Hold Me Like a Breath (15 page)

“Shouldn't that be my choice? How I spend my life—and who I spend it with?” I looked for Garrett. He'd moved to stand by the windowed wall, giving us some space and the illusion of privacy, though I knew he could hear every word. “Maybe I couldn't lead alone. But I could with help.”

“You wanted me to co-name you with Nolan?” Father laughed. “Just yesterday you were begging to get away from him.”

“Not Nolan.” I paused and held a hand out in invitation, but Garrett must not have seen it because he didn't move. “Father, I could marry Garrett. You could name him your successor, and he and I could lead together.”

“
Marry
? Garrett!” The word was a summons and did what my hand had not, drew him away from the wall to come stand before my father. “Is there something I need to know about you and my daughter?”

Garrett shook his head emphatically. “No, sir.” And I choked on the breath I'd been holding.

“Good. Keep it that way.” The fire went out of Father's eyes, moving to heat my cheeks with humiliation. “Penny, you're still such a child—dreaming of marriage and unicorns and rainbows. It's not a job you could handle—it's dangerous. With your delicacy, you'd be a liability.”

I swallowed past the sting of his words. “I see.”

“Sweet pea, life is not one of your storybooks. I've already lost one child to this Business. After what happened to Carter, how can you expect me to allow you anywhere near it? You're all I have left.” He looked down, swallowed twice, then looked back up with flint in his eyes. “This discussion is over. I expect you to congratulate Nolan the next time you see him. And when he does succeed me, you will offer him your loyalty and obedience. Understand?”

My cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment, but I had seen the pain flash through his eyes when he mentioned Carter. “Yes, Father.”

“Now, about the clinic, I've already questioned and dealt with Mick. Can you think of anything he might have left out?”

I raised my chin and tried not to feel guilty about Mick being punished. “I have a right to know my counts.”

“Were you aware Penny broke into the clinic on your watch?” Father asked Garrett.

I had to turn away from the betrayal in his eyes, the shame in his voice when he answered, “No, sir.”

“I see.” The look on Father's face made it clear that discussion
was far from over. “Bring Penny to her room, then join me and the others in the library and raise a glass to Nolan.”

“Of course, sir.”

I stared at Garrett, but his eyes were fixed on my father's retreating back. I knew the moment Garrett judged him to be out of earshot, because his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“Ballroom etiquette, huh?” he asked in a voice full of false humor. “I should've guessed you were up to something. Your taste in movies is normally less torturous. Except for
Enchanted
—I know, it's New York and fairy tales, pretty much custom made for you—but the chipmunk …”

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

“I get it.” He dropped the fake grin. “I'm not happy you left me behind—don't
ever
do that again—but I get it.”

“Why did you—with Father, you implied we aren't …” I shrugged, muted by hurt and confusion. What should I accuse him of, denying there was anything between us? Was there?

“The first rule of being a Ward is not to take sides when the Landlows are infighting,” quoted Garrett. When he saw my stormy face, he smiled gently. “It wasn't the right time. He's all wound up by Nolan, and he's still mourning Carter.”

“But …”

“He'd reassign me. I'd never see you again without a room full of chaperones. He still might because of the clinic thing.”

“No! He can't.” Except we both knew he could.

“Remember when we were little and playing Go Fish? And you always wanted to show me your whole hand?”

I nodded.

“Now's the time for us to keep our cards tipped up. You know Malcolm Landlow as a father, but I know him as a businessman.” Garrett held out his hand. “Trust me.”

I slowly placed mine inside and watched his fingers fold gently over, swallowing it up.

My hand in his—it was my daydreams made reality. Father may control most things, but he didn't command them
all
.

Over the next four days Garrett got several scathing lectures about duty and vigilance, I got another infusion, and Nolan started appearing at
all
our meals. And wherever Nolan was, there was an entourage. The Wards, Miles, Frank, and every other Family member within a hundred-mile radius seemed determined to either suck up to the new successor or make a fool of him in front of Father.

Except no one had any luck agitating Nolan. This didn't surprise me; I'd had years and years of trying to irritate the man.

“I'm afraid that's incorrect,” Nolan said calmly in response to another one of Al's jabs at the Organ Act. “Prior to the creation of FOTA, back when tissue transplant was regulated by the FDA, there was no national registry or tracking system whatsoever. There
was
serological testing done, but nucleic acid testing wasn't required and there's a window—”

“I don't want a history lecture; I'm not your pupil.” Al's white linen napkin was crushed between his scarred and scabbed knuckles. “I just want to know how you think you can get in bed with politicians
and
lead the Family at the same time.”

“If H.R. 197 were to pass, the two roles wouldn't be incompatible,” answered Nolan. “And if the industry were legalized, not only would we have a steady supply of prescreened donors but we wouldn't have to worry about raids or tragic acts of violence.” He gave Mother a cloying look of sympathy, and I put down my fork.

Whenever his presence threatened to make me gag, I turned and looked at Garrett. His tight smiles made it easier to resist stabbing Nolan with Mother's silver.

It was unbelievable that four days ago our Family hadn't been divided; fourteen days ago Carter hadn't been dead.

“How long will you be in DC?” I asked Nolan.

“My best estimate is two to three weeks, but, like we've discussed in your history classes, politics is a game of patience, influence, and strategy. I've received word that the House of Representatives will be bringing H.R. 197 to the floor for a vote soon, and I want to be in town when this happens.”

“It's out of subcommittees? I didn't know this.”

He nodded. “And while we know that there are no guarantees in politics, I've been informed that it should have enough support to pass.”

Which meant it would go to Congress for a vote. Then the president. It wasn't a sure thing, not even close to one yet, but
if it passed in the House, it was a huge step closer to happening. “Wow.”

Nolan lifted a haughty eyebrow. “Wow, indeed. Once I've had preliminary meetings with these lobbyists, I'll be able to more accurately project the duration of my sojourn.”

Jacob and Hugh rolled their eyes. They did whenever he spoke, which was just stupid. They'd make themselves dizzy long before Nolan stopped using his word choice to demonstrate that he was the smartest person in the room.

“Will you see Vice President Forman?” I asked this follow-up question even though the Wards—except Mick, whom I hadn't seen since the announcement dinner—were shifting their frowns in my direction. “If so, can you pass along my love to him and Kelly?”

Nolan blinked. Then removed his glasses and wiped them on a napkin. Nothing made him squirm like talk of emotions. “Of course I'll see him. He's been an ally of this Family, and he's one of the strongest supporters of this bill.”

“So he's paying back our help by working to destroy us,” grumbled Hugh.

“Malcolm, you can't possibly agree with Nolan's idiotic opinions about legalizing donors, set prices, and regulations,” said Al. It wasn't the first time someone had asked Father how he felt about the bill—so far he'd refused to state an opinion—but it was the first time someone had asked with such contempt. “Dirty politicians having their hands in the Business and controlling you like a dog on a leash—you want that?”

Father wiped his mouth and turned to Mother. “You know, Abigail, perhaps it's time we had fewer guests at meals. I find the company and conversation are ruining my appetite lately.”

“Just like
he's
going to ruin the Family.” Jacob pointed toward Nolan with the tip of his butter knife. Al smiled at his son's insolence, but everyone else at the table inhaled a collective gasp. Jacob had never been good at judging when he was going too far, but when he opened his mouth to continue, I wanted to slap my hand across it—even if that meant hitting his recently broken nose. “Man, even naming the glass princess would've been better.” He nodded in my direction as if this were a compliment. “She wouldn't have lasted long, but at least she'd be a pretty little puppet before she broke.”

I glared at him and pushed my temptingly sharp fork farther away.

Garrett's lips were white, his eyes thin lines of fury. Mother dropped her spoon and didn't seem to notice it splashed granola and yogurt onto her blouse. I didn't get any further in my examination of the diners' reactions because Father threw his mug across the room—it shattered on the wall behind Jacob's head.

“Wards,
get out of my sight
. I'll let you know when you no longer sicken me, but until then, you're not to step foot on the estate.”

Al gaped and slammed down his fork. Right before he stormed out, he pointed a finger at Garrett. “This is
your
fault. Remember that.”

Jacob hesitated for a moment like he might apologize, but then he tightened his jaw and copied Hugh's hasty retreat. Garrett
shifted his weight but remained seated. His gaze followed his family out of the room, so he saw Al's look of disgust, but not my father's nod of approval.

Mother paused for just a second, then turned to Nolan. “What time is the car coming to take you to the airport?”

The meal ended abruptly after that. Everyone scattered, stumbling over themselves to get out of Father's sight. Everyone but Garrett and me. We looked at each other down the length of the long, now-empty table, then sighed and wandered into the solarium.

“Nolan is a disaster. No one's happy Father picked him. Your dad and mine—I've never heard them fight like that.”

“They've both got pride and tempers. Emotions are running high right now—everyone's frustrated the police haven't arrested anyone. It's Jake I'm worried about—he's not funny, and one of these days …” Muscles along his jaw clenched. “I'm sorry, Penny. I can't even think of an excuse to give you—he was so out of line.”

“Don't apologize for them. But … why did your dad blame you? You didn't do anything.”

“According to him, I did
everything
wrong. I didn't protect Carter, I didn't get named successor.”

“That's not your fault. I'm so sorry you got caught in the middle.” I put a hand on his arm and squeezed lightly. “When it comes to choosing between family—little
f
—and the Family, you should always choose little
f
. But I'm so glad you stayed with me.”

“Do you mean that?” he asked. “Really, seriously mean it?”

“Of course I do.” Garrett kept studying me, so I felt the need
to elaborate. “Maybe we should tell them about Dead Meat. That should prove pretty clearly you're good at the Business. Your dad would respect that.”

“Princess—”

“I could talk to your father. Make him see what an impossible position—”

He exhaled deeply and said in a rush, “Run away with me.”

“What?”

“I think you were right the other day. We should leave. Let's run away.” He'd started to do this thing where he
almost
touched me. Holding his hand so close that I wondered sometimes if he had. He at least stirred the air around my skin so it felt like a caress.

“Are you serious?”

He nodded solemnly.

“What would we do?” Life beyond the gates. Not an hour or an afternoon, but a
life
.

“Anything we wanted.” He grinned at me. “I've got plenty of Dead Meat money.”

“Glass princess.” “Puppet.” Jacob's words weren't creative or new insults, but I couldn't shake how useless they made me feel. But if we left … outside these gates, I could be anyone.

“I can't live like this, Penny. Trapped on the estate, and with the way my brothers and my dad … since Carter—” He swallowed and met my eyes with a piercing gaze. “It's been bad.”

I wanted to ask “Bad how?” but the look in his eyes scared me. It was a look he'd worn too often as a child on days when it felt less like he was keeping me company and more like he was
hiding, jumping every time a door opened and moving in stiff, skittish ways.

Only once had I seen bruises. Right after his mom left, which was right after his brother Keith died. Carter had pushed Garrett in the pool in his clothes, and the purple across his ribs had been visible through the wet cotton of his white shirt. Even without seeing them directly, I could tell they were as dark and painful as any I'd ever had. And it explained why he'd been so slow and awkward all morning.

He'd grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself, saying, “You can't tell,” to wide-eyed Carter and wet-cheeked, ten-year-old me.

“I'll kill him,” my brother had said, but Garrett shook his head.

“And then I'll have
no
parents. Just forget you saw it. It won't happen again. Promise. If it does, I'll tell. Promise you won't tell.”

We'd agreed. Because we were kids and wanted to believe him. Because we'd been raised to see police as enemies, not allies. Because we worried that if we told, they'd take Garrett away—and if anyone looked too closely at the Family, they'd take our father as well.