Entrapped: A Billionaire Romance (The ROGUES Series Book 3)

by Tracie Delaney

  Dad lifted his arm and patted Mom’s shoulder. “Giselle, don’t make a fuss now.”

  “Let me get the doctor,” I said, stepping toward the door for the second time. “They’ll want to check you over.”

  I left the medical staff with Dad and went to grab a couple of coffees for Mom and me. On the way there, I pulled out my phone to listen to the voicemails I’d ignored earlier.

  The most recent was from Upton, telling me not to worry about a goddamn thing and he’d take care of everything. I smiled as I listened to the command in his voice. The ROGUES guys had my back, always.

  The second was from James confirming he’d carried out my instructions and to call him when I got a minute, and to give his best to my dad.

  The third caused my heart to leap into my mouth, but as I listened to more and more of Catriona’s vitriolic tirade, my heart turned to a slab of granite, and fury sent a burning fire of rage careering through me.

  Finding a quiet corner from which to vent, I stabbed at the screen and waited for the call to connect. She answered on the third ring.

  “Hello, Ga—”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” I barked before she’d even finished her greeting.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You fucking should beg my goddamn pardon. Let me make one thing clear. I keep my promises, got it? I have no idea what’s happened to the transfer for Aiden’s medical treatment, but when I said I’d fund it, I fucking meant it. My guess? It’s a simple admin error, but that’s right, Catriona, you go ahead and assume I spend all my time thinking up ways to make your life miserable.”

  The sound of her taking a deep breath came over the line, while my chest pumped furiously. I flexed my fingers while waiting for her to respond.

  “Can you blame me for thinking the worst? Especially given how we left things between us.”

  “There is no us, as you’ve made perfectly clear. And if I’d had revenge on my mind, why do you think I’d have paid the last two payments and not this latest one? Did you think I’d woken up one day and just thought ‘fuck it’ and decided to play fast and loose with the health of a fifteen-year-old boy who’s done nothing to deserve my wrath?”

  She gasped, air whistling through her teeth, but I’d gotten into my stride now.

  “Do you want to know where I am right this second? Do you?”

  “Okay,” she said, her voice small and quiet.

  “I’m at the Santa Ana hospital in Montreal. My father had a heart attack. I’ve only just gotten your message, you know, because I was too fucking busy flying to be by his bedside while he lay at death’s fucking door.”

  A passing nurse shot me a glare. I turned my back on her.

  “God, Garen, I’m so sorry. How is he? Will he be all right?”

  “What the fuck do you care, Catriona?”

  The line fell silent, but I knew she was still there. I could hear her breathing. I kept the call open. As angry as I was, just being on the phone with her made my heart weep with joy. Fuck, I missed her worse than an absent limb. I wanted to climb down the phone line and crawl into her arms and tell her how much she meant to me, but I’d seen red, and all I wanted to do was hit out at her especially.

  “I do care,” she whispered, a hitch to her voice that sounded like she was holding back tears.

  I squeezed my eyes closed. I couldn’t do this right now. Maybe never. But definitely not with my father lying close by in a hospital bed. I had more pressing things that needed my attention.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll get James onto the missing payment.”

  Stabbing the end call button before she responded, I rested my forehead against the wall.

  I wanted her, but I didn’t know how to win her back. I had no experience to call upon. I twisted my lips to the side in a wry smile. Yelling at her following months of silence probably wasn’t the right strategy. I pinched the bridge of my nose and bowed my shoulders as exhaustion swept through me.

  Come on, jackass. Focus on Dad’s recovery and supporting Mom and then work to win back Catriona.

  34

  Garen

  I wandered from room to room at my parents’ house, eventually stopping outside my childhood bedroom. A grin inched across my face. Every time I visited I told Mom to redecorate, but she stubbornly refused. I stepped over the threshold, and a sense of belonging came over me. I’d left home at the age of eighteen when I moved to America to attend college, only visiting at the end of each semester, and while I’d assumed I’d come back here to live after I graduated, the unexpected launch of ROGUES and the subsequent need for the six of us to mobilize the company and ride the sudden wave of success had sent me to Vancouver instead.

  But each time I returned, the fact Mom had kept my bedroom exactly the same, from the posters of ice hockey players on the walls, to the soccer and swimming trophies I’d collected during my sporty days in high school, and even the colorful bedspread she’d painstakingly sewn square by square, told me how loved I was. Me being an only child—despite Mom and Dad both wanting more kids—had meant they’d spoiled me.

  My thoughts turned to Catriona and how much she’d missed out on by losing her parents at such a young age and how privileged I’d been. I closed my eyes.

  Fuck, I miss you.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  I twisted around to find Mom standing behind me. I pushed away the darkness that threatened to pull me under and smiled at her. “You’re stealthy.”

  She cocked her head. “Dinner’s ready.”

  I nodded and followed her to the kitchen. Sitting down to one of Mom’s home-cooked meals was a rarity I relished, and the sight of her specialty—grilled salmon with maple glaze and a side of wild rice—flooded my mouth with saliva.

  “That looks amazing,” I said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Dad’ll curse when he finds out you made his favorite and he wasn’t here to enjoy it.”

  “I’ll make it again when he comes home in a couple of days.”

  I dug in, savoring the sweet, sticky fish and rice Mom had flavored with dill. “I really must visit more often, if only for your cooking.”

  She grinned. “Whatever means I get to see my boy more often, I’ll take it.”

  We ate and I cleared the table, then Mom and I ventured into the living room to relax in front of the TV. Spending all day in the hospital mightn’t sound tiring, but surprisingly, it was. Or maybe it had something to do with the relief that my father was making a speedy recovery and would be home soon, in time for Christmas.

  I stared blankly at the TV show Mom had picked, not really paying attention. With time to think, my mind turned, once again, to Catriona. I knew she was still in Switzerland; Lia gave me regular updates, and right now she was probably curled up in bed, fast asleep, with thoughts of me far from her mind. She hadn’t called me back after I berated her so viciously. I wasn’t the least bit surprised, but still, disappointment nibbled away at my insides. I still hadn’t come up with a strategy for winning her back, and even if I did, there was no guarantee of success.

  I didn’t like those odds.

  “Garen, what’s the matter?”

  My brow furrowed as I moved my gaze from the TV to my mother. “Nothing, why?”

  She inclined her head to the left. “You seem sad. Depressed even. And that makes me unhappy.”

  I patted her arm and forced a smile that wavered, then fell. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “Is it a woman?” she asked. “You can talk to me, you know. I remember all too well what it was like to be young. All those raging hormones giving me grief.”

  A chuckle left my mouth, and I went to allay her fears with empty platitudes. But then I changed my mind. Talking to her could help. She might have the answer to my conundrum. It couldn’t hurt to bring her up to date with the last few months.

  “Yeah, it’s a woman. A beautiful, amazing woman who I do not deserve.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”
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  “Hold that thought,” I said with a grin.

  I told her everything. Well, almost everything. Admittedly, I left out one or two encounters. My mother did not need to know the full extent of my immorality. She listened in complete silence. Not a single interruption, just the occasional murmur or head nod while I spilled my guts. It felt so damned good to just get it all out there, the cathartic baring of my soul reaffirming how much Catriona meant to me.

  “You love her,” my mother stated with a knowing bob of her head. “You’re in love with this woman, and you’ve messed up and don’t know how to fix things.”

  A denial was on the tip of my tongue, but it died there, slain by the truth of my mother’s shrewd proclamation.

  I hung my head. “Yes.”

  “Have you told her you love her?”

  I snorted. “I don’t think she’d be interested in declarations of love after I yelled at her.”

  “From what you told me, she gives as good as she gets.”

  A smile formed on my lips. “Very true. She does.”

  “Do you have a picture?” Mom asked.

  Leaning forward, I picked my phone up from the coffee table and opened the photos app, flicking through until I found the one I was looking for. I didn’t have many pictures of Catriona, but from the few I had taken during our short time in Switzerland, this one was my favorite. Taken on our yacht trip in Geneva, Catriona was smiling, her face flushed by the keen wind, sunglasses on top of her head and her hair blowing about wildly. I handed the phone to my mother.

  “That’s Catriona.”

  Even I could hear the tenderness and wonder in my voice, along with a sizeable dose of pride.

  Mom stared at the picture for a few seconds, her brow furrowed. “She’s beautiful. Have I met her before?”

  I shook my head. “Definitely not. Why?”

  “She reminds me of someone.” She rubbed the space between her eyebrows. “It’ll come to me in a minute.” A few more seconds passed, and then she touched her fingertips to her forehead. “Got it. She reminds me of Rosie Moreau.”

  I frowned. “Who?”

  “You remember,” Mom said in that way parents always did when you’d just stated you hadn’t a clue what they were going on about. “Rosie. She was in your class at elementary school. Third grade. You took a liking to her, and one day on the way to school, you picked her a bunch of wildflowers and plucked up the courage to give them to her. A group of older boys saw you, and they laughed at you and called you pathetic. I remember you came home from school bawling your eyes out. You were a sensitive boy in those days. After that incident, the bullying started, and Rosie, wanting to fit in, sided with the mean kids and refused to talk to you. That’s when you developed a stammer.”

  Fuck. Me. I must have blocked the memory of Rosie and the speech impediment I’d had in my early years. Christ, yes, it was coming back to me now. I’d visited a speech therapist for two years, and it eventually disappeared.

  “Jesus.” I rubbed my forehead. “I haven’t thought about her in years. I remember she really hurt my feelings, though, when she refused to have anything to do with me. Looking back, I guess, like all kids, she just wanted to fit in. Wonder what happened to her?”

  Mom shook her head. “No idea. Her parents left the area later that school year.”

  A sudden notion occurred to me, one I contemplated keeping to myself. Catriona did resemble Rosie Moreau. It was faint but there all the same. The eyes. That’s where the similarity was. And her smile. But mostly the eyes.

  I decided to voice my thoughts to Mom. “Do you think the vague similarity between Catriona and Rosie is part of the reason why I took such pleasure every time I landed a low blow and hurt Catriona? That in some way I was trying to assert myself as the powerful one because I’d been bullied at school, and somewhere in my subconscious, I’d attributed the bullying with being nice to Rosie?”

  Mom twisted her lips and shrugged. “Could be.”

  “Fuck,” I muttered as another thought occurred to me. When Seb teased me about Catriona, I’d rushed to deny I felt anything for her, almost as if I was still that little kid scared my buddies would tease me over a girl.

  Mom squeezed my hand. “Sweetheart, even if that is why, you were completely unaware of it, and so I don’t think you should be too hard on yourself. The subconscious is a funny thing, as is memory. Both can play tricks on us.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “As for what you should do,” Mom continued, oblivious to how much I was reeling from her astute observation. “Wait for her to return to Canada and then go to see her. Stay calm and explain everything. Including Rosie and the bullying you suffered as a child, if you feel it’s important enough, but most of all, tell her how you feel.”

  “And what if she says she doesn’t feel the same?”

  Mom’s mouth turned down at the edges. “That’s life, sweetheart.”

  I scrubbed a hand over my face, then palmed the back of my neck. “I don’t think I can accept that outcome.”

  Mom smiled, my answer clearly the one she’d been hoping for. “Then fight for her. Show her she’s worth it. Unearth a grand gesture that demonstrates your love.”

  “A grand gesture,” I mused, my heart racing, drumming in my chest as I realized I had the perfect way to show Catriona what she meant to me. One I’d put into motion long ago, a long time before I realized she was the love of my life. Back then, I hadn’t understood why I’d done it, especially as it had been fucking expensive. Now, of course, it all became clear. Maybe even then I’d realized our futures were intertwined, that we were meant to be together. Perhaps my subconscious had known the truth all along and patiently waited for my heart to catch up. I couldn’t show her until she returned to Canada, but it was fucking perfect. She’d have to realize how much she meant to me as soon as she saw it.

  I leaned over and kissed Mom on the cheek. “You, Mother dearest, are a genius.”

  She grazed her knuckles over my cheek. “And you, my darling boy, are my proudest achievement. Now go get the girl.”

  35

  Catriona

  The airplane wheels touched down with a hard bump, and I gripped the sides of the seat, my fingers brushing Aiden’s who grinned over at me and mouthed “Lightweight.”

  I stuck out my tongue, and as the captain throttled back, I was thrown forward in my seat. I cursed under my breath but still caught a fierce glare from Grams. The woman never missed a thing.

  “Glad to be back?” I asked Aiden, although I knew the answer. He hadn’t stopped going on about the first things he was going to do as soon as we arrived back in Vancouver. Number one on the list was meeting up with his friends and going bowling. His energy levels had returned in spades over the last few weeks which, according to Dr. Faussman, was due to the drugs pushing back on the disease. In a few months, he might be in remission, and his life could get back to normal. Every day I hoped and prayed for that outcome.

  Garen, as good as his word, had sent the missing payment as well as a lump sum to cover future drugs that Aiden would need. His generosity in the face of my awful behavior humbled me. Most, if not all, other men would have stopped all financial assistance, especially after I’d left that terrible message the day his father became ill. I hadn’t known that, of course, but it didn’t stop me from feeling absolutely awful every time I thought about it. The things I’d said, the terrible blame I’d heaped on his shoulders when he was dealing with the possible loss of his father. He hadn’t spoken of them much, but enough for me to know how much he loved them.

  “Yes!” Aiden said, beaming. “Can I go see my friends as soon as we get home?”

  I opened my mouth, but Grams beat me to it. “No. You’ve had a long trip. Rest up today and you can visit with them tomorrow.”

  I expected an argument, but he simply nodded and grumbled, “Okay.”

  I guessed that meant he was feeling more tired than he wanted to let on. Then again, I felt just a
s exhausted after a seventeen-hour journey from Geneva to Vancouver, and sitting in a cramped economy seat without room to stretch your legs was a far cry from Garen’s luxury jet with its plush leather reclining chairs and couches that converted to a double bed.

  An ache bloomed in my chest, and breathing became a little trickier, as if my windpipe closed over and each breath took far more effort than it should. I’d busied myself for the last few months, and while I thought about him every day, I usually found something to distract me and keep the agony at bay. But now, returning to Canada, to the city we both lived in, I had a feeling I’d find it harder to divert my attention.

  I’d searched online to see if I could find anything out about his father’s condition, but there hadn’t been a single mention of it. Not even in the gossip columns that flooded the internet. For all I knew he was still in Montreal, thousands of miles away from Vancouver.

  I pressed a fist to my sternum and briefly closed my eyes.

  The pilot switched off the ‘fasten seat belt’ sign. Aiden leaped to his feet. I urged him to sit back down. “We can’t go anywhere until they open the doors. No point rushing.”

  Aiden helped me haul the bags off the luggage carousel, and we lined up for a cab. The biting January wind coiled around my ankles, sending a shiver down my spine. Nearby, energetic children jumped into puddles left behind by the winter rains.

  I slipped my arm around Grams’ shoulder and rubbed up and down.

  “Stop fussing, girl,” she groused but then leaned closer to me.

  I grinned at her and continued stroking her. “Grouch.”

  The cab drew up outside our house, and a longing swept through me. Over four months had passed since we’d left here, and the weeds in our little front yard had taken full advantage of our absence, their dull green shoots sprouting up despite Mother Nature’s best efforts to suppress them.

  “Funny how they continue to grow while everything else dies during the winter months,” I mused as I handed over the fare to the driver along with a healthy tip. He got out and helped us carry our suitcases to the front door, then left with a smile and a wave.