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Isabella gives Sam the barest hint of a smile, and something stirs within me.
I stiffen and walk in the opposite direction, barely breaking a sweat until I realize I’m a few floors down, lingering outside of the chapel. It isn’t until I’m inside, sitting on a pew in the back, that I recognize the feeling burning through my veins.
Self-loathing is familiar to me. As familiar to me as the back of my hand, and the last time I was this consumed by it was when Brooke was alive. I still remember how it felt to realize she was in danger. And I haven’t been able to shake off the realization that I could’ve done more.
Am I forever doomed to repeat my history with Brooke?
I ball my hands into fists and stare straight ahead, wave after wave of frustration and impatience rising within me. Am I going to lose someone else I love to this fight? To this life?
What is the point of being one of the most powerful men in the city if I can’t protect the people I love?
The doors creak open, and an elderly couple come in, wearing black and hobbling on their canes. They don’t stop until they reach the front pews of the chapel. Slowly, the man helps the woman sit down and takes a seat next to her. From where I’m sitting, I see him take both of her frail and weathered hands in his and pause.
In silence, they both bow their heads and murmur in soft voices. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I don’t care.
What good has religion done me? What good is God when I know he’s turned his back on me?
I have scraped, toiled, cheated, killed, and bled my way to the top, and I’m not going to let anyone take that away from me. Not even enemies who fight with no honor and no moral code.
Still, as I sit there, watching the older couple continue to pray in spite of the tremor in their voices and the frailty of their bodies, I can’t help but wonder if I could’ve done something differently. With Brooke, I was consumed and obsessed with carving out a name for myself. Working my way to the top meant so much more back then.
And a part of me hadn’t believed I’d be worthy of her until I was something.
Brooke never asked it of me, but I did it anyway—as much for myself as I did for her. But I can’t change the fact I’ve failed Isabella just like I failed Brooke.
And the fact that my feelings for Brooke are a drop in the ocean compared to what I feel for Isabella doesn’t matter since the end result is the same. Over and over, history will keep repeating itself, punishing me for flying too close to the sun. A part of me wonders if I’ve brought this on myself, but the other part of me recognizes that this is the price to pay for getting to the top.
For being Carter fucking Blackthorne.
Every man in my position has had to make sacrifices, willingly or otherwise, and I’m no different.
With a slight shake of my head, I stand up, and I feel the couple’s eyes on me. I ignore them as I step out of the chapel and into the hallway. Everything is a blur of shapes and colors until I find myself on Isabella’s floor again, blinking underneath fluorescent lighting. Isabella is sitting up in bed, her arm held out in front of her, and a small red-haired nurse uses a pressure cuff.
I step into the room, lean against the wall, and watch them. Isabella doesn’t say anything to acknowledge my presence.
The red-haired nurse offers me a distracted smile. “Everything is fine here, Mr. Blackthorne. Mom and baby are doing so well.”
I give the nurse a curt nod but don’t respond.
Isabella licks her dry and chapped lips. “Is… do we know the sex of the baby?”
The nurse unwraps the pressure cuff and picks up a tablet. She scrolls through it, a slight furrow appearing between her brows. “It’s still a week or two away before the doctor is able to determine the sex for sure. I can have a gynecologist come in if you’d like.”
Isabella shakes her head, slowly at first, then more emphatically. “As long as the baby is okay, that’s all that matters.”
The nurse pats Isabella on the arm and gives her a bright smile. Then she brushes past, giving her one last look over her shoulders before she steps out.
A few moments later, I push myself off the wall and walk over to Isabella. “We should be getting out of here soon. The doctor said it should be a couple more days at most.”
Isabella sinks against the mattress and twists onto her side. “Okay.”
I cross over to the side of the bed and kneel in front of her. “I’m not going anywhere, dove. I told you that already. We’re in this together through thick and thin. So you do whatever the fuck you need to do.”
Isabella presses her lips together and doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” I add in a quieter voice.
When she doesn’t respond, I stand up and lower myself into the chair. Although a part of me hurts, knowing that I can’t reach out to Isabella, I refuse to believe everything I’m doing is in vain.
