Chapter 52
CECELIA
Four months later
TOBIAS STANDS UNMOVING in the middle of our living room, phone glued to his hand while raptly watching as Preston—looking sharp in the tie Molly and I picked out last week—updates Americans on our progress in taking down the Founding Fathers.
“My fellow Americans, I’m happy to report to you tonight that we’ve successfully apprehended several suspects in connection with the terrorist attacks on our soil.”
Though fixated on our president, I know Tobias’s true focus remains on the man guarding him just out of frame. Just as I think it, the camera shifts to Tyler, whose expression remains forever stoic.
“The hell?” I utter as both my hackles and suspicions rise.
“He looks sharp, right?” he muses.
“You didn’t,” I scold, knowing full well it’s not in any way the norm to focus the camera on anyone but the president in an address like this. No, that shot was set up for my Frenchman’s agenda—to gift a view to anyone who might be watching later, in another time zone and country.
Just like I’m also aware that there are only six people in the room opposite Preston’s podium, including the cameraman and Molly. Because Tyler made it so. The White House staff having been cleansed in hellfire since Antony’s break-in.
Antony still being hunted by Julien, who recently reported he nearly had him before he “just fucking disappeared.” Sixteen hours later, Antony popped up and was confirmed in two hundred locations worldwide—at the same time. A huge fuck-you to an already outraged Julien, who took it very personally.
Since then, Larissa’s ex-fiancé has had the audacity to keep up sporadic public appearances.
Antony—who technically hasn’t committed a single punishable crime—is now our most wanted, yet can’t be detained by any authority without probable cause.
But seeing as detaining him isn’t our goal, we’ve had no choice but to play along until we can erase him from the board.
As it is, he’s a well-kept, heavily guarded secret with powerful allies.
In digging up fact versus fiction where Antony is concerned, we only have verified attendance at his alma mater, and little true personal history.
His paper and electronic trails were meticulously cultivated, leaving him an enigma.
As if he knew he’d lead someone on this chase one day and readied himself.
Since his invasion, we’ve kept Preston on lockdown despite no spoken threat against him.
It’s the mystery of Antony’s game, and the mindfuck of how he’s connected, that’s caused sleepless nights.
Though Tyler hasn’t spoken it aloud, his anxiety has to be ramping because of Antony’s connection to Larissa and his intention to make it permanent.
With all we have pressing, tonight, my primary concern is the man before me, rattling with the same worry he’s had since he faced off with Tyler in that garage.
Phone forever in his palm, he continues to vie for another woman’s call. It’s his tortured eyes and haunted expression that have me batting down my annoyance with it, in search of a remedy.
It’s been months, and Tobias’s state hasn’t wavered since his blowout with Tyler in that garage.
Seeing it in his haunted expression now, I know he isn’t registering Preston’s address.
His true focus is still on the man outside the frame.
It’s only when I snake my arms around his waist and press a kiss to his bare back that his shoulders inch down slightly.
Sweat-slicked and fresh from a run, he stands in nothing but shorts and sneakers. His exhausting miles seeming to have done nothing to tamp down his worry. It’s the second, less obvious shot of Tyler in the frame that has him tensing beneath my palms.
“He’s still not letting it in,” he utters in a mix of awe and dread. “It’s like it never happened. I cannot fucking comprehend how he does this.”
“I can,” I fire back, circling him in an attempt to pull his beautiful sunset eyes to mine. Stroking his rock-hard shoulders, I curse Tyler some for damning Tobias the way he did with his words, knowing they are what haunts him most. Just as I think it, Tobias speaks it.
“He told me that we send our best soldier out expecting victory, but never want to know how it’s earned.”
“I know, baby,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his chest, “you told me.” Rubbing his shoulders in an effort to ease some more of his tension, I search myself for a way to reach them both.
When Tobias came to me after that run-in, he was inconsolable.
As I tended to his swollen hand and broken finger, he fought me off to make calls.
His first—to stop Julien’s plane before it left the airstrip.
In that, Tobias had thought he was too late until he demanded Julien’s flight plan—Florence.
Like Tobias, Julien also foresaw Tyler’s defection, and greeted us in Italy with contingency plans and worst-case scenarios.
Tyler might’ve believed he was alone when he went after Larissa—to this day, probably thinking only a few dozen Ravens trailed him into Tula’s compound—but that was far from the case.
Thousands of birds stood in the wings throughout Italy and the rest of Europe, in wait for whatever orders came, by the time Tyler boarded the commercial flight he’d booked under an alias.
It was the man standing before me who strapped up without reservation, ready to get to him first, no matter the cost. And when he left me in that hotel room in Tuscany, sobbing into my hand in fear just after he shut the door, I swore it would be the only time I muted myself—for Tyler.
And though no lives were lost during that battle, none of us has been the same since that day—especially Tobias. Blowing out a breath of frustration when my attempts to calm the man rattling in front of me with touch fail, I go in to soothe with words.
“Try to remember this is a constant battle he’s won, no matter what’s happening in his life.”
“I know,” he rushes out, as if he were thinking it himself, “but I can’t forget what I saw.”
“Let’s hope Larissa can’t either.”
Tyler had checked out for precisely two days after returning from Italy before resuming his station.
Both looking and acting completely unscathed.
But it was only witnessing the strength of his ability to acclimate that left us all reeling, terrified for the man who’s shielded us all for so much of his life.
“I fear this battle might be his last,” Tobias whispers hoarsely.
“He’s in survival mode and refusing to tap out. But you know he’d never endanger Preston to prove a point. This isn’t his ego.”
“It isn’t fucking human, Cecelia,” he rasps out, helpless and eagerly watching the screen like Tyler’s being attacked. “I see it now where I couldn’t before. The facade. He’s fucking feeling it right now. He has to be burning in his fucking skin.” He shakes his head. “Why won’t she call me back?”
“Tula?” I ask, and he nods, pivoting from one source of frustration to another.
“Because there’s nothing to talk about right now,” I answer.
What I don’t voice is that I know silence can be the most damning punishment to a man who cares.
Though Tyler might deserve it, and I’m still reeling that he was capable of such maliciousness, I’m at my own breaking point.
Even if I understand both sides, it doesn’t make it easier to stomach.
As a woman who’s been deceived just as gravely by the men she loves, I also know Larissa deserves time to decide if she can live with it.
Instead of giving Tobias that raw truth, I offer what I can.
“There are two sides to this, and you’re only seeing his right now. We don’t know Larissa’s, and we don’t even know if there’s a reason for Tyler to go back.”
“There’s a reason,” he states with surety. “I knew better than to deal with them,” he snaps. “Fucking mafia.”
“Bullshit, that’s frustration talking. You respect her.
You were giddy about your new girlfriend,” I joke, which doesn’t earn a smile.
“And it was mutual between you, even if you didn’t let me in on it or meet her until the last fucking minute.
And we see how well that went.” I roll my eyes at the solid week we spent in that fight after the fact.
“How the fuck were we supposed to know this was from a teenage crush!?” he pivots again, telling me he didn’t hear a word I just spoke.
It’s then that I palm his jaw with both hands, and his eyes close with his confession.
“Watching him kneel in that dirt begging for her, for his baby …” He shakes his head.
“It still feels like I’m about to watch him die. ”
“He needs to stay busy,” I assure him, stroking the strong lines of his jaw. “His job is the only thing grounding him right now.”
“He’s working seventeen-hour days.”
“And you’re working eighteen to watch him,” I remind him.
“Because he’s—”
“Yeah,” I bite out, “I can see how unbearable it is to watch someone you love more than life constantly battling to remain upright while trying to save the world from implosion. I can’t imagine how fucking hard that must be.”
His eyes soften as he utters a one-word apology. “Trésor.”
“Don’t”—I shake my head in assurance—“you and me are fine,” I promise, “just keep talking to me.”
“I’m fucking scared,” he admits, which alarms me even as I’m grateful for how far we’ve come from his nights of silencing his fears with gin.
“I know, and I wish I had a solution, but time is the true barrier here, and sadly, you’ve never been a patient man.”
“I can’t lose him. I won’t,” he declares firmly.
“We won’t. Thankfully, he’s not going anywhere for now. Is he talking to anyone?”
“No. Not even Carter.”
“You’re monitoring his calls?”
“The lack thereof,” he relays without apology.
“Zach?”
He shakes his head. “Tyler is playing him, too. His own son. All of this is an act. He’s just … not fucking there.”
“I don’t know what it’ll take, but we’ll figure it out, okay?”
When his eyes flit back to the TV with a dismissive nod, I hit my limit.
“Tobias. Baby. Look. At. Me.”
He does, his anxiety clearly spiking.
“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”
He drops his chin. “My mind is not my own tonight.”
“Okay,” I sigh, grabbing his hand and guiding him into our closet, pulling out a pair of slacks and a dress shirt. “Get dressed.”
“For?”
“We’re going to Washington.”
“Why?”
“Because you haven’t slept in two days, and you need to lay eyes on him.”
“Staring at him won’t make a difference, Cecelia. He’s barely speaking to me.”
“He’s barely speaking to anyone, but it might do him good to know we see it.”
As I pull out a fresh pair of boxers, he shakes his head, lifting his phone. “He’ll only ice us out. I’m going to try Tula again.”
“Okay, how about this”—I fold the clothes over my arm—“I need to see him, Tobias, because I’m fucking scared!”
When his jaw lowers at my sudden outburst, I shrug, allowing my eyes to water. “One of us had to stay calm, and we know it won’t be you, but I’ve reached my own limit. I need to see him.”
Tracking my tears, his eyes finally fully focus on me as I voice my own need.
“So, please, get in the fucking shower so we can get to him, because I feel him slipping away, too. And while we’re on our way there, we can try and brainstorm a solution.
But until we find one, I need to have his back, because even when I believed every one of you turned yours on me, Tyler never has.
” Blinking, I release more of the fear and tears I’ve been holding for months.
“Truth is, I’ve been slowly dying inside watching him suffer right along with you. ”
“Trésor,” he murmurs, sweeping me into his arms before pressing his forehead to mine and releasing a heavy sigh.
“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize …
” He stares back at me in wide-eyed wonder.
“… You should know you’ve been just as convincing as he is,” he scolds gently before dipping and whisking my tears away with soft lips.
“You have enough to worry about.”
“You are my whole goddamned life,” he counters, “even when I’m distracted.”
“I know, I told you, we’re good, and I mean it. This is about Tyler … So, we’ll go?”
His burning flames gently lick my profile before he nods. “Oui, we’ll go. But make no mistake”—he presses his soft lips to mine before pulling back—“you’re just as strong as any of us, and right now, I’m in fucking awe of you.”
Without another word, he carries me into the bathroom, slowly undressing me before showing me exactly how much.