EPILOGUE
BETH
I was released from the hospital a week ago and cleared to travel back to New York. But we’re still in Dallas while we wait for the judge to sign Cameron’s guardianship order. Penn flew down for Christmas, and is staying in an adjoining room at our hotel in Turtle Creek.
Agnes Wolfe was the designated guardian in her son’s will, but since she died along with him, Cameron was placed in Phil’s custody. When he came to tell me that he was filing a petition for guardianship and custody, my first instinct had been to pushback. Cameron, for so long, was my lode star. I ordered my entire existence around her. But everything is different now. Phil is opening a new restaurant in Houston. He just bought a beautiful home in a subdivision that’s going to be perfect for Cameron - and I know it’s the right thing to do.
I’m not equipped to take care of a toddler. Hell, for the next six weeks, I can’t even give myself a bath. Carter and I are going to have to make some logistical decisions when we get back to New York, and I’m sure we’ll move into a bigger place together. But, right now, neither of us has room for two more people in our apartments. I’m just sad that we’re going to be so far apart.
I wrote a letter to the judge in support of Phil’s petition. There shouldn’t be an issue, Phil is her only living relative and he’s more than willing to take her. But, he’s single and gay and so, we’re not taking anything for granted.
In the last week, I’ve signed a document affirming that I’m not the rightful beneficiary of the bequest made in the Wolfe family estate plan.
A thought occurs to me and my hand stops moving across the sketch pad I’ve perched on my thighs which have served as my makeshift easel all week.
“What do you think of the name Piaf? It’s my mother’s maiden name. I want to change mine now that I’m officially not a Wolfe anymore.“
“Mmmmhmmm, that great,” Carter answers. His lips move to make the shape of a smile, but it’s not really a smile. None of the upward curving movements his lips have made in the last hour have been.
“I’ve got a snake in my boot,” I say dryly.
“Just try and get some rest.” Carter nods, and his hand continues his absent minded strokes on my head. His eyes are riveted to whatever he’s reading for the last thirty minutes.
“Carter, if you’re not going to listen to me, at least do a better job of pretending,” I raise my voice and he frowns in annoyance and drags his eyes off his device and looks at me.
“Huh?” he grunts and then yawns.
“You’re not listening to me,” I repeat, a scowl on my face.
He squints one eye and gives me a long assessing look. “You know…your face is going to get stuck like that.”
I pick up a pillow and hurl it at him.
He catches it and shakes his head in sad disapproval. “Tsk tsk, Beth. That’s no way to treat the man who saved your life,”
I glare at him. “It’s not funny, Carter. I hate being stuck here. I can’t live like this.” I growl in frustration.
He sighs in sympathy. “Yeah, I can imagine how hard it’s been to have Penn waiting on you hand and foot. And getting all those flowers and cards and hampers full of your favorite snacks - it must be torture.” He rolls his eyes and lifts his iPad up again and starts reading.
I kick him and yelp in pain when my bare toes meet the solid muscle of his thigh and he chuckles.
I spy the envelope containing the thank you note I wrote to Madame Mindy from the bedside table.
“I need to mail this, can we at least do that?”
“I’ll take it for you,” he says absently again.
“No, I want to go with you. I feel fine. I need to get out of this hotel room before I go crazy. ” I pout and make my most pathetic face.
“You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.” He reaches to smooth a finger of my forehead and I slap his hand away.
“I hope you’re never incapacitated like this because you’ll look back on the way you’re treating me and the guilt will eat you alive.”
I harrumph, and try to move onto my side. Too late, I remember the cast on my arm and wince when my arm protests.
“Fucking cast.” I settle for turning my head to face the other wall and want to cry when my neck protests, too.
He sighs, “Beth. Come on, I’m sorry. Look at me, please?” he says in a voice completely devoid of the teasing tone he’s used all day.
He presses a kiss to my cheek sounds sincere so I turn cautiously, half expecting him to be grinning. But he’s not, his green eyes are warm with sympathy and he strokes my cheek.
I inhale the clean mint of his scent and hate that we haven’t done more than share kisses like this since I left the hospital. He, and everyone else, is treating me like I’m made of spun glass.
“I know it’s been rough, I was just trying to make you laugh I was going to surprise you, but I made us dinner plans tonight. I picked up a few dresses that should accommodate your cast while I was out this morning.”
And now I feel like an ungrateful asshole for making him feel the need to apologize. Because he’s right. As far as convalescence goes, this must be the Cadillac of set ups.
“You did?” I ask, giving him a shamefaced smile. He swipes his thumb over my bottom lip and he presses down on the center of my lip, pushing his the tip into my mouth. It’s the first taste of him I’ve had all week and I moan before I suck on salty offering.
Green fire flares in his eyes and I flick the pad of his thumb with my tongue.
He pulls it out again and swipes it over my lips.
“Of course, you did. You always take such good care of me,” I say and then press a kiss to his thumb.
The heat in his eyes cools, he pulls his thumb out. He’s been doing this all week, and I’m not sure why, but I decide that I’m not going to wait for him to tell me.
“Is it…my bruises?” I ask him the horrible thought that’s been niggling at me since the first time he pulled away like that.
He brow creases in a severe frown. “What?”
“Is that why you won’t touch me?”
The regret that flares in his eyes gives me his answer before he speaks it.
“No way. Oh my god. No.” He sits up I reach up to stroke his cheek.
“Then tell me what it is. Because it’s something.”
He closes his eyes and a low growl rumbles in his chest. I place my hand over his heart and rub small circles until he covers my hand with his, brings it up to his lips for a kiss and then finally opens his eyes again and the torment in them makes me so sad. But I don’t say anything, I just wait for him to talk.
“I didn’t take care of you. And because of that, I almost lost you. And every time I remember that, I can’t breathe.”
Tears sting my eyes. “Carter, it’s not your fault.”
“I’ll never forget the terror I felt when we got to the house. I have never prayed so hard in my life and I don’t even want to think about what might have been if we’d been five minutes later. But that fire…it was deliberate. You were shot, beaten, your arm is broken, at the hands of people you’ve made sacrifices for. People whose fucking job it is to keep you safe. And these bruises…” he trails his fingers over them in feather soft strokes that are in stark contrast to the flinty anger in his eyes. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get a chance to put a bullet in the motherfuckers who did this to you. I know it’s wrong… I shouldn’t be consumed by that feeling the way I am.” His chest heaves as if he’s just dropped a heavy weight and his eyes are bleak as he watches me, waiting for me to condemn him.