“You’re not taking her home. I heard what you said to her when I came in, and I also saw your hands on her,” I growl, watching her face transform with rage.
“You’re not keeping my only grandchild from me!” she yells, pointing a finger at me.
“I’m not letting her go with you,” I state firmly, moving toward the door.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Please do, and while you’re at it, tell them she’s eighteen and with Carter Vault in his penthouse at one-oh-one Warren Street. I’ll be expecting their call,” I say, leading a still sobbing Fern out of the hospital. When we reach my car, I pull her into my lap behind the wheel, holding her until she calms down enough that she is able to take a full breath without sounding like she’s hyperventilating.
“Are you okay to sit in your seat while I drive, baby?” I ask her gently, pushing her hair away from her face.
When she nods, I place her beside me and get her buckled in before start
ing the car, taking her hand in mine, and holding it firmly against my thigh while I move in and out of traffic with precision.
Reaching my building, I pull into the underground parking space then pick Fern’s slight weight up and carry her into the elevator, whispering soothing words to her as I carry her through the apartment and lay her in bed.
“Do you want a shirt?” I ask, pulling off her shoes, noticing for the first time that she’s still in her school uniform.
“Yes.” She nods. Helping her out of the rest of her clothes, I tug her hands away from her breasts when she tries to cover them.
“Don’t hide from me,” I tell her firmly, slipping my shirt over her head. “Is your grandmother always like that?” I ask her, sitting next to her hip on the bed.
“Yes, but grand—” She swallows as more tears leak from her eyes. “He’s always stepped in.”
“Shhh, it’ll be okay.”
“She’s going to call the police and make me go home,” she whimpers, rolling to her side.
“Fern, you’re eighteen. She can’t make you go home unless you want to,” I tell her, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
“I have nowhere to go,” she says through a gulp of air.
“You’re staying with me,” I tell her, watching her eyes grow wide. “And do not even think about arguing.”
“Carter—”
“No, now you rest,” I tell her, lying down behind her, wrapping myself around her.
Waking up a couple hours later to the concierge phone in the kitchen going off, I quietly get out of bed and head across the living room to pick it up. “Mr. Vault, there are two police officers here who wish to speak with you.”
“Send them up,” I say, opening the door to the apartment then moving back to the kitchen to dig through the items in the fridge, trying to find something I can make Fern for dinner.
Finding frozen lasagna, I open the box and put it in the oven.
“Mr. Vault?” a police officer not much older than Fern asks, knocking twice on the open door and poking his head inside.
Going to the door, I greet him and his fellow officer with a firm shake. “How are you guys doing tonight?” I ask them both, leading them toward the living room.
“Slow night,” they both mutter in unison as I take a seat and point to the couch across from me.
“What can I do for you? “
“We received a call from a Mrs. McCauley stating you are holding her granddaughter here without her permission.”
“I’m here, because this is where I want to be,” Fern’s voice cuts in, and I watch the two men in front of me sit up a little taller and suck in there guts as they take in her wild hair while wearing my shirt.
“Baby, go get some clothes on then come out and talk to us,” I tell her, grateful when she nods and heads back into the room, seeing how I would hate to go to jail today for assaulting an officer.
“As she said, she’s here because she wants to be, and is legally old enough to make that decision for herself.”
“We would still like to talk to Miss McCauley,” one of the policemen says, and I nod, sitting back in my chair.
When Fern comes out this time, she’s wearing a pair of my sweats that she obviously found in the closet. Holding my hand out to her, I scoot over in the chair, placing her next to me.
“We’re sorry about your loss, and we understand this is a difficult time for you,” the officer with the nametag Murphy says softly. “Your grandmother is very worried about you right now, and—”
“She’s not,” Fern cuts him off, showing more fire than I have ever seen from her.
“She called us, so that leads me to believe she is,” the other officer states.
“Well, I’m not going back there,” she says firmly, but I watch her chin wobble, which causes anger to course through me.
“As you can see, Fern is fine. She’s obviously upset about the loss of her grandfather, but that is completely understandable. If you guys have anymore questions for her, I’m going to have to ask you to speak with her in a few days when things have settled,” I say, standing and waiting for them to stand along with me, then lead them to the door and open it.