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He doesn’t say it, but I see it in his face—he’s scared that his brother might not remember him. He’s devastated, and I’m certain it’s not just because he wants his brother to remember who he is.
“He might not be able to talk or see or do all the things he’s always done. He’ll be a prisoner in his own body. And then what? Do I put him out of his misery, or do I watch him suffer day in and day out?”
“I’m sorry.” I know it’s a useless thing to say. Stupid and meaningless looking at him and Kit. It’s the only thing I know to convey, though, because right now I have no words. I am nothing but a bag of feelings and emotions.
I’m so enraged that my tongue is swollen, my throat is thick, and my chest is so fucking tight.
The only thing I want to do is comfort him. Step into his shoes and give him some of my hope and my strength. What little of it there is.
I want to give him something. Anything. I want to give him peace.
I want to give him me.
“It’s not too late to walk away,” Kit says, walking into the lift with me.
I know how he feels about this. He’s told me non-stop the last hour as I packed for the weekend. Taking the suit bag containing my tux for tonight, I ignore his words.
When we get to my car he watches me hang the suit in the back, and as I’m about to get in, he says, “This isn’t a war you want to fight, Leo.”
This is what I’ve waited for since I was that eight-year-old boy, sat outside our father’s office, too scared to make a sound of pain.
“Stop it. Stop trying to save him!”
Scowling at me, he shakes his head like I’m being obtuse. “This isn’t about Dad, it’s about you. I’m trying to protect you…you think you know what’s going on, but you’re in over your head. This goes beyond Fairfax Capital, and I’m not trying to save the company or Dad…I’m trying to save you.”
“Stop protecting me, Kit.” Getting into my car, I ignore the worry etched on his face. “Protect yourself.”
Protect yourself.
Those were the last words I ever said to him. And now, I’m standing here in exactly the same shoes I left him in. I only want to protect Cassie, but as soft as she is, she makes it so hard.
Her tears, his state…they’re all reminders of how inadequate I am at keeping the people close to me safe. But I refuse to allow her to make the same mistake I did. If what she needs is an ugly dose of reality, she’s got it. And I will not be sorry for giving it to her.
“I’m so sorry.” Taking a step back from the bed, Cassie hesitantly walks to the door and with a glance back, she walks out.
Before I follow her, I check all the monitors for any change, but everything remains the same as it has since Francis got Kit transferred here.
The SIS hospital is meant to be the best of the best, reserved for the elite. Francis had to jump through hoops to get the Foreign Secretary to sign off on this, and although it’s the safest place, for some reason it feels like the pit of Hell.
“Fight,” I tell him as I straighten up his blanket. It doesn’t matter how impressive this place is, his blanket is always rumpled. “You need to be okay for Mum…and Jules. You don’t want to break his heart, do you?”
Stupidly, I expect him to reply to that. To tell me how I should be more concerned about my heart than his. But he doesn’t, and it doesn’t matter how long I stand there waiting, I know it won’t happen today.
Taking one last look at him I close his door as I rip the sterile gown and cap off. Cassie has already disposed of hers and right now her body looks so warm and inviting. All I want to do is press her to me and enjoy the feel of her. But after this…I can’t take from her when I’ve hurt her purposefully, for her own good or not.
Chapter 19
Cassandra
Although Leo is now sitting in the back seat with me, he’s still quiet. His hands are tightly knitted on his lap and he’s biting and sucking on his bottom lip like it personally offended him.
There’s a forced distance between us that’s frustrating and paining. He won’t get close enough to touch me and I hate it because this space between us is making me lonely.
Looking out of the window, I realise where we are. Nelson’s column is standing proudly with his lions sitting pretty and the fountains casting rainbows in the soft spring light.
My heart sighs at the sight of my favourite London square, the place I like to come every Saturday morning like a weekly mass. Trafalgar Square is resplendent. It has a buzz and draw like a stellar Hollywood actor.
The sight of the National Gallery fills my chest with a familiar ache that draws me to it. It’s my own little heaven.
