Page 65 of Say You're Mine

I pause at the top of the stairs, listening to their muffled voices.

"...can't keep him locked up here forever," Dante is saying, frustration evident in his tone.

"We may not have a choice," Judith replies, her voice tight with worry. "You saw him last night, Dante. He's a powder keg waiting to explode."

"And what do you think will happen if we try to contain him?" Dante counters. "He'll go off even harder. We need to give him something to do, some way to feel like he's making progress."

I've heard enough. I descend the stairs, making no effort to mask my approach. The conversation cuts off abruptly as I enter the kitchen.

"Morning," I say, my voice rough from disuse. "Don't stop on my account. I'd love to hear more about how you plan to manage me."

Judith at least has the grace to look sheepish. "June, we were just-"

"Spare me," I cut her off, reaching for the coffee pot. "I get it. I'm a liability. A loose cannon that needs to be pointed in the right direction."

"That's not what we meant," Dante says, but I can hear the hesitation in his voice.

I turn to face them, leaning against the counter. "Look, I know I fucked up last night. I shouldn't have gone to Elaine's. But I'm not going to sit here twiddling my thumbs while Cara's in that viper's nest."

"No one's asking you to do nothing," Judith says carefully. "But we need to be smart about this. One wrong move and Elaine could have you back in that facility before you can blink."

The thought sends a shudder through me, memories of restraints and needles and Faulkner's oily voice flooding back. I push them away, focusing on the here and now.

"So what's the play?" I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady. "How do we get Cara out of there?"

Dante and Judith exchange a look, and I can see the moment they come to a decision.

"We've got a few ideas," Dante says slowly. "But you're not going to like them."

He's right. I don't like them. Not one fucking bit. But as they lay out the plan - a careful dance of legal maneuvers and strategic concessions - I have to admit it's our best shot.

"So I just have to play the good little boy," I say, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "Jump through their hoops, prove I'm stable and trustworthy."

"For now," Judith nods. "We need to give them no reason to doubt your commitment to getting better. That means therapy, anger management, the works."

I want to argue, to rail against the unfairness of it all. But I know they're right. If I want any chance of getting Cara and our child back, I need to play by the rules. At least for now.

"Fine," I grit out. "I'll do it. But the moment those two weeks are up, all bets are off. I'm seeing Cara, come hell or high water."

Dante nods, a grim smile playing at his lips. "Wouldn't expect anything less, brother. Now, let's get to work."

The days that follow are a special kind of torture. I throw myself into the prescribed routine - therapy sessions, group meetings, even fucking yoga to "center my chi" or whatever bullshit the counselor spouts. Every minute feels like an eternity, knowing Cara is out there, alone and vulnerable.

But I endure. I plaster on a mask of calm compliance, nodding and agreeing in all the right places. I let them poke and prod at the festering wounds of my psyche, biting back the snarls that threaten to escape.

And all the while, I plan.

Because the moment those two weeks are up, the moment I have even a sliver of an opening... I'm coming for you, Cara. And God help anyone who tries to stand in my way.

Chapter twenty

Cara

The frozen tundra Elaine calls home suffocates me with each passing second. I trace lazy circles over my swollen belly, the only real comfort in this sterile mausoleum of wealth and secrets. "We'll see Daddy soon, little one," I whisper, though the words feel hollow even to my own ears. "We just need to be patient."

But patience is wearing thin. It's been two weeks since the court's verdict forced me into Elaine's "care," fourteen endless days of sleepless nights and anxiety-ridden mornings. Knowing June is out there, free but unable to reach me, is a special kind of torture.

Every corner of this house feels like it's watching me. Cameras blink silently from discreet corners, and I swear I can hear the soft tread of security guards patrolling the halls at night. My world has shrunk to a handful of approved rooms, each one as soulless and oppressive as the last.

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