CHAPTER 14

Isobel

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I know how sick your mother is. I don’t want to make it worse.” I looked over from the passenger side of the car to see Brock’s reaction. I had no idea how the hell he planned to explain that I was suddenly brought back to life.

He reached across the car and took my hand in his. To be honest, I don’t think he realized what he was doing. “It’ll be fine. My mom knows more about the life I lead than you realize.”

I shook my head. “I still don’t understand that. Why would you tell your parents anything about the life you lead?”

He shrugged. “It’s one of Malcolm’s rules.”

“Malcolm’s rules?” I interrupted, readjusting the baseball cap I wore to cover my hair. It wasn’t likely that we’d run into any of Nathan’s men in a place like this, but there was no reason to chance it.

“Yeah. He believes anyone who’s family needs to know what we do. Not all the details, so they can’t be liable if something goes wrong, just enough that they’re not surprised if things were to come to light.”

“Huh . . . I’d hate to admit it, but that actually makes sense. Still doesn’t explain how you’re going to tell your mom that I’m not dead. I’d also be willing to bet she’s not going to be very happy that I left you for some slimeball with money.”

He squeezed my hand. “Mom has always loved you. Trust me, she’ll understand.”

I wasn’t so sure. Here was another person who only knew lies about me and I somehow had to convince them I wasn’t an absolutely horrible person. My stomach knotted when Brock turned into the parking lot of an upscale building. The feeling wasn’t foreign, but I was used to forcing it back. Don’t show weakness. It had been drilled into my head until burying my emotions became second nature. My emotional compass had gone haywire. It was high time to right it and let more than anger and hatred dictate my response to any situation. 

From the outside it resembled a complex of penthouse apartments. Never in a million years would I have guessed this was a medical facility. Not that I should be surprised, considering the wealth possessed by the Hawes family. I didn’t know exactly what they were worth, but I knew it far surpassed anything Nathan had. It was the one thing that pissed him off more than anything over the years.

Brock pulled into a space near the front and put the car in park. “Let’s go. If we don’t get up there soon Mom will start calling until we show up.”

“I thought you said you didn’t tell her we were coming.”

He smirked. “I didn’t tell her you were coming. No need for her to think I need a psychiatrist when I call and say I’m bringing a dead woman over to meet her.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be an ass.”

“Then stop stressing and get your ass out of the car.”

I snatched my hand away and got out of the car, slamming the door behind me. By the time I made my way around to the back, Brock was waiting for me, leaning on the trunk, his hands crossed over his chest.

“Feel better?” He lifted a brow at me.

“Better? Are you kidding me? I’m pissed off.”

He stood and gestured ahead. “Maybe, but now you’re no longer nervous.”

I started forward. “I wasn’t nervous,” I called over my shoulder.

Brock scoffed, but said nothing. I yanked the door open and stopped in my tracks. If I thought the outside was impressive, it had nothing on the interior of the building. Marble floors and fountains. The main lobby reminded me more of an upscale hotel lobby than a medical facility. The front desk included a Concierge post. I also noticed that not one employee wore any type of medical attire. 

I stopped, unsure where we needed to go. Did we need to check in at the front desk? Where were the elevators? Brock stepped up beside me and took my hand in his.

“Come on.” He nodded at the woman behind the front desk on the way by and led us straight to a bank of elevators behind a fountain wall.

He pressed the button for the eighth floor. Once the door closed, I turned to him. “Why aren’t any of the staff wearing medical uniforms?”

“It threw me too the first time we came to check out the facility. Turns out, like the décor, they don’t want patients to feel as if they’re in some type of medical facility. They want it to feel like a condo.”

“Then what’s the point of moving in here and paying for care that’s not provided?”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. “It’s provided. The second and third floor are designated for that. Doctors of every specialty have offices on the second floor while the third floor has more advanced treatment centers. If one of the tenants needs more help than they can provide here, they need a hospital.”

We walked down a long hallway. I shed the hat that held my hair out of sight. There didn’t seem to be a need to hide now that we were on his parents’ floor. The large amount of spacing between doors indicated the condos were much larger than I’d anticipated. Like everything else in the place, nothing was as it seemed.

“So, your mom only has to go downstairs for her appointments? No more driving all over the state?”

“Nope. Everything she needs is here.” We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, the number six on the outside. “Now you can see why it would have been impossible to say no to the offer Malcolm made me.”

It was shocking to say the least, but it also made it quite obvious why Malcolm Hawes was so successful in his business, why his people were loyal. He treated the people who worked for him as if they were a part of his family. He made sure all the needs of their families were taken care of as well as his own would be.

Brock knocked on the door and the flutters of nerves that had disappeared with my curiosity about the facility came roaring back to life. The door opened to reveal the older version of Brock. The same dark eyes and hair coloring, Brock’s father hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d seen him. There were small slivers of gray now peppering his hair. The most striking difference was the lack of dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Brock.” His father’s whole face lit up as he pulled him into a hug.

“Hey, Dad.” Brock returned the hug, clapping his father on the back, shutting the door behind him with his foot. 

“It’s been a while since you stopped by,” he said when he stepped back from their embrace.

“I know.”

“Your mother missed—” His dad stopped, finally noticing me standing behind Brock. He stepped around him with a smile on his face and his hand outstretched. “You must be the reason my son hasn't been around to visit in a while.”

I placed my hand in his and looked to Brock for an answer. His father brought my hand to his lips.

“Is that Brock?” His mom’s voice drifted in from a room down the hall before Brock got the chance to answer.

“It’s me,” Brock called out.

“Why are you still in the foyer? Come in and sit down,” she shouted.

Even though she’d always been ill, Brock’s mother was never a woman to be tangled with. There were days I swore she’d climb out of the chair to strangle Brock if he pushed her any further. The only difference now was her voice held much more strength to it. Whatever treatment she’d been given must have had a huge impact on her health and wellbeing.

“And he brought someone with him.”

“Who?” his mom called out excitedly.

Brock took my hand and started down a long hall that opened up into a large living room. His father moved past us, a smile on his face. His mom watched me intently, her gaze moving between our joined hands and my face.

Brock gestured to the couch. “Dad, why don’t you take a seat?”

His dad flopped into the seat closest to his wife. “If that’s what it takes to meet the woman who caught my son’s attention after all these years.”

A heaviness settled into my chest. I knew Brock had a fair share of women on his arm, but I never imagined that none of them had ever made it long enough to meet his parents.

Neither of his parents said a word while they waited for Brock to begin. I did my best to school my features and not cringe at what their reaction might be. After years of practice, I was finding it difficult to keep my emotions hidden.

“Mom, Dad,” Brock started and I squeezed his hand tighter. “I don’t think I really need to introduce her. You’ve already met.”

Brock’s dad rolled his eyes. “I know you think I’m old, but I’m pretty sure I would have remembered that.”

“Trust me. You just haven’t seen her in years.”

His dad’s face bunched up like he was trying to rack his brain for where in the world we might have been introduced to one another. His mom, on the other hand, watched us intently.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember when we met. What I do know is I haven’t seen you smile like that since before Amanda died.”

I honestly expected Brock to jump in and say she didn’t. When he didn’t, I glanced in his direction. He stood there silent, letting the statement linger in the air. I looked back at his mom, who was shaking her head.

“That’s not possible.”

“What’s not possible?” His dad narrowed his eyes at his wife.

She rolled her wheelchair closer, her eyes never straying from my face. I thought about bending down to make it easier, but decided against it when she picked up a piece of my hair and let it run through her fingers. Brock still stayed silent.

“Patricia, what the hell are you doing?”

“Amanda?” she asked, ignoring her husband.

Any words I had stuck in my throat and I nodded. The backs of my eyes burned as I forced the feeling away.

“Holy shit.” His dad leapt from the couch.

“How?” Patricia breathed.

Brock let go of my hand and squatted next to her chair. “It’s a long story. That’s why we came. We wanted to tell you what happened.”

Before I could say anything, Mrs. Phillips grabbed my hand and yanked me down into an embrace. I froze, unsure what to do. I fully expected her to hate me on sight considering all I’d put her son through. Maybe it was the calm before the storm. When she finally let go, I stood to see Mr. Phillips standing next to Brock, eyes wide, staring at me.

“We thought you were dead. Your parents held a funeral for you.”

I sighed. “I know. I was there.”

“What?” Mrs. Phillips practically shouted.

“Why don’t we all sit down and I’ll explain everything.”

Mr. Phillips sat down slowly, resting his arms on his thighs. When Brock and I took a seat on the couch, he turned to face his parents.

“Start explaining, Brock. Right now, I’m imagining at lot of really terrible things.”

“Until a few days ago, I thought Amanda was dead. It turns out her father sold her to Nathan Marcello to bail out his company.”

Mrs. Phillips jerked her head in my direction. “He did what? That’s the lowlife who gives Malcolm a hard time.”

In a world full of foul language and threats it was hard not to laugh at the use of the word lowlife to describe Nathan.

“Among other things,” Brock said.

“And you’ve been stuck with him since you disappeared?” Mr. Phillips asked.

“Yes. The day I supposedly disappeared was the day I ended up with Nathan.”

Mrs. Phillips turned an accusing gaze on Brock. “Why didn’t you go get her before now?”

Brock threw his hands up. “I didn’t know it was her.”

She nodded. “Fair enough. The dark hair made it hard to tell. Did he make you do that?”

“Yeah, among—” I started before Brock stepped in.

“How about we start from the beginning? I have a feeling it will answer all of your questions.”

Both of his parents nodded. I let Brock start the story and filled in where I needed to. Sometimes it was easier to listen to someone else tell the story of your life than have to admit it yourself.

When Brock finished, Mrs. Phillips turned to me. “I used to feel bad for your father. Now I believe he got what was coming to him. And now you have a new chance at life.”

“I do. Thanks to Brock.”

She clasped her hands together. “Good, now tell us all about your plan while Brock gets us a drink.”

I didn’t know where to begin. All I did know was I liked thinking about the answer to that question, even if it might be a while before I got to do any of it.