“Why?” Tara cries, draping herself across my father.
“You need to pack your things and leave the estate. I can’t have you here anymore. You’ve done enough damage to the Blackwell name.” I lower my head and glower at him. “Besides, I’m sure Charlie will feel uncomfortable having you under the same roof.” Now, I’m just trying to piss him off. I’m past the point of caring.
“You will not kick me out to move that… that…” He stutters on his words, his tone becoming flustered as he points at Charlie.
“I will, and I am,” I interrupt. I stomp forward and clutch his arm, pulling him, ready to throw him out the fucking door in nothing but his robe. Tara screams and starts slapping my back in a fit of rage. It doesn’t surprise me, Tara is obsessed with my father. She’ll do anything to protect him.
“Don’t you touch him!” Charlie shouts, grabbing Tara by the hair. Tara suddenly stops her belligerent slapping. I look over my shoulder to see where she went when Father roars, flinging his robe open and pulling a black pistol out. His chest heaves as he points it at me. I let go of his arm and take a step back, my hands raised. I look over and see Tara and Charlie going at it. Tara is pulling Charlie’s hair, her teeth baring with anger as Charlie tries to gain her balance on the edge of a step. I take a step toward them to break them up and help Charlie, but father shoves his gun in my face, stopping me. Roman raises his hands, too, standing right next to me.
“Tell Maria I’ll see her in Hell,” he growls, cocking the gun. My eyes widen and my body tenses before a loud bang rings out and I flinch. Realizing I’m not hurt and the sound came from behind me, I turn to find Osborn in position, his gun aimed right at my father. A loud thump sounds as my dad falls on his back. He’s sprawled out on the stairs, eyes wide and blood pooling underneath him. One bullet hole rests in the center of his forehead.
“Holy shit,” Roman whispers, turning to look away from Father.
Tara screams loudly as she sees my dad on the stairs, shoving Charlie off her. She falls to the floor, crawling toward him and in slow motion, Charlie loses her balance from the violent shove and goes flying down the stairs.
“No!” I bellow, trying to grab her, but my hand just misses her and she tumbles down.
I rush down the stairs to Charlie, a bundled mess at the bottom step, and pick her up.
“Are you okay?” I ask, looking her over frantically, my heart racing in my chest. She holds her head and groans.
“Roman, call the doctor!” I demand.
“On it,” he calls out with a shaky voice.
“I’ll get this cleaned up. You get Charlie to her room; the doctor should be here quickly,” Osborn instructs, hovering over my father. Without another question, I step over a sobbing Tara and head up the stairs. My heart is slamming against my chest in fear, my legs shaking with the possibility that I may lose my child.
I set Charlie on the bed and start tearing her clothes off. The sound of fabric ripping and shredding fills the room.
She has red marks all over her arms and legs. She’s holding her wrist, and her lip is bleeding.
I thumb her lip, wiping the blood. Her eyes fill with tears as she looks at me like I’m her answer for everything.
“Am I going to lose the baby?” she whispers, tears spilling from her eyes.
I swallow and grasp the back of her head, pulling her into me.
TWENTY-FOUR
CHARLIE
Landon had the doctor stay at the estate to keep an eye on me, but he said there was nothing we could do but wait. He was a middle-aged man with extremely cold hands. He said we would know soon if I’d lose the baby or not. Twenty-four hours later, here I am, in a tub of warm water, cleaning the blood off me as Landon sits on the edge of the tub and sponges my back.
I woke up and had to pee. When I went to the bathroom, I found blood spotting my panties. I instantly felt failure, and emptiness. I screamed and sobbed, waking Landon up. I didn’t think I would miscarry, convinced the world wouldn’t do that to me and Landon after everything we had been through. Landon called the doctor straight away. The middle-aged doctor examined me, and shook his head unsure. He said he would do an ultrasound in a few days to see if we had indeed lost the baby, but to keep off my feet until then.
“Charlie, talk to me,” he rasps, squeezing the sponge of soapy warm water down my back, bringing me from moments ago to now.
“It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to pull Tara off you,” I whisper, staring at the tub’s chrome faucet. “But I saw her beating on you and I just reacted.” I shrug, emotion filling my voice. Goose bumps race along my arms, and even with the warm water, I feel cold and empty. The injuries from the fall don’t compare to the pain splicing through my heart.