“Yes.”
“You understand that once you intervene, there’s no going back.”
I understand what it means for meandthem and that I’m not giving them a say. The answer is still the same.
“Yes.”
“And you’re prepared to live with what that turns us into.”
I hesitate, but it’s not because I’m not prepared. It’s because Iam. For whatever may come.
And that means the whole Slater legacy is fucked in one burning basket.
Kane watches me closely. “You’re not asking us for permission.”
I shake my head, ever so apologetically. “No.”
Calloway’s mouth tightens. “When?”
“Not yet,” I say. “But soon.”
Kane laughs once, sharp and humorless. “Bullshit. We’re already there.”
I don’t argue. Because he’s right.
I was pulled into that parking lot last night without meaning to be. Called to her house this morning because of Holland’s scent. I’m hearing things I shouldn’t hear, watching patterns I swore I’d ignore, and making up bullshit excuses about tow trucks and spare tires to put myself between her and Holland, all the while knowing the consequences.
I’m crossing lines I shouldn’t be crossing, but I can’t find a single cell inside my body that’s willing or able to stop.
The next steps will be bolder—but we’re already past the point of no return.
“The second he tries to move her,” I say, voice steady now, “I’m ending it.”
Calloway meets my eyes, his own flaring blue with resignation. “Rook. This doesn’t just change things for her,” he says. “It changes things for us.”
I meet my brother head on. “If you were me, what would you do, Cal?”
His voice is raw. “I’d have already made my move.”
Kylie
By some miracle and elementary-age dance recitals—Martin’s youngest daughter’s—I’m leaving work by five o’clock on Thursday.
Hallelujah!
When Martin told me he was leaving early, I considered staying anyway so we wouldn’t fall behind, but with one look at the dark circles under my eyes, he told me tospend one godforsaken night being my age for an hour and then go home and get in bed by eightor he would fire me first thing Friday morning.
I knew the threat was flimsy at best, but far be it for me to look a gift horse in the mouth when everything else in my life has been taking.
My energy, my attention, my guilt.
The universe has been working overtime at draining my cup these days, and without a pitcher and some time, I’ll be empty pretty soon.
Once I ensure all the filings I’ve worked on today have been saved, filed, and backed up three hundred times, I shut down my computer and lock up the office for the night. I waste no time getting to my car—despite nearing April, it’s still cold as balls here in Massachusetts, and I forgot my big coat—and drive straight to my favorite coffee shop near the rink.
A fresh cappuccino and a chocolate croissant sound like the perfect treat before I head to the rink and get on the ice for an hour or so.
I’ll be skating alone again—Alyssa’s already on the road to Connecticut to visit her sick father—and the thought sits heavier than it should. It’s not bad. It’s just…noticeable.
