally.
“What?”
His eyes flash. “Did you fuck anyone after you left?”
A dozen images tumble through my head, but the one my brain settles on is the first night Jensen fucked me in the loft. Frantic hands, hips rising and falling, blood on my fingers, pain stinging up my arm. The heat—Lord, he’s pure hellfire, burning me up for the sin of wanting him so bad.
I shake my head. Leland’s shoulders sink.
“No,” I whisper. “There’s only been you.”