Chapter 8
POPE
Allie fidgets, shifting around on her left side where she lies on the bed, facing me, unable to keep herself still. I freeze the ultrasound wand on her exposed chest and give her the third glare in the last five minutes.
“Stop. Moving.”
She narrows her eyes on me, the blue almost icy with her annoyance. “It’s been a week. Do we really have to do this every day?”
I scowl at her, pressing on her shoulder to adjust her position so I can get the wand back where I need it. “You have postpartum cardiomyopathy, Allie. So, yes. I’m going to check you every fucking day.” I watch the image on the screen, trying to get the right angle. “I’m going to do an echocardiogram. I’m going to do an ECG. I’m going to check your blood pressure constantly. I’m going to do everything in my damn power to make sure you’re monitored as well as possible outside Dr. Boggs’ office.” I lock my gaze with hers, using my best “Dr. Clarke” look so she understands how serious I’m being. “This can cause full-blown heart failure, Al.”
She presses her lips into a hard line and averts her eyes, the reproach hitting its mark. “You think I don’t know that?”
The sadness in her voice almost makes me regret being so hard on her.
Almost.
She has to take this seriously and stop giving me a hard time about it, but I know she’s only being difficult and trying to make light of it because she’s terrified.
I lean in until I am probably a little too close to her. “Stop moving and stop talking so I can get this done.”
Little Miss I-Always-Have-Something-To-Say looks like she wants to, but she scowls and remains still, and I adjust the wand again to get a good view of her heart.
Finally.
If I hadn’t been able to get the portable ultrasound and ECG from the hospital and bring them with me, we would have to be doing this in Shreveport, and God knows that would draw way too much attention.
I can’t take the chance that Roselli might be looking for me to get to Allie and Benjamin. If he is, using my hospital credentials anywhere else would send up a giant red flag saying, “Here we are. Come and get us.”
So, while I may not be a cardiologist or have the level of equipment Dr. Boggs would back at UMC, I sure as hell will do my best to monitor her and keep her as healthy as possible while we’re trapped up here together.
Even if she hates me for it.
Silence falls over us while I continue to scan, searching for any signs that her condition has progressed. I hold my breath, sending up another silent prayer, and like every other day since we got here, while things don’t look “normal,” they haven’t advanced, either.
A minor win in what could potentially be a very long battle.
I release a heavy breath and pull away the wand, handing her a towel so she can clean off the ultrasound gel. “Everything looks good.”
She pushes herself up with one hand, wiping her chest while I quickly avert my gaze and work on cleaning up the machine. “You’d be able to see it, though, if things were getting worse?”
“Between these two machines”—keeping my back to her, I motion between the ultrasound and ECG we already ran—“something would show up to give me an indication that things have gone downhill since you left UMC.”
“What would happen then?”
Besides me completely losing my fucking mind?
I bite back the words and return to my work, putting everything back on top of the dresser in the spare bedroom we’ve been using to conduct these daily exams.
“Pope…what would happen?”
Slowly, I turn back to face her, planting my hands on my hips, trying to conceal how truly terrified I am of that happening. “Well, you could go into full-blown heart failure, and if that happened out here…” I trail off, not ready to discuss that potential. “We’re relatively close to a hospital, but still…”
She nods. “Aunt Nora said if that happens, I would eventually need a heart transplant.”
I give her a sharp nod. “But, hopefully, it won’t come to that. The fact that nothing’s progressed in the last week is a good sign that your mild case isn’t going to get any worse—”
“But it might not get better, either.”
Hearing the worry in her voice, my hands itch to tug her into my arms and make her promises I know I can’t as a doctor, but I don’t, leaning back against the dresser instead, watching her with her back to me as she re-buttons her shirt then pushes up from the bed. “How are you feeling otherwise?”
Allie clears her throat, running her hand over her shirt and pants, smoothing them out. “Okay, actually. Still a little sore, but”—she shrugs as if she didn’t give birth less than two weeks ago on a couch at a strip club—“good, I guess.”
“Good.”
I want to delve deeper, ask her to talk to me, not just about how she’s feeling physically, but what’s going on in that beautiful head of hers. Because I see how bad she needs to. But I also know pushing Alessandra McCabe into anything will only make her retreat further.
And there isn’t anywhere else for her to go out here.
She’ll talk when she’s ready.
I rub a hand along the back of my neck. “You’ll go back and see Dr. Brennan in a few weeks, but if you feel any pain, anything unusual, tell me and I can—”
Allie holds up a hand. “Nope, we’re not doing that again.”
She walks out of the room without another word, and I squeeze my eyes closed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Fucking hell, did I really offer to give her a pelvic exam?
As if delivering the baby wasn’t awkward enough.
Please, God, don’t make me have to do that…
I’m not sure I could live through it, and neither could she.
We’ve gone back to dancing around each other—that same elegant waltz we’ve always performed.
She spends all her time alone with the baby. Playing with the few toys we brought when he’s awake. Wandering around the house with him in the carrier, strapped to her chest, while he sleeps or sitting with him on the bed, reading a book on her tablet. Anything to avoid being in the same room as me.
While I spend my time digging through the internet or on calls with Dad, Bishop, Gabe, and Savage, trying to get any sort of update that might suggest this is close to being over. But in the seven days we’ve been here, the Hawkes have come up with exactly diddly squat.
Daniele Roselli is doing a damn good job of hiding.
After what went down with Allie at her apartment building, he had to know we’d be coming for him and what we were capable of—both through his father and by hanging around Allie and The Grind so much.
Daniele isn’t an innocent caught up in his father’s world.
In fact, the more digging we’ve done, the scarier the prospect of actually finding him gets.
In the last several months since his father’s death, New Orleans has been stuck in a tense standoff. Everyone waiting to see what’s going to happen and who is going to step up to fill the seat at the head of the Italian family left vacant when Cristiano Roselli bled out on the sidewalk in front of The Grind.
Of course, we were all waiting for Satriano to do just that after he showed up, throwing down his threats and leaving us all speechless at the hotel’s groundbreaking ceremony.
But the man has remained suspiciously quiet and absent from the public eye.
Nothing but a rumor popping up here or there of him being seen around NOLA and a few other Gulf Coast cities, but he certainly isn’t making any big moves, not like we expected.
And now that we know Roselli has a son, the hints of infighting amongst the remaining Roselli men makes a lot more sense. Daniele may be going after his father’s empire, biding his time until he’s reconsolidated the power of the Roselli name before he makes any major moves.
Which means if he gets his hands on that baby, Benjamin will potentially be caught in the crossfire of another mob war in New Orleans.
I shake my head to clear that thought before I drive myself mad and push off from the dresser, heading out of the room and down the hallway past Allie’s closed door to the staircase. Ignoring the pull to twist that knob and check on her, I hustle down the steps and make my way to the kitchen, where my laptop is set up on the long table overlooking the woods.
My makeshift office has started to almost feel like home now, even though this house still makes me uneasy. I slide into my usual chair and flip open my computer, scanning my emails for any updates that might have come through while I was examining Al.
Absolutely nothing.
Again.
I stare at my phone sitting next to my computer and drum my fingers on the tabletop to stop myself from calling Dad to demand some answers that he certainly doesn’t have or I would have heard from him.
It isn’t fair to keep harping on him because he can’t find the douchebag.
Not when it isn’t really his fault.
Daniele has the Roselli resources, and that means he could literally be anywhere in the world, under any number of assumed names. Finding him could take time—far more than we anticipated.
And it’s making both Allie and me antsy.
Instead of tearing into Dad, I grab my phone and call the other person who might understand my level of anxiety at this point.
Bishop answers on the first ring. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I lean back in the chair and stare at the light fixture hanging above the kitchen table that I’ve memorized over the last week. “Fine. Just going a little stir-crazy here.”
She snorts. “I bet so. How is the patient?”
“Pissed off.”
Her laughter floats through the line. “And Benjamin?”
“He’s great.” His bright-blue eyes flash through my head—so observant even at such a young age. Always watching me and his mom. “Perfect.”
“Good. But if you’re calling for an update, I don’t have one.”
I sigh and lean forward, resting my elbow on the table and my face in my palm. “I figured as much. I talked to Dad this morning already.”
And I’ve been nothing but a pent-up ball of tension since then.
Each day gets harder.
Waiting.
Watching her.
Being this close.
“What are we supposed to do, Bishop? Hide up here forever?”
She releases a sigh filled with understanding only an older sister can offer. “You know that won’t happen.”
“But how long do we wait? We’re going to have to go into town in the next week or so anyway to restock food and supplies if nothing changes. We never intended to have to stay this long.”
We all thought finding Roselli would be easy, that our contacts all across New Orleans and the rest of the Gulf Coast would find him quickly so we could take care of it and get Allie back to her life.
That looks more and more unlikely as the hours tick by.
Bishop jostles the phone slightly and says something to someone before she comes back. “We could have someone drive stuff up?”
“Nah.” I shake my head, my frustration tightening my hand around the phone. “Too dangerous. If he’s watching any of the family, he could follow you guys straight to us.”
“You think it’s safer for you to go into town and leave her alone at the house?”
Leave it to one of the resident security experts in the family to bring up the exact fear that’s set up permanent residence in my chest.
“Fuck no.” I scrub my free palm over my face. “I’m taking them with me.”
“What if you’re spotted?”
I release a heavy sigh. “As far as we know, Roselli never had any major connections in the Shreveport area. We’ll be quick, and I’ll make sure to watch for any tails. But we need to find this fucker, Bishop. I can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“This. Up here with her—”
The sharp inhalation of breath from my right makes me drag my head up and toward the sound.
Allie stands in the archway near the bottom of the staircase, mouth open slightly, Benjamin nestled in the carrier against her chest. She places her hands protectively over him, then turns and rushes back toward the stairs, the mist of tears already clouding her eyes.
“Shit.”
* * *
ALESSANDRA
I lie backon the bed, staring at the ceiling I’ve become well-acquainted with the last week, listening to the gentle sound of the lullaby playing from the small speaker shaped like a stuffed lamb in the corner of the room near where I moved Benjamin’s bassinet earlier.
The light, familiar notes should be soothing—it’s the entire purpose of the damn thing—but I can’t relax. I can’t stop my damn heart from racing or my chest from tightening uncomfortably.
Pope would be pissed at me for not telling him.
But apparently, he’s pissed about having to be here with me in the first place.
So, fuck it…
It isn’t the first time that man has said words that hurt my heart, but this time, I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing what he’s done to me.
Nope.
Not this time.
I peek over at Benjamin, still sound asleep, content with the music that doesn’t seem to be doing anything to help me. If I get out of bed to do anything, like continuously pacing and staring out the window, which seems to be my constant activity beyond reading, I might wake him.
And if he starts fussing, that will send Pope running up to check on him.
After what I heard Pope say, I don’t want to be a burden anymore.
To him or to anyone else.
We don’t need him.
I’m getting stronger, feeling better every day, at least physically, but his words keep hitting me like Atlas’ blows in a title match—over and over again. To the chest. To the gut. To the head. All threatening to undo any semblance of calm I might manage to find if I could get them out of my head.
My phone rings on the nightstand, and I lunge for it, trying to stop the shrill sound before it wakes the baby. I grab it and silence the ringer, checking the name on the screen.
Oh, thank God.
If anyone can get me out of this shitty headspace, it’s Jude.
I answer his call and return to reclining against the pillows. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. You doing all right?”
Even though we’ve talked twice a day, every day since I got up here, Jude still asks each time—as if anything will drastically change between our morning and evening chats.
If it were anyone else, it would annoy me. Make me feel like I’m the baby—though, technically, I guess I still am, along with Jude. But coming from him, the best friend I’ve been keeping so many secrets from, it makes tears burn in my eyes.
Not being able to see him, to hug him, to come clean about everything that’s been weighing on me for so long has been killing me. But I can’t tell him I’m not all right because he doesn’t know the truth about Pope. If he did, it would change everything. So, I keep that old secret, holding it tightly in that place that haunts my dreams.
And lying to my best friend well and truly sucks.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
He snorts incredulously. “You don’t sound okay. What’s wrong, Allie Cat?”
I swipe at my eyes, trying to suck in a deep breath that will keep me from releasing a sob. “It’s just been a long time since we came up here. I miss you and Ang and everyone else.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m at the top of the list.”
His lopsided smirk flashes in my head. “Of course you are. What are you doing?”
Paper rustles in the background. “I’m actually at Novel Idea but have mostly been editing the book. It’s been slow today. Not a lot of people out buying new reading material when they’re busy repairing hurricane damage.”
“I bet not.” I pick at the comforter, playing with the decorative fringe along the top seam. Guilt at abandoning Angelina to handle the entire café alone eats away at my stomach. “What about The Grind?”
“Well, I can see your sister bustling around through the window. She looks plenty busy…”
Which is good for business, not so good for feeling bad about not being there to help.
“I hope Astrid has been able to step in.”
“You know she always will.”
Of course she will.
All the Hawkes are constantly offering to help at the café, the bookstore, or any of the other businesses that might need temporary help, but Astrid has her own life and people who rely on her, too. And by being at The Grind, filling in for me, she’s not where she would elsewhere be, assisting those who need her expertise.
“I don’t want her tutoring students to suffer because she has to take over my role at The Grind…”
“Al, stop it.” Jude’s chastisement silences me. “Stop apologizing. We knew we were going to lose you for a while after you had the baby, anyway. Right? We’ve been planning for this. Just because you went into hiding with Pope doesn’t change anything in that regard. It just came a few weeks earlier than we had thought it would. And it won’t be forever.”
I release a mirthless laugh that fills the room, then slap my hand over my mouth and quickly sit up to ensure I didn’t wake up Benjamin. But he’s still asleep, head turned toward me, perfect lips parted slightly in his slumber.
“Shit.” I try to return to speaking quietly, barely above a whisper. “I almost woke the baby.”
He chuckles lightly. “What was so funny?”
I sigh, running my free hand through my hair. “You saying it won’t last forever. I’m sure Pope would tell you it feels like it already has been a lifetime since we came up here…”
Jude snort-laughs. “How is he doing with all this?”
This would be the ideal opportunity to tell him all the things I’ve longed to for the last ten years. To discuss what happened with Pope and why things have been so weird between us for so long, but I bite back that truth, too embarrassed and hurt by what went down to admit it even to him.
“I don’t think he’s doing very well, to be honest.”
I push myself up and scoot back until I’m seated against the headboard, staring at the room that has become mine.
It feels absolutely nothing like my room in my apartment.
It isn’t warm.
It isn’t inviting.
It isn’t mine.
But I guess my apartment isn’t mine anymore.
Christ, I don’t even know where I’m going to go when I do go back to New Orleans.
Concern tightens Jude’s voice. “Al…what did he say?”
Fighting back tears, I close my eyes and envision him sitting there at the table, head lowered, his entire body language screaming exhaustion and frustration. “I heard him on the phone with someone. I think it was Bishop. He said…he said he can’t keep doing this up here with me.”
Fuck.
This time, the sob slips out before I can stop it, and I slap my hand over my mouth again—both to stop me from waking Benjamin and to make sure Pope doesn’t hear me and come running in like a superhero with a red cape.
The last thing I need is for him to see me like this right now, after what I heard.
“Al, stop crying. I’m sure he didn’t mean it the way you are reading it, okay? He’s just used to being at the hospital, you know, being in that fast-paced ER, working with Nora, saving lives. You guys have been stuck in a house together for a week. You’re probably both going stir-crazy, right?”
His words make sense—if you don’t know the history.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Don’t take it personally, Allie Cat.”
“I’m trying not to. But…”
I let my thought trail off, the ugly, painful trauma of what happened between Pope and me all those years ago sitting on the tip of my tongue. I’ve wanted to tell Jude so many times, especially back then. But we all knew what everyone would think, how much drama it would cause. And opening that old wound now wouldn’t solve anything.
“Hey, Al…” Jude’s voice drops low, his seriousness coming through the line. “I don’t know exactly what happened between you and Pope—”
“Jude, I’m sorry. I—”
“No, let me finish. I don’t know what happened between you two. Of course, I have had my suspicions. I knew you were up to something those nights we weren’t together when I had that advanced English class at the college. Plus, I saw the way you looked at each other.”
Shit.
“You don’t have to go into details, Al. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But regardless of what happened back then, I can tell you what’s happening now. Pope is there because he wants to be, because he cares about you and Benjamin and wants to make sure you’re both safe, like any of us would.” He pauses for a moment, collecting himself, emotion heavy in his voice. “If I could, I would have gone with you. But I—”
“You don’t have to apologize, Jude. Never for that. Ever.”
My heart breaks to see him continue to struggle with going to new places, with leaving his condo to go anywhere besides the bookstore, The Grind, or Nana’s house. It seems to be a few steps forward and then one back with him, but at least he’s not alone anymore, cooped up inside his place and lost in his own head.
I smile to myself and picture him in this big house with me and the baby. “You’d be sick of me, too, if you were up here.”
He barks out a laugh. “No, impossible. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“About what?”
“About when this is all over with Dan and you come home.”
The anger in the way he says his name makes me grin. Jude is a lover and a poet, not a fighter. But something tells me he’d rip that man’s head off if he could get his hands on him.
“Ang and I want you to bring Benjamin and come live here.”
“At the condo?” I chuckle. “How the hell would that work?”
The one-bedroom loft space is Jude’s entire world and has been for a long time, and it certainly isn’t set up for a third adult and a baby.
“Ang and I will get a Murphy bed for out in the living room. You and the baby can take the bedroom.”
My heart aches and feels like it might burst, and my lip trembles as I try to fight back the tears again. “Wow. Thank you, Jude. You have no idea how much I appreciate that. But I’m not going to do that to you and Angelina. You guys need your privacy, your space.”
“We want you here, both of you.”
“I believe you. I just…I’m not going to do that. If I can’t go back to my place, then I’ll go stay with Mom and Dad. You know they’d be thrilled to have Benjamin under their roof.”
He laughs lightly. “I’m sure they would. But will you be able to handle living under the same roof?”
That’s the harder question.
Muchharder.
They’re incredibly overprotective, maybe rightfully so, given the current circumstances, but they mean well.
When they offered to let me stay with them when I found out I was pregnant, and again after Ang moved in with Jude and left me alone at our apartment, I said no both times. Mostly because I didn’t think I could handle living with them again under the weight of their judgments and hovering. With the baby there, it would be even worse.
“It’ll be okay, Jude. It’ll work out.”
“Wasn’t I supposed to be the one reassuring you?”
I smile and sigh, rubbing at my tired eyes. “Yeah, you were. But I’m okay now. I promise. I’ll talk to you tomorrow…”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Of course, it isn’t. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Allie Cat. Give that baby a kiss for me.”
“I will.”
I end the call and toss my phone back onto the nightstand, cringing as it slides off and careens onto the floor, the noise filling the room and startling Benjamin awake.
Shit.
He cries out, his tiny face scrunching up in anger, and I climb from the bed and pull him into my arms, immediately rocking him gently to try to stave off a full-on meltdown.
And before Pope comes rushing in…
Everyone’s bending over backward to help me, to make my problem go away—permanently—and all I can do is sit here, trying not to have a goddam heart attack while the man determined to keep me alive can’t even stand to be near me but feels obligated to do just that.
I thought things were bad before when I was keeping all this a secret and trying to come up with a plan to handle it all, but it’s so much worse than I ever could have imagined.
Maybe I should have left New Orleans…
Everyone would be better off if I had.