Always For You (Books 1-3) (14 page)

“
Do
I have any other choice?” I asked.

“
None,”
came the quick reply.

“
Then
you have your answer.”

I could hear a sigh of anticipation on
the other end of the line. “Excellent,” he whispered. “Save
this number, I'll call you with the arrangements.”

The phone clicked off. I had to do it.

Cain

I sat on my bike on the side of the
street, watching a man open the door to his house and walk in. I'd
followed him there, carefully staying far enough back on my bike so
that he didn't notice. It was a few days since I'd seen him for the
first time in real life, this man I'd thought about so often over the
years. Now he was there, a real person, walking into his detached
suburban house.

I'd been with Emily that day, spending
time with her at her house. Trevor and Penny had been out for the day
so I waited, waited for them to come back so I could trail him home.
I'd made a sudden excuse to Emily that I needed to go when they
returned, sitting at the end of the street on my bike, watching and
waiting as Trevor eventually came out of the house and drove home.

I
sat there now, my pulse racing, nerves running through me. I never
got nervous, not until now. It was a rush I couldn't remember, a
feeling a didn't recognize. I stepped off my bike and walked towards
the door.
What
was I going to say? What was I going to do?

There was a mix of emotions as I stood
there, a fury building in my blood as I prepared to reach for the
doorbell. I rang, hearing a flurry of footsteps on the other side
before the door swung half open.

“
Cain?”
Trevor asked as I stood there, clearly surprised to see me.

I nodded, not saying a word.

“
What
can I do for you? Is everything OK?” He sounded slightly nervous,
his anxiety probably driven by the look on my face. I could feel my
eyes burning into him as I stared.

“
Can
I come in?” I asked, my words more like an order than a polite
request.

“
Um,
OK, sure.” He stepped back and opened the door fully. “Is there
something I can do for you? Something I can help you with?” He
sounded confused, his words carrying an element of fear.

I still didn't answer as I walked in
towards him, my anger getting on top of me. I couldn't help myself
any more. I lunged at him, swinging my fist into his face, connecting
with a crack to his jaw. He flew backwards, stumbling down as he
grabbed at something to steady his fall. He pulled over a table with
a vase on it as he crashed down, the vase smashing at his feet.

“
What
– what is this?” He stuttered, his words breaking up. “Who are
you?”

I stood where I was, flicking the door
shut behind me, looking down on him on the floor. He lay there, his
hands propping him up, blood beginning to stream from his nose, his
cheek beginning to swell.

I reached into my jacket pocket,
pulling out a photograph, all weathered and worn. I threw it down to
him, landing in his lap as he followed it with his eyes. He sat
forward, taking the picture in his hand and peering at it closely.
“Laura,” he murmured as he looked at the image, his mind tracing
back decades.

“
Where
did you get this photograph?” he said, still staring at it.

I finally spoke, looking straight into
his eyes. “From my mother.”

He looked up at me, “Laura? She's
your mother?”

I nodded slowly. “She was.”

He slowly got to his feet, tentatively
walking towards me. A realization had hit him as he approached,
looking at me with regret, a pleading look in his eye. He knew who I
was. He knew why I was here.

He stopped short, speaking quietly.
“I'm so sorry Cain, I'm so sorry.” He reached to my shoulder with
his hand, drawing himself towards me, drawing me into a hug. I
resisted, pushing his hands off me, snatching the photograph from his
hand. I stepped back, my fists crunching up, my arms tensing.

“
Please,”
he said, “come into the kitchen, let's talk.” He was pleading,
his hands out in front of him, palms down, trying to get me to calm
myself.

I was still furious, not knowing
whether to punch him again, follow him into the kitchen, or run out
of the house and back onto my bike. “Please Cain,” he said again,
“let me explain.”

He turned slowly and walked deeper into
the house. I followed slowly, my eyes still fixed on him, not
registering anything about my surroundings. We stopped in the kitchen
as he poured us a glass of whiskey each.

“
Here,”
he said, passing me the glass. I took it off him, my hand shaking.

“
Your
face,” I said, noticing the swelling increase. “You should ice
it.” I felt a pang of remorse.

He turned and rummaged in the freezer
for an ice pack before turning back to me, hand to his cheek, the
other clutching at his whiskey. “Cain, I understand how you must
feel. I know how it must have been.”

“
You
have NO idea how it must have been.” I spat aggressively.

There was a heavy weight in the air as
he carefully chose his words, trying to keep me calm. “I'm sorry
for everything. But you have to know, I did everything I could.”

“
Everything?”
I said coldly. “Everything except being there.”

“
I
couldn't, I – I didn't know...”

“
YOU
WERE MY FATHER!” I shouted, my words like a thunderclap in the
house, echoing around the walls.

A silence fell on us, no one speaking,
no one moving. “I never knew where you were Cain,” he said
finally. “I never knew.”

“
But
you knew you had a son. You knew my mom had YOUR son. Why didn't you
do anything when she died?! Why didn't you take me?!”

“
I
never knew she had died, she never let me see you. She left when we
found out she was pregnant. She left and never came back. I tried to
find her, but she'd gone. I only found out years later that she'd
died and by then – by then it was too late.”

My shaking hand drew my whiskey to my
lips as I sunk the glass and placed it back down on the table. I
reached for the bottle and refilled it, once more sinking the liquid.
I stood there across from him on the other side of the kitchen
island, his eyes mourning.

“
You
were married, weren't you?” I asked suddenly, my words cutting the
silence, my mind turning back to the photograph I always stared at as
a kid, the ring on the man's finger. “That's why you didn't care.
My mom was nothing to you, nothing but a fling.”

He spoke slowly, his voice deepening.
“That's not true. I was married, yes, but I loved your mother.”

“
And
your wife? Did you love her? Do you still love her. Is Penny just
another fling for you?”

He nodded slowly. “I did love her, I
loved her until the day she died.” His voice trailed off at those
final words.

“
I
loved them both Cain, it just happened. Your mom – she left when I
wouldn't leave my wife. I couldn't leave her.”

My lips curled up. “How heroic of
you. Letting this women you loved walk away, pregnant, while you
stayed with your comfortable wife...”

“
No
Cain,” he interrupted, “I couldn't leave because my wife was
pregnant too.” The words hung in the air for a while. “I'm not
proud of what I did, I never planned for it to happen.”

“
And
you chose your wife, letting my mom fend for herself. You're a
coward, Trevor, a coward.”

His words were quiet now. “I'm not. I
would have taken care of you. I would have if she hadn't left.”

I scoffed. “Sure.” I didn't believe
what he was saying, how could I. This man who'd allowed my mom to
leave, who'd cheated on his wife and fell in love with another woman.
How could I trust him? It could all be lies, he'd clearly lived his
life telling them.

“
So
you have a kid?” I said, suddenly realizing that it wasn't just him
– I had a brother or sister as well. Family.

“
Two
actually. Two daughters. You have two sisters Cain.” He smiled
tentatively.

The
words hit me like a tonne of bricks.
I
have two sisters.
I
actually have a family.

My words softened as I came to terms
with it. “Do they – live here, with you?”

He shook his head. “One, the elder,
lives in New York. The other lives nearby though, she visits a lot.”
He walked over to the other side of the room and took a picture from
the window sill. “Here, he said, “this is them.”

I took the picture from him and my eyes
washed over it. Oh. My. God.

“
This
– this is your daughter?” My words were shaky as I started at the
picture.

He nodded, “They both are, yes.”

I looked down upon the photograph of
two girls, early 20's, standing together outside in the sun, smiling
bright. They looked just like each other, almost like twins. The girl
on the left though, I knew that face well.

It was Grace.

September
10
^th
2013

Grace

I sat there looking in the mirror. I
was pale, nervous, scared. I didn't want to do what I was about to
do, but I had to. I couldn't see any other way out of this.

I downed a glass of wine and quickly
poured another. I looked at my phone – 8 PM. He'd be here any time
now. I downed the next glass, trying to numb my body, numb my senses.
The less I remembered of this, the better.

John Avery had called me a couple of
days ago with the arrangements. They were simple: “be at your
apartment at 8 PM. Wait for my call. When you get it, come down and
get into the back of the car.”

That was it. He hadn't told me anything
of what he had planned. I knew nothing of what would happen. I didn't
feel like my life would be under threat, but I'd left a note for
Katie anyway. I told her to read it if, and only if, I didn't return
the next day. I knew it wouldn't be needed, there was no way John
would harm me, it would be too risky, there would be no point. But I
still took the measure anyway, just in case.

I poured a third class of wine as I sat
there, fidgeting, nervously checking my phone every few moments. The
clock ticked by past 8.05, 8.10. I finished my third glass and then,
suddenly, in the silence of my flat, my phone burst to life, buzzing
loudly on my coffee table.

My heart was racing as I picked it up.
“Hello,” I said, and it went immediately dead. I walked to the
window and looked out – there was a car outside waiting for me.

I walked out of my flat, my legs
feeling heavy, my head starting to spin. It was a combination of
nerves and wine that was doing it, causing me to clutch at the wall
as I walked down the stairs in my high heels. My heart threatened to
burst through my chest as I walked out into the night, the light
starting to fade, and towards the car. I looked around, up and down
the street, as I opened the back door and stepped in. The car was a
luxury saloon with blacked out windows and a comfortable leather
interior. It was wasted on me.

“
Hello
Grace,” I heard from the front seat, “I'm so glad we're going to
do this finally. I've been looking forward to it.” His voice was so
slithery, so vile.

“
Where
are you taking me?” I asked, trying to control my jittery voice.

“
Just
a little place in a country. Nowhere sinister. Please, sit back and
enjoy the ride.” With that, a plastic pane came down behind the
drivers seat, leaving me in there, alone, as the engine started and
the car gently glided off down the road.

Cain

Grace is my sister. My sister!

I couldn't believe it. All those times
I'd seen her, protected her, I was protecting my sister all along.
The feelings I'd had for her, the bond, it made sense now. It all
felt right.

It had been a few days since that
revelation had landed on my lap, sucker punching me in the gut. I'd
left the house in a state of shock, unable to put everything
together, get it straight in my head. I need to see her, needed to
talk to her, needed to tell her.

I had gone back to see Trevor, find out
where she was, where she lived. We'd talked further as he continued
to try to explain himself, explain the past. I didn't have time for
it now, I didn't want to know. It was too much to take in, too much
to deal with.

But, beneath everything, I was so happy
that I'd found a family. In time, maybe, I could forgive Trevor,
learn to see him as my father. In time, I could become part of the
family.

Then it hit me, the guilt. The guilt
that was still dormant inside me, the guilt that I'd caused the
accident that killed Grace's mom, killed Trevor's wife. Had I grown
up with them, she'd have been my step mother, and she was dead
because of me.

I had grappled with everything for
hours, days, unable to sleep that night and the next, unable to think
about anything else. I'd gone back to see Trevor because I had to
help get things straight in my head, I had to hear him tell me once
more than he wasn't a bad person, that he'd made a mistake, that he'd
have raised me if he could, if he'd known. I needed to know that I
wasn't unwanted, wasn't discarded to be cared for by strangers.