Chapter 23: Finding Forever: Chapter 22

Cade was furious with himself. He shouldn’t have let his temper get the better of him. For the most part he’d been so damned proud of Fern tonight. The way she’d handled that interview, her natural charm and grace. She’d won Mike Holmes and the studio audience over with her genuine sweetness. And she’d made a new friend in Iris Abbott, just by being her endearing self.

But from the moment she’d brought her baby into it, he’d been irrationally fucking livid. She was right, announcing her pregnancy had made absolute sense. It had been the right moment, her instinct had been spot on about that. She’d had a friendly audience, a sympathetic host… the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

But Cade had hated it. And he’d resented how the conversation had veered from them, their relationship, their supposed love story, to the baby and their impending parenthood…

When all Cade could think of was that it was her baby. Her impending parenthood. He wouldn’t be there for that. Nothing to do with him at all. All he had to do was sit back and let her leave and take her child. Cade’s only duty after that would be to carry on as if this marriage had never happened and forget that Fern and her baby ever existed.

But how the fuck was he supposed to do that when the whole damned world would be there asking him about them? About where they were? How they were? Why they were no longer a part of his life?

He sank wearily down on the bed and buried his face in his hands. He could have handled the whole thing a lot better. And then storming out the way he had like a dramatic emo teen had been… unfortunate. And very fucking unfair. She hadn’t deserved it. Not one bit. And after his irrational tirade, her question about the baby had been entirely justified and yet had completely wrong-footed him.

“What the fuck are you doing, Cade?” he asked himself impatiently.

He lifted his head and sighed, staring blindly around the bedroom, as he heaved an exhausted sigh.

He needed to fix this. Have a rational discussion about it. His feelings about the baby were complicated. He didn’t know if he was allowed to feel anything for it, and as such, tried to keep what was happening to her at a distance. Meanwhile his concern about how the pregnancy was affecting her health had become almost all-consuming.

He had to find a way—find the words, really—to tell her what was happening to him. Even if he didn’t really understand it himself. Anything was better than the way he’d handled the situation tonight. He wasn’t in the habit of explaining himself to anyone, but he owed it to Fern to make the conciliatory attempt after the way he’d blown up at her.

He got up… determined to have that talk. She hadn’t yet come upstairs, he’d have heard her, which meant she was still down there, probably hurt and uncertain of his mood.

Everything was eerily quiet when he got back down to the living area. Quiet and dark. A hollow curl of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach as he turned slowly to get a three-sixty view of the open plan kitchen and living area. Hoping to find her curled up on the large sofa, perhaps.

“Fern?” His voice fell into the suffocating silence and that feeling of foreboding escalated into full-scale dread. Surely, she hadn’t left? She couldn’t have. Where the fuck would she go? Did she even know this city?

“Fern?” His voice was louder this time, filled with an authority he did not feel. Hoping to scare her out of whatever corner she’d retreated to.

Nothing.

He swallowed down his nausea, as he tried to keep himself from panicking. He’d probably missed hearing her go upstairs. She had a light tread, easy to miss… she must have gone to bed.

He took the stairs three at a time and after only the briefest of knocks slammed into her room. It was lit by only one bedside lamp and was distressingly empty. Her bed was littered with clothing—likely things she’d tried on a discarded before the show—make up was scattered across the dressing table. The bathroom door was open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. She very clearly wasn’t here.

He tried a few more rooms, delaying that inevitable moment when he’d have to acknowledge to himself that she was gone. And he had no fucking clue where the hell she could possibly be.

He had his phone in his hand, staving off full-scale panic, as he tried to call her. But it was when he heard her phone buzz from the kitchen counter, that he truly knew fear.

Fern was gone. A mere babe in the woods, without even her phone to call for help if she needed it, and it was his fault.

He’d failed at the one fundamental task he’d set for himself upon their marriage.

Protecting her.

He’d broken his promise to keep her safe and had driven her away. And all because he couldn’t fucking man up and admit to her—and himself—that maybe he wanted to feel something for that baby. That maybe he already did.

He shook himself.

“Get yourself together,” he snapped, furious that he was—even now—failing her. He needed to call their security company, mobilize his resources… figure out where she’d gone and bring her home.

In the meantime he was going to have to hoof it, look for her himself. He had no idea which direction she’d even taken. She still had their household credit card, she could’ve taken an Uber. Booked a hotel. A flight. Anything… he had no idea of where to start. He’d been upstairs feeling sorry for himself for nearly half an hour, she’d had quite a headstart. He tried not to let the panic overwhelm him and fought to keep his breath even as he grabbed his car keys and reached for his coat…

He stared blankly at the coat rack, hand hovering in mid-air.

Where the fuck was his coat?

Fern had left the house without any real destination in mind and in the end, she simply walked. It was close to midnight on a Thursday night. The streets were quiet but not empty, they were never empty in a big city like London. She wasn’t too familiar with the city—having lived here only briefly nearly ten years ago—and hadn’t had the opportunity to explore it much. And this was perhaps, not the best time to do so. It was cold and damp, and a light rain began to fall as she aimlessly walked from street to street. And while she’d had the foresight to grab Cade’s coat—in which she was swimming—she wasn’t wearing a hat or gloves.

She would have to turn back soon. She knew that, but she’d just needed to clear her head. And she’d hoped that a brisk walk would help her achieve that goal. Foolish of her, really. She didn’t know the city, the weather wasn’t playing ball, and all she was doing right now was getting wet and cold. Ruining Cade’s miles-too-big-for-her black cashmere coat in the process, and possibly making herself sick. Which, of course, wasn’t great for the baby either.

She sighed and her shoulders slumped in defeat. She had to return. Back to her desperately unhappy husband and her grim, soulless marriage of inconvenience. It had all seemed so easy and uncomplicated in the beginning. A straightforward exchange. Her freedom for Lambecrete. Three quick years and it would be done.

But she hadn’t taken into consideration how messy and convoluted human nature could be. How emotions, wants, needs, and desires could shift the parameters of a perfectly good arrangement.

She was contemplating that fact, when she trudged back up the path toward the townhouse, her frozen feet squidging uncomfortably in her—probably ruined—patent leather cream pumps. She was reaching for the door knob when the door swung inward and Cade stepped forward into the drizzle.

He froze when he saw her and his face—which was illuminated by the warm glow of the front porch light—went stark with some indefinable emotion.

“Fern?” he breathed. Then swore shakily. “Fuck. Oh, thank God!”

“What are you⁠—?”

Before she could finish her question, he enfolded her into his embrace and held her close. His arms tightening so much, they almost squeezed the breath right out of her.

He turned back toward the door and led her inside, still holding her protectively close. Uncaring of the fact that she was soaked and getting him all wet too.

Once he got her inside, he dragged his coat off her—a ruined mess—and dumped it to the floor, then held her at arm’s length to stare at her. He still had that same stark, almost relieved but also half-terrified, expression on his face.

He cupped her cheeks in his palm and for a very brief moment dropped his forehead to hers and just held her like that.

If Fern didn’t know better, she’d swear he was praying. Before she could figure it out, he dropped a hard, fierce kiss on her lips and stepped away from her, lowering his hands to her upper arms.

“You’re frozen solid,” he muttered, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion. “Come on, let’s get you into the shower and get some food in you. Then we can talk. Or you can sleep. Whichever you prefer, okay?”

She nodded, dismayed by the unexpected turn of events. She’d expected him to be asleep. She hadn’t for a moment believed he would come back downstairs after the way he’d stormed off earlier. She would’ve preferred he never knew of her ill-fated little foray out in the cold and dark. It would only reinforce his belief that she was somehow incapable of taking care of herself. Maybe have him start to wonder if Granger didn’t have the right of it after all.

He shocked her by scooping her sodden figure into his arms and striding upstairs uncaring of the fact that she was dripping on him and all over the floor as well.

“Put me down, Cade, I’m getting you wet.” Her sluggish brain formed the protest when they were halfway up the stairs already.

“I’ll survive,” he promised grimly, shouldering through her ajar door and taking her straight to the bathroom.

He deposited her gently on the floor.

“Into the shower immediately. As hot as you can stand it, okay?” He brushed her wet hair out of her face and stared at her intently. “Okay, Fern?”

“Okay,” she parroted obediently.

“Do you need help?”

She shook her head.

“Come right back down afterwards, you have to eat something. We don’t have to talk, but you need food.”

“Okay.” The word was all she felt capable of managing right now.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied for now. And left her—feeling even more confused than ever before—moments later.

Fern succumbed to a quick bout of self-indulgent tears during her lovely, hot shower, before admonishing herself that it wasn’t really helping anyone. Afterwards she pulled on a pair of comfy, thick knee-length socks and changed into one of the large T-shirts Cade had given her after several of her sleep shirts had mysteriously disappeared from the laundry hamper a week ago.

“Things sometimes disappear inexplicably,” he’d said in response to her confusion back then. “I’ve lost a fair number of socks in the same way.”

Five shirts all vanishing simultaneously was not even close to a random missing sock or two. It had been baffling and she’d wondered if his housekeeper had somehow mistaken them for someone else’s and discarded them.

She’d let the inexplicable incident go when Cade had graciously donated several of his own T-shirts to substitute as her nightwear for now. They weren’t as brutally gory as her last shirts—mostly plain colors—but they were soft with wear and super comfy. Also, longer and roomier than Margot’s ex-boyfriend’s shirts.

She tentatively made her way downstairs, and found him bustling around in the kitchen. He’d changed clothes as well, and now wore a pair of black fleecy sweatpants, a dark gray zip up hoodie, and nothing but socks on his long feet.

His face was devoid of expression as he watched her approach and when she sat down on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, he leaned across it and inspected her face carefully.

“You’ve been crying,” he said, his choked voice contradicting that expressionless face.

“Hormones,” she said, even though they both knew it was a lie.

“Hormones?” His hand tentatively cupped her cheek. “Not husband?”

“Maybe thirty percent hormones and seventy percent husband?” she amended and moved her head back slightly—not ready for this contact—until he dropped his hand.

He shuddered and sighed, the sound filled with regret.

“Fern, I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“No, Cade,” she interrupted him quickly. “I’m glad it’s out in the open, okay? I’m glad you told me how you feel, it makes me understand… realize…”

She couldn’t quite formulate her thoughts and shook her head mutely, wishing she could find the right words.

“Later, okay?” he muttered. “Let’s eat first. I made some toasted cheese sandwiches. Nothing fancy. I’m not that great in the kitchen.”

He went to the other end of the kitchen and returned seconds later to drop a plate of toasted sandwiches and a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the kitchen counter in front of her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Will you join me?”

“Yes. Even though, it’s a little late to be eating.”

“I grew up in a boarding school,” she said, just to fill the space and alleviate some of the painful awkwardness. “I’m all about the midnight feasts.”

“You had midnight feasts?”

She laughed—the sound strained—then shook her head and sat down at the kitchen counter, he joined her, choosing to stand on the other side, so that he could face her while they ate.

“Not really, but I read a lot of Enid Blyton when I was a child. The books were really vintage but there wasn’t anything more current available in the school library. The faculty had strong, negative opinions on anything involving wizards, witches, and vampires. The books really made the midnight feasts sound awesome though.”

“Didn’t any of your dorm mates sneak in other reading material?”

“A few did, but getting caught with one wasn’t worth the risk. Nobody wanted toilet cleaning duties for a month.”

Cade took a bite from his toastie while his eyes remained riveted to her face.

“Sounds downright Dickensian,” he muttered around a mouthful of food and she smiled half-heartedly, while picking at the crust of her sandwich with her thumb and index finger. “What kind of parents would send their kids to what sounds like a fucking prison?”

“Well, the school was well known for its strict discipline, so it usually attracted the so-called no-hopers. Girls who’d been kicked out of several schools before and had nowhere else to go.”

“So, Abernathy sent you to what technically amounted to a reform school?” he asked in horror and put his sandwich down, as if he’d lost his appetite.

“It wasn’t that bad,” she said, voice quiet and eyes watchful. She was uncertain of his mood. Not sure why he was suddenly showing an interest in this. “Some of the girls had learning disabilities, and were acting out in frustration. Others came from abusive backgrounds and were happy to be at the school and away from their awful home environments. A few, like me, didn’t really fit in with their families. They were the ones who came from broken homes, or just had parents who couldn’t be arsed with actually parenting. And yes, there were a few bad apples and bullies. But I was never important enough to be noticed or picked on. I was just the quiet one with her head always buried in a book.”

“What about your friend? Margot?” he asked and started eating again, polishing off his sandwich in just a few more bites.

“She arrived a couple of years after I did. We were fourteen and bunkmates. We immediately got along. We often spent hours in the library, reading or studying, we did each other’s hair, fantasized about boys, made up stories about the lives we’d one day have. Typical girl stuff. Margot was what the others called a bursary rat… she was there on a scholarship. While it was a school for rejects, it was a bunch of rich rejects.

“Margot came from a middle-class background. And the others ostracized her because of that. And she believed I was like her.” She felt uncomfortable admitting her deception to Cade and lowered her gaze back to her half-eaten sandwich. “I liked her so much. And really wanted her to like me too. She was my first and only friend at that school. Before her, nobody’d ever cared enough to get to know me. Nobody wanted to hang out with me just because they enjoyed my company. I was afraid of losing the closeness I’d discovered with her and I allowed her to believe that I was the same as her. Middle class, with a struggling family, and a stepfather who wanted me out of his way. It was an easy lie to tell. The other girls ignored me the same way they did her. I didn’t receive lavish care packages like they did. When I did get stuff it was basic necessities. Toiletries, some snacks—most of them peanut based so I had to give them away anyway. Ugly clothes that everybody believed were hand-me-downs because of how ill-fitting they were.

“So, Margot and I were each all the other had. I was so envious of her. Of the stories she told about her family. Her care packages were humble but filled with so much love. Pictures of her mum and dad, homemade snacks, pretty clothing… While the rest of us were there to be hidden from the world, Margot was there because it was a way for her to receive a first-class education.”

“What happened?” he asked quietly and she took a sip of cocoa just to lubricate her dry throat.

“What do you think happened?” she asked, her gaze turned inward as she recalled the awful events that had led to the loss of her one and only friendship.

He hazarded a guess. “She discovered who you were and felt betrayed?”

“That came later,” she said with a soft sigh. “When we graduated, she had plans to study nursing. And I wanted nothing more than to escape from Granger’s clutches. I had no prospects for further education, no money, no job experience. Margot was moving home, to… well here, actually. To London. She would stay with her parents while she studied. They were kind too. They’d been hearing about me for years and had actually started including little treats and snacks in their care packages to Margot just for me. Can you imagine that? I was a stranger to them and they did that for me.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, the sweet memory of it a sharp, painful stab to her heart. She swiped at the tears with shaky fingers and tried to gain control of her fluctuating emotions.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered self-consciously. “It’s been nearly ten years since all of this happened, but I haven’t thought about it in so long. I haven’t wanted to. It’s too…” She cut herself off and pressed her lips together. The rest of her fears emerged in a shamed, whispered confession. “But after everything you said tonight. I worry it’s happening again. That, like with Margot, I’m the worst thing that ever happened to you and I don’t know how to fix that.”

He paled and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Tell me what happened,” he invited gently.

“Maybe later?” She offered, not really wanting to revisit those memories, not certain if they would serve any meaningful purpose right now. “We have other more important things to discuss.”

“This is important too.”

“How? Why?”

“Because it matters to you, Fern. That makes it important.”

His words gave her pause and she stared at him in confusion.

“Tell me what happened, please?” His voice had lowered and the please emerged on an imploring whisper. It undid her, that please. It unraveled her completely and she found herself quite unable to resist it.

“I went with her. Moved in with her parents. They lived in a small two-bedroom townhouse in Clapham. They still thought I was from a family just like theirs, but with a strict, unkind stepfather. They were so welcoming. I shared Margot’s room, they’d sold her bed, bought bunk beds to accommodate me. Mr. Newsome, Margot’s father, owned a butcher shop and I started working for him while Margot was at nursing school during the day. It was a way for me to earn a salary while I was trying to figure out what to do next.

“It was the happiest I’d been since my mother died. I didn’t tell Granger where I was going. I was free of him. Free to finally live my own life. At that time my trust didn’t matter, it was still years out of my reach and it didn’t affect my life in any significant way…”

“You should have been receiving a generous disbursement off it every month,” Cade interrupted grimly and she nodded.

“I didn’t know that at the time. I wasn’t receiving any money and when I questioned Granger about it, years later, he claimed that the allowance went toward my monthly care packages. Anyway, it just wasn’t a factor at that point, so walking away from the Abernathys to figure out my own life made perfect sense to me. I was eighteen, vaguely ambitious… foolish.

“It didn’t take him long to track me down. A month maybe. One month, that’s how long they helped me. And for that month they paid the steep price of losing their business and their home… Margot had to leave nursing school. Granger made sure that their lives were completely destroyed. And he used my name to do it. Used Lambert Holdings to buy out their home and business mortgages, then foreclosed without warning and evicted them with only the minimum required noticed. He boarded up the shop and refused to rent or sell the property to anyone else. And tore down their house and left an empty lot in its place. That was the price they paid for showing any kindness toward me.”

“Jesus,” Cade whispered shakily, the word sounding like the horrified prayer it was. “That fucking cocksucker.”

“The last thing Margot ever said to me,” Fern whispered, silent tears now streaming down her face, “was that she hated me and wished she’d never met me.”

“Oh God,” Cade’s voice was strangled as he rounded the kitchen counter without warning and folded her into his strong arms. “I’m so sorry, Fern. I’m so fucking sorry that happened to you.”

“Only it didn’t happen to me,” she corrected in a voice made tiny and shrill by the tears she was trying so hard to suppress. She buried her face in his hard, warm chest, allowing herself the small comfort of being held by him. “It happened to them. And I hate myself as much as Margot hates me for putting them in that position. And now… now I’m scared that you’ll hate me too. That you already hate me because of the way things always spiral out of control when I’m involved.”

“It’s not your fault.” His arms tightened around her to the point of pain, but she wasn’t about to protest. She needed his touch too much right now. “None of it was your fault, Fern.”

It was the first time she’d ever spoken of this to someone else, the first time she’d really had anyone she could confide in at all. She’d had few friends in the past, Margot being her closest. And after everything that had happened, it had been hard for Fern to let anyone close. Not that many people had even tried to get to know her. After the incident with Margot, Granger had sent her back to school, this time to work.

She remembered his mocking words clearly, if you’re so desperate for a job, you can assist the teachers at your school.

He’d personally escorted her back to the school, which had been only too happy to take her back because it meant his generous donations would continue. And so, she’d spent the next ten years stagnating in an insular world where the surly staff had merely tolerated her and the students disdained her. She’d had no peers, no outside interests, no life.

Until Granger had decided that it was time for one of her annual public “appearances” a few months ago, informing her she’d accompany the family to the Hawthorne annual charity gala. A development that had forever altered the course of her life.

Cade was still murmuring gentle words of reassurance in her ear, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the large, comfortable sofa in the living room. She followed obediently, not quite ready to relinquish the security she felt in his strong arms. She wasn’t sure where they would go from here, or what his earlier outburst about her pregnancy meant for their future, but right now, she felt safe, even cherished. And she wanted to cling to that feeling of well-being for as long as possible.

He sat down, bringing her down with him and dragging her onto his lap in one smooth movement. She didn’t protest, curling up against his chest and burying her face against his fleecy hoodie as she continued to weep heartbrokenly.

One of his hands was rubbing soothing circles over her back while the other was buried in her hair. He continued to whisper quiet, sweet words in her ear and after a couple of minutes, the worst of the storm abated and Fern lifted her wet face self-consciously to peer up into his face through hot, swollen eyelids.

“I’m sorry, I’ve soaked your hoodie.”

He quirked a wry smile, but his eyes were somber.

“I’ll survive” he murmured, repeating his reply of earlier when she’d voiced a similar concern. He shifted slightly, so that she wasn’t leaning against him anymore, and interpreting the movement as a prompt for her to get off his lap, she sat up to do just that. His hand instantly clamped over her bare thigh and stayed the movement.

“No. Don’t leave,” he said in a low tone. He released her thigh, to quickly and efficiently, unzip and shrug out of his hoodie. He was wearing a soft gray T-shirt beneath it, and tenderly ran his hands under her fall of hair to cup the nape of her neck, before gently urging her head back down to his chest.

She happily complied, melting against him, as she cuddled closer.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly and they felt like a fortress. Fern curled up against him, burrowing her face against his hard chest, her cheek coming to rest against one of his hard pecs. She could hear his steady heartbeat thumping heavily beneath her ear, and it reassured her even further. Nobody could convince her that this wasn’t the safest place on earth right now.

“Fern?” he whispered against her hair.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you leave tonight? Were you trying to get away from me? Did I frighten you?”

She didn’t lift her head, but shifted her shoulder in a tiny shrug.

“I just wanted to clear my head.”

“I was so fucking… terrified. I’d already called the security company, and was about to go out and search for you in the meantime.”

“You couldn’t possibly have known which direction I’d gone,” she said, lifting her head to stare at him in disbelief.

“Anything was better than sitting and waiting, while going out of my mind with fear imagining all the terrible things that could happen to you.”

She chewed on her lip and dropped her head back on his chest.

“Thank you for… for caring.”

“I don’t hate you, Fern. I think that hating you would be an impossibility.”

The words emerged in a rush, the hushed confession seeming to surprise even him.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she sighed in contentment—allowed herself to relax completely for the first time since they’d landed in this cold, gray city—and, despite the tension of the evening, fell asleep.