Chapter 2
WHAT’S IN A NICKNAME?
Brendan
I’ve been called a lot of names in this short, shitty life.
Heartless Wonder.
Graveheart.
MacDeath.
The last two weren’t even particularly inspired, considering my father was originally from Ireland, not Scotland.
The worst one, and maybe the one that was most accurate, happened to correspond with my last name: The Black Prince.
What did I expect, really? The first son of Niall Black was never going to be a nice guy.
I’d been raised by the most cutthroat venture capitalist in New England.
My father was Boston’s version of the Wolf of Wall Street, otherwise known as the Profit Pirate or the Venture Vulture.
A man who had built his fortune out of a two-bit bookie’s office by stepping on the backs of weaker men, sabotaging without a second thought, and fully embracing the philosophy that winning was the only acceptable path in life.
Now in his eighties, my father had built one of the largest investment firms in the world and was the unchallenged patriarch of the Black family.
To be honest, a part of me was proud to be called The Black Prince. It meant people knew what I’d always known: I was the next in line to take over that bloodthirsty legacy. For thirty-nine years, I’d been groomed to take his place, and I knew I was ready.
Until I saw my father lying on that hospital bed like a cadaver.
Suddenly, I was six years old and hiding in the bathroom again. But the terror didn’t come from my father and his belt, hand, or fist. It came from the sight of the old man so frail.
Laid out unconscious, tubes sticking out of his nose and mouth, hooked up to all of those hideous machines, he was a shell of the rage-filled monster who had reduced me to shivering like a leaf as a child.
But without him…what was this life I was living?
He was so helpless, so weak. So alone.
Alone.
Why the fuck was my father alone?
“Jesus. Dad.” My voice was a shadow as I stepped inside. “Jesus Christ.”
Movement in the corner of my eye pulled my gaze, and I realized I was wrong. My father wasn’t alone.
A woman sat next to him, so small and unobtrusive in shapeless blue scrubs that she nearly blended into the room. She had frozen, hand hovering in the air, midway through playing an Ace of Hearts in what looked like a game of solitaire on Dad’s hospital tray.
I snarled like the maimed wolf I was. “Who the fuck are you?”
The girl jerked as if she’d been slapped, knocking the tray and sending the cards flying everywhere. A few strands of caramel-colored hair escaped her ponytail, framing her face in a perfect halo.
I watched as she scrambled to pick up the cards. By the time she was finished, she seemed to have regained her composure as she sat back in her chair, raised her hands in a gesture of surrender, and then did the last thing I expected.
She smiled.
I could have sworn someone amplified the lumens in the room by a factor of a hundred.
“Hello. I’m Simone,” she started to say, but I didn’t hear anything past her name.
Her voice was smooth as butter, yet somehow earthy. Hinting of joy, like church bells, or maybe the laughter of angels, if angels laughed at all.
Then I looked at her, really looked. And when those blue eyes met mine from beneath a heavy sweep of golden lashes, and those perfectly pink, bee-stung lips dropped into a sinful O, I could have sworn on all that was holy that my heart stopped.
Fuck. Me.
“I’m a volunteer for the CARE program.” The girl stood and offered an outstretched hand.
I glared at it, but only because I couldn’t move. “What the fuck is the CARE program? Are you a nurse?”
Standing up, she was even smaller than I thought—a fairy dipped in gold, then dressed in shapeless hospital garb that still couldn’t hide the swell of a hip, the promise of a breast.
She took her hand back, seemingly unalarmed. Why wasn’t she more alarmed? When most people received the glare I’d inherited from the old man, they quaked in their shoes. This one looked serene enough to pick wildflowers.
“Just a volunteer,” she replied. “CARE provides support for elderly patients until their families arrive. I’ve been sitting with your father since he got out of surgery.”
I blinked. “And that was when?”
“About four hours ago.”
Fuck.
I’d rushed to the hospital as soon as I’d gotten the message after my last meeting. Had left the receptionist in tears after firing her for missing the call, but I didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry. Especially now, after hours had passed. What the fuck kind of call receiving is that?
He was found in the Public Garden, my assistant said. He’d collapsed while walking his Giant Schnauzer, Aengus, who was also now missing. The EMTs had picked him up right next to the goddamn Make Way for Ducklings statues and escorted him straight into open-heart surgery.
Surgery. Jesus.
I’d told him over and over again that he shouldn’t go out alone, even if it was just to the park across the street.
But he insisted he didn’t need his security detail when he had Aengus with him.
Insisted that nobody recognized him when he was alone.
Claimed the security team only drew attention to him and that he could handle that hundred-pound menace by himself.
Stubborn man, now at the mercy of hospital staff like a common pauper, when he was a king of Boston.
Now…Christ, when did he get this thin?
“My family?” I asked as I approached the bed. Christ, when did he get this thin?
The girl stood beside me, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen anyone. The hospital has done its best to notify anyone they could.”
I scowled, and the girl didn’t even flinch.
They should have been here hours ago. Owen, Ronan, and Shea, otherwise known as my self-absorbed siblings, had nothing important enough going on to keep them from coming.
Maybe Violeta, my stepmother, was a Castilian Barbie doll who spent her time wrapped in seaweed, mud, and cucumbers, but she generally knew when to at least pretend to give a shit about her geriatric husband.
“He’s been stable, though. Peaceful.” The girl—Simone—glanced toward the door as she tugged on the end of her ponytail. An image flashed through my mind: that fall of gold wrapped around my wrist as I pummeled into—
“Would you like me to get the doctor for you?” Simone interrupted.
I managed to shake my head. What was wrong with me today? “No. I spoke to a nurse on the way in, and he said the doctor was on his way here.”
She nodded. “All right. Would you like me to stay, or give you time alone with your father?”
I didn’t answer. Why didn’t I answer? What the fuck was happening?
This girl was nothing. A waif in baby blue, fruit-covered pajamas. At least a foot shorter than me and probably a hundred pounds lighter.
“I-I—”
Was I stuttering?
I hadn’t done that since I was a child, and my father literally beat it out of me.
Christ.
“It’s all right. I know it’s overwhelming. I often sit with the families a bit too, while they get a bit more…acclimated…to what’s going on.” She looked back at my father. “It’s normal to feel some shock.”
At meeting you? I wanted to ask.
“How do you know?” I wondered instead. “Existing in the same room as a stranger isn’t the same as actually finding your parent on the edge of death. You’re an accessory. A pretty flower arrangement at the funeral.”
I was being an asshole. I was always an asshole. But in this case, it was the only way to deal with the gnawing ache in my chest that gripped me every time I looked at my father’s nearly lifeless body.
Simone turned back to me without a shred of anger or frustration. Her eyes glowed with compassion, a calm blue ocean. I wanted to dive in.
I had a sudden feeling that if I did, they would wash away every sin I’d ever committed. Like maybe they’d wash away my whole life if I wanted.
It was an alarming possibility. And not completely unwanted.
What. The. Fuck?
“My mother died in this hospital,” she informed me, but somehow without the bitterness I would have expected. “I know exactly what it’s like.”
Silence yawned between us. And an actual apology played over my lips. Me, the Heartless Heretic. The man who never apologized for anything. Wanted to say sorry to this wisp of a human.
But before I could, Simone extended her hand again. Just a little. A meek offering, if it was anything at all.
Feeling like I was outside of my own body, I let her squeeze my suddenly clumsy paw. Electricity flew up my arm, not as a shock, but a gentle glow. Like the kindness in this girl flowed like a current right into me.
She smiled again, impossibly sweet. A tiny fissure that threatened to send a crack through my stony heart.
I took my hand back and stepped away before I ended up on a table just like my old man. “All right, then.”
Simone’s hand twitched by her side. “Anytime you need a hand to hold, that’s what I’m here for, Mister…”
I cleared my throat. “Black.” For the first time, I hated saying it. For some reason, I didn’t want to be The Black Prince with this one. Even if I never saw her again. “You can call me Brendan.”
Simone’s eyes sparkled like light blinking off waves at sunset. “It’s nice to meet you, Brendan. Would you like me to stay with you?”
I opened my mouth to tell her yes. More than yes. That something in her guileless expression made me feel more than just the cold, calculating instincts I’d sharpened over the last four decades. That, like a brand-new addict, I wanted—no, needed—another hit of whatever she was offering.
I was no better than the junkies who used to line the streets of the old neighborhood. Just as bad as the addicts who would line up to place their bets with their bookie. My father.
But before I could manage so much as a simple, “Sure,” we were interrupted by a loud voice that I knew all too well.
“What the fuck is going on? What happened to Dad?”
And just like that, whatever spell this pretty little witch had cast was gone. I straightened, allowed the realities of my life to fall back over my shoulders like a mantle while the girl slipped quietly away.
“Owen,” I greeted my brother as he was followed into the room by two others. “Ronan. Liam. Where the fuck have you been?”