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We just barely have the upper hand, and I know everyone is counting on me to make the right decision. But my focus keeps being pulled elsewhere. And each time I see Sam with Isabella, I want to pummel the nearest wall.
I hate that Sam is the one Isabella is confiding in.
I’ve spent days by her bedside, sleeping on an uncomfortable chair and bargaining to get her to eat, and it’s Sam she turns to. A part of me wonders if Isabella is trying to punish me for bringing this on her. Apparently, my sweet and darling dove does have a fire in her, after all.
I push my chair back with a screech and stand up. “I need the fucking numbers.”
Lorenzo glances over at Tristan and then back at me. “What?”
I run a hand through my hair. “Are you deaf? I said I need the fucking numbers. I want to know how much of a loss we’d suffer if we give them what they want.”
“That’s impossible—”
I spin around to face Lorenzo and give him a deadly look. “If I wanted excuses, I’d go find that sorry and shitty excuse of a man called Donahue. I want answers. Now.”
Lorenzo stands up, and his fingers fumble with the buttons on his jacket. “It’s going to take some time—”
I pin Lorenzo against the nearest wall and bring my mouth up to his face. “More excuses. It’s like you want to be made a fucking example of. Is that what you want?”
Lorenzo shakes his head, sweat forming on his forehead and underneath his arms. “No.”
I give him another shake, making his teeth rattle. “Then why in the hell are we still talking? Get the hell out of my sight, and don’t come back until you have those numbers.”
With a small noise of disgust, I release Lorenzo, and he scrambles away from me. Without looking back, he hurries out of the room, and I watch him through the glass. I wait until he rounds the corner before I turn to Tristan, who has his arms folded over his chest and a strange glint in his eyes.
“You’re going to be insufferable as a dad.”
I scowl. “Fuck you.”
Tristan’s eyes don’t leave my face. “Anita told me about what’s been happening with the others—”
“We have a war to think about it, so we don’t have the time to sit around the goddamn fire and share our feelings.”
Tristan raises an eyebrow. “It really doesn’t bother you, does it?”
I give Tristan a pointed look. “What doesn’t?”
Tristan unfolds his arms and makes a vague hand gesture. “The fact that you’re losing control over the family. It’s like you’re going through the motions without any real conviction.”
“Unless you want to be in the hospital for a few more weeks, I’d suggest you shut your fucking mouth. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Except Tristan and I both know that isn’t true. He knows me better than most of the family, and he can see right through me. I’m fighting for control, but I’m not even sure why.
Because the minute Isabella was wheeled into the hospital, everything changed for me.
And things haven’t been the same for a long, long time.
Tristan exhales. “I get it. Everything is different now. It’s not just Isabella you’re thinking of. You have to think about the baby too. They can’t grow up around all this.”
I take a step toward Tristan and give him a meaningful look. “Is this your way of letting me know you’re gunning for my job? I can arrange for a warm fucking welcome.”
Tristan is still studying me. “It’s just us, Carter, and I can see it all over your face.”
I point a finger at Tristan and bristle. “You don’t know a fucking thing.”
Without waiting for a response, I step out of the room and slam the door shut hard enough to make the walls rattle. Then, I stride down the hallway with no particular direction in mind. In front of Isabella’s room, I stop and spot Sam through the glass. She’s pulled up a chair and is sitting next to Isabella’s bed. Isabella is on her side, her eyes wide and listless and still as vulnerable as ever.
I’m tempted to burst into the room, sweep her into my arms, and carry her away. But no matter where we go, I know we can’t outrun any of this.
