Forever We Fall: Broken #4 (The Broken Series) (41 page)

"So think about how all of this has made Jordan feel," I begged. "He's is the real loser here, Kyle." Kyle rolled his eyes and I glared at him. "You know what it feels like to be dragged from pillar to post, Kyle Carter," I warned. "Jordan has spent the last nine years of his life being shipped between two states like a damn cargo crate. He was pulled out of school at thirteen years old, taken away from his father, his friends and his whole world. Shipped to Colorado for a month every summer and two weeks in the winter and then posted back." My voice rose as my outrage over Jordan's childhood upheaval grew. "Hope has been the one consistency in his life all these years – his safe-place – and you and Derek have fractured that."

"Princess," Kyle groaned. "It's not that I don't like the kid…" he paused and exhaled heavily. "It's just the way he…she…they…"

"Remind you of us when we were their age?" I added gently.

Kyle nodded slowly. "Yeah," he whispered. "He's too dependent on her. She's too dependent on him." He shook his head and groaned. "She loves him."

"Yes, Kyle." I smiled. "She really does."

"Well shit," he muttered. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Lee?"

"Invite him over tonight," I told him. "Make him feel welcome. Give him back his safe-place."

"Why does his safe-place involve my worst fucking nightmare?" he grumbled.

"Kyle," I chuckled as I wrapped my arms around his waist and sighed. "This is the point where we take a step back and allow Hope to navigate her own course in life."

"And if it all goes to shit?" he asked quietly.

"Then we be there for her," I replied simply. "But we both know it won't."

"Goddammit, Lee Carter, you're a pain in my ass," Kyle groaned. Pulling out his phone, he fiddled with it for a few seconds before slipping it back inside his pocket. "There, happy? I just invited the wolves to dinner."

"Tell them to bring pizza," I huffed. "No one wants to eat my casserole."

"Can you blame them?" Kyle laughed loudly as he took in my sulky expression. "Don't pout, princess…"

"Dad, can I borrow the car?" Cam strolled back into the kitchen, freshly showered, his hair gelled in stylish disarray, and grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Amy text me. We're gonna grab a bite to eat."

Kyle chuckled as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. "She finally gave in?"

"See?" I growled as I reached across and snatched the car keys out of Kyle's hand. "This is exactly what I've been talking about.
He
is the one you should be concerned about. He is chasing after the spawn of Cindy and Danny Valentine."

"Ha," Logan snorted as wandered into the kitchen with Colt in tow. "She's got you there, Cam," he mused as he sat at the table, with Colt collapsing into the chair beside him. "That girl is nasty."

"Her mother's worse," Colt grumbled. "There's not enough money in the world that could persuade me to cut that lady's grass again." He shuddered violently. "I need a new toothbrush."

"Fuck off,
Jessica
," Cam shot back, scowling at Logan. "Jealousy doesn't suit you."

Logan snorted. "If you think I'm jealous of an inflamed dick then, yeah, I'm totally jealous," he shot back with a smirk. "And I may have a feminine middle name, but you're named in honor of one,
Camryn
…"

Cam's faced reddened, Kyle laughed loudly, and I groaned in despair. "Don't encourage them," I warned Kyle, slapping his chest.

"Inflamed dick," Colt sniggered. "Good one, Logan."

"Oh, you can talk, stable boy," Cam shot back. "You want me to run out back and grab your saddle,
Colt
? Let's face it, dude, that's the only ride…"

"Stop it," I warned.

"
Neigh
…" Cam imitated a horse with relish.

"Stop it!"

"
Neigh
…"

"Good job, Cameron." Colt clapped his hands enthusiastically, his tone mocking. "You're finally getting the hang of animal sounds." Pressing one hand to his chest, he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. "Old McDonald would be so proud, bro."

"Boys," I snapped. I turned to glare at Kyle, who was guffawing like a big baboon. "Do something, will you?" Kyle covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulders rising and falling quickly. "Stop laughing, Kyle. It's not funny."

"Oh yeah," Cam sneered, ignoring my protests, his eyes locked on Colt. "And here's another word I'm getting the hang of. Some people like to say freak. But I'm an honest kind of guy and prefer plain old fuck. As in fuck you, fuck your name, and fuck the horse you rode in on. See," he shrugged and raised his middle finger at his brother. "Fuck is good. It leaves no room for confusion."

"Cameron Noah Carter," I barked as I jumped down from the countertop and stalked towards him. "Don't you dare use that word in this house." I shook my finger at him, glaring up at my son who was a full head over me. "I won't stand for it."

"I was trying to make a point, mom," Cam argued weakly as he shifted around from foot to foot in obvious discomfort. "Freedom of speech and all that…"

"Middle-named," Colt snickered. "Way to piss mom off."

"Colton Liam Carter," I snapped, swinging around to shake my finger at Colt. "Not another word. I mean it."

Logan stifled a chuckle with a cough and both boys glared at him. "This is so fucking unfair," Colt complained. "How come you never middle name Logan."

"Probably because she'd have to call him by his full name," Cam piped up. "And that would be awkward. Wouldn’t it,
Jessica
?"

"His name is Logan
Jesse
Carter," I snapped. "And I would appreciate it if you addressed one another by your Christian names." Turning on my heels, I stalked over to the bane of my life and poked him in the ribs. "This is all your fault," I hissed. "You and your filthy mouth."

"You like my dirty mouth, baby," Kyle purred as he bent down and nipped at my neck. "You like it
filthy
."

"Ahhh," all three boys shouted in unison.

"That's our mother, you freak," Colt moaned, making gagging noises.

"For the love of god, put it away, old man," Logan begged.

"Where the hell do you think you three came from?" Kyle snorted. "The stork?"

"Don't worry, guys. He's so old he's probably forgotten how it works," Cam snickered.

"True." Colt nodded solemnly. "Don't old guys get erectile dysfunction at like forty?"

"I'll show you erectile fucking dysfunction," Kyle huffed. Grabbing my hand, he dragged me towards him, before pressing one of his hands against my back, grabbing my thigh with the other, and plunging me backwards. I squealed in surprise and Kyle grinned devilishly down at me. "Hate to disappoint you, boys, but there's life in this old dog yet," he taunted, eyes locked on mine. "Just ask your mother," he teased before claiming my lips with his and kissing me deeply.

The hum of my children's loud protests were drowned out by the sound of my heart as it thundered in my chest. Closing my eyes, I wrapped my arms around my husband's neck and forced myself to keep my emotions in check. There had been a time in my life when I'd thought this would never happen again – I would never feel his lips on mine. I would never feel anything.

The weeks Kyle had spent rigged up to a life support machine fighting for his life – and the months that followed when he survived only because of the feeding tube that pumped the basic nourishment his cataleptic body had required to stay alive – invaded my mind and I could feel tears watering behind my eyelids. I threw everything I had into kissing him, devouring the taste of him, breathing in his smell, reveling in his masculine verve.

Almost eighteen years had passed since that period in our lives, and my heart still hurt to think of it. To remember the agony. The fear. The feeling of hopelessness that had engulfed me every time the doctors had asked me if I felt it was time to turn off his life support machine.

When Kyle began to breathe on his own, after three weeks on life support, I had seen it as a huge breakthrough.

But after two months had passed with no signs of improvement the doctors had offered to remove Kyle's feeding tube, vowing there was nothing more they could do for him, that his suprascapular artery had been severed, he'd lost too much blood, his heart had stopped too many times on the way to the hospital and his brain had been deprived of precious oxygen for too long to ever fully recover, and even if he did wake up, which was most unlikely, he would spend the rest of his life in a state of incapacitation.

I had always responded to their requests with the same question;
'How in god's name can you justify removing the feeding tube of a twenty-four year man who is breathing on his own and showing signs of brain function? You told me Kyle would never breathe on his own again and he is. You told me the septicemia would kill him and it didn’t. He's not getting any worse,"
I'd disputed.
"Kyle could wake up at any moment and you want me to play god? To let him starve to death? You people make me sick.'

'Mrs. Carter. It's been months. If your husband was going to recover he would have done so by now – or at the very least shown some sign of mobility….of life. If I thought for one moment your husband would recover…Mrs. Carter, I'll be frank with you, the odds of your husband regaining consciousness are one in a billion...'

"You're wrong,"
I'd spat
. "You'll see."

Even the news of Perry Franklin's death, which Derek had witnessed with his own eyes when Perry was mowed down by a tow-truck as he tried to escape from Thirteenth Street that day, did little to comfort me because it did absolutely nothing to help my husband, who was lying in a bed depending on pumps and monitors and tubes to keep him alive. Mike, who had moved to London within days of Kyle losing the hotels, returned to visit his brother, but I sent him back home to his mother. There was little point in him being there. He had a new life abroad and his presence changed nothing.

The day David Henderson stormed into Kyle's hospital room and demanded to see his son, I had, in my delirious state of grief, made the crazy assumption that Kyle's father had come to help us.

"Please, Mr. Henderson," I begged, choking on the feeling of disloyalty that was smothering me. I was betraying Kyle in the worst possible way, but I didn’t care about that as long as it kept him alive. Pride was of no use to me anymore. Pride wouldn’t pay his hospital bills. "Please help him."

"You do realize he's dead, right?" David said in an impatient tone of voice the second the doctor left the room. He glanced at Kyle once and I willed – no, prayed – I would see something in his eyes, anything, that would prove the man had a heart.

"Look," he said with a sigh as he pulled a check book and pen from his suit-jacket pocket. "I'm prepared to give you a way out of this. My beef was never with you or your children…not directly at least."

"A way out?" I whispered. "You'll help me? You'll help me pay for his care?"

"I'll help you out of this mess you've gotten yourself into." Scribbling on a check book with relish, he muttered, "But I'm not pumping money into a lost cause. The boy's as good as dead." Holding a check out to me, he said, "Take this and put an end to this charade immediately."

"I'm not giving up on him," I screamed as I jumped out of my chair and lunged at David. "I will never give up on him."

"Then you're even more dimwitted than I originally thought," he snapped as he folded the check and returned it to his pocket before staring in contempt at my protruding stomach.

"Foolish girl," he chastised. "It's your children I pity. Growing up with a mindless idiot for a mother and a corpse for a father won't be easy."

"Don't worry about my children," I all but screamed. "Their father is going to get better. With or without your money. I'll make sure of that," I snarled as I shoved him in the chest. "And when he does, you better start running."

"Is that a fact?" David mused as he cast a smirking glance at Kyle's lifeless body. "I'm quaking in my shoes."

"Kyle will get you back for this," I vowed. "I will get you back for everything you've done to him."

"Do you really think you scare me, little girl," David taunted.

"You should know, I don't break my promises, Mr. Henderson," I hissed. "It might not be today, or tomorrow, but one day I will get you for this."

"Well then," David replied in an upbeat tone of voice as he opened the door. "I'll look forward to watching you stretch your claws, pussycat."

The only relief I'd felt in those days was weight of the gold band I wore on my finger and the marriage certificate I kept tucked away in my purse that had put an immediate stop to the doctors who wanted to follow through with David Henderson's requests. Every surgeon, consultant and specialist I'd requested a second, third and fourth opinion from strongly advised me the same thing; Let him go peacefully and try and build a future for my young family.

Instead, I used every penny of our savings to pay those same doctors to keep him alive, to keep his heart beating and his lungs filling, and when the money ran out I sold the house, the cars, my jewelry and every spare stitch of clothing, electrical item and piece of furniture we could survive without.