Always: A Legacy Novel (Cross + Catherine Book 1)

by Bethany-Kris

  “For what, babe?” he asked.

  “This.”

  Cross reached out and pulled her into him, tucking her into his embrace, hiding her face into his neck, and keeping her safe.

  He was always keeping her safe.

  From day one.

  “I didn’t want you to leave, I was getting bad, and I knew it was going to get worse,” he heard her say. “I should have told you not to leave.”

  “Would it have helped?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long, though?” he asked.

  Catherine exhaled shakily. “I don’t know.”

  That was the problem.

  “I love you, Catherine.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “Because I’m yours.”

  “I’ll get her to call you when she gets in from classes,” Cross said into the phone.

  “Why the hell didn’t she call last night?” Dante demanded.

  “We went out.”

  Lies.

  “You both missed church, too.”

  “Work,” Cross said.

  Lies.

  “Jesus. Just get her to call me or her mother,” Dante said, sighing.

  “I will.”

  More lies.

  He lied to everyone. So did she. He lied to protect her. She lied because she could.

  It was all bad.

  Cross hung up the phone.

  Catherine stared at him from her perch on the edge of the pool table, bathed in morning sunlight from the windows. She was sober. She was eating. She was alive.

  She still wouldn’t call.

  She wouldn’t leave.

  She wouldn’t let him go.

  Zeke was right.

  “Maybe we can meet up in a couple of days, Andino. Okay?”

  Cross waited until Catherine hung up her phone call, and then made his presence known by clearing his throat loudly. It seemed it didn’t matter. Catherine barely reacted to his action, as though she already knew he was there.

  “You need to stop dealing,” Cross said.

  Catherine didn’t turn around. “Why?”

  “Because you can’t handle it. None of it. You’ve proven that, haven’t you? Or do you think you need another round of the last two weeks to get a clearer picture?”

  “Fuck off, Cross.”

  “That can’t be your go-to phrase every time I piss you off, babe.”

  “It works.”

  “Obviously not. I’m still standing here.”

  “It wasn’t the dealing that did this.”

  “No,” he agreed, “maybe not. But it puts you in situations that could make you spiral into another round of depression. It puts you front row and center to drugs and alcohol. That’s shit you don’t need. You can’t do it, Catty.”

  “I can. I can just choose not to.”

  “Then that’s what you need to do.”

  Catherine gave him a look over her shoulder, then headed for the front door, and grabbed her messenger bag as she went. “I’m already late for class, Cross. Let’s do this later.”

  She would keep pushing later off.

  He already knew it.

  “I got an interesting call,” Calisto said.

  Cross looked up from the Guns and Ammo magazine. “What for?”

  “You.”

  “What did I fuck up now?”

  Calisto chuckled. “Nothing, son. It was from Theo, actually. He says you’re … making him a lot of money.”

  Cross shrugged. “Guess so.”

  “He said you could make a lot more if you headed to Chicago full-time.”

  “Likely.”

  “Then why haven’t you jumped at that chance yet?”

  Catherine.

  “Not ready to make a choice yet,” Cross said, “between running guns or staying here.”

  “Well, that’s bullshit.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Cross—”

  “You know I’ve been doing it both for six months now, right?”

  Calisto frowned. “I’m aware.”

  “Yeah, so I’ve done exactly what you told me I wouldn’t be able to. Run guns, and work on getting my button. I did what you said would likely ruin me in one case or another. I think that should be enough to just say fuck it, and let me decide things on my own without input.”

  “Then keep doing it,” Calisto replied, “but start paying dues to your boss for money you’re making while still acting as his man.”

  “You want the full seventy percent, or do you want thirty since it’s coming out of another syndicate?”

  Calisto blew out a harsh breath. “I don’t want any, Cross. I want you to understand that’s what it means, though, when you work as my man under another family.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cross said, laughing dryly. “We both know my button is coming up fast, right? I’ve been mentoring for years—Wolf is going to nominate my name. I saved Rick’s ass, because he’s a fuck up, and he’ll back the nomination. They’re just two men. They’re guarantees. I’ve already got my button whether I want it or not.”

  “I’m giving you a chance to do something different, son.”

  Because open seats were coming up.

  Because his button was close.

  Didn’t his step-father already know?

  “I was always going to be a made man, Papa. I was born for this.”

  She danced.

  She smiled.

  She laughed.

  She winked.

  She joked.

  She talked.

  She made them happy.

  She was perfect.

  She was lying.

  “Lucia looks so happy, doesn’t she?” Catrina asked.

  “She does,” Catherine agreed.

  The young girl danced on her father’s toes, sweet as could be.

  Cross stood behind Catherine, always watching. He watched for the wine that was brought out, and how she side-stepped the server to stay away. He watched how she interacted with her family, and put her mask on again and again. She was too good at that, and they didn’t mind when she did slip up because she was there with them, and she hadn’t been with them for a long time.

  He saw how her eyes lied when they needed to, and how her lips told more when she opened them.

  She was happy, she said.

  She was good. She promised them.

  She was not those things.

  Cross wasn’t sure why, but his girl was tired. Too quiet, sometimes. Cold when he wasn’t near. Restless when she sat too long. Snappy, difficult, and lonely, she sometimes told him. Alone, even in a crowded room.

  Her head was a dark place.

  He still couldn’t get in there.

  Cross was shouting to help her.

  Catherine was screaming to loud to hear him.

  As soon as Catherine’s mother was gone from her side, she turned to him. “Do you think we could sneak out of here soon without them noticing?”

  She was done.

  Done pretending.

  She still didn’t want them to know.

  He couldn’t keep lying for her.

  He wasn’t ever going to be the thing to fix her now.

  Not anymore.

  One last time …

  “Yeah, Catherine, we can sneak out. Anytime.”

  Saw her at the party last night, Zeke’s text read. She wasn’t drunk or anything, but she was definitely working, man.

  Cross read the text again as he sat the one duffle bag in front of the elevator. The boxes—things of Catherine’s that he packed up while she was at school and thought he was working—would be waiting for someone to pick up.

  This was killing him.

  He was dying already.

  It had to be done.

  He flicked over to Catherine’s text that came in just a minute before.

  Just got home, it read.

  He heard the elevator coming up, but didn’t move. When it opened, her gaze widened to see him s
tanding there, and then she saw the bag at his feet. She stepped out, and the door closed.

  Cross didn’t say anything.

  Not right away.

  He heard the elevator drop back down, likely going to get someone else.

  “Did you get a call to go to Chicago?” Catherine asked.

  He heard her fear lingering in her words, though she didn’t show it in her expression. She was always wearing a mask for him now, too.

  She put on such a good show.

  It was bad for her health.

  It was bad for them.

  “No,” Cross said, “it’s your stuff. Clothes, and things. It’ll do you for a bit, until you can get someone here to grab the rest.”

  Catherine stiffened. “What?”

  “Where were you last night?”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Out. You were working late, so I went out.”

  “With Andino,” Cross pressed.

  “So?”

  “To work,” he said.

  Catherine blinked, and wetness edged along the line of her lashes. “So what if I did?”

  “That was my line, Catherine, and you knew it. I asked for very little—I didn’t push you to go to see somebody to talk to. I didn’t say shit, even though you need it. I only asked that you stopped doing that because you needed to.”

  “I don’t—”

  “This isn’t a fight,” Cross interjected. “This is the end of a fight, Catty. I’m so done fighting because I can’t even win what I’m fighting for. It took me too long to realize it, though.”

  She sniffled, and the first tears fell.

  Cross reached out and stroked her cheek, taking away the tear line with his thumb. “Don’t cry, babe.”

  “So what, you’re just … making me leave?”

  “No, it’s more than that.”

  “What, then?”

  “I can’t keep saving you, Catherine. I can’t make you happy if you’re not happy with yourself. I need you stand up on your own—learn to own who you are. Grow up. I’m always going to be here, waiting, because I don’t know anything different. I only know you.”

  “Cross, please don’t do this.”

  The tears streaked more heavy lines down her cheeks.

  Falling from clear eyes.

  Sober eyes.

  He got her to there.

  She needed to do the rest.

  “It’s always been you, you know?” he murmured. “You’ve always been the one breaking my fucking heart again and again, but I loved you through that shit. It’s my turn this time. It’s my choice this time. I love you today, Catherine, and when this is done and over with, I’m still going to love you tomorrow.”

  He pressed the elevator button, and picked up her bag to hand it over. She sobbed; her fists tightened around the bag in her shaking hands.

  “You need to start learning to save yourself, Catherine.”

  “Cross.”

  The elevator dinged, and the door opened. Catherine’s gaze darted to it. He kept watching her.

  “You need to learn to love yourself because I can’t be the only one doing it. I’m still going to be here when you learn how to do that,” he told her. “But I can’t keep doing it for you; I’m going to kill myself trying to fix something in you that’s not for me to fix, or you’re going to die while I’m still trying. I’m a Band-Aid; you need stitches. At least this gives us both a chance to get it right next time, babe.”

  Catherine wiped the wetness from her cheeks, but more kept falling.

  “You’re killing me now,” she whispered.

  “I’m hurting you a little bit,” he replied quietly, “because I love you enough to do this. You’re going to see that someday. Not today, I know, but someday.”

  “But …”

  “This is supposed to be our thing, Catty. Remember? I tell you that I love you, you make me promise, and—”

  Catherine’s gaze dashed up to his, so clear and full of tears. “That’s not fair.”

  “Love you,” he said, urging her into the elevator.

  She trembled there. “Cross.”

  “Love you.”

  “Cross.”

  “Come on. This is what we do, babe.”

  She breathed deep, tears falling, and heart breaking.

  They could get it right the next time. Someday, it would be them again.

  And, God …

  He knew it was going to be worth it. It just hurt a lot right now.

  Cross needed to save his heart one more time. She was his heart, after all. He might be telling her to save herself, but he was putting his hands into the fire, too. Just in case.

  “Please don’t make me do that with you; don’t ruin that for me with this,” she cried.

  “Love you,” he said.

  One last time.

  Catherine stared down at the floor, and the door started to close. “Promise?”

  “Always.”

  ***This is an early excerpt of Revere, book two of the Catherine + Cross series inside the Legacy Novels. It is subject to editing changes, and may contain grammatical/proof errors.***

  “It’s Catherine, right? Catherine Marcello.”

  The click-clack of heels on hardwood floor echoed to Catherine’s spot on the floor of the sitting room. She continued her staring contest with the ceiling. It seemed to be the only thing lately that wasn’t constantly hovering, asking questions, or demanding answers.

  “You were aware I was coming to chat with you today, weren’t you?”

  Catherine’s gaze slid to the side, but the rest of her didn’t move an inch. It was just enough for her to discern a tall woman, likely in her mid-forties or slightly older, with wild red curls and warm blue eyes. She was dressed in black skinny jeans, sky-high heels, and a flowy red blouse. The woman must have been who Catherine’s father meant when he said they would have a guest, and she should get her ass up off the floor.

  Clearly, Catherine didn’t follow that advice.

  “Aren’t people like you required to wear … I don’t know, pant suits or something?”

  The woman glanced down at her attire. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  “Doesn’t seem very therapist-ish to me in skinny jeans and stiletto heels, that’s all.”

  “Ah, I see.” She smiled lightly, and took a seat on the end of the chaise near Catherine’s head. “Well, I wouldn’t call this dressing down, but since you’re a special case, I figured I could dress how I was comfortable.”

  “Is that what we’re going to call this? A special case?”

  “What would you call it, Catherine?”

  “My father thinks I’m crazy, and here you are.”

  “Okay, let’s start with that, for one. Your father doesn’t think you’re crazy. He’s very concerned about you, and for good reason, considering what he told me.”

  “You know I’m not going to talk about what happened, right?” Catherine asked.

  The woman looked at her watch. “That’s a shame because I’ve got the next two hours cleared to sit here and chat with you. Your house is empty. I asked your parents to leave, and it doesn’t seem like you have anything else better to do except stare at the ceiling. That’s a bore, by the way, but if that’s what you want to do this session, we’ll do it.”

  Catherine’s gaze narrowed. “This session.”

  “Expect there to be a few more.”

  Awesome.

  “You actually got them to leave?” Catherine dared to ask.

  The woman’s lips quirked up at the edges, and she nodded. “I don’t think they’ve gone far, likely for a walk around the property. It’s a beautiful home. Next time, pick a new room for me to see.”

  Again with the more sessions thing.

  “They have this house on lockdown,” Catherine pointed out. “I’m not allowed to leave. You can see why I would be surprised that they actually left while you are here, even if it is just to walk around the property.”

  “What
would you do if you could leave?”

  “Is that your thing? You ignore what I say, except for one thing, latch onto it, and shoot me a question based on that?”

  “My name is Cara Guzzi. Your father asked me to come speak with you for several reasons. Would you like to know what they are?”

  “I’m eighteen, Cara. Can we speak like adults, and not like one adult talking to a child?”

  Cara lifted a single brow. “Perhaps if one of us wasn’t lounging on a ten-thousand dollar rug, staring at the ceiling, and ignoring the very expensive therapist their father called in for them, we could absolutely do that, Catherine.”

  Damn.

  Catherine liked this woman. She was kind of bitchy, and Catherine tended to like that in a person. That was bad. She preferred it when she didn’t have to talk at all lately.

  “How do you know this rug costs ten-thousand dollars?” Catherine asked.

  “I have expensive taste.”

  “Oh?”

  “My husband likes to indulge me,” Cara added with a smirk. “Now, answer some of my questions, Catherine.”

  “No, but thanks.” Catherine sighed. “You don’t sound like any New Yorker I’ve met.”

  “I grew up in Chicago, actually. I moved to Ontario, Canada when I was fresh out of high school, and that’s where I have lived ever since.”

  Catherine’s brow furrowed. “So wait—you still live there?”

  “With my husband and sons, yes.” Cara peered down at Catherine when she stayed silent. “What is it, Catherine?”

  “You flew here from Canada to speak to me?”

  “I flew this time, yes. I may drive through the Niagara Falls border next time, depending on how I feel.”

  “And you’re a therapist?”

  Cara leaned forward, and rested her arms over her knees to fold her hands together. “For the last decade, yes. I went back to school a few years after graduating to further what I had already taken. Then went on to finish a three-year residency, and my focus is now on young women, children, and those struggling with addiction. Again, though, mostly women.”

  “Huh.”

  “Do you feel like getting up to talk to me?”

  “Not really.”