Page 4 of Pieces of You

I won’t forget your jammies, baby. They’re here. See you in 30.

He’d left his PJs in my truck this morning after digging through his overnight bag for something.

Next, Sloan’s message—he’d let me know he and Archie had just dropped the kids off at the grandparents’. They were literally the best part of Sloan’s ex-wife. She could stay in Chicago forever for all I cared, as long as her parents were around. They were amazing and wanted as much time as possible with the kids, including Kyla and Dylan.

Can’t fucking wait. Ask Archie if we need anything else from the store. I’ll be at the house in about 30.

Dog sitter confirmed, check, yes, Venmo, got it, text from Angus… Yup, we were coming up for a barbecue in a couple of weeks. Already talked to Ma today, and I was caught up on Roe and Jake’s podcast, all done. I was really fucking ready for this vacation. We’d start off slow with a lot of chilling and some fun activities with the kids. Then we were off to Denmark to meet Corey’s family there. Ty and Lane would fly out toward the end of our visit too, so it’d be nice to get a few days with them in Copenhagen as well.

I sent a text to my brothers in the group chat. The company-related one.

That’s it. I’m fucking done. Muting this chat for six weeks, fuckers. Adios.

I’d never had a vacation last this long. I was gonna enjoy every second.

The only thing I’d miss was the driving. I fucking loved driving. Best part of my job. My truck was my office, and I had everything I needed within reach. All the snacks Archie made me, coffee in my cupholder, all my podcasts and audiobooks—and I could drive my office into a drive-thru and pick up food. Though, I didn’t mention the latter to Archie. I loved him and his fantastic food to pieces, but every now and then, I wanted a greasy burger and a strawberry shake.

Dammit. My phone dinged with another text, this one from Cullen.

I can’t get ahold of Crew, and I just saw this.

I furrowed my brow. It was a link to a news story from a Los Angeles news network.

BREAKING: EXPLOSION AT CARLSBAD RANCH. MULTIPLE FATALITIES.

Cullen texted again.

Crew posted this photo on his Insta yesterday. Tell me that’s not the same ranch. Have you heard from the Tenleys?

A screenshot of Crew’s Insta photo popped up, and I read the caption.

This is where Toby, Madison, and I will be chilling tonight. Be jealous, bitches.

A rock of unease settled in my gut, because the thumbnail photo from the link alone was enough to determine it was the same ranch. More than that, Shay had posted a photo on the Mclean forum yesterday that’d been awfully similar. The pool, same ranch in the background.

I scanned the article quickly.

…story is currently developing…

LATEST UPDATE 10:43…

God-fucking-dammit.

I checked my watch. Almost three thirty here, and we were three hours ahead of the West Coast.

The fire department had arrived on the scene first, last night. The fire hadn’t been disastrous, restricted to the backyard and quickly contained and put out, but after that…

…with several casualties…

…military-grade weapons…

“Over a dozen dead on the lawn,” said firefighter Hugo Gonzales. “That was just the initial head count. It was mayhem—like scenes from a war.”

I swallowed hard—and was startled when the phone suddenly rang.

It was Cullen.

“Did you read the article?” he pressed.