Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale)(77)

He was certainly entitled to his anger, but just days ago he’d held her in his arms and pledged to love her for all time. And she knew enough of Colton Lane to have faith in those words and not to throw them away because he’d lashed out at her during a god-awful moment in time. She would hold on to them. She would wait for him, just in case he didn’t mean what he said today.

And if she was going to hold on and wait, she needed to believe in him and have faith in his words today. Now. Right this second and every second of the next sixty days, spread out like eternity before her. Sixty days. It felt like such a long time, and she felt so sad and defeated and alone, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Fresh tears threatened to fall.

If anythin’, honey, that man needs you more than ever right now. Don’t let him down, huh? He’s one of the good ones.

And just like that, she had an idea of something she and Ryan could do right this second, and once she’d fixed on it, it seemed like the only possible plan for the rest of today—the only way to take a strong step in the right direction, in the direction she needed to head without fail for the next sixty days, believing that, when she clamped eyes on Colton Lane again, his would be shining with love, not hatred.

She turned to Ryan and offered him a small, weak smile. “Well, it’s only four o’clock. Know where I think we should go?”

“McDonald’s?”

She shook her head. “Nope. To visit Melody. We could pick up some ice cream and go say hello to her. Maybe try to explain that Colton’s going to be away for a little while, but we’ll be there for her whenever she needs us. What do you think?”

“Rocky road. I think rocky road.”

“That’s her favorite, huh?”

“Yeah. And rainbow sprinkles.”

“Rocky road with rainbow sprinkles,” she said, lifting her chin and taking her brother’s arm as they exited the courtroom. “Sounds like a plan.”





CHAPTER 17


“Day thirty,” said Dr. Warren, stepping around the desk and sitting down across from Colt, who sat in a guest chair. “Halfway through your treatment, which means you get your letter writing privileges instated today. Anyone you’re thinking about writing to?”

“Maybe Mel,” he said, “but I don’t know what to fuc—” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Part of his therapy was to try not to curse as freely as he used to. “I don’t know what to say to her. ‘Remember me? Your long-lost cousin?’”

“She was told that you’d be away for a while.”

“Be away,” he said softly. “What does that even mean to someone with Down syndrome?”

“You’re underestimating her, I think. She’s not a child. Her brain may not work as efficiently as yours, but having Down syndrome doesn’t mean she can’t understand time and absence. From what you’ve told me, Mel is actually quite high-functioning and bright. Besides, you’ll see her in a month and you’ll be able to explain to her in person then. It’ll be okay.”

Man, I hope so.

“So maybe you’ll write to Mel if you can figure out what to say.” The doctor kept his expression neutral. “Anyone else?”

Colt looked down at his lap, Verity’s face appearing in his mind as it did in every quiet moment. Her beautiful blue eyes, full lips, angel-soft hair. I love you. You love me. We’ll get through this. But suddenly her face twisted, becoming haggard and tired, a mash-up of her face in the courtroom and his mother’s face after one of his father’s tantrums. Colt shook his head, looking up at Dr. Warren.

“Nah,” he said softly.

“Not . . . Verity?”

Her name. Just hearing her name was enough to gut him.

“I told her to go. I . . .”

“You . . . what?”

“You already know this,” said Colt, starting to feel irritated.

Irritated, not angry, which was an important distinction, because annoyance and irritation were emotions he’d generally skipped before finding himself in the throes of full-blown anger. However, since arriving at Central State Hospital and beginning his forced therapy with Dr. Warren, Colt was changing. The doc said he was healing.

“I told her I never wanted to see her face again,” said Colt. “I told her to go.”

“Yes, but maybe she didn’t go just because you told her to.”

Colt tried to swallow over the lump in his throat. “It’s best if she did.”

“Why do you think that? You don’t talk about her very much, but when you do, it’s clear she means something to you.”

Something?

Everything.

Verity Gwynn had been his shot at happiness, and he’d ruined it—he’d killed it. He’d beat Artie to a pulp, hurt and abandoned her and her brother. Lynette had almost definitely fired her, though he didn’t know for sure. But the final nail in the coffin, the insult to the injury, was his rejection of her in the courtroom—telling her he blamed her and wanted her out of his house. He knew now that the manner in which he’d lashed out at her was partially due to his anger disorder, but part of him was acting in her best interest, and he had truly wanted her to go—to find some levelheaded, even-keeled guy who deserved someone as sweet and wonderful as Verity.