Chapter 23 Carmen
CARMEN
Carter Trescott has been in my house. Once. Fucking once.
And the walls are tainted with the memory of him.
The abandoned mugs of lemon tea are still on the bench, stone-cold collecting fruit flies. About a dozen of them are dead in each cup, floating around in the piss-yellow. I stare at the black dots and feel the gunshot vibrations in my bones again.
BANG! BANG!
One after the other on a continuous loop, until I hear Otis crying, “Mommy!”
“I know, baby.” I sooth his fidgeting by bringing him into a hug.
I leave the mugs alone and walk into the living area to dump myself on the couch.
The couch where it happened.
He’s mine.
Otis is mine.
Don’t lie to me.
Their playful laughter shudders my bones more than the gunshots from last night. In the corner of my vision, I notice the box of toy soldiers. I keep my vision straight for as long as possible, until I can’t help but turn and look at them, and torture myself even more.
What started out as pretend-violence, became real violence.
Otis doesn’t scramble down from my lap to take the soldiers out of their cardboard box. Instead, he watches the action figures with me.
“That man.”
“Which man, buddy?” I force my voice up a pitch.
“The bad one.”
Another stab of guilt.
“What about him?”
“I don’t know him.”
“You don’t need to know him, buddy. You’re safe with me.”
“The man on the floor is my daddy? You said I don’t have a daddy.”
“I-I,” I stutter, unable to think fast and come up with a genius explanation as to why I lied to my kid about his father. Two-year-olds don’t understand terms like ex-manwhore. They only understand what’s being presented in front of them.
I sit Otis up on my lap and hold him in place. “Let me tell you a little story, baby. Some people are bad and do things that are mean. But not everybody is like that.” I force him a smile for the sake of the story. “Your daddy was that man with the bad leg. He’s good.”
“If he’s good, where is he?”
“He’s…recovering. He has a bad leg. But he’s okay. And so are his friends.”
Another lie, Carmen.
“Why did you put that knife in the man’s belly, Mommy? Is that bad?”
I pout, in agreement with my son. Yes, bad. Very bad.
So bad that the O’Neills could snap a photo and get me arrested if they wanted to.
They wouldn’t want to—it would risk them being involved in police drama.
“Yes, it is bad. You should never do that to a person.”
“But why did you?”
Because Mommy was pissed.
Because Mommy was so angry that she allowed the emotion to take control of her.
Because Mommy is a hypocrite and does the exact opposite of what she teaches her son to not do.
“Mommy would not do that unless she really needed to,” I explain. “The bad man was going to hurt you, the same way he hurt Daddy. And because Mommy loves you very much, she had no other choice.”
He looks straight through me. This is way too complicated for him to understand, but in time, when his brain is more developed, he will begin to.
And that’s why I need to make sure I keep repeating myself, to get through to him. He needs to make sense of this. He needs to know that he will never be going through the same thing again.
He cuddles up into my lap. Endorphins rush through me as I comb a hand through his locks of blond hair, but the fuzzy feeling disappears as soon as I return my attention to that damned box of toy soldiers.
A cushion is still on the floor from when he and Carter were play-fighting. It terrified me then, to see him bonding with my son.
For a few minutes, I got a glimpse into what it might’ve been like to have Carter take up the role as daddy.
He would be a nice addition to the family.
All three of them would be.
But there comes a point where I must stop myself.
Nobody else deserves to get hurt.
Careful not to wake Otis, I drag myself up from the couch and head back into the kitchen. I pour the two mugs of lemon tea down the sink before I do something stupid and gulp the fly-invested concoction down, just to feel close to Carter again.
Being back in any of their arms would help.
But I can’t go back there.
I won’t go back there.
The Isabel Marant boots are paired up neatly by the front doormat.
Hung up on the back of the door is the matching jacket.
Their money gave me many things—killer boots, a good fashion sense, wasted one-way tickets to New York.
Their money meant I could quit my job and focus on Otis.
I got financial freedom and peace of mind, but best of all, I got a broken heart.
And I’d trade all of the above in a heartbeat to mend it.
I balance sleepy Otis in one arm and grab my phone with the other. The missed messages and calls from Sadie make me tremble.
Sadie: How is New York?
Sadie: Girl, I’m still waiting for my piccies!
I bite my lip. Would all of this still have happened if I was living in New York?
Answer—yes. I’m sure Conrad O’Neill would’ve found a way to ruin my life. From the Empire State, from across the pond all the way over in Europe, the bastard would have kept going until he had me parading around stage at his next auction.
I call Sadie and hope she picks up. We have a lot to discuss.
“Please tell me it’s exactly like the movies. Have you caught a train to the city yet? Done the Serena Vanderwoodsen walk through Grand Central? Eeek! You don’t know how much I’m living vicariously through you right now!”
“It sounds like you should be the one in New York. Not me.”
“Ugh. A girl can dream.”
“Don’t be mad…but I didn’t catch the flight.”
“You’re still in Vegas?”
“Suprise…” I wince, waiting for her reaction.
“Okay. I’m coming over. Get your ass back home if it’s not already.”
I slump into the chair and wait to get the scolding of my life from Sadie.
She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of me running from my problems before, until I mentioned I was flying over to New York and living out her Gossip Girl dream…
in the middle of a forest as far away from the Upper East Side as you can get.
I put Otis into his cot since he’s now fast asleep, and this time make sure to keep an eye on him. If that means setting a two-minute timer and checking on him every time it goes off, so be it.
I wash out the mugs and throw new tea bags into them. I reach over for the kettle as soon as it boils and feel the ghost of Carter Trescott loom behind me. The version of him I hadn’t yet hurt.
The version of him who snaked his hands around my waist. The version who entertained my son.
The version who boldly stated that Otis was his.
Sadie waltzes in at the perfect time, preventing my mind from spiraling further to when he was in my bed, video-recording me—
“You couldn’t do it, could you?” She plops down at the table, chin resting in her hand. She looks up at me with a smug I told you so face.
I might as well give her what she wants.
“The bikers went to war for me.”
She hitches an eyebrow. “Wow. Really?”
“Really.” I walk the mugs of tea over to the table and don’t bother with the place mats. “Things got messy, Sadie.” I lock eyes with her so she can see just how messy.
“Who did you punch?”
“A stranger in line behind me at the airport for being a bitch, but that’s not what I’m referring to.”
“You made it as far as the airport?”
“I ran away before security pulled me up on a very justified offense, and saw them.”
“Them who must not be named.”
“They told me it was impossible to run from a man like Conrad O’Neill.
They said they were gonna protect me. I was on the fence about it, but they were willing to go all the way to New York for me if that’s what it took to protect me.
So, I agreed to stay. We ended up here. Carter was sitting right here at this very table. He stayed to play watchdog.”
“And, let me guess? Dot, dot, dot happened?”
“Yes. And I left Otis downstairs. When we returned, he was gone.”
Sadie goes white. “Is he…?”
“Alive, yes. He’s asleep in the next room. Speaking of…” I jump up to make sure he’s still there. Grabbing the doorway arch for support, I tell her the rest and watch her jaw get closer to the floor.
“No” is all she can say by the time I’ve finished telling her everything.
And I mean everything.
I tell her about Otis. How the O’Neills tied him to a chair and forced him to watch the gore. I tell her about my temporary home in the shipping container, the bikers storming in and creating a bloodbath.
“The auction was a prison?”
“Yes,” I reply. “To those who wanted to get out, anyway. He wanted me in there. Called the event a fucking bingo night for his employees to let off some steam.”
“Sicko.” Sadie sighs with relief. “Oh my gosh. I’m so glad you’re all okay.” My tilted head tells her not quite. Her jaw hangs open again. “No…which one?”
“None, yet.” I bite my lip to contain the guilt that threatens to destroy me again. One day it will. “Carter got shot in the leg twice. I overheard the club doctor saying he’d lost a lot of blood. He’ll be fine but…he might never be able to walk again.”
“What are you doing back here then, crazy girl? You need to be at his side.”
“I can’t be around them. I can’t let them kill themselves for me.”
“They must love you a lot.”
I grimace. “Huh. I’m not so sure about that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Skipper chased after me, but I heard Vex tell him to let me go. It’s good to hear that one of them has snapped out of their delusions and realized who I am.”
Sadie discards the mug of tea. “And who are you?”
“I’m exactly like my mother. Ruthless. Selfish.”
“If you keep telling yourself that, you’ll turn into those things.” Sadie snaps her fingers right in my face. “Girl, just accept their love and let them put a ring on your finger already.”
“Wow. Hold your horses. Nobody’s getting married.”
“Otis needs his father, Carmen. Does he know?”
I wince again. “Yes.”