He stood very still at her side, staring down at Danny’s grave, the cowrie shell necklace that he’d worn for as long as she’d known him dangling from one hand, an unopened bottle of Danny’s favorite tequila in the other. He seemed frozen, and she realized this was probably the first time he’d visited since the funeral. She reached down and laced her fingers through his. The necklace dangled between them.
“Are you okay?” she asked, softly enough that the kids—busily arranging the flowerpots they’d brought—wouldn’t hear.
Marcus swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said, but his voice was rust.
She squeezed his hand then released him and gave him a nudge forward. He drew a sharp breath and crouched down to nestle the tequila between the twin pots rioting with the snapdragons that Cooper and Colton had chosen for today. Maya had gone with one dinner-plate-sized dahlia in deep red—Danny’s favorite color—and she was taking great pains in finding the perfect spot for it.
All three of them stopped to watch Marcus loop his necklace over the neck of the bottle.
“What’s that?” Maya asked, inching closer. Which was a surprise. Of the three, she was the least likely to voice her questions.
Marcus smiled over at her. “He gave it to me for my birthday when we weren’t much older than you. He told me I had to wear it forever because it was just like his.”
Marcus scooted over enough to let the kids crowd in and look at the necklace.
“It’s pretty.” Maya tentatively reached out and stroked the shell. “Daddy had one like that until…” She ducked her head. “I broke it when I was little.”
“Bet he was mad!” Cooper said, triumphant in the way only a little brother could be upon finding out he wasn’t the only troublemaker in the family.
Maya jutted her chin. “He wasn’t.”
“Bet he was!”
“Maybe he was sad,” Colton put in.
“I know for a fact he wasn’t mad or sad,” Marcus said, handling the kids like a pro. “He gave it to Maya because she loved it so much. He always said he meant to get you a new one when the shell cracked. Actually, you know what?” He pulled the necklace free from the bottle and held it out to Maya. “I was going to leave it here, but he’d want you to have it.”
Maya’s hand trembled as she accepted the little white shell, holding it like it was the most precious gem in the universe. “Thank you.” She looked and sounded so much like a little lost girl right then, Leah had to stop herself from stepping forward and pulling her into her arms.
But she didn’t have to worry. Marcus was right there and held out an arm.
Maya tucked herself against his side and sniffled, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Do you miss him?”
“Oh. Every minute of every day, honey.”
“I sometimes think I need to tell him something or show him my drawings,” Colton said, nuzzling close to Marcus’s other side.
“Me, too. I’m always reaching for the phone to text him funny pictures of seagulls.”
“He hated seagulls!” Cooper said, aghast. “Why would you send him pictures?”
Marcus grinned. “You know how you sometimes poke fun at your sister and brother just to annoy them?”
“All the time,” Maya said with an eye roll.
“Not all the time,” Coop protested.
“Most of the time,” Colton said.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side! You’re my brother. My twin!”
Colton shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“Traitor, traitor, gator, tater-tot!” His voice rang with victory as if he’d come up with the best insult ever. And to his innocent seven-year-old mind, it probably was.
Leah stifled a laugh behind her hand. Where he got his insults was anyone’s guess. At least he wasn’t swearing—yet. She gave him another couple years before he discovered that vice. God help her. She was certainly never bored when Coop’s mouth was running.
Marcus pointed at the twins. “It was like that. Your dad and I were brothers, right down to the bickering. But like you two, we loved each other. Couldn’t live without each other.”
Cooper’s smile dropped away. He looked at the gravestone, then back up at Marcus like he was seeing him for the first time. “How are you living now?”
Marcus winced. “Honestly, I wasn’t. Not really. I was alive, I was breathing, but I was walking through a thick fog. The kind where you can’t see your hand in front of your face.”
As kids who had grown up on the ocean their whole lives, they all nodded sagely. They knew that kind of fog.
“When your mom came and got me, she handed me a light. She made me see all the great things I was missing back here. Like watching you guys grow up and seeing my other friends get married and have babies.” He looked up at her then, though he still spoke to the kids. “I lost my brother when your dad died, and for a while it hurt so much that I forgot I still have a big family that I love.”
“Does it still hurt?” Maya asked softly.
“Yes.” He returned his attention to her and ran a hand down her dark braid. “It probably will a little bit for the rest of my life. The rest of yours, too. That’s okay. It’s okay to be sad, but you should also try to be happy and keep living, since he can’t anymore.”
Colton’s eyes filled. “But I miss him.”
“We all do, kiddo.” Marcus thumbed away an escaped tear, then ruffled the boy’s hair. “Instead of standing here at his grave, being sad and missing him, let’s go do something he loved and miss him while we’re having fun. How’s that sound?”
“Surfing!” the twins squealed at the same time.
“And ice cream at the pier,” Maya added, tugging on Marcus’s arm. “The vanilla with the chocolate dip. It was Daddy’s favorite.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan. Let’s hit the beach.”
“Will you teach us to surf?” Cooper asked, all but bouncing out of his flip-flops. “Daddy started to. I think he’d be super happy if you did.”
Colton clasped his hands together. “Please, please, please.”
“You got it, little dudes.” Marcus laughed and threw up the shaka, which the boys instantly copied.
But Maya hesitated.
“C’mon…” Marcus waggled his hand. “You know you wanna.”
Maya giggled and thrust out her hand, middle fingers curled toward her palm, thumb and pinky extended.
“There you go.” He hooked his pinky around hers. “I get you, Maya. We’re a lot alike, so whenever you need to talk or you just need a friend to sit with you while you work through something, I’m here. No questions, no judgment. Okay?”
She jumped into his arms so hard, she knocked him onto his butt. She hugged him tight. “I’m glad you’re here to take care of Mom and us.”
Marcus gazed up, his eyes full of wonder as he hugged the girl back. “No. You got that backward. You kids and your mom are taking care of me.”
“We’re taking care of each other,” Maya decided, then let go.
All three kids sprinted over to Leah, talking a mile a minute. Oh God. They were already hyped and he’d promised them ice cream. Getting them to bed tonight was going to be a chore, but he was right. This day last year had been a day of immense sadness. They couldn’t change that, but they could help ease it by reliving all the good memories they’d shared with their father.
“All right, all right.” She herded them toward the car but stopped short when she realized Marcus wasn’t following. She glanced back, saw him sitting in the grass in front of Danny’s grave, his knees slightly cocked, his arms resting on them, hands dangling. He stared at the tombstone, which was so glossy she could clearly see his face even though he was mostly facing away from her. He was battling his demons.
“Marcus?”
“I’m coming,” he said but
didn’t move. “Give me a minute.”
Yes, she decided, he deserved that. She’d had plenty of alone time in that same spot, processing her grief. Since he’d spent so much time shoving his grief away, he needed this. But not too long. If she let him wallow, he’d start to drown again. She’d get the kids settled in the car, then if he hadn’t caught up, she’d come back to offer him a hand out of that dark, cold pool.
…
Marcus sat in front of Danny’s grave, staring at the glossy gray-blue tombstone. It looked like Danny. Practical, but also a little bit sleek, a little bit shiny. The ocean scene with the lone surfer carved into the granite was an especially nice touch. Leah had done a good job picking it, but he still hated that he’d been too caught up in his own misery to help her with such a difficult choice.
He also hated that he remembered very little of the day they had laid Danny in this pretty spot. Barely recalled the service. He’d been too deep into the bottle, too desperate to numb himself so he didn’t have to feel anything.
The one thing he did clearly remember was the night after the funeral when he’d kissed Leah for the very first time. They’d both been drunk by then, the kids staying with his mom to give Leah the time to break down.
He’d been so afraid of the way she made him feel back then.
So ashamed.
He didn’t want to feel that way anymore, and yet a little bit of the shame lingered. He’d foolishly thought avenging Danny would take that away.
He spent an entire year dreaming of vengeance. Now he wanted only peace.
He sat up on his knees and brushed some dirt off the base of the gravestone, then laid his hand over Danny’s name. It was warm under his palm, heated by the relentless July sun. So warm, he could almost convince himself he was touching his friend, his brother, again and not a polished slab of granite.
“Hey, buddy.” He hesitated, unsure of what to say. All he knew was that he needed to unburden himself if he had any chance of a future. “I wish I knew that you’re okay with me seeing Leah. Ma’s convinced you are. Maybe it’s selfish, but I hope so, because I love her, man. I will do everything in my power to make sure she’s happy for the rest of her life. And I love your kids like they’re my own. That hurts to say, because I know they would rather have you. Hell, I’d rather have you. But we don’t, so I’ll do my best to be dad for you. If Leah and the kids will have me.”
He heard a sniffle behind him and didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Leah. She knelt down in the grass next to him and covered his hand on the tombstone. Her bare hand, without her wedding ring.
Which reminded him…
He climbed to his feet and pulled her up with him. “I got you something.” He reached into his pocket and found the long, black velvet jewelry box. “I understand why you took your wedding ring off. It wasn’t because of me. It was something you needed to do, for you. To say goodbye. I get it now.” He pressed the box into her hand and waited for her to open it. Inside lay a pendant on a thin white gold chain, sparking in the sunlight. On one side, the words “I love you,” were inscribed in Danny’s handwriting. One the other side, the same words in Marcus’s.
Her gaze flicked up to his, filled with shock. “Marcus. Where did you—?”
“The kids helped me find an old birthday card with his handwriting in it. Now, whenever you’re missing him, you can look down and see how much he loved you. And also see how much I love you.” He picked the chain out and clasped it around her neck, then pulled her in for a kiss. It was soft, sweet, with just a hint of heat, promising more to come tonight after they got the kids in bed. When she backed away, he took her bare hand in his and rubbed his thumb over the pale skin where her ring once sat. “And maybe someday, when you’re ready, I hope you’ll be willing to wear another ring. The one I plan to give you.”
Her smile sparkled. “I’m ready when you are.”
He was pretty sure his jaw dropped open and his eyes popped out of his skull like a cartoon animal. “You— you—” He gulped. “Are? Ready?”
“Of course I am, you silly man. I love you, and life’s too short to pretend otherwise.”
“Have you been talking to my mother?”
“Maybe.” She laughed and entwined their fingers. “But we can discuss your half-assed proposal later. First, let’s take the kids to the beach.”
As she dragged him to the car, he glanced back. The sun glinted off the tombstone just then, sending a flash of refracted light into the air.
If he didn’t know any better…
Was that Danny winking at him?
Epilogue
Unknown Location
Alexander Cabot peeled open his eyes with great effort and stared at the stark white ceiling above him.
Was he alive?
He certainly felt alive. Every bloody fiber of his being screamed with pain. If he was dead, he wouldn’t feel pain…
Would he?
He turned his head on the pillow, and even that small movement made his vision swim. His stomach rolled over and he had to swallow hard to keep down the bile threatening in his throat. It tasted sour and burned on his too-dry tongue.
He lay in a narrow bed covered with bright white sheets. A metal railing had been pulled up to keep him from rolling off. Not that he could possibly roll anywhere in his current condition.
He didn’t remember what had happened to him but, since he felt like he’d been tossed off a cliff, retrieved, and then thrown from a plane for good measure, it had to have been something bad. Something he probably didn’t want to remember.
Beyond the bed’s railing stood a tangle of equipment measuring his vitals. Heart rate, respiration, oxygen levels. Several IV bags dangled from poles.
A hospital?
For one shining moment, he thought he was safe. Leah Giancarelli and HORNET had succeeded in stopping Volkov Group and had rescued him. He could relax now, knowing that the truth was out and Ekaterina’s death hadn’t been in vain.
God, he missed her.
His fuzzy mind wandered for a moment and he saw bits and pieces of her, their life together zipping by like a movie on fast-forward. He saw her sparkling blue eyes as clearly as if she was leaning over him now. He could even smell the fruity shampoo she used in her silky blond hair.
He remembered loving her. The way her thin, strong body moved under him, over him. The sounds she made when she came. The taste of her.
He remembered laughing with her on a hotel balcony overlooking a turquoise ocean. He couldn’t remember what they were laughing about, but he could still smell the salt-soaked breeze mingling with her perfume. She’d worn a cocktail dress. A slinky red thing that had his tongue rolling out of his mouth when he first saw her in it.
That last video call, when she said she was on her way to Africa for a potentially huge story. She’d call when she could. “Bye, kotik.”
Kitten. She’d always called him kitten, which anyone who knew him could tell you was a laugh. He loved it, though. She was his Kat and he was her kitten. A dangerous kitten and only she held his leash. He could still hear her whispering the endearment…
He slammed forward in time again. That phone call. He’d been her emergency contact. The French authorities, who had recovered her body, called to tell him she was dead. Without a second thought to his own welfare, he’d abandoned his mission with Defion to fly to France, all the while hoping they were wrong. It wasn’t his Kat. He held on to that belief until they pulled the sheet off her ravaged face. Her body had been burned and twisted, hardly looked human, but he recognized the tattoo on her shoulder—claw marks to show her kitten had claimed her.
The authorities said she’d been a victim of the civil war, but he’d known better. She was there for a big story. No way had she died from a random act of wartime violence.
Then he discovered the email she’d sent only hours before
she was killed. She’d been afraid for her life and told him everything she knew. He’d put together the pieces from there.
God. Kat. He’d loved her to distraction. He’d never met anyone like her. Smart, sexy, fearless, determined to change the world… She was the only woman he would have forfeited his bachelorhood for. He had a ring for her. He needed to ask her—
No. He couldn’t ask her anything. She was dead.
His brain snapped back to the present. He didn’t know how much time he’d lost dream-walking through his memories. The room hadn’t changed, but it felt like hours had passed. Or maybe days. His limbs were like boards, stiff and awkward. He hadn’t moved in a long time.
He dipped under again, dreamless this time. When he came back, the room had changed. Everything had changed. He was sitting up, strapped to a chair. There were monsters in the shadows, big hulking things with too many eyes and mouths and teeth. They shuffled toward him, jaws stretched wide—
And he fell again.
He bobbed back to consciousness some time later and tried to focus. The edges of his mind frayed, his thoughts fuzzy and jumbled, so incoherent he couldn’t make sense of them. Why couldn’t he focus? It felt like someone else was in his head with him, whispering horrible things. That was wrong. Even as confused as he was, he knew he should be alone in his head.
It didn’t matter. He could just fall back to sleep and it will all disappear again…
Except he couldn’t. Every time he started to drift, heat snaked through his IV into his arm and seared his veins. Or music blasted from hidden speakers somewhere in his room. Or that voice that wasn’t his inside his head would scream obscenities at him.
Oh, shit. For a moment, the fuzziness cleared. Torture. Not like the weak beatings that tosser Dmitry Volkov had ordered, but the real deal. He was being tortured with drugs and sound waves and sleep deprivation and who knew what else.
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