Fate: A Trinity Novel: Book Five Read online

  I tighten my mouth and clench my teeth. “You have no right to bring him up. You promised you wouldn’t.”

  “Well, like you, he’s fucking up his life.” He lets out a long breath of air.

  “What do you mean? What’s going on with Carson?”

  My heart starts to pound a mile a minute. The mere thought of something being wrong with the man who owns my soul is enough to send me straight into a fully loaded panic attack. I inhale and exhale, pushing down the pressure building in my chest that’s slowly squeezing my heart one centimeter at a time.

  Chase doesn’t realize my distress because he’s looking out the window, scowling.

  “If you hadn’t left him, pushed him away repeatedly, he would have never put himself in this situation. I blame you.”

  I blame you.

  “Excuse me?” My ire fires right alongside the panic, squashing it down.

  “Something’s off about the woman he’s seeing now. Really off.” Chase shakes his head.

  I roll my eyes. “He’s had women before. He’ll get past it like he always does.”

  Chase huffs and clenches his jaw so hard a muscle in his jaw ticks. “I’m not so sure you’re right.”

  “What could be so bad about a woman Carson is fucking? He’s a virile man. Believe me, I used to be the recipient of all that virility.”

  He tightens both hands into fists on top of his knees. “I’m telling you, Kathleen, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  “So talk to him about it.” I groan and flick my hand. This topic is killing me one word at a time. Imagining Carson with any woman is like deliberately driving a stake through my own heart.

  “I have,” he says between clenched teeth. “He’s avoiding me. Avoiding everyone. Pulling a you, actually.”

  I sigh long and loud, letting my own frustration out. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  He scoffs. “Sure there is. You can stop this shit you have going and take back your man. And don’t pretend he’s not the man for you, because I call bullshit. Before the fire, you two were the happiest any of us had ever seen you.”

  “Chase…” I warn. “Bringing up the past does not help the future.”

  “That’s asinine, and you and I both know it. Tell me you don’t love him still.”

  “I don’t love him,” I state instantly. I’ve gotten so good at this lie, it comes out fast with absolutely no hint of emotion.

  “Liar,” he growls. “You’re going to regret not winning him back.”

  “I already do,” I admit with a drawn-out sigh.

  “Then do something about it.”

  With a heavy heart, I focus on the destroyed flesh of my hand, the same destruction that goes all the way up my arm, over my shoulder, and down my ribcage. I’ll always be severely scarred. The grafting options and skin-smoothing surgeries are complete. They’ve done what they can. Now it’s all about physical therapy. Getting back additional mobility in the arm and hand. Applying copious amounts of lotion across the rippled flesh to keep it soft and pliant. Staying out of the sun helps but won’t make the scars go away. My body is no longer one a man wants to touch, to run his hands over in the throes of passion.

  I shake my head. No, he doesn’t deserve to have his eyes accosted by the reflection I have to face in the mirror every day. It’s disgusting, and I’d rather him remember me the way I was. Beautiful, unmarred, pristine in mind and body.

  “No. He’s better off without me. I can’t be what I was. I’m not the woman he cared for.”

  “That’s not true. You are the same woman you’ve always been. A beautiful, talented, kindhearted woman with so much to offer a man. I am a man. I’m also Carson’s cousin and best friend. I know what he wants and needs—it’s you. The you then, now, and what you’ll be in the future. Trust me on this. Your scars do not matter. When love is involved, those flaws become a part of what your man loves about you. Gillian’s stretch marks from our children? I love them. I kiss them all the time. They prove my children were there. My son and daughter are alive because of those scars. I encourage her to wear them proudly.”

  “You’re not a woman. You don’t get it.”

  “No. I’m a man who loves his wife. Every part of her is mine. Scars and all. And Kathleen, she has many from before me I’d love to erase, but they show the path she’s taken to get to me and our life together. To her they are precious, and to me they are proof that sometimes you have to go through hell to get to heaven. She taught me that.”

  “The love you have with my best friend is beautiful, but Carson and I never had that.” I swallow down the lump forming in my throat.

  “You did once.”

  I blink, close my eyes, and flatten myself against the back of the limo seat. “You see, Chase, that’s where you’re wrong. Carson never loved me. He never once said it. Even though I said it all the time.” I laugh dryly. “He even requested I say it to him over and over. Adored hearing it from my lips. Would ravish me with kisses and more every time. But not even once did he say it to me. And when I asked why, all he could muster was ‘I can’t. Please don’t ask me to.’ So there you go.”

  “So, you gave up?” The accusation is thick in his tone.

  “Yeah, after everything, what I had to offer, repeated treatments, painful surgeries, and long recovery times… If he didn’t love me before, he could never love me after. I took a calculated risk and it failed. Every single time I pushed him away, he never once uttered those three little words. I begged him to say them. All he did was cry, break down, and shake his head no. I can’t be with a man who refuses to tell me he loves me.”

  “I know he does though,” he says softly and with intention.

  “Words, Chase. I needed the words. He didn’t have them. I no longer have them for him. I have to move on. Obviously he has.”

  He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “What can I do?”

  I cover his other hand with mine. “Move on. I have.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes.” A bald-faced lie to one of the kindest, most loving men I know.

  “You really need to talk to Dr. Madison about this lying trait you picked up. I’m not buying it and neither are your friends. Regardless, I’ll let you have your play…for now. We got great news today, and it’s time to celebrate.”

  The limo pulls up to the curb in front of the Chase Industries building, where he and Gillian live on the top floor.

  “Bring on the bubbly.” I plaster a fake smile on my face, knowing I need to put it on for Gigi. She’ll worry if I don’t.

  Chase helps me out of the car and leads me through the building and up the elevator.

  Gillian is waiting at the entrance with Carter on her hip. Claire bolts into her father’s arms the second he steps off the elevator.

  “Daddy! Daddy! We have news too!” She grabs Chase’s face and forces him to look directly at her.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that, baby?” He looks into Claire’s crystal-blue eyes, her red curls so like her mother’s auburn locks bouncing around her shoulders. “Auntie Ria says I’m going to get a bruh-ver! You hafta to take him back!”

  Chase laughs. “You didn’t go to the doctor without me, did you, babe?” He poses the question to Gillian.

  “Nope. But I did have lunch with Maria, and she did her voodoo hand trick and says it’s a boy. She was right last time, so anything is possible.” Gigi shrugs.

  “Another boy, eh?” He grins, his chest puffing out in pride.

  “Auntie Kitty!” Claire realizes I’m standing next to her father. “I’m getting a bruh-ver. Do you want it?” She crinkles her sweet little nose.

  I pet her cheek with my good hand. Under no circumstances do I touch the children with the disfigured one. If they were scared of me, for any reason…

  A shiver slinks up my spine. I’d never survive that. My pseudo-nieces and one nephew are my main sources of joy nowadays. “Honey, I can’t have your new brother.”

  She frowns. “But I
ask-ted for a sister. This is not fair.” Her little pink lips shift into the cutest pout.

  “Honey, life isn’t fair. It really isn’t.”

  In more ways than one.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CARSON

  One month earlier…

  The San Francisco sky is dark, cloudy, and foreboding. The gloom of the weather fits my current mood. I sit in my truck, drumming restless fingers along the steering wheel. The clock on my dash reads five fifty-five. She should be arriving any time.

  I just need a glimpse.

  Somehow, I feel if I can see it with my own eyes, the truth of the situation will make itself known. I just need to see her.

  A blue Honda pulls up and parks along the curb across the street. Her blond hair pops against the navy jacket she’s wearing. She runs her hand through her hair and enters the building.

  What seems like eternity drags on in the minutes I wait for her to exit. When she does, I watch closely, taking in every feature, from her blond curls to her blue eyes. Even at this distance she’s beautiful. Yet a sense of uncertainty slips across my heart.

  If she were meant to be mine, wouldn’t I feel it? Know it deep down from within the very depths of my soul?

  Perhaps not. I felt that way once before, and it didn’t last. Crashed and burned more like it.

  Maybe the thing people talk about—unconditional insta-love—only happens when you’ve known the person from the very beginning? The thought saddens me as I watch her settle into her car, pull into traffic, and leave.

  The end result is that I need to be sure. Just because she’s told me it’s fact doesn’t mean it is. I’ve been taken advantage of in the past in business, not to mention the gold-digging whores who think they can sink their filthy claws into me by opening their legs and showing me a good time. Those women I scrape off like gum on the bottom of my shoe. Unwanted and annoying.

  There’s only one woman who’s ever had her claws in me, and she’s the only woman I wish had never taken them out.

  Still, I need concrete evidence, or I’ll never believe what she’s saying.

  Decision made, I put my truck in gear and head across town to the shady bar I formerly had no plans to ever enter again.

  When I arrive, the parking lot is mostly empty except for a handful of wayward Harleys and off-brand motorcycles. It’s only six thirty. Not exactly party time, and this is not the type of establishment that promotes happy hour or half-off drinks for the regular after-work office crew.

  The building itself is off the beaten path and made up of all wooden planks. It’s shocking the damn thing hasn’t been bulldozed for being a hazard. Structurally, I’d swear a strong wind off the bay could flatten it, but there it stands, as it has for over twenty years.

  I park my truck and head to the entrance. The Honda isn’t here yet. I didn’t expect her to arrive that quickly. She told me she starts work at seven most days, so here I am, ready to confront her about her confession last month.

  If I were being honest with myself, I should have already touched base with her. She could fuck up my life royally if she can prove what she claims to be true. I, honest to God, have not been able to give credence to her claims. Not even for a moment. It’s beyond comprehension and preposterous. Definitely not something I ever thought could happen to me. I’ve always, always been careful.

  Since that night three weeks ago, I’ve been hiding out. Only Chase knows I’m seeing someone new, although labeling it as seeing her is a tad far-fetched. I couldn’t very well tell him the truth. Not yet anyway. Not until I’m one hundred percent clear she’s not pulling a fast one on me.

  Misty Duncan.

  I didn’t even know her name when I fucked her over two years ago. All I knew was that she was blond, beautiful, and available during my drunken haze of need. And now it’s all coming back to bite me in the ass. Hard.

  The bartender approaches warily. He’s probably not used to seeing clean-cut guys in this establishment. I’ve just come from a business meeting downtown, and my suit and tie make me stick out like a sore thumb.

  “What’s your poison?”

  “Beer. Cold. Whatever you’ve got on tap is fine.”

  He scratches his long scraggly beard and nods.

  I scan the room, making sure I can see the front door from my seat. There’s a couple of rough-looking guys playing pool, each with a two-bit floozy dangling on their arms between shots. One of the guys slides a hand along his girl’s thigh, brazenly copping a feel before putting his entire paw all the way up her leather skirt until she tips her head back and moans in delight.

  Ugh. Why does Misty work here anyway? She seems like a nice girl. Pretty, great body. The girl could work anywhere. So why here?

  The bartender sets the beer on the counter and foam overflows down the side of the glass. I don’t complain or say a word. This is not the type of place to lodge complaints.

  I spy a stack of napkins in the corner and reach over and grab a few, sopping up the worst of the mess, when the door opens. The woman of the hour enters in a flourish.

  I check her out while she tosses her purse behind the bar, grabs an apron, and ties it around her small waist. Staring, I try to find reasons to be attracted to her, but sober, I just can’t. She may have blond hair and brown eyes, but she is not Kathleen. There’s no subtle grace in her walk, no twinkle in her eye, no dimple in her cheek, and she’s small. Pint-sized, even. She pales in comparison to my girl. No, my Sweetcheeks is long and lean with a stunning body. Misty has short legs, big hips, and far bigger breasts. Cosmetically enhanced breasts.

  What the hell was I thinking banging her that night?

  Not knowing what else to do, I suck back my beer in a few swallows and give a chin lift to the bartender. He grabs my glass and pours me another.

  “No tabs here, suit. Just cold hard cash,” he says, placing the glass down with a little less bravado than before.

  I pull out my wallet and set down two twenties. “Got it.”

  He nods, approval in his gaze.

  “Hey, Carson? What are you doing here?” Misty smiles and walks over to the opposite side of the bar where I’m sitting.

  “Figured it was time we talked.”

  She licks her lips and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, okay.” She glances around, noticing there are really no patrons needing assistance. “Do you, uh…want to do it here? Right now?”

  “No time like the present,” I answer dryly.

  “Okay. So, you’ve had some time to think about what I told you.” Her voice turns into a whisper, even though no one’s paying attention to us. There are fewer than ten people in the place, including us.

  I nod. “I have.”

  “And?” She’s nervously biting her lip.

  “I want a paternity test,” I declare flatly and with no room for argument.

  Her eyes widen. “That’s fine. I, uh, don’t have medical coverage or anything…”

  “No worries. I’ve got a friend who owns LabCorp Genetics. He’s agreed to come over this week and fast-track the results.”

  Misty swallows and cants her head to the side. “You don’t believe me, do you?” She shakes her head so hard her hair sways back and forth with her movements. “Of course, you don’t.” Her lip trembles and her voice cracks.

  I set my hand on her shoulder. “Honey, it’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just a really big fucking surprise. Three weeks ago, I came in here because I needed a beer after a shitty day. I never thought in a million years I’d be walking into a dive bar I visited over two years ago and come face-to-face with a one-night stand.”

  She winces.

  “I mean, uh, how do I say this without sounding like an asshole?” I run my hand through my hair.

  Misty tightens her lips and blinks a few times.

  “Look, there’s no reason to sugarcoat this. We hooked up. For a night. I come back in here over two years later and am hit with a story, told by a woman I don’t ev
en recognize, that I could be someone’s daddy.”

  “But you are…” she says desperately.

  I hold up my hand. “If that’s the case, it won’t be a problem to get a test done. Right?” I soften the last word, attempting to make sure she doesn’t crumble into a ball of tears right here on the spot. As it is, it could still happen.

  She puts her hands on her hips and straightens her spine into a rigid line. “But I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that!” Her eyes water, as if she’s on the verge of tears. “Do you think this is easy for me? I was just as surprised as you are when I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t know your full name or anything about you. There was no way I could ever contact you. This entire time I’ve been raising our child alone, and it hasn’t been easy, Carson. Not even a little bit. And I’m doing it all on a waitress’s salary? I’ve had to get my neighbors to babysit just so I could work…and…” Her voice is getting louder and louder as fear and anxiety become prevalent in her posture.

  I set my hands on both her shoulders and dip my head down to be level with hers. “Hey, hey. I’m not saying you’re lying, and I don’t even pretend to know or understand what you’ve been through all this time without assistance. But right now, I need to protect myself as much as my potential child by proving paternity. Can you understand that?”

  She sniffs and looks down at her shoes. Her shoulders are down and curving in as her entire being seems broken and small. Instead of responding, she nods.

  “My friend will be in touch with you this week. We’ll work out a time for both of you to get tested as well as me. Results will be fast-tracked and then we’ll know.”

  “And then what?” Hope fills her tone with a sincerity I can’t return. Not until I know.

  “Then we’ll deal with the outcome.”

  “Meaning what?” She sighs and twists her fingers together in front of her.

  “Well, if this child is mine, I’m going to be a father. A real one. Not this Disneyland-dad bullshit. I’ll want regular access.”