Three days, seventeen hours,
and thirty-four minutes left.
ACROSS FROM WHERE I’m sitting on the outdoor sofa, nursing my whiskey neat and pretending I don’t know the minutes until I am forced to leave her, I watch as my brothers, Ben Slater, and Konnor attempt a game of rugby. Too bad they can’t get through ten minutes without arguing over the fundamentals of ‘holding the ball’. It’s in the name, dickheads. But Bronson just hates letting that fucker go. He’s shit at following the rules in sports; such a trait applies to all aspects of his life.
I fix my eyes on Toni, Aurora, Felicity, and Stacey as they stand by the grassed area, watching the men play. There might as well be four women up there with the way Toni carries on. I like the guy. I don’t pretend to understand him, but I like the way he adores Cassidy.
‘Let’s let Konnor make the calls, hey? He’s the only professional on the grass.’ Xander yells out to me, ‘The other is sitting on his arse.’
I scoff, taking a sip of my whiskey.
Konnor glares at me and I grin at him, tempted to call him my brother-in-law just to watch him squirm. He’ll never like me. Not that I blame him. If Cassidy was my little sister, I wouldn’t like me either. I would have ripped my arms off by now, but Konnor plays at being tough when he’s actually just as big of a pussy as his father.
To my left, Victoria natters to Renae Slater. The two women are worlds apart in every aspect. Fuck knows what they have to talk about. My son perhaps. I clench my teeth, well aware I’m not good at sharing and yet being forced to learn how to everyday.
Renae projects a smile as Victoria drawls on about something. I find myself wanting to rescue Cassidy’s sweet mother from the claws of the woman who birthed me, but I don’t. If Renae is anything like her daughter, she can handle her own. What must she think of me, having stolen her baby girl away and made her mine in every way?
My wife. . . I feel fire in my chest when I say that word – wife. I never knew how much I would enjoy the way it rumbles with authority from my tongue. My wife.
My wife giggles with Blesk, wearing the same pretty white dress that she wore three hours ago when she became my most precious possession. Most girls would hate being referred to as a possession, but not my wife. She knows it’s a damn fact.
I am hers.
She is mine.
My face feels tight as I scan the backyard. White fairy lights drip from every tree. The sun hits the canal, creating ribbons of silver on the rippling surface. I woke this morning wanting to spend most of the day in bed. Inside my wife. Instead, I was coaxed by her lovely lips to have a small reception. ‘For our family,’ she begged. Then pouted. Then dropped to her knees and sucked me so good I would have said yes to just about anything she asked.
At least she allowed me to keep her all to myself for the ceremony – us and a priest.
But if she wants to do it all again when I get out, a big wedding like she deserves, I’ll do it. Then. Just not now. My time is short, and I don’t want to waste it with my eyes on anyone else besides her. I need my fucking fill.
I set my whiskey down, aware that I’m being a fucking arsehole for not getting up and being charming. But the sight of our two families making a show of how it will work while I’m away feels a lot like a grater on my skin. I should like the view or appreciate it at the very least. I suppose I do.
But when I glare across at them, my awareness of my jealousy spreads through me like blood stains on a shirt. They have a future. In three days, seventeen hours, and thirty-one minutes, they will still be. . . this. Just as they fucking are. Unchanged. Unaffected.
And they’ll have her.
They will be able to watch her mouth move when she speaks silly words. Watch her pick at her nail polish when she’s nervous. Watch the blush of her cheeks when she’s embarrassed.
They’ll watch my son grow inside her.
Hold him the day he’s born.
Growling, I push up from the outdoor sofa and move into the house. Move away from the scene of happiness being thrown in my fucking face.
‘Hey.’ Cassidy’s voice stills me. She rounds me until she is standing between me and the sliding door. Big, golden-hazel eyes gaze up at me with a question. I reach for her hand, lifting it to my lips and kissing her fingers.
‘Are you okay?’ she says as my lips touch her. I stare at the new rings on her hand. My territory tagged with these two platinum bands. Her engagement ring is a gem cut for royalty. Her petite, slender fingers appear even smaller beneath the size of that rock. While I’m away, I’ll hold on to the vision of the way it sparkles as she strokes my cock.
‘Max?’
I shift my gaze up to meet her eyes. ‘Do you like the ring?’
She smiles nervously. ‘Where are you right now?’
‘Here.’
Lifting onto her tippy toes, she kisses my neck, and it’s such a gentle chaste show of affection, it burns my chest.
I miss this already.
Clearing my throat, I place my palm on the soft white skin of her cheek and drag my thumb possessively along her pink lower lip. Following my thumb with my gaze, I watch as her tongue lightly touches the tip, watch as she draws in weighted breaths and–
My eyes snap to hers again. ‘Don’t fucking touch anyone else with these lips.’
She sucks a sharp breath in. ‘Max.‘
I straighten. ‘I’m just getting another drink, little one.’ I tap her little nose and she smiles softly in response. It is a sad little smile though, and it screws with my head. I fucking hate that I just said that. Hate that I felt the need to. Hate the bullshit inside me wreaking havoc with the constant reminder of how I won’t be here to touch her, smell her, fuck her when she needs to come. . .
Keep her safe.
Walking past her, I keep my head high and move with purpose towards the billiard room to find Butch’s Gold Label.
When I enter, I’m thrown by the scent of cigar smoke. Butch is sitting in the corner of the room, fixated on the translucent brown liquor in his glass as he swirls it around.
‘I haven’t seen you today,’ I mention gruffly, coming to a stop. ‘Aren’t you going to celebrate with us?’
He doesn’t look up. ‘My son is losing three years of his life. I don’t feel much like celebrating.’
I sigh jaggedly, but somewhat appreciative the bitter honesty. We really are so alike.
‘I was so fucking close to giving her what she wants.’ I shake my head at the bullshit that just expelled from me, at myself for being pitiful. A man can either be powerful or pitiful, but he can never be both.
‘Max, sit with me for a moment.’
Frowning at him, I contemplate snatching the whiskey and heading back to my wife, smiling at her family, and kicking Konnor’s arse in rugby. But I stroll over and position myself on the red leather chair opposite Butch instead, giving myself some time away from the false cheer.
Smoke fills the space between us, the cigar he just blunted out still snaking a line of grey into the air. Cracking his fists, he alleviates some of the ache. I know that his years of boxing have left him with arthritis in his knuckles. They have started to tremor, but I would never admit to noticing such deterioration. I wonder how much worse it’ll be when I get out.
He leans forward onto his knees. ‘You’re not alone in there, son.’
Mashing my teeth together, I try not to feel anything.
He fixes me with his stern gaze and the fucking pain in his eyes twists something deep inside me. They scream at me. Scream that he failed me. I see remorse and regret shadowing those worn blue irises. And it’s a look so foreign, I barely recognise him.
‘There are lots of our men in there,’ he states, his eyes telling. ‘And they will follow you. Keep your head in the moment. Don’t let your guard down for anyone. Don’t be loose with your temper. Save it. Save it for the right moments.’ He pauses and I try to relax my shoulders. ‘And son. . . you have to forget about Cassidy when you’re in there. Her memory will only bring you torment and make you weak.’
All true. Too true. I’m not prepared to admit to anyone, especially not my wife, that I have been preparing myself to enter the chaos since the moment I found out I was royally fucked. Prison isn’t safe for anyone. Someone like me though, with my family name and reputation, it could be fatal. I know this. And by the darkness and despair in Butch’s reddened blue eyes, he clearly fucking knows this too.
Looking down at my finger, the tattoo I have in lieu of an actual wedding band still raised and red, I’m reminded that I only need one thing to make it out intact. ‘Look after my wife,’ I murmur, my voice deep with self-loathing.
‘Don’t think about her right now.’
‘I said look after my goddamn wife!’ I roar, slapping the table with my palm and levelling him out with narrowed eyes.
He leans back in his chair, the leather protesting beneath his weight. ‘I will.’
‘No.’ I smile contemptuously, feeling fucking sick of the bullshit, wanting to rip the walls he put up between us down. The walls he built around himself and made us build around ourselves to keep us emotionally impenetrable. From being victims. From being gentle. Open and raw and fucking vulnerable. I want to take my fists to those walls. ‘Not like you look after Victoria. Not like you look after your own fucking sons. Goddamn it, Dad. Look. The fuck. After her!’
Dad.
He nods his head firmly. ‘You have my word, son.’
In this moment, I want to tell him so much, but the words are so unnatural they don’t even form in my mind. I reach for his cigars and draw one out, biting it and lighting it in quick succession. I breathe it in and lean back, focused on the movement of the smoke as it leaves the cinder. Butch’s shoulders relax on a sigh and he joins me in contemplative silence.
Several minutes later, a knock interrupts us and I twist to see Konnor-fucking-Slater by the entry.
He leans his shoulder on the door frame. ‘I want to speak with you about Cassidy.’
I smirk. ‘There is nothing you can say about Cassidy that I don’t already know.’
Twisting back to face Butch, I’m hit with a scowl and a pulsing jaw. Is he pissed I’m not playing nice with Cassidy’s family? Him of all people? Fuck that. ‘What?’ I snap.
Ignoring me, Butch stands and rubs his palms down his black pants. I glare over my shoulder to watch him stride towards Konnor.
‘You play rugby too?’ Butch asks, sizing Cassidy’s brother up.
Konnor pushes his chest out and lifts his chin – a defensive stance for sure. And a commonly taken one when sharing space with Luca Butcher. A man so far removed from his own dad that I’m surprised they speak the same fucking language.
‘Yeah,’ Konnor confirms, his narrowed green eyes flaring with distrust.
‘You any good?’ Butch asks, stopping just before him.
Konnor adjusts his footing, a tight line forming between his brows. ‘Yeah. I’m pretty good.’
Butch tilts his head. ‘Ever boxed?’
‘No,’ Konnor says, standing strong in the face of . . . whatever the fuck Butch is doing. ‘I don’t enjoy fighting. Unlike some people.’ He takes a dig at me and I just grin, taking this opportunity to lick my lips and think about his sister’s pussy.
‘You’re competitive,’ Butch notes. ‘And boxing eases tension. My boys all box recreationally.’
Chuckling, I say, ‘You know what else eases tension?’
Konnor runs a hand through his hair, ignoring me, and that pisses me right off. ‘What makes you say I’m competitive?’
My face tightens as I glare back and forth between them.
What the fuck is going on here?
‘You’re a man. That’s all. We’re all competitive. . .You should sit with us.’ Butch motions to the spot beside me. ‘What do you drink?’
‘I don’t,’ Konnor states curtly.
‘Water then?’ Butch presses.
‘Here they are,’ Cassidy calls out, entering the billiard room with her dad trailing behind her. As her pink-blonde hair sways around her shoulders, I’m reminded how I should be inside her, wrapping that pretty hair around my fist. I find myself grinning when she raises her palms in the air and sings, ‘Bride in the house,’ but that feeling is short lived. As soon as she catches sight of her brother, she lowers her hands and glances around the room with uncertainty. ‘Sorry, are we interrupting something?’
Something is definitely going on right now and while I don’t pretend to know what it is, I do know it better not disturb her day.
‘Ben, what are you drinking?’ Butch calls to Ben Slater, who looks like he has just walked in on his wife talking to his male lover. Butch walks over to the bar, and I watch as he pulls out two glasses, preparing multiple beverages.
‘Nothing, Luca, thank you,’ Ben states, pacing over to his son and saying, ‘They’re missing you out there, Konnor.’
I watch my wife gauge the room before she steps cautiously towards her brother. ‘Yeah, now no one actually follows the rules,’ she says with a nervous giggle. I can read her like a fucking rugby field. She is wary of whatever it is she’s just walked in on, immediately taking the defence to protect her precious Konnor – like Butch might break him.
Konnor turns to look at her. ‘I’ll be back out in a minute.’
‘Let the boy stay,’ Butch states calmly, handing out drinks like a fucking butler. He moves back to his spot opposite me and throws back his whiskey. My eyes dart to my wife again, not liking the space between us.
Leaning back in my chair, I study these restless men as they share glances of significance. I’m reminded of the last time I saw them together. The day I found out about Cassidy’s condition. These two share a fucking secret. It better not have anything to do with my wife. My brows tighten to an uncomfortable level. The Slaters are my business now, so whatever this is about-
‘We planned on telling them tomorrow anyway, Ben,’ Butch says, his words stopping my thoughts. ‘And I won’t lie to the boy. I can’t exactly just stay away anymore. Your daughter has married my son.’
Ben takes a step towards Butch. ‘Not like this. This is supposed to be a happy day.’
‘Happy?’ Butch scoffs and I stare straight at my wife’s face, catching the sadness washing over it. Heat hits my ears. ‘Don’t be blind, Ben,’ Butch says. ‘Cassidy is about to lose Max for years, and he is about to lose far more than that. Let’s not play at this bullshit.’
I growl loud enough for them all to hear. It is one fucking thing to see the bullshit; it is another thing entirely to point it out to my wife.
She blinks a few times before muttering, ‘Just tell us what this is all about so I can get back to my silly celebration.’ Her voice is strained, and my bicep twitches with the urge to knock Butch’s teeth in. I glare at his profile, but he’s too busy scrutinising Cassidy’s brother to notice. I ball my hands into fists.
Butch uses his drink to motion towards Konnor. ‘You deserve to know.’
Konnor frowns defensively. ‘Know what?’
Ben turns towards his son, looking panicked. ‘You can leave if you want.’
‘Ben,’ Butch drawls. ‘Tell him. Tell your boy the truth.
Ben motions politely to the seats beside me. ‘Does everyone want to sit down first? Maybe have-‘
‘Dad, what the fuck is this guy on about?’ Konnor bites out. My sweet wife is beside him in a second, placing her hand on his forearm. She peers at me for the first time since she entered, her eyes pleading for help. If I get up, I’ll be dragging her out.
Ben all but collapses beside Butch. Yep, he’s never the impartial man in the room. His son does a far better job. At least he appears pissed off in lieu of weak. Ben looks down at the ground, his forehead indented with taut lines. He shakes his head slowly, and Cassidy’s expressive blonde brows slump. My knuckles ache as I squeeze my fists tighter. She cares too much about everyone around her. I should lock her away, protect her from their drama.
‘Konnor,’ Ben says, looking at his son. ‘Fourteen years ago, you came into my care. But it wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t just because your mother was my first love and I felt the need to protect you. . . Your father asked me to take you in as my own. To keep you far away from the people who hurt you. Give you a good life. He entrusted me with his son.’
‘You mean Dustin,’ Cassidy whispers, articulating his name as if it were poison. And to her, it is. To me too. He’s not getting within a mile of her ever again. Carter will make damn sure of it. He’ll do whatever he needs to do to keep them apart while- While I can’t.
‘No, sweetheart,’ Ben says reluctantly as guilt flashes across his face. ‘I mean his biological father.’
My wife’s eyes gloss over, the betrayal crouching within them boils my blood. It makes me want to beat the lies out of Ben Slater’s mouth for her.
Konnor grips his water glass with white knuckles. ‘You told us you didn’t know who my father was.’
‘I know I did.’ Ben shakes his head. ‘Christ, I hate that I did. I lied to you, son. After everything you endured, we just wanted peace for you. I thought this was the way.’
Konnor sets his water down on the edge of the billiard table, seemingly wanting to hurl it into the wall. I get that. ‘We?’
Ben nods. ‘Yes. Luca and I.’
What the fuck?
Butch drains the last dregs of his whiskey, stands up, and strides over to the bar again. I frown at him. Butch has never wasted his time on the likes of the Slaters before. Konnor isn’t his fucking problem.
‘I thought you’d be safer out of my world,’ Butch states gruffly. ‘I owed that to your mother. You have her eyes. Well, I suppose you have heard that many times from Ben.’ He turns to face Konnor and nods. ‘But when I look at you, it’s like she’s staring back at me. I would have died for that woman.’
I’m on my feet now, pacing over to catch Cassidy as her cheeks lose colour. She jumps when my arms go around her, which only makes me tighten them. She takes a big breath in and leans back. I got you, little one.
‘So the rumours are true,’ Konnor states, his voice a tremoring mess. ‘I’m not Dustin’s biological son. You?’ He stares at Butch and Butch stares at Konnor.
What the fuck?
I cringe when I realise what they are fucking implying – confessing.
‘You had an affair with my mother? I’m your. . . You’re my. . .’ Konnor trails off, clutching the side of the table to stop from toppling over.
Butch takes a mouthful of his newly poured drink. ‘You’re a Butcher.’
My teeth lock. ‘Fuck.’
