Chapter 21 Lara
Lara
My eyelids felt like they’d been stitched together when I went to open them. All of me, really, was stuck, like I’d been stitched straight onto the mattress as I slept . . . at the Stone house.
That was enough to pop my eyes open and free my heavy limbs. I sat up, maybe a little too quickly, as the final sequence of events of last night toppled through my mind like a series of dominos, one falling over into the next.
We’d made it back to the retreat’s parking lot.
Back to Calder’s truck. I hadn’t any energy left for the surprise when he dug his keys out from the dirt by the front wheel; he hadn’t gone back to check that the doors were locked, but to hide his keys outside like he’d known we’d need them.
Then driving back to Stonewall Ranch, Sarah trembling next to me—exhausted, drugged, and crying through currents of grief.
Sarah. I turned, my hand landing on the empty space in the bed beside me.
We’d shared Colby’s room last night. Calder’s sister had offered it up as soon as we walked through the front door, saying she would stay in Colton’s room, the somewhere-in-the-middle brother who wasn’t home.
I also had no energy to stymie the surge of disappointment when Calder didn’t mention the Airstream.
Not that I would’ve spent the night there with him; I needed to stay with Sarah.
To make sure she was okay overnight and that she had a friendly face beside her when she woke up—clearly, something she’d already done, waking and leaving without my notice.
Had she talked to Calder already? Did she remember anything else from last night now that the drugs in her system were metabolized? Anything that could give us an idea where to find Rachel?
Pummeled with a dozen questions, I rose and heard the bed crinkle with the movement.
Dr. Julia’s notes.
I lifted the mattress to see the papers from my sister’s file folded underneath.
My throat constricted as I recalled more from last night: the growing strains of the argument in the woods, hearing Sarah’s scream through the trees.
I had no idea what had prompted me to take the papers with me—what had prompted me to know we wouldn’t be coming back.
But I’d tucked them into my waistband before going in search of Calder and then stashed them here last night, under the mattress, when I’d stripped out of my soaked clothes.
I didn’t have time to look at them now. I needed to find Sarah. And Calder.
While leaving Rachel’s file under the mattress like a wound I couldn’t heal, a different memory struck me: the blood on Calder’s shirt, on his side. He was injured, and I . . . in the tumult of our escape, I’d completely forgotten because he hadn’t acted hurt.
He’d said the injury was minor, but he wasn’t the doctor. I was.
Next to the door sat the bag of clothes I’d packed for the retreat. Calder must’ve brought it in from his truck at some point last night. After quickly changing out of the dry sweats Colby had loaned me last night and into jeans and a tee, I headed for the door.
The first voice I heard was Sarah’s unsteady one coming from the kitchen, and I assumed she was talking to Calder.
“Thank you so much—”
“No need to thank me,” a weathered, deep voice responded.
Compared to the short greeting I’d received from the indomitable Cassius Stone, it was almost hard to believe the softer words I now heard in his worn tone were coming from the Stone patriarch himself.
Not that he wouldn’t help someone. Cassius’s family—and the work they did—was a testament to the charitable values he possessed, but he still didn’t like outsiders. However, maybe Cassius saw in Sarah the face of another woman he hadn’t been able to save—just like in her, I saw my sister.
“Good morning, Sarah. Mr. Stone,” I said, entering the room and going to her side.
Cassius didn’t return my greeting with anything more than a nod, but Sarah brightened when she saw me.
“Lara.”
“How are you feeling this morning?” I asked, but I was already taking my own appraisal.
Sarah’s color had returned. Her pupils were no longer blown out. The red welt Trent left on her cheek had faded slightly.
“I’m . . . okay.” She tested the words.
The psychological and emotional damage, on the other hand, wouldn’t dissipate as easily.
“Did you—oh,” I stopped, noticing the empty plate bearing food crumbs and a trail of maple syrup.
“I made breakfast,” Cassius said then, setting a plate on the island and sliding it in my direction. It was packed with eggs and bacon and pancakes, and my stomach growled. Wow, that looked good.
“Thank you.” I swallowed and took a seat on the stool next to Sarah’s, feeling like I’d been hit by a runaway train of hunger; it was crazy what stress and adrenaline could make you forget.
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
As if on cue, Sarah picked up her mug and took another drink.
“I . . . I don’t even know what to say, Lara. Thank you—”
“Isn’t necessary.” I reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze as she wiped her cheek with the back of her free hand. “There was no way we were going to let them take you.”
She sniffled, and Cassius returned not only with my mug, steaming with coffee, but also with a box of tissues. My chest pinched when she couldn’t even look at him as she took the box.
“Fresh cup of joe.” The mug bookended my plate. “Not as good as my son’s, but it gets the job done.”
My brows rose as I reached for the cup. So he knew about Calder’s coffee habit.
There were a hundred reasons why that shouldn’t be a big deal, but the way Calder had painted their strained relationship, it didn’t fit that Cassius would know about his eldest’s hobby, let alone sound like he cared about it.
“Thank you. It smells wonderful,” I said over the rim just before the bitterness burned along my tongue. Definitely not as good as Calder’s.
Somehow, in the course of a few cups, I’d learned what good coffee tasted like, and this . . . this wasn’t it. This was the kind of coffee the hospital ran on. Funny how it didn’t take long to realize what I’d been missing—and what I didn’t want to go back to.
I stiffened and shifted in my seat, afraid that notion might take root somewhere else—somewhere not as easy to fix or as harmless to lose as a good cup of coffee.
“Calder went to talk to Callum,” Cassius said, and only when I faced him did I realize I’d been looking over my shoulder—looking for Calder like I was expecting him to walk in any minute.
“Oh. Right.” I reached for my plate, taking a big forkful of eggs and shoving them in my mouth before I gave away anything else.
Cassius stretched across the counter, taking Sarah’s empty plate from her hands. “I’ll take care of that,” he said before she could try to clean up.
The longer I spent around Cassius, the harder it was not to appreciate the qualities he shared with his son. His protectiveness. His concern. His chivalry. And his stubbornness.
Barred from lifting a finger, Sarah turned and told me, “Calder came here first, but you were still sleeping, and he didn’t want to wake you.”
Or he wasn’t ready to deal with me yet.
“What did he say?” I tried not to sound too desperate.
“He wanted to know how I was. How I’d slept. If there was anything else I could think of . . . or remember about what Dr. Julia told me about . . . that place.” Shame hung from every syllable in her voice.
My fingers whitened where I held my fork.
All I wanted was to hug her tight and tell her that none of this was her fault.
Not how Trent had treated her. Not what had happened at the camp.
Not for being manipulated, the weaknesses she’d confided to Dr. Julia then exploited for the benefit of this Adam Eden.
All I wanted was to tell her all the things I wished I could’ve said to my sister.
As if sensing things were getting . . . emotional, Cassius cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me. I want to feed the chickens before we leave.”
Leave? I looked at Sarah. How much had I missed?
Sarah’s eyes remained low until he was gone, and then she said in the quietest voice, “Trent never . . . in a million years . . . would’ve done dishes.”
“You deserve more, Sarah. Better.”
She nodded like she wanted to drive the thought deep where no small man could ever uproot it again and then looked to me. “Because of you, I have the chance to find it.”
My throat tightened, her gratitude like salt in the wound of my sister’s disappearance: healing, but painful all the same. “Where will you go?”
“I’m going to my parents’ house in Virginia. I moved out here because of Trent . . .” She trailed off with a shudder. “Mr. Stone is taking me to the airport. I think it’s best for me to go home for a little bit.”
“Yeah, I think that would be really good,” I agreed, offering her a smile.
“I’m so sorry, Lara. You told me about your sister, and I didn’t understand why you were so quick to help me . . . a stranger . . . until Calder explained why you both were really at the retreat.”
My stomach tumbled over itself.
“I guess it’s proof of how terrible a judge I am of people, because I swear, seeing the two of you together was like something right out of a fantasy.” Her breath caught—or maybe it was mine.
“I would do anything for my sister,” I said, my tongue thick as it carved the words through my teeth.
Including putting myself at risk of falling for her ex-boyfriend.
Sarah hugged me then, so tight that she almost toppled her stool. “I’m sorry,” she cried softly. “I wish I knew more to help you. I wish I hadn’t panicked so soon and told Trent. Maybe then she would’ve told me more and I would be useful. God, I’m so useless—”
“Don’t.” I drew back and caught her hands in mine. “You stood up for yourself—fought for yourself. You’re strong, Sarah. Not useless, okay? Don’t carry the words of weak men forward with you. Please.” I said the words wishing Rachel could’ve heard them, too.
Sarah let out a deep exhale, collecting herself before she said in a watery voice, “You’re going to find her.”
“I hope so.”
“You will. You love her too much to give up. And Calder . . .”
Calder was being paid an as-yet-to-be-determined fee to not give up. And he’d promised.
“Sarah?” Cassius stepped into the doorway. “Do you want a few more minutes?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to keep the plane waiting. When I land, I promise I’ll reimburse you whatever the flight cost—”
It occurred to me then just how much Sarah was leaving behind. While Calder had kept our IDs and credit cards safe, Sarah hadn’t. She and Trent had left all their things just like they’d been instructed, which meant her wallet and license.
“How did you book a ticket?” I blurted out.
Sarah looked to Cassius, who explained. “I have a friend who has a private plane. He’s going to fly Sarah back to Virginia.”
Sarah hugged me again, her voice thick with emotion as she thanked me once more. “I just want to use the restroom, and then I’ll be ready.”
Cassius stepped aside to let her pass.
“Thank you for helping her. For helping me.” I swallowed hard and slid down from the stool.
“No need to thank me for that,” he said gruffly, taking my plate to the sink to clean like he’d done for Sarah.
“Then at least let me thank you for the delicious breakfast,” I said, having eaten my entire plate.
His smile was clipped on one side and brief. “You’re welcome. Though I’m sure I have a thing or two to learn about coffee-making.”
“Well, I happen to know you have a son who’d be happy to teach you.”
Cassius looked up from his suds-covered hands, and I felt like I’d just put my entire foot in my mouth. His expression hardened, but it was difficult to tell whether it was from anger or pain. “I don’t know about that.”
I should’ve let the conversation end there, but I didn’t. “My mom, admittedly, didn’t have very many rules, but she did always say it didn’t hurt to ask.”
“Knowing my son, it might.”
Don’t say anything. Don’t get involved. Don’t—
“Knowing your son, I think it would mean a lot.” It would mean a bridge back to a relationship that was more than business, and that, in my opinion, would mean everything.
“Did he tell you that?” Cassius arched a brow and then shook his head, and for the first time, I thought he looked a little something like weary.
“Calder took on too much after Annie died, including the responsibility for things that weren’t his fault.
Something I should’ve realized sooner. Done more to stop. ”
“Have you told him that?” I asked, but I knew he hadn’t. Calder wouldn’t believe, wouldn’t feel like he did, if Cassius had.
“I should’ve. I should’ve a long time ago.
” He sighed and turned off the faucet, looking every inch like a man whose wife had been murdered, leaving him with six kids to raise.
Every inch like a human being who, in the process of dealing with his own trauma, had made mistakes he didn’t know how to fix.
“But you know, once Calder makes up his mind . . .”
Oh, I knew.
Mr. Director.
But, to be honest, if I looked in the mirror right now, I would think the same of the woman staring back and how I’d treated my sister over the years.
I’d never wanted to hurt Rachel; everything I’d ever done and said was because I loved her. Because I thought she deserved so much better and couldn’t stand that she couldn’t see it. But now, it was hard not to wonder whether my own trauma had aggravated hers.
“Well, maybe start by asking him about the difference between filter and French press, and see where things go,” I suggested warmly.
“Filter or French press,” Cassius repeated like I’d just spoken Greek.
“Yeah.”
He stared at me for a long second, and then his head jerked to the hall. A second later, I heard Sarah’s footsteps approach, which Cassius seemed to catch sooner than I did.
“Do you want to take the four-wheeler up to Callum’s?” he offered.
“I’d rather walk.” Then I’d have some time to figure out what to say to Calder after last night. After that kiss.
With a nod, Cassius went to meet Sarah, and I followed to say goodbye.
After one more hug on the front porch, I watched her walk toward the old red Ford parked on the gravel, the truck looking like it hadn’t been started in a decade and might not start at all.
Cassius paused beside me on the top step, his expression grim. “His mother’s death isn’t the only thing Calder’s taken responsibility for that doesn’t belong to him.”