Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (17 page)

“Use it.”

“Fuck. Off,” she gritted out.

Alejandro just rolled his eyes. “Use it and I’ll rub your back.”

“Like hell you will, and I’m
not
goddamn using that grandma walker,” she stated vehemently, staring him down.

“Oh, yes you
fucking
will,” Alejandro replied, holding the walker in place so she’d have no other option but to use it if she couldn’t maneuver around it. “Doctor’s orders, Wyatt. You’re still not healed enough to be doing half the shit you’re doing every day, and you know it. It’s no wonder you can’t sleep. You need to listen to what your body is trying to tell you,” he added.

If she had any form of telekinetic power, Sam would have set fire to him with her eyes.

“Use the damn walker, Wyatt, or I’ll carry you in there myself,” he threatened—the perfect taunt to make her just this side of pissed-off crazy.

Her chin came up of its own volition. Hot tears of frustration pressed up against the back of her eyes, but she’d be damned if she ever let this sonofabitch see her cry—she didn’t care how much pain she was in.

Alejo crossed his arms. “I’m waiting.”

“You can wait all goddamn night for all I care.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re so freaking slow these days, that’s a near certainty, Wyatt.”

The look Sam shot him would have sent any sane man running, but Alejandro just stood there, waiting patiently for her to get a move on.

“Well?”

Sam set the cane on the chaise and leaned heavily against the walker, careful not to make a sound, though just the act of standing was excruciating. Alejo didn’t help her—he knew better—but he stood near enough, just in case she tipped over as she slowly pushed her way to the en-suite. Sam would rather be raked over hot coals than admit it, but she was a teensy tiny bit grateful for de Soto’s refusal to treat her with kid gloves. These days he was the only one who didn’t treat her like she was fragile. He sparred with her verbally just like he had in college, sharp as a tack and utterly relentless, and despite the fact that she thought daily about beating him about the head with her cane, a small part of her was relieved.

She was damaged, certainly, but he refused to treat her as broken.

Sam eventually made it to the bathroom on her own steam, closing the door firmly as she let herself wince in private, biting her fist so she wouldn’t make a sound as she slumped down in relief. When she finally made it out again, Alejo was seated on her chaise, texting on his phone.

“If you’re reporting my every move to Carey, I’ll whip you with my cane,” Sam told him as she scooted past. Carey stayed in a room downstairs when he was in town. Alejo had taken over Ry’s old room, adjoining hers, which is how he’d been able to hear her fumble in the first place.

“I could take you,” he replied without looking up, his characteristic smirk pulling his mouth to the side. “It’s Rox,” he informed her before she could comment. “She thinks she’s got a bead on Lightner.”

“Where is he?” Sam asked sharply, standing straighter.

He finished texting before looking up. “Some guy named Avi has produced a list of plastic surgeons who are most likely capable of doing a complete facial reconstruction on Lightner. Rox is following up leads.”

Sam sat down on the edge of her bed, sweat on her brow from the exertion, though she hoped he didn’t notice it. “Makes sense that he’d do that. He’s on the watch list of pretty much every major intelligence agency. Changing his face would be the smart thing to do.”

Alejo nodded before looking back at his phone. “She says she’s paying visits now. She’ll have more for you in a couple days.”

“Tell her to be safe.”

“Rox doesn’t listen to me anymore than you do.”

Sam slumped down on the bed, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her robe. “Tell her I’m okay and that you’re heading back to Fort Bragg.”

Alejo slipped his phone back in his pocket. “I’m not just here because she asked me here, Wyatt.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Sam insisted. “I know you think you do, but you don’t.”

He looked at her silently as she arranged herself back onto the bed. “You saved my sister’s life, Wyatt. I owe you a debt whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.”

“I did that for Rita.”

“I know that,” he told her, standing. “But that doesn’t change the facts. Whether it was me who asked you or it was Rita, you saved Rox’s life when neither of us could, and as long as Lightner is still out there, I’m here. So get used to it.”

“I miss her, you know.” She looked away. “I miss Rita all the time.”

“Me too,” he admitted quietly before sliding her legs under her comforter. “You need water?” he asked gruffly, clearing his throat.

Sam shook her head, exhausted as she leaned back against the pillows.

“Get some sleep,” he said as he walked to her door.

“Quit bossing me around.”

“No one’s the boss of you, Samantha Wyatt,” he laughed, flipping off the light. “God help anyone who ever tries to be.”

March—Evening

The Whitney, Chicago

J A C K

J
ack stepped out
of his rooftop pool, slicking his hair back as the frigid winter air hit his skin, raising goosebumps across his arms. March was still ridiculously cold in Chicago, even with spring just around the corner. But Jack relished the icy bite on his skin. He liked the sharpness—the acuity of the sensations that hit him as he toweled off quickly.

Despite the initial agony and the lingering agitation of cleaning out again, Jack had to admit he felt physically better than he had in years. The regimen he’d undertaken at rehab required extreme physical activity, clean eating and no alcohol. He’d taken to doubling, sometimes tripling, the amount of time he spent outdoors, swimming, running, boxing. When he wasn’t working out, he was working—focusing on managing the business in Chicago as Mitch handled Leviathan’s transition into Roman Industries in London.

Out of habit, Jack glanced at the darkened windows of Samantha’s half of the penthouse, shrugging into his terrycloth robe. He missed that woman beyond all measure. More than he realized was even possible. But that ache was a longing he’d become used to—just as he’d become used to relearning how to live without her.

He stepped through the tall glass doors into his home, striding past the warmth of his fireplace and into his kitchen, where he went through the motions of preparing dinner. Cooking calmed him, a throwback from a childhood spent growing up with Italian parents who made the kitchen the fulcrum of their home. He glanced at the clock. Jaime and Maddie would be over within the hour. Ever since he’d returned over a month ago, regular family dinners had become the norm—at his house or theirs. But Jack wasn’t kidding himself: Jaime used the meals as an excuse to check in and watch him like a hawk. Despite Jack’s initial resistance to the constant attention, they’d discovered a mutually beneficial opportunity to work on the integration of Leviathan into their businesses together.

For all the heartbreak and personal agony Jack had suffered over the last few months, the Roman family empire was flourishing. He came up with new and varied ideas for Leviathan’s transformation constantly, balanced by Jaime’s head for innovation and Mitch’s pragmatism. In truth, thinking of how to leverage his latest purchase into an industry game changer was the most exciting and challenging project he’d had in years. To some extent, Jack had come to realize he’d been resting on his laurels for too long in Chicago, and the Leviathan takeover was exactly what he needed to focus on right now. Not to mention a welcome distraction from obsessing over Samantha.

His phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. A message from one of his guards that his brother and niece were on their way up. Jack took the notice as his cue to jog up to his bedroom to put on some dry clothes. By the time he returned downstairs, Jaime and Maddie were making their way inside the foyer.

“Smells good, Uncle Jack,” Maddie told him with a broad smile as her father helped her take off her Hello Kitty backpack.

“What’re you making?” Jaime asked, sniffing the fragrant air wafting from the kitchen.

“Your favorite—beef tenderloin con balsamico and homemade tortellini,” Jack told him before scooping up Maddie in a hug. “How was your day,
micina cara
? You graduating from college yet?” he teased, resting her on his hip.

“I’m in first grade, silly!” Maddie scolded, patting his five o’clock shadow with her little hand. “Bobby Preston pulled my hair today, and I told him if he did it again, I’d hit him in the mouth.”

Jack laughed as Jaime scowled.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Jack replied before rubbing his niece’s nose with his own in an Eskimo kiss. “
Cara
, you know sometimes little boys pull your hair because they like you.”

Maddie huffed, exasperated. “Then why doesn’t he just tell me that instead of pulling my hair and making me mad?”

“Because sometimes boys can be stupid.”

“Most of the time boys are stupid,” Jaime corrected as he walked past them and into the kitchen. “But you can’t go punching every stupid boy in the mouth, Maddie,” he chided.

“You leave that to me and your daddy, okay?” Jack whispered, making her giggle before he set her back on her feet.

Jaime took a quick taste of the tomato sauce. “Needs more garlic.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Jack leaned across the kitchen counter and smacked his brother away. “Stay away from my sauce.”

“Fine, fine!” Jaime shrugged, moving toward the fridge. “Did you go to your appointment with Dr. Carmichael today?

Jack sighed, stirring the sauce. “Yes, ‘Ma.’”

“Hey—I’m going to take you comparing me to mom as a compliment.” Jaime poured a glass of milk for Maddie.

“Are you still sick, Uncle Jack?” Maddie asked, a look of worry crossing her face.

“No,
micina cara
,” Jack told her gently. “Dr. Carmichael is helping me get all better.”

And though Jack hated to admit it, he kind of was. Unlike the gentle, almost coddling doctors at his posh rehab, his new therapist was forthright and irreverent. He didn’t seem to give a damn who Jack was or how much money he had. And he definitely didn’t mind calling Jack out on the carpet every session, making him address the hard facts with a kind of trenchant candor that was strangely appealing.

“So I found an NA meeting downtown that’s near your office,” Jaime told him as he popped open a club soda.

“I tried NA meetings before, but they didn’t take,” Jack responded, moving back toward the stove.

“Why didn’t they take?” Jaime asked. “If you’re worried about true anonymity—don’t worry. The mayor’s in this group, plus two judges, and the tech billionaire who told me about it. It’s totally discreet. Everyone just thinks it’s a weekly lunch meeting.”

“It’s not that.” Jack pressed his lips together as he worked on stuffing the tortellini. “I just don’t do groups.”

“You mean you don’t do public displays of vulnerability,” Jaime retorted, his gaze astute. “You know there’s no shame in this, bro. You’re not the only one struggling out there—”

He smacked his hand against the counter in frustration. When Maddie jumped, startled, Jack smiled ruefully. “Sorry,
cara
. Can you do me a quick favor and go play in your room for a little bit? Your daddy and I need to talk about work.”

“Can I watch a cartoon?” she asked, recognizing an opportunity when she saw one as she scooted toward the staircase.

“Sure, baby,” Jaime told her. “Uncle Jack and I will call you when dinner’s on the table.”

“M’kay.” Maddie hustled up the stairs in a flurry of pink tulle.

“What the hell’s eating at you?” Jaime asked, wheeling around. “I’m just trying to help—”

“Just stop it, alright?” Jack barked. “We eat dinner almost every night, you check on me during the day, you even found me a goddamn therapist. Jaime, I know you care, but you need to just stop worrying. I’m doing okay. Lay the fuck off!”

Jaime crossed his arms. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I know when you’re okay and not okay. I know you better than anyone!”

“You didn’t know I was getting high on your pain meds, did you?” Jack replied, regretting the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth when his little brother winced.

“That’s because
I
was high on
my
pain meds at the time,” Jaime snapped back. “And you may not be getting ripped off your rocker anymore, but you’re full of shit if you think I believe a word you say when you tell me you’re A-OK. I don’t give a shit what you tell everyone else. But you don’t bullshit
me
—not ever.”

Jack returned to making dinner, though he was a little too brutal with the soft shells of tortellini. “I’m just taking it day by day.”

Jaime leaned on the counter. “I know, but there’s no shame in asking for help. There’s no shame in getting support when you need it.”

Jack lifted a thick brow. “Have you been watching Dr. Phil again? Because you suck as a couch therapist.”