Chapter 29 Callisto #2
He’s silent for a beat, then runs a hand through his hair, letting out a puff of air. “Okay. Do I have a plan? Not really. Other than driving straight there and winging it—actually, wait.”
He grabs his laptop from his bag and settles it on his lap, tapping quickly.
“What?” I ask, watching the flurry of motion as his fingertips dance across the keys.
“I might be able to recover the files you zapped. If I can, I can find Ben’s number. Maybe contact him directly,” he informs me as he works.
“You think that’ll work?” I ask, completely at a loss when it comes to computers.
“Maybe.” He shrugs, flashing me a grin. “But it’s better than nothing.”
He snaps the laptop closed and stands, slinging the duffel over his shoulder.
“I’ll do it on the drive and I’ll keep you updated,” he promises as he heads for his office, me trailing behind him. “But you get why you can’t come, right?”
I nod.
I do.
He doesn’t have to say it—we both know. I’d slow him down, I’d be a target. I’m not built for rescue missions or fights.
Not like Cade. Not like Jack.
So, I help him pack. I watch him load up the car. I wave as he drives away.
And then I pray.
Please come back. Both of you.
“He handled that well,” Alabaster says behind me.
“Please, don’t.” I lift my hand in a weak stop gesture, not even looking back as I lean against the doorway, eyes on the empty driveway. “Not right now. I can’t handle sarcasm.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy and uneasy.
Then—heavy footsteps approach, slow and deliberate.
“You did what you could,” he says, his voice closer now, his warmth almost stinging. “Stop carrying guilt that doesn’t belong to you, Calli.”
I feel the shift in the air just before his arm wraps around me—solid and warm, grounding me in a way I hate to admit I need. I lean back against him and sigh.
“If it weren’t for your efforts,” he continues softly, “you’d still be guessing. That pendulum you gave your brother saved his life.”
My throat tightens.
“Cade is in love with the being connected to that pendulum,” I whisper, my eyes closing.
“I know.” Alabaster chuckles, soft and knowing. “Though your brother hasn’t quite figured that part out yet.”
He says it like he sees it all—the threads, the bonds, the things we pretend not to feel.
Like none of us has any secrets from him.
“They must be why he believes,” I mutter, eyes still closed, head resting against his chest. “Why he’s even open to all of this.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” His tone sharpens just slightly, not cruel—just pointed. “Didn’t you want that? For him to believe?”
“I did. I do.” My voice catches, the truth in the words making my heart clench. “I’m just glad he’s not alone.”
“Then what’s the problem?” he asks, cocking a brow, already reading me if the twinkle in his eye is anything to go by.
I hesitate. “I don’t know. How does that even work?” And the second it’s out of my mouth, I regret it. I make a face, nose wrinkling. “You know what—never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Alabaster grins, slow and deliberate. That devilish, too-knowing smile he wears so well.
“How do we work?” he asks, tugging me more fully against him, his arms sliding down around my waist. He holds me still.
“I don’t know if we do, yet,” I say, voice low and teasing, my lip twitching like it wants to smile, but I don’t let it. I can’t—not until I know they’re safe.
But something deep in me—wants.
He tilts his head, studying me with a look that’s far too tender for someone like him.
“You’ve played your part,” he says quietly. “Now you wait.”
He leans in closer, voice brushing my skin like a secret. “Let me create a distraction.”
I shake my head. “I can’t get it out of my head,” I admit, clenching my fists. “What I saw. What I felt. There’s nothing you can do to distract me—”
“Watch this.”
He slips away and walks down the porch steps to my flowerpots, plucking one of the cosmos buds—not yet bloomed. When he returns, he places the stem in my palm.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
“Alabaster…” I groan wearily but he just grins down at me.
“Humor me.”
I sigh and shut them.
“Good girl,” he purrs.
“Now,” he whispers, “imagine it, bloomed. Fully open. See it in your mind.”
I do as he says. I picture the petals. Pale pink and delicate. Cade brought them home our first week here—said they were low-maintenance and pretty, just like me. A joke that stuck.
A tear slips down my cheek at the memory.
“Open your eyes,” he says gently, thumb softly brushing away the tear.
I blink my eyes open and when I look down—the flower in my hand is fully bloomed.
I stare at it, stunned. The bloom is delicate. It’s beautiful.
“How did you know I could do that?” I whisper, barely trusting my own voice, my eyes still on the flower as I spin it gently between my fingers.
Alabaster steps closer, looking down at me with unreadable eyes.
His fingers ghost over my palm, lifting the flower with care before he tucks it behind my ear, then lets his hand drift—trailing along my jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of my temple.
A touch far too soft for someone who’s supposed to be untouchable.
“I didn’t,” he says, voice low and steady. “But it’s like I told you…” His eyes meet mine, and the usual sharpness is gone. Just him and those golden eyes.
“You’re capable of so much more than you think.”