All These Things I've Done (Birthright #1)(91)

‘Very well, thanks.’ Mrs Delacroix laughed. ‘I want you to know I think that Charlie’s behaving like an absolute barbarian,’ Mrs Delacroix continued. ‘What happened isn’t your fault. If anything, your quick thinking saved Win’s life.’

‘It’s not as if I didn’t have something to do with putting him in that situation in the first place,’ I felt compelled to add.

‘Well, yes . . . Nobody’s perfect, I suppose. Sit down a moment. Win will be back soon and I know he wants to see you. This, by the way, is a severe understatement.’

There were no other chairs, so Simon Green and I sat on the bed.

Simon Green and Mrs Delacroix did most of the talking, as I found I was too anxious to speak.

Finally, an orderly wheeled Win back into the room. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that had one leg cut off to allow room for all the black pins and other hardware holding the hip and leg in place.

My beautiful Win. I wanted to kiss him on every last broken place, but his mother and my lawyer were there. So instead I started to cry.

I had done this to Win.

Or if not done this, I had certainly been the reason this had happened to him.

Win’s injuries were not nearly as bad as what had happened to Gable, but I felt Win’s so much more. I suppose the difference was that I loved Win.

‘Let’s give the kids a moment alone,’ Mrs Delacroix said. ‘The guards will be back after lunch.’ Simon Green and Mrs Delacroix went out into the hallway.

At first, I could barely look at him. He looked fragile. No wonder his father had wanted to lock him away from everyone.

‘Say something,’ Win said gently. ‘You can’t just stand there not speaking and not looking at me. I’ll think you don’t like me any more.’

‘I was so scared,’ I said finally. ‘And worried for you. And then they wouldn’t let me see you. Or call you or anything. And now I’m here and you’re all broken and hurt. Are you in much pain?’

‘Only when I try to stand or sit or turn over or breathe,’ he joked. ‘Here, help me back into bed, lass.’ He leaned on me to stand, then he pushed himself into bed. He winced.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Did I hurt you?’

He shook his head. ‘No, of course not, silly girl. You make things better.’ I bent down, and I kissed his leg on one of the places where the pins went in. Then I crawled into his bed and lay down next to him for a bit.

We must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, guards were running into the room and pulling me out of Win’s bed. I fell hard on the floor and landed on my knee. It would leave a terrible bruise, but in that moment, I barely felt it.

‘Leave her alone,’ Win said. ‘She’s fine! She’s not doing anything.’

‘Your father’s orders,’ the guard replied with an apology in his voice.

‘He didn’t say you should throw a sixteen-year-old girl on the floor,’ Win yelled.

‘Come on,’ Simon Green said. ‘We should go before this gets worse.’

‘I love you, Anya,’ Win called out.

I wanted to reply but they’d already shut Win’s door. As Simon Green was dragging me to the elevator, he muttered, ‘Mr Kipling’s going to kill me for taking you here.’

Simon Green dropped me back at the apartment. After my return was noted by the policeman meant to monitor my actions and protect me from the rest of my family, I went straight to my room. On my way down the hall, I was accosted by Imogen.

‘What happened to your knee?’ she cried. The day had been warm enough that I was wearing my school skirt and no tights.

‘Nothing,’ I said. In point of fact, my kneecap was starting to throb. I felt silly complaining when I compared it with Win’s injuries.

‘It doesn’t look like nothing, Annie.’ She escorted me into my bedroom. ‘Lie down,’ she ordered, which was the only thing I’d wanted to do anyway. I was cried out – the well never ran very deep with me – and what I wanted to do was hibernate like a bear. The good thing about house arrest, about being isolated from most everything and everyone, was that I could sleep in the middle of the day and no one cared.

Imogen returned with the ubiquitous bag of frozen peas. ‘Here.’

‘It’s fine, Imogen. I just want to sleep.’

‘You’ll thank me later,’ she said.

I flipped on to my back. She felt around my kneecap. Ugly bruise, but nothing was broken and she assured me that I’d live. Then she set the peas in their place.

‘Why is it always peas?’ I asked, thinking about the numerous times I’d rested a bag of peas on Leo’s head or the night we went to Little Egypt when I gave the bag to Win. ‘Don’t we ever have frozen carrots or corn?’

Imogen shook her head. ‘The corn gets eaten the quickest. And none of you like carrots so they’re never bought.’

‘That seems logical,’ I said. Then I told her that I wanted to sleep and so she left me alone.

Late that night (Natty had already gone to bed), I awoke to a knock at my bedroom door. It was Imogen. ‘You have a visitor,’ she said. ‘It’s your boyfriend’s father. Would you rather see him in here or in the living room?’

‘Living room,’ I said. My knee had tightened up something awful, but I did not want to encounter Charles Delacroix in a horizontal (i.e. weak) position. I pulled myself out of bed. I smoothed down my school skirt and shirt, ran my fingers through my hair, and limped out to the living room.