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“She was there,” I whisper, sliding a warning look Callum's way. Just because she knows Amanda was there doesn't mean she assumes she's dead. We can't drop that on her all at once.
As it turns out, we don't have to. “Well, what did he do to her? She was pretty pissed I was there. Did he hurt her? Is she here in the hospital too?”
Fuck.I have to say something. I wish I could find the right words. Callum is just as lost as I am, sputtering, his features pinched like he's trying to contain his emotions.
“Just tell me.” Any trace of hope is gone from her flat voice. “Just tell me already! I can take it.” Silence. I try to find the words, only they just won't come. She blurts out a soft, bitter laugh. “It's not like she was ever much of a mother, anyway.”
It should be Callum. I know it, and the look he gives me says he knows it, too. “Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, but she's gone… I wish there was a way I could have prevented it. I really do.”
I watch as she takes a deep shuddering breath before letting a single tear roll down her cheek. “That's what I figured. I don't know why, but I genuinely wanted it to not be true.”
“Sweetie, she was your mom no matter how she acted. It's only natural that you care about her.” It's more than a little awkward trying to hug her with a tube in my arm and tubes in hers, but somehow I manage to do it without dislodging anything. Eventually, she scoots over so we can share the bed. She rests her head on my shoulder, her tears slowly leaking from her eyes and getting caught by my thin gown.
Meeting Callum's gaze over the top of her head, I see the anguish in his eyes. No, he won't miss Amanda any more than I will, but his daughter is suffering, and the Moroni men are still walking free somewhere. I should've jammed that knife into Dominic's heart.
“Can you stay here with me?” Her mumbled tear-choked question takes me by surprise, though it shouldn't. I wouldn't want to be alone at a time like this, either.
Callum answers for me. “We'll work something out. There's plenty of room in here for another bed.” That's putting it mildly—I've been in hotel rooms smaller than this.
“I won't leave,” I promise, holding her a little tighter. “I'm here for you, always and forever.”
CALLUM
Pain.One of the most inescapable emotions in life. It's an experience you learn from at a young age, when you touch the hot stove or fall down and skin your knee. It's your body's way of telling you something isn't okay, or check this out, or stop what you're doing—a protective mechanism of sorts.
In my life, I've experienced many bouts of pain, physical and emotional, but nothing compares to the pain you feel seeing your child hurt and knowing there is nothing you can do to ease that pain. I've never been what anyone would call a helicopter parent, hovering over Tatum, watching every choice she makes. That is, until now.
While watching my daughter walk up the front steps of our home while half a dozen guards keep a watchful eye out for threats around the building's perimeter. I can't afford to take any chances, not with both her and Bianca back under my roof.
“Take it easy,” I urge. “Slow down.”
Tatum rolls her eyes at me over her shoulder, which I take as a good sign. “Dad, I have a concussion. I didn't forget how to walk.”
“I know, but you need to take what the doctor said seriously. Too quick movements could cause you to lose your balance, and hitting your head again will not help you recover any faster.”
“My balance is fine.” Pausing inside the doorway, she turns to me, giving me her best glare. “I'm begging you. Please, lighten up. You're the one walking around with a bullet wound in your abdomen. If there's anyone you should be worried about, it's yourself.”
Bianca steps in like a beacon of hope, offering a gentle but firm response. “Come on. I don't know about you, but I miss sleeping in a regular bed and not having a nurse come in every twenty minutes to check on me.” Taking Tatum by the arm, she offers me a look of sympathy. Is there something wrong with me trying to make sure my daughter is okay?
I wish she would let me help her, but she's as stubborn as a mule.
As glad as I am to watch her walk down the hall again, with Bianca at her side as they head to her wing, my heart sinks. No matter how much I tighten my grip, she's like quicksand slipping through my fingers. How can I help someone that doesn't want my help?
We continue through the house, and every step I take leaves me feeling relieved. I didn't know how much I missed being here. “It's good to be home.”
“That it is,” he agrees, sticking close to my side.
Too close. “Afraid I can't make it to my office alone?”
“Did I say that?”
“You don't have to.” I make a point of taking a giant step to the left to place more distance between us. “I can practically feel your breath on the back of my neck.”
“Remind me later not to ask if you need any help changing your bandages.”
“I wasn't going to ask for help.”
“No, of course not. Why would you accept anyone's assistance?” Sarcasm drips from his response. It's only once we've reached my office that he exhales loudly, rubbing at the back of his neck, giving off a frustrated energy. “I have to say it because it's eating me up inside, but I feel like if I was there, you wouldn't have been shot.”
