Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Alberto
I step back.
Not physically—there’s nowhere to go—but internally. I shut it down. Lock it up. Bury it under responsibility and logistics and the fact that her father is sick and this is not the time to implode my entire sense of self.
I clear my throat. “You need to sit down.”
She arches a brow. “Bossy.”
“You know it.”
Cally smirks. “You heard the boss, sunshine.”
I shoot him a look. His gaze catches mine, unapologetic and too fucking calm—like he enjoys this, like he’s waiting to see what it’ll take for me to lose the last thread of composure.
That smirk says, You can deny it all you want.
That smirk says, I see you.
And I hate him, just as much as I hate myself because some part of me wants to push back just to see what happens.
Wants to feel him react. Wants to know if the heat I imagine is real or just another lie I tell myself when I’m tired and stretched thin and she’s standing between us like a wish we never learned how to make safely.
Vesper cuts the tension as she breathes through her nose and mutters, “I’m sorry you’re witnessing this.”
“Don’t,” I say at the same time Cally also says, “Don’t.”
“We’ll go to the doctor.”
She glares at both of us like we’re the ones misbehaving.
“Stop it,” she says, voice hoarse. “It’s just stress.”
“It’s not,” I answer.
“Until you show me your medical degree, you can’t guess what’s happening,” Cally adds.
“It is,” she insists. “It’s been two days of nausea. Two days. I’m running on no sleep, too much coffee, and the universe is trying to humble me. That’s all.”
Cally’s gaze meets mine and I’m guessing we both agree. She needs a doctor, now.
Vesper straightens her shoulders, squares up like she’s about to chirp a ref. “See? I’m fine.”
She takes one step.
Her knees dip, just slightly, like her body forgets it’s supposed to cooperate.
My hand goes to her waist automatically.
Cally’s hand goes to her other side at the same time.
Vesper freezes between us.
I feel Cally’s fingers brush mine.
Electric. It’s more than just awareness. I tighten my grip on Vesper and force my mind back into the lane it’s supposed to stay in.
“You’re sitting,” I tell her.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Cally says, voice too sweet to be safe.
Vesper’s eyes narrow. “I swear to God, if either of you tries to carry me—”
“I’ll do it,” Cally says immediately.
“I’ll drop you,” I add.
Her mouth opens.
Cally laughs like I’m hilarious. Like I’m not one second from putting him through this counter.
Vesper points at us both. “You’re both insane.”
She sits anyway.
The moment she’s down, her face changes again—relief, then anger at the relief. She hates needing the chair. Hates that her muscles aren’t holding the line.
I crouch in front of her, not touching her, keeping my voice neutral. “Breathe.”
“Don’t coach me.”
“I’m not coaching you,” I say. “I’m keeping you upright.”
She exhales hard through her nose like she’s trying not to laugh. “Congratulations, goalie. You saved me from the terrifying threat of gravity.”
Cally leans against the counter, arms folded, eyes glued to her like if he looks away, she’ll vanish. “You’re going back to Portland with us.”
“No,” she says.
“Yes,” Cally says.
“No,” she repeats, sharper.
“Harvey will be here with a team—Philippe doesn’t need you.”
I stand slowly, keeping my tone even. “Your dad’s going to Baker’s Creek again next week. He has follow-ups. He needs rest, food, hydration, and people around him.”
“And he has that,” Vesper snaps. “He has me.”
“You,” I say, voice low, “are about to pass out in your father’s kitchen.”
Her eyes flash. “I’m not.”
“You just threw up.”
She lifts her chin. “And now I’m done.”
Cally gives a humorless laugh. “That’s not how bodies work.”
Vesper’s gaze swings to him. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you a doctor now?”
“I’m a man who knows you,” Cally says, and his voice drops into something real enough that it makes the air shift. “And I know you won’t stop. You don’t pause. You don’t ask. You just keep going until something forces you.”
“I hate to say that they’re right,” Philippe states, appearing in the doorway. “Harvey will be here to help and I’ll feel better knowing that you’re taking care of yourself. You heard the doctor. I don’t need stress.”
There’s a knock on the door and when Cally opens it, there’s a man wearing a suit. “Good afternoon.”
“Harvey.” Cally grins. “Just the man I needed.”
He’s dressed like a man who has never had a chaotic moment in his life. Crisp coat. No wrinkles.
Harvey’s eyes sweep the room—Vesper pale on the chair, me standing too close, Cally vibrating with restrained urgency, the sink evidence still there.
He nods once. “The driver and some of the crew I hired should be here in a couple of hours. They stopped to make a grocery run at that Happy Springs town.” Then he glances at Vesper. “Ms. Lafontaine, it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”
Vesper lets out a sound that’s half laugh, half disbelief. “You’re real?”
Harvey’s mouth twitches. “It seems like it.”
Cally gestures at the sink. “We need to head to Portland.”
Harvey looks at Vesper. “Your father is covered.”
Vesper’s posture tightens instantly. “I can’t just leave him—”
Harvey cuts right through her. “I already have a crew coming over. Two additional staff arrive this evening. Meals are arranged. Medication reminders are arranged. A driver is staying. A camp operations consultant arrives tomorrow morning to handle compliance details and the contractor from Baker’s Creek will be here on Friday to start repairs on the buildings. ”
Vesper’s face does that thing it does when someone tries to take a burden out of her hands—shock first, then anger, then grief because she wants the help but hates that she wants it.
“My dad—”
“I’m fine with it,” Philippe agrees. “You have to go. Come back when you look less green in the gills and have a clean bill of health.”
She glares at him. “You needed me.”
He glances at Cally and then at me. “Boys, get my girl out of here before she burns herself to ash trying to be her mother.”
Vesper’s eyes fill instantly. She looks away fast, blinking hard.
“A helicopter is available,” Harvey says, like he’s ordering lunch. “If the weather holds. If it doesn’t, an SUV convoy is already staged.”
Vesper’s head snaps up. “A helicopter?”
Cally looks pleased. I don’t. Not because I’m afraid of flying, but because I don’t trust March in Oregon to behave. Because mountains don’t care what you want.
“March’s weather is unstable,” I say flatly.
Harvey doesn’t flinch. “Correct. Which is why there is a backup plan.”
Vesper presses her fingers to her temple. “No. No, I’m not leaving. I have to—”
Harvey slides his phone out and turns the screen toward her. “You have packages waiting in Portland.”
Vesper freezes. “Those are . . . my entire life.”
“Yes,” Harvey agrees. “I was able to re-route them to Mr. Wade’s temporary housing.”
“Why not my hotel room?” Cally glares at him.
“I didn’t think you’d like her to stay in a hotel,” Harvey responds.
“How about the house you’re supposed to buy?” Cally crosses his arms.
“I’m working on it,” Harvey replies, calm like always. “But you can’t just buy a house within twenty-four hours. Money buys a lot, but it doesn’t conjure real estate out of thin air.”
It doesn’t surprise me to learn that Cally wants to buy a house now. He usually doesn’t behave like his father. Arrogant, entitled. Not so high-handed he forgets people have needs and limits. Unless it’s Vesper.
Then he forgets everything and he throws the rules into the fucking ocean. He tries to bend the world until she smiles again.
I don’t blame him. I’ve done worse.
And the problem is—I can see it happening again. I can feel it winding inside me like barbed wire, every time she winces or pretends she’s fine when she clearly isn’t. Every time Cally looks at her like he’s seconds from proposing, or carrying her up the stairs just to prove he can.
We’re going to burn through her if we’re not careful. Both of us. For different reasons. With different kinds of wanting.
But we’ll still burn her.
So I breathe. I brace. I try to sound reasonable.
“Ves,” I say softly, “your dad has people. Capable people. Harvey. Margaret. There’s a staff. He won’t be alone.”
She gives me a stubborn look.
“And you,” I add, because this matters, “are not useful to anyone if you keep pretending your body is optional. Let us take you to Portland. You can come back in a day or two if you need to. But right now, you’re not staying here.”
Vesper’s eyes narrow. “Who made you king?”
I lean in just slightly. “No one. But I don’t need a crown to tell the truth.”
Cally makes a sound behind me—half laugh, half warning. “Careful, big guy. She’s going to bite.”
“I know,” I say without looking at him.
Vesper’s mouth twitches despite herself. “I hate you—both.”
Cally grins. “Liar.”
Vesper’s gaze cuts to him, and there’s a flash of warmth before it breaks into exhaustion again. “Both of you are acting like I’m—”
“Like you matter,” Cally says, too blunt.
Vesper stares at him like she doesn’t know what to do with sincerity delivered like a punch.
Harvey clears his throat, politely ignoring the emotional landmine. “If you are departing, we need to move. Weather windows do not wait for personal breakthroughs.”
Vesper lets out a breath that shakes. “Fine.”
I stiffen. “Fine?”
She points at all of us like she’s doing crowd control. “Fine. I will go to Portland. I will retrieve my packages. I will not collapse in public. And you two”—she looks at Cal, then at me—“will stop acting like I’m a war prize or some delicate piece of china you have to guard.”
Cally’s smile grows slow and bright. “You’re not a prize.”
Her eyes narrow, because she knows he’s about to say something worse.
“You’re a lifestyle,” Cally adds cheerfully.
I swear I feel my soul leave my body.
Vesper’s jaw drops. “A lifestyle?”
Cally nods like he’s proud of it. “Expensive. High-maintenance. Worth it.”
“Okay,” Vesper says, too calm. “I’m going to commit a felony. Harvey, do you have a lawyer for that too?”
Harvey doesn’t even blink. “Several. I’ll be a witness if needed.”
Vesper pushes off the chair, swaying slightly.
I’m there instantly, one hand hovering near her waist without touching her unless she asks.
Cally is there too, too close, too ready.
She turns toward the hallway. “Dad?”
Philippe’s voice comes from the doorway, rough and stubborn. “Go.”
Vesper freezes.
“Dad—”
“Go,” he repeats, louder this time, like he’s anchoring her with the word. “I’ve got help. I need you to be okay.”
“I’m coming back,” she says, voice thick.
“I know,” Philippe answers. “Now go get your stuff. And eat something. You look like hell.”
Vesper laughs, but it breaks. “Thanks, you’re always making me feel special.”
“Love you, kiddo,” he says, hugging her.
“Love you,” she says back, and it sounds like a promise she’s afraid she won’t get to keep.
In the foyer, Cally brushes past me. His shoulder hits mine on purpose. It’s not hard, but not subtle either.
I catch him by the sleeve before I can talk myself out of it.
He halts, turns. His eyes flash with something pleased and reckless.
“You going to hit me?” he asks softly, like he wants it.
My hand tightens, then loosens.
“No,” I say.
His grin curves. “Then what?”
I stare at his mouth for half a second too long.
His lips part slightly, like he’s aware of it, like he’s daring me to do something stupid. I release him with a shove that’s just enough to be a warning.
He laughs under his breath, delighted.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “You’re going to give yourself away.”
I lean in close enough that only he hears me. “I don’t have anything to give away.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
Then back to my eyes.
“Liar,” he breathes.
Vesper’s voice slices through the moment. “If either of you starts measuring anything in this hallway, I’m leaving you both here.”
Cally’s grin is immediate. “She’s fun.”
I turn away before I do something that ruins everything.
Outside, the sky is gray and damp, Oregon doing what Oregon does—threatening rain without delivering. The air tastes like pine and cold and a future I didn’t ask for.
The sound hits first.
Rotors.
Low at first, then louder, chopping the air into vibration that you feel in your ribs.
Vesper pauses on the steps, looking at the helicopter like it’s both ridiculous and exactly what her life has always been—too much, too fast, never calm.
Cally steps up beside her with easy confidence, hand hovering near her back but not touching, like he’s trying to be good.
I stay on her other side, close enough to catch her if she sways.
She glances between us, lips tightening.
“I swear to God,” she says, voice raised over the rotors, “if I puke in that helicopter—”
Cally beams. “It’ll be iconic.”
“I will end you,” she says sweetly.
Cally laughs like he’s thrilled.
Vesper looks at me, and there’s a question in her eyes she won’t ask out loud.
Will you let me run? Will you let me pretend I’m fine? Will you let me disappear again?
I shake my head once.
Her throat works. She nods like she hates it.
Then she climbs in.
Cally follows.
I take the last step and duck under the frame, and as I settle into the seat across from him, Cally’s knee brushes mine with the smallest shift of the cabin.
His gaze lifts to mine, bright and full of trouble, like he can feel the line we’re walking and he wants to test how far it bends before it breaks.
I look away.
The helicopter lifts.
Juniper Ridge drops away beneath us—trees, cabins, the rink, the lake like a gray coin under winter sky.
Vesper sits rigid, hands locked around her strap, eyes fixed forward like if she looks back, she’ll fall apart.
Cally’s voice comes soft, careful, aimed at her. “We’ve got you.”
Vesper closes her eyes for one beat. “I’m not sure if I like either one of you.”
Cally grins. “You adore us.”
She makes a sound that might be a laugh, might be a sob.
We’re all heading to Portland.
To the Orcas.
To a joint media circus that’s going to try to turn rivalry into entertainment. To a city that’s too close to everything we broke.
And I can feel it already—the pressure of being trapped in the same air, the same schedule, the same orbit around the same woman, with the one man who makes my skin burn with anger and something worse.
The cage is closing.
And the only thing I know for sure is this:
If she falls, I’m catching her.
Even if it costs me everything.