CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MADDOX
It isn’t only silence that slices into me. It’s the scent of soot. The echo of sobs from the little ones my mom left behind. The cadence of a reporter’s voice.
The endless ring of a phone.
All things that transport me back to that night, when my siblings and I became a fractured whole.
We broke and grieved and rose and grew.
After the three youngest and I watched our house go up in a blazing inferno on TV, Ryker busted into the room, turned off the news, and comforted Jax and Rena, who were only eight and six, respectively.
I’m not sure what Cash did, but I snuck into the bathroom, crawled into the empty tub, and called my mom. Maybe she was trapped inside the house. Maybe she was on her way. Maybe it was all a big mistake.
Maybe my father really had burned with one of his whores and I’d hear my mother sing again.
Of course, none of that happened. Instead, the jarring trill of a line never answered became the ghost that kept me up at night, one only drowned out by music. And even that took time.
For months afterward, songs were painful because I could picture her records. The album collection she’d curated over the years, organized and loved and used to teach us all how to dance through life, had been liquefied.
Melted vinyl.
The brutality of the loss was eventually eclipsed by the brilliance of restoration that only an upbeat tempo could offer.
But that night, it was a well of tears and my sanity hanging on by a frayed wire. I’m convinced that if it wasn’t for my little sister, a part of that fourteen-year-old boy, who couldn’t stop crying or begging his dead mom to pick up the goddamn phone, would still be stuck in that bathtub.
In the midst of the aftermath, Rena ran to the dock in her pajamas. She was so young that I can’t be sure she understood what she was doing in terms of saving us. My guess is, she knew we needed a five-minute reprieve from our grief.
She hollered to get our attention and jumped into the moonlit lake, disappearing beneath the surface and causing a ruckus that disrupted our disillusionment. One action that pulled us from our separate pain and morphed us into a unit. We came together on the dock that day.
In the years that followed, Axel and Ryker steered our ship. But Rena was the wild essence we all needed, the seed of promises our mother had left behind.
A singing knife.
Cash and I rush into a wing of the maternity hospital that Rena’s family bought.
Just for them. It sounds ridiculous, but they’re part of a secret society—KORT—that makes Noire life seem like a Hallmark movie.
A dark and gritty Hallmark movie with lots of fucking dancing, but still.
There are four couples, including Rena and Ty, and they all live together in a massive French chateau.
It’s kind of weird, but it also makes perfect sense.
Safety in numbers. Comfort in belonging.
Even with the added privacy, it’s a madhouse.
My brothers, Mercy, Remy, Bernard, the three other couples—Ivy, Wells, and their one-and-a-half-year-old daughter; Celeste and Liam, the cyber genius who helped me track the missing funds; Leigh, Gage, and their infant son—and Natasha (Ivy’s mom) are all here.
Not to mention the dedicated staff of nurses and doctors here for the sole purpose of tending to the princess.
It’s crowded and full of so much excitement, which I’m thrilled to see my little sister surrounded by, but the most unsettling feeling of missing something sweeps over me.
It’s Tessa. She should be here. She’d refute that adamantly.
And I haven’t voiced it aloud yet. I’m moving her into La Lune Noire this week, and I called her mine, told her she was my queen.
I meant it, but afterward, I wondered if it was mainly due to the danger we’d found ourselves in, how jealous I’d been while watching Hunter chase her down, and the protectiveness I’d felt, seeing her mother lay into her.
Still strong reasons for the emotions, but not necessarily foundational.
As I stand in a waiting room, brimming with family and loyalty and love, the notion dominating my thoughts is that I want her to have this.
That I want her to have everything and I want to share everything with her.
That’s so much more than being swept up in lust or jealousy.
I’m not sure what to make of it, but I don’t want to fuck it up by overanalyzing it.
Pausing in the middle of greeting everyone, I send her a quick text.
Me: I hate that I couldn’t pick you up today. I’m sure you’re busy with a client now, but there’s so much happening. I need to hear your voice. Call me when you can.
I tuck my phone away, and my next thought is about how my mom should be here. That’s expected, and yet … she’s never not been my first thought in a situation like this. And that realization wallops me with a heavy dose of both joy and guilt.
Ty walks out of the birthing room, chuckling at the sight of all of us. “I told you I’d keep you posted. Her contractions have stalled completely. I’m not even sure if we’ll end up staying.”
“It’s fine. If she’s here, we’re here.” That is Axel’s way of reminding them that even if they’re her family now, we always will be too. “Can we see her?”
“Of course.” Ty opens the door, waving us all in. “She’s uncomfortable and tired, but she’ll be thrilled that you’re here.”
We all wander inside, and as soon as she sees us, her bottom lip quivers, and tears stream down her face as she rubs her round belly.
“These babies are already scheming. They knew how much I missed you all and decided to do whatever it took to bring us together.”
We all take turns wrapping her in our arms. Her pink-and-blonde hair is a mess, her green-hazel eyes are a bit bloodshot, and though it’s evident she’s exhausted, her spirit is as lively as ever. She’s just leaping into motherhood this time.
I plant a kiss on her cheek when it’s my turn. “So proud of you, little sis.”
She stares at me for a minute, her lips quirking into a smile. “It is a lot more than under-the-desk action, isn’t it?”
“So much more,” is all I manage before Jax hops up on the bed and shoves me out of the way.
They’re two years apart, but they’ve always been more like twins in how they anchor each other, so I let them have their reunion, stepping away to call Tessa. I’m too impatient to wait for her to finish tattooing someone to respond to my text.
When I don’t get an answer, I redial and plod toward Mercy and Remy, who are settled on the couch, playing with cars.
The phone keeps ringing, and my stomach twists. It’s just an old ghost. I know that. She’s at La Lune Noire, surrounded by our people. Safe.
“Have you heard from Tess today?” I ask Mercy. “We texted this morning, but she’s been quiet since she got to work.”
Her brows pinch as she picks up one of Remy’s Hot Wheels vehicles. “She’s not at work.”
Remy holds it up, proudly showing me he knows the make and model. “It’s a lellow Dodge Viper, Uncle Maddox.”
“It sure is. You’re getting so good at that, buddy.” I tap the car, my heart drumming erratically in my chest as I look back to Mercy. “What do you mean, she’s not at work?”
“She texted me about an hour ago, letting me know she wasn’t coming in today.”
About an hour ago, Cash and I had just left Hunter’s. Tessa should have already been on her way. Kane didn’t alert me to any changes in her routine. What the hell is going on?
I pull up my Contacts as a round of laughter from my siblings resounds behind me. “Why did she say she was missing work?”
“She had a headache.” When Mercy notices my dubious frown, she explains further. “Tessa gets migraines. Not often, but they can be pretty bad.”
That information both alleviates some stress and spikes my blood pressure. She’s safe but in pain.
Just to be sure, I dial Kane, irate that no one alerted me to the change of plans.
“Yes, sir?” he answers, knowing it’s me.
“Why the hell wasn’t I informed of her staying home?”
He stalls for a minute, confusion lacing his tenor when he finally speaks. “I was under the impression that you were informed.”
“Why?” I tromp over to Rena’s bed, wedge myself between Jax and Ryker, and mouth, I’ll be back, to them.
“We were en route,” Kane explains. “She asked us to stop by her sister’s house. Next thing I knew, she was telling us to take her back home. She made a call, telling someone she couldn’t make it. Thought it was you.”
I head out into the waiting room, dipping my chin to Rena’s family. “Before or after she went to her sister’s? Did she have a headache? Your guys are on her, right?”
“We never made it to her sister’s. When we were nearly there, she decided she didn’t want to go there or to work,” he begins, unfazed by my spewed queries, “so we turned around to take her back to her apartment. She’d mentioned a headache when we picked her up.
And of course, my guys are on her. Want to tell me what the hell is going on? Do we need backup?”
“It’s nothing.” My stomach is in knots, but even I know I’m probably overreacting. “She wasn’t answering her phone, and I … it’s fine. I’ll be in touch if I need anything more.”
“You have the tracking app on her phone,” he reminds me before we hang up.
I do, and just like I thought when I installed it, that’s not nearly enough. It should be on her person, so I could track her even if her cell wasn’t on her. And check on her vitals.
Still, I verify that her phone is at home, but it settles very little unease in me. If she has it, why won’t she answer?
In a blink, I’m in the parking lot, climbing into my Maserati GranTurismo, speeding toward her apartment, and calling her on repeat.
I should have fucking moved her in this morning and visited Hunter later in the week.
The vehicle’s Bluetooth connects to my phone, and as the ring reverberates through the car, my mind flies back to the first time Tessa ever called me.