Chapter 46 Cal #2
“And you will,” I interrupt gently. “When the time comes. When we find them. You’ll be there. But right now, Noah and Liam need you more than we need another fighter.”
“I feel like I’m running away again.” Her voice breaks on the words. “Like I’m abandoning you all to clean up my mess—”
“Parker, stop.” I cross to her, and when she doesn’t move away I take her hands in mine, pulling her toward the bed. “Sit.”
She sits on the edge of the mattress, and I kneel in front of her, keeping her hands in mine so she can’t hide or pull away.
“Look at me,” I say softly.
She does, those sea-glass eyes swimming with tears she refuses to let fall.
“You are not running away,” I tell her firmly. “You’re protecting your children. Our children. There’s a difference.”
“But—”
“No buts. Parker, you kicked my ass and Jace’s ass on that mat like it was just breathing to you.
You’re an . A warrior. Strong as hell.” I squeeze her hands.
“But even Amazons are mothers. Even the strongest women on the planet know when it’s time to protect and when it’s time to fight.
And right now? Protecting Noah and Liam means being with them.
Keeping them safe. Helping them feel secure. ”
“What if you need me?” she whispers. “What if something happens and I’m not here—”
“I’m sure something will happen, but, angel, we’ll handle it,” I say simply.
“Parker, we’ve been doing this for twenty years.
Me, Jace, Silas, Charles—we know how to hunt, how to fight, how to survive.
We’ll find Ryan and Aria. We’ll dismantle their network.
We’ll eliminate the threat. And you—” I reach up to cup her face.
“You’ll keep those boys safe. Keep them happy.
Keep them from having nightmares about yesterday.
That’s not weakness. That’s the strongest thing you can do. ”
“I’m supposed to trust you,” she says, and it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. “I’m supposed to let you handle this while I go play house in Martha’s Vineyard—”
“You’re not playing house. You’re being a mother.
” I lean forward, resting my forehead against hers.
“And trusting us isn’t making you weak. It’s making you smart.
Because you can’t be in two places at once.
You can’t simultaneously protect the boys and eliminate threats.
So you’re choosing to protect, and you’re trusting us to hunt.
That’s partnership, Parker. That’s family. ”
A tear finally escapes, tracking down her cheek. “What if I make the wrong choice?”
“You’re not.” I wipe the tear away with my thumb. “You’re making the only choice that matters. Those boys need their mother.”
“They need their fathers, too.”
Fucking…Dammit.
I take a deep breath, the air burning my chest as my heart pounds so violently I’m sure my ribs will crack.
I wasn’t expecting her to say that.
I shut my eyes, finding all the strength I can not to try to find a way for her to stay. It’s out of the question. If the boys are in danger, she’s in danger. And we’ve always protected her whether she liked it or not. I open my eyes and squeeze her hands in mine, reinforcing her will with my own.
“They need to know you’re there, that you’re keeping them safe, that everything’s going to be okay. We can track down Ryan and Aria without you. But Noah and Liam? They can’t heal from yesterday without you.”
She closes her eyes, more tears falling. “I hate this. I hate that I have to choose. I hate that someone came after my babies and I can’t be the one to make them pay—”
“You will make them pay,” I promise. “Just not today. Today you’re going to pack and you’re going to get on that jet with your boys and Sienna and the kids and Evelyn and Maria.
You’re going to go somewhere beautiful and safe.
You’re going to let those boys be kids again.
And when we find Ryan and Aria—” My voice hardens.
“—we’ll bring you back. We’ll make sure you’re there when they pay for what they did. ”
“Promise?” Her voice is small, vulnerable in a way I rarely hear.
“Promise.” I pull her into my arms, holding her tight. “You’re not alone in this anymore, Parker. You don’t have to be everything to everyone. You can be their mother. And we’ll be their protectors. Together, we’ll keep them safe.”
She clings to me, her face buried in my shoulder, and I feel the moment she finally lets go—the walls crumbling, the weight she’s been carrying alone finally shared.
“I’m scared,” she admits against my neck. “I’m scared something will happen to you while I’m gone. I’m scared Ryan and Aria will hurt someone I love and I won’t be there to stop it. I’m scared—”
“I know.” I stroke her hair, keeping her close. “But we’re going to be okay. All of us. Because we have each other now. Because you’re not facing this alone anymore.”
We stay like that for a long moment—me kneeling on the floor, her wrapped in my arms, both of us holding on like anchors in a storm.
Finally, she pulls back slightly, wiping at her eyes. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re human,” I correct. “And you’re beautiful. And you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
She huffs out a laugh that’s half sob. “I don’t feel strong.”
“That’s because you’re used to doing everything alone. Used to carrying all the weight by yourself.” I stand, pulling her up with me. “But you don’t have to anymore. Let us help. Let us share the burden. Let us be partners in this.”
“Partners,” she repeats, testing the word.
“Partners,” I confirm.
She takes a shaky breath, then nods. “Okay. Okay. I’ll— I’ll go to Martha’s Vineyard. I’ll take care of the boys. I’ll trust you to handle Ryan and Aria. And when you find them—”
“We’ll call you immediately,” I finish. “And we’ll make sure you’re there when we end this.”
“Okay.” She looks at the mess of clothes scattered around her suitcase, then back at me. “Will you help me pack? I can’t seem to remember how to fold things properly.”
I smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Of course.”
We spend the next twenty minutes packing together. Me folding clothes properly while she gathers toiletries and decides what books to bring. The domesticity of it is soothing, grounding, a reminder that life is more than just violence and hunting.
It’s also this. Helping someone you love. Making sure they have everything they need. Taking care of the small details so they don’t have to.
“Cal?” Parker’s voice is soft as she emerges from the bathroom with her toiletry bag.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For— for this. For understanding. For not making me feel weak for choosing them over—.”
“You’re not choosing them over anything, Parker,” I correct gently. “You’re choosing to be their mother so their fathers can focus without worrying about their needs. There’s a difference.”
She sets the toiletry bag in the suitcase, then turns to face me fully. “I love you. You know that, right?”
The words hit me square in the chest, warm and true and exactly what I needed to hear.
“I know,” I say, closing the distance between us. “I love you too, angel. So fucking much.”
I kiss her then—soft and slow, tasting tears and champagne and something that tastes like home. She melts into me, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair, and for a moment the world narrows to just this.
Just us.
Just the certainty that we’re in this together, that we’ll face whatever comes as a unit, that love doesn’t make us weak—it makes us stronger.
When we finally break apart, she’s smiling. Small, tentative, but real.
“The boys are probably wondering where we are,” she murmurs.
“Let them wonder for a few more minutes,” I say, pulling her closer until our lips touch again
When I finally pull away from her kiss, I feel her retreating, drawn back into the whirlpool of worry, fear, and guilt that hovers around her like a specter. But not tonight. Not after everything we’ve been through. I won’t let that happen.
I cradle her jaw, my fingers tracing the delicate line of her bone, and draw her into a kiss that’s slow and deep, like the first rain after a drought.
A long, languid exhale of need rolls through her, echoing into my own body.
She softens, melting against me like wax under a flame, her body remembering the shape of my hands, the pressure of my mouth, the weight of my desire.
Her fingers find their way into my hair, and my heart kicks against my ribs like a wild thing.
I guide her backward, step by step, my hands never leaving her skin, as if she’s a sculpture I’m coaxing into form.
We move through the dim bedroom, past the soft, rhythmic breathing of our boys curled against Jace, and the quiet silhouette of Silas on the chaise.
The master bathroom door closes behind us, sealing us into a darkness that feels both safe and charged with potential.
The lock’s click is barely audible, but it’s enough to make something in her release, like a taut string finally snapping.
The bathroom light is off, only the faintest glow from the vanity’s nightlight illuminating our shapes.
Yet, I know this room like my own skin, my own soul.
I know where she is, even when I can’t see her.
I press her against the cool marble counter, my lips finding hers again, hungrier this time.
Her breath hitches, fingers curling into my shirt, and I feel her surrender, like a shiver running through her.
I undress her gently, pulling her tank top over her head, the fabric whispering to the floor behind us.
My palms trace her bare shoulders, skim down the valley of her spine, and curve over her hips as I push her sleep shorts down.
She shivers under my touch, her breath catching in a way that sends a jolt of need straight to my cock.