Point of Release (Point Series Book 2)

by Remy Rose

  He puts his lips to my ear as his hands work the clasp at the top of my breeches. “Be fearless with me, Cassandra,” he’s murmuring. “Let me make love to you.”

  Sweet baby Jesus, this is starting to feel not okay. It’s happening too fast. This must be why I’m so rigid, because it’s happening too fast. Like going from a slow jog to a gallop. It’s frustrating as fuck, because I really, really like him, and he’s not only hot, but nice and kind and a good kisser and talks to horses, and I am going to have to stop him.

  “Josh,” I mumble against his mouth.

  Instantly, he takes a step back, rubbing a hand across his lips. His face is clouded with concern. “Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that.”

  “No! It's not you. You're very attractive, honestly. It just—”

  “Doesn't feel right,” Josh finishes. “It's okay. I don't want to rush you. I mean, believe me, I want you, but only if it's something you want, too. I'll wait. You're worth it.” He is smiling again, his face relaxed and easy like it usually is.

  Relief mingles with gratitude. “You're very sweet. Thank you for understanding.” And now I’m feeling like I really want to get out of here. “Come talk to me over a wheelbarrow, okay?” I smile at him, hoping he can see the sorry in my eyes.

  “You got it.”

  “I've got some snacks in my car—I'll share, if you're hungry.”

  “I am, actually. I seem to have worked up an appetite, for some reason.” He winks.

  Impulsively, I lean in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, grab my bottle of water and head out of the office, determined not to act uncomfortable around him, even though this rattled me a little. But I need to also focus on what else happened today: an invigorating trail ride in the snow with galloping—and fearlessness.

  I go out to the small parking lot, blinking in the bright sun. As I approach my car, I can see that there’s something tucked under the windshield wiper, like a parking ticket.

  Coming closer, I’m able to see that it’s an index card. Left by Carlo, no doubt. Oh, God— did he see me riding off with Josh? Or worse, did he somehow know what we were doing in Ingrid's office? Barbs of guilt prick at me, quickly followed by anger, because he doesn’t own me. We aren’t even in a relationship.

  I pull the card out from underneath the wiper and turn it over. The words are written in black marker—large, aggressive-looking words:NOT YET. BUT SOON.

  The card starts to quiver in my hand. This isn't from Carlo. And suddenly, all the fearlessness I felt earlier today is nowhere to be found.

  chapter thirty-five ~ Carlo

  There is only one other time in my memory when Estelle missed a day of work, and that was because of her brother’s death several years ago. Given this fact, I’m instantly concerned when I get a text from Estelle telling me she won’t be in. I'm a bit under the weather. Will be back in as soon as I can. Betty will work on the GE proposal today. My apologies for not being there.

  Estelle has looked pale these past few days, with a cough she couldn't seem to shake. Most likely a simple virus. But still...it worries me.

  Valentine's Day has come and gone. The day before the holiday, I asked Cassandra if I could see her and was shocked, actually, when she said yes. We met for coffee at a café and bookstore in E-town not far from her apartment, and although it virtually killed me not to pull her into my arms, I kept my distance and made sure the conversation was light and casual.

  We sat in two leather chairs in front of the fireplace with our hot tea, talking about Windswept, her going back to college, Gianna’s upcoming wedding. Cassandra seemed very interested in Gi's plans, although she did blush a little when she asked for details. She also seemed unusually subdued, avoiding eye contact with me which made me wonder, but I chalked it up to the general limbo-feeling our relationship had.

  I know it can’t survive for much longer like this. But I’m not going to be the one to throw in the towel.

  At the end of our visit, I followed Cassandra to her car. She looked down at the snowy pavement while she walked, her arms wrapped around herself while tiny falling snowflakes dropped on her coat and nestled in her hair. Cassandra, I told her as she unlocked her car, I’d like to hug you.

  She turned then, looking wide-eyed at me, and I could have sworn I saw a hint of a smile on her lips as she said, Okay.

  I took her in my arms carefully. Breathing in the clean scent of her hair, I closed my eyes and felt her body molding into mine. I didn’t want to feel her pull away, so I let go before she did. Then I took a small jewelry box from my coat pocket— a diamond and platinum horseshoe pendant from Tiffany's. She started to protest, just as I expected she would, but I stopped her, telling her I couldn't let Valentine's Day go by without getting her something. No expectations, I added.

  Reluctantly, she took the box, her forehead lined with creases. Later, she texted me thank you, followed by another text a few minutes later that said, Target would have been more than enough. I grinned reading this, feeling lighter because of her humor.

  Enough reminiscing. I pull myself back into the present, and waking my laptop out of sleep mode, I start drafting an email to my regional managers. Minutes later, Betty, Estelle's replacement, buzzes me.

  “Mr. Leone...Martin Hewitt is calling for you.”

  “I'm trying to remember if I know a Martin Hewitt.”

  “You do, sir. It's Estelle's significant other.”

  “Thank you. Put him through.” Anxiety begins to ripple through me. Jesus, I don’t have a good feeling about this.

  “Carlo? Hello. Sorry to bother you at work, but I thought you should know. Estelle was admitted to the hospital last night.”

  My stomach lurches. “The hospital? Why?”

  “Pneumonia. She was having trouble breathing—very weak, and with that nasty cough. I finally convinced her to let me take her to the emergency room.”

  “I'm very glad you did that. How is she?”

  “They've given her strong antibiotics, and she's been sleeping a lot. She didn't want to worry you, but I thought you'd want to know.” Martin chuckles. “I hope she forgives me.”

  “She will...and you were right to tell me. Can she have visitors?”

  “I was in earlier this morning. I'm sure you can go see her. She's on the fifth floor at Lancaster General.”

  After ending the call with Martin, I take my coat, tell Betty I’ll be back in a couple hours and head out of the office, fighting the rising fear clutching at my heart. I make two stops on the way—bookstore and florist—and deal with a fresh layer of dread as I enter Lancaster General. Hospitals are one of the very few things that scare the shit out of me, given that I’ve repeatedly learned that sometimes people can’t be saved. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let that fear prevent me from seeing Estelle.

  A young nurse pushing a computer on wheels greets me at the door of Estelle's room.

  “How is she?”

  “Fever's down, oxygen level up. Things are improving. Are you her son?”

  I pause, a small grin flickering on my lips. “I guess in a sense, I am.”

  Smiling quizzically, the nurse moves aside so I can go in the room. Estelle is sitting upright in bed, her head turned to the side and her eyes closed. She looks pale, her vivid blue glasses on the small table next to her. My throat tightens.

  Careful to keep my steps quiet, I take a seat in the chair next to her, setting the vase of delphinium, tulips and sweet pea beside her eyeglasses. She wakes up almost immediately.

  “Carlo. What are you doing here?” Her voice sounds raspy, and she clears her throat as she reaches for her glasses.

  “I might ask you the same thing. If you'd wanted the day off, all you needed to do was tell me.”

  “You didn't need to come.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “It was brave of you. I didn't want to put you in that position. I know how you feel about hospitals.” She smooths out the wrinkles in her sheet and folds the top o
f it over. “Did Martin call you?”

  “Yes. That man cares for you very much. And he's not the only one.”

  “He's a dear. And you are as well. What a gorgeous bouquet.”

  “Yes. Early spring flowers. To represent hope, and all that.”

  “We all could use some springtime about now.”

  “Agreed. And I brought you this.” I reach into my coat pocket and take out a small hardcover book of poetry.

  Estelle smiles. “Mary Oliver. You know I love her. Thank you.” The lines in her face soften as she looks at me. “Is Betty doing all right with that GE proposal? Tell her she can text me if she needs to. I don't like just sitting here with nothing to do.”

  “Your job right now is to rest and recover. Are they treating you well here?”

  “Very much so. I have vowed to think of this as a mini-vacation with labored breathing and sub-par meals.”

  “I'd be happy to bring you something to eat. You name the restaurant.”

  She waves her hand at me. “I'll be fine.”

  “I hope so. Otherwise, I don't know who would take care of my Boston Fern. That damned plant needs you.” I blink against the sudden stinging in my eyes.

  “I'm not going anywhere, Carlo.” Estelle motions for me to come closer. I do, and in a rare show of affection, she reaches out and pats my cheek.

  I take her hand, bring it to my lips and kiss it, and God, I’m so grateful that this woman understands everything, without me needing to say a word.

  chapter thirty-six ~ Cassandra

  I’m on my way to waitress at Tucker's, surrounded by a triangle of stress. First, there’s the growing apprehension (bordering on real fear) that my stalker—a/k/a Brock—is planning something. He’s become an unwelcome intruder in my dreams, and I absolutely hate feeling like I’m always looking over my shoulder. So far, Teal is the only person I’ve told about this. I’m still hoping that Brock will get bored and this crap will just fade away.

  Somehow, keeping it to myself makes it less of a big deal. I decided against mentioning anything to Carlo, because I know he’d want to protect me—and Carlo is the second point of the stress triangle.

  The last time I saw him, the day before Valentine's Day, I tried not to let anything show on my face. But I had the distinct impression Carlo knew something was bothering me, and I was stressed that this ignited a firestorm of questions behind those intense blue eyes.

  And the third point of the stress triangle: what happened between Josh and me. Part of it is the continued guilt—like I’d somehow been unfaithful to Carlo, of all things, and this is seriously pissing me off.

  I called Teal after I left Windswept that day, telling her that I was a slut. Teal tried to reassure me: You're not. You're confused.

  I slept with Carlo when he was supposed to be off-limits, and then a little less than a month later, I have someone whom I really don't know that well feeling me up and unbuttoning my pants in the office of my place of work.

  Teal paused. Okay, so maybe you're a confused slut.

  Accurate description.

  I’ve decided I’ll use distance as a strategy with all three stressors. Keeping things friendly but cool with Josh, keeping interactions with Carlo to a minimum so I can continue processing everything, and staying in close proximity to buildings and people whenever possible to reduce the chances of an actual encounter with the stalker.

  In addition to those three issues, my father seems determined to become a fixed point in my life. So maybe I should call this a stress rectangle. He sent me another invitation to dinner, which I ignored. This was followed by a short letter asking about my life and telling me about his job and his wife and stepson. I didn’t want to read about that. It does get to me a little bit—that he can only communicate with me through snail mail since he doesn’t have any other way. But I’m not ready to let him in my life any more than this.

  I open the door of the restaurant, greeted by the warm air and familiar, comforting smells. At least I can keep busy here…maybe get some motherly advice from Allison. It’s relatively quiet this Wednesday night. I’m the first waitress off, so I can do some classwork when I get home.

  Al comes up to me as I’m tying my apron. “Hey, girl! Long time no see. We don't see too much of each other now that my schedule's changed.”

  “I know, and I miss you! We need to catch up. I could use some maternal wisdom.”

  “Ha! I'm not sure how much wisdom you'll get, but I'll be glad to mother you, honey.”

  “Which side of the red room do I have?”

  “Left. Just one customer for now. He looks familiar.”

  I draw in my breath.

  “No, no, sweetie...it's not the Italian Stallion. An older gentleman.”

  “Okay. The older ones I can handle.”

  I head for my section. The man has thick, white hair and a ruddy complexion and brightens when he sees me approach. I recognize him immediately: Estelle's boyfriend.

  “Hello, young lady.”

  “Hi, Martin...how are you?”

  “I'm a little out of sorts, to be honest. Missing my lady.”

  “Ohh...where is she?”

  “In the hospital. Bacterial pneumonia.”

  “Oh, Martin—I'm really sorry. Is she all right?”

  “She will be. Showing steady improvement. She's tough, as you know.” He smiles broadly, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

  “Yes, she is. How—how is Carlo doing? I know Estelle means a great deal to him.”

  “It's shaken him up. He's gone to visit her every day this week. They have a special bond, those two.” He pauses, his pale blue eyes beginning to water. “Estelle insisted I come here tonight. Said I needed to get out. She doesn't understand I don't want to. It's not the same without her.”

  He’s so sweet and sincere. I want to hug him. “I'm sure it's been very hard, worrying about her. But that’s so good she's doing better.”

  I take his drink order and give it to Eddie at the bar. Allison comes up beside me to order two margaritas and flings an arm around my shoulders. “So, sweetheart...we have a few minutes, and you've got me curious. What sort of maternal wisdom are you looking for?”

  “Advice about men.”

  “Are we talking the Italian Stallion, or the cowboy?”

  “Both.”

  “Whoa! Ha—see what I just did there?”

  “Very clever.”

  “Girl, with two men on the hook, it sounds like you should be giving advice instead of getting it.”

  “It's not as fun as it sounds, believe me. I talk to myself so much I feel like I have a personality disorder.”

  “Honey, I have to tell you, it sounds like you're over-thinking things. I'm no expert, but I've always believed that with matters of the heart, you have to go with your heart and not your head. When you start thinking too much—that's when things get messed up. Try to feel, not think. When you're ready, let your heart go, and follow it.”

  I take the frothy beer mug that Eddie slides toward me. “Thanks, Al. For being a good mom.”

  “I'm always here for you, sweetheart.”

  At the end of my shift, I feel my anxiety climb as I get ready to leave the restaurant—wondering if I’ll find another note on my car, or if someone will follow me.

  Once my car is in view, I can see that there’s nothing on the windshield. Thank God. My shoulders relax a little. I press the unlock button on the remote and quickly climb in. So far, so good.

  I start up the car and send a quick text to Carlo to tell him about Martin coming in, and that I’m sorry about Estelle. Even though I want to keep Carlo at a safe distance, it would be mean of me not to acknowledge what’s going on with Estelle.

  And now I’m pulling out of the parking lot. Deep breath. Cringing in anticipation, a quick look in the rearview mirror...but there’s nothing. No headlights, no one following. I let out a long, slow breath of sweet relief.

  My phone rings, scaring the shit out of me
. Holy crap, I need to calm the hell down about this. Glancing down at the phone as I come to the stop sign, I can see it’s a number I don’t recognize. Could this be Brock, who’s somehow gotten my number? Could he have seen me leave and maybe is following me from a distance away?

  Could I be any more paranoid?

  I decide to answer, because if it’s Brock, I want him to hear that I am so over this shit.

  “Hello,” I say, in the bitchiest, don't-fuck-with-me tone I can muster. “Who is this?”

  A woman's voice—meek and uncertain. “Cassandra?”

  I take the bitchiness down a few notches. “Yes?”

  “It's Gianna—Carlo's sister.”

  My God. “Oh—hi! I'm sorry...I was thinking you were someone else.”

  “No worries! I hope I'm not calling too late. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure.” Now I’m intensely curious. I’ve never spoken to Gianna except for at the engagement party. And how did Gianna get my number?

  “I'm sure you're surprised to hear from me, and I definitely don't want to interfere or put any pressure on you, but I really wanted to talk to you.”

  “All right.”

  “I haven't done anything like this before, but I found your number in Carlo's phone while we were in Florida at our family's condo about a month ago. I've been debating whether or not to call you since then. I know you two are having problems, and I don't know any of the details, except that Carlo said it’s his fault, and you have every right to be upset with him.”

  At least he's gotten that part right.

  “I'm not going to defend him, but I want you to know a bit of history so you can factor that in to your decision—if you are even still open to the idea of a relationship with him.” A pause.

  I swallow. This is majorly awkward. “Gianna...”

  “I know we don't know each other really at all, Cassandra, but when I met you, I really liked you. And I've never seen my brother so happy. Not since...not since his wife died.”