Jax's thumb rubbed across mine, the smallest of comforts, yet a touch I'd never forget.
“He wants Benny and me to go with you to the funeral.”
He frowned, soft lines appeared in his forehead. “Why?”
I shrugged. “I don't know.”
He shook his head before resting it on mine. “Well, we've just got to survive a little longer, bird. Can you do that for me?”
I nodded, silently crying with joy, hope, sadness, every emotion possible. “Yes, of course.”
He kissed the tip of my nose and moaned before standing, his long legs strode across my bedroom floor, and I stood, wanting to confess my sins.
“Jax, wait,” I cried.
He turned, face full of concern.
Could I tell this beautiful man that I disfigured his friend? That I was the one who made the wounds on her face worse? Who'd had to wash the blood between her legs away?
“Bird? What's wrong?”
I couldn't. I was a chicken. “I'm- I'm sorry about Amy's dress. I'll find something prettier for her.”
He smiled and gave me a little nod, his pretty lips mouthed the words 'thank you,' and then he was gone. Again. And I sunk on my bed, bereft.
Chapter Twenty Two
Archibald Murdoch was hot. Too damn hot. The excavating team was setting up outside The Warehouse, and he and Carter felt like a couple of spare parts under the New Mexican sun.
Carter looked grim. Archie had never seen the man looking so unhinged before; the last two weeks had been a whirlwind of outbursts, tears, and questions.
The photographs Archie had received burned a hole in the cabinet in his study; could he ever tell Carter the truth of Amy's infidelity? He'd been finding it hard to come to terms with himself; Amy had been another daughter to him. She'd spent many a summer when the boys' were younger at his and Nancy's house. Archie had always wondered about her own family; she'd never spoken of them much, always avoiding the subject.
Any had lived and died as an enigma.
Archie felt sorry for him, who was now kicking the dusty sand and looking like he'd rather be back at home.
“I'm glad you're here, son. I know you don't want to be, but this could be huge. I need you here by my side.” Archie said, patting Carter in the back.
“Do you think there's answers down there?”
Archie nodded as a machine roared to life. The workers' voices were drowned out, and a colossal drill raised into the air. It was risky work; all Vladimir had to do was send someone this way, and they'd be caught. Hiding this kind of work was impossible, but they had to take a risk. Roswell has come up trumps, a retired librarian who'd once served Vladimir. What a fucking stroke of luck that had been and Archie was fully aware that luck always ran out.
“I sure do hope so, my boy.”
Archie waved his arms above his head and stood at the site of where digging would begin. The noise ceased as did the chatter, and he waited just a moment to get everyone's attention. Graham, who stood loyally by his side, handed him a megaphone.
Archie switched it on and spoke. “Okay, fellas. I just want to thank you all for dropping your lives to get here ASAP, as you know: time is not on our side. This will not go unnoticed, I promise you.”
Graham nodded, showing his support, and Archie spotted Carter pulling his phone to his ear, covering the other with his hand.
“You've all got the plans, and you are all aware of what may come of this, given we find what we think we will.
Now, I'd help with the physical work, boys, but I'm afraid my age is against me, so I'll be behind the scenes. Anything changes, or anything, anything happens that isn't planned - you come straight to me.” Archie switched the megaphone off and waved his arm in a circle, signaling for the men to get started. All the noises made his blood hum - he'd missed having something to get his teeth into, for the most part, business ticked over just fine.
He refused to rest until he got some answers.
For Carter.
For Jax.
Even for Ella Chrobak, if that's what his son wanted.
Christ, a Murdoch falling for a Chrobak. Archie chuckled and shook his head as he approached Carter, who was just hanging up the phone.
“You okay, son?”
Carter's eyes were watery. “It's the funeral. It's this Saturday, Arch. That's not enough fucking time to plan everything.” His voice erupted, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the workers, and Archie felt another stab in his heart.
“Carter, son, listen to me.” Archie grabbed Carter's face and held him tight but not enough to hurt, seeking his eyes. “I promise you - it will be everything you want for her. You've got me and Nancy, Kendra, too. We'll move fucking mountains to give Amy the send-off she deserves. Just name it, my boy, and it's done.”
Carter burst into tears, so Archie pulled him close and held him. “Shhh, son. I know, my boy. I know. I'm so sorry.”
Carter gulped in huge breaths, choking on his grief. “How the f-fuck am I supposed to do this? How the fuck am I supposed to bury my kid and woman, Arch?”
Archibald checked his watch. It was just after nine in the morning. “Come on, son, let's go home for a while, have a drink and a chat, okay? Come on.” With Carter at his side, Archie told Graham to hold the fort for a while, and he drove both he and Carter home.
The house was quiet, what with Nancy our shopping - what she did any time she was sad - and God only knew where Kendra was, and the two men went to Archie's study where they sat together, a glass of scotch in hand.
The drive home had been quiet, only Carter's quiet cries and Archie had wracked his brains, two days was a short amount of time to arrange a funeral, he'd already asked so much of the contacts he had, he was beginning to hope for a miracle.
“It's my fault, Arch, you know that?”
“How so?” Archibald couldn't even begin to guess why Carter could blame himself for Amy's death. The longer he'd thought about, the more Vladimir being the guilty one seemed likely. His and Amy's affair. Perhaps she pissed him off, refused to leave Carter? Who knew? But the Chro's were more involved than the guys had first thought.
“If I'd just have gone home with her, man. Why the fuck did I let my pregnant woman out my sight?”
“Son, you're torturing yourself. You both had lives, and she knew that, you knew that. But what you didn't know, couldn't have known, was what was going to happen that night.”
Carter knocked back his drink and wiggled his glass out for another, which Archie poured for him.
“It's survivors' guilt, my boy.”
“It's killing me, Archie. And with Jax gone, all in the space of a fucking week. I've lost everything. She was the only person who saw the good in me, you know? Aside from you guys, of course, but it's different with a woman. Every sour, rotten part of me she knew, and she loved me regardless.”
With each word from Carter, the more obvious the photos became to Archie. He felt as though he'd left them out for all to see, and it was just a matter of time before Carter saw them, and his heart broke beyond repair.
“Do you remember that summer? Fuck, Jax, and I must have been about nineteen, and you drove us up to your lake house for the weekend?”