Chapter 17
PARKER
I’m frozen on the top step, my hands still raised from shoving Aria away, my chest heaving slightly from the adrenaline of the confrontation.
The afternoon sun is in my eyes, but I can still see him clearly—taller than I remember, broader, all that teenage lankiness filled out into something solid and dangerous.
He’s in all black, funeral-appropriate, his storm-gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe.
He’s cut his hair shorter. There’s a new scar along his jaw that wasn’t there six years ago. His shoulders have filled out in a way that makes the black shirt stretch across his chest, and when he moves—just a slight shift of weight—I can see the controlled power in every line of his body.
It’s been years since I’ve seen him this close. Since I’ve felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing.
“Parker,” he says, and my name in his voice sounds like a prayer and a curse all at once.
Then my brain catches up to what my eyes are seeing, and the world tilts further sideways.
Cal stands to Silas’s left, and oh God, he’s devastating.
The sandy blond hair I remember is longer now, falling in deliberate waves that catch the afternoon light.
He’s in dark jeans and a black button-down that fits him like sin, sleeves rolled to his elbows to expose forearms that are somehow both elegant and strong.
Those amber eyes—Noah’s eyes—are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin feel too tight.
And Jace. Christ. Jace is on the right, and he’s transformed from the serious boy I remember into something that looks carved from stone and violence.
All black suit, crisp white shirt, no tie.
Military precision in every line of his body, from his cropped dark hair to the way he stands with his weight perfectly balanced.
His steel-blue eyes—Liam’s eyes—track my every movement like I’m a target he’s acquired.
They’re all staring at me. All three of them. Looking at me like I’m something they’ve been tracking for years and finally found.
My ovaries are screaming. My heart is trying to escape through my throat. Every single nerve ending in my body is firing signals that amount to yes, them, please, now, and I have to physically lock my knees to keep from swaying.
This is the opposite of fair. How dare they all get hotter? How dare they stand there looking like some kind of dangerous boy band designed specifically to destroy my sanity?
Behind me, Charles clears his throat. “Silas. Cal. Jace.”
The sound of his voice breaks the spell slightly, and I watch confusion flicker across Silas’s face.
Then something darker. His jaw clenches as he glances at Charles, and I can see the moment he realizes what happened.
Charles had told him that he wasn’t sure if I was coming to the funeral when Silas had called on the plane.
You told me she hadn’t responded. You said you didn’t know if she was coming.
That’s most likely the thought Silas is having now. But, considering how lies tend to make the world go round, especially in our world, it’s a bit of a ‘pot meet kettle.’
“Nice throw,” Cal says, but there’s something sharp underneath the charm now. His smile is all edges as he looks between me and Charles. “Very professional. Also very... surprising.”
A pause. Then his grin widens, turning wicked.
“But then again, when has Parker ever been one to miss making an entrance?” His amber eyes glitter with something dangerous. “Or an exit, for that matter.”
The words land like a slap and immediately I’m reminded of the morning I left. The way I disappeared without saying goodbye to any of them.
“Wasn’t a throw,” I manage, finally finding my voice even though it sounds thin and reedy to my own ears. “Just an escort.”
“Aggressive escort,” Jace observes, and his tone is carefully neutral. Too neutral. The kind of neutral that means he’s processing information and reaching conclusions I’m not ready for him to reach. “Effective.”
Aria is still crying, stumbling toward the moving truck, hurling insults that I don’t bother listening to. One of the staff members—Marcus, I think—gently guides her toward the passenger seat while another begins securing the last of her boxes.
“Well,” Charles says behind me, a smile in his voice. “That went better than expected.”
I force myself to move, to walk down the steps like a normal person instead of someone whose entire world just tilted sideways. Silas doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. Just watches me descend like he’s cataloging every detail.
When I reach the bottom step—when I’m close enough to smell cedar smoke and something darker—he finally speaks again.
“Welcome home, firefly.”
The nickname hits like a physical blow. No one’s called me that in years. No one else ever could.
“Silas,” I say, because what else is there? What do you say to the man who loved you, protected you, drove you crazy, and then made love to you like the world was ending?
What do you say when you’re standing three feet away from the three men you ran from while their sons are playing in the library behind you, and they don’t even know it?
Charles jogs down the steps past me, already focused on the moving truck situation.
“Let me make sure she actually leaves,” he calls over his shoulder. “Marcus! Can you help secure that last box?”
The moment he’s out of immediate earshot, the air changes.
Everything goes very still. Very focused.
“When did you get in?” Silas asks, his voice dropping to something only I can hear.
“This afternoon,” I admit, because lying seems pointless now.
The silence that follows is deafening.
“This afternoon,” Cal repeats slowly, his eyes cutting toward where Charles is directing the loading. “So you’ve been here for—what? Three, four hours?”
“Something like that.”
“Interesting.” Cal’s smile doesn’t waver, but his eyes go cold. “Because when Silas asked Charles this morning if he’d heard from you, he said he hadn’t. That he didn’t know if you were coming.”
“He lied for you,” Jace says quietly, and there’s no accusation in it. Just observation. Just another data point being cataloged and filed. “Why?”
“I asked him to.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I needed time to settle in. To get the boys oriented before—” Before I had to face you. Before I had to see your faces and know what’s coming.
“What boys?” Silas asks, and something shifts in his expression.
The world tilts again. Slower this time. More dangerous.
“You—you have kids?” Jace’s voice cracks slightly. Just barely. But I hear it.
Oh God. Oh no. Charles didn’t tell them. Of course, he didn’t—he respects my privacy, keeps my secrets, even from them.
“Two sons,” I say quietly, watching their faces. Watching the information hit them like bullets. “Liam and Noah. They’re five.”
The silence is deafening.
Jace’s steel-blue eyes go wide, then carefully blank—that military mask he wears when processing tactical information he doesn’t want to show.
Cal’s amber eyes flick from me to where Charles is still occupied with the truck, then back to me. I can see him doing calculations behind that charming smile that’s suddenly frozen in place. His jaw works like he’s trying to say something, but can’t figure out what.
Silas has gone very still. That particular kind of stillness that means violence is being barely contained. His storm-gray eyes are locked on me, and I can’t read what’s in them. Shock? Anger? Recognition?
“You have kids,” Cal says finally, and his voice sounds strange. Hollow. “You’re a mom.”
“Yes.”
“For five years,” Silas adds quietly.
“Yes.”
“Parks, that’s—” Jace stops, swallows hard. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
The word sounds like it’s been dragged over broken glass.
Across the driveway, Charles is helping Marcus secure the last box, completely oblivious to the bomb that just detonated on his front steps.
The moment he’s focused elsewhere, Cal’s voice drops to barely above a whisper. “Five years old. Born when, exactly?”
“October,” I say, because there’s no point in lying now. “October tenth.”
I watch the math happen in real time. Watch their faces as they calculate. January to October. Nine months. Forty weeks. The timeline is screaming at all of them.
“Jesus Christ,” Silas breathes, so quietly I almost miss it.
“Parker—” Cal starts.
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “Not here. Not now.”
“Then when?” Silas demands, his voice still low but urgent. “Because we need to—”
“Tomorrow,” I cut him off. “After the funeral. After I’ve gotten through burying my father and introducing my sons to a hundred people who are going to ask questions I don’t want to answer.” I force myself to meet their eyes. “Can you give me that? One day?”
The three of them exchange glances. Some kind of silent communication that I can’t read.
“One day,” Jace finally says, but his voice is strained. “But Parker—your sons. Where are they right now?”
My stomach drops. “In the library. With Jimmy and Lottie.”
“The library,” he repeats, and I watch him physically restrain himself from turning toward the house. “Inside. Right now.”
“They’re fine. They’re playing. They’re happy.”
“I’m sure they are,” Cal says, but there’s an edge underneath the words. An intensity that makes my skin prickle. “But five years old. Born in October. Parker, you have to understand what that—”
“I know what it looks like,” I interrupt. “I know what you’re thinking. And I promise we’ll talk. But not here. Not with Charles twenty feet away and two children inside who don’t need to hear any of this.”
“Okay,” Silas says, and there’s something dangerous in his tone now. Something that makes my pulse kick into overdrive. “We’ll give you one day, firefly. But after that—”
“After that, I’ll tell you everything,” I promise, even though the thought terrifies me. “I swear.”
“Everything,” Jace echoes. “Including—”
“Including everything,” I confirm.