Chapter 1 #2
Dark eyebrows rose, and he drawled, “Right.”
That was the thing about best friends—they could always see through your shit.
The screech of a chair scraping over the floor brought their attention back to the floor.
Des straightened, going from amused to intense in a heartbeat.
Cass set a hand on his arm in warning. Locke was on his feet, going nose to nose with Isa.
The two were so close that if either took a breath, they’d be locking lips.
Locke’s friend leaned over the table and said something that broke through the impending drama and drew the couple’s attention to their audience.
Those sitting within orbit of the two made no bones about watching them.
Color swept up Isa’s face, and she yanked her wrist free of Locke’s grip.
His expression morphed into a stony mask, and his empty hand flexed as if he battled not to grab Isa again.
It didn’t work. He caught her arm before she could get more than a few steps away.
In full-on protector mode, Des bit out, “Maybe I should interrupt.”
“She’s got this,” Cass said as Isa shoved her tray against Locke’s chest, forcing him back a step.
Isa snapped something threatening that had Locke jerking back and letting her go. She spun around, her long ebony ponytail smacking him, before she stormed toward the bar. A couple of customers scooted their chairs out of her path as she blew through.
“And I’m out,” Des declared, leaving Cass on her own.
She shook her head and waited for Hurricane Isa to land. It didn’t take long.
Isa slammed her tray on the bar top and all but snarled, “I need two longnecks for the asshole.”
Torn between laughter and worry, Cass grabbed two bottles from the nearby well, popped the tops, then set them on the tray. She kept hold of both bottles until Isa looked at her, a storm swirling in her normally calm gaze. Yep, Locke definitely knows what buttons to push.
“Breathe, babe, before you burn down the place,” Cass said.
Isa seethed for a long moment, color riding high along her cheeks, her breath short, her body stiff. Cass continued to hold her gaze, knowing that when her friend was this worked up, it could take a minute for her to step back from the edge. She just needed to wait Isa out.
Finally, Isa dropped her gaze. She drew in a lungful of air, held it, then blew it out as the angry flush slowly ebbed. “I don’t know why I let him get to me.”
The answer to that would have left Cass wading in a viper’s pit of denial. Thank you, but no.
Somewhere behind her, a phone rang, but she left it to Des to answer. Since Cass had gotten her ass handed to her the last time she’d proposed that Isa take Locke for a ride between the sheets, she decided to go for a more mature suggestion.
“You know, maybe if you explained—”
“Cass!” Des called. He was holding the wireless handset to the bar’s landline. “You’ve got a call.”
Who in the hell would call me at work? The two most important people in her life were right there at the bar.
Cass let go of the bottle and held a finger up to Isa. “Hold that thought.” She took a moment to rinse and dry her hands then met Des by the door to the back space, where the office, bathroom, and kitchen were tucked away. “Who is it?”
Des shrugged. “Didn’t ask, but you might want to take it in the office, where it’s quiet.”
She took the phone from him, put it to her ear, and pushed through the door. When Anna, their cook, looked up from the griddle, Cass lifted her chin then took a left and headed to the office. “Hello?”
“Hello,” a man said. “Is this Cassandra Alcmene Ambrose?”
A tendril of trepidation unfurled, and she stilled, her hand still poised above the knob of the office door.
A low, indistinct rustle of feathers filled the hall.
Her gaze instinctively darted around, even though she knew deep down, there would be no owl.
It was a warning, one she hadn’t heeded earlier. “This is Cassandra Alcmene.”
There was the sound of a throat clearing. “My apologies, Ms. Alcmene. This is Eric Swanson.” He gave his name as if she should know it.
“Who?” Cass opened the office door and stepped inside, doing her best to ignore the nauseating pitch of her stomach. She stood between Des’s prized hefty desk and the small sofa that Isa tended to sprawl on. Normally, the familiar space would bring her comfort, but at the moment, it felt foreign.
“Eric Swanson,” he repeated in the same alarmingly formal tone. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I was unable to reach you on your cell.”
Her gaze darted to her bag, which sat on the floor beside the sofa. Her cell was in it, but she didn’t grab it. Instead, she braced herself. Whatever was coming was going to be bad.
“I’m at work.” It was a stupid comment, since he was talking to her on Wonderland’s landline, but a hint of unreality was wrapping clammy arms around her.
“Right.” There was a distinct pause. When he spoke again, it was clear he was trying to tread carefully. “Your parents asked me to inform you that your grandmother has passed away.”
The words landed like a sucker punch and left her sucking in air so fast she choked. “What?” An eerie shriek echoed through her mind, nearly drowning out his voice.
“Your grandmother, Iris—she passed away.”
“No, there must be some kind of mistake.” Her sharp denial couldn’t deflect the awful truth, and the reality of it sank deep.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Amb… Alcmene.” And he genuinely sounded it. “I know this is unexpected.”
Unexpected? No, it’s… wrong, so wrong. She stumbled back and sank onto the sofa, her grip on the handset tightening as she fought the urge to babble denials. Her voice squeezed past her tight throat, scraping it raw. “What happened?”
“She passed in her sleep last night.” Fortunately, he kept going, obviously familiar with what questions would come next.
“She’d come down with some sort of bug earlier in the week but appeared to be getting better.
She joined your parents for dinner last night, confirmed she was feeling better, and then went up to rest. This morning, when she didn’t join your parents for breakfast, your father went up and found her. ”
He continued speaking, his explanation joining the wall of white noise filling her head.
Hot and cold chills raced over Cass, leaving her off-kilter.
A pain in her scalp had her realizing she was pulling at her hair, a mindless outlet for the storm of sorrow swallowing her whole.
Her yaya was supposed to live forever. Seventy was too damn young.
Cass fought to find her balance, gaining a delicate grip on the here and now.
Her brain was slow to put the words together, but when it did, she went back to what Eric Swanson had said earlier.
“Wait. You said, ‘this morning’?” she said, cutting him off midsentence.
There was a pause followed by a soft clearing of his throat. “Unfortunately, your parents were unable to call earlier as they were dealing with other things.” Discomfort marred his urbane tone.
A familiar hollow ache pierced the grief. Unable or unwilling?
It was a useless question since the answer never changed.
She squeezed her eyes closed, pulled the phone from her ear, and pressed it against her forehead, fighting back a sob of pained anger as old resentments rose.
The emotional overload triggered a creeping numbness, and she pulled the lack of feeling closer, huddling in its dubious protection as she drew in a breath.
When she opened her eyes, she put the phone back to her ear and managed a faint “Of course they were.”
His pause, this time, was longer, and when he spoke again, it was with a curious gentleness. “Ms. Ambrose.” He stopped then continued before she could correct him. “Cassandra, your grandmother loved you very much.”
His compassion was enough to trigger tears. The pressure rose, demanding release, but she refused to blink and set the tears free. “I know.” Taking another ragged breath, she stared at the desk in front of her. “Can I ask, where is she now?”
“She’s staying with Desert Willow Funeral Home here in Vegas, until her service on Saturday morning. She’ll be laid to rest next to your grandfather.”
A man Cass didn’t remember but whom her grandmother had remained utterly devoted to in the twenty-odd years since she’d lost him. At least now they’ll be together.
“The reading of her will is to follow the service, and your presence, of course, is requested. Your parents have asked that the reading take place in the privacy of their home. If you prefer, I can send you the details for the service.”
“To my cell, please.” Functioning on autopilot, she managed to stumble through the awkward goodbyes before disconnecting.
Cass held the phone to her chest and slowly curled over her knees.
Grief tore through her, sending fissures spiderwebbing through the unnatural numbing fog.
Memories rushed in. Her grandmother’s joyous laugh.
Her strong arms that held a broken teenager desperate to make amends.
Iris’s unflappable strength as she defied her daughter and son-in-law to support a grandchild left in pieces by her parents’ machinations.
Her unending patience as an angry Cass pushed every limit she could find and then some.
Iris’s pride when Cass, Isa, and Des had opened Wonderland.
If there was one constant in Cass’s life, it was her grandmother’s love and acceptance.
Without her, Cass was well and truly alone. Again.
What do I do now?
The whisper of wings gained strength, turning into a wave of deafening thunder.
She didn’t have the strength to fight her way free of the caustic mix of guilt, love, regret, and grief.
The snaking cracks turned blindingly hot, searing past bone, leaving her heart bleeding. A harsh sob finally tore free.
“Cass. Cassandra.” An arm curled around her shoulders, pulling her into a broad chest that vibrated with Des’s worried rumble. “What happened? Who was that?”
She lifted her head and was surprised when Des’s hand went to her face. He pulled off her glasses and set them down.
She sniffled a quiet “Thanks,” and used the back of the hand holding the phone to wipe at the wetness on her face. She blinked away the blur of tears as she stared at the handset she held.
“Here, let me take that.” Des gently pulled the phone from her hand and set it aside. “Talk to me.”
“A family lawyer,” she said, answering the easiest question first.
He frowned. “Family lawyer?”
She managed a jerky nod.
“Did something happen to your parents?” he asked, a hint of anger creeping under the worry.
A harsh noise escaped her before she could stop it. “Not them. It’s Yaya—” She choked, unable to finish and make it real.
Des’s face paled, and his arm tightened. “Iris? Is she okay?”
She couldn’t watch him as she said it, so she dropped her gaze, absently realizing she was clutching at Des’s T-shirt in a white-knuckle grip. “She’s gone.”
The chest she leaned against stilled, but the arm around her didn’t loosen. “Gone?”
She nodded. “This morning,” she rasped. “In her sleep.”
He finally inhaled sharply and let out a pained “Gods dammit. I’m so sorry, Cass.”
There was nothing to say to that, so she didn’t try. The next couple of minutes passed in silence, each of them lost in thought.
“What do you need?” he finally asked.
For this not to be happening.
But since that wasn’t an option… she took a breath and straightened her shoulders. Swallowing hard, she looked up. “I need to get to Vegas.”