by Lana Grayson
“He’s coming with the doctor. He was stuck in traffic.”
“Okay.”
I said nothing, resuming the song, murmuring over the words I forgot and replacing them with silly rhymes and promises of love and warmth and everything I had lost since the nightmare began.
Since I met the Bennetts.
Since I lost my family.
Since…ever.
Max swore. He wove his hand through his hair, but without making a fist and slamming someone’s skull, he had no idea how to react to those who needed a kind word. Violence was a natural to Max as cruelty to Darius and mourning to me.
I said nothing. Only sang.
Just waited for that little kick that would tell me everything would be okay.
“Sarah…” Max dropped to his knees. His eyes dulled, dark and expressionless. I didn’t recognize him anymore. I didn’t want to. “I didn’t know it was their plane.”
I shook my head and sang. Hearing excuses would only hurt us more. Nothing he said would bring back Josiah or Mike, and that made him worthless to me.
“My father said he had a job for me. I didn’t ask. I never asked. I just did it.” His breathing labored. “Do you understand why?”
I sang louder. I’d never understand anything about the Bennetts. I wouldn’t want to try anymore.
“I wanted my Dad’s respect, and I never got it. It didn’t matter that he was a monster. Or that he asked me to hurt people who opposed him. He was my father. That meant something to me. I wanted to make him proud, and he never gave me that chance. You know how that feels.”
It wasn’t the same as me and Dad. Max couldn’t equate it. Not when Dad shoved me away from the company and hid my asthma, and Darius Bennett forced his crippled middle son to hurt and murder.
“Sarah, I had no fucking idea that was your brothers’ plane.”
“And yet you still did it?”
Max looked away. Question answered.
“You’re a monster.” I whispered before singing once more.
“I didn’t…fuck, Sarah. I couldn’t tell you. Not after I saw how much you endured to protect your father’s name. I was scared of how you’d react.”
Foolishly. Recklessly. I misdirected my anger then. I sacrificed my life, my body, for a father who never cared for me, never trusted me.
But Josiah and Mike did trust me.
And they knew what was likely to happen to them. That’s why I was named in their trust. They picked me to inherit the Bennett shares if they died.
And what did I do with that gift?
I betrayed my own family. I caused more destruction to our name than if Darius had taken a match to our cornfields. I gave them everything.
I gave them Bumper.
I just needed her to kick.
Just one little bump in exchange for another silly verse of the song, and my heart would stop breaking.
“I’m so sorry, Sarah,” Max whispered. “I regret every fucking pain I’ve caused you. The beatings. The rape. The grief. I knew the instant I met you the mistake I made. I fucking begged Nicholas to never tell you the truth. But we couldn’t hide it. And now everything is so…”
He reached for me. His hand trembled over the baby.
He hadn’t voluntarily touched me for months. Tears streamed over his cheeks, silent and wet. His hand stretched over the entirety of my tummy, and the tattoos on his forearms flexed and tightened as he broke down, hiding his eyes and letting the sobs wrack his shoulders.
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
I sang because I didn’t know what else to do. My own tears brushed my cheeks.
Was this how it would always be? Would this blistering agony always punish us?
I loved these men, and I hated these men, and yet I froze as I watched a man as strong, as intimidating as Max weep over the bump of an unborn child.
I envied my baby’s innocence, and I’d do anything to keep her that way. Safe and untouched by this heartache. I had the money, the power, and the name to give this child anything she could ever dream.
But I couldn’t give her family.
Not if there was none to give.
My song faded as my tears choked over the melody, and we hurt together in grieving silence.
I just needed a kick.
Why wouldn’t she kick?
Max curled onto the sofa. He didn’t ask, only moved, settling in my lap. And as much as I longed to push him away, to hit him, to scream at him, his deep baritone picked up the same nursery rhyme I could no longer remember.
Max sang to the baby.
And his heartfelt, perfect melody strengthened with every passing moment. I wept, holding him close to my tummy.
His words warmed over my skin, and I let my fingers dance through his hair, over his shoulders, closer to me than he’d been in weeks.
Too little, too late.
He came to apologize when he should have said goodbye.
His song filled the nursery. I never knew he sang so well. I doubted he did either. Every note, every soulful beat emerged from a dark, lost place within him. I longed to search more of that hidden secret. It might have explained more, might have protected us from the lies and pain, might have promised redemption in a man I once trusted and understood.
He sang so beautifully, so perfectly.
The thud kicked right near Max’s hand.
The kick shocked us both. More tears.
Relief.
Max sang and sang until his words hollowed into nonsense. Only a few minutes passed, but the hum, the deepness of his melody, delighted Bumper. She kicked and wiggled, fluttered and squirmed, and bumped.
“Sarah.” Max’s song ended in a pained and ragged gasp. “Sarah, I gotta know.”
What was there to tell? To say? I refused.
“Sarah, please. Tell me you understand.”
Who could understand this? Who could endure this much misery and sorrow and even think to look in the eyes of the man who caused it all?
“Tell me you hear me. That you know I’m sorry.”
I heard him. It didn’t make a difference. It couldn’t.
Max clenched his jaw, his eyes shut. “Tell me you’ll forgive me.”
“No.”
He shuddered. “Tell me there’s a chance.”
Bumper kicked again. I rubbed over where she rested, where I needed her to stay safe and protected.
There was no protection in this world. No safety.
No justice.
No kindness or mercy or warmth.
Everything good existed only to be taken and destroyed by those we loved most.
“Max, how could I ever forgive you for this?”
The front door slammed. Nicholas called for me. Max rose, wiping only some of his tears with his hand. Nicholas and Reed burst within the room.
But there was nothing to say. Max didn’t look at his brothers. He didn’t apologize anymore.
There was no reason to try.
The door closed behind him.
I never wanted to see him again.
I had no idea what I would do to him if he ever returned.
Reed retreated, patting Nicholas’s shoulder. I didn’t want to speak to either of them, but I knew what was coming.
The same thing that always came after disaster.
The promises. The vows.
Nicholas didn’t look away from me. He never would.
“I was going to propose to you tonight.” Nicholas’s words spoke a mournful finality. As if the dream was lost. “I had a wedding planned. Something spontaneous and beautiful. I wanted Bumper to have a family from the instant she was born.”
“She would have had a family.”
“I can’t begin to explain, and I can’t rationalize what my father did to your brothers.”
“I wasn’t talking about Josiah and Mike.”
Nicholas paused. I met his gaze. The gold dimmed, dull, almost extinguished into murky brown.
“Had they not died,
none of this would have happened. I’d be safe, on the farm, in college. Still hating you. But I wouldn’t have her.”
I didn’t know if that was better or worse, but the sheer terror of those minutes without her reassuring bump were crippling. I’d have nightmares of that dread again, more nightmares of losing her than I ever had of Darius and his attack.
“Max didn’t know who was on the plane,” Nicholas said. “We didn’t realize until it happened.”
“You kept it from me.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to me.”
“No. You believed my father killed Mark Atwood, not his sons.”
And still he played these games. He still didn’t understand.
“I can’t believe you think that makes it better,” I said.
“You were in such pain from their deaths. So angry. So vulnerable. Sarah, you are the strongest person I know, but you’d never have forgiven us if I told you the truth. And I can’t survive losing you.”
“You wanted me to trust you. To love you. To marry you.”
“I still want those things.” He let the words linger. “What is it you want?”
As if he had to ask. As if he didn’t already know.
As if Max hadn’t fled from me for that exact reason.
The answer came reflexively, so easily it actually frightened me in its bloody simplicity.
“I want my revenge.”
“I wondered when you’d show your face.” Dad wasn’t a subtle man, not when he had something to gain.
Not when he had someone to punish.
He always was a Grade-A asshole. Thought so when I was a kid and confirmed it when I reached adulthood. But it took me a while to realize what a perverted bastard he truly was.
The worst part was that I wanted to be like him for so long I forgot how to be myself. By the time I thought to check on that fucker reflected in the mirror, I saw exactly what I wanted all along.
Him.
Made a man want to shave his neck just a little too close.
“Where’s Bethany Atwood?” I asked. I hadn’t seen my step-mother when I kicked my way into the house. Also hadn’t seen any holes dug in the yard where he might've stashed her body.
“Don’t tell me you’re concerned?” Dad folded his palms over his desk. He leaned in just to make me tense.
“I don’t want to talk about shit that’ll upset her.”
He sighed. “She’s not here.”
“You kill her?”
“She’s my wife.”
Didn’t stop him from hurting her daughter. I shrugged.
“Your step-mother is a very sick woman.” He almost seemed to care. “I meant to move her to the estate to care for her…and I had hoped that given the current circumstances of my retirement I might have spent more time with her. Unfortunately, the change was difficult for her, and her routine was altered. Her dementia was worse than we anticipated.”
“So where is she?”
“I’ve secured her the best assisted living arrangements. A private nursing company is with her, around the clock.” He checked his watch. “Of which I was scheduled to visit in an hour, so grovel quickly, Maxwell.”
Sarah was going to flip shit. “You put her in a nursing home?”
“A nursing home is for the elderly and infirm. Bethany is at the farm.” He waved a hand. “So get on with it. You didn’t come here to discuss Bethany Atwood and I presume you aren’t intending to shove more charcoal down my throat.”
Only if he’d choked on it.
“Let me guess. Your little sister didn’t take the news of her brothers’ deaths well?”
“No.”
“Was she upset?” Dad had gotten off on her tears too many times.
The question didn’t surprise me. My reaction did.
Why I was here surprised me more.
“Yeah, she was upset.”
“And?”
“She was worried about Bump—the baby. Got too worked up.”
His sneer darkened. His gnarled hands untwisted themselves as he pushed from the desk. He wasn’t that big of a man, not in relation to me, even with a leg that fucking hurt just from the brush of my jeans against my hip and knee.
Why had we ever let this bastard frighten us? Beat us?
Even Sarah should have fought better than she did.
Then again, she was smarter than me. Braver. Stronger, despite the asthma. If she had resisted him, he’d have murdered her instead. I would have taken the bullet to the head, but that was me.
I endured enough shame in this life. Couldn’t take much more.
Couldn’t handle it now.
“The bitch is having a girl child, isn’t she?”
Dad waited for my response. What point was there in lying? It was over anyway, either for her or me.
Except I wasn’t ready for the end yet.
“Yeah. It’s a girl.”
I didn’t expect him to swear, but the frustration escaped in a single moment.
“Damn.” The word hissed. His expression radiated hatred. “And she didn’t tell Daddy what the gender was.”
I shivered. The goddamned incest was as bad as raping the girl.
“She thought you’d kill the baby if you knew.”
“Oh, I will,” he said. “She’s right, of course. Had she behaved, had she been even the least bit trustworthy, she would have lived if she promised to try again. Unfortunately, your sister is difficult.”
“Yeah. She’s a firecracker.”
Dad chuckled. “Say it, Max. She’s a cunt. You fucked it enough, even if you were too worthless to impregnate the girl without my help.”
“Right. That’s me. Good for fucking nothing.”
“I see what this is. I know what the problem is, son.”
He never called me son. Not since before I walked with a limp. Nicholas was his son. Not me. Not Reed. Even if I had knocked Sarah up, Nick would have gotten credit anyway.
“Tell me, Maxwell, how does it feel to be reviled?”
It wasn’t a new feeling. Not many people had respect for me when my knuckles weren’t scraped and dripping blood. Again, that honor went to Nicholas.
Still, the only person I tried to impress, the only one I ever wanted to protect, was the little Atwood who fought me and my brothers every fucking chance she got.
Like she wanted to make it harder on us. She should have just been honest.
She wanted a reason to hate the men she was taught to hate.
“She’ll want to kill me,” I said.
“Of course she will. She’s Mark Atwood’s brat. Vengeful little thing.”
“I don’t particularly feel like dying now.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“If I knew that, you think I’d be here? Talking to you?” I asked.
“You haven’t come looking for a handout for a long time. What is it you want? A plane ticket? A place to hide?” he scoffed. “Why would I help you?”
“Got no other place to turn.”
“The prodigal son.”
“Don’t fuck with me,” I said. “You’ve never helped me. You’ve never cared about me. You’ve never done a goddamned thing for me. I’m only asking for the easiest thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“My fucking life.”
“It’s worthless. I’m surprised you want to save it.”
“I’m kind of fond of it. And Sarah’s got five months of reasons growing in her womb to convince her to pull the trigger. She wants me to answer for killing Josiah and Michael Atwood.”
“So why don’t you end it?”
His solution didn’t surprise me. It was the one I expected.
“End what? Murder Sarah?”
“I won’t pretend you have much use to me beyond these matters if you don’t pretend you’re shocked I would ask it of you.”
“You want me to kill a pregnant woman.”
“Max, it will happen anyway. Stop thinking of
the child and remember the Atwood. Wouldn’t you rather it be done at your hand? Wouldn’t you rather her last moments be of peace than horror?”
“Jesus.”
“Be a man. She’s fortunate she has a big brother who would be willing to grant her such a kind end. This isn’t about the company or the business now. This is about my son proving that he is my son. This is about answering an insult to this family.”
“What insult? Like you said, I got to fuck her, and now I’m richer than ever since Nick gave me the shares you didn’t reserve for us.”
Dad nodded. “And when Sarah Atwood kills you? When her obsession with destroying this family ends with you sleeping in a shallow grave?” he sneered. “She’s seduced Nicholas and turned him against me. She’s done the same to Reed. You’re the lucky one, Max. She hates you. Try to fuck her now. Try to apologize. Try to earn that pretty little smile of hers. You won’t get close. Your own brothers will kill you for an Atwood’s pleasure.”
“They wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Don’t delude yourself. If hurting you meant Sarah would pledge her little black heart to Nicholas, he’d slay you on the spot. Mount your head on a pike next to mine.”
He wasn’t wrong. Even Dad didn’t understand the lengths my brothers would go to protect Sarah Atwood.
That was why I came.
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? Just kill her? What about the company? What about getting a male heir?”
“All this talk of unity and welcoming each other into our families and changing the faces of the board has helped to strengthen our position. Should Sarah die, the control of the company defaults to her mother. As Bethany’s husband, I’m certain the new arrangement will benefit the Bennetts.”
It was always about the money. The family. The honor.
Never about what was important.
Forgiveness.
And just like Dad, I’d never get to experience the peace that came from forgiveness. It didn’t matter what I did, what I said, what I offered.
Sarah would never forgive me.
Why’d I ever let myself believe otherwise? Why did I let myself hope?
Why did I let myself love her?
“What about the baby?” I asked.
“An unfortunate casualty,” he said. “The plan is set, Maxwell. Sarah Atwood will die no matter what you do. The choice is yours. You can either die at her hand, needlessly, to answer for her brothers’ deaths, or you can do her one last favor. You can kill her, quickly and painlessly, and save her from suffering at my hand.” He smirked. “And you know how I long to make her suffer.”