Chapter Twenty-Eight – Bradford
Never have the days passed more slowly. Never have I wanted to go against my very nature and walk up those stairs to join the two people currently lost in a heat, either. It’s damn near impossible for me to focus on anything while knowing they’re up there, but I manage.
Thursday around noon, Hayden comes to find me.
He smells of her—and of himself, and I suspect it’s the scent he’s been hiding from me this whole time.
I always knew he was too large to be a beta, just like Kayla was too small.
Their bodies gave them away, but I’ll let him have it, seeing as how he doesn’t appear to want to share the truth of his designation with me.
I’m sitting in my office when Hayden finds me. To the untrained eye, it appears as though I’m in the middle of working, but in reality, this week has been shot from the get-go. Every time I sit down and try to focus, my mind wanders back to Kayla.
“She’s fast-asleep in her bed,” he informs me without so much as a hello. He stands before my desk, his arms folded over his chest. “You should know she asked after you an awful lot, multiple times a day. She wanted you to be there for her.”
What can I say to that? There’s nothing I can tell him, no rewind button. Hell, even if a rewind button did exist, I’m not sure if I could push it and do things differently. Hayden was more than capable of helping her through her heat; I, on the other hand, was not.
“I started a load of laundry,” he goes on, “but it’s probably going to take the rest of the afternoon and maybe even tonight before it all gets done. I was going to run home in a bit and grab a few things. Can you handle everything while I’m gone?”
I might not be comfortable spending time with Kayla when she’s inconsolable due to her heat, but I can handle it from here. I’m not helpless, as much as Hayden might think I am. I give him a nod and say, “Go. Do what you have to. She’ll be safe here.”
He turns to leave the room, but after a few steps, he stops and looks at me again.
“She really did want you there. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.
She’s probably up there dreaming about you right now.
There’s something between you two, and to say there’s not would be a big fat lie.
I understand there might be things in your past stopping you, but you shouldn’t let the pain dictate your future. ”
He means well, but I do hate how authoritative he sounds. Like he knows what he’s talking about. A week and a half ago, I would have snapped at him for daring to say something like that to me, but now…
Now the only thing I can do is accept his advice for what it is and let him go and have the last word.
Hayden goes after that, and once he’s gone, I don’t bother trying to work. I can’t. It would be even more wasted effort, and after everything he said… goddamn it. He’s not wrong. I hate that he’s not wrong.
I also hate that, out of habit, I want him to be wrong, because if he’s wrong, then nothing has to change.
I can continue on this path, half-assing everything, continue asking myself what the point to it all is.
If he’s wrong, it means everything can stay the same and I don’t have to face the terrifying fact that I want to be close to someone.
Not just close, but to let them in. To let them see me, know me, scars and all. The problem remains, though: I don’t see myself as someone who’s worthy of any sort of love or connection.
Minutes go by, and I get up and wander the house.
I check to make sure Hayden is gone, and then I check on Kayla, finding her asleep in her bed.
She sleeps soundly on her back, her chest rising and falling with even, measured breaths.
Her skin is still a little flushed, but all in all, she seems peaceful.
I stand near her door for a while, watching her, wishing I could go to her—that things could be as simple as Hayden made them sound. She’d scoot over and welcome me in her bed, and then… then I’d hold her.
Eventually I wander to the mud room, where the washer is running and the piles of still-dirty blankets line the tiled floor. The scent that fills the room is dominated by Kayla’s almond-infused rose scent, though it is mixed with Hayden’s earthy twinge.
It’s not a bad combination. Not at all. I don’t mind smelling it.
In fact, a part of me wants to fall to my knees and roll around in those blankets, much like dogs do when they find a scent they can’t ignore. When in doubt, roll around and cover yourself in it.
I don’t do that, but I am a little ashamed at how long I think about it.
My phone rings, and it’s the only reason I snap back to reality and turn away from the laundry pile. I make the mistake of glancing at the name on the screen before I answer it, and the person calling is the last person I want to speak to.
And yet, even though he’s not here, I am compelled to answer it: “Yes?”
My father, ever the businessman, gets straight to the point.
No small talk, no asking me how I am or how I’ve been doing.
“Is there a reason your assistant hasn’t been answering her phone?
” As his question sinks in, he growls out, “The phone I bought her? It seems she’s gone MIA, and I am curious as to why that would be? ”
I’m not new when it comes to interacting with my father, so I instantly detect the animosity in his tone.
He isn’t happy, not one bit. That isn’t to say it’s far from his usual demeanor, but out of everything I know about the man, he feels entitled to people’s time and attention.
Someone ignoring him, whether it be on purpose or on accident, is simply unheard of to him.
And, of course, I cannot tell him the truth. I can’t tell him that Kayla has been lost to the throes of her heat these past few days.
Funny thing is, I don’t feel like discussing her at all when it comes to my father. The less he knows about her, the better.
“Bradford,” my father hisses my name, spewing venom even though he’s on the other line.
“Cat got your tongue? Is there something about your assistant you wish to tell me? Did something happen?” I wouldn’t say he comes across as accusatory, but his line of questioning is definitely suspect, almost like he’s waiting for me to say something, to slip up and admit a mistake.
Oh, yes. My father is probably waiting for me to make another mistake, just like I did when I had that Raeka and Colter kidnapped from Gideon Chase’s home. That was my last-ditch effort at trying to do what I thought my father wanted me to; now, I’m done.
I’m simply done.
“Nothing happened,” I say with a hard frown, even though he can’t see it. With the air smelling of Kayla’s scent, I am emboldened like I’ve never been before. “I don’t appreciate you hounding her, however. She is doing her job—”
“Is she? You’re awfully quick to defend her, when she hasn’t sent me a single email this entire week. I have half a mind to drive to the house and see for myself what she’s been up to.” Though it’s not outright a threat, the way he says it definitely is.
And he would. That’s the thing. He would drive all the way over here to check on her—to check on me.
Honestly? Not much has changed, but at the same time… everything has changed. The threat of my father coming here doesn’t fill me with dread. I am a different person now, and I owe it to the two people who’ve lived under this roof with me the past week.
In the end, it might not mean much since it’s a phone call and I’m still forced to remain locked inside the property, but I take a tone with him that mirrors his own: harsh, snippy, borderline raging as I say, “You will not. In fact, you don’t have to worry about her any longer.
I’ll return the phone to you. Take this as her notice: she quits.
” Before he can bite back, I end the call.
Shit. I’ve never said anything like that to him before.
I’d ask myself what has gotten into me, but I already know.
The last place I want Kayla is under my father’s thumb.
Having her quit might not be something she wants to do, but she doesn’t need to get a paycheck from him to get by.
Not anymore. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to take care of her, and I am certain Hayden will, too.
I assume my father will call back right away, but as I stand there, listening to the washing machine work while I stare down at my phone, it doesn’t light up with another call. He actually lets it be.
Hmm. That feels odd to me, but I should take it for what it is: a win. When it comes to my father, wins are few and far between, so much so that I haven’t won a single match in decades.
After I let the whole conversation sink in, I return to my office and set my phone down on my desk. I lean back and run my finger over my chin. What little triumph I had over the way I responded to my father is gone now, replaced by something else.
He won’t let this go. He won’t. I know him better than that. The question is: how will he retaliate?