Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
CALEB
M y body aches as Sam and I work through the preparation for the last flight for the day. Two hours, and then I can grab some dinner and talk to my son and my Omega. My hands ache with the need to touch her, feel her warmth and curves and the silky strands of her hair. My phone rings, cutting through the near silent hangar. Sam raises an eyebrow as I dig it out of my back pocket. I frown.
Why the hell is Melissa calling me? Did something happen with the ranch? Oh shit, did something happen with Phoebe? Had Brielle gotten hurt while going out for that ride?
No .
No, Ethan would be calling if something like that had happened. I swallow the growl and shove the phone away, trying to focus on my job. I’ve already been frazzled during this assignment, my head not totally in the game.
The ringing stops. I run my hand through my hair and join Sam in going through the final checklist. And then my phone rings again.
Sam frowns, too, looking over from where he’s running through everything in the copilot seat.
“Take it,” Sam says. “I’ll finish the walkthrough.”
I nod and step down from the plane, answering the call without bothering to find privacy. If something’s happened, Sam will have to know anyway.
“Melissa?” I answer, bypassing a greeting.
“You need to get here,” she says, her voice full of panic. She sniffles and then stutters in a ragged breath.
Is she crying?
“What’s wrong?” I ask, glancing up at Sam. “Why are you upset?”
“It’s…” She blows out a breath. “It’s Brielle.”
My stomach drops. It’s like I’m reliving four years ago, getting the call from Ethan that confirmed what I already knew from the broken connection, the lack of feeling in my chest. My hands are clammy, and I tighten my hold on the phone. Ironic that it’s literally the day after the anniversary.
August is a shit month.
“Melissa?” I ask, trying to figure out where to start. Fuck, why is this happening again? How is this happening again? “Melissa, you need to tell me what happened.”
I put as much command as I can manage into the words, and she whines.
“Brielle and Ethan got into a fight, I think. I’m not entirely sure. She… she wouldn’t tell me.” Melissa’s words grow rushed, and they run over the top of each other. “She’s packing a bag. Emily’s trying to stop her, but she’s inconsolable and…” She trails off, and then she sobs again. “Ethan dropped Cam with Mark at the hotel.”
He dropped Cam with my dad? Dread sinks deeper into my stomach, and bile burns the back of my throat. He wouldn’t. Losing Kayla that way nearly destroyed us both. He wouldn’t do that to me, to Camden.
“With my Dad?” I ask, my voice stark.
Melissa sobs. “He won’t answer his phone. Lynn texted Emily about it.”
There’s a long stretch of quiet.
My mind races and yet stands utterly still in the oddest of paradoxes, a sensation I had hoped to never relive, never feel again. I swallow, trying to wet my mouth. Fuck me, where the hell do I even start this time?
“I… I can’t go over there,” Melissa whispers, her voice broken. “I’m sorry. I know I should.”
God damn it. The last thing our families need is Melissa finding Ethan’s body right now.
“No, don’t go over there,” I say, letting my voice drop into a croon. I rush around the plane, catching Sam’s attention. My look must say everything because he nods and waves me out of the building. I’m running before I hit the back door. “I’ll be there in a few hours. Get Emily to calm Brielle down.”
Melissa’s sobs grow louder. I swallow around the lump in my throat, choking on my heart. How in the hell could this be happening again? I hadn’t even gotten to claim her. Fuck, I should have brought it up this past weekend after she surfaced from her heat. I should have reiterated just how serious I am about her. Especially with Ethan still so resistant to everything. She deserved to have it clear as fucking daylight just how in love with her I am.
I climb into the rental car.
“Melissa, listen to me,” I say, pushing as much of that innate soothing into the words. She sucks in a breath, and her sobs quiet. “If she wants to leave, let her leave. Get Emily to calm her down before she does, though. It’s nearly dark. I need her to be safe while she drives.”
Brett was an asshole through and through, but there’s no way I can stomach the idea of her getting hurt the way he did.
“I don’t think she’ll listen to Emily,” Melissa whispers.
“She doesn’t need to listen to her for it to work. It’s something that Alphas can just do.” I tilt my head back and groan. “Emily will know what I mean. Just tell her to calm Brielle down before letting her leave, all right? Don’t go to the house. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
It’s nearly four hours after the call from Melissa that I have my plane stowed and I’m rushing to where my truck waits just outside the hangar. It’s another hour to town, a little less than that to our place. I drop into the driver’s seat and turn on the engine, trying to calm my racing heart. My phone vibrates like crazy the moment I turn it on. I’m bombarded by texts from Melissa.
She’s leaving. Emily can’t convince her to stay.
Emily got her to stop crying. She’s calm.
I’m sworn to secrecy over where she’s going.
She’s laying low in Jackson. I didn’t tell you that, though.
Ok. She’s where she’s staying for right now. She’s safe.
Still nothing from Ethan. Lynn has Cam.
A single text from Emily greets me after Melissa’s filter through.
He’s alive.
There’s no way to know when she sent it originally. It must have been after Brielle left for Jackson. An hour, maybe? Two? I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and start the drive toward the house, emptying my thoughts the same way I’ve done the last several hours.
Or try to, at least. The questions swirl, so loud it’s impossible to ignore them.
What the hell happened? They’d been fine. Better than fine. She’d been wrapped up in him, sporting his own hickeys, smelling of him when I interrupted them on Wednesday. Hell, they’d been half a second from fucking on the damn island. Even this afternoon, she’d been willing to give him time, had been way more understanding than I’d manage in her position.
Had Camden seen whatever fight had happened? Had he been scared? Or worried? Fuck, he loves Brielle. Does he realize she’s left?
I need to find her, need to comfort her and calm her and make sure she knows just how much Camden and I love her, need her. God, it had felt like something was missing for months, something other than the holes left in our little pack by losing Brandon and Kayla. Just a couple months ago, I’d known in my bones that something needed to change.
And I hadn’t told her any of it, hadn’t laid it out so explicitly. Sure, I’d given her actions, had given her the small I love yous , but so had that bastard who’d cheated on her.
I grab my phone, risking a ticket. I need Melissa to tell me where she is so I can find her. I’ll buy a different house. I’ll figure out a true co-parenting schedule with Ethan. I’ll move anywhere in the world for that woman. Camden’s still little, not yet in school. He’ll adjust to whatever happens. He’s so damn resilient.
Emily’s text is still on the screen, though, and it has reality slamming back into me.
He’s still alive .
Fuck, I’m getting ahead of myself.
None of that even fucking matters if Ethan’s dead. God, I don’t want to have to bury another person, another friend that’s practically a brother. We’d managed to survive two separate deployments without losing Hudson. If this little town takes both of my brothers by choice, I might just lose it.
I swallow the growl that’s building. Fuck, I don’t want to have to explain to Camden that Ethan’s dead just like Brandon and Kayla.
It’s nearly midnight when I finally pull onto our quiet street. My heart hammers in my ears, so fast I’m nearly dizzy. Adrenaline has my hands shaking.
The house is dark and silent. I pull up to the curb, not bothering with the garage at all. I stash my phone in my pocket and grab my keys before heading toward the house. I’m sprinting by my third step, ripping open the front door that hadn’t even been locked.
The burn of alcohol hits me first, cutting through all the other mundane smells of our home. There’s not a trace of Brielle’s lavender anywhere. A near empty bottle of whiskey sits on its side on the island. It had apparently already been mostly used by the time it fell because only a couple drops of the liquid are on the white stone.
Shit .
Ethan hasn’t so much as tasted whiskey since Kayla died.
Suddenly, my body is convinced it’s four years ago, and I’m walking into this same damn house after a different emergency flight home. At least Camden isn’t crying in his crib this time.
There’s a stumbling crash, and I rush for the kitchen, not bothering to take off my shoes. Ethan’s sprawled on the floor, facing away from me, wedged between the island and the coffee bar. I take a step closer, and the smell of vomit overpowers the alcohol. I grimace, controlling my own reaction to the awful mix.
He’s fucking shitfaced. My Omega is a goddamn mess, hiding somewhere in Jackson, and he’s so wasted he can’t even move out of his own vomit.
“Ethan,” I growl, all my frustration rising to the surface.
He twitches and slowly twists his head.
“She’s gone,” he says, a wealth of pain and sorrow and agony lacing the words that it brings me up short.
I play ignorant. He might just be remembering Kayla. He’s trashed enough, it could be possible.
“Who is gone?” I ask, my voice calmer and softer than it had been.
“Brielle,” he mutters, closing his eyes. “My city princess…”
He sobs, and every single ounce of my anger drains away, tucking itself in a box to deal with later. I grab the dish towel and wet it down, using it to get the worst of the vomit off of him. Then I pull him to his feet, supporting him when his legs buckle.
“She needed me to say it, to admit out loud how much I need her, and I…” He sobs again and tears track down his face and into his beard. “I couldn’t do it. I love her, but I couldn’t say it.” He sucks in a breath, and for a second, I’m convinced he’s going to throw up again. Instead, he closes his eyes and whispers, “I couldn’t lose Kayla like that.”
My stomach twists. This is not a conversation we can have until he’s sober.
I get him into his bed, and he drops onto it.
“Shirt,” I order him. “Before you get vomit on the sheets.”
He pulls it over his head and lets it fall to the floor. His jeans are clean, at least, so I don’t force him out of those. Which is good, because not a minute later, he’s passed out on the bed, nowhere near the pillows.
I turn off the light and head deeper into the house, dropping onto my own bed.
I send a single text to Brielle.
I love you.
The message marks as read, but the dots don’t appear. With a sigh, I tuck the phone onto the nightstand and get ready to sleep.