Page 16

DEACON

I fucked up.

Simon had caught me up with the rumors from the company group texts of Winter and Kieran Vega going on a date, and I had lost it.

Indulging on whiskey while I was already running on fumes had been the worst idea of the night, but hitting that bastard hadn’t caused an ounce of regret in me.

Drunk or not, I would have still punched him with intent to do more than disfigure his face.

The rest of what happened that night has come up as a blur since I woke up this morning and found Winter already gone.

I remember how sexy she looked in that dress while she drove me home. I remember her being mad about me hitting her date.

Then I remember her scent hogging my entire house. It was all I could smell in my state of delirium.

I told her part of the reason why I rejected her, and judging by the fact that I woke up to an empty bed, I don’t think Winter believed me at all.

I don’t think she’ll ever believe me again, seeing as to how she didn’t come to work, and it’s all I’ve been thinking about.

Did I say something I shouldn’t have? Something I don’t remember?

I don’t remember seeing her cry so that at least gives me some sort of relief that I didn’t hurt her.

She is not in my damn office? Six hours later, and that mini-desk of hers is still unoccupied. I know she sent an email asking for a day off, but would it be delusional to say I’d hoped she’d show up to work today?

“Alpha Deacon? Are you still with us?” Simon asks nervously.

Reality crashes back into my mind, and I have to be reminded we’ve been running meetings back-to-back because pictures of me hitting Kieran Vega have surfaced all over the net.

The board members, who are pissed about my little stint, narrow their eyes at me, wondering if I’m the final nail to this company’s coffin.

“What you did yesterday was reckless. Hitting Alpha Kieran and the pictures trending online has only led to our stock prices plunging even more than when Wilfred was in charge,” the bald guy seated by the edge of the boardroom table spits.

The younger guy, Mr. Peters, if I can remember correctly, joins in on the conversation, “Alpha Kieran Vega is being pinned as the victim in all this, and while he has said he’ll not be pressing charges on the account that you were drunk, I still recommend us doing something to show the public you are regretful of your actions.”

Regretful, my ass.

“And if I’m not feeling any sort of regret whatsoever for hitting Kieran Vega, what happens next?”

Simon’s face pales.

Mr. Peters clears his throat. “We wouldn’t be recommending this if it wasn’t what’s needed for the company, Alpha Deacon. We all agree here that you’ve raised the company to greater heights than Wilfred ever did, but this… this scandal pushes back every milestone you’ve achieved.”

“What are you recommending me to do then, Mr. Peters?”

The second he opens his mouth, I know for a fact he’s going to soil my mood even worse.

“All this happened because of Ms. Cavanaugh, so everyone agrees with me when I say you should fire her.”

The surface-level distaste I have for his statement must be evident on my face because Simon looks like he’s one sandwich away from fainting.

“Two grown men decide to fight, and your first thought is that the woman is to blame? Isn’t that a bit sexist, Mr. Peters?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“This meeting is adjourned. Miss Cavanaugh is not going anywhere, and anyone who has a problem with that can pack his bags and walk out of this company.”

I walk out of the room, leaving them to discuss whatever terrible plan they have to avert the crisis. If I wasn’t too worried about Winter, I’d educate them a little by telling them the only reason this company is still standing is because Winter works here. If she didn’t love working for this company, I would never have stuck around long enough to buy it from Wilfred.

Simon follows me to my office, and I use him as much as I can to squeeze information about Winter from him.

“In your group chats, is Winter still the topic of discussion?”

“Sir?”

“Everyone from the company has seen Winter in the pictures of Kieran and me fighting, and I’m asking you right now if they are speaking about her.”

“Yes, sir”, Simon replies just as quickly.

“Send another email. Anyone found speaking or in any way spreading false information about Winter Cavanaugh can kiss his fucking job goodbye.”

“Okay, boss. I’ll do so right away.”

I spend the rest of the afternoon gazing at Winter’s empty chair and desk.

Did she leave the city?

Did she run away after finding out the truth?

Every dark thought running in my mind tears me up and exposes another ripped vessel to the air. By the time I’m done thinking about what happened last night, every shred of my energy vaporizes into thin air from exhaustion alone.

I contemplate calling her, but then what do I say? How do I start explaining the rest of the things I hid from her last night, like my father being behind her family’s murder? That there’s so much more behind me rejecting her?

Eventually, I let go of my fears mainly because I miss her, and not having her here today felt like torture. Tapping her number, a minute barely goes by before her phone rings on the other end of the line.

The anticipation of wanting to hear her voice nearly makes me ecstatic, but that ecstasy flies out the window the minute her voice breaks out in a cry.

“D–Deacon?”

“Winter.”

The tremor in her voice weighs heavy on my chest. The sound of her sniffing back tears has me on alert, my grip on the phone tight and cold.

“I need… help. I need your help. Please…please don’t hang up. I can’t do this alone. Luka is not picking up. Julie…she is not picking up either. I called the ambulance. Why are they not here yet? Deacon, why are they not here?”

“Winter? You have to calm down. Can you do that for me?”

It takes three minutes for her to give me a solid answer that doesn’t constitute her sobbing and saying gibberish words.

“Winter? Baby, you’ve got to talk to me. You’ve got to let me help you.”

“He’s not moving. He was shaking earlier, but he’s not moving. I-I don’t think he’s breathing. What should I do?”

The sigh that escapes my lungs as I ride the elevator down to the parking lot makes me feel like a dick. But I’m thankful she’s not in danger. I can’t have her in danger. I can’t lose her.

“He who, Winter? Who’s not breathing?”

I make my way to my car as fast as I can.

“My son. My son’s not breathing.”

Six words and she say them in deep agony and devastation.

To me?

Those six words have me halting in my steps as they maim me right on the spot.

Son? Her son?

“He’s going to be fine, baby. I just need you to give me your address, stay on the phone, and keep your hand on his pulse. Can you do that?”

She has a son? Pins prick my chest, but I shove them down my gut. The last thing she needs is me asking questions.

“O-Okay.”

How old is her son?

Winter rattles off her home address to me, and I thank her for it.

Getting off the phone doesn’t sound like an option. She needs me more than she’s ever needed me in her entire life, and despite the sheer confusion blanketing me in a thick dark cloud, I don’t let her down.

“I’m on my way, and the ambulance is on its way. Winter, everything will be fine, you hear me?”

“H–hurry. Please, hurry.”

“Almost there. I’m almost there, baby.”

It takes almost another five minutes to get to Winter’s place. I hang up on her when I get there.

The night air has never felt as suffocating and stifling as it does now as I get out of my car, staring at the blue and white suburban house that must belong to Winter. Loud sirens beckon from behind my car, the ambulance having made its arrival after me.

Two employees I recognize as Winter’s friends, from my company no less, get out of the car that’s parked across the street. It’s a clear indication that they must have gotten Winter’s calls or texts.

It’s not the chilled air of the night, the one that’s capable of giving frostbite, that concerns me. It’s the looks on Luka’s and Julie’s faces when they see me that have me running up to Winter’s porch and almost breaking the door as I try to get to the woman who needs me.

Winter’s best friends looked at me like I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Finding a sobbing Winter on the floor of her living room as she holds her unconscious son cements why they looked at me like that.

The boy in Winter’s arms and the boy standing in the middle of the room crying for his mommy—they both look an awfully lot like me.