Chapter 35

Carter

The yelling and screaming I’d been expecting doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s deadly silence. The kind of silence that forebodes no fucking good.

I take a deep breath.

Before I speak, I glance out of the plane’s small window. Below us are tiny dots of lights scattered over the landscape.

I imagine the people in these houses sitting down to dinner—families, single people, older couples, all different kinds of folks live in the dwelling below us.

“June,” I start and take her hand.

She doesn’t pull away, and I breathe a little easier.

If she was really mad, she would have pulled her hand away.

That’s how I rationalized it. Although by now, there’s a kind of weird, anxious drone in my own head, making it difficult to think and speak clearly.

What I really wanted to do is just hold her and kiss her.

Somehow, though, I don’t think she’d appreciate me doing that. Words. She’s looking for words.

I sigh.

Of course she deserves an explanation. And she deserves to be told how I feel.

“June,” I start again and feel a growing lump in the back of my throat.

Why is this so fucking hard? I’m a cold, hard businessman—a man who takes no nonsense from fucking anyone—and here, I’m struggling to string one fucking sentence together.

What’s wrong with simply telling her I’m sorry and that she was right and I was wrong?

I fucked up. I got stuck in the past. Seeing Chantal and Lawrence left me feeling like a complete loser, and I forgot what was important to me: her.

Or words to that effect.

I know I’ve got to get across that I was a complete ass and totally fucking wrong.

It’s not easy admitting to making a mistake, particularly if you’re fucking perfect like me. Mistakes and Carter Abraham just don’t go together.

Okay, maybe I made a mistake once or twice in my life, but heck, generally, I’m pretty fucking prefect.

“Yes?” Her voice is soft, and her eyes are studying me closely. It feels as if she’s examining me through a microscope, noticing every minute detail.

Those eyes, I swear they can melt the coldest of hearts.

“I was an idiot.” Best to start right at the heart of the matter.

“An idiot?” she repeats with raised eyebrows.

“A complete fool, a dickhead, a jerk—call it what you will, June. I know all of this has been my fault.” I wave my arm around in an all-encompassing gesture.

“You don’t say.”

Fuck, she’s not making it easy for me. If I thought she was just going to forgive me, I thought wrong.

Almost involuntarily, I lean back in my seat and roll my eyes skyward, as if looking for the right words to use.

Some people are masters at using words to their advantage. Up until a few minutes ago, I thought I was one such person. Turns out I’m a complete failure at finding the right words.

Somehow, nothing I say comes out the right way. June remains unconvinced and whatever I say sounds fucking awful, even to my own ears.

“Look, June, Chantal was the first woman I ever fucked. She took my virginity. And of course, she fell pregnant from that one time. Instead of talking to me about what happened, working out what we could do, she got an abortion. Just like that. I mean she got rid of this life that started to grow inside of her. And she went on some drug bender. To make matters worse, Lawrence hooked up with her and went on the same bender.”

Here I had to pause.

Fuck, how I hate this.

This was worse than the time the old man called me into his study because of some minor misdemeanor I was alleged to have committed.

He would usher me in without saying anything. Instead of telling me where to sit, he would point at the tall high-backed black leather chair normally reserved for him.

As I sit there cowering in fear, he’d pace up and down in front of the desk. In his right hand would be a short riding crop. Every ten steps he would whip his own hand.

It was so nerve-wracking, worrying about what was about to happen and how much he knew, I’d blurt out my crime every time.

The results always varied. Depending on his mood, he would either praise me for being honest, or I would receive ten smacks with the whip. Five on each hand, because I dared to defy him by not instantly confessing my wrongdoings.

No child of mine will ever be subjected to such a cruel and absurd upbringing.

“I know all that already, remember?” She raises an eyebrow.

“It makes no sense to you I know, June. And no, if you’re going to ask, I’m not in love with Chantal, I never was. I think…because I was quite young I couldn’t understand what she did or why she did it.

“I felt totally powerless. It was awful how my opinion just didn’t matter. I don’t know if she didn’t think to discuss it with me, or if she felt I wasn’t entitled to have an opinion about the pregnancy. But it really hurt that I only found out after the fact. And what was worse was Lawrence taking up with her.”

For the first time since I started to talk, I look at June.

Her eyes are brimming with tears.

Oh, god, dear June.

“And now?”

Even though the question is disjointed, I understand what she wants to know.

“When I saw Lawrence with Chantal, I think those old wounds just opened up. And when they said she was pregnant, I felt even more betrayed. I mean, why would she keep his baby but not mine?”

June squeezes my hand.

“I know my reaction was—and is—totally silly. I guess at first it felt like a kick in the vitals. It kind of reinforced her first message —you’re not good enough.”

“Oh, Carter.” June is now openly crying.

This girl is too fucking soft-hearted for her own good.

“I know,” I hold up my hand. “I know it’s silly. And I know I’m fucking fantastic,” I grin.

She slaps me on the shoulder and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“Hey, you got to say it the way you see it.”

Now she’s laughing, and her laughter is fucking music to my ears.

“Anyway, these last few hours have been a hard lesson for me…and I can tell you I’ve really grown up. I pushed all those insecurities to one side. The time has come for me to bury those old feelings. And it’s time for me to grab onto something that is incredibly fucking precious to me.”

I lean forward and kiss her gently on the mouth.

“You’ve taught me so much over these last few weeks. I love you, June, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me.”

She says nothing to that, staying silent for what seems like forever.

“Of course I’ll have you,” she whispers finally, and now all I can do is kiss her—a little harder this time.

“Where are we going anyway? I just asked for the same ticket you got.”

June doesn’t meet my gaze. Her eyes are downcast.

“I don’t think you’ll like it, but I’m going home.”

My brow furrows a little. “Home, to Nebraska?”

As I wait for her answer, I rummage around my brain for useless facts I might know about this place she calls home.

“I think Fred Astaire was born in Nebraska, wasn’t he?”

There. I knew I’d come up with something.

June laughs at me.

“Could be, I don’t know. It’s the only place I could go,” she adds, as if she needed to explain herself.

“You know what, babe?” I cup her cheek with my hand. “I’ll be happy wherever you’re happy. You know that saying ‘Home is where the heart is’? Well, my happiness is where my heart is, and my heart is with you.”

There’s a minute glint in her eyes. She bites her bottom lip—something she only does when she’s got mischief on her mind.

I glance around the cabin.

“Say, future Mrs. Abraham,” I lean right into her—she’s giggling already. “Since it’s going to take a little while to get to Nebraska, why don’t we retire to the toilet?”

Her eyes widen in mock shock. “And why would we do that?”

As she asks the question, her index finger trails an invisible line down my chest.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I whisper into her ear and bite her ear lobe. “Something to do with a little help cleaning up my face, making sure I’ve sustained no further injuries…and then, of course, I should check to…” I pause so I can place a few subtle, smoldering kisses on her neck, “make sure you’re okay.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she mutters and puts her arms around my neck.