Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Cora
My hands shake as I disconnect the call and ignore the next one coming in.
I don’t know that side of Atlas, but it scares me.
I heard what he and the guys were saying.
I know it’s not for everyone, but I deserve someone who loves both me and Noah.
I can still hear Atlas’ voice in my head telling Seth he wasn’t Noah’s “fucking father.”
Pushing the thought aside, I pull my hat down over my head and try to ignore the cold that cuts through me.
December is quickly approaching, and Christmas will be here soon.
I’ve been doing some early shopping for Noah while he stayed with the Morgans.
I’d been planning to go home, but Matt knew I wanted my locks changed.
My heart still hurts and hearing his voice will mess with me.
Maybe I’m being rash. Perhaps I should have heard him out, but why bother? I want to be someone’s first choice. I don’t want someone to choose me and not want Noah, too.
I’m not a product of my parents. Their shortcomings and inability to love anyone but themselves wasn’t because of me, no matter how much they may have said otherwise.
I deserve love, and I’m a damn good person.
I’ve raised Noah on my own, and I’ve made peace with the fact that it’s meant to be this way.
Hefting my bags into my trunk, I prepare for the talk I know I must have with Noah about why Atlas isn’t coming back. Up until now, I’ve been able to skirt around it, but it’s time. I know he was starting to get attached to the guys, so I guess it’s better it happened now.
Tossing the last bag in, I turn around to return my cart and almost run into a person walking behind me.
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” I apologize, stepping back.
“No harm. It was my fault. I was avoiding the car leaving.”
Looking behind, I see a small car heading straight past, right up the middle of the lane. I hate it when people do that—just pick a side and drive.
“Still, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I can take your cart if you want.”
“Are you sure?” I hesitate.
“Yeah. Not a big deal. Are you okay?”
Maybe I look as frazzled as I feel. “I’m good, just cold, ya know?” I force what I hope passes for a normal smile.
“Gotcha. You seemed preoccupied. Just checking. It was nice seeing you.”
“Of course, you too,” I respond, sliding into my car.
Pushing the encounter out of my head, I crank the heat full blast, giving it a minute or two to warm up.
The weather is calling for snow in the next day or two, and I’m honestly not mad about it.
Being snowed in with Noah seems like a fun way to spend the next few days.
Reversing out of the spot, I exit the parking lot and head for home. Hopefully Matt can get the new lock installed soon.
There’s not much traffic this time of day, which works in my favor. I have just enough time to drop some gifts at home and then head to school to pick up Noah. Stopping at a traffic light, I debate on just taking an early vacation somewhere. Maybe I’ll take Noah to the beach or something.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t see the light turn green. Someone behind me starts beeping their horn and as I push on the gas, I wave an apology at them in my mirror. Everyone’s always in a hurry.
When I turn onto the last street before my neighborhood, my car starts to sputter and jerk. The gas light is flashing, but that can’t be right. Mr. Morgan has been telling me to bring it in for a look over, but I’ve been avoiding it. Shit.
Pulling over to the shoulder, I pop the hood and hop out. Looking at the engine, I don’t see anything that would cause an issue. Patting my pockets for my phone, I realize it’s in my purse.
Hoping Mr. Morgan can arrange for someone to tow it, I pull my phone out of my bag and unlock the screen.
Finding his contact, I get ready to hit the call button when something heavy hits the back of my head.
Pain radiates through my skull as I hit the ground.
I know it’s too cold to lie here, and I need to get up, but my body won’t cooperate.
My vision is swimming, but the last thing I see before it completely goes out is a pair of dark sneakers.
Waking up, I slowly open my eyes. My head is throbbing, and it hurts to move. What the hell happened? The last thing I remember is my car breaking down and going to call Mr. Morgan. Did I get hit by a car or something?
I’m lying on a mattress in what I’m assuming is someone’s basement.
There are no blinding fluorescent lights, so I know I’m not at the hospital.
Looking around the room, I take in the musty odor and notice boxes stacked along one side.
It seems like there’s a window, but it’s small and too high up.
I’m not sure what time it is, but there’s still plenty of sunshine.
Over in the far corner, there’s a set of wooden stairs that lead up to who knows where, or what.
Gingerly sitting up, I ignore the ache in my body and check my pockets for my phone. Damn it, of course it’s missing. I’m in just my sweater and jeans, and the air is cold as hell. I don’t get what’s happening. Where am I?
Rotating my body to an upright position, I lean back against the wall. Pulling my leg closer to me to stand, I hear a rattle and notice for the first time it’s chained to a nearby pipe. What the actual fuck? Fear spreads through me, but I refuse to panic.
A metal cuff digs into my ankle when I try to tug on it. I guess it’s stronger than I thought.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice calls from the stairs. I can’t quite see who it is, but as they reach for a lightbulb string and turn the light on, my fear turns to anger.
“Let me go, Bea. What the hell is your problem?” I snap.
My sorry excuse for a grandmother hobbles down the last of the stairs and pulls a chair over to sit across from me. Smirking, she looks me up and down. “Not so high and mighty now, are you?”
Shaking my head in disgust, I glare at her in return. “I’m still better than you, old woman. Go ahead and undo this cuff. I can show you. How could you do this to your own blood?”
“I’m not.” She smiles an evil, toothy grin at me.
“I didn’t realize you had dementia already, Bea. There are facilities for that, you know.”
“I’ve got my faculties about me; don’t you worry about that.”
“Then what the fuck are you talking about?” I shout at her. I’m tired of her games. She’s been nothing but a thorn in my side for years.
She slams her wooden cane against my leg, and I cry out. “Watch how you talk to me. Why he decided to raise you, I’ll never understand.”
Pulling my legs as close to me as I can, I refuse to cry. My head aches, and that hurts like a bitch. “Then what are you going on about? Why wouldn’t he have raised me?”
“Because you weren’t his!” she shouts with venom. “Your whore mother trapped him. He was a good boy until she came along.”
My heart freezes in my chest. So, does that mean that the bastard who raised me isn’t my father? “You’re lying.”
“No need to. Did you ever wonder why you favored your mother and didn’t look like my Samuel? It’s because you aren’t his.”
“But Noah—”
“Oh, but he is. She already had him trapped, but as soon as you were getting old enough to leave, she saw her chance and took it.”
“So, if he’s not my father, then who is?” I ask, hating myself for being curious. Noah and I may not even share the same parents.
“Your father was some rich kid your mother went to high school with. He thought he’d slum it with her for a bit, but when his daddy kicked up a fuss, he dumped her.
However, by then she was pregnant, so he gave her money to get rid of you.
” She shakes her head and glares “But of course, she didn’t.
Samuel didn’t find out until you were almost seven years old. ”
That was around the time when things began to change. My parents were never truly happy together, but I always wondered what had happened to make them change so much. Apparently, it was me.
“How?” I ask.
“How what?”
“How did they find out?”
“The boy came home after graduating from college. He ran into your mother and you at the store, and he knew what she had done. He showed up at the house, demanding to see you, but your mother refused.”
“If he came from a family with money, why didn’t he fight for me?” All those years of abuse, and I have another parent out there who could have taken me? An intense ache spreads in my chest. Why would he have left me with them?
“He’s dead.”
Whipping my head back up, I focus my eyes on her. “What do you mean, dead?”
Shrugging like it’s no big deal that she’s destroying my world, she continues, “Car accident. Seems someone’s brakes didn’t work quite as well as they thought they would. Your father came to me, and didn’t know what to do, so I took care of it for him.”
Ice flows through my veins as I try to piece together what she’s saying. The bastard who raised and abused me wasn’t even my real father, and Bea killed the man who actually contributed to my existence? No, I refuse to believe it.
“That’s some bedtime story, Bea. Too bad you’re full of shit.” I’m not falling for her mind games. There’s no way it’s true.
Shaking her head in mock sadness, she grabs a paper from a nearby box and tosses it on the floor in front of me.
Standing smugly, she watches as I grab the paper and scan its title.
“Local Family Dies in Accident.” I skim an article about how a man named Henry Snider was traveling with his parents when the brakes on his car failed, causing them to crash.
Due to the speed he was traveling, he and a passenger died on impact, while the other passed away in the hospital a few days later.
Looking at Bea, I can’t disguise the shock I know she sees on my face. “What did you do, Bea?”
“What I had to do. He was going to take you away to a better life, and after what your mother pulled, you didn’t deserve that.
I wanted to see her suffer, and if her bastard child suffered along with her, that was a bonus.
Samuel lost his way after her betrayal, and I blame your mother and her whoring.
She was going to live with the choices she made. ”
Staring at Bea incredulously, I will myself not to cry.
I had an entire family, and she murdered them out of spite?
Anger and devastation flow through me. I’ll never know if my actual father would have accepted me.
From the way Bea talks, he was interested in having a relationship with me. Someone actually wanted me.
Instead of just letting me go, she murdered the man and his family.
I could have had a stable life or at least someone who gave a shit about me.
My parents might have split up, or perhaps they would have stayed together and had Noah anyway, but I wouldn’t have been there to take him.
The thought of not ever knowing him, or worse— him being in the car the night they died—sends shivers down my spine.
Shaking my head, I turn my gaze to hers. There’s no point in focusing on the past or what I’ve lost, even though it hurts. Instead, I channel my anger in the glare I give her. How many lives has she ruined? How many did my mother ruin?
I try to stand up, but there’s not enough slack in the chain, so I settle for tilting my head up as high as I can. “It’s pretty fitting then, isn’t it, Bea?”
“What is?” she asks, standing from her seat. She thinks she’s won something, but she’s dead wrong.
“Your bastard son dying in the same way you killed my actual father.” I smile. Fuck her and her shit.
Bea’s face turns thunderous, and I brace for the hit I know is coming. As her cane swings toward my head and I feel pain ricochet through my skull, the only thing I can think as I lose consciousness again is that it was worth it.