Chapter 23
PARKER
The school looks like something out of a catalogue—all red brick and climbing ivy, children in crisp uniforms being ushered through heavy wooden doors by parents who smell like old money and older secrets.
Cal pulls the SUV to a smooth stop in the circular drive. Behind us, Charles’s vehicle mirrors the movement with precision. The security detail fans out—motorcycles positioning at strategic points, guards taking up posts that look casual but are anything but.
I unbuckle with shaking hands.
“Ready?” Cal asks from the driver’s seat, already opening his door.
I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready for this—watching my babies walk into a world I can’t control, can’t protect them from, can’t follow them into.
But I nod anyway because that’s what mothers do.
We all pile out. The boys tumble from the back seat with their backpacks and their nervous energy, immediately joined by Lottie and Jimmy, who bounce over from Charles’s vehicle with the resilience of children who’ve done this before.
Charles appears at my side, Sienna on his other arm. “They’ll be great,” he says quietly.
“I know.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
We walk toward the entrance as a unit—Charles and Sienna with their children, me with mine, and flanking us like living shields, three men in dark suits who look like exactly what they are: dangerous people pretending to be civilized.
At the steps, reality crashes into me. My boys are going inside. Without me. Into classrooms and hallways, and a whole world where I can’t reach them.
“Okay, my loves.” I kneel down, not caring that my pencil skirt wasn’t designed for this, that my carefully styled hair is probably coming loose. “Remember what we talked about?”
“Be kind, be brave, be myself,” Liam recites, his small face so serious it makes my chest ache.
“And if anyone’s mean, tell the teacher,” Noah adds. Then, with a glance at Cal, “But also maybe challenge them to a race.”
I laugh despite the tightness in my throat. “Maybe save the racing for recess.”
“Okay, Mom.” Noah throws his arms around my neck, squeezing with all the fierce love a five-year-old body can hold. “Love you.”
“Love you too, baby.” I press kisses to his hair, breathing in his little-boy scent of syrup and shampoo and innocence. “So much.”
Liam’s hug is more reserved but no less tight.
“I’ll take care of Noah,” he whispers against my shoulder.
“I know you will, sweetheart. But who takes care of you?”
“I can take care of myself.”
So serious. So determined to be strong. Yep. Totally my kid.
“I know, baby. But you don’t always have to.”
I release them reluctantly, watching as they start toward Lottie and Jimmy. But Noah turns back suddenly, his amber eyes—Cal’s eyes—bright with something I can’t name.
“Bye, Mr. Jace! Bye, Mr. Cal! Bye, Mr. Silas!”
The three men—these dangerous, violent, complicated men—respond with varying degrees of awkwardness. Cal throws a casual two-finger salute. Jace nods once, solemn as a vow. Silas just raises his hand, but something in his storm-gray eyes has gone soft.
“High five before you go?” Cal offers, stepping forward with that easy charm.
Both boys run back, tiny hands smacking against his much larger ones with enthusiastic cracks. Then Jace’s. Then Silas’s.
“You’ve got this, soldiers,” Jace says.
“Remember—be kind, be brave, be yourself,” Cal adds with a wink.
“And we’ll be right here when you get out,” Silas says quietly.
They run toward the entrance with Lottie and Jimmy, backpacks bouncing, nervous energy transforming into something braver.
I stand there watching them disappear through those heavy wooden doors, and the world feels too big.
Too full of variables I can’t control. Too many ways they could be hurt or lost or—
“They’ll be alright.”
Jace’s voice is quiet, meant only for me. I feel him move closer, his presence solid at my back.
“I know.” But my voice cracks on the words. “I just—”
“I know.” His hand finds mine, warm and callused and steady. He squeezes once. “But they’re tough. Like their mom.”
I squeeze back without thinking, then lean slightly into his shoulder because I need the contact. Need the reminder that I’m not doing this alone anymore.
He’s solid against me. Smells like coffee and something darker—gunpowder, maybe, or just controlled violence wearing expensive cologne.
Silas appears at my other side, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the heat of him. His hand finds my shoulder, squeezes gently. Grounding.
“They’re gonna be fine, firefly,” he says, his rough voice carrying certainty. “And if anyone bothers them, they know who to call.”
“You’ll terrify the other kindergartners,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
“Good,” Silas says simply.
Cal slides into view in front of us, hands in his pockets, amber eyes warm with something that looks like pride. “Besides, you saw those high fives? We basically just became the cool guys. Their stock just went way up.”
A laugh bubbles out of me—surprised, genuine, desperately needed. “You think you’re cool?”
“Angel, I know I’m cool.” He winks. “The question is whether you’re ready to stop being terrified about them and start being terrified about your first board meeting.”
The reminder hits like cold water. Right. The meeting. My first official appearance as Chief Strategic Officer. My first time sitting at a table with men who knew my father, who probably have opinions about me, about my sudden return, about my children.
“I’m not terrified,” I lie.
“Your hand is shaking,” Jace observes quietly.
Damn it. It is.
“You’ve got this,” he continues, his thumb stroking across my knuckles. “You’re brilliant. You’re prepared. And you’ve got us.”
“For intimidation purposes?” I try to joke.
“For whatever you need.” His steel-blue eyes hold mine. “Always.”
Movement at the curb pulls our attention. Sienna gives me a quick hug, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “You’re going to be amazing. I’ll see you tonight for dinner?”
“If I survive,” I mutter.
“You’ll survive,” Charles says, appearing at her side. “You’re a Carter. We’re built for this.”
The guards are already shifting—Marcus is helping Sienna into the third vehicle with one guard, preparing to take her home. Charles moves toward the second SUV where the remaining security waits, but pauses.
“Parker, ride with them,” he gestures to Cal, Jace, and Silas. “We’ll convoy to the office.”
“Why—”
“Because you look like you’re going to throw up, and if you do, I’d rather you do it in their car than mine.” But his smile is gentle. Loving. “Besides, they’ll keep you from spiraling.”
I want to protest that I don’t spiral, but we both know it’s a lie.
Cal’s already moving toward the driver’s seat. “Come on, angel. Let me drive you to your first day in style.”
“That’s not helping,” I mutter, but I follow.
Silas claims the front passenger seat with that casual sprawl that somehow makes the SUV feel smaller. Jace opens the back door for me with old-fashioned courtesy that feels both natural and strange after six years apart.
I slide in. He follows, settling beside me with careful distance—close enough to feel his presence, far enough to let me breathe.
The motorcycle guards fire up their engines, that deep rumble that’s more growl than purr. Charles’s vehicle pulls into formation behind us.
Cal navigates out of the school zone with the same precision Jace had driving in, his amber eyes constantly checking mirrors, tracking our escort, monitoring everything.
The silence in the SUV feels weighted. Heavy with everything unsaid. I can still see the school in the side mirror, getting smaller as we pull away. My boys are inside. Starting their new life without me.
My chest tightens. My hands shake in my lap.
Without thinking, I lean into Jace. Just slightly. Just enough to feel the solid warmth of him beside me.
His arm comes around me immediately. Natural. Like my body called and his answered without consulting his brain. His hand settles on my shoulder, thumb stroking gently through the silk of my blouse.
“Tell me everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper. The words tumble out unbidden, vulnerable. “I just want everything to be okay.”
His finger finds my chin, tilting my face up until I have no choice but to meet his eyes. Those steel-blue eyes that see everything, miss nothing, have always looked at me like I’m something precious.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he says, and his voice carries absolute certainty. Like he’s making a vow. A promise. “The boys will be fine. You’ll be fine. We’ll figure this out. All of it. Together.”
I let myself believe him. Let the tension drain from my shoulders as I close my eyes and just breathe. Breathe in the scent of him—coffee and gunpowder and something darker, something that’s uniquely Jace. Safe. Dangerous. Home.
His other hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing along my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. The kind of touch that says you’re mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine.
When I open my eyes, I realize how close we are. His face inches from mine, close enough that I can see the flecks of darker blue in his irises, the faint scar above his eyebrow from some long-ago fight.
My gaze drops to his lips. His drops to mine.
Heat spreads across my skin like wildfire. My breath catches. His hand on my cheek tightens slightly, fingers threading into my hair at the nape of my neck.
We’re moving closer. I don’t know who started it—maybe both of us, maybe neither of us, maybe gravity itself is pulling us together. We share a single breath, suspended in this moment where everything else falls away, and there’s just him and me and six years of wanting—
The comm system crackles to life.
“Everyone good?” Charles’s voice filters through the speakers, cheerful and completely oblivious.