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Even if I had been more present, there's no substitute for firsthand experience. I don't know how it feels to carry life the way Bianca can. I can't relate to what it means, bringing a life into the world that she wasn't ready for. This should be a joyful, happy time in her life, and I took that away from her—that and so many other things. In my life, I feel guilty for very few things, for if I allowed myself to feel remorse for all the things I've done, it would kill me.
Nonetheless, the guilt I feel for hurting Bianca. Nothing touches that pain. It's one I feel with every beat of my heart, every breath of air into my lungs. I did this to keep her at my side, but inevitably it was the one thing that pushed her the furthest away.
I can't help how my feet automatically take me to her, carrying me through the thick grass. She can hate me all she wants, but there is no chance of me standing by and watching her suffer without at least letting her know I'm here. I'm finally starting to understand I can't take the pain she feels away, but I can ask her to lay some of it on my shoulders.
I have rushed into buildings knowing a gunman could be waiting for me to enter. I've faced virtually every form of threat known to man. All that was nothing compared to this, approaching the woman I love with every ounce of me. There's no guarantee of how she'll react or if following her here is the last straw. I would have to accept that if it is. She's not going to get me to change my fundamental nature.
I don't know what alerts her to my presence. There's no snapping of a twig, no sudden disturbance to make her lift her head and look around. I'm standing downwind, so I doubt she picks up the smell of my cologne. Whatever it is, it leaves her staring at me, her expression bleak, tearful.
“What are you doing here?” she asks with a soft, defeated sigh. There's no surprise, no attempt at defending herself as I slowly approach.
“Following you.”
Another sigh. “Of course you were.” The disdain in those four words leaves me bristling, while at the same time I feel roughly two inches tall. How does she manage to do that?
“What do you want me to do?” All she does is turn her face away, which is relatively harder to deal with than if she had hurled insults at me. “In case you've forgotten—and I know you haven't—you were kidnapped recently. And all you were doing was something as innocent as going to work. Excuse me if, in the days after that, I overreacted and installed a tracking system on your car.”
“Once again,” she seethes, still looking away, “you did it without talking to me about it.”
“I did what I thought was right. The only things that matter to me are you, our baby, and the safety of you both.”
Those magic words send her head swiveling around, eyes blazing. “That isn't the point, Callum. Don't you get it? I'm not even arguing the idea of having you track my car. I understand why it makes you feel more secure after what happened. And honestly, I wouldn't mind you always knowing where my car is when I leave—even though I don't necessarily love the idea of you being able to follow me around. Besides, tracking my car wouldn't have helped things.”
“You're right. That does make sense.”
Her gaze narrows. “You're just saying that.”
“No, I'm not. What you said makes sense. I didn't think of it that way.”
“This wouldn't be an example of telling me what I want to hear just to make things better between us, would it?”
“Not even close.” However, I can admit to myself how good it feels just to be in her presence. Hearing her sweet voice, even when there's a note of sarcasm winding its way through her words like an invisible thread. Anything, so long as I can look at her, speak to her, connect with her, even on a simple level like this. I'd say damn near anything for her to keep talking.
“And you're not just saying that because I was crying?” An interesting use of past tense, considering there are still tears cutting a slow path down her cheeks. She pulls one of the sleeves of her sweater down over her fist and uses it to mop up the wetness.
“What do you want me to say, Bianca? I'm trying. For you, I'm trying.”
She releases a shuddering breath, turning her face toward the headstone bearing her mother's name. “I know.”
I could double down now while she's quiet and accepting. I could drill into her head the importance of her safety and how I don't trust my enemies to lay low for long. What could have happened if one of Moroni's men was out here and found her? I'm sure she thought about that before she left, and somehow it was still important that she get out of the house. That she ventures here to her mother's grave.
“It isn't easy to accept there's something you can't get from me.” The words come out so slowly, and each one is a struggle. She deserves to hear this, though, just as much as I need to say it. “You would rather kneel here by your mother's grave and speak to her headstone than speak to me, the man who loves you, who would do anything for you. That's not an easy thing to wrap my head around.”
“You know exactly why that is.”
“I do. I know this is my fault, which doesn't make it any easier. If anything, that makes it more impossible to bear.”
“I don't know what you expect me to say to you. I'm not going to comfort you and tell you that I'm sorry and everything is going to be okay.”
“I don't expect you to, and I don't need you to. Anything I'm going through right now, I set into motion. I see it, and I want you to know I see it. And no,” I'm quick to add when her mouth opens, “I'm not saying that just because I think it's what you want to hear. I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I understand and know what I did was wrong. I'm sorry.”
“Why was it wrong?”
She will not be satisfied until she has me by the balls and twists them off. Right away, my old instincts flare to life, crowding my thoughts. Nobody speaks to me this way. Nobody demands I explain myself. I'm a Torrio, a man of power and money.
That's childish. The result of fear. If there's any hope of us lasting—and we have to, there's no other way—I can't afford to blindly give in to those impulses anymore. I need to be the man she needs me to be.
Which is why, instead of lashing out or dragging her to the car kicking and screaming, I settle for a deep breath to steady myself. “I was never anything but open about what I wanted from us. It was wrong because I took your choice away. You deserved to decide when you were ready to start a family, and I should've given you a say in the matter.”
