Page 16 of Pieces of You

Good.

“How are Sloan and Corey doing, by the way?” Mr. West murmured.

Greer sighed. “I don’t know. It’s tough with Corey. He doesn’t process in a crisis. He does that afterward.”

“He’s extremely matter-of-fact. More than usual,” Archie added with traces of affection in his tone. “Master left his go-bag in the hallway at home, and Corey walked past it and called it the stupidest and ugliest bag he’d ever seen.”

Greer smiled faintly. “Then he kicked it.”

Aw.

Everyone was hurting, and everyone was showing it in different ways.

The worst part for me was feeling so damn helpless. There was literally nothing I could do.

“What about Sloan?” Kingsley wondered.

Archie blew out a breath and glanced at Greer. “You and I are not in agreement here.” He looked to Kingsley. “I think he’s focusing too hard on Corey and the kids. Like, I know his priorities are in order—the kids and Corey come first—but he has to process his own stuff too.”

Greer spoke next. “Unlike the rest of us, Sloan can actually deal with helplessness. He checks the news probably more than I do, but he’s like, ‘What can I do? Nothing. So I’m gonna trust River and Reese and hope Shay comes home soon.’”

A breath gusted out of me. I so wished I could do that. Instead, even though I knew I couldn’t do anything either, I obsessed over it. I let myself get angry and upset and frantic. I even became envious of those who could make the slightest difference. Like what Greer was doing, preparing to go off and fight. He was also our main link with the Tenleys. To prevent spamming the twins with our worries and whatever information we had, all communications went through Master Greer. Possibly Colt too, I wasn’t sure. He was finding ways to be useful as well. He’d told us that he and Ty were using their Air Force connections to map out private airfields along the border to Mexico. Just in case Shay’s kidnappers smuggled him out of the country, it could be helpful to at least narrow down the escape routes.

See? Helpful, helpful, helpful.

And me? Helpless, helpless, helpless.

It was draining on every level.

I linked my arm with Lee and kissed his shoulder. “You’re kind of similar, Sir.”

He nodded slowly. “I suppose. The way I rationalize it—is it gonna help Shay if I take time off work and lose my mind? No. Will our bills stop showing up? Not that either, sadly.” He paused. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t called some old Navy buddies on the West Coast, just to see if I could get some insight. They know California, they have a better sense of the problems the Coast Guard face with drug interdiction, and they’ve heard cartel names and terms that don’t make it over here.”

I nodded, remembering how he’d paced the living room. Phone in one hand, lukewarm coffee in the other, and Kaley clinging to his leg.

Mr. West perked up. “Did you learn anything?”

Lee shook his head. “Nothing that isn’t already being discussed on the damn morning shows. Shit about the Blanco Cartel—or Blanco Family, what the fuck ever. Who controls the coke routes in California, alleged leaders, and so on.”

I swallowed hard. I hated hearing stuff like that, because it blew things out of the water. To bring in a cartel, of all things… It wasn’t just any kidnapping. No ransoms had been sent, as far as we knew. The police had no leads. People were turning up murdered in the streets. Drug money was involved, and possibly an in-house war in a Colombian cartel.

It was terrifying. And Shay—and two other innocent people—were trapped in the middle.

As if on cue, another wave of helplessness crashed down on me.

Lucas Carter

It was another solemn dinner, but it was nice to be among friends. More than that, it was nice to get away from takeout and Macklin’s complicated creations.

We’d learned this week that Macklin went to extremes when he wasn’t feeling well. Things had started out okay enough with interesting fusions and twists of classic dishes. But shit had escalated quickly. Too quickly for my stomach—and I was a self-proclaimed foodie. I also loved appetizers, and Macklin was usually so incredibly good at creating them. But when I’d come face-to-face with what he’d said was “Octopus with ginger and fig jelly,” I’d almost reeled back.

That wasn’t the chef we knew and adored.

“This is amazing, love.” I leaned over and kissed Colt’s cheek.

Good meat with plenty of fat and flavor. Perfect.

He leaned in, wanting a proper kiss. “Call me the grill master.”