Chapter 27 Caleb
Caleb
Alone in the kitchen of my house, I stood at the window over the sink, just as Emma had in the Henderson attic. A low fog had moved in, blocking the stars. No chance of a third sighting of the Star Falls Legend, and I waited for the relief to hit, but it didn’t.
I had my hands in my pockets, the fingers of my right hand toying with the necklace I’d found in the manor’s attic three nights ago now. After checking over the entire property, where I’d found nothing amiss beyond the covered cameras, I’d walked Emma out to her car and watched her drive off.
I had no idea where she’d gone or if she was safe. I’d texted her, asking her to let me know when she got home.
The minute she’d texted back a perky safe and sound, I immediately did a U-turn, heading back to the job.
She hadn’t been there.
So was I wrong? Maybe she’d gone up to the attic at some point to…what? Rest? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made any fucking sense.
I also had no idea why I hadn’t given her back her necklace.
Before she’d gotten into her car, I’d tried to give her a chance to tell me, asking again, “You sure everything’s okay?”
She just hummed a vague answer. I hadn’t pushed because I wanted her to tell me why her necklace had been under that bed, in a room that had nothing to do with our job.
Even as deep down, I was afraid I knew why.
“I was driving home and saw your light on,” Tucker said, letting himself in my kitchen door, hair tousled like he’d been shoving his fingers through it, looking both keyed up and exhausted. “You’re up late.”
“Not by choice,” I said, “and lower your voice. If you wake Hank, he’s yours.”
Tucker took a deep breath and let it out again. He had his hands braced on the counter, head dropped between his shoulders. It was midnight, but rushing Tucker to speak before he was ready never went well.
Calvin and Klein padded sleepily into the kitchen, looking confused about why we weren’t sleeping. Reading the room, they went to Tucker and nudged him for pets. Obligingly, he hunkered down and let them fuss and lick him half to death.
“Rough call?” I asked.
“Ten-year-old drowning victim,” he said, face buried in Calvin’s neck.
Jesus. I winced, but didn’t dare offer sympathy.
Tucker hated sympathy, empathy, or any other emotion that he could construe as pity.
Instead, I went to the fridge to get him a piece of fruit—he was a weirdo, preferred fruit over comfort food.
But when I opened the fruit drawer, I found each apple, orange, and pear had a single bite taken out of it—a toddler-sized bite.
I made a note to throttle the twin heathens later and pulled out a beer. Tucker accepted it gratefully, then proceeded to drink it down in less than ten seconds while I leaned against the opposite counter and waited.
Our version of a hug.
A full minute later, he lifted his head. “Thanks.” His stomach growled loudly into the silence.
I went back to the fridge and grabbed all the makings for French toast. Bacon too. I started the French toast while Tucker handled the bacon, the two of us moving in a long-ago-learned dance of synchronicity, not speaking.
In ten minutes, the kitchen smelled so good, my mouth was watering, even as the necklace in my pocket felt heavy enough to weigh me down.
Hank showed up in the kitchen doorway, wearing pink bunny boxers and nothing else. Kiera’s idea of funny. I’d told Hank he didn’t have to wear them, but he’d hugged them to his chest like they meant something because they’d come from his daughter.
But, hell, maybe that was just me, projecting.
Hank pointed to the French toast and then his mouth. “Ah.”
“On it,” I said, then grabbed three plates.
We sat at my kitchen table, Hank in his undies, Tucker in his firefighter cargos and button-down, me in soft sleep pants and a long-sleeved Henley. A mismatched group, as always.
“Ah,” Hank said with feeling after his first bite, then didn’t surface again until his stack of French toast and bacon was completely gone.
Tucker watched him but didn’t say much. He, like Kiera, didn’t seem to harbor as much resentment as me and Ry had managed to hold on to. Maybe because me and Ry had taken the brunt of the abuse.
Hank pushed back from the table.
“You good?” Tucker asked him.
“Ah.” He patted Tucker on the head. “Ah?”
Tucker shook this off. “I’m fine. Why don’t you come home with me and give Caleb a break.”
“Not necessary,” I said, taking a longer look at my brother. The old man was right—Tucker was most definitely off. It could be the bad call he’d had tonight, but I got the feeling it was something else.
Tuck looked at Hank. “Get a pair of sweats and a toothbrush?”
Hank vanished down the hall.
“He’ll get his toothbrush,” I said, “but I wouldn’t count on him grabbing clothes.”
Tucker shrugged, and I shook my head.
“All right, out with it. What’s up?”
“Just living the dream. Now you.”
“Same,” I said, and we stared at each other. “We’re both full of shit.”
“You more than me,” Tucker said. “Talk.”
“I already texted you and Ry a report on what happened the other night.” I hadn’t included the necklace. “We ordered a better surveillance system and additional cameras. It all came in today, and I’ll be putting it in first thing in the morning—”
“Not the job,” Tucker said.
“Then what?”
“Whatever the fuck’s eating at you. I’m guessing it’s Emma and your feelings about her.”
“You want to talk about feelings?”
Insulted, Tucker put his hands on his hips. “Why not?”
“Why not?” I laughed. “Because if there’s anyone in this family more closed off from relationships than me, it’s you.”
“I can still listen,” Tucker said, then shrugged. “Or I could beat the shit out of you, if you’d rather.”
“You can try, but I’m not taking advice from you. You give bad advice on purpose.”
Tucker looked affronted. “When?”
“Remember that time I dated a Lakers cheerleader, and I couldn’t figure out how to relate to her? You told me to lead with a compliment, but make it unusual, like ‘you have pretty toes.’”
Tucker laughed. “Okay, fine, when we were young and stupid, I did purposely lead you astray once or twice, but in my defense, it was hilarious. I’m sorry.”
“You aren’t.”
“I mean, a little bit, I am, but this time I’ve got legitimate advice.”
I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “Uh-huh…”
“Tell Emma you like the way her brain smells. Or that her laugh sounds like a symphony of angels farting.”
I burst out laughing and shoved him. It was very satisfying when he hit the wall. With his head. “It’s a shock you’re single.”
“I know, right?” Tucker let his smile fade. “Caleb.”
“Tucker.”
He shook his head, no longer playing. “This is real for you.”
Way too real. “I might’ve lost control of the vehicle,” I admitted.
“Ya think? You two put out sparks when you’re in the same room.”
“Not talking about this.”
“Just tell me this.” Tucker’s voice was low, quiet, utterly serious. “Do you know?”
That I’d fallen for Emma Sumner like a stone from a cliff? I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Yeah. I know.”
“I told you, it’s the Legend.” Tucker grinned from ear to ear. “The stars came for you.”
“It’s not the Legend.” I pointed at him. “And fix your face.”
He made an attempt to stop smiling and failed. “Look, I know you’re torn between needing to prove something to Ry and how much you want to keep seeing Emma. I’m going to give you my real advice.”
“No. You’re not—”
“Don’t give up a shot at happiness for a job. Even if that job is for Ryder. When he calms down, he’ll get it. Just give him time.”
Hank showed back up, holding a toothbrush and, unbelievably, sweats. I helped him into them while Tucker got Hank’s shoes on. He was at the back door, one hand on Hank’s arm steadying him when he threw words back to me: “It was totally the Legend.”
“It wasn’t!”
But he was already gone.