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“Too soon to know,” Savage says. “We had eyes on him. No nurse or doctor had visited him from the time he settled in his room until the attack.”
“Could he have been poisoned again on the way to his room?” I ask.
“There’s too many medical hands on him to rule that out,” Savage answers.
“His heart was strained from the initial attack,” Eric adds. “No one is going to question another attack,” but he asks Savage the same question that’s in my mind. “Where’s Isaac?”
“He wasn’t in the room, if that’s your question. Do you want to make a showing at the hospital?”
“No,” Eric says. “If the police come looking for me, let me know. Otherwise, get a man on his room, not just nearby. I don’t care who I have to pay to make it happen. I need out of here before Isaac and I run into each other again. I’ll beat his ass and end up in jail.” He motions me to the car. “Let’s go have lunch.”
I exchange a look with Savage, in which we both agree. He’s right. He needs a break. “I’ll catch up,” Savage says.
Eric gives him a nod and urges me to the vehicle. I climb inside again and Eric follows. Jesse joins us and Eric gives him the destination. Once we’re on the road, Eric scoots low, leans his head on the seat and closes his eyes, his jaw set hard. I lean in close and lay my head on his chest. To my relief, he settles his hand on the back of my head, and holds me there.
His heart thunders under my ear, but I swear it’s the numbers punishing his mind that I hear the loudest. We should be going back to the apartment, but for reasons I don’t understand, he’s not ready. Maybe once he’s there he’s afraid the numbers will win. And the numbers represent the Kingston family.
Chapter one hundred six
Harper
The battle for peace and calm inside of Eric is palpable.
Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting in a cozy booth in the back of a restaurant that is dimly lit with dangling lights shaped like lanterns, sipping wine. Eric’s tense, an edge to him, but he’s better than I expected, and seems to be shaking his reaction to his father’s second heart attack. His father is an abuser who treats him horribly, but he’s his father, nevertheless and I suspect all of this stirs memories of losing his mother. No matter how bad the parent, the idea of no longer having a living parent on this Earth guts you and carves a piece of you out. I know this, because after losing my father, there were times, when irrational fear for my mother ruled my thoughts. I’d say this to Eric, but I sense that it’s something better explored when the storm has passed.
The waitress appears and places our food in front of us and Eric’s mood lightens. The tension in his shoulders uncurls, relaxing, which pleases me immensely. Soon I’m staring at a plate of delicious smelling pasta topped with sauce and cheese that matches Eric’s. As silly as it might seem, I love that we ordered the same thing. I love that we connect on everyday things, that he’s a man, not just a savant, with favorite foods and a love of coffee, and a past history of pain, love, and success. I want to know that person. I want to know all of him.
He watches me eagerly while I sample the food, and the apt way he waits for my approval of his favorite place here in this city charms me. And when his eyes light as I offer my approval, he lights me up, too, inside and out. I love this man. I hate what this family has done to him but I make no mistake by seeing him as defeated. He isn’t. He’s battling over what to do about Isaac and that mob note he faked and as much as I want to bring it up, I don’t dare. He needsa break and even as he tried to take one, I can see that he’s battling with his demons.
We’re almost done with the meal when Mia shoots me a text about a couple’s breakfast next weekend, and Eric seems pleased with this. “As long as we can do it safely.”
“Of course,” I say, and this spurs us to talk about Bennett Enterprises and where I might fit into the picture.
When we finally have coffees in front of us, I feel Eric’s readiness, and even need, to talk about the deeper subjects in the air, but before I can broach any topic he does it himself.
“Back at the hospital, you mentioned losing your uncles right before your father.”
“Yes. I watched my father suffer, only to end up gone himself.”
“Was he close to them?”
“One of them. The other was difficult but not like Isaac.”
His broad chest expands on a breath that he slowly inhales. “My mother doesn’t know how many times and ways she’s saved that man.”
“Isaac or your Dad?”
“Isaac. She wanted me to be a part of a family and the only way that was possible, was to take Isaac’s shit.”
“Like throwing boiling water on you?” I dare.
“That was over a woman. He wanted her. She wanted me. He saw her with me at a party and when I got home, we fought. He threw the hole fucking pot on me. The only thing that saved me was wearing a leather coat and a scarf. That and I covered my face and turned.”
“So, you didn’t get burned.”
“Oh, I got burned. My right hand.” He shows me a scar I’ve never noticed.
My hand catches his, studying the injury, shocked I haven’t noticed the thicker raised skin before now. “Oh my God. What did your father say?”
