by Virna DePaul
“No.” She stares directly at her father. I try not to feel hurt by her words. “I came back for you. But I’ve been lucky, so incredibly lucky—” she turns to me, and I’m astonished by the warmth, the tenderness in her eyes, the broad gleam of her smile “—to have reconnected with Davis.”
It’s lies, I remind myself. She’s acting. But her smile looks so real.
“I see.” There’s a note of warning in King’s tone. And he’s looking at me again.
“Davis and I want a life together,” she continues, every word a dagger in my heart. “A family of our own, someday. I guess I knew even when we were sixteen that he was someone special.”
To my shock, King’s expression softens. Could it be she’s right? The mention of her future—kids, a family, marriage—seems to mean something to him. Something vitally important. But then he sneers, as though trying to recover some control of the situation.
“So. Is that why you proposed this little get together? An intervention because you need me to pay for the wedding before I get snuffed out?”
Bella never breaks eye contact with him. It’s impressive.
“How could you say that?” she asks quietly. “How could you say that to your daughter?”
King actually looks away as if he’s ashamed. I’m sitting right here and can’t believe it, but Bella’s plan might be working.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m tired of having this conversation. You want me to go clean but I can’t give you that, Bella. Let it go.”
“I’m not letting it go, Dad,” she says grimly. “There’s a plot against you.”
He curls his lip. “When isn’t there?”
“Shut up and listen to her,” I snap.
“These people who want to bring you down, they have a mountain of evidence,” Bella says. “I doubt you’ll be able to weasel your way out of a prison sentence this time, but at least if you cooperate, you can make a deal for less time.”
She says it all steadily, without wavering or showing any emotion.
“Dad, it’s time for you to make a choice. If you continue your dealings with these shady people, you’ll either end up with your brains blown out and your body dumped in the river, or you’ll even up in prison for the rest of your life!”
King mutters something unintelligible.
“Or,” she continues, “you can be smart, cooperate, help us help you, and hopefully live to see the birth of your first grandchild.”
As I sit there listening, my feelings become more than I can process. I want to see the birth of my first child. I want this story she’s weaving to be true. I want to be with her, standing by her hospital bed, cradling my daughter or son. King, Street, Slate, Axel and Jericho there. Everyone celebrating this new life, the start of a new generation. I want to go to bed with Bella every night and wake up with her in my arms.
My soul is an empty room, and she’s brought color and life to it.
But she doesn’t love me!
Or does she?
I study her earnest expression. Her fear for her father, and her love for him, are all visible there. And suddenly I know I didn’t imagine it all. The way I’ve felt when we’ve been together. When she’s been in my arms. She cares about me. She loves me, damn it.
She never said otherwise, and the fact that she tried to push me away when I declared my love for her, that was the lie. For whatever reason, she thought she had to play it that way. Whether it was to protect King or herself, I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.
I know my role in this whole thing is supposed to be silent, supportive fake boyfriend, but I can’t keep quiet any longer. Bella is mine. And in an odd, fucked-up way, so is King.
“You need to listen to Bella, King.”
“Ah,” King sneers. “He speaks. The man tutoring my daughter in computer technology, who took it upon himself to give her some advanced lessons as well.”
“Actually, I was the one giving him lessons,” Bella says coolly. “He barely knew how to kiss a girl.”
“Thanks, honey,” I say.
King is turning slightly purple. And it might be my imagination, but Bella’s starting to look paler than usual. I move closer to her instinctively, placing an arm around her shoulders. When she leans into me, seeking reassurance, it doesn’t feel like acting.
“Bella, you’re being a fool. Do you know the things Davis has done? Has he come clean about his dirty past?”
“I know what you made him do. But this isn’t about the past, it’s about now,” Bella says, but her voice sounds shaky.
She does look pale. Slightly unfocused. I take a deep breath and look at King.
“I’m in love with your daughter,” I tell him. “I’ve loved her for a long time. Since I first set eyes on her, really. And she loves me.”
Beside me, Bella tenses.
King ignores me and fills his plate. Begins eating. He’s ignoring me, but I continue speaking. But as I speak, I look at Bella.
“I’ve always cared for her. Even during the years she was gone. This future she’s talking about isn’t some fantasy. It’s the reality I want. Bella is incredible. She’s brilliant, beautiful, strong. She never gives up. These past few weeks, having her back, it’s been so good for me. I want a clean life with her. And I want you on our side. I’m willing to forgive you. To—”
Bella’s breath hitches.
King, on the other hand, throws his utensils down and stands, his face red. “Forgive me? You think you’re better than me, boy? You want to come into my house and tell me what to do?”
“I want you to do this for your daughter! I want you to do whatever it takes to make her happy. She deserves to be happy. She went halfway around the world to get away from the scum you associate yourself with. Did you know that years ago, the son of one of your clients was pawing her in her bedroom, trying to force himself on her, while you made your business deal down in the living room?”
“What the fuck do you know?” King demands.
“I know you’ve put Bella in danger with your actions time and time again. All she wants is your safety and happiness, and you have done nothing but betray that trust and hope. What’s to say you won’t put your future grandchildren in danger, too? How can we trust you to be a stable part of our family?”
“Look in the mirror, kid,” King says, his smile ugly.
I remember this so well from the orphanage. The way King made me feel so brilliant, so valuable one minute, and then turned on me, teeth bared. Still, his words sting because they ring with the truth.
“If I were Bella,” he continues, his voice a low hiss, “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you. No matter what you think, you’ve got the soul of a criminal. You’ve fucked people over time and again, and you’ll never be any better than I am.”
What if he’s right? What if, even if Bella does love me and we stay together, I’ll eventually poison what’s between her and me?
“I know you!” I shout at King. “Christ, you’ve always been a liar and a thief, but you’re not a murderer. You don’t want to continue the way you have. And certainly not with the men you’ve been working with.”
“What a fool you are, to believe the best in me. Even Bella knows—”
“Stop!” Bella shouts. “Both of you stop talking like I’m not even here. Stop talking like there’s still a choice for me to make. Dad, I choose a life with Davis. The only question now is will you be a part of our life?”
I look at her. There are tears brimming in her eyes. She’s swaying slightly, and I automatically reach out for her. “Bella?”
“You, you don’t . . .” She’s short of breath, struggling to draw air. “Davis,” she whispers suddenly, looking at me with terror. “Please help.”
She collapses.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, sitting in a hospital waiting room with King, my chest is hollow with fear and guilt. I’ve spent every day with Bella for the past month. Why didn’t I realize she wa
s hurting? That she was keeping a secret? The signs were all there.
Her dizzy spells. That day she blacked out. Her sudden return from Paris, wanting to make things right with her father.
I’m so stupid.
King and I haven’t spoken a word to one another since the ambulance arrived to collect Bella. Yet even in the nearly empty waiting room, we’ve chosen to sit side by side.
As if our close proximity will somehow help Bella through whatever she’s going through. As if the presence of the two men who love her most in the world could heal her.
I know King loves her based on the look on his face when Bella collapsed. And I love her more than life itself. If together we could heal her, if that was truly possible, I’d tie myself to King for eternity.
Please let her be okay. Please.
Finally, after almost two hours, a doctor in scrubs walks in. King and I both look up. The woman is small and serious-looking. She seems too young to be a doctor.
“I’m looking for the family of Bella Prince?”
“Is she awake?” I ask instantly. “Can we see her?”
“I’m very sorry. She hasn’t woken up yet.”
My stomach sinks.
“We have her on several medications that are helping her rest. We’ll let you know as soon as she wakes.”
“What’s wrong with her?” I demand. “Just stress?”
The doctor doesn’t answer me. “Which one of you is Mr. Prince?” she asks instead.
“I am,” King chokes out, as if only then finding his ability to speak.
“If you’ll come with me, please, Mr. Prince, we’ll go somewhere private.”
“I need to know what’s wrong with Bella,” I say immediately.
The doctor looks at me. “Are you family?”
A swift stab of pain spears me, drawing from an old well of hurt. No. I’m not family. I’ve never had any fucking family.
“I’m her . . .” I pause.
“He’s family,” King says gruffly.
I shoot him a stunned, grateful look. I want to hate the fucker. Can’t quite do it though. Never could.
The doctor leads us into a small room off of the waiting room. Looks at us each in turn, and tells us, “I’m afraid Bella has a malignant growth at the base of her spine.”
The weight of that hits me. I’m speechless, cold fear gripping me.
“She was treated in Paris with radiation, which seemed to kill the cancerous cells, but they returned and multiplied.”
I’m sweating. The room swims. This can’t be happening. What does returned and multiplied even mean? Surely, they can take out the malignant growth. Right?
“What does that mean?” I demand.
The doctor gives me a sympathetic look. “It means that Bella is at risk for some serious complications resulting from the growth.”
“But, she’ll survive.” It’s not stated as a question. Hell, it’s basically a command.
The doctor takes a little too long to answer. My chest clenches.
“Bella opted not to try a risky surgery to remove the mass.”
“Risky how?” I don’t care if I’m being rude. I just want this doctor to get to the fucking point.
“To perform surgery in the area of the tumor runs the risk of paralyzing or partially paralyzing her. I’ve seen patients survive this surgery with minimal complications. But many patients don’t want to risk it.”
“But the alternative is death.” I’m aware my voice has risen almost to a shout. “That is the alternative, isn’t it? If you don’t get the tumor out, she’ll die?”
“The malignancy will spread and eventually be fatal, yes.”
“So why would anyone refuse the surgery? Better paralyzed than dead, right?”
“Not for Bella,” King says softly. I look at him, and he shrugs slightly, but I see the devastation etched in every line of his face. “She needs to be able to paint. She needs to not feel trapped.”
My world is slowly collapsing around me. This illusion I’ve clung to, this belief that I’m powerful and in control, it’s nothing. A veneer that chips under the weight of a few words.
“Bella was quite adamant,” the doctor says softly. “According to her physicians in Paris, she wanted to let the cancer take its course.”
Jesus, Bella, why?
“How long does she have?” I ask bleakly. “Without the surgery?”
“I’d say about four months.”
The room begins to swim again. I’m not sure how I get back to the waiting room. I have no memory of the end of the conversation with King and the doctor. But suddenly I’m sitting in a hard plastic chair, staring into a cup of vending machine coffee, and King’s there, too, watching me.
Again, I don’t speak, and neither does he.
I stay in that trance until the hospital door opens, and Slate walks in. What the fuck?
Slate rakes a hand through his slicked-back hair. “Davis. I’m so sorry about Bella.”
How would he have heard?
I glance at King.
“I called him,” King tells me.
I stare back and forth between them. “What’s going on?”
Slate clears his throat. “King and I have plans to discuss.”
“What kind of plans?”
“Slate’s acting as my legal counsel,” King says brusquely.
I sit up straighter. “Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“I’ve already set it up with the DA. King is going to cooperate with law enforcement to take down some of his cohorts.”
I stare at King. The surprises just keep coming.
King scowls. “It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. Extracting myself from this mess. Going clean.”
“What?” I’m so angry I can hardly speak. “What about all that shit at dinner, you taunting us about how you’d never go straight, how I helped you fuck people over—”
“They threatened Bella,” he says tersely, cutting me off.
I blink.
“I couldn’t let anyone know that I was planning to go up against these men. Not if it would put my daughter in danger. I had to convince her that I wasn’t planning to leave my current business. If you care about her so much, Davis, you can understand that.”
He shifts, sitting back in his chair, making it creak. He doesn’t look as big as he used to, back when I was at Thornbridge. At this moment, he mostly looks tired.
“Now that I know Bella and I have limited time left,” he says, his voice cracking, “I want to move quickly.”
“Jesus, fuck.” It’s all I can think of to say.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be with Bella, ready to comfort her when she wakes up. The guilt cycles through my mind. I should have known, should have helped her, and should have told her that I wanted forever with her.
“I want to do this,” King says. “For her.”
There is some part of me that’s glad about the news. Bella will get her wish. Her father will try to go clean.
“This will be dangerous for you,” I say roughly, swirling the dregs of my coffee.
King doesn’t answer for so long that I eventually look up. He meets my eye. His eyes shine with tears. I’m seeing real tears.
“She’s worth it.”
She is. Worth any risk. Worth any amount of pain or confusion. Even if, God forbid, she doesn’t make it, she’ll have been worth more to me than I could ever measure.
I can’t lose her.
I set the coffee on the chair next to me. “She wants you to be safe. That’s why she came back, to make sure you’d be safe after she …” I can’t say the words.
“Then let’s do this right.” King glances at Slate. “Take these fuckers down. All of them. So, I can enjoy my retirement without looking over my shoulder every two seconds.”
“It’s very possible that you’ll have to do time in order to cut this deal,” Slate cautions.
King nods once. “As long as Bella
can visit me.”
“Visit you?” I snap. “She has four months to live.”
King stares evenly at me. “She has more than that. I know she does. Someone just needs to convince her to fight. Fight for herself. Fight for him. Fight for the life they can have together. You can do that, Davis.”
“King—”
“I’m not asking, I’m begging you, Davis. Do this one last thing for me. The most important thing. Fight for her. Fight for Bella.”
Chapter Seventeen
Bella
When I wake up, I’m in a hospital. I’m immediately afraid. I’ve been in too many rooms like this. The white walls and sheets, the fluorescent lights, the machines beside me.
I hate this.
But a hand takes mine. When I look up, my fear lessens and I breathe easier.
Davis.
“You’re at the Swedish Covenant Hospital,” he says. “Please, try to stay still. Try to rest.”
I can tell by the look in his eyes, he knows.
“Oh Davis,” I whisper. “I should’ve told you.”
He squeezes my hand tightly and for a moment he looks as though his heart is breaking. “Why didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” I tilt my head. My throat is dry, too dry. I try to swallow. “When I came back from Paris, all I wanted to do was tie up some loose ends. I didn’t want to die knowing that my father was in danger. Or that you were still under his thumb. So, I tried to fix things. But, I couldn’t.” I look up at him. At his gorgeous, familiar face. “I’m sorry.”
“Sshh, sshh.” He strokes my hair. “It’s going to be okay.”
“It won’t be. I’m going to die, Davis.”
He goes pale, but plunges on, determinedly. “The doctors said there’s a surgery you refused in France.”
“The odds are so slim,” I whisper.
“But they’re better than nothing.” The note of pleading in his voice is nearly more than I can bear.
“I don’t know if that’s what I want.”
“How could it not be?” he demands. “Of course, you want to live.”