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Turning, I leave without waiting on an answer.
“So, is he dead?” Johnny asks me, a sly grin on his face.
“Not yet. Sean makes one move, and he will be, though.” As we leave the hospital, I stop them both. “Sean and his organization are heading back to Ireland once his son passes. What do you say we help them along with the departure of his estate?”
“You mean…?” Nico asks, rubbing his hands together.
“It’s a nice night for a fire, don’t you think?” Malice is going to be pissed that he’s not here for this.
“I’ll bring the marshmallows!” Johnny hollers as he hops in his vehicle. As we all go our separate ways with plans to ignite the Smith estate once the sun has set, I find somewhere quiet to call Della.
Having not spoken to her since I left, I’m not surprised when she doesn’t answer my call.
CHAPTER 9
Della
Everything inside of me aches to the bone. To my core, I’m exhausted and delirious. I haven’t slept, yet I can’t get up. Learning I might not be my father's daughter is the worst thing that could happen to me. I know there’s a threat with this Sean Smith person, but I’d rather face that man and whatever he has planned than Carter O’Neill again.
My entire life feels like a lie. It’s betrayal in its worst form, and I can’t breathe. My ability to read people, to feel their turmoil, has been taken over by my own emotions, and I’m struggling to come to grips with the sheer amount of pain I’m in.
“Della?” Odette’s sweet voice breaks through the fog, but only briefly. I feel her weight sitting on my bed, and I can see her, but it’s like tunnel vision. She’s there, but my consciousness refuses to acknowledge her presence.
Malice hovers near the door, facing away from us, speaking to someone hidden by the wall, likely Carter. “You haven’t eaten in days, Del. You need to have some water, at least?” Odette is one of the sweetest people I know. All the Cavanaugh girls are, so ignoring her isn’t easy, but I can’t find it in me to care. “Please, Della.” There are tears in her eyes, and a rush of sadness hits me so hard that I gasp loudly, drawing the attention of everyone.
Tears immediately flow when I realize it’s Odette I’m feeling. I’m doing this to her. As she crawls into bed with me, lying so our fronts face each other, I close my eyes at the feel of her palm on my cheek.
“Talk to me, Del.” Her voice is whisper-quiet.
“What if he doesn’t want me?” I finally release my genuine fear.
“Who?” She pushes in so our heads rest together.
“Holy.” Saying his name hurts my entire body. I haven’t heard from him since he left, and now I know that not only my biological mother didn’t want me, but it’s likely my birth father didn’t, either. It’s a suffocating feeling.
“That’s not true,” Odette is quick to reassure. I wish I could believe her.
“Dammit, Della, I do fucking want you. You are my daughter no matter what DNA says.” Carter's outburst startles me as he storms into the room. His anger and concern scream like a siren.
“Too much,” I hiss as I attempt to cover my ears.
“Fuck.” He turns right back around. It’s not the first time he’s witnessed this happen to me, so he knows what I’m going through. Malice follows him out and shuts the door so it’s just us girls.
“You know that Carter loves you more than life, right?” I nod. I do know that. I never doubted it. “You know it’s his love and concern for you that keeps him from going anywhere near Cece, too.”
“I told him to pursue her,” I croak out, my throat incredibly dry. Odette reaches behind herself for the water she brought in and hands it to me. After chugging the whole bottle, I feel a little better. “I want them to be together.” Thinking about their problems is easier than dealing with my own.
“I know, but he won’t until he knows you’re okay and taken care of.” I wish that weren’t the case. I know Holy is interested in me now, but eventually, it’ll wear off. Having someone around who always knows what you’re feeling and thinking after a simple kiss will wear a person down.
Rolling onto my back, we lay in silence for a while. I want to be normal, to be able to accept that a man like Holy could love me forever, but I’m also a realist. I don’t believe for a second that he won’t tire of me. Not when I get tired of myself so often. I don’t like knowing what people feel when I walk into a room, nearly hearing their thoughts from a simple touch. Never knowing if that touch will heal them instead of offering a comforting hand.
The first time I ever healed a person was when I was five, and a girl in my kindergarten class fell off the monkey bars and broke her leg. I offered to hold her hand while we waited for the teacher, but instead, her bone fixed itself, and all the agony of the injury transferred to me.
I screamed for hours until I passed out, and my father had to keep me home for a week after that. I hadn’t even wanted to go back to school. I didn’t have answers to any of the questions I was asked, and soon, I was cast aside, even by the few friends I had.
Understanding it at five was difficult, but it’s downright terrifying as an adult because I know so much more now.
“You know he’s not easily scared off, right?” Odette says quietly.
