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And a broken heart.
Chapter Thirty-Two
~ Caelan ~
Three days since he’d left, and she was still confined to her bed. Caelan didn’t know what to do except give her Logan when he cried. At least she responded to him; that was one good thing and gave him hope that she would recover, eventually.
That fucking bastard! If he’d ever cared for or loved Flora, he’d have held his hands up, admitted his sins and left quietly. No. He’d caused her even more pain with his sickness.
Caelan didn’t know why she couldn’t see it. How much of a liar, pretender and fake Eric was. Why didn’t she see it? He’d hoped she would finally see it, but that hadn’t happened. She’d only gone further into this fantasy, been taken deeper beneath the warp and weft of his web of deceit.
He needed to visit his ma and if he were to do that, he needed to know Flora and the baby would be safe while he was out of the house. So he had to do something he didn’t really approve of, but was necessary.
Caelan packed her bags and made the call. Her friend Sophie’s marriage to the banker had broken up and she’d moved back to London with the kids. The husband had stayed behind in France to live out his dream as a landowner. She’d returned to rediscover her dream as a project management consultant. It might have also had something to do with his wandering eye… and past.
Caelan called a taxi, put her and the babe in it and told the cabbie the address.
Flora only asked, “Why?”
“While I finish it,” he said.
She gave a brief nod. “Be safe.”
“I will.”
First thing the next day, he left for the prison. A quick trip down the road and he found himself at HMP Bronzefield. He walked in the place and everyone was wary of him. So they should be. He had the ears of the highest people in the land and one word from him that any of them in there were bent—he’d have them down the Job Centre the next day.
She was brought out into a private room in chains. Her lank hair had turned grey because she could no longer buy bleach. Her clothes were stained, she wore no make-up and she looked every one of her fifty-seven years—and then some. This wasn’t a woman who was protected or able to throw her weight around anymore. She’d been broken. No longer was she pulling the strings. So, Caelan’s worst fears were confirmed.
Caelan watched as it sank in he’d come to visit her. She was dying slowly and painfully, he could tell. This wasn’t her world. It’d been Blake’s and all the other disreputable men she’d never known. She’d been along for the ride, but ultimately, she wasn’t as tough or as resourceful as any of the men who’d driven her to this.
“Come to gloat?” Her head rocked on her shoulders like she’d been taking some strong medication. “Heard Blake’s alive.”
“Aye, I saw him a few days ago. Gone back to America, he has. The girls are safe. He has a new wife who cares for them. And his cancer returned. So, there we go.”
She gulped. “Small mercies.”
“Canna disagree.”
“And Flora? How is she?”
He wore an unreadable expression. “A mother now. We called him Logan.”
She looked surprised, then chastened, staring down at her lap. “And you’re here…?”
“Wanted to see ye one last time.”
“Heard I’m losing the will?” she said, her grimy teeth showing as she gave a half-hearted smile.
“Something like that,” he said.
Part of him had always wanted to believe it’d been her pulling the strings all this time, but another part of him had known that not to be the case.
“I’m sorry, if it counts,” she said.
His jaw locked and he looked away. “It counts.”
“You got a good deal really. The old goats took care of you. You got some dosh, too.”
