by Grant, Pippa
Searching.
Fruitlessly.
His phone dings.
My phone dings.
Always the same.
No news. You?
From Cam and Jude. Derek and Emily. Luna and Beck. All of their security. West’s family. Residents in Bluewater who woke up at the SOS.
Tyler and his teammates join in too—they’re not flying home until morning, and all of them claim they don’t need sleep.
They’re as bad as I am.
Around two AM, though, I finally break.
I’ve lost my baby.
I drop to the ground in the sand behind my pool house and I let the sobs overtake me.
West sits next to me, and even though I know he’s hurting too, that he’s panicked too, that I promised him I’d never hurt him, that I’d take care of him, I let him take care of me.
This is what I do.
I let people down.
I play a good game. I pretend I’m worthy. I pretend I can do it.
But when push comes to shove, I can’t keep up.
His phone dings.
My phone dings.
I ignore it, because I know what it says.
No news. You?
Maybe, You need to keep your energy up. Stop by my house for kombucha. Because that’s so Luna. Thinking of getting us strength in every holistic way possible.
“Daisy,” West chokes out. “He’s safe.”
My head whips up so fast I almost crack my skull into his face. “What?”
“He’s safe.” He turns his phone so I can see, and there he is.
Remy.
Wearing the sailor pajamas I put him in before bed. Screaming himself red in the face. Clutched in Beck’s arms.
I leap to my feet, relief and dread coursing through my veins.
Relief, because he’s safe.
Dread, because I know what I have to do to make sure he stays that way.
“Where?”
West grabs my hand and tugs me up the beach to the back of my pool house. “The marina. Hiding in a boat. They’re on the way. Suspect in custody.”
The next ten minutes are the longest ten minutes of my life. I can’t get through my house fast enough. It’s too big. Too much.
Too unnecessary.
I burst out the front door, and I head down my driveway, West right beside me, even though it hurts to have him here, because I don’t deserve him either.
I can’t drive. I can barely walk straight. But I keep going until the flash of headlights shines over me. I squint, watching as Cam’s souped-up golf cart slows, then stops. Jude’s driving.
And Cam—
She’s in the passenger seat. With Remy cradled in her arms.
“Oh my god, he’s safe,” I gasp.
“He’s safe,” Cam confirms, handing me the sleeping bundle. “He liked the ride.”
She wraps her arms around me and Remy. “It’s okay, Daisy. It’s okay.”
A Range Rover stops behind the cart, and more of my friends and half of West’s family descend on us. Police cruisers follow.
I squeeze Remy tight and lean into Cam while West strokes my hair, letting all the sobs fall out while I soak in every second—every millisecond—of this moment.
Holding my little boy. The one who was never supposed to be mine, but who stole my heart, completely, with that gummy smile and pure, simple acceptance.
“I’ll do better,” I whisper. “I swear I’ll do better.”
I will. I know exactly how I’ll do better.
And it’s going to hurt like hell.
But for Remy’s sake, I have to.
Thirty-Nine
West
Relief isn’t the right word.
Even though he was only missing for three, maybe four hours, having Remy home feels like having my whole fucking life saved. Like I’ve stood on the edge of the cliff, on crumbling rocks that could truly destroy me the way Sierra couldn’t, the way Becca couldn’t, the way losing most of my hearing in my right ear couldn’t, and staring into true, bleak, empty desolation.
This baby might not have been born mine, but he’s mine in every way that counts.
He’s mine in my heart.
Just like the woman standing guard at his crib.
“Daisy. Go to bed. I’ll keep watch.”
I can hear the exhaustion in my own voice, but I know that’s not why she shakes her head.
She feels the responsibility every bit as much as I do.
The guilt.
The remnants of the fear.
The knowledge that if we hadn’t realized he was gone as fast as we did, tonight could’ve ended very, very differently.
I won’t convince her to go to bed.
And so I do the next best thing, and I wrap my arms around her, and I stand there with her.
For the rest of the night.
Keeping watch.
I think Daisy might actually fall asleep on her feet for a while, but when the first light of dawn breaks through her gauzy curtains, she straightens and pulls back with a look of sheer determination on her face that makes my heart stop.
And not in a good way.
“Daisy?”
“I need to shower. And get to work. Can you—can you not let him out of your sight?” Her voice cracks.
“It’s Sunday.”
“Please.”
“Daisy—”
“Please.”
No, my heart screams.
Because I know this look. This is the look of a woman pulling away.
“This wasn’t your fault,” I tell her as she walks to the bathroom.
“I know.”
“Daisy—”
“I know, West. I know. I’m not the psycho who plotted to murder her own daughter-in-law, and I’m not the psycho asshole who paid someone to kidnap a baby as a life prize. I know, okay? I know.”
I let her go, because I don’t have any more good arguments to keep her.
And half an hour later, when she emerges from the bathroom, and I’m feeding Remy a bottle in the rocking chair, she kisses me softly on the cheek, then kisses him seven times on his head and cheeks.
And it feels like a fucking goodbye.
I tell myself it’s not.
That she needs time to process.
Hell, I need time to process.
Sleep would help.
Her, I mean. I don’t need sleep. I’m a fucking Marine.
A retired Marine whose mother isn’t even the fussiest person to fuss over me this morning when Remy and I make our way to the kitchen for breakfast.
No, that designation goes to Helene.
She looks like she hasn’t slept either, and she insists on making me an omelet, then plain scrambled eggs when the omelet turns out like shit, and then asks for my to-go order from Carbs ’n Coffee since she actually can’t cook.
Her words.
My sisters won’t give me enough space.
And I’m okay with that this morning.
We video chat with Tyler, who’s on a plane back to Virginia. All of his teammates—all of them—insist on seeing Remy for themselves, which results in all of my nieces and nephews insisting on talking to all the hockey players, and Daisy’s kitchen turns into one big massive pit of noise that I love as much as I hate.
We spend almost all day in there.
And because I’m not a fool, I give her space.
Daisy’s not in the house. Helene says she went to her office.
She hugs me.
A lot.
I tell myself that’s not a sign, but come on.
I’ve done this dance before.
I know when a woman’s gotten skittish.
But I don’t know how to fix this. Promise Daisy it’ll never happen again? I can’t. Neither of us can physically keep an eye on Remy twenty-four hours a day.
I can call in friends, but she has a seven-person security team here already.
We can’t post a guard on him his entire life.
>
He needs freedom. Room to grow. To explore.
And he can’t get that so long as the Rodericks are a threat. The police confirmed that the kidnapper named Anthony Roderick as the man who hired him. Anthony Roderick, the asshole who once made Daisy so uncomfortable—she hasn’t told me that story yet—that he was already on the list of people not allowed in Bluewater. Anthony Roderick, who’s a free man, hiding somewhere that the law can’t reach him.
Which means the only thing I can do is end the threat.
I know how to end a threat.
I’ve been ending threats for twenty years.
Daisy’s friends drop by mid-afternoon with their boyfriends, and while they all coo and fuss over the baby—yes, all of them—I jerk my head at Jude.
He and I have a few things in common.
“Plan?” he says without preamble when we step to the side of the sunken sitting room.
“Getting there. I’m not having my kid grow up in danger from nutjobs.”
“I’m in.”
He pulls out a phone and texts someone.
On one of the couches, Derek looks up from the baby, checks his phone, then nods to Jude.
Fuckers.
“Cut me out and I’ll disassemble Cam’s golf cart,” I mutter to him.
“You know I’d feed your balls to Steve if you so much as try.”
“Have to catch me first.”
Keely leaps over to me and tackles me with a hug before Jude can answer. “I don’t want to go tomorrow. I miss you, you big overbearing monkey.”
“Hey, don’t insult monkeys,” Staci calls.
Remy erupts in a wail.
And that’s my boy.
My eyes get hot.
We almost lost him last night. I didn’t even know him a few weeks ago, and my world would’ve fallen apart if he hadn’t been found. He’s not just my responsibility.
He’s a bright spot in my life.
Which isn’t that much of a surprise—I could tell myself all I wanted that I wouldn’t get attached, but I knew it was a lie.
“Quit pinching him and hand him over,” I tell Brit.
Her finger flies to her nose.
My sisters all follow suit immediately, then my mom, and my dad. My brothers-in-law. Even my youngest nieces and nephews.
And I don’t care if I have to change a messy diaper.
I’d do anything for this kid.
Anything.
I take him upstairs—to Daisy’s room, not the guest room, because until she tells me we’re done, I’m carrying on like normal. And our normal is me in her bedroom.
Hell, even after she tells me we’re done, I’m carrying on like normal.
I won’t give up on her.
And that’s exactly what I’m telling myself when I leave her private wing and head back downstairs, carrying a fussy Remy who’s probably ready for a bottle.
But I don’t make it to the kitchen.
Because Alessandro corners me. “She wants to see you in her office.”
I square my shoulders.
Ignore the look of pity on his face.
And head in to let her do her worst.
Forty
Daisy
When West walks in with Remy, I almost break.
The man’s face is set fierce and determined, like he knows what’s coming, and he’s prepared to fight me the whole time.
He’s carrying the baby face-out, and that little face twists in a smile and almost breaks me.
But I have to do what’s best for him.
For both of them.
“Have a seat.” I point to the ivory chairs opposite my desk and push up my reading glasses, which aren’t actually reading glasses, but I feel like a badass with eye protection when I’m wearing them.
He ignores my directive. “You don’t have to do this.”
I could waste time quibbling with him over what this is, but the sooner I rip off the Band-Aid, the better. So instead, I push a small stack of paperwork across my desk toward him. “I’ve signed away all my custodial rights to Remy. He’s yours. Free and clear.”
He sucks in a breath and drops to the chair, and I have to look away. “What?”
“My lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to motherhood.”
“Bullshit.”
“If it’s not late-night parties, it’s traveling around the globe for work. You’ve connected with him. You love him. He loves you. You’re what’s best for him. I’ve started paperwork for a trust fund so you’re not financially inconvenienced—”
“I don’t want your fucking money. If you’re scared, just say you’re scared.”
“I’m being practical. He deserves to grow up outside the spotlight. Without all those extra pressures that could turn him into everything his mother was. And I can’t escape it. This is my life, with parties and people and dangers. I can pretend it’s not. I can try to fit into something different for a while. But I can’t stand being cooped up here. Not all day, every day. I need to be out in the world. With people. And I can’t be what he needs while I’m living the life I always wanted.”
God, my heart hurts. And I hate lying to West, but I know if I told him the truth—that I’m a fucked-up basket case who will one day leave Remy a fucked-up basket case too—he’d try to convince me that I’m wrong.
That he can fix me.
That we can manage the attention.
That we can keep Remy safe.
The only thing that will keep Remy safe is me removing myself from the situation so that West can take him somewhere far, far from here, and raise him quietly with lots of family around.
And I only partially mean physically safe.
Mostly, I mean safe from the influence of my grandmother that I’ll inadvertently pass on to him, despite what I plan to do next.
I could move halfway around the globe, change my name, change my face, change my hair, my boobs, everything, and I’d still be 25% Imogen Carter.
And that’s too much to inflict on one more generation.
Remy needs to be free.
West’s gaze bores into me with the force of a million sea-green ocean tides.
“Go ahead and rip them up,” I tell him with a nod at the paperwork. “I have the original and twenty-eight more copies. And I’m not changing my mind.”
Dammit, I hate it when my voice cracks.
“Tell me you don’t love him.”
“I love him with every fiber of my being.” And there goes the stinging in my eyes. “And that’s why I have to let him go.”
I rise. My knees wobble. My heart cracks open and spills out rotten rainbow sprinkles that are infected with a double dose of cynicism and hopelessness.
If I’m one-quarter Imogen Carter, I’m also fifty percent cheating bastard—and I do mean bastard in all the ways one can mean bastard—and that’s nothing to be proud of either.
I’ve never let a man into my heart the way I’ve let West in, because my genes are corrupt.
Watching him walk away will hurt every bit as much as letting Remy go.
But I can’t be what he needs either.
We’re in this honeymoon phase. I’m playing at having a family. But I’ll get bored. He’ll get tired of my constant need for new entertainment. At me wanting to go out at night.
Just because I’ve felt more like staying in with him lately doesn’t mean it’ll last.
It’s better to let him go now.
Before either of us get more attached.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment in Brazil that I need to leave for. Feel free to stay as long as you need. I’ll be gone at least two weeks.”
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
His voice is hoarse, and I want to stop and fling myself at him and promise him promises that I can’t keep.
Because any other man would ask why are you doing this to me?
But not West.
Even while I’m throwing daggers at him, he’s asking why I’m hur
ting myself.
“Life’s complicated, Mr. Jaeger.”
And I’m going to lose all of my willpower to do what’s best for both of them if I don’t leave.
Right now.
Forty-One
Daisy
“For the record, I am formally opposed to every bit of this course of action,” Tiana informs me as she follows me out the side door of my mansion to my waiting Daisy Wagon.
“Noted.”
I’m in big Tiffany sunglasses. Bright yellow Versace dress. Stilettos. Diamonds. My hair swept up like Jackie O. Lips red. Lashes thick and dark. Eyes smoky.
I’m dressed to fucking crush the world, and all I really want to do is curl up in my bed and eat froyo until I cry myself out.
Girls like me don’t get the man, the babies, the white picket fence.
We get the parties. The superficial. The mansion on the beach and the reputation for being the nice person among the rich assholes.
Fuck that.
I don’t want it anymore.
I step into my Beetle, cross my legs, and look away from my house. “Alessandro, take me to The Dame’s house.”
He meets Tiana’s gaze in the rearview mirror, then shifts his attention to me. “Don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Any other day, your opinion counts. Today, I want you to drive me to my grandmother’s fucking compound.”
It’s a quiet hour drive to South Beach after that, full of shitty drivers, horns honking, stop-and-go traffic, and more indigestion than I’d wish on three-quarters of my worst enemies.
Anthony Roderick can have six times this amount of indigestion. And jock itch to boot. And all his nose and pubic hairs plucked out by a monkey with a rusty pair of pliers. And lice in his ear hairs.
We pull up to The Dame’s hacienda, and I don’t wait for Pierson to greet me at the door.
I also don’t wait to be told where to find my grandmother.
I know.
And I’m not surprised to find her working in her office.
“You didn’t call me to tell me Remington was missing,” she says.
No hello.
No are you okay?
Just you did it wrong, Daisy.
“I quit.”
Her eyes flare wide and her mouth forms a silent O.
