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Winter
I went back to the hospital the next day after my morning classes. Last night had been a balm to the soul. We’d ended up eating and sitting around together until the small hours of the morning. Today, I felt different. Changed by the experience. My childhood home had never been full of laughter and companionship, so it had already become a precious memory.
But like a cruel reminder from the universe not to trust, my peace of mind didn’t last long.
When I pushed open the door to my father’s room, I froze on the threshold. Trent was there, sitting next to Dad, who was still sleeping. It felt vaguely threatening for Trent to be alone with him in a room.
I walked in. “What are you doing here? You weren’t invited.”
“It’s visiting hours. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
“Where’s my mom?”
Trent just shrugged. “I didn’t come here to see her or your old man.”
I folded my arms over my chest. I felt hyperaware of Asher’s ring on my finger. It felt like my own personal security system.
“I’m here to see you,” Trent said with a shit-eating grin.
“I don’t have time today to waste standing around listening to your amateur fanfic about our nonexistent relationship. Get to the point.”
“Right. I forgot. You have a boyfriend, don’t you? Well, for now.” Trent pulled a folder from under his arm. “I heard my dad spoke to you about us and the future plans our fathers had for our families. You can thank your Aunt Ruth for offing herself if you want someone to blame, because now the duty falls on you.”
I snorted disbelievingly at his audacity and delusion.
“Didn’t your dad tell you I don’t give a fuck about any of that? Money isn’t the most important thing in the world, and my family will be just fine. I’m not doing anything with you.”
“Aren’t you? That’s very brave of you, Winter. But then, it’s easy to be brave with your own future…but how about with someone else’s?”
“What?” I blustered, but the show of confidence was just a thin façade. I’d known since Asher’s accident on his bike that it would come to this. I’d been living and loving Asher on borrowed time.
Trent sighed, like it was a chore to interact with me. “Let’s cut to the chase. I don’t expect you to love me, I don’t even care if you like me. I don’t like you, either…but I will have you. Uniting the DeLaurie and Fitzgerald names is my father’s dream, and I’m going to make it come true for him. If I wasn’t sure before, then how much fight you’ve put up would have convinced me. I hate being told I can’t have something.” He put the folder on the bedside table and leaned forward, bracing an elbow on it. “You should have just fucked my brains out when I first hit on you. I’d be bored of you by now…But instead, you piqued my interest…and my dad got involved. You made this happen, Winter, just remember. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
“You don’t like me, Trent. We can’t stand each other. After you got whatever you wanted from me, you’d get bored and want to be free?—”
“You think I can’t be free, even if I’m with you?”
“I’d sooner die than touch you?—,”
“Then maybe you’ll die, but not before you attend the funerals of your nearest and dearest. I think I’ll start with Selena. She’s already so damaged.”
I flew across the distance between us and landed a good slap on his clammy cheek before he forcefully wrenched my hand away.
He grabbed my wrist and squeezed so hard the blood felt like it was cut off completely. I gasped, my hand throbbing, needing circulation. He laughed at the sight of the ring on my finger.
“Don’t tell me you thought that the fling with Martino was going somewhere? Don’t tell me you actually like the guy…You’re making this too easy.”
He released my wrist, and I staggered back.
Trent tapped the folder. “You actually like him, so I’m guessing you wouldn’t want anything to happen to him?” He opened the folder. Shots of Asher were inside. Asher outside The Clutch, the biker bar, getting onto his bike.
“Why do you have these?” I asked numbly.
“Because my dad doesn’t get you, Winter. He doesn’t understand how to control that pretty little head…but that’s okay. I do.”
“Why do you have these pictures?” I asked again, my voice rising.
Trent tilted his head. “Why, to demonstrate the dangers of motorcycle riding. It really is a very dangerous way to get around.” He stared down at the pictures. “Can you even imagine that handsome face covered in road rash?”
