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I don’t think Alaska realized how dehydrated he was until I’ve poured him a huge glass of iced water. I watch him take one slow sip—then tilt his head back and down it like he’s pounding a beer, his strong throat working desperately.
He does it again when I give him a second glass, and a third with a sandwich he devours in three bites.
No question about it, he’s operating purely on self-preservation.
Autopilot mode because he doesn’t even seem aware of much as I nudge him to his feet and into the bathroom, then gently undress him.
I’m in no mood to appreciate that chiseled body as I push him under the steaming water.
He may be the sexiest man alive, but my mind’s glued to other things.
A certain grim resolve rises inside me, too.
Whatever the outcome with the kids, I know what I have to do.
But first, I need to get Alaska into bed.
He looks a little more present when he finally emerges from the shower with a towel wrapped around his steel hips.
He’s always seemed so strong, so patient. Almost like he was born that way, and the SEALs only honed a certain toughness into him when he already had the endurance of stone, the Alaskan wild sewn up in his sky-wide soul.
But every man has his limits.
Every man breaks.
Every man falls apart, and if he’s lucky, he gets a chance to heal, call for help, and come back stronger.
I learned that from him not long ago.
It’s no surprise that it takes the fear of losing his son—the helplessness of being able to do nothing until morning—that comes close to shattering Alaska beyond repair.
I’m breaking inside, too, and I’m not even Eli’s mother.
But he promised me he won’t ring the bell, and neither will I.
With caresses and murmurs, I guide him to bed. I’m almost expecting to have to talk him to sleep, but as he falls down on the mattress, it’s like his light goes out.
He practically collapses, brute exhaustion cutting his legs out from under him.
Before I know it, he’s gone, his huge chest rising and falling.
I settle at the edge of the bed and gently brush his hair back, looking down at a face ravaged by fear and guilt even as he slumbers.
Sweet Lord.
This might be my last chance to ever touch him.
Because if I’m not dead in forty-eight hours tops...then I’ll definitely be someone he never wants to see again.
I wait just long enough to make sure he’s thoroughly asleep.
Then I stand, pocket my phone, snag my keys, and slip out the front door into the dead of a late and troubled night.
I can’t let this happen to Alaska.
I can’t let this be Eli and Tara’s fate.
I’m going to make sure they’re okay, no matter the cost.
No matter what that bitch-brat from hell takes from me.
Even if it’s my life.
Plenty of guilt to go around, so why not pile it on thicker?
I feel extra awful for dragging Ember away from home when she’s probably just as exhausted as everyone else after a night out beating the brush or being cooped up worried sick.
It’s worse knowing she has a loving husband, a family, and a friendly black cat named Baxter waiting for her.
But I can’t get into the safe without her.
Moving like a sloth, she unlocks the door at The Menagerie, lit only by the headlights from my station wagon. The shadows underscore just how raw and worn down she looks, how worried.
I can only imagine what’s been going through her head all night.
She’s a mother, too.
What if it was her kid?
What if.
The worst part is, it too easily could’ve been.
All because she’s my cousin.
All because she’s helping me.
There are so many people vulnerable to Paye’s sick vendetta. So many people I love who have everything to lose if I don’t end this, pronto.
I’m the only one with nothing.
The only one worth zilch.
No one should suffer for my problems—for Dad’s—but me, myself, and I.
As we step inside and head into the back, Ember pauses outside the foldaway wall that conceals the safe, the keycard folded into her palm. She gives me a fraught look.
“Are you sure about this, Fel?” she asks softly in that searching way she has. She’s too perceptive for her own good—and mine. “Coming for this gold in the middle of the night like this...something’s up. Is it Eli?”
“No.” I shake my head, hoping it’s not a total lie, hugging my arms tight against myself. “I’m just restless. That’s all. I think every time Heart’s Edge has another crisis, our minds go to the darkest places, and having this gold might make you a target.”
“A target?” She stares at me. “For who? Felicity, who’s after you?”
I can’t even answer.
I’m so tired of having to lie, to downplay, to make excuses.
But I also can’t tell her the truth.
