by Susan Ward
“Right now I do,” I agree, brushing back the hair from my brow. “I’m selling my Bugatti when I get home.”
There.
Willow’s street.
I slam on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt, and catch her with my arm even though she’s wearing a seat belt.
“What?” She looks at me, alarmed.
I’m staring out the window in disbelief. We’re two blocks from her driveway, but there, camped up and down the street and sidewalks, is a legion of press. “What the fuck is up with that?”
Willow’s mouth drops. “Are those TV trucks? Wow. It’s kicked up a level. I never realized you were that famous.”
She tosses me a silly look, for my benefit, but it’s not working. “I’m not this famous, Willow. I never was. This isn’t Walker trying to create a buzz. This is wrong, Willow. All wrong.”
“I’m not following.” She’s frowning.
“They’re not there because of me…” I cut off my words because I don’t want the thoughts they’ll take me to. Cell silence from the family—it suddenly occurs to me that Ethan didn’t call when he reached Santa Barbara—and now this. My jumping nerves are a different thing. It’s a jackhammer of anxiety matching the fearful thoughts careening through my skull. It’s not just tabloids; there’s legitimate press mixed among them.
“Do you want to try the hotel instead?” she asks nervously.
“No point. It’ll be as bad if not worse than this.” I take in a deep breath and force myself to remain calm. “Get your keys out, Willow. Hand them to me. We’re going to park in the driveway, run to the door. Ignore anything and everything they shout at you. I need to call home and find out what this is.”
After she hands me her keys, I jerk the car into gear and let loose this performance vehicle to do what it does best: accelerate fast, turn sharply, and stop on a dime.
I spring from my seat into the mob, praying that Willow moves as quickly. Shouting voices fill the air. Bright lights from the television cameras.
Willow? Where is she? I lose sight of her within the horde of press. I push through them, searching…ah, there—waiting exactly as I told her to, trying to shield her face from the rapidly flashing cameras.
“Leave us alone,” I snap, my hands shaking as I try to get the key into the lock. But everything inside me is pulsing as I hear enough fragments from the overlapping voices to be genuinely distraught now.
I tell myself not to focus on any of it, but it’s there in my head, the blood thrumming in my ears, robbing me of oxygen and my ability to get this fucking door open.
“Can you confirm—” yells a voice too close to me, and I make to shove the reporter off, but Willow steps between us.
“Get off my property. Now!” She takes the keys from me, unlocks the door, and I slip inside, taking her with me. “Where did they all come from? Why are they here? What were they shouting about, Eric?”
I lean back against the slammed door as she hurriedly punches the code into her alarm.
She whirls toward me, rapidly assessing my face. “Eric, are you all right? What were they shouting at you out there?”
I stare at her, frozen to command my mouth or body, or even to school my thoughts into anything but fragments. “It can’t be true. I’d have heard. A rumor that’s gotten out of hand. Someone in my family would have called me.”
“Eric, what is it?” Willow demands anxiously.
I can’t bring myself to say it. “I’m not sure yet.”
My legs no longer holding me, I slide downward until I’m sitting on the floor. Willow surrounds me with her arms.
“Eric, you’re scaring me.”
I’m crying, even not knowing if it’s true. But, fuck, I can feel that it is. The second someone shouted it, I could feel I was hearing truth. The earth feels different. I feel different. Like the balance of the earth has been changed.
“Talk to me! Tell me what to do for you.”
My fingers dig into my scalp. “Get me your charger. I need to phone my mom. Now, Willow. Hurry.”
She scrambles back onto her feet, runs into the living room, and then screams, shocking me out of my fog. I rocket off the floor. If one of those fucking reporters is inside the house harassing her, I’ll—
“It’s all right,” I hear a familiar voice say. “His father sent us. We’re here to bring Eric home.”
Bring Eric home…the blood turns to ice in my veins as my gaze fixes on the confirmation of my worst fear: black hair; aviator glasses; black shirt, suit, and utility boots; a gun in a shoulder holster and one on his belt; a mountain of muscle even at nearly sixty.
Sadness lances through me. He wouldn’t be here if the press had gotten it wrong. Until this instant, I was holding tight to the hope that they were wrong, only now I can’t.
Not with him there, trying to calm Willow down after having scared her half out of her wits.
Graham Carson.
The owner of Black Star Security.
The firm that oversees my family’s security.
My stomach drops.
It’s true.
I SIT NUMB ON the couch, Willow pressed up against me. “When did it happen?”
“This morning. Shortly after dawn.” Graham leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “We’ve been trying to reach you all day. I decided to stop wasting time and fly up here for you. There hasn’t been an announcement yet, nothing confirmed, but somehow the story leaked. It’s even worse outside the Hope Ranch house than it is here. The press and fans have gotten the street in and out of the neighborhood so clogged the sheriff’s department had to block off the road. Your parents are waiting for you before your dad reads a statement to the press.”
My mouth twists up, keeping back my emotion as I nod. “I talked to Jack a week ago. He sounded fine. Why didn’t anyone tell me he was sick? I’d have caught the first plane home. How could he just die?”
“He was fine, Eric. It was only a cold then. That’s why your parents didn’t let you know. Things happen fast when you’re ninety-four. His heart gave out. He didn’t have any fight left. He went quietly in his sleep this morning, surrounded by the family.”
Family…everyone but me.
Tightly closing my eyes against a fresh onslaught of tears, I’m drowning in the regret of not being there, not telling him that I loved him, how much he helped me, or that I probably wouldn’t have made it thus far without him.
I should have been there.
Shit.
If…
I watch as Graham stands up and puts a discreet distance between us. “I’ve got him,” he says quietly into his sleeve. “Let them know at home. We’re on our way to the airport. File a flight plan. We should be there in sixty minutes. The team and two passengers.”
Two passengers…thank you, Graham, for being levelheaded as always. Yes, Willow and I need to get to the airport. Home to the family. Say our goodbyes to Jack. Then…
“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” Willow whispers, her alert dark eyes looking like she doesn’t know what to do for me. “He always sounded like such a lovely man when you talked about him. I wish I could have met him.”
“He’s the most amazing man there ever was.” I say it firmly. It’s not braggadocious. It’s truth. Jack was a gift to our family and the world. A symbol of hope across the globe, an outspoken activist more relevant and needed in our country this century than he was back in the sixties when he was the voice of peace. A humble, quiet man who earned instant respect, who brought opposing sides to reason, who made everything better, from protests to disasters, by his uncanny ability to say what needed to be said in a way everyone could hear.
Her mouth tightens. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye to him, Eric.”
I look at her and I know this day would be so much worse if I wasn’t with her. If anyone could understand me being here and not there when it happened, it would be Jack.
> I swallow as my throat constricts, at a loss for what to do next.
“We collected your things from the hotel before we came here,” Graham says. “Can you please pack, Miss Birch? We need to be in the air in an hour.”
“In the air?” Willow looks up, alarmed.
It’s hard to focus my thoughts. “We’re going to Santa Barbara, Willow. You’re coming with me. I can’t leave you here.”
“But…but…” She is staring at me like I’ve thrown her world upside down and she can’t grapple with it.
I know she’s overwhelmed by that scene in the driveway. She hasn’t been through this before, and I sure as hell would prefer a better moment to bring her home to my family. But she doesn’t know what comes next, because to her Jack’s just my grandfather. She doesn’t know he’s so much more, what he means to the world, and how they’ll react to Jackson Parker passing.
It could be an outpouring of love.
It could be madness.
There could be riots in the streets…damn near anything. For too many struggling people, Jack was their voice and hope. People are unpredictable when they lose hope. That’s why my dad wants me safe in the bubble with the family before Jack’s death is announced. That’s why Graham Carson flew up here. To get me home safe before Alan unleashes the unknown.
I shudder at the thought of the days ahead, and as it’s been so long since I’ve been in the thick of what it means to be a part of my family, I’m not exactly sure I’ll weather it any better than she will.
Fuck, she’s going to need me…and I need her there.
“Willow, pack,” I command, hardly able to get the words past the knot in my throat. “I can’t leave you in Seattle, baby, and that’s final.”
“Final?” Her face reddens—fuck, I said that too harshly—then she stands. “Can I speak to you privately in the bedroom, Eric?”
She’s down the hall and out of view before I can respond. I glance at Graham. It’s written on his face. Yeah, I’m making a mess of this.
WILLOW’S SITTING ON THE edge of the bed, crying, when I reach her. When I close the door, her face shoots up. “I’m sorry I made a scene in front of your friend, but it’s been an emotional day.”
“You didn’t make a scene.” Sinking down on my knees, I fold her in my arms and gently rub her back. “I’m sorry I barked.”
“You had every right to bark. I’m not trying to be difficult. I don’t understand what’s happening. It feels like I’ve been dropped into something very scary, only I don’t know what. Mr. Carson is so intimidating. I know you lost your granddad…but then the next thing I know you’re ordering me to pack to go home with you to your family…my mind is snapping…like I’m trapped in a movie but I’m the only one who doesn’t have the script.”
It’d hardly help her to let her know I’m not doing much better than she is or that I don’t have the script either. I brush back the hair from her face. “I know. Things are going to get complicated real fast, Willow. My grandfather was a great man. He meant a lot of things to a lot of people. It’s better we’re together when his death is officially announced.”
She stares at me, befuddled. “I don’t think I should be there. You haven’t been home for a year. You haven’t seen Hana for a long time. This is a sad time for everyone in your family. I don’t think now is the time for me to go home with you. It’s not fair to them or your daughter.”
The air leaves her lungs in rattling spurts, and I wonder if that’s it. She’s worried about my family? Or am I pushing too hard, too fast again? Thinking of me, my wants and needs, and not hers, and not my family’s either? And that part about Hana…that hadn’t even registered in my floundering brain. Daddy coming home for a funeral and bringing his surprise girlfriend with him. Inwardly, I groan. Fuck, she’s right. As much as I hate not having her with me through this, it’d be all kinds of wrong for Hana. Thank God, Willow thinks of everyone and can see the big picture when I can’t.
“What do you want me to do, Willow?”
“Leave like you have to and not worry about me.” She plants a fast kiss on my lips. “You’re my tomorrow, remember? I’m counting on you to keep your word. But right now your family and daughter need you. I’d only be one more complication you don’t need. I’d only be in the way.”
“You are my way,” I whisper, holding her close. I’m grateful for everything she is to me, even knowing not even Graham Carson could get her onto the plane waiting for us. She’s made up her mind, in that decisive Willow way, and it’s not changing.
I bury my face in her hair and inhale her soothing Willow scent. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“I don’t want you to go. But I think you need to be with your family without me there.”
“What I need is you with me everywhere I am.”
She tries to pull back; I’m not ready to release her.
“Just don’t forget that I’m here, Eric. Or that I’m yours.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Eric
I LEAN AGAINST THE car window, staring out blankly as the streets of Seattle pass in a blur. One of the guards from my parents’ estate, Brayden, is driving. I haven’t seen him in over a year, and beyond a fast hello, I couldn’t manage more. Beside me Graham Carson sits, stoic and silent, a rock of strength like he’s been since I was a little boy. In front of him, in the passenger seat is Hank.
Finding Hank dressed in the Black Star Security customary wardrobe—black suits and utility boots, guns strapped on their limbs, aviator glasses hiding their eyes as they surveil the world—guarding the vehicle that waited for me outside Willow’s house to whisk me away with the team to the airport, should have thrown me for a loop, and it still might, but right now I’m too numb to be thrown by anything.
It certainly deserves my being angry that my best friend for the past year failed to tell me my parents sent me into rehab with a bodyguard to tail me after my release. It’s so nuts, even a laugh would be appropriate. I stared at him as he explained the shit that he should have told me long ago, and climbed into the car without a word.
My world has taken on a dark, hazy overlay. Jack being gone. Me not there when it happened. On the heels of that, saying goodbye to Willow at her back door, how her face looked, and how my gut churned we’ve lived this moment before. Life stepping between us, sending me in one direction and her staying in Seattle. I wonder if she thought that as well, and if it makes her feel as glum as I’m feeling.
She should be on the seat next to me. She’s the woman in my life, my center, my all. I need her now more than ever. I’m going to worry about her every second we’re apart. I didn’t know that before I left her. And this vacant feeling? It’s only going to get worse as I do the things I have to without her.
My fingers tighten on my knee, digging in until both my digits and my skin hurt. Fuck. It was wrong to have left her behind. It’s like I’ve left open a door for things to go wrong between us again.
Graham presses his fingers against his earpiece then announces into the car, “We’re five minutes out. We’ll be in the air in ten.” He looks at me. “You doing all right, Eric?”
Nodding, I zone out on how the tires of the heavily armored Escalade rumble on the streets. I’d forgotten how different a vehicle feels when it’s been made bulletproof. My gaze shifts to Graham. I’d forgotten how it feels to have people surrounding me whose only thoughts are my safety and needs.
Being EJ the homeless street musician felt better than this any day of the week. Strange, but from the bottom of life, it felt like I could do anything. Like there was nothing left to be afraid of anymore, nothing left that could hurt me, nothing out there I’d let stop me. The only thing in the streets of Seattle is Willow, my thoughts of her and how she makes me feel.
The SUV turns into a gated entryway to a private airstrip I’ve been to more times than I can count, and on the runway is one of the sleek Learjets my family owns. Behind the thick s
ecurity fencing are more photographers. I spare a thought to wonder how they knew to be here, then shrug it off because the press always seems to know somehow.
The vehicle rolls to a stop and the guys spring out onto the tarmac. I stare through the darkly tinted windows, waiting for Graham’s thumbs-up that it’s safe to climb from the car. Raking back my hair, I put on my sunglasses and pause a moment to marshal my emotions into order. This is a fucking crazy way to start a journey to say your last goodbye to someone you love.
Graham leans into the car. “Let’s roll, Eric.”
I climb from the back seat, the darkness around me shatters from flashing light, and my security detail surrounds me.
“There he is!” I hear someone shout in the distance.
“Is there going to be a funeral, Eric?”
Without looking at them I mount the steps to board the plane, knowing that Graham and Hank are at the bottom on the tarmac and no one’s getting past them to me.
“Did your grandfather have any last words?”
“How does it feel not to have been home when Jackson Parker died?”
My throat tightens as I duck to enter the cabin. How does it feel not to have been home? Fucking prick. How does he think it feels? Why can’t they all just let me be?
I WAKE SUDDENLY, GASPING and unsure what woke me and where I am. My eyes rove the cabin. I’m on a plane and the sound was landing gear touching earth.
It’s dark on the runway except for the lights of the SUV no doubt parked there for me. Darkness is good. It means the press isn’t out there and the drive to Hope Ranch might be as peaceful as the flight to Santa Barbara has been.
Slowly, my tension wanes to something less jagged in me. I unplug my phone from the charger, but I don’t turn it on. The quiet around me is a good companion for my unending stream of thoughts and memories.
I glance out the window, scanning from the lights dotting the foothills then toward the beach. I haven’t lived in Santa Barbara since I was five, yet it’s always been my home. As defined a part of me as anything else in my life has been because this is where my grandfather lived.
