Page 47 of It Will Always Be You
“I missed you so much, darling,” I tell her. Pulling back, I take her in, cataloguing how she’s changed, how she’s aged. Gone is the softness to her features and the wide-eyed look of innocence, and in their place stands a woman sure of herself. As April starts to fuss, she takes her back, getting her situated on the living room floor with some toys before taking a seat to play with her.
“Being a mum suits you,” I comment, crossing the room to join them. Seeing this bachelor pad turned into something more homey, with family photos and kids’ toys scattered about the place, just strengthens my resolve to get caught up on everything I missed. I’ve lost more than enough time, and I’ll be damned if I don’t treasure being reunited with my family. I owe it to Freya to make the most of this for both of us.
“I learnt from the best.” Cora’s softly spoken words jerk me from my thoughts. “Anytime I questioned myself or got overwhelmed, I’d ask myself what you would do. It’s worked for me so far, I think. I just wanted to make you proud.”
“Darling, you’ve made me proud every single day of your life, even without knowing the ins and outs of the last few years, I can guarantee you that,” I reassure her, reaching over to grasp her hand. The fact there’s even room for her to doubt that cuts me in half.
“So, tell me—how did little April here come to be? What happened to Corey?” Corey was her now ex-boyfriend who I never thoughtwas good enough for her. Something about him always set my instincts on edge, like a sharp sensation in your teeth you can’t quite explain.
“I don’t even know where to start,” she laughs, shaking her head. Then she dives in—telling me about how she caught him cheating, how it finally pushed her to end things for good. Her voice is animated, her hands moving as she talks about Owen.
It’s obvious—he’s the one for her.
She lights up just saying his name, and as the day passes with stories and stolen smiles, one thing becomes clear: this world fits her.
While I’ve always felt like I was trying to survive the mafia, she was born to lead it.
As morning fades into early afternoon and April falls asleep in Cora’s arms, she takes her leave with promises to do this again soon. The second they’re gone; the silence turns eerie and stifling. The flat feels almost haunted by my mistakes, my fears, my worries, the impending doom looming over my head with every second.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, pacing the length of the room while my mind races. The guilt at keeping what little I know to myself is eating me alive. But how do I even begin to piece everything together without reliving my worst memories? No matter what I do, I can’t shake the gut instinct that shit is going to blow up. I’m seconds away from working myself into a panic attack when the lift opens to reveal a familiar redhead. With her trademark red lipstick, a bottle of chardonnay from one of Don Salvatore’s vineyards clutched in one hand, and her hip cocked to the side, she looks as much of a boss bitch now as she did all those years ago.
“I thought you could do with some wine time,” she explains as she grabs two wine glasses and makes her way over. Setting her haul on the coffee table, she turns her feline-like eyes on me. Tutting, she says, “We have a lot of work to do, don’t we?”
“I guess so.” I laugh. God, I missed her and her frank nature. Quirking a brow at her choice of wine, I drawl, “Speaking of, are you looking for trouble?”
“Helen, darling, you should know the answer to that. Regardless, with a wedding on the horizon, we’re practically allies.” She waves off my concerns, and before I can even question the second half of that sentence, she’s pouring us both a glass, toeing off her heels and curling her feet underneath her as she swiftly changes the subject. “A little birdie told me you’ve been hiding up in that spare room. And while I can’t say I blame you—those sheets are heavenly—it’s time we nip that in the bud.”
“Says who?”
She laughs like it’s actually funny. “Me, darling. Jonathan, bless his soul, would let you take your sweet time until he’s in the grave because that man loves you. He’s scared of sending you running for the hills. I, however, do not share the same fear. I thought we lost you, and now, we have a ghost back. While it’s an improvement, it’s nowhere near enough. So, I come with a pep talk in hand.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s hear it, then.”
“It’s simple, really. That man hasn’t so much as looked at anyone in all the time you’ve been gone. He mourned you like a widower and wore his grief like a badge of honour. You can trust him; you know that, right? Even when Logan came spitting facts about you not being dead, when they went down a rabbit hole of unravelling your secrets, he never once cared about your ties to the Clan. And you should know how much that means coming from a man like him. So, whatever it is that’s eating you alive? You can trust him. You can trustme.”
Her words land like the well-aimed attack to my defences she means them to be. Tears stream down my face by the end, and all the hurt, all the damage I’ve been trying so fucking hard to keep behind the damn spills over.
“I think I need to get tested,” I confess. Donna’s shocked inhale reaches my ears a moment before the sound of glass shattering has me whipping around to find Jonathan standing mere feet behind us, a broken glass at his feet and a look of anguish painted across his features.
Chapter 43
Since Helen returned, it has been nothing short of a mindfuck.
She’s here, and yet she’s not. I still have more questions than answers, and she’ still refusing to see Doc or let me take her to the hospital. Hell, until last night, I’d barely even seen her. I refuse to be another person who takes her choices out of her hands, as much as it hurts me to do nothing. Hearing her cry out in her sleep, seeing her thrash around as if she was mid attack, only for her to ask me to lie to her, just about tore my heart out, but getting to hold her… That is something I would happily carve out my heart to do.
Everything outside the penthouse is equally as fucked. Ever since the last table meeting, Salvatore has been breathing down my neck daily for updates on the rat problem, threatening to call off the marriage between Matt and his granddaughter if we don’t get our shit ironed out. But no amount of investigating or torturing has led us to any answers. And that’s not to mention the mess in Scotland that Logan is trying to get to the bottom of. With Angus and Peter both dead, so should be the sex trafficking ring they were running, and yet Brennan’sdeep dive on the dark web indicates otherwise.
Which begs the question: what the fuck is going on?
So, coming home, only to catch the tail end of Helen’s confession and seeing her tear-stained face—it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
“What the hell happened?” I growl, crossing the room as quickly as possible, only to about die when Helen flinches at the bite in my tone.
Fucking stupid asshole, I curse myself out.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?” I ask gently as I crouch in front of the sofa, not touching her despite the urge crawling along my skin to do so. She lifts her tear-stained face, looking at me in a way that has my heart shattering into a thousand pieces at her feet. I don’t need her to tell me her story to know it’s an ugly one. I tuck her hair behind her ear, letting my knuckles graze her cheek. She leans into my touch, closing her eyes.
“I think that’s my cue,” Donna mutters, extracting herself from Helen, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she leaves with a weighted look tossed my way. It’s my turn to look after our girl, and that’s something I’m happy to do. Opening my palm, I cup her cheek, running my thumb over her cheekbone as I debate what to say, where to even start. Thankfully, she beats me to it.
