Chapter 5 Calder
Calder
Morning comes far too soon. I should’ve gotten out of bed hours ago since all I’ve been doing is staring at the ceiling, every attempt at shutting off my brain drowned out by the thoughts that continue to roll around in my head.
Keeping Saint alive, instead of killing her. It had to be the stupidest choice I ever made. You wouldn’t think so by the way she stays stuck in my brain like a burr.
How soft her skin was, the way her pulse felt beneath my fingers, how right it felt to touch her after a year of forcing myself to stay away.
I want to claim her. Make her mine. I am so fucked.
Sitting up in bed, I scrub a hand down my face, and try not to think about how big of a fucking mess this is. How wrong it is that I went against my father’s command. In all the years I’ve been his right hand, I’ve never hesitated, never failed to finish a job.
Even as guilt gnaws at my insides, begging for me to confess what I’ve done, I know I would choose to save her. Again and again. I don’t regret sparing Saint.
My only regret is how she came back to me. I wish like hell we didn’t have to meet again like this, that she wasn’t tangled up in my family’s problems. It doesn’t really matter now, since I can’t change what I’ve done.
I can only look forward, only find a solution to fix the present. The cabin’s just temporary. I can’t keep her there forever, but I also can’t risk my father, or anyone else, finding out she’s alive. Not until I make a plan.
It isn’t normal for a son to say they hate their father, but Roman and my relationship has never been normal. I’ve hated him for years—for the way he abused my mother, for the way he treated my brothers and me. Pitting us all against each other.
Loyalty to the family is all that matters to him. The Bishop’s name, and reputation, comes before everything else. That’s the rule. Always has been.
Until Saint.
But there’s no rewriting the rules, not when Roman holds the reins.
When he discovers the truth, because I can’t keep Saint hidden forever, shit is going to implode. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I clench my fist before snatching it up.
Oh, it’s only Wayne.
Wayne: Your father wants to see you. Office. 9 AM.
I’m not surprised. Wayne is known to tattle to my father any time something goes sideways. And last night went more than sideways. I can’t blame Wayne, he’s loyal to a fault.
And loyalty, around here, comes before survival. Loyalty is survival.
My stomach clenches as I get out of bed. I know what’s coming and I’ll deal with whatever punishment Roman saddles me with.
I drag myself into the shower, washing quickly. By the time I’m done and dressed in my usual—worn jeans, flannel, and steel-toed boots—I’ve pushed the anxiety about this meeting so far down I can almost forget it. Almost.
I pause in front of the mirror to check my appearance: square jaw dusted with scruff, eyes too sharp, nose bent from one of many fights with Kade. Bishop blood through and through.
I’ve faced a number of monsters in my life, but none as cruel and callous as my father.
Facing off against him doesn’t scare me, it’s what happens afterward that makes my blood run cold.
He always has a way of retaliating when we stand up to him that is more often than not ten times worse than the act of speaking out.
The punishment also usually hurts the people I care about more than me.
My brothers, my mother, and once he finds out she exists, Saint.
I can handle pain, can handle his rage, but I can’t handle watching the people I care about get put through the wringer because of something I did. I have to protect them, and Saint, at all costs. Even more so since she didn’t sign up for this shit like my family members.
But did we sign up for it? My brothers and I being born into this shit show.
Outside, the ranch is quiet and I welcome the calm as I walk down to the barn.
I start my day like any other, as if I don’t have someone handcuffed to a bed in the woods.
I saddle my horse, a black gelding named Storm that no one else on the ranch can handle, and ride out for my early morning chores.
I check the fences. The eastern pastures stretch out before me as I ride, the sun just beginning to climb higher in the sky. This land has been Bishop territory for four generations, each acre paid for in blood and sacrifice.
My great-grandfather staked his claim with a rifle in one hand and gold in the other. My grandfather expanded it through marriages and mortgages that bent half the county to his will and my father turned it into an empire.
Someday, it will all be mine.
The weight of that legacy sits heavy as I guide Storm along the fence line, checking for breaks that will need mending later. Ranch work is never done, even for the oldest Bishop son.
Especially for the oldest Bishop son.
My father believes in the dignity of labor, in knowing every inch of what you own. It might be the one and only thing we agree on. Satisfied, I circle back toward the main house, crossing paths with a couple of the ranch hands.
They nod respectfully as I pass, none quite meeting my eye.
They know who I am. What I am.
The shadow of my father.
We all know it isn’t just my name that terrifies them. It’s what I do for him. It’s knowing that when you cross our family my eyes are the last you see before it’s over.
I dismount at the stables, handing Storm off to Miguel, the stable master who’s worked for us longer than I’ve been alive. He takes the reins without comment, though his dark eyes linger on my face a moment too long.
Can he see my betrayal written there?
No, of course not, my conscience is making me feel guilty.
Reminding me of what I’ve done. I move on knowing if I keep my father waiting things will only get worse.
Patience isn’t something God blessed him with.
The main house stands like a fortress at the center of Bishop Ranch—three stories of timber and stone built by my great-grandfather.
Every son since has added to it, expanding the legacy, ensuring that the house, like the family, dominates the landscape. Is this what I really want for myself? I guess I’ve never thought of there being another option, anything beyond Black Hollow Creek.
I walk up the driveway, past my father’s black Escalade, noticing the mud splattered along its sides. Was he out last night? Where did he go?
I can only assume he went out to double-check the job, probably because Wayne ran straight to his office and spilled his guts out.
I made myself look guilty by going straight home and to bed instead of checking in with him.
Protocol said I needed to check in but I had to put some time between what happened and stashing Saint away.
Now I’ll suffer the consequences.
The front door opens before I reach it.
My mother greets me, her slender frame dwarfed by the massive oak door.
Once upon a time, Elena Bishop was considered the most beautiful woman in three counties.
Thirty years of marriage to my father has worn her down to something fragile and watchful.
Not that she’s been much of a mother all these years.
She’s witnessed countless “lessons” at Roman’s hands and did nothing but stand by and watch.
Trapped inside her own trauma.
Like a bird that’s been caged too long.
“Calder.” She doesn’t quite meet my eyes. Never does anymore. “It’s good to see you. Your father is waiting in his office.”
“Morning, Mom. It’s good to see you too.” I bend to kiss her cheek, feeling the slight flinch she can’t quite suppress. It’s all a matter of form now.
I love my mother, and I want to help her, but sometimes I don’t think she wants to be helped.
Even if there was a way for her to escape my father, I don’t think she would go.
Her maternal instinct is too strong. As long as we’re a part of this world, she will be too, and I hate that for her.
She’s played her role, providing my father with the heirs he required.
I know it’s difficult for her to see what we’ve turned into under our father’s influence.
What I’ve turned into, especially.
Stepping back, she gestures for me to come in. “Just warning you, your father is in another one of his moods. He thinks you betrayed the family name and he’s been ranting and raving about it all night.”
I suppress the desire to roll my eyes and step inside the house. She closes the door behind me. “No surprise there. I’m sure Wayne was here last night, word vomiting everywhere.”
“He was, and your father was soaking up every single word. I didn’t pay him much attention, since I know you’d never turn your back on us. Your father, on the other hand, is losing his mind. The constant paranoia has him thinking everyone is an enemy.”
“Believe me. I know.” I give her a soft smile. “If anyone is capable of talking him off the ledge, it’s me.”
“I know.” She whispers, and gives me a side hug.
We part ways and I continue in the direction of my father’s office.
It occupies the entire west wing of the ground floor, a space designed to intimidate and impress in equal measure.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the ranch, reinforcing the message that everything as far as the eye can see belongs to Roman Bishop.
The walls are lined with trophies, mounted heads of elk and moose and bighorn sheep, shot and caged by him. A massive grizzly bear stands in one corner, rearing up to its full nine-foot height, frozen in its final moment of defiance.
I’ve always hated that bear. Always understood it too well.
My father sits behind a desk carved from a single piece of massive oak, his back to the door as he gazes out over his domain.
At fifty-eight, he’s still built like the college linebacker he once was, broad-shouldered and solid muscle, with hands large enough to crush a man’s windpipe. I know, because I’ve seen him do it.
Some things you can’t forget.
“You’re late.”