19. June

Chapter nineteen

June

T he news shatters what little composure I've managed to scrape together. Cara. My Cara. Forced to live with that vicious harpy I'm unfortunate enough to call mother. The rage that surges through me is primal, all-consuming, a tsunami of fury that threatens to obliterate everything in its path.

I didn't even get to say goodbye…but it's not really goodbye, is it?

"June, you need to calm down," Judith's voice filters through the red haze clouding my vision. "Breaking things won't change the judge's decision."

I blink, suddenly aware of the destruction around me. Shards of glass litter the floor, remnants of the vase I must have hurled against the wall. My knuckles are bloody, though I have no memory of punching anything. The metallic tang of blood mingles with the acrid scent of my own sweat and fear.

"Calm down?" I snarl, rounding on her. "How the fuck am I supposed to calm down when that bitch has my wife and child?"

Judith doesn't flinch, her steel-gray eyes meeting mine without wavering. "She's not your wife yet, and right now, you're proving the judge's point about your stability."

The words are a knife to the gut, twisting and cruel in their truth. I slump against the wall, suddenly drained. "It's my fault, isn't it?" I whisper, the fight leaching out of me. "If I wasn't so fucked up, if I hadn't let Faulkner get in my head..."

"Hey." Dante's voice is gruff but not unkind as he grips my shoulder. "None of that shit. Elaine's the enemy here, not you."

I nod, but the guilt gnaws at me, insidious and relentless. If I had been stronger, if I had resisted Faulkner's manipulations... But no. I can't go down that rabbit hole. Not now, when Cara needs me more than ever.

"We need a plan," I say, forcing myself to focus. "I can't just sit here while Elaine has her claws in Cara."

Judith and Dante exchange a look, one that sets my teeth on edge. "What?" I demand. "What aren't you telling me?"

Judith sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The judge was... very specific in her ruling. You're not to have any contact with Cara for the next two weeks. It's meant to be a 'cooling off' period."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Two weeks. Two weeks without seeing Cara, without touching her, without feeling our child kick beneath my palm. It's unthinkable. Unbearable.

"Fuck that," I growl, already moving towards the door. "I'll break in if I have to. I'll-"

Dante's hand on my chest stops me, his grip like iron. "And get yourself thrown in jail? Use your head, June. We need to be smart about this."

I want to argue, to fight, to tear the whole fucking world apart until I have Cara back in my arms. But deep down, I know they're right. Elaine would love nothing more than to see me self-destruct, to prove once and for all that I'm unfit to be a father.

"Fine," I grit out, every muscle in my body screaming for action. "What's the plan?"

As Judith outlines our legal options, my mind drifts. I can almost smell Cara's jasmine shampoo, feel the silk of her skin beneath my fingertips. The memory of our last night together is seared into my brain - the desperation in her kisses, the way she clung to me like I was her lifeline.

Had she known, somehow? Had she sensed that our time together was running out?

"June?" Dante's voice snaps me back to the present. "You with us?"

I nod, forcing myself to focus on the conversation. But even as I listen, even as I offer suggestions and argue strategy, a part of me is already plotting. Because two weeks is an eternity, and there's no way in hell I'm staying away from Cara that long.

Legal options be damned. I'll find a way to see her, to make sure she and our child are safe. And if that means playing dirty, well... Elaine taught me everything I know about fighting dirty.

As night falls, the others finally leave me alone with my thoughts. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Each second that passes is another moment Cara spends in Elaine's clutches, another chance for that poisonous bitch to sink her claws in deeper.

I pace the length of the room, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. Five steps. Turn. Five steps back. It's not enough. Nothing is enough to quell the restless energy thrumming through my veins.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm throwing on a hoodie and slipping out into the night. The cool air hits my face, a shock to the system after hours cooped up inside. I breathe deeply, tasting the promise of rain on the wind.

I have no real destination in mind, but my feet carry me unerringly towards Elaine's neighborhood. It's stupid, reckless, exactly the kind of thing Judith warned me against. But I can't help myself. I need to be closer to Cara, even if I can't see her.

The streets are quiet at this hour, the mansions dark and lifeless behind their wrought-iron gates. I stick to the shadows, years of practice making me all but invisible. And then I see it - Elaine's house, a looming monstrosity of stone and glass.

My heart rate kicks up a notch as I approach. There's a light on in one of the upstairs windows, and for a wild moment, I consider scaling the wall. It would be easy enough. I've done it before, back when I was a rebellious teenager sneaking out to meet Cara.

But before I can act on the impulse, movement catches my eye. A figure at the window, silhouetted against the warm glow of a lamp. Even from this distance, I'd know that shape anywhere.

Cara.

She's running a hand over her swollen belly, her head bowed as if in prayer. The sight of her, so close yet so impossibly far away, is like a knife to the heart. I want to call out to her, to let her know I'm here. But I know I can't. Not without risking everything.

So I stand there, rooted to the spot, drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst. I don't know how long I stay, watching her move about the room, imagining I can hear the soft melody of her voice as she talks to our unborn child.

It's the distant wail of sirens that finally snaps me out of my trance. I melt back into the shadows, my heart pounding with a mixture of elation and despair. I've seen her. She's safe, at least for now. It will have to be enough.

But as I make my way back to Dante's compound, a plan begins to form in my mind. A reckless, dangerous plan that could cost me everything if I'm caught. But for Cara, for our child... it's worth the risk.

I'll play by the rules, for now. I'll jump through the hoops and say all the right things. But the moment those two weeks are up, all bets are off. I'll get Cara back, even if I have to burn Elaine's whole fucking world to the ground to do it.

Sleep eludes me that night, my mind a churning sea of half-formed plans and dark promises. I toss and turn, the sheets tangling around my legs like grasping hands. When I finally do drift off, my dreams are a twisted mess of memory and nightmare.

I'm back in Faulkner's lab, strapped to that godforsaken chair. But this time, it's not me he's torturing. It's Cara, her screams echoing off the sterile walls as Elaine looks on with cold satisfaction.

I jerk awake with a strangled cry, sweat-soaked and trembling. The room is bathed in the gray light of predawn, reality slowly seeping back in. It was just a dream. Cara's safe. Faulkner is dead, his sick games buried with him.

But the fear lingers, a cold knot in the pit of my stomach. Because I know, with a bone-deep certainty, that Elaine is capable of inflicting just as much damage as Faulkner ever was. Her weapons might be psychological rather than physical, but they cut just as deep.

I drag myself out of bed, knowing sleep is a lost cause. My reflection in the bathroom mirror is a sorry sight - dark circles under my eyes, stubble coating my jaw. I look like a man on the edge, and I suppose that's exactly what I am.

The hot water of the shower does little to ease the tension in my muscles, but at least it washes away the last clinging cobwebs of the nightmare. As I dress, I can hear movement downstairs - Judith and Dante, no doubt plotting our next move.

I pause at the top of the stairs, listening to their muffled voices.

"...can't keep him locked up here forever," Dante is saying, frustration evident in his tone.

"We may not have a choice," Judith replies, her voice tight with worry. "You saw him last night, Dante. He's a powder keg waiting to explode."

"And what do you think will happen if we try to contain him?" Dante counters. "He'll go off even harder. We need to give him something to do, some way to feel like he's making progress."

I've heard enough. I descend the stairs, making no effort to mask my approach. The conversation cuts off abruptly as I enter the kitchen.

"Morning," I say, my voice rough from disuse. "Don't stop on my account. I'd love to hear more about how you plan to manage me."

Judith at least has the grace to look sheepish. "June, we were just-"

"Spare me," I cut her off, reaching for the coffee pot. "I get it. I'm a liability. A loose cannon that needs to be pointed in the right direction."

"That's not what we meant," Dante says, but I can hear the hesitation in his voice.

I turn to face them, leaning against the counter. "Look, I know I fucked up last night. I shouldn't have gone to Elaine's. But I'm not going to sit here twiddling my thumbs while Cara's in that viper's nest."

"No one's asking you to do nothing," Judith says carefully. "But we need to be smart about this. One wrong move and Elaine could have you back in that facility before you can blink."

The thought sends a shudder through me, memories of restraints and needles and Faulkner's oily voice flooding back. I push them away, focusing on the here and now.

"So what's the play?" I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady. "How do we get Cara out of there?"

Dante and Judith exchange a look, and I can see the moment they come to a decision.

"We've got a few ideas," Dante says slowly. "But you're not going to like them."

He's right. I don't like them. Not one fucking bit. But as they lay out the plan - a careful dance of legal maneuvers and strategic concessions - I have to admit it's our best shot.

"So I just have to play the good little boy," I say, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "Jump through their hoops, prove I'm stable and trustworthy."

"For now," Judith nods. "We need to give them no reason to doubt your commitment to getting better. That means therapy, anger management, the works."

I want to argue, to rail against the unfairness of it all. But I know they're right. If I want any chance of getting Cara and our child back, I need to play by the rules. At least for now.

"Fine," I grit out. "I'll do it. But the moment those two weeks are up, all bets are off. I'm seeing Cara, come hell or high water."

Dante nods, a grim smile playing at his lips. "Wouldn't expect anything less, brother. Now, let's get to work."

The days that follow are a special kind of torture. I throw myself into the prescribed routine - therapy sessions, group meetings, even fucking yoga to "center my chi" or whatever bullshit the counselor spouts. Every minute feels like an eternity, knowing Cara is out there, alone and vulnerable.

But I endure. I plaster on a mask of calm compliance, nodding and agreeing in all the right places. I let them poke and prod at the festering wounds of my psyche, biting back the snarls that threaten to escape.

And all the while, I plan.

Because the moment those two weeks are up, the moment I have even a sliver of an opening... I'm coming for you, Cara. And God help anyone who tries to stand in my way.