When Emily takes Blake to show him the shop at the back of the yard, Jared lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you all forcoming. Emily won’t admit it, but she was worried about today. It’s been a long time since she felt comfortable having guests.”
I remember the one encounter I had with her old Omega, and anger shoots through me. No, I don’t imagine he let her invite friends over. Not when it would have taken attention away from him.
“She was going to invite Leif, too, but...” Jared shrugs, but the scowl that twists his lips gives away his opinion about the older Omega.
“I hope Leif starts coming around again,” Chloe murmurs. “Ever since Quinn started school, we don’t see him as often.”
He had begun to pull back before then, though Chloe probably doesn’t realize it, since she’s an infrequent attendee to the Saturday Market trips.
As the conversation shifts again, I push to my feet. “Restroom?”
Jared points toward the house. “Go right at the front door. Second door on the left, next to the office.”
I collect my cane and move inside, the wood floors cool beneath my feet after the sun-warmed deck. Instead of going to the bathroom, though, I continue to the home office and sit on the small sofa inside.
Pulling my phone out, I unlock it and navigate to my contacts. Years in publishing have gifted me with connections across the country, including people who move between academic circles and who hear the whispers that never reach official channels.
I scroll through names, searching for someone who might give me more information about Carson Whitaker and who owes me favors or trusts my discretion.
My thumb hovers over a name I haven’t called in years, a former editor who now works in educational publishing, whoknows the gossip from universities and private schools across three states.
I press the call button.
By the time a system acknowledges a problem, it’s often too late to prevent damage. I’ve learned this lesson through painful experience, watching my friend Chloe almost be sold off because she was too scared to advocate for herself.
Whatever is happening with Leif, whatever influence Carson Whitaker holds over him, silence will only protect the wrong people.
The phone rings once, twice, three times before connecting.
“Martin? It’s Grady Finch. I need a favor.”
Chapter Seventeen
Leif
The engine idles beneath me, vibrating through the seat as heat blasts from the vents. Dawn breaks over the harbor in streaks of pink and gold, reflecting off the water in wavering lines.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, attention fixed on the entrance to the dock’s parking lot, a box of pastries from The Daily Bread sitting on the passenger seat. The sugary scent of cinnamon and butter fills the car, a peace offering I’m not sure will be accepted.
My phone sits dark on the console, screen bearing the fingerprints of countless drafted and deleted messages. Each attempt at explanation had fallen flat over the weekend.
In the end, I deleted them all. Some conversations need to take place in person, to be accountable for the hurt I caused.
A familiar blue truck turns onto the harbor road, headlights cutting through the morning mist. My stomach twists, acid and nerves mixing into a potent cocktail that leaves me queasy.
I inhale the pastry-scented air once more before reaching for the door handle, swinging the door open. Gravel crunches beneath my loafers as I step out, clutching the pastry box. Themorning air stings my cheeks, carrying brine and diesel from the boats at the dock.
Emily’s truck pulls into a spot near the harbor office, and the engine cuts off. The passenger door opens first, and Jared unfolds his tall, lanky frame from the seat. His sea-glass eyes find me right away, narrowing with undisguised irritation.
Even from this distance, his pheromones carry on the breeze, and they scream protective, territorial, and warning.
The message comes through loud and clear. I messed up and hurt Emily. My feet take root in the gravel. Perhaps it was a mistake coming here.
But then Emily steps out from the driver’s side, her silver hair catching the pink dawn light. She pauses, hand on the door, as she spots me across the parking lot.
No turning back now.
I force my legs to move, each step requiring effort as I cross the distance between us.