Page 106 of Last Man Standing

I follow the hall all the way to the massive double glass doors, where the view is normally that of a glistening pool in the foreground and beautiful mountains in the distance. But today, my view comprises a worried mother, and a hundred feet on the other side of the pool, the son she worries for most.

Swallowing, I detour to a closet and snag a jacket for my stubborn wife, then I tip my chin to send men scattering. They do their jobs, and they do them well. They guard Arabella with their lives and would throw themselves toward death if it meant saving her first, but now that I’m here, they clear out.

Opening the glass door and stepping into the icy chill, I lay a coat over Arabella’s shoulders and frown when my touch startles her.

She’s never startled, because she’s never caught unaware.

“You need to breathe, baby.” I drape my arm over her shoulders and pull her in until she turns to the side and lays her cheek on my chest. “You’re distracted. Emotional.” I peek out at my son leading his horse across the expanse of our property, Jasper’s rein in his hand, while sitting atop the beast, Scarlett beams so large, I can see her smile from all the way over here.

I suppose all it took to make her feel at home was to give her a horse.

Every small girl dreams of getting a pony someday.

“He likes her.” Like the thought brings her dread, Arabella tips her head back and searches my eyes. “It scares me.”

“Because he was our first?” I choke out a throaty laugh and drag her back in. The closer we come to evening, the colder it gets out here. “He’s older than you were when we fell in love. Much older.”

“In love?” Scoffing, she shakes her head as far as my chest will allow. “No. She’s fun and pretty. And he’s already shown a complete lack of common sense lately.”

“Arabella—”

“He went back to Richard’s world! After we pulled out, after everything we did to sever the ties between us, my son just… he went back,” she exhales. “Jesus, Paul. Where did we go wrong?”

“I don’t know that we did.” I press a kiss to her temple and hide my smile, because as Scarlett’s laughter floats on the breeze, Arabella’s shoulders grow more tense. “We raised a good man, baby. We raised him to be strong and brave. To care about others more than he cares about himself.”

“So that’s where we screwed up.” Her voice crackles with an ache so deep, I feel it in my chest. “To care about others is admirable. But to care about them more than he cares about himself? That’s why he’s brought her… that…” She struggles to find the right word. “Her! He brought her here, Paul! And now he’s putting her stupid drama ahead of his own safety. Ahead of our safety!”

“Drama?” I firm my lips and pull back to search her eyes. “I’m gonna need you to shake yourself, baby.”

“Paul—”

“Her life was in danger! I’d hardly call it drama.”

“She killed her ex-boyfriend! Will you seriously stand here and pretend that doesn’t bother you?”

“Well—”

“She’s a black widow spider. She enjoys her lovers, takes what she needs, and then she disposes of them. Stop acting like our son isn’t her next⁠—”

“Her next, what?” I challenge. “Her lover? Probably. Her protector? Definitely. But her victim? No.”

“Don’t be so naïve! Of course she⁠—”

“Don’t be so close-minded,” I counter, though my tone is far gentler than hers. “She has not left a trail of dead men in her wake, babe. It was one man, one time, and we’ve seen the police reports. You called that detective and spoke to him yourself. That bastard hurt her. Bad. What she did was self-defense.”

“Torturing a man is not self-defense!” She pulls away with a growl. “According to our very own son, that woman and her brother debased Roy Daniels. They destroyed him. They picked him apart until there was nothing left but the carcass of a man who deserved prison bars.” She stares angrily out at the woman who turned twenty-six years old today. “I could’ve bought her story that she was an abused woman⁠—”

“Could have?”

“But the punishment doesn’t fit.” Stubborn, she brings fiery eyes back to me. “We know abuse. I know abuse. I needed escape, not a fucking toolkit and retribution.”

“You don’t get to decide what every other abused woman should look like, babe! You don’t get to decide how they act. And you sure as shit don’t get to discredit her response to abuse, not when yours wasn’t some kind of impulsive explosion, either.”

“Paul—”

“You took the time to plan. We took the time to plan. To steal millions of dollars. To destroy Richard’s empire on the way out the door. We had time to create an army and sift through his loyalists versus yours. We had time, and we were not sorry to hear that old prick is dead.” I point blindly across the expanse of our property. “She wasn’t alone that day Roy Daniels died. She was with her brother, and her brother is most of the reason your abuser is dead. If the roles were reversed, or if we had a daughter who needed help, don’t act like Sebastion wouldn’t hold that prick down and talk her through slicing his veins open. Let’s not pretend I wouldn’t do the same for you. Or that Bastion wouldn’t do it for any of us.”

“But he⁠—”