Chapter 12 Keira
KEIRA
God, this conference call is dragging.
"…and if we push back the floral install window by two hours, that should give catering enough time to complete staging," Jillian says, her voice crackling through the speakerphone. "Does that work for you, Keira?"
"Mm-hm," I hum, barely listening. "That's fine. Just remember, the centerpieces need to be orchids this year, not roses. I was very specific about that."
There's some back and forth with people on the call, and I listen.
"I understand the supplier changed their inventory, but that's not my problem. Find another supplier. We have two weeks."
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale deeply.
"Look, this fundraiser is one of our biggest events of the year. Everything has to be perfect."
We move on to other topics, mainly the one I'm most interested in.
"…and the guest list," Jillian says, "is already full, but a few Shadowharbor donors reached out directly about VIP seating, so I'll loop back once we finalize placement."
"Perfect," I say, leaning forward. "Let's flag that," I add, keeping my voice cool. "I'd like to speak with them directly."
I lean back. Perfect. Doesn't seem suspicious at all that I want to speak to anyone Shadowharbor considers a VIP.
Now, asking the right questions without raising any red flags is another matter, but I'll worry about that later.
I stand and walk around the library, which has kind of become my office since staying here the last week.
I move toward the window, looking out over the grounds. Guards patrol the perimeter in pairs, walking back and forth.
"Good," I chime in. "And the Cartier donation?"
I glance toward the hallway, my eyes scanning the visible portion, looking for—
I stop myself.
Looking for what?
Or rather, looking for who.
I can't see him.
He's not there. And for some reason, that bothers me more than I want to admit.
Octavian is always there, always lingering in the doorway, or by the fireplace, or near the goddamn curtains.
But now? The empty doorway makes something squirm in my chest. I don't know how I feel about it.
"Yes, sorry, I'm still here. What did you say?"
I force my attention back to the call. The absence of his presence is noticeable in a way it shouldn't be.
Stop it.
"No, the menu is final. If Senator Brennan has dietary restrictions, he should have informed us two weeks ago when we sent out the RSVP."
Why is this bothering me, that he's not here?
A figure appears in the doorway, and I look up.
My head snaps up, and for half a second my pulse quickens before I recognize Callum's tall frame entering. But behind him, just outside in the hallway, I catch sight of Octavian.
He's leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on me through the open doorway.
Our gazes lock.
Something tightens in my stomach, warm and electric.
Then Callum steps further inside, partially blocking my view, and I force myself to look at my brother instead.
"Okay, everyone, I have to go. Send me the write-up tonight with any questions you need me to answer."
I end the call without waiting for a response. Something in Callum's eyes looks off.
"I have some not-so-great news, Keira," Callum says.
My chest constricts.
"What?" I ask, standing. "What is it?"
"It's about Dad."
My heart drops.
"What about him?" I ask, my body starting to tingle from nerves. "I thought everything was, I mean, he's stable, right?"
Callum shakes his head slowly. "The cancer's spread. It's not contained anymore."
"What?!" My hands brace against the desk. "I thought it was under control."
My breath comes faster. The room feels too small, the air too thick.
Callum's jaw tightens. "We all did. The last treatment, it didn't work the way they hoped."
"No. No, that's not possible. He was, he was doing better. He said he was getting—"
"He lied, Keira. You know how he is."
I do know. Of course I do.
Darragh Killaney doesn't show weakness, not even to his own children. Especially not to his own children.
"So what now?" My voice sounds raw. "What are they doing?"
Callum takes a breath. "There's a special experimental treatment in Germany. He's going to do it."
"When?"
"Next Thursday."
"Okay. Then we wait. We hope for the best."
Callum shifts. His eyes are darker now. "Keira, the doctors gave him a thirty-five percent chance."
"What the hell does that mean?" I ask as my stomach drops.
"That he won't wake up from the procedure."
"WHAT?!"
"And even if he does," he continues, "there's no guarantee it'll work."
My eyes burn, heat prickling behind them, the telltale sting of tears threatening to spill. But I blink hard, refusing to let them fall.
"So this is why Mom's not returning my calls then," I say.
He nods.
"She shuts down, you know."
"Yeah, better than most."
"He wanted to wait to tell everyone. You're here, so I told you first. I'm calling Declan next."
I change the subject because I'm going to lose it if I don't.
"So, I guess you're in the seat a little while longer, then?" I say.
Callum nods. "I guess so. But nothing changes. We just keep doing what we're doing. Move as a family. Pretend like he's coming back to us."
I nod, but my vision is starting to go blurry at the edges.
He moves toward me and pulls me into a hug.
My brother's arms are solid around me, strong and steady, and for a moment I let myself sink into it. I can't remember the last time Callum hugged me. Maybe when I was twelve? Thirteen?
"The three of us will get through this," he says against the top of my head.
I nod against his chest as I feel the first warm, salty tear fall down my cheek.
Then he's pulling back, his hands briefly squeezing my shoulders before he releases me completely.
"I'll let you know when I hear from him," Callum says.
I nod again, still not speaking.
He turns and walks to the door.
As he opens it, I feel another tear slip down my cheek.
Damn it.
I swipe at it angrily, but another follows, then another, my body betraying me despite my best efforts to maintain control.
I look past him and see that Octavian hasn't moved.
He's still standing in the hallway, arms crossed over his massive frame, watching me.
Our eyes meet through my tears, and he watches me fall apart, witnessing my weakness.
Something hot and sharp twists in my chest. Humiliation wars with anger, and beneath it all, comfort.
So I just stand there, tears still wet on my cheeks, staring back at him.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then, slowly, Octavian shifts. Not leaving, but adjusting his stance, positioning himself more solidly between the door and the hallway beyond.
Guarding me.
Even now. Especially now.
The realization does something to the knot in my chest, loosening it just slightly.
He's not going anywhere.
Whether I want him there or not, whether I'm strong or falling apart, whether I'm the fierce Killaney princess or just a terrified daughter, he's staying.
My chest tightens again. Not from grief this time.
From something infinitely more dangerous.