Anchored: Book Three, The Reign Series

by Piper Malone

  Crouched beside the fireplace in his bedroom, he quietly inspects pieces of wood before tossing them into the flames. Nick’s heavy fleece sweatpants cling to his lean hips as he stands, the muscles of his back bunching and lengthening.

  His gait is stiff. He walks to the side of the bed with mechanized steps. Nick’s mouth is drawn down, tight like his body. He removes his pants and slides under the cool sheets.

  “You did a lousy job of warming up the bed,” he mumbles, shuddering from the chill.

  “Should I have called someone to help me warm them up before you got here?” I snuggle closer, pressing against his body. I feel his muscles thaw, his body relaxing, after a few minutes.

  “You’re not funny,” he grumbles.

  “That’s not true,” I reply. “I’m a comedic gem, and you know it.”

  He snorts, pulling me a little closer. “I love when you’re naked in my bed,” he says. I can’t determine if it’s sadness or exhaustion that taints his words.

  “I love when you’re cooking me dinner over an open fire. Reagan did a good job with the chicken tonight, but it wasn’t the same.”

  “I will never understand the differences between men and women.” He chuckles. “But dinner was good.”

  His silence was unnerving enough. His intense focus on work was strange. Since all of us have been here, he hasn’t left us for more than thirty minutes. This afternoon, he all but disappeared.

  “It was.” I take advantage of his proximity, brushing my fingertips across his chest. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “When?”

  “When you entered the talent show in high school and sang ‘Baby Got Back.’”

  Nick jerks his head to the side, looking at me with disbelieving eyes.

  “Oh, that wasn’t you? My mistake.” He settles back down, eyes searching the ceiling again, and I ask, “What happened with Adam?”

  His shakes his head ever so slightly; the muscle lining his jaw ticks.

  “Nick,” I say, and I hear the plea in my voice. His eyes slide shut, his throat bounces under the pressure of a heavy swallow, and I continue, “Whatever it is, you can say it.”

  “Are”—his voice catches on the word before he clears his throat—“Sky, are you going to die?”

  It’s not what I was expecting, but . . . “Not today. Tomorrow is always a mystery.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He rolls to his side, propping himself on his elbow. “This.” His fingers touch the scar across my breast.

  “No, at least not right now. I had the surgery to save my life. Doctors know the links between genetics and health. They did everything to ensure I would live a long life.”

  He inhales, his mouth pressing together.

  “If I hadn’t done this, it would have limited my life significantly. I reduced the risk of dying from breast cancer by ninety-five percent. I will take those odds. Besides, my medical team insists on routine screenings. If anything comes up, they’ll jump on it.”

  “And what about everything else?”

  “Like the likelihood of dying in a snowmobile accident while not wearing a helmet?”

  He gives me a sour look.

  “Those odds are just as good as anyone else’s.”

  He lies back, staring at the ceiling. “Why did you come to Reign?”

  “You know that answer, Nick. I wanted a safe place to explore. I needed a place to stay and earn some money. Caleb had an open room.” He quizzed me relentlessly in the early days of teaching. I swore he was looking for my snapping point. The thing that would trigger my insanity. He pressed. I pushed back. He barked at me, and I gave it back tenfold.

  Then we started to scene, and the world melted into delicious, warm caramel.

  “Why did you come to Reign?” Nick never told me why he was there. He just was.

  “Caleb is too ugly to get good-looking people in the door. They needed a front man.”

  “So that explains Blake, but what about you?” I jab, squealing with laughter as he turns on me, growling his dissatisfaction. My “just kidding” is squeaked through my laugher as Nick wraps up all my limbs and pins me under him.

  “Blake?” he questions with raised eyebrows.

  “Too soon?” I snort and wiggle as his calloused fingertips graze the swell of my hip.

  “Yes,” he replies. “Always.”

  “I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with your jealousy, but now that it’s out in the open, I think I kind of like it.”

  “You’re not going to like it when I swat your rear end cherry red, angel.”

  “You might think that, but . . .”

  He grunts a laugh, humor in his eyes. Nick nuzzles close, kissing me with a deep possessiveness. He shifts away from me, only to pull me close so I can nestle close to his chest. When the pop of the fire becomes the only sound in the room, I get the sinking sensation that Nick is avoiding the question.

  “Can you tell me how you came to live at Reign?”

  His jaw sets in a firm line before he answers. “They needed someone. I needed a place to stay. It was a win-win.”

  “How long were you planning to stay when you moved in?”

  “A bit.”

  “Why?”

  Nick’s gaze darts toward me without moving his head. “Why what?”

  “Why did you choose to stay at Reign?”

  He lifts a negligent shoulder. “I needed a change of pace.”

  “From here?”

  Again with the side-eye. “Yes.”

  I am sick of the silent treatment. “I love when you share. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.”

  I imagine the sound of grinding gears as his head slowly turns to face me. A look of passive irritation masks his face. His gorgeous green eyes roll when I can’t hold my face still anymore, and laughter bursts into the room.

  He does his best to keep a straight face but fails. Nicholas William Harris laughs because of me. I don’t think anything could be better.

  With my arm across his chest, it’s easy to drape myself over his body. “I also love when you sing eighties glam rock and take half-naked selfies holding adorable adoptable puppies.”

  He chokes on a belly laugh. “That fantasy will never materialize, angel.”

  “C’mon, Nick.” I wiggle around, forcing him to look at me. “Be my fantasy.”

  “If you want cheesy and cute, you know I can’t do that.” Strong hands rub down my back, his fingers pressing into my rear end and holding me close. “I can do warm and full and be any fantasy you desire.”

  “No puppies?” The words are a quick squeal as he pulls me on top of him.

  Nick grips my wrists and presses my hands to his chest. My knees settle on either side of his hips, and the thick wool blanket falls around my naked body, pooling in the space where Nick and I are connected. I feel like an empress. I have never been above Nick for an extended period of time; he always shifts me under him. Now, here, he feels like he is mine.

  “No puppies.” He pumps his hips, splitting my sensitive sex against his cock. The heavy ridge of his body against mine drowns me in heat, evaporating the chill he brought into bed.

  “I like mutts, but we’ll talk about that later.”

  Chapter 35

  Skyler

  If the primary design objective of The Warren is to create the sensation of slipping into an alternate dimension, the mission is achieved. Along the salon’s white walls, taxidermied animals peer down at every station. Each of them wears a trucker hat and—I swear—a smile. Perfectly tidy rows of gossip, travel, and hair magazines line the stout coffee table in the seating area, which is actually the shop’s massive front window. If you don’t want a seat in the window, there is a restored church pew to sit and collect your thoughts while the sounds of thumping bass encourage all your daring plans.

  The shop is trimmed in matte black, but flecks of marble and metal wink at me as the early morning light pours in. The salon is empty, open
early only for us. A wedding party of three.

  “Hello.” The scene is so captivating, I didn’t see him approach. With relaxed grace, the man smiles. “I’m Gavin. Everyone should be here in a few minutes. I can get you guys started.” Gavin turns and walks into a small, enclosed work area. “It looks like Kat and Reagan are with Kelly.” His eyes scan over what must be a schedule. “Skyler, you are with Rabbit.”

  Gavin steps away from his desk and moves toward the last chair in the short row of stylist’s stations. “Skyler, you can wait here. Kat and Reagan, come with me,” he says as he walks toward a short set of stairs at the back of the salon leading to an open loft.

  Kat jumps up, following his lead up the short flight of stairs. Her excited chatter about the church, the wedding, and her dress bounces off the walls. From my seat in the window, I stare at the chair for a moment, unsure whether I actually want to see the sad, muted color of my hair in the bright light. I have been intentionally ignoring the fading color. I cannot bring myself to look at my roots.

  My hair, my badge of badass babeness, is worn and faded. I tried to keep up with coloring, but it became too much with doctor’s appointment and treatments. I let it go, chunky roots be damned. I tried working with the stylist in Amanda’s town when I first arrived at her house. She claimed she didn’t have the supplies. My options were strawberry blond or Reba red. I left with my split ends trimmed and my badge of courage washed out.

  The ongoing fear of losing my hair was so close for so long. I wanted to hold on to anything I could. Amanda wanted me to shave my head before treatments started. I refused. Nick loved my hair. While he never admitted it, he always touched my hair. His fingers would run through it, tug it. Nick inhaled the scent of my shampoo. I wasn’t going to allow that memory to slip away with a premature choice. I needed to remember the moments that helped me stay strong: the moment I decided my natural color was a brilliant hue concocted by a talented stylist. I was vibrant and shimmering and a little bit dangerous. The color may have faded, but tiny remnants still held on.

  I was brave enough to dip into the bright spectrum of color once. I can sit in the chair, under bright lights and a huge mirror, and face my reality. On my way to Rabbit’s station, I pass a glance at the smiley warthog on the wall and make a mental note to tell Evan about this place. He might feel very comfortable in The Warren.

  Sinking down into the soft chair, I examine every hair product and styling tool littering the station’s vanity. After a deep inhale, I lift my gaze to the wide mirror, and my heart crumbles. A sharp line of blond bisects my head, my roots pushing out from under dull-red strands. When I planned to meet Blake, I grabbed a box of cheap dye from the drugstore and did the best I could. I’ve watched wisps of that color slip down the drain with every shower I’ve taken. I knew it would be rough, but this . . . I can’t even look like myself.

  I feel tears well in the corners of my eyes just as a slight figure enters my peripheral vision. She leans against the counter and smiles. “Hi, I’m Rabbit,” she says with a cool excitement, her blue eyes caressing my hair with pure appreciation. “What are we doing today?”

  “I’m not sure,” I respond. “I mean, I do. We’re getting ready for Kat’s wedding.” I point to Kat and Reagan in the second-story loft of the salon.

  Rabbit nods, her fingers gently touching the faded strands of my hair. “Uh-huh . . .”

  “I know it looks sad.”

  “What does it usually look like?” she asks without hesitation. If she senses my embarrassment, she pays it no mind. Her focus is cool yet intense, as if she sees a story etched in the strands of my hair. “Cherry red?”

  She steps away from me, leaning against her station. A swath of cotton-candy-pink hair falls from under her beret. She gets it.

  “Yes,” I say, my heart warming with the simple joy of being in the presence of someone who understands. “Crimson.”

  “Do you want to do that again?” Rabbit’s lip curls with mischief.

  Her suggestion causes my heart to flutter. “Do we have time?” Her offer is so tempting, but I know how long color can take. The Warren opened early for us, and while we don’t have to be at the church until one o’clock, I don’t want to delay Kat’s day.

  Rabbit looks up into the loft at the stylist chatting up Reagan and Kat. “Depends. What do you have in mind?”

  I see the glimmer in Rabbit’s eye, and the words push forward, eager and excited and bold.

  Rabbit listens while she fingers through my hair—looking, thinking, calculating. When her assessment is done, she moves back to the station and crosses her arms, a sentry of style, drenched in tattoos, with wide gauges decorating her ears.

  “We will need to pull out all the color you have now before we put on the new color. It might take you longer than them.” She points to the loft where Reagan and Kat are debating an updo versus a half-down style. “But if we get started now, we should be okay. I’ll have Gavin help me get you all bleached out. The two of us working on you at the same time will help move things along.”

  Her cool confidence, the glint of moxie shimmering deep in her eyes, sets me free. “Let’s do it.”

  A short while later, I am buffered by Gavin and Rabbit, each painting over the faded color. The sharp, acrid scent of chemicals tickles my nose as it eats away the past. Around their fast-moving arms, I can see the dye sitting in its plastic cup. When Rabbit brought the color over, the distinct smell of a new My Little Pony toy, fresh out of the package, washed over me. The promise of a new, revived version of myself pushed giddy excitement through my limbs.

  When I yell up to the girls and tell them the plan, both of them whoop and holler. Reagan scampers to the loft’s banister to watch the progress unfold.

  “I’m proud of you, Skyler,” she says, tipping her water bottle in my direction. When she retreats to rejoin Kat, I swear I hear her chuckle. “That man is going to lose his mind.”

  Chapter 36

  Nick

  I hate tuxedos, ties, and dress shoes. Really, any rented formal wear is uncomfortable.

  “If you think I’m wearing this monkey gear a second time, you can fuck off.”

  “Next time you’ll be in a tux, and if you don’t shut it, I’ll tell my future wife you’re bitching.”

  Blake’s threat is real. I’ll have to wear a tux, because Kat pissed off is no picnic.

  “You suck.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here, man.” Blake claps me on the shoulder.

  Evan enters the church, looking eager and excited until he sees me. “Nico.” He nods before turning to shake Blake’s hand. “How are you, Blake?”

  “No different from last night.” He shrugs. “Ready.”

  “Good. The ladies pulled in behind me, so I got them to the pastor’s room.”

  “That’s my cue. Later, gentlemen.” Ax shakes Blake’s hand before walking out of the sanctuary.

  “Just signal when she’s ready,” Evan calls after him. “We’ll make sure we are ready and in position here,” he says to us.

  Caleb and Blake carry a conversation between themselves at the front of the sanctuary, leaving me alone with Evan.

  “Nico.” Evan nods, silently asking me to follow him. Once we are out of earshot, he turns to me. “What’s going on?”

  I shrug, unwilling to start this conversation. Evan could have more information than me at this time.

  Evan jams his hands in his pants pockets, leaning toward me. “C’mon, Nico.”

  “I’m not really sure. Adam seems to have the inside details.”

  “Are you moving home?”

  “I never left.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it,” he volleys. His tone is irritating.

  “I never left. I’ve always come back.”

  “But you haven’t stayed. Adam is fuck-all batshit about this right now. I haven’t been able to get hold of Ben with the dedication coming up. I have no clue if he can actually redistribute the land.”


  “Did you see my stellar new website?”

  “Fucking Ronnie,” Evan mutters. “Adam must have said something to her. I can’t imagine she would do something like that without a reason.”

  “He told me I should settle down with her.”

  “With who? Ronnie?” Evan looks confused. “He has met Skyler, right?”

  “He did. Apparently that doesn’t matter, because in his mind, she’s on death’s door.”

  Evan’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “I thought she was clear from any disease.”

  “Thanks to his excellent mind fuck, I had to ask her. Not that it would matter, but she’s fine. And she gave me shit about not wearing a helmet.”

  “See, I like that she gives you shit,” he muses before refocusing. “Thank everything for her good health. I don’t understand what Adam’s issue is with her.”

  “She keeps me in Boston. The truth is, they all do.”

  “But Skyler is the reason.”

  “And every winter sucks because I’m here, working and doing what I love with my family, and she’s miles away.”

  “Would she move to Rockland?”

  “I tried to get a sense of why she moved to Boston in the first place, and she won’t tell me. I need to know what she would lose if she moved before I ask.”

  Skyler would love the autumn months. The vibrant colors decorate the trees, and the air feels cool and clean.

  “If she didn’t move here,” Evan’s voice cuts through the image of Skyler and me on the porch swing watching the sunset, “would she lose you? Or would we?”

  It seems either choice is a disaster. I choose Skyler, and I lose my home, history, family memories, and my brothers. Or I keep all of that, and no Skyler. “I need to—”

  The side door moans a heavy creak, and Reagan’s head pops through the doorway. “We’re ready.”

  Evan looks at me, nods, and moves to the front of the church. We rehearsed where to stand last night, but now everything feels larger, more important. Formal.