Chapter 7
GRIFFIN
I’m staring at a span detail like it personally wronged me.
The line weight is off. I know it is. I’ve adjusted it three times already —no, four— and it still doesn’t sit right on the page. I zoom in. Zoom out. Shift the grid.
I give up for the time being and try to revise load tables, but the numbers won’t stay still.
A calendar notification pings on my screen: Field walk —3:30 p.m. Right below it, an unread email from Sylas’s teacher about next week’s “inventor day.” He wants to build a robot claw for real this time.
I should be excited —and I am— but my first reaction is logistics.
Who’s going to cut the poster board while I’m stuck in my value-engineering call?
I glance at the picture on my credenza. Sylas grinning wide with a popsicle stain on his shirt, my hand on his shoulder, the band on my finger catching the sunlight.
My chest tightens the way it does when I let my mind go there: the two of us, and the space where someone else should be, where Lila should be.
I rub my thumb over the ring until the metal warms.
Worth and Henson get it. Worth especially; he’s built a company while being a dad first. He’ll shift a meeting for school pickup without blinking, and Henson will cover a client call for me and say he doesn’t mind.
They never make me feel lesser for needing flexibility sometimes.
Though that doesn’t stop the crawl of inadequacy under my skin.
“Hey.” Mya pops her head through my door. “Wanna grab lunch in a bit? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Sure”. I wonder what it’s about when my phone vibrates.
A group FaceTime request fills the screen from my brothers.
I stare at it for half a second, waving Maya away, before answering.
Adrian’s face comes into view first, the background behind him a blur of movement. Even through a screen, Paris is unmistakable.
“About time. Was starting to think you forgot you had brothers,” he says.
My youngest brother, Damian pops in next, already grinning —the sunshine of the New England coast shining behind him. “He didn’t forget. He just scheduled us out.”
Caleb, the eldest, is on another screen, somewhere dim, eyes already scanning me like he’s clocking everything I’m not saying. He’s the quiet one.
I lean back slightly. “You all done?”
“Never,” Damian says cheerfully. “How’s the control-freak life treating you?”
“Shut up. I’m busy working.”
“Shocking,” he replies.
Caleb cracks the faintest smile and tilts his head. “You look tired.”
“For God’s sake, do I look that bad? You’re the third person to say this. I’m fine.”
“Mm,” Caleb responds, unconvinced.
Adrian’s gaze sharpens a tad. “How’s the situation at home?”
“I’m handling it.”
Damian winces. “That sounded reassuring.”
Caleb leans forward a fraction. “You still don’t have someone new in place, do you?”
My jaw tightens. “Not yet.”
Silence lingers for half a second too long.
Then Damian, softer now, “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. We offered to help.”
“Thanks, but I’m not making you and Caleb fly across the country to come play babysitter. As I said, I’m handling it.”
Damian rolls his eyes but I ignore it. Instead, I nod toward Adrian’s screen. “How’s physio?”
Adrian’s shoulders stay relaxed, but something tightens behind his eyes. “It’s… progressing.”
“Define ‘progressing,’” Caleb says.
Adrian exhales through his mouth. “Slow. It’s frustrating.”
Damian’s grin fades. “Still the same physical therapist?”
Adrian hesitates. “We got a new one.”
That gets my attention. “Who?”
His jaw shifts slightly before he answers. “Ryan’s sister.”
Caleb’s brows draw together. “Rhea Voss?”
Adrian nods.
Damian leans forward, interest piqued. “Wow. I haven’t seen her in years. Since she left the island for college.”
“Yeah. She’s the team’s new hire,” Adrian says evenly.
I frown slightly, remembering how close Rhea and Adrian were as teenagers back in Nantucket. Always together —bike rides down to the docks, late nights on the beach, her perched on the hood of his car while he talked about racing like it was the only thing that mattered.
I’m pretty sure they were more than just friends back then. You don’t spend that much time with someone, look at each other the way they did, and call it nothing.
When Rhea left for college, Adrian brushed it off like it wasn’t a big deal. But he changed after that. As if something had been taken out of him. I noticed, but never said anything.
Back then everything was simpler. Before the crash.
They weren’t sure Adrian would walk again. And for a year, he didn’t.
Wheelchair, physio, and long days of learning how to do things most people don’t think twice about.
Now he’s… better. Not the same, but better. Strong enough to get around without his wheelchair most days, using a cane when he needs it. Pushing and fighting his way back to something that resembles the man he used to be.
But the racing part of his life is over.
Thankfully, he’d already made enough during his F1 career to pivot, and bought into a team, turning it into something of his own. That’s what took him to Paris.
And now Rhea’s back in the picture.
I glance at him again, catching the way his shoulders have gone just a touch tighter.
Yeah. There’s definitely something unsaid there.
Damian claps his hands once. “Alright, enough of that. We’re not turning this into a sad fest —no offense, Adrian.”
“None taken,” Adrian mutters.
Damian grins. “Caleb, tell us about your little marine empire. Last I heard, you were buying up half the coast.”
Caleb leans back. “It’s not an empire. It’s expanding.”
“How modest,” Damian says dryly.
I huff a chuckle. “Expanding how?”
Caleb shrugs one shoulder, like it’s nothing. “New distribution contracts. The processing facility just cleared permits; we’ll control more of the supply chain now.”
Damian whistles. “So, translation: you’re about to make an obscene amount of money.”
Caleb doesn’t smile. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” Adrian asks.
Caleb’s gaze flicks to the side for a second before coming back. “Stability.”
Adrian studies him for a beat, before shaking it off with a grin. “Well, while Caleb’s out there conquering the ocean, Damian is over there trying to make people feel things with throw pillows.”
I snort. “That’s one way to put it.”
“It’s a luxury coastal inn,” Damian corrects, mock offended. “And it’s going to be the place to stay. Think Nantucket charm but elevated. Warm, intentional, curated—”
“Expensive,” Caleb cuts in.
“Obviously expensive,” Damian responds, unfazed. “Do you know how much good linen costs?”
Adrian’s mouth twitches. “You always had expensive taste.”
I shake my head with a laugh, the earlier tension easing just enough.
“What’s the opening date?” I ask.
“Soft launch in a few months,” Damian says, already lighting up again. “I want everything perfect before I open the doors. You guys have to come.”
My phone buzzes, Mya’s name lighting the screen. Lunch. Right.
A few seconds later, another notification pops up. I glance down, expecting a follow-up message from her; instead an Instagram badge flashes across the screen.
My thumb hovers over the notification before I stop myself.
Absolutely not. I already know how that ends.
I swipe it away, then look at the time and blow out a breath. Food might be the only thing I manage to do right today.
“Gotta go,” I say, already reaching to end the call.
“Try not to scare off all your nanny prospects,” Caleb calls.
“No promises,” I laugh before hanging up.
“So, did you ever find someone new to help with Sylas?” Mya asks, sipping her iced tea.
“Not yet. It’s harder than I thought. The reliable ones get scooped up fast.”
She lifts a brow. “Or…?”
I exhale. “Or I keep finding reasons not to hire them.”
Mya smiles like she’s been waiting for that. “Shocking.”
“Seriously, though,” I say, leaning back.
“One showed up twenty minutes late. Another spent more time flirting with me than answering my questions. One couldn’t tell me what she’d do if Sylas had a meltdown.
” I shake my head. “And one asked me if I had a backup nanny as she might need ‘mental health days’ every week.”
Mya snorts into her drink.
“I’m not asking for perfection. Just… someone I can trust.”
She studies me for a second, then tilts her head. “You mean someone who meets your extremely reasonable, definitely not intense, fourteen-point checklist?”
“It’s eight,” I correct automatically.
She grins. “Of course. My bad.”
I drag a hand over the back of my neck. “Sylas is six, Mya. I’m not just handing him off to anyone.”
“I know, and you shouldn’t. But there’s a difference between being careful and being… you.” She gestures vaguely at all of me. “No offense, but you might need to loosen up a little.”
I huff a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
“I’m serious. Not everyone is going to fit perfectly into your system, Griff. That doesn’t mean they won’t be good with him.”
I don’t answer right away because I know she’s not wrong.
“And as we’re on the subject…” she says, like she’s been building up to this. “I might know someone: my sister, TJ. She’s amazing with kids. She used to babysit half our neighborhood back in the day. She even made business cards,” she adds with a grin.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Your sister, huh?”
“She’d be perfect, Griff. Trust me.”
I take a slow sip of coffee. “I’ll think about it.”
She nods, satisfied, and I can see the tilt of victory in her mouth. Then her phone lights up on the table.
“Hey, you can actually meet my sister right now if you’d like. She’s at Willow’s.”
“Sure. Might as well get it out of the way.”
We leave the restaurant and walk a couple of blocks, Mya nattering away while I glance at my Instagram notifications again, the urge to open her page again strong.
When we walk into the café a few doors down, a woman sits in the far corner, her back to us. Her hair catches the light just right, the color and fall of it stirring something unsettlingly familiar. And when she turns, her smile hits the room first, bright enough that I feel it.
I hear a sharp, loud sound I don’t recognize until I realize it came out of me. Everything in me goes rigid, recognition slamming through me like a punch. It’s her. The girl I’ve been watching through a screen. Tiana Jones.
What. The. Fuck.