Page 22 of Bed of Thorns

After raking my hand through my hair, I stared down at the broken mug and sighed. He wasn’t going to tell me anything. How would I find a way to help him when he couldn’t trust me?

Stepping over the mess, I moved toward the pantry, grabbing a dustpan and broom, yanking the trashcan from under the cabinet. As I crouched down, I sensed he was staring at me. What in God’s name was going on?

I couldn’t stop shaking as I tried to clean up the mess, finally using my hands to pick up some of the shards. “Shit.” Blood poured from a ridiculously small cut.

Edmond dropped to his knees, one pressed entirely in the liquid and broken glass. He grabbed my hand, glaring at the beads of blood oozing from my fingers. “You’re hurt. All because of me.”

“Edmond. It’s okay. It’s just a small cut. I’ll just wash it off.”

“No!” His vehemence continued to be startling. He continued to hold my hand in his, somehow managing to slide his other arm under my legs, then cradling me against his chest. He walked over the mess and toward the sink, gingerly placing me on the countertop. He couldn’t seem to look at me as he turned on the water, checking the temperature than easing my hand under the stream. Only when he grabbed a paper towel did he finally glance into my eyes. “I think it’ll be okay.”

“Of course it will be. Relax.”

“You stay right there,” he commanded. “I take care of the problems I create.”

Problems.

The single sentence told me several things, many of which troubled me. He was planning on either clearing his name or seeking retaliation.

Or both.

I held the paper towel around my finger, watching him intently. Every action he took was methodical, rigid. He’d been forced to follow rules not of his own making. After grabbing a towel and sopping up the remainder of the mess, he put everything back where it belonged then once again returned to the window. I doubted he was really paying attention to the beautiful morning. He remained plagued with memories as well as self-doubt. Or maybe he was plotting something I didn’t want to hear about.

There was no reason for me to be quiet in my actions, but I slowly slid off the counter, inching around to the other side, finally tossing the paper towel away. This time, I knew he sensed I was close, his head cocking toward me.

“Promise me that under no circumstances will you continue to look into what happened.”

“I’m not certain I can make that promise.”

His hand fisted, his body stiffening. “There are some things you don’t understand.”

“Then tell me. Share with me why you’re so cautious around me and why you can’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. I won’t judge you. I’ve never done that.”

“Why?” he snarked, turning slightly in my direction. “You’re really asking why?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Because you didn’t keep your promise. You went to work for that… monster.”

“And I told you I felt I had no choice.” I obviously couldn’t tell him I was planning on gathering information from his father to find out what the hell had really happened.

“You’re one of the lucky ones, Mercedes. You do have a choice. All mine were taken away.”

If he wanted me to feel guilty for living while he’d languished away in prison, he’d done a damn good job. “Then help me understand. For God’s sake, Edmond. You show up here unannounced, but I know you’ve been stalking me. You left a rose on my doorstep. You’ve been watching me for at least a week, standing across from work. I think you were even in the parking lot of the grocery store the other day. Why do that? Why not just come to me as soon as you were released?”

The quiet between us was painful. When he finally spoke, the anger had shifted into dark remorse. “Because I wasn’t certain you wanted to see me.”

“Of course I wanted to see you.” I moved closer, biting my lip before placing my hand on his shoulder. He flinched as if I was going to be violent with him. The ache I’d felt the night before returned in full force.

“I was framed, Mercedes. I didn’t kill that man. Yes, I beat him because of what he did, but I didn’t pull that trigger.” His expression was one of confusion, as if he couldn’t remember.

‘For what he did.’ What little I knew indicated the man killed had been found inside my Fernando’s office, but given the nature of his real estate development business, people visited Fernando often. “Then who did?”

Another full thirty seconds ticked by.

“My father.”

While I was stunned for a few seconds, Edmond’s anger as well as Fernando’s refusal to visit his son in prison or to offer help of any kind made sense. “What happened?”

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