So, she’d ordered a decently expensive bottle of cab to go with her short rib tagliatelle, drank one generous pour of it, and then sat back and watched patiently while he settled the bill. The card he’d fished out of his wallet wasn’t black, didn’t look particularly sturdy, and for a moment—half a heartbeat, at most—she’d wondered if she should feel guilty. If she should start offering to go dutch. Her net worth, not including the inheritance waiting for her later in life, would probably astound 90 percent of her dates. She could’ve ordered theentirewine list—reserves included—without blinking, and the cost wouldn’t even make a dent. But it was simpler if they didn’t know. It was better if they didn’t look too closely at the person she actually was, and instead focused on her well-worn projection of stern confidence.
And because the man between her legs right now has no clue who she is, notreally, it’s easy to let herself get lost in sensation, to fall into the heady spiral of pleasure and pain and want. It’s easy to shut her brain off and pretend there’s nothing more important in the world than crashing headfirst into a delicious, throbbing climax.
But life, apparently, has different ideas.
When her phone buzzes on the nightstand, it halfway illuminates the otherwise pitch-dark room in swaths of blue and white. She lets it ring, doesn’t even look to see who it is. When it goes dark and quiet again, she exhales, squeezing her eyes shut, mentally hammering down any errant thoughts that don’t involve this conventionally attractive but torturously dull man and his skilled, spirited tongue. The call had chased away her orgasm, sending all inklings of it into an ether of lost things, and she’s determined to find it once more.
But then the buzzing starts again, and Caia groans and lets one eye crack open. Lucas, who either doesn’t hear the phone or simply doesn’t care about its interruption, is undeterred. He continues to lick and suck and bite without missing even a single beat, but while he remains nestled in the moment, Caia hasbeen plucked out of it entirely. She reaches for the phone, slapping her hand across the screen with a grunt, first silencing the buzzing, then bringing it closer to see who exactly thinks it’s okay to call her at this hour.Twice.
When she sees the name and the accompanying picture, a bud of potent anxiety blooms in the pit of her stomach. Sharp and heavy, like a punch from within. Because it’s Crew staring back at her, his name in big, bold letters, and a picture of him on his thirtieth birthday, wearing a pink party hat and a sash that saysThirty, Flirty, and Thriving. That her brother is calling her is concerning enough—but calling her this late, more than once, can only mean one thing. Something happened, and it isn’t good.
With little regard for Lucas and his cunnilingus endeavor, Caia answers the call. “Crew?”
His response is immediate. And on his lips, her name sounds like a plea. “Cai.”
“What’s wrong?”
Distantly, she realizes the motion between her legs has ceased. Only half paying attention, she notices the covers pulling back, watches as a pair of green eyes blink open expectantly as Lucas emerges. When he opens his mouth, seemingly to speak, Caia holds up a finger.
“There was an accident,” Crew says quietly, and she can tell he’s on the verge of tears.
Caia’s heart begins to pound. Impatiently, she asks, “Crew—what happened? Who was in an accident?”
“Mom and Dad.”
Nausea roils in her gut. Some awful part of her brain wonders if this is it—this is how she finds out her parents are dead.Sitting in her bed, thousands of miles away, with a stranger between her legs. This is how a kingdom falls.
Caia rids herself of the thought with a quick shake of her head and lets her pragmatic, problem-solving side take the wheel. She asks the most important question, the one she needs an answer to before any others. “Are they alive?”
“Yes,” he says, and Caia’s shoulders slump, all the breath in her body leaving in a sweepingwhoosh.“Dad’s fine, they’re stitching him up right now. But Mom—” His voice breaks. He doesn’t continue right away, and an image flashes in Caia’s head with bright, startling clarity. Her big brother, a paragon of strength and fortitude, the backbone of her family, standing outside a hospital room with the frightened eyes and trembling lip of a little boy. A giant cut down at the knees. Eventually, he sucks in a shuddering breath and says, “It isn’t good. I think—” He clears his throat, and she imagines him smoothing out the desperation in his face, redonning that mask of courage and Caldwell stubbornness. His next words are clear, concise, and offer no room for rebuttal. “You need to get down here as soon as you can.”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The closest airport to thehospital is almost forty miles away, and it’s a small one—hardly any direct flights, especially from out of state. When Caia arrives after a layover in Dallas, she’s running on half an hour of sleep, a quad almond milk latte, and pure adrenaline. Not trusting an Uber driver to go well above the speed limit, she rents a car, tosses her carry-on into the truck bed, and sets off on I-10 at a cool ninety miles per hour. It isn’t lost on her that reckless driving could be part of the reason she’sin this situation in the first place, but that voice of reason and logic is quieted by the overwhelming need to justgetthere.
When she’d called Crew upon landing, there were no critical updates. Her father’s wounds were superficial and had been stitched and dressed, and they’d released him to be with his family while her mother was in surgery. It would be at least a couple more hours before she was out—Renata had a collapsed lung, a fractured pelvis, internal bleeding, and multiple broken ribs and fingers. Somehow, she alone had taken the beating from the accident, had borne the brunt of its crushing steel like a stubborn shield.
It both shocks and doesn’t surprise Caia in the slightest that her mother has collected a laundry list of potentially fatal injuries while her father bears only scratches. She’s always been the first line of defense for the family, the one ready and willing to sacrifice her own well-being for the sake of her kids, her husband, her ranch. She’s the reason the phrase “If you want them, you’ll have to go through me” exists. The very definition of protectiveness.
And while perhaps Caia should admire these qualities in her mother, it would be more accurate to say she resents them. Especially now, as her foot turns into lead against the accelerator and she flies down the interstate. She’s always hated her mother’s lack of self-preservation, her seemingly overwhelming desire for martyrdom. Caia’s never seen it the way everyone else does—the noble endeavor, the motherly instinct—and instead can see through to the uglier, truer heart of it. What it boils down to when looked at through a magnifying glass is this: Her mother wants what every Halcyon heir has wanted, spanningback a century. She wants to be a symbol—to carry Halcyon’s name with pride, and to earn the right to her place in the family plot, where explorers and war heroes and politicians lie deep in the soil. Dead or alive, she wants to be revered.
It’s total bullshit, and though it’s irrational to think that her mother’s tendency for self-sacrifice is the cause of this situation, Caia can’t help but wonder if she would’ve wanted it to go this way, had she been given a choice.
That sentiment heats her blood, gives her the push she needs to go just a little faster, with no regard for the decreasing speed limits in the small towns she passes through. She makes it to the hospital in just over twenty minutes, eighteen less than GPS had accounted for. Crew is waiting for her outside when she careens into a parking spot, his arms folded over his chest with that classic, disappointed dad stare he’s mastered over a lifetime of dealing with his younger siblings. He knows—whether by doing the math or just having a keen sense forher—that she sped the entire way here. Frowning, he walks over to the driver’s side and opens the door. But when Caia steps out, feet landing on the warm asphalt, he doesn’t scold her. Instead, he pulls her into his arms and hugs her tighter than he ever has.
Caia returns the embrace, taken aback momentarily by this outright affection, but the longer he holds her in place, the more she sinks into it. His shoulders are shaking—his wholebodyis trembling. Distracted by Crew’s uncharacteristic vulnerability, Caia doesn’t notice another figure rushing toward them. Suddenly, both Crew and Caia are being embraced tightly by another set of arms, and Caia angles her head around Crew to find Cooper pressed into his back. Her little brother’s hands are ather biceps, desperately squeezing her, like he isn’t completely sure she’s even real.
“Hi, guys,” Caia says, unshed tears shaking her voice.
Both boys sniffle and hold her tighter.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
In the waiting room, theysit, Caia and Cooper next to each other and Crew catty-corner to them. Caia has a now-lukewarm Diet Coke between her legs, and Cooper’s been idly munching at a bag of Gardetto’s for the past fifteen minutes while Crew gives Caia the rundown of what happened. He is notoriously terrible, as most men tend to be, at including pertinent details, so she’s spent most of this time asking follow-up questions and prodding, needing to get the full picture.
At some point during the catch-up, her father walks into the waiting room. The sight of him is a gut punch—he’s limping slightly, bandages at his forehead and the left side of his neck. Caia tries not to think about what her mother must’ve looked like when she arrived, if her father’s wounds are considered minor.
“She’s still in surgery. No updates yet.” Clint lowers himself into the seat next to Crew. “But that’s good. No news is good news.”
