Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Chantal
In our rush to escape, we head back to my apartment on the Upper East Side. It seems fitting considering we’re in Manhattan and Lochlan’s been on the run for weeks now.
I unlock the front door to thick, dark shadows inside. It takes me an extra second to cross the threshold, still dazed from the fact that Dad’s… gone.
This is the first time I’m coming home now that he is; as soon as I step into the dark hall it becomes even more real. Every time I come home from now on, he’ll always be gone.
He’s… never coming back.
Lochlan notices how I hover in the open doorway as if I’ve forgotten how doors work. His hand comes to the small of my back, and he gently guides me forward.
I’m so out of it, I let him without even thinking to protest.
The apartment itself is as large and spacious as ever yet feels so empty and quiet in the dark. Except for the noises that slip in from the city streets outside, sounding five times louder than usual.
So does my pulse; it beats in my ears, adrenaline still coursing through me.
Lochlan and I ran for what felt like miles. I’m not even sure how we managed to sneak out of the building as emergency responders surrounded it and the scene became an active investigation.
But Lochlan found a way, tugging me along the halls and creeping down flights of stairs until we slid out of a side exit reserved for hotel staff.
Then we were on the move in the streets. He said it was too risky to meet up with his crew or return to the car he had driven over in.
So we hailed a cab and got the hell out of Midtown.
As I slowly pad down the apartment’s entry hall, I go to drop my keys on the console table. They roll off my fingers and miss the table by several inches. They clatter to the hardwood floor, the noise jarring in the silence.
I flinch as if a gun has just gone off. It honestly tracks after the night I’ve had.
Before I can even process I should probably bend down and pick them up, Lochlan’s swooping in.
“I got it,” he says.
I nod vacantly, moving on to slide out of my sandal heels. But that’s way more complicated than I anticipate too. I wobble in place as the heel of my foot gets stuck on one of the straps.
Ugh, face-planting on the floor is exactly what I need right now.
Thankfully Lochlan reaches out to grab me, gripping my waist to steady me. “Easy, brat,” he says in his low, husky register. He gives my waist a comforting squeeze. “I’ve got you.”
He holds me up while I kick off the stupid heels and then stand back up on bare feet. The cool, smooth hardwood centers me, serving as a reminder that I’m here in this moment.
I’m alive.
It sounds silly to think about, but after witnessing death tonight—including my own father’s—I sort of need it.
It’s going to take a while before I’m able to get the image of Dad tumbling over the side of the building out of my head. I tried not to look over the ledge, but as we fled I saw the crushed limousine anyway, his leg dangling over the cracked windshield.
Disturbing and traumatic is an understatement… but so is the fact that Dad literally tried to sell me like some used Louboutins.
How am I supposed to grieve a man who was willing to ruin me and remained unapologetic to the bitter end?
I hear a small meow in the dark and realize my cat, Coco, has trotted over from her favorite perch. Normally, I’d be happy she’s greeted me.
Tonight I can barely think to gently stroke the top of her fuzzy little head.
I stand up straighter and swallow against the lump forming in my throat. “We should… um, we should get cleaned up. We’re both pretty disgusting.”
Not one lie told.
We’re both sweaty from the exertion of escaping the scene where a man fell fifty stories to his death and another got his face blown off. That’s not to mention the backsplash of blood we have on our clothes that I’m trying hard not to think about.
Blood and brain matter on Valentino—even in my dazed state it feels like a crime.
Lochlan nods, his warm hand returning to my lower back. Though he’s never been here, he seems to know which direction to head in for my bedroom.
We don’t bother with any lights as we maneuver blindly through the dark apartment.
I’m grateful Lochlan’s with me, even if it’s been weeks since the last time I saw him. It feels like no time at all has passed between us.
His presence is probably what’s keeping me from totally collapsing into a hot mess.
My bedroom is exactly how I left it only a few hours ago—large princess canopy bed made with dusty rose bedding and a wide cascade of pillows, the collection of high-end perfumes lined up on my glitzy vanity table, and other soft glam details like the romantic pieces of art on the wall and plush furry rug by the accent chair.
The only light in the room comes from the silky curtains rustling in the night breeze, strips of city light passing through.
I pause again only footsteps in, struck by how normal the room looks. Yet nothing about tonight has been normal at all.
Lochlan hovers behind me as if he’s not sure whether to come in. I glance over my shoulder to find him scratching the back of his neck. It’s maybe the most bashful he’s ever looked. Out of character for a man who readily commands crews full of other criminals.
He’s the man who stepped between me and a gun tonight; the same man who inserted himself when Dad rushed toward me.
If Lochlan hadn’t intervened, it could’ve been me going over that railing…
“You want some privacy?” he asks. “I can wait in the living room.”
His hesitation brings me out of my head. I quirk a brow at him and say, “Actually, I was serious when I said we’re both pretty gross right now. I’m not letting you sit on my Fendi Casa sofa with blood and brain junk on you. Take off your clothes, Callahan.”
I’m being so honest but also a little bit playful as I tell him.
His brows shoot up at my tone, the dominant alpha in him immediately tempted to take back control. But then the corner of his mouth twitches and heat flickers in his gaze.
“Bossy little brat,” he mutters, reaching for the back of his T-shirt. He wrenches it over his head in a single motion, suddenly shirtless with his tattooed muscles on display. “You’re lucky we’re on your turf right now.”
“Or what? You’d kidnap me again?”
“You ask me like you don’t think I would. Don’t think I won’t.”
My pulse flutters at the not-so-subtle-but-very-tempting threat.
The banter between us feels good. It’s a welcomed and unplanned distraction from tonight’s mess. It reminds me how we can still enjoy each other’s company even if we’re coming off the fuckery that happened on the rooftop.
I turn toward the vanity and start the process of undoing myself: unclasping the diamond hoops from my ears, pulling the pins out of my braids, reaching for the makeup wipes to get this raccoon situation off my face.
My hands move to the zipper on my torn and dirtied Valentino dress.
Normal tasks at the end of any day. All part of my usual routine. Stuff I’ve done a thousand times before.
Except my hands won’t stop shaking.
My reflection stares back at me as they tremble and I struggle to tug down the zipper. It’s wild how one second I’m making quips at Lochlan, and then the next I’m reverting back to the crazy trauma of the night.
Get it together, Chantal. You’re good. You’re handling this.
…or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
I survived, and though Dad’s gone, he died trying to literally attack me. His death shouldn’t have this kind of visceral impact on me.
But how can it not? He was my dad.
There was a time when I did believe I was his number one priority in life. When I did look forward to our few daddy/daughter moments and his presence comforted me.
As I grew older and more jaded, I slowly realized those were few and far between. Our relationship centered around gifts and life’s luxuries. I learned how to let that be enough; learned to embrace it and even seek it out from other older men.
Now that he’s gone, I’m confused about whether I’m grieving the father I lost or the father I never actually had but always wished I did.
“Hey,” Lochlan says from behind. He appears in the glass reflection, a full foot taller than me, his broad-shouldered frame encompassing mine. His hands cover mine as he helps drag down the zipper on my dress until it’s peeling away from my body and sliding to the floor.
I’m left in nothing but my panties and strapless bra, staring wide-eyed at the woman in the mirror. Her pupils are dilated, and she looks like she’s been through it tonight.
That’s because she has been.
He presses a kiss into my bare shoulder and then cups them as he eases me around to face him. His gaze hooks mine and sends an instant shiver down my spine.
“Just so we’re clear,” he says. “You don’t have to pretend with me, alright, brat? Not here. Not ever.”
“Bad habit,” I murmur.
“I’m aware. But there’s no running from the real world, brat. All the designers and vacations in the world can’t hide what’s real forever,” he explains heavily. “I’ve… been realizing that myself.”
My lashes flutter as I peer up at him and try to understand what he means.
He looks more pensive than I’ve ever seen him, his large, masculine features set in a vague frown.
It reminds me Lochlan still has a lot of darkness and more emotional baggage than a Louis Vuitton flagship store.
“How so?” I murmur finally. “Realizing how?”
He heaves a deep sigh, his thumb stroking the curve of my shoulder.
“I got it in my head that my family betrayed me.
That I was made to take the fall while they moved on without me.
It was easy to think that from the inside of a prison cell staring down an eight-year sentence.
Even easier once I started learning how Ronan was taking over and Eddie—my heir—was pushed aside.