7: Bolt Saga, Book 7 Read online

  Somehow, I get in a few bites of everything. It’s delicious, meaning I can’t wait to enjoy some leftovers tonight with Reece—preferably after indulging the horny bunny temptation a little more fully with him. I use the fantasy as mental fortification during a conversation that covers every subject from the hot Hollywood couple’s PDA during their Mexican Riviera vacation, to butt injections and clitoral jewelry and the newest workout trend, ironically called primal scream therapy. Which is sounding like a better and better idea by the minute…

  Until, miracle of miracles, Mother’s cell phone rings. Though she apologizes for the interruption, I glance at the screen and urge her to answer. Since it’s a doctor’s office and not either of the romantic “side dishes” I still suspect her of keeping, it must be important. With any luck, it’s actually the right kind of physician—one who can help her see that a bank account full of zeroes isn’t a permission slip for a morality code brimming with the same. But I only take tiny bites of that hope—just as I have for fourteen years and counting now.

  As soon as Mother walks away, face pressed to her phone, I lift a smile at Trixie—and am pleased that the expression comes from my heart. Despite the woman’s ability to banter about every trending socialite subject there is, I’ve spent enough time with her now to discern there are deeper waters to the woman as well. Thank God.

  “So don’t faint,” I joke while refilling her champagne. “I got domestic last night and attempted a new tiramisu recipe for our dessert. As soon as I grab it, I’ll join you and Mother out by the pool.”

  “Hmmm. I have a better idea.” She rises gracefully, looking stunning in her coral linen sheath. “Why don’t I give you a hand? I was hoping I’d get you all to myself for a few minutes.”

  She’s not even finished with the statement, and my chest thuds with six kinds of anxiety. All to herself? Why? What does she want to tell me? What secret might she expose to me? Or likelier, what kind of ultimatum does she want to give me? Is this the stay-away-from-my-son-you-California-tramp talk? Or worse, the he’s-been-engaged-since-he-was-seven talk? Is that why Reece tensed up about the baby album? Is his relationship with me just as dark a stain on their family as his string of European models and actresses—or is there an even grander plan I’m not aware of, like a hidden heiress that Reece considered “off the table” in the shadows of his estrangement from his dad? Only now they’re not so estranged anymore, thanks to a not-so-small miracle called the Richards Reaches Out organization. Amazing what men can accomplish when the small shit gets set aside for the good of so many.

  A nonprofit arm is a great addition for an empire’s public image.

  A girl—who hasn’t been handpicked for the succession of the family legacy—shacking up with their son in a luxury commune in the California hills?

  Not so much, kiddies.

  And now I’m thinking like my sister and not like me. Writing, casting, and orchestrating a tragedy that isn’t there.

  Not yet, at least.

  Stop. It.

  The castigation is overruled by the voice of the woman beside me, flooded with the same intense concern as her gaze. “Emmalina? Are you feeling all right, dear?”

  At once, I straighten my posture. “Of…of course.” Then peer harder at her, desperately battling to read those ocean-green depths. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’re shaking like a leaf.” She states it as if commenting that the sky is blue. “Come here.” After pushing up onto one of the stools in front of the high granite bar, she pats the cushion of the chair beside her. “Let’s have a little chat.”

  I oblige like a kid being directed into the dentist’s chair. Just a little chat. Okay, I can cope with that. That’s a lot like just a little filling, right? Until the x-rays show that a root canal is needed instead?

  “What…do you want to chat…about…?”

  I stumble it out as Trixie reaches over and scoops her left hand beneath my right. The tanzanite stone on my ring finger, as well as the diamonds surrounding it, ignites to the shade of blue fire beneath the recessed kitchen lights. Looking at it now prompts the same flood of emotions I felt when Reece dropped to a knee on the ridge outside and presented it to me. Excitement. Anticipation. A little apprehension. A lot of happiness.

  And love.

  Always, with him, such love.

  At last, after angling and tipping my hand in a few different ways, Trixie murmurs, “It’s stunning.”

  “It is.” I state it with every ounce of confidence I feel in this moment—born from a love that she’ll never be able to truly take from me, no matter what her end game is here.

  “And Reece didn’t just give it to you as a yay, we survived the New York City gala catastrophe thing, did he?”

  At once, I avert my gaze and dip into conflicted silence. It would be easy enough to white lie out of this and say the ring actually was a token to commemorate how we came through that night last fall, when RRO’s first fundraiser was made into a truly “memorable” affair by a gang of hoodlums who—to most outside eyes—held up the crowd for money and jewelry. And yeah, I could easily smoke her with the “just a bauble” deception. Thanks to Mother and Father, I’ve had lots of experience with playing casual when everything isn’t.

  But I don’t know if I want to try.

  Not with this woman with the sincerity that still isn’t faltering. Who just keeps smiling at me with such open patience…

  “No,” I admit, giving in fast to the pull of my instinct—just as I did when first falling for her son. “He didn’t.”

  Her grip tightens by a slight degree. “Then why is it on your right hand?”

  This answer is easier for me to give. “Because we know what’ll happen as soon as it goes on my left. And right now, we just want—need—some space.”

  I lift my head and search her face, relieved to see the beginnings of understanding.

  “Space is okay,” she murmurs. “As long as it’s for the right reasons.”

  “Meaning?”

  “That it’s clear you two have already begun an extraordinary journey together.” As she tilts her head, her expression becomes contemplative. “More extraordinary than most, it would seem.”

  “And that troubles you?” I can’t stand having to ask it but haul my big-girl panties on and get it out anyway.

  “Of course not.” Trixie’s snort is so prim, it’s cute. “Let me be clear, my dear. It would have been easier to learn that my son-who-isn’t-a-superhero actually is a superhero in a manner other than watching him take down seven criminals at once, but the actual truth itself—”

  “I know.” I hold up my free hand. “It’s a little crazy…”

  “Crazy?” She’s scoffing. No, really. Scoffing. “But this is Reece you’re talking about, my dear.”

  And now, she’s actually laughing—to which I’m clueless about how to react. “Errrr…”

  “Emma.” The second I lower my hand, she grabs it in hers once more. “I’ll say this once and then deny it if you ever repeat it.” She leans so close, our kneecaps are touching. “God blessed Lawson and me with three incredible sons. And while I love Chase and Tyce for everything that makes them unique and amazing, the angels definitely broke their molds when they sent me Reece Andrew.”

  Now, it’s all too easy to lean forward and settle my other hand against hers. “Well, now you’ve hooked me.”

  She spreads her smile a little wider, and it’s filled with warm affection. “Since Reece was four years old and declared he was going on a ‘turtle diet’ in order to grow a shell like the mutant ninja ones, I knew that kid was bound for a unique existence.” She lets the smile go to join me in a full laugh. Once I’ve mellowed, she goes on, “And yes, I knew it would make his teen and college years more challenging.” And then surrenders her laugh for an audible, purposeful sigh. “Much more challenging.”

  “Don’t tell me he tried to convince the girls he had a turtle shell hidden somewhere.”

  “If i
t’d only been so easy.” She gazes across the kitchen, through the bay windows of the breakfast nook, with a gaze now gone pinched and sad. “But I’m afraid that following in his brothers’ footsteps was a more difficult path than I’d originally anticipated.”

  “Than you’d anticipated?” I push on the emphasis, once more just going on sheer gut instinct. Considering that before six months ago Reece could barely mention his father without twitching an eye, I’m feeling clear about my probe. “Did Lawson not share your view, then?”

  Ding, ding, ding. From the looks of the woman’s fresh tension, I’ve hit the grand prize gong. “Reece was just fourteen when my husband took advantage of some prime opportunities to expand Richards Resorts. Reece’s grandfather had passed, leaving Lawson with some sizable income to reinvest, and Asian destinations were just starting to open up. Lawson was traveling a great deal to Singapore and Hong Kong. When he did come home, for maybe a few days at a time, he was usually focused on Tyce’s lacrosse games or Chase’s international business studies. That left Reece fighting for his dad’s attention however he could. Acting out was what he chose.”

  I nod, picking up the regret in her expression after just a few seconds. “And that was likely what worked the best.”

  “Despite how many times I tried telling my husband that the incidents were just shouts for attention?” She copies my nod, though her version is heavier. “Yes.” She quirks a grateful smile as I pull on her hand, surrounding it with understanding pressure. “The cycle seemed never-ending. Every crazy stunt from Reece was answered by Lawson’s fury and discipline.” She shakes her head fast as soon as I bulge my eyes. “Oh, my husband never touched Reece, though sometimes I wonder if that was what Reece was ultimately after.” An odd smirk flits across her lips. “The stunts that boy could pull off…”

  With exaggeration, I get more comfortable on my stool. “Which you’re going to spill in lieu of the baby pictures?”

  Her head falls back as she submits to a new, heartier laugh. “I think my blood would be spilled for that—but let’s just say that if you ever want to get under his skin, just bring up two gallons of baby oil and Randall Getty’s skateboard ramp.”

  “Oh, my.” A chuckle sneaks out of me too. “Were there any broken bones involved?”

  “Thankfully, no—though I can’t say the same about our guy’s ego.” She slips into a quieter mien after noticing that I do. “Emma? Dearheart?”

  “Ummm.” It tumbles from me on a rasp while I attempt to gulp down sudden tears. Damn it. I wasn’t ready for this—or how so much of it would move me. “Sorry. I’m…I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not.” And yet more of that forthright tenderness, which throws me for a complete loop. Not that Mother never did the same. Her method involved calling me on the BS and then rattling off statistics about how better-educated women landed better boyfriends, fiancés, and finally husbands. “Your turn to spill now.” Trixie squeezes one of my knees. “Was it something I said?”

  I imply the yes by attempting to laugh my tears off. “‘Our guy,’” I finally reiterate. “That sounds…nice.”

  “Oh, Emma.” She bypasses any more affectionate touches by standing and hauling me into a huge hug. “It was supposed to.”

  Fervently, I return her embrace. “Simple as that, huh?”

  “Simple as that.” As she steps away, she transitions from effortless cheer to meaningful focus with Carol Brady ease. “Though things aren’t that simple with you and Reece, are they? Which is why the ring is here and not here?” In sync with her words, she lifts my right and then left hands.

  I pull away, using the guise of moving toward the refrigerator for the tiramisu. “It’s a long story.”

  “Ah,” the woman answers softly. “I figured so.”

  I shift from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, Trixie. I really am, But—”

  “If you told me, you’d have to kill me?”

  I freeze with my hand around the fridge handle—though feeling more like I’ve painted myself into a corner. I’m pretty sure Reece encouraged me to invite Mother and Trixie out here so we could exchange recipes and talk about poolside landscaping, not have a mini seminar about the crackpots known as the Consortium.

  But she’s his mother.

  She gave him life.

  Which means she damn well deserves to know about the assholes trying to take it away.

  So no more corner for me.

  I stand taller, meeting her gaze directly. “If that comment was a dart, you’ve darn near hit bull’s-eye,” I tell her.

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that I’d never kill you, Trixie.”

  She pushes back to her feet. Eyes me steadily for a long pause. Another. When I barely move, even after the fridge cycles off and shudders into silence, she purses her lips and hauls in a long breath. Then finally breathes, “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.” I try to look at least a little apologetic. After all, the White Rabbit was surely a little sorry after yanking Alice down the black hole. “Whoa.”

  “So the mass robbery attempt by those men at the gala…” She starts to slowly pace. “They weren’t a random group of thugs, were they?”

  I finally remember to open the refrigerator. After pulling out the big dish with my halfway-decent-looking dessert—shock of shocks—I slide the Pyrex to the counter with a determined thunk. “No, they weren’t.”

  Her nostrils flare. “I was afraid of that.” Then a heavy sigh. “They were involved somehow…with bad people. Really bad people.” Her shoulders stiffen when I don’t deny it. “The same bastards who…who changed my son.” She kneads anxious fingers along the back of the chair she just vacated. “Who made him that way.” Her fingertips go white. “Who hurt him to do it.”

  The tears to which I’ve relented because of her kindness are doubly fierce because of her maternal fury. “Please don’t make me answer that, Trixie.”

  She pushes out a harsh breath. “It’s all right, Emma. You already have.”

  I splay my hands atop the counter, hoping my silent apology reaches her. “Maybe one day, Reece will be able to explain it all himself,” I offer. “But right now, things are so…complicated.”

  The word is a spot-on fit, but still doesn’t feel adequate—even when it sparks a full chuckle from Trixie in response. “What?” I prompt, unable to keep my own lips from twitching.

  “Emma,” she chides. “You speak as if complicated is a new thing for that boy.” She shakes her head. “Lawson and I should’ve just given the word to him as a middle name.”

  My smirk becomes a full snicker. “Oh, that would’ve made things too easy.”

  She regards me with new intensity. “And you’ve never been happy with easy.”

  “I’ve never been happy with complacent.” I push off the counter. “Because one’s corner of the world is comfortable doesn’t mean everyone else’s is.” Like sun breaking through clouds, my words bring me to a fresh understanding. “That truth has always followed me. Even haunted me, I guess. Like a little storm always threatening to break in the back of my senses. It ensured that I kept…pushing, I suppose.” Though even as I say it, I wince. “No. That’s not the right word. I wasn’t pushing. Or even rebelling. I was…”

  “Seeking?”

  How can a person so opposite from green and wrinkled suddenly be turning into my Yoda? “Yeah,” I rasp, swallowing down deep emotions. “Seeking.” And while the word fills in the blank perfectly, it opens another question I can’t quite vocalize—so I ask instead with my eyes.

  How did you know?

  Trixie lifts a slow and knowing smile. Like her son, the woman has the power to read right into me. Through me.

  And then knows exactly what to say to me…

  “Seekers are special people, my dear. Diamonds that need their cutters. Magnets that need their chargers.” The smile rises to her eyes, both softening and strengthening their misty green light. “Lightning that needs their storm.”

&nbs
p; Now, I just let the tears spill. Just a few but making up in weight what they lack in number. “Lightning and its storm,” I whisper as my mind fills with the glory of Reece’s silver gaze, electric kisses, and transformative passion. “Yes. Of course…”

  I have no idea when Trixie skirted around the counter next to me, but suddenly I’m wrapped back in the woman’s arms, held close to her warmth and comfort and acceptance, as she again feeds my heart with the perfect Yoda blend of wisdom, affection, and sincerity.

  “Dear God, creator of all that is right in this world, thank you for bringing this perfect storm to my beautiful bolt of a boy. Now watch over them both as they change the world together.”

  Her words are so fervent and heartfelt, I almost add an amen. Instead, I reply with all the affection and gratitude in my heart, “We’re sure as hell going to try.”

  Chapter Two

  Reece

  Now that I’ve moved half a mountain, I’m ready to change the world.

  But right now, that starts with rocking hers.

  The resolve surges through me from the moment all the guys on the crew look up, halting our work for a noticeable second. Since returning from our lunch break, the eight of us have kicked ass carving into the mountain, widening the fissure that will eventually contain the full Team Bolt command center.

  Team Bolt.

  I seriously try not to laugh myself sick about that shit.

  In the end, it’s only a label. And one thing I do know about labels is that they seldom sum up the truth of what they’ve been slapped on.

  Because this team sure as hell isn’t all about me. Thank fuck.

  I’m jolted back to the moment by a shift in the wind that reminds me I’m standing in a musky tunnel that smells worse than every NFL locker room combined. I follow the dumbstruck stares of the other guys to the entrance of this dirty cave—to where an angel is silhouetted by the late-afternoon sun.