by Sierra Rose
I wasn’t sure anyone else saw the extraordinary transformation. James was too busy fuming, and Nick was too surprised that his father had bothered to show up at all, so neither of them noticed much of anything else. To me, though, it couldn’t have been more obvious.
“Nick?” He took a tentative step inside, followed by another, his dark eyes sweeping over every inch of his son. “Are you—”
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
I had never seen James so angry, and I honestly found it more than a little scary.
In just two swift steps, he crossed the room and grabbed Mitchell by the collar, moving his face just inches from the man’s and glaring at him. “Get out!” James shouted. “Leave! No one wants you here.”
Before Mitchell could take a single step, James did it for him. He broke open the door with a swift kick and literally threw his friend’s father out into the hall. Just like that, one of the most frightening men in the world was bested in a stunning display of fierce loyalty and uncompromising rage. Before he even landed, the door slammed shut, creating a clear delineation between those who were wanted inside and those who weren’t.
With a dark fury in his eyes, James then pulled the door shut. He stood beside them for a moment, silently catching his breath before turning back to Nick and me and forcing a smile onto his face. “Now, where were we?”
Nick simply stared, as if he wasn’t sure whether what he’d seen was real or if it was just some sort of hallucination, courtesy of the hospital pharmaceuticals.
More than anyone in the world, James Cross held the unique position of having grown up with Mitchell and Nick. He saw all the damage but experienced none of the trauma himself. What resulted was a man who was fiercely protective and unforgiving, to a fault.
“James,” I said softly, “you can’t just—”
“Where were we?” he said again, keeping his eyes locked on Nick.
Nick held his friend’s gaze for a moment before making a conscious effort to clear his face. “Body doubles,” he responded promptly.
The two shared a fleeting smile.
“That’s right, body doubles.”
I had to commend them for an admirable effort to keep the day moving along, but I hadn’t yet been programmed to shake off what I’d just seen. My mind wasn’t in the room; my only thoughts were with Mitchell, out in the hall. I couldn’t help replaying the heartbreaking transformation that had somehow softened him into a parent, and I couldn’t ignore the violent rebuff screaming the silent answer: It’s too late.
As the two men in the room with me began debating the pros and cons of hiring a stuntman to perform Nick’s walk of freedom for him, I mumbled something about finding a restroom and slipped out. All the nurses had abandoned their posts, probably trying to avoid being forced to testify in the trial that was sure to come, but Mitchell was now standing exactly where he landed. Even more shocking, the man was crying, something I didn’t think he was capable of.
I froze in the doorway, staring with wide eyes before I pulled it quickly shut, wanting to spare him the humility of his son or James seeing him so vulnerable.
It was hard to say whether Mitchell even noticed me, because his dark eyes were focused only on the door. It was a stare so intense that part of me was convinced he could see right through them.
“Mr. Hunter?”
Mitchell didn’t take his eyes off the room for a second. He didn’t even blink as he quietly said, “He hates me,” with silent tears still streaming down his face. “And he even has James playing bouncer.”
I stared at the salty rivers on his cheeks, and I was absolutely unable to speak. I wondered if it was the first time he’d ever cried. In fact, part of me feared his skin might sizzle at the touch of his own tears.
Chapter 18
“I don’t blame him,” Mitchell continued softly. “He should hate me. Hell, after everything I’ve done, you both should. James is right. No one wants me here, and I don’t blame any of you for that. I made my bed, and I have to lie in it.”
I lifted my eyes to look into the face of the man who had caused us so much misery and pain. “I don’t hate you.” It was a stunning realization, but it was true, something I didn’t even know myself until I heard my voice speaking the words out loud. “I just...feel sorry for you.”
A humorless laugh slithered out from behind Mitchell’s teeth. “You feel sorry for me?” His eyes flickered up to mine, and unless I was mistaken, I could have sworn he gave me his first genuine smile. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”
A delicate blush blossomed in my cheeks, but for possibly the first time since I’d met Mitchell Hunter, I somehow managed to hold my ground. “Nick doesn’t hate you either,” I said quietly. “He just... He wants to live his own life. He doesn’t understand why you won’t let him do that.”
Mitchell sighed. “It isn’t that simple. Nick’s life is...a reflection of me, so—”
“No, Mr. Hunter. Nick’s life is a reflection of Nick,” I interrupted heatedly. “That’s what you have never understood. He’s not a little kid anymore, playing in your shadow. He’s his own person, an individual capable of doing incredible things. You just have to release your stranglehold long enough to let him try.”
Okay, Abby, cool it...unless you’d like to experience that stranglehold firsthand, I suddenly thought, fearing he might be able to pull a Darth Vader and end me without even touching me. The dark side is strong in this one.
Surprisingly, though, Mitchell didn’t look at all angered by my outburst. On the contrary, he was looking at me as if he was really seeing me for the first time. “You’re right,” he murmured, returning his eyes to the door. “Not since he was about sixteen has he cared at all about what I do. He’s always been his own man.”
I could see that. It would have been natural for Nick to crave his father’s approval, but then again, he wasn’t exactly one to pine. My guess was that he spent two minutes staring longingly at the wrong side of his father’s office door before he gave up on the notion entirely and discovered that he could make his own fun.
“You need to let him go,” I urged softly. “Let him go, and he’ll come back eventually. I promise. The door between you two hasn’t shut forever. Just give it some time.”
There was a lengthy pause, and during that moment, I saw Harold hovering anxiously by the elevator. He was aching to know what was going on but didn’t want to disturb us.
Finally, Mitchell bowed his head to his chest. “You really care about him, don’t you? It’s obvious that he cares just as deeply about you.”
My blush deepened as I nodded. “It’s more than caring. I love him. In fact, we love each other.”
Mitchell considered that for a brief moment, then nodded as well. “In that case, I’ll no longer stand in your way.”
I froze again, not quite sure what that meant for Nick, for me, or for the baby growing somewhat secretly inside me. “So... Let me get that straight. You promise that you won’t send a hitman after him for leaving the Hamptons?” I asked cautiously, only half-joking.
Mitchell raised his eyebrows slowly.
I held up my hands. “That was all me, Mr. Hunter. Nick only left to find me, just like when he jetted off to Peru.”
Mitchell stared at me a second more, then chuckled softly. “Ah, yes, the Peruvian paradise to which the two of you supposedly eloped.” From that, I had to assume he’d seen the same headlines in the gift shop where I’d been browsing earlier. He smiled for a second more before shaking out his coat briskly. “Tell the papers whatever you want, Abby. I won’t force you to live a lie, and I certainly won’t force my son to. I’ve come to learn that forcing him only makes him do the opposite of my wishes anyway,” he said with a wink.
I blinked, unable to believe it. “And, uh...what about the flash drive and the dinner on Friday with the Board?”
In a single motion, he pulled the metallic drive from his pocket and tossed it toward the trash but didn
’t bother to look to see if it landed inside. “I don’t give a flying fuck about the Board,” he replied shortly. “As for the dinner, consider this an official cancelation.”
Funny. He sounds so much like his son when he says stuff like that.
A smile spread up my face, one that was just as tentatively returned. We locked eyes for a moment before I headed back to the door and said over my shoulder, “Wait here for just a minute.”
I slipped back into Nick’s room without Nick or James being the wiser. In fact, judging by the intense looks on their faces as they discussed ways to con the system, I assumed they didn’t even realized that I’d stepped out. It wasn’t until I cleared my throat for the second time, that they looked up.
“What’s up, love?” Nick asked sweetly.
“Yeah, sorry. We’re kind of in the middle of something,” James teased with a wink.
I pulled in a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “I want you to talk to your father.”
After a beat and a smirk from both of them, James said matter-of-factly, “And I want a unicorn. What’s your point?”
“I’m serious, Nick. You should—”
“Why?” he asked quickly, cutting me off and betraying no emotion one way or another. The way he said it, he was merely curious as to why I’d had such a sudden change of heart.
I looked deep into his eyes, willing him to understand. “Because I think you’re going to be surprised by what he has to say...pleasantly surprised, in fact.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, one that seemed to stretch on for hours.
Finally, he nodded. “Fine. Let him in,” he agreed.
“What!?” James exclaimed. “You can’t be serious!”
Nick’s eyes never left mine. “Let him in,” he said again.
James stared at his friend entreatingly, his dark hair spilling into his eyes. “Nick, you’re on drugs, literally. Trust me. You don’t need your asshole father screaming at you right now about some fucking worthless dinner party! He doesn’t need to see you like this.”
Nick’s eyes softened as he turned to his friend, the one who’d seen him through so many difficult moments. He knew it was time for a change, because he was going to be a father soon himself. One way or another, something had to give. “James, let him in,” he said again.
James stood still for one more second, clenching his jaw, before he turned abruptly on his heel and yanked the door open.
Mitchell’s entire face lit up in surprise before he walked cautiously forward. Everything seemed to be fine for a second, but as the two men crossed paths, James leaned down ever so briefly to whisper something in the man’s ear. Mitchell froze dead still, his face paling before it softened into a rare smile.
“You’re a good friend, James.”
I couldn’t believe it, Nick couldn’t believe it, and James couldn’t believe it himself. For a second, time seemed to stand still, but then James swept out the door with a look of disgust on his face, shaking his head and muttering four-letter complaints, starting with, “Go fuck yourself, Mitch.”
Progress! I do believe we’ve seen a step in the right direction!
Nick and I shared a secret smile before he turned and braced himself for whatever Mitchell had to say.
“I want us to reconnect, son,” Mitchell said. “I’m so sorry for everything that has happened in the past. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. I’ll do whatever it takes because I love you more than anything. I want us to become closer. And I truly mean that. If I would’ve lost you today, my life would’ve been over.”
“Staring death straight in the eyes makes us see things in a different light.”
“This close call, well, it’s made me think. We can’t keep going down this same path.”
“I know,” Nick whispered.
“Things have to change between us.”
“I know.”
“I want us to have a better father/son relationship. I love you, son.”
Nick eyes filled with emotion. “And I want that too. You’re my dad, and I love you too. I want your grandson to love you too.”
He looked puzzled. “Grandson?”
“Abby’s pregnant.”
He gasped, then smiled in delight. Michell truly looked happy and excited. He congratulated and hugged us. And best of all, he gave us his blessing. What a breakthrough. Nick and Mitchell had reconnected. They started to talk about deeper topics, then hug each other as they talked everything out.
I silently followed James into the hall. At first, he made sure to keep the door slightly ajar, but after a pointed look from me, he closed it with a sigh.
“This had better not end in tears,” he warned softly. “If it does, they sure as hell better be Mitchell’s, if the bastard’s even capable of crying.”
I bit my lip and wearing a quiet smile, confident it the transformative power of my scheme. “Oh, I think you’ll find Mitchell is more than able to cry.”
James shot me a curious stare, then returned his attention to the door. He was still burning holes in it with his eyes when I walked a few feet away to the trashcan. The incriminating flash drive was still sitting innocently on the floor, right where Mitchell had left it. With a triumphant grin, I lifted my foot high in the air and smashed it down, taking unspeakable pleasure as it shattered into a million powdery pieces beneath my heel.
“What the...?” James asked distractedly, glancing over.
When I pulled away my foot, all that remained was a scattering of metallic dust upon the tile. Just like that, the entire slate was wiped clear. “Nothing,” I answered with a little smile. “There’s nothing there.”
It was a turning point, an unprecedented olive branch, the likes of which neither father nor son had ever seen. After officially releasing him from any further arrangement with the Board, Mitchell tentatively asked about the accident, then about his recovery. Then, with the caution of two men who had spent decades avoiding it, the two began to simply talk.
It was a revelation, a miniature Manhattan miracle. James didn’t trust it, but Harold seemed pretty happy.
By the time Nick finally made his big escape that night at around one a.m., it was the happiest I’d ever seen him. “This day!” he said, grinning from ear to ear as we darted across the parking lot to the cab waiting on the other side of the block. “This day has been one for the books.”
Chapter 19
Days later, Nick went out to celebrate. I originally planned to go with him but in the wake of the long, stressful day, I decided a soak in a hot bath with lots of bubbles would help me unwind and soothe my frazzled, pregnant, tired body and mind. James was going to go with him as well, but he received a call from his own father that same night and headed into the city.
“Have fun and be safe,” I stressed, as Nick slipped on his jacket to head out to the nearest bar to meet some of his friends from boarding school. “Just promise not to try to tackle any more cars.”
He saluted me with a dazzling smile, flashing every one of his pearly teeth. “Yes, ma’am.”
We leaned in for a quick kiss, then went our separate ways, looking forward to a little time to relax.
I soaked for a while in the tub, then crawled into bed with a contented smile on my face. I sank happily beneath the covers to enjoy what promised to be the best night’s sleep I’d had in months. Little did I know that it would not be a night of sweet dreams after all, that all those happy feelings were about to come to an end.
The call came at around four in the morning, ringing on one of my old publicist phones, a number obviously drunk-dialed, out of habit. It took a second for me to even find the phone, and I answered in a daze as I squinted sleepily up at the wall-mounted clock, “Hello?”
“Abby!” Nick shouted.
From his deafening response, I couldn’t tell whether he was delighted or terrified to hear my voice. I couldn’t hear much of anything over the yelling and screeching in the background, and as the wave of obnoxi
ous partying noise rushed into my previously peaceful bedroom, I had to hold the phone farther away from my ear.
“Nick?” I sat up in bed, my hand moving automatically to my belly for support. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Where are you?” I asked, wondering if he was at a Neolithic rave gone wrong.
“Abby! I’m sog lad youc alled!”
That made me pause. As if the confused sentiment and over-effusive volume wasn’t enough, the edges of his words were blurring together. He seemed to blend his vowels together, struggling with all the consonants between.
“But I didn’t,” I said slowly, trying to place him, sight unseen, somewhere on the barometer of his level of intoxication, a measurement I’d attempted to make countless times before. “You called me, Nick.”
There was slight pause as a chorus of screaming voices mixed together with a wilting country crooner wailing from a jukebox.
“What?” he called, as if he couldn’t hear me.
I sighed and repeated my original question: “Where are you?”
“About that...” There was another pause as the sound of shattering glass echoed into the phone, seemingly very close to his head. “Abby, I, uh... I seem to be in, um...in a spot of trouble.”
A spot of trouble? Just how big of a spot? I thought grimly. I’d been Nick’s publicist for two years, and I knew exactly what “a spot of trouble” could imply.
“Let me get dressed,” I said.
“No time! I’m in a bar fight here. Just, uh...throw on some shoes and get down here. Hurry. Some guy just pointed a knife at me. At least I think it was a knife.”
“What!? Shit, Nick! Call the police.”
“Why? Wait, I know. You just want to see me in handcuffs,” he said, with a naughty smile in his voice, even though it was no time for jokes.
“Nick, you promised me you’d be safe, and jail is far safer than being shanked with a broken bottle or knife...or worse,” I admonished.