Barret pushes up from his chair and drifts toward the window.He braces his palms against the glass, bowing his head until his forehead touches it, like he’s trying to bleed the fever from his body into the cold pane.His voice breaks low.“We wanted to bring the family over for the holidays, but now ...”His breath hitches, frayed and thin.“Now everything feels like it’s falling apart.”
Arthur turns his gaze on me, assessing.“That’s your call.You think they can keep this secret?How tight is their circle?”He hesitates, then sighs, shoulders dragging with it.“Has she agreed to this plan?”
“She hasn’t said no,” I answer carefully.The truth catches in my throat, but I force it out.“But we haven’t asked if she agrees to be part of it either.She prefers not to know until it has to happen.”
“Then we go back to the drawing board,” Mason mutters, a sound close to a growl.“If she chooses to stay alive, she’ll need to testify.And that makes it harder to keep this mess away from either one of you.”
“It’s possible?”I ask, the words a prayer wrapped in defiance.
Mason nods.“Anything’s possible.Even rewriting the way people live—or die.”
Barret finally turns, his expression stripped bare.“What do you need from me?”
Arthur folds his arms, voice even.“We’ve already secured your alibi.Before her disappearance, you two were visible.Together.In places people can point to and remember.The charity where you signed that guitar for a little kid whose father couldn’t afford the auction.The events—you left a trail where you’ll be remembered.All of it is here in Seattle or Los Angeles.There are no recent trips east.I checked your flight logs—the last one to New York was three months ago.”
I glance at Mason, a half-smile tugging at me.“So that’s why you were booking those charters?”He gives a tight nod.“You’ve been cleaning my tracks even when I wasn’t aware.”
“You hired the best, Reznor,” he answers with a flash of teeth.“And we’re delivering the best.”
Arthur cuts in, voice steady with command.“Keep your hands clean in the press.If a reporter asks, you give them the line every exec gives when they don’t want to become the headline.‘We’re sending the best to the family.’”His gaze flicks toward the window, light breaking across his face like something holy and damning all at once.“And you make sure this house stays a harbor for her.”
“Done,” I say, more like a promise.
They rise.Arthur pauses at the door.“Talk to Cleo, give her a rundown.If she’s in, we start moving.If not, we pivot.”
“We will,” I promise, though the words scrape my throat raw.
The door clicks shut behind them.
Barret doesn’t look at me as he reaches, but his hand finds mine, our fingers tangling in a fierce grip.His voice is sandpaper.“I fucking hate this.”
“Me too,” I whisper, pressing closer, because if I don’t, I’ll unravel.“But it’s the only way.”
He exhales.“When do we tell her?”
“Later today.”I exhale, exhaustion threading through me.“Let her have a quiet moment by the pool first.Then we’ll figure out what’s best for her—and us.”
ChapterTwenty
Cleo
I towel my hair dry until it stops dripping, fold it across my knees, then slide into the lounge chair facing the glass.The ocean keeps throwing itself at the cliff.Today, the rhythm sounds more like a metronome than a threat, and for a wild second, I think I can breathe.
This morning after my therapy meeting where I discussed why I decided to leave my guys in the first place has brought a lot of memories.Memories of the first time I saw them together and I wanted to be one of the girls they picked up in a whim after a concert.
One of the girls who they chose because I was poised enough, beautiful enough and ...well they never looked at me that way.At least that’s what I always thought.The reality was different, of course.I remember the first time that they finally paid attention to me.Roderick had OD and was in the hospital.They were the firsts to arrive.
Everyone thinks I’m the one who decided where to send him to therapy or paid for his apartment, or ...Eddie took charge of everything.They were there for me—for us.Barret didn’t leave my side unless it was strictly necessary and once Rod was out of rehab.I didn’t notice the caresses, the attention, the take charge moments until I was so in love with both of them.
Until I was sharing their bed and being who I wanted but afraid of what would happened when they were tired of me.I regret not talking to them, not knowing what to do.Wishing things had been different doesn’t change my present and right now I have to focus on healing—me, us and hope that we can have a future without me flinching every time I feel like I did something wrong.
While in my head, I don’t notice when Eddie and Barret come into the pool area together.Eddie’s the first one.Sleeves rolled once, his shirt collar open like he’s trying to be less business-armor and more approachable human.He sets a tray on the table: a teapot, a lemon, and a small jar of honey.Barret follows, blanket over his arm, the guitar pick rolling between his fingers like a tiny, nervous drum.He lays the blanket near my feet and doesn’t fuss to tuck it around me.He leaves it within reach.It’s like they’re still not sure if they should get close without asking.I guess it’s a matter of time ...of trusting myself not to freak out.
I love these men, I really do.It’s just too hard not to flinch or wait for someone to strike.
“We need to talk,” Eddie says.
He lowers himself beside me as if closing a distance.Barret drops to the floor cross-legged, knees level with mine, eyes tracking the shape of my hands like a man studies a map.
