Chapter 35
Dallas
Two Months Later
“Do you think he’ll go to prison?” Macon asks, twisting a wrench under the hood of a car.
I stand around it with Army and Iron.
“I doubt it.” I slide my hands into my pockets. “But at least he’s gone for a while.”
Garrett Ames has enough money to buy a comfortable stay at a prison for white-collar criminals as he awaits prosecution, and his defense keeps stalling on a trial date to buy time, so they can search for legal loopholes.
Which there always are for men like him.
“And his businesses?” Iron asks. “Real estate?”
“He’s not stupid,” I assure them. “Callum might’ve put him in jail, but he’ll want it all in an Ames’s hands more than anyone else’s.”
Callum has proxy over everything that Garrett can’t control from the inside, which is almost everything.
Some kids breeze past on their bicycles, Paisleigh throwing water balloons at them.
It’s crazy how St. Carmen thought we’d infiltrate their community when their kids keep moving here instead.
Anna-Katherine has her own room upstairs now, and if it were up to her, the three of us would live here full-time.
I thought she might be more wary around so many men, but they all see her as another sister.
Trace comes down the steps and into the garage, tossing Army, Iron, and me a beer before cracking his open.
“School year starts this week?” Macon continues.
Liv, Clay, and Krisjen are missing from the family meeting, so hopefully this means it’ll be short.
“I’m ready,” I assure him, popping my top.
“My classes are full, administration is happy.” I smooth down my tie as it blows in the wind, pre–school year meetings this morning demanding more than jeans and T-shirts.
“I’m organizing a field trip to an archeological park and a service project on a trawler. ”
“Is the Ministry happy with your performance?” Army asks.
“Are you kidding?” I tease. “He evaluates my performance daily.”
Trace snorts, Iron dribbling some of his beer as he chokes on a laugh.
But Macon barks, “All right, knock it off.”
I stifle my smile, content that at least I have job security, especially after how good my man got it last night.
The only problem now is trying to hide it in a Catholic school when I can’t stop fucking looking at him whenever he’s close.
I go on, running down my status report. “Callum is setting up an office in Dillinger Square. He’ll continue managing his investments and now his father’s holdings.”
He nods, tightening a bolt. “Krisjen and the city council are reviewing plans for Marymount’s expansion.”
“She better get them on board,” I tell him, “because—”
“She’ll take care of it.”
I close my mouth, knowing he doesn’t want to hear anyone doubt his wife’s abilities. She’s good with people, but she’s pregnant, and she might be off her game. I don’t know…
“Pub’s going into deep cleaning to be ready for snowbird season,” Trace reports. “Shipment coming in tomorrow.”
“We will look the other way,” Army murmurs, his voice teasing.
Macon lifts his eyes to him, though, a look passing between them, and I’m almost relieved, because it isn’t directed at me. If Macon looks at you for longer than a second—and he’s not speaking—that means he’s thinking about you.
He doesn’t think about you when he’s happy with you.
Army’s been off for a long time, his mood shifting since he became a cop. We’ve all noticed it, and I am happy to sink into the background with Callum now and enjoy my life a little and let someone else be the focus of the family.
“Is the drive-in ready?” Trace asks us.
“It’s looking good.” Iron nods. “Liv is talking with distributors. We thought it might be fun to do some classic movie nights. ‘Parents wanting to let their kids experience their favorite films in a theater like they did’ type thing.”
“Whatever.” Macon rises up and changes out tools. “I’ll get involved if it’s not working.”
I think he likes that we’re taking the reins more.
So do we.
“Dex has his school clothes?” he asks Army.
“Let me handle my son,” Army says. “He’s not for you to manage like you do us. Tend to your own.”
“You’re not going to let me practice?” Macon taunts, smiling a little.
Army twists his mouth to the side, detecting bullshit. They’ve both had enough experience raising kids.
“But what if it’s a girl?” Trace replies.
“I hope it is.” Macon sighs. “I’ve had my fill with y’all.”
“She could be exactly like us,” I point out. “Or you.”
Or like Aracely. God help us.
“Well, then let me rest up while I can.” He shoos us away. “Get out of here.”
Good. I’m dying to get home anyway.
Army takes his beer inside, and I swallow three large gulps, handing the rest to Iron as Trace and I walk to our cars.
But Macon stops me. “Dallas!” he calls out.
I turn, seeing him step out from underneath the car and stop at the garage door.
“Remember what I said,” he tells me.
“I’ll bring it up with him, but—”
“And I don’t like you shacking up over there, either,” he commands. “It’s not respectful.”
Not respectful? “What does that mean?”
“It means, if you know what you want, then get it settled,” he tells me. “Living together and sleeping together without the rings and the promise is pussy bullshit. Get it done.”
Get it done? What the fuck?
He’s already gone, sliding back under the hood, conversation over.
Trace grips my shoulder, shaking me as we keep walking.
“Get it done?” I repeat.
Does he mean…?
Trace just chuckles. “Dallas Ames sounds better than Callum Jaeger. Just my opinion.”
I gape at him, realization dawning. “Fuck off.”
But he just laughs harder as it hits me what my brother wants me to do as if I’m just going to go fill up the tank with gas or something.
I haven’t even thought about marriage.
I wince.
“And you take his name!” Macon shouts at my back. “It’s good for us to have an Ames in the family!”
I spin around, my eyes bugging out. What the fuck?!
Trace peals with laughter, shaking uncontrollably as he pulls me to my car. Which he better fucking do, because I’m about to start a damn fight. What the hell?
I’m not changing my name! It’s Jaeger carved into that tomb, dammit.
Son of a bitch.
Yanking open my car door, I climb inside and drive, back over to where it’s quiet.
It’s still storm season, but the weather has been unusually dry the past week, and everyone is outside, enjoying it.
Liv and Clay are at their lighthouse, getting some outdoor work done while the weather is good, and Krisjen is shopping with her brother, getting some new clothes for fall.
Not that he needs them for school. He’ll be in a uniform at Marymount, but he’s growing fast, and he still needs to dress up for things with his parents when they’re around.
Bike riders soak in the sunset, and kids play at the new splash pad, the town calm again. The college kids are back at school, but the residents have been filtering back in from their sojourns abroad, everyone busy with preparing their homes and children for fall.
Nights in the Wolfe Room will become busier with everyone back in town now, but we’re ready to monitor who’s coming and going via cameras. If they play clean—and with people their own fucking age—there won’t be a problem.
Callum and I play at home, but the residents see us out together and know. I have no doubt we’re the subject of gossip, but Jerome Watson and Vincent Law have been surprisingly cool. The two of them have been busy all summer with Callum, putting the plan together to expand Marymount.
Along with his finance work and investments, Callum has expanded his interests to real estate development and counseling the Bay on ways to grow our fortune.
We’ve all settled into work and plans for the future.
Macon’s latest “instructions” drift through my mind again, and I shake my head.
Pussy bullshit…
Callum and I have been together for two months. Can’t I enjoy learning how he takes his coffee and if he wets his toothbrush before or after he applies the toothpaste before I push us into something else?
I narrow my eyes, though, wishing I didn’t care what people might be saying. I don’t want anyone thinking that I’m temporary.
My heart starts to pound as I remember us in bed this morning, and I feel it in my stomach, too. Still dark, between the sheets, his body on me, his lips on mine.
I’m not temporary.
He’s not temporary to me.
Fuck.
I pull through the gate and park next to Callum’s M3, hurrying to the door even as the scent of a grill in the neighborhood hits my nose.
Heading inside, I see the house is darker than usual, the chandelier overhead dimmed to a subtle glow.
Passing the empty kitchen, I catch the shadows from the TV moving over the wall and head to the living room.
Callum sits on one of the sofas, his foot crossed over his knee as he stares at the muted TV playing one of the Batman movies Anna-Katherine watches on repeat lately.
She lays her head in his lap, his hand resting on her arm, her eyes closed.
She’s dressed in her latest style—a pair of swing trousers but tailored into shorts, a matching vest, and a short-sleeve white blouse with a Peter Pan color. She’s been rounding it out with dark-rimmed glasses and red lipstick like she’s a supersleuth from 1930s Gotham now.
I enter the room, and he looks up as I round the back of the sofa and hang over to peer down at her. Eyes closed, her breathing steady, she’s fast asleep at eight thirty.
Callum tilts his head back. I kiss him, goose bumps breaking out when he finishes with a little peck on the corner of my lips. Once he realized I reacted every time he did that, he does it constantly now.
I rest my arms on the back of the sofa, leaning over, everything inside of me feeling so light. So good.
I love coming home to this.
“I missed you,” I say.
But his brow dips a little; he’s amused but confused. “Why are you smiling?”
Am I? I just laugh, trying to figure out how to approach this.
“How was the family meeting?” he asks when I don’t reply. “Can I come yet?”