Текст книги "A Pound of Flesh"

Автор книги: Sophie Jackson

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

21

Carter had no idea where he wanted to take Peaches, but she seemed fine with that, which was a huge relief. Carter had no idea what a romantic or intimate gesture was, he just wanted to put the smile back on her face. He would have to make it up as he went along and pray that whatever he thought was cool and perfect would be perfect for her, too.

Carter drove for miles, flying over the Brooklyn Bridge next to a hot Porsche that tried to overtake his ass. Carter pulled back his right hand and blasted Kala past the bastard. He smiled when Peaches laughed behind him.

They drove to East New York, through Cypress Hills, cruising by the park and along Broadway, all the way back to Manhattan. It was the first time Carter had truly stretched Kala’s legs since he’d been out of lockup, and it was awesome. He lost himself in having Peaches behind him, around him, particularly as the wind whipped at them when they crossed the water, back to the island. They couldn’t talk, but Carter knew that was probably what she wanted, although he’d laughed loudly when she’d squealed and giggled into his back as he’d revved Kala hard down Forty-seventh, shooting them through traffic like a bullet.

He could feel her hands through his jacket and—on two occasions—he placed a hand over them, stroking and squeezing. He wanted to reassure her, make sure she was okay, and, each time he had, she’d clutched his fingers back in response.

It was almost six in the evening when Carter pulled up on Fifth Avenue, next to Central Park. It’d started to rain a little, but it didn’t seem to matter. If it meant there would be fewer people around, then Carter was all for it. He sat for a moment with Peaches still clinging to him, listening to Kala’s engine tick as it began to cool beneath him.

“You all right back there?” he asked, unclipping his bike helmet.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I’m so relaxed, I almost fell asleep.”

He rubbed her hands, which were still grasping him, and turned his head toward her. “You want me to take you home?”

To his relief, she shook her head. “No. I’m not ready to go home yet.”

“Good,” he replied with a small smile. “Me neither.”

Carter helped her off the seat, with his hand in hers. He made to pull away once she was standing, but she held on, slipping her fingers through his. His eyes widened in surprise.

She glanced up at him, her lip wedged between her teeth. “Is this okay?”

Carter smiled. It was more than okay.

Walking leisurely through Central Park, hand in hand with Peaches, was a strange experience. Carter felt ten feet tall, but, at the same time, he was tiny and vulnerable. The chaos surging through his body made him feel exhilarated and scared to death. It was intense.

“You still with me over there?” Peaches asked as they made their way toward the spot by the Alice in Wonderland statue that had become their own, even after just one visit.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Why?”

“You just seem, I don’t know, nervous?”

Carter laughed a strange, strangled type of sound. “Nah, I’m good.”

She looked at him askance, but didn’t push.

The rain eased. They took off their jackets and sat down on them. Carter took a moment to glance over at the Alice in Wonderland statue. It was hauntingly beautiful.

“Here.”

The air in Carter’s chest exploded out of him when Peaches slammed a book hard against him. “What the—”

“I haven’t heard you read for a week,” she said with a hand on her hip. “So read.”

Recognizing the copy of A Farewell to Arms, he laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

While he found the page they’d reached during their last session together, Peaches got herself comfortable by leaning against his side with her head on his shoulder, and her arm resting on his thigh. Emboldened, Carter put his arm around her waist and held her close. As Hemingway’s words rolled off his tongue, she snuggled closer, relaxing and melting into him. She was warm against the chill of the air. He put his cheek against her hair while rubbing his palm along her arm.

“I love hearing you read,” she whispered when he came to the end of the chapter. “Your voice is …”

Carter laid the book down on the damp grass. “What?”

“It’s familiar to me, like I know it better than my own.”

Carter’s heart stuttered. Of course she knew his voice. It was all he had thought to use to keep her calm the night her father had died. “And that’s a good thing?”

“Yeah. It’s a good thing.”

Her smile was wide and honest. Carter allowed his arms to encircle her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing her scent.

“Will you tell me more about the statue and your parents?”

Carter shifted and exhaled a grumbled, uncertain noise. “I, um, I don’t—”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she said. “I was just curious.”

Carter glanced at the statue again. He wanted to share with her. The only way they could possibly move forward with whatever the hell was happening between them would be if they knew things about each other. Hell, his family would be a good place to start.

He kept his eyes on hers, anxiety creeping up his spine, but all he saw was encouragement and affection. There was no judgment, no condescension, no trickery.

“My dad met my mom when they were eighteen,” he said through a long exhalation. “They were young, stupid, and from different sides of the tracks. My mom was from a very wealthy family. Her father—my grandfather, William Ford—owned one of the first communication companies in the country, WCS. James Carter, my father, on the other hand, had barely two cents to rub together and made what money he did have from playing music at clubs and painting.”

Carter rolled his eyes at the romance of it all. “That’s how he met my mother. She heard him playing piano one night and approached him.” He clicked his fingers. “That was that.”

Peaches played absentmindedly with the edge of his T-shirt; her silence encouraged him to tell her more, to tell her everything.

“To my mother’s family, my dad was never good enough. He was trouble, a bum, worthless, but my mother rebelled, and they stayed together. They got a cheap, crappy apartment after my grandfather cut off my mother’s money, and, within a year, she was pregnant with me.” Carter clasped the bridge of his nose, easing the tension headache that teased behind his eyes. “She hid the pregnancy for a long time.” Carter laughed without humor. He dropped his hand. “She hid me.”

Peaches’ hand found his chin and pulled his face up. “Hey. It’s okay.”

Exhausted with the tumult of emotion washing over him, Carter placed his forehead against hers. She leaned right back, strong and steady.

“My mother went back to her family,” he continued. “My father had no money and she ran back to them like a coward. My grandfather told her to give me up, and she fucking considered it. It was only because my father turned up at the family house, shouting and demanding his rights, that they relented. My grandfather didn’t want a scene or gossip for the family.”

“Carter.”

“Long story short, my grandmother—my mother’s mom—was disgusted with her daughter’s behavior. She fought for me and told her she had to face her responsibilities. A trust fund was drawn up for me, and full parental rights were given to my father.” He scoffed. In a small voice, he added, “The bitch didn’t even fight it. For me.”

“Unbeknownst to my grandfather,” he said with a self-satisfied smile, “my grandmother put her WCS shares in my name on the day I was born. She had lawyers draw up a secret, binding contract they’ve never been able to dissolve. My cousins are still trying to dissolve it and get me out of the company.” Peaches tensed. “They only discovered it the day she died. That was sixteen years ago, and even then her shares were worth a little under … fifty million dollars.”

He waited. Peaches blinked. “Fifty?” Carter nodded. “Million? Holy hell.” She shook her head, bewildered. “Carter, why are you here? You have so much going for you. With that amount of money, you could go anywhere, do whatever the hell you wanted, and start over.”

Carter shrugged. “I don’t have access to the bulk of it. It’s trussed up in shares and– I don’t care. It means exactly dick anyway. I don’t need their money.”

The Fords—specifically his cousin Austin—had managed to freeze his assets when Carter was first incarcerated. Fucker. Apparently, even as an adult, Carter was still gossip that was frowned upon by his family.

“Do you ever see your mother?”

Carter shook his head. “She died of cancer when I was eight.”

“Oh God, Carter, I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize for her,” he snapped. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” He took a deep breath. “All she did was deny me. She didn’t want me. The only reason she took me once every two weeks was because my grandmother ordered her to in her will. Ordered her to. She just liked pissing her father off. She went through a rebellious phase and got knocked up.”

“What about your father?”

Carter clenched his jaw. “He lives in Connecticut with his new wife. I don’t speak to him. Can we– Can we talk about something else?” He shifted his head sharply to the side so his ear touched his shoulder, and groaned when it gave a loud click. “I need to move.”

He stood, shaking his arms out. He had a lot of pent-up energy that needed releasing. He pulled out his pack of smokes and lit one, taking a huge pull. He turned to see Peaches sitting, watching him, gripping her shins while leaning her chin on her knees. He needed to divert the attention somehow. He’d never been comfortable under a microscope and, even though he knew that she wasn’t asking him to be nosy, telling Peaches personal stuff was still difficult for him.

“So, are you gonna tell me what happened this past week while you were away?”

Tit for tat and all that.

Peaches twisted her hands together awkwardly and pursed her lips. Carter waited, vaguely aware it had started raining again.

“My mother is a difficult woman,” she whispered.

Carter could only imagine how her mother reacted to her job. He wondered fleetingly how she’d react to her daughter’s choice in men.

“She still sees me as a nine-year-old kid instead of a twenty-five-year-old woman. She thinks anybody with a criminal history is capable of evil just like the men who killed my father.”

Carter flopped back against a tree, smoking silently.

Well. That answered that.

“She doesn’t agree with my life choices. She thinks I can’t make my own decisions, and the ones I do make are never the right ones, even my teaching.”

“You’re an amazing teacher, Peaches.”

“Thank you.” She dipped her head. “Well, it’s what my dad wanted for me.”

Carter couldn’t look away from his girl, peaceful and stunning in the twilight. They’d shared so much together over the past few hours, but Carter knew there was still so much he needed to tell her. He just didn’t have a clue how to broach any of it.

They needed to reconnect somehow, find what they had left in her kitchen when they’d cooked the omelettes. Determined, Carter threw his smoke away, pushed off from the tree, and walked to her. He held out his hand.

“What?” She cocked her head.

“Come here.” He grinned.

Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his. Her touch tingled and buzzed and shot up Carter’s arm like a lightning bolt. He pulled her to her feet and led her until they were standing next to the Alice statue. He pulled her close and held her left hand up in his right, with his other on her waist. Slowly, he began moving from side to side, watching confusion creep across her face.

“What are you doing?”

He lifted his arm and twirled her slowly underneath it. “I’m dancing with you.”

He placed his hand tighter around her waist and leaned her so far back she squealed and clung to his shoulders. They both laughed when he brought her back up, and Carter did an internal happy dance when she pushed her cheek against him.

“Is that—is that Otis Redding you’re humming?”

Embarrassment teased his neck. “Um … yeah, I think so– ‘These Arms of Mine,’ I think. I don’t know. Why?”

She giggled. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as an Otis fan.” She eyed his Zeppelin T-shirt.

“Shut up,” he chided and pushed her face into his chest, smiling at her muffled laughter.

As he continued to hum, they moved together slowly, gracefully, from one foot to the other, in a complete circle, holding each other in the gentle rain.

“My dad loved Redding’s music,” she whispered. “He’d play ‘(Sittin’ on the) Dock of the Bay’ at full blast all the time. He drove me and my mom freaking crazy.”

“He had good taste.”

“He played it in the car on the way … the night that …”

Carter’s arms tightened around her instinctively.

She cleared her throat. “It’s weird the things you remember, huh?”

His stomach tensed. Was this the moment he asked? Was this the moment he told her who he was, what part he’d played? Was this the moment he put everything they had built together on the fucking cliff edge, and waited for the inevitable tumble?

If he truly wanted her to be his, he knew the answer was yes.

Closing his eyes, he let the words come.

“What do you remember of the night that he—ya know—when he passed away?”

She lifted her face to the evening sky. “I remember everything.”

Carter’s stomach hit his shoes. “You do?”

“Yeah, everything,” she murmured, placing her cheek back against his chest. “I remember the car ride from DC. The hotel, visiting his rehabilitation shelter, the walk to the sandwich shop, the moment they hit him with the baseball bat.”

His lips pressed against her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

He hated that she’d been hurt. He hated that he hadn’t been strong enough to stop the bastards from killing her father. And he hated that he knew, deep down in his soul, that Peaches would hate him for it, too.

“Don’t be,” she said. “No one could have saved him. Not even me, even though I tried like hell.”

“You were nine.” He knew she would have tried, if she’d been able. She would have fought with all of her might to stop them from hurting her father.

“I ran,” she whispered. “I ran away when he needed me.”

Carter’s face collapsed.

“Don’t do that to yourself.” He waited. Breathed. “He told you … to run, Kat.”

She froze in his arms. Carter shut his eyes and clasped his hands at her back, suddenly terrified she would bolt. He couldn’t let her run again. He couldn’t lose her.

“What?”

Carter held his breath. “He told you to run.”

She moved her head back. Her eyes told him the pieces were falling together, slowly but surely, and all he could do was plead with his own for her to wait, listen, and try to understand.

“Carter.” Her voice shook. “How do … how do you know that?”

He stared at her, praying he wouldn’t have to say the words aloud, but knowing with every inch of himself that he had to. He had to tell her. “You told me last night.”

She didn’t look convinced.

She cocked her chin, studying Carter’s face. The cogs of her mind turned behind her emerald-green eyes. They flashed with pain and shock at the same time she gasped loudly, shoving him, breaking his hold on her. She stumbled back.

Carter’s heart shattered.

“I … I want to know what you remember.” His arms dropped to his sides. They were useless without her in them.

“Why?” she pushed, with anger in her voice. “Why do you want to know? Why, Carter?”

He took a step closer and she instinctively took one back. Carter’s teeth clenched.

“Because,” he started, rubbing his hands across his beanie, terrified, “I was– Because … Peaches.”

“Fuck’s sake,” she cried. “WHY?”

Her yell ricocheted around them as the rain clouds broke, and the heavens opened above them. But it didn’t matter. Carter was numb. He stared at her and lifted his arms minutely before letting them fall, defeated. He dropped his chin, gathered himself and the fear pounding in his head.

“Because I was there.”

The look on her face tore Carter wide-open, making his legs unsteady. Christ, she looked sick. She started shaking and gasping for air while mumbling words he couldn’t decipher. She clamped her eyes shut while her mouth continued to move in incoherent ramblings.

“No. No. No,” she repeated. “It wasn’t– I can’t.”

The rain pummeled Carter. “It was me,” he whispered. “It was me, Kat.”

She was instantly mute, staring at him as though he were a stranger. She opened her mouth, but he didn’t let her speak.

“I was in the area near your father’s rehabilitation center. I’d been with Max, but we’d had a fight, and I—I’d left him at a friend’s. I was having a smoke and heard a scream, so I went to see what was going on and … I saw them. I saw you. I saw them hit him with the bat.”

“Stop,” Kat rasped.

“I saw the guy hit you—”

“Stop, Carter.”

“Your father told you to run and you didn’t. Why didn’t you run?”

“Fucking stop!”

“NO!”

He took three strides toward her and yanked her into his arms. She began to fight him. Her skin was slick from the rain, making it hard to get a good grip. She hit his chest and arms as she screamed at him to let her go. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“I grabbed you,” he cried above her protests. “I grabbed you and ran with you. I’ve never been so scared, Kat. I had to drag you; you fought me so fucking hard. You fought me like you’re doing now, like you did last night. But I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t. They would have killed you, just like they killed him.”

Kat sobbed in his arms, buckling at the knees.

“We landed on the floor, and, your hair, Kat. Goddammit. Peach-scented hair. My Peaches.”

Her head snapped up and she screamed in his face. “GET OFF ME!”

At the fury in her voice Carter released her and stepped back, only to receive a white-hot slap across his face.

For a few seconds the only sound around them was the rain pounding the trees. He couldn’t look at her and see the hate in her eyes. He was paralyzed, desolate, but he couldn’t stop telling her. He had to tell her.

“I held you,” he muttered, “for two fucking hours, in a freezing-cold doorway, talking to you.”

“You,” Kat accused. “You stopped me from …” She could barely speak through the wracking gulps of air. “I could have– I could have … He was my father!”

Carter turned back to her, his hurt, angry tears merging silently with the rain running down his face. “He told you to run. I couldn’t watch them kill you.”

“You had no right!”

“No right?” he argued back, his voice rising to match hers. “Your father wanted you safe, Kat. I … I saved you!”

“No, you didn’t, Carter!” she shouted back. “No, you didn’t, because I fucking died that night, too!”

Carter gaped at her. She may as well have punched him in the fucking stomach. How could she think that?

A dangerous calm shrouded her. She glanced about herself. “I … I need … I.” She pushed past him toward her jacket and bag, her feet splashing in the huge puddles that had formed with the rain.

“Kat,” Carter implored. “Don’t … please!” He grabbed for her arm but she yanked it from his grasp and shoved him away.

“Don’t!” she cried with a finger in his face. “You fucking liar! You’re just like the rest of them! Just don’t!”

He blinked at her. Stunned. “I never lied!” he yelled, fury rising through his body. “What are you talking about?”

“You never told me!” She pushed him again. “How long have you known and you never told me? That makes you a dirty. Fucking. Liar!”

Devastation curled Carter’s shoulders.

Kat’s palms found the sides of her forehead. “I … I can’t be—be … no—anywhere near you. I have to …”

She turned from him, grabbed her bag, and set off at a dead run.

Carter exploded after her, calling for her to stop, yelling at her to think about what she was doing in the dark, in the middle of Central Park, but she ignored him. He could have caught her easily. He could have wrestled her to the floor just as he’d done sixteen years before, but what would have been the fucking point?

She hated him and didn’t want to be near him.

She’d called him a liar.

Was he?

Carter stopped dead at that thought, and watched helplessly as she ran from him. Breathless, his whole body felt skinned. He clutched his chest in a futile attempt to stop the searing hurt that twisted there. Unable to breathe, he bent his head back and roared loudly into the sky, releasing the frustration and rage heaving through his bones. He kicked the base of a nearby tree several times, bellowing out words and sounds he’d never heard himself use before while praying to all hell that the hurt would stop.

Exhausted, Carter’s hands dropped to his knees while his eyes followed the path she’d taken.

When he could no longer see her and his voice was hoarse, he staggered back to his jacket and bike helmets and stumbled back to Kala.