CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CELESTE
He fucking left. He just left me here. How could he do that after all the promises he proclaimed?
“Remember the sunrise.”
I suppose he didn’t really leave me. He left to handle something. And he omitted what he was doing to keep me safe.
I’m a big girl. I can understand that.
Understand it and still not like it.
But I’m guessing that’s what I signed up for—a lifetime of half-truths and covert dealings. Like how Wells kept the threats directed at my family and me a secret from Ivy. And she’s the head of the O’Reilly family and a KORT chair. But he’s her husband, so he made a call.
To keep her safe. To keep her sane.
That only serves to deepen my intrigue. What couldn’t Liam tell me?
After a few slow, meditating breaths, I stroll through the house in search of my parents, but my father finds me before I ever make it to the great room.
He kicks his chin toward the wing of the house designated for his business. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s chat.”
While his face doesn’t betray much, something about his whole demeanor tells me he knows Liam is gone. Maybe he told Liam to go. Or maybe he simply saw Gage leave and assumed. It doesn’t really make a difference. Liam ditched me either way.
“Of course,” I reply with every ounce of that cultivated composure I swore to Liam that I’d proffer when I set foot on this floor. Besides, with him gone, it leaves less room for awkward speculation, so there’s that.
My father leads me to his office. That in itself is a bit strange. I’ve never spent much time in here. Never been welcomed into this part of his world. It’s stuffy and dark—all mahogany, rich burgundy, and tufted leather. Priceless artifacts—hand-crafted and custom-made. There’s an old library musk in the space, swirling with spices. It’s refined but more old school than Wells’s style, in the outdated sense. Wells somehow encompasses the Rat Pack vibe while also appearing relevant. It’s odd how his and Ivy’s house feels like my home now. How they all feel like home—Ty and Gage too.
And Liam. Especially Liam.
I realize that even more now that we’re separated. Minutes apart, and I’ve never felt emptier.
My serene veneer nearly cracks at the thought. I’m not sure why I’m so broken that he needed to take care of something without me. Maybe because he stranded me here—not at home with Ivy.
They left me behind.
My father lowers into his desk chair and gestures to one on the other side. “Have a seat.”
I take a seat in the Queen Anne wingback, wondering if his intention is to intimidate me or if he’s going to be fatherly. Last summer, when I asked to be involved in his business, he sternly shut me down before the request fully leaped from my mouth. Although, in hindsight, maybe that was fatherly, considering what he does.
“I failed you.” The words tumble out of him, craggy and jagged, hitting me like an avalanche. Shock waves pulsing out to my extremities.
Assuming he’s referring to Arnold and Keith, I quickly refute his assessment. “That wasn’t your fault. If either of us is responsible, it’s me. Rex told me that you made everything right with Keith’s girlfriend and Arnold’s family, but I—”
“That’s not what I was referring to, Celeste. That was a horrific accident but always a possibility in their line of work. No one’s fault.” He sucks in a heavy breath, hand stroking his clean-shaven chin rather aggressively. “As a father … I failed you as a father.”
My mouth falls open to ease whatever struggle he’s enduring, but I briefly ponder some of the points Liam has made and the way I’ve felt these last couple of months. Maybe honesty would be more beneficial to us both at this point.
“Yes. You have at times.”
His light-brown eyes—speckled with the same caramel flecks that weave through my darker brown irises—rove over me with nothing but sorrow and remorse, the expression he wore for a year after Ben died.
That face is wounding, a stab to the chest. A depiction of pain and loss. Sacrifice and torment.
I swallow and resist the urge to be anything other than authentic for this conversation, relaxing my shoulders rather than straightening my posture to finish my confession. “But don’t we all fail people sometimes? That’s part of being human.”
A contrite grin tips one corner of his mouth, as though my response is surprising. “Not like I’ve failed you.”
I lift my hand, which could be viewed as disrespectful, but it’s suddenly clear that we’re all swimming against an impossibly strong undercurrent in this dark and violent sea, doing our damnedest to stay afloat and not let those we love sink. “That’s just not true. The biggest mistake you’ve made with me is that I willingly sacrificed myself to become who you all needed me to be, and you let me.”
His arched brows tell me I’m killing it at the always keep them guessing portion of this discussion.
“I had my reasons, but Liam said …” He swallows thickly, arduous enough that in this quiet office, I can hear the crackling dryness of his efforts. “I’m sorry. I never realized.”
“Liam said what?”
He hums, his focus sailing around the room until he finally docks it on me again. “That you were miserable at the thought of that life—losing yourself, lonely, depressed.” He steeples his hands, his index fingers rubbing against one another, anxiety rolling off him. “It’s not that I didn’t care, Cee. I just cared about your safety more, so I didn’t permit myself to notice those other aspects of your well-being.”
I can’t really fault him for that. No one can carry everything, so he prioritized safeguarding me. I dip my chin, hoping he sees the commiseration written on my face. “I was all those things. But considering what happened to Ben, it makes sense that you and Mom fixated on protecting me. You did what you believed was best.”
“We did.” He pauses, head cocking slightly to the side. “What do you know about Ben?”
That inquiry wallops me, like a slap across the face. This is the most honest adult conversation I’ve ever had with my father. It’s the most real and raw we’ve been since Ben died. I’m not sure if he’s trying to assess what I know or trying to procure his own answers. I’m also not sure what I should share.
“I know his death was suspicious,” I cautiously supply. “And I know you have enemies.”
He sighs, glancing away, as though looking at me hurts. “And you know the ins and outs of my business?”
“Yes, sir. I’m familiar with the depth of services Carver Homes provides.”
He smiles. It’s proud, which doesn’t seem to fit here. “Good answer.”
My forehead itches to scrunch with the confusion over the praise, but I school my features and simply roll with it. Never let them see. “Thank you.”
His gaze returns to me, eyes boring into mine. “It’s come to my attention that your brother bestowed a gift to you.”
The air is instantly dank and mucky. My lungs expand painfully, unable to refresh. This is what happens when you forget how to swim in that unforgiving current. An undertow threatening to drag you out to the angry sea. Head spinning. Limbs aching, too tired to continue. Oxygen depleted because the salty water keeps splashing up and seeping in. Don’t gasp for survival at the wrong moment; a poorly timed gulp is sure to sink.
Like the SS Thistlegorm. Commemorated defeat.
Parallel to the shore is the answer. If I were truly splashing alone in the ocean with a tumultuous undercurrent towing me in a perilous direction, I’d know what to do. I’d have the skills to survive—swimming sideways until someone rescued me or the sea relinquished its grip. That is not my present situation.
I’m not prepared. Why didn’t Liam and Gage prep me for this? How to answer. What I can reveal and what I can’t. Especially since I’m assuming this information came from Liam.
I tread lightly. “Which gift are you referring to? Ben was always generous.”
My father nods, his eyelids creasing at the corners—more pride, it seems. “Impressive, Celeste. You are every bit as unflappable as your mother and I raised you to be. That will serve you well now that you’ve … made your choice.” He pauses there for a beat, and the words whiz around in my head.
“You’ve made your choice.”
Makes sense that it would all boil down to that—a single choice. Although I don’t want to see this as an either-or scenario. No one needs to turn to salt here. Why can’t I choose Liam and Ivy and the rest of my newfound family and still choose the one I was born into?
His fingers do a giddyup waltz on his wood desk before he stands and rounds it. “Let’s not dance around this. I know what Ben left you. And I know what’s in it.” As he seats himself on the front of his desk, he raises his palm to keep me from jumping in. “Before I ask you anything, I’d like to explain myself.”
Wow, that’s … unexpected.
I trap my ragged breath inside, maintaining my composure even though this is all making me dizzy. “I’d like that.”
“Plausible deniability is important—remember that—so bear with me.” He searches for his words, probably because that plausible deniability means he’s going to speak in code. “Entering The Order is a prestigious affair. They are the best and brightest. You don’t receive an invitation until you’ve been accepted to graduate school—primarily business, law, or medical. Although there are other degrees sought after for various reasons.”
He pushes off his desk, suddenly antsy, and moves to his office bar, pouring us drinks—Johnnie Walker Blue for him instead of a Manhattan, which means he’s stressed. “As you know, much to your grandfather’s dismay, I chose business over law. It didn’t seem like a big deal because my brother was planning to pursue a career in politics after he retired from the military, which, of course, didn’t happen. But it enabled me to dabble in other interests. I’d heard about The Order and wanted in. I yearned to make my own way.”
I relate to that so much—wanting to make my own way. He careened onto his chosen path before his brother died though. I have no idea where I’d be if Ben were still here or if he’d died when I was older. Ivy’s fate wouldn’t have changed, so I would have still met Liam. And my heart shouts with every beat that even with the butterfly effect, he’d be my destiny.
My father passes me a glass of cabernet as he continues, “I had an interest in architecture and business, so when I went through the first round of initiation, I caught their eye with my aspirations of becoming a home developer. My autonomy ended that day. Once you’re in, your life is no longer your own. You do the job you’re given. No questions asked.” His eyes plant on me as he sips his scotch, lowering the glass with a straight-lipped frown. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I think so.” My chest tightens, but I cover my uneasiness with a sip of wine.
He had no choice but to become the mortician for The Order. Bury people or be the one who is six feet under.
Maybe that’s what Liam meant when he said Ivy knows how it works. None of us are free. Especially those below the sovereign five. That’s why my father views it as me choosing them over him—I’m at the top now. The hierarchy upends our power balance.
He’s in charge of the dirt.
My new family spins the world.
“Good,” he commends.
My cognizance of how everything is changing has me offering him assurance. “I’ve always guarded the gifts Ben gave me with the utmost care. This is no exception.”
He tilts his head, brows pinched. “You have it? All the gifts he gave you?”
“Yes. I can’t—”
He shakes his head briskly, imploring me not to finish as he cuts me off. “I understand. I trust you, Cee.”
Sometimes, we don’t realize what we need to hear until the words grace our ears. Maybe this isn’t the type of promotion Ben was talking about, but after years of feeling like the Carver family pawn, this—hearing that my father trusts me regarding his life and business and sordid underworld—feels an awful lot like becoming a damn queen.
I’m all dolled up, in a one-shoulder violet jumpsuit with my crystal-embellished Versace slingback pumps on. Adorned in diamonds. Picture-perfect smoky makeup. Hair half back in soft, flowy curls. My favorite buttery-cream wool peacoat draping my shoulders. Hands clasped elegantly in my lap, across from Rex in the back of a limo.
And having an absolute panic attack.
It started last night when I realized that Liam had deserted me without my phone. I was unhappy when Wells seized it before we left for Tennessee, but understood. I’d been kidnapped, and they’d just killed a warehouse full of scary thugs. It was a small concession to keep me hidden. But to leave me here without any way to contact them? What were they thinking?
I used Rex’s phone to call Ivy, but she didn’t answer. It was late by the time I’d thought about it, so maybe she was sleeping or with Felicity. Although it’s been nineteen hours, and still, no word.
Rex doesn’t know anything—or won’t share anything with me. He probably isn’t privy to the truth anyway, so I haven’t nagged him too much.
My parents are taking me to the opera. That’s why I’m wearing purple. My mother insists it’s my color. She’d prefer an evening gown, but this is the best I could do. The opera is something they’ve always enjoyed sharing with me. Apparently, immediately after Liam notified them that we were coming, they bought tickets for us to accompany them. A peace offering. So much for that. Since Liam disappeared abruptly, Rex is my plus-one.
For all the shit Liam and the guys gave me about safety, it seems contradictory to abandon me without any way to contact them. Anyone could take me and disappear. It happened right under their noses, but suddenly, it’s not an issue. What the hell?
That thought has me steaming, but it isn’t the source of my panic.
No. That’s because the black book of corruption that my brother left me is missing.
When the plane landed yesterday, I took it from Liam and placed it inside my luggage with the other books my brother had given me. It was still there when I showered before Liam offered me a reminder of who we are that I will most definitely never forget.
I tore apart everything before we left the house, and it’s not there. Either Liam swiped it without telling me. Or my father snatched it. I can’t ask him because if Liam is the thief, I don’t want my dad to know. I assured him I had it. He said he trusted me. It took me less than a day to fail him. To fail Ben.
And my gut says that no matter how much Liam loves me, he and Gage wouldn’t think twice about stealing it out from under my nose. They’d rationalize. Feel entitled. They had already expressed as much on the plane. And truth be told, I would’ve surrendered it, provided they let me tear out that one page.
It feels like I’m in the middle of a war that hasn’t quite begun. Captive on the battlefield. Forget a classic chess match. This is like the one in the Harry Potter books when they smash you to pieces if you make the wrong move.
I could play one side flawlessly.
But if I fight for them both, I’ll lose one way or another.
I have to figure out who has that fucking book.
My mother’s hand slides across my thigh, pulling my attention from the icy snow flurries. This is an Ohio March. A rainstorm hit yesterday, but with dropping temperatures, it’s morphed into sleet. She’s sitting beside Rex, catercorner from me, while my father shares my seat.
“You’re so tense, Cee. Relax. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” She squeezes my leg before releasing me. “We’ve hardly seen you this last year and a half. This will be a wonderful evening, and it will be nice to have you home.”
A scoff I can’t catch free-falls from the depths of my lungs. “What makes you think I’ll be home for a while? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I simply said it would be nice to have you home,” she insists in her syrupy end-of-discussion tone.
“It wasn’t simple,” I hiss, to which her brows furrow, aghast that I’d dare back-talk her. But I’m at the end of my damn rope. “The way you said it, like you—”
“Celeste,” my father barks. “Your mother has been worried sick about you. She’s probably hoping Liam takes a while so she can have time with you. That’s all. No need to turn it into something.”
My mother’s beautiful face is heavy. Burdened. Remorseful. Proving my father’s point.
“You’re right. I apologize. I’m just … struggling.” My eyes well with the admission, my throat closing.
I’m rarely this honest with my parents. We don’t really have that type of relationship. Everything has been skin deep since Ben died, but I need them right now.
My father tugs me closer as my mother pulls a tissue from her purse.
“No tears,” she says. “We’ll be there any minute, and you’ll smudge your makeup.”
So, skin deep is still our love language. She tried last night. Three minutes of authenticity is still something. A gift. Not broaching deeper subjects is probably her way of shielding me from her dark world. That ship has long since sailed, but old habits die hard. I’m sure she’s even more exhausted with life than I am.
“Ava,” my father admonishes, “her makeup is the last thing she needs to worry about.” He leans in close to my ear. “To whom much is given, much is required. Don’t fall apart now. This is only the beginning.”
I nod, wordless. I know he’s referring to KORT hierarchy. None of the power is really mine, but I suppose I’m tangled in it, like being zapped by an electric current. Whether I’m the primary source or not, once it touches me, I might still be a conductor. Scott Filmore’s wet and fried form comes to mind.
I did that. Killed a man.
On my own. I’ve survived some pretty horrific shit. I can do this.
My father interrupts my morbid internal pep talk. “I’m so proud of you, Cee.”
Good God.That’s a spearing, a gutting, spilling anything remaining inside me. It’s ironic that the accolade arrives as I’m recounting my brush with murder. In any event, I want to tell him I won’t let him down, but I’m afraid I already have, so I say nothing.
The car rolls to a stop, and a few beats later, Doug, my father’s driver—or Douglas, as my mother insists on calling him—opens the door on my father’s side, two umbrellas in hand. Since the sleet has escalated to a full-on blizzard in our brief drive, Doug passes one umbrella to my father so he can escort my mother while Rex and I shimmy out under the coverage of the other.
We scurry through the ice pellets to reach the awning of the theater, illuminated by twinkling lights, only to be stormed by a swarm of men in suits.
Flashing badges.
And rattling off something to my parents that I can’t make out over the whipping wind.
What the hell is happening?
I rush into the middle, spewing questions. “I’m sorry, who are you? What’s this regarding?”
They keep reciting things to my father, but they’re manhandling my mother too. And the gray world spins and shakes. Topples to an upside-down blur. Rex holds me back, which is when I realize I’ve been pawing at these men, attempting to garner answers.
My father shouts to me, “Call my lawyers, Celeste. And meet us there.”
“Where?” I ask.
Finally, one of the men turns to respond, handing me a card. “FBI field office.”
The sleet blows toward us in a pointed and accusatory manner, drenching my styled hair, my violet jumpsuit, my favorite peacoat, and the picture-perfect makeup my mother feared would smear.
But I pay it all no mind, wrenching my shoulders back with the stoic air I’ve been trained to showcase while attempting to keep myself from retching. “FBI? What are they being charged with?”
He shakes his head as though I’m foolish for inquiring. “It’s a lengthy list, but you can inform your lawyer that at the top of the pile is conspiracy to commit murder.”
I look past him and yell to my parents, “I’ll be there,” as my mother’s regretful brown eyes find mine.
When I hustle back to Doug with Rex by my side, that FBI agent’s voice rings out through the frigid gale. “Hey, Miss Carver.” He pauses until I twist to see him. “You can also let your lawyer know that the key to cutting a deal is you. Show up ready to answer questions, or your parents can kiss their freedom goodbye.”