Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
CAMERON
My place has become wedding central. Limos idling out front soon, tuxedos hanging on every doorknob.
Earlier, Celeste was in my guest bathroom with some lady wielding hot tools and another dabbing her face with brushes.
Willow asked her to be a bridesmaid, but Celeste refused—Team Tally all the way—though she still agreed to get dolled up for photos.
That was the plan, anyway. Now I watch her pacing my living room floor, obsessively checking her phone with shaking hands, half her hair curled and pinned up, half not, as if she'd abruptly made the stylist quit mid-session.
"Sharp, bro!" Silas says, elbowing my ribs as he passes.
My bow tie's already knotted, cufflinks secured.
The reception should be decent enough—some cover band cranking out The Cure, Depeche Mode, English Beat and Echo and the Bunnyman type music, premium open bar, fancy catering.
I'm not dreading the ceremony itself, just everything after.
Though maybe that's the answer—maybe once Willow and I say our vows and finally sleep together, something will click.
Some magical connection will spark and I'll suddenly feel what I'm supposed to feel for the woman I'm marrying.
Stranger things have happened.
Celeste's face crumples like she's been slapped.
She bolts through the French doors, her heels clicking sharply across the pool deck.
Max charges after her, his jaw tight. Through the open window, I catch the scent of chlorine mixing with the late afternoon air as Celeste collapses onto a lounger, shoulders heaving as she sobs.
Max crouches beside her, his hands steadying her trembling frame.
Celeste's mascara runs black down her cheeks.
"I can’t go to this wedding," she says, her voice catching on the last word.
"Not if she’s missing." She can't finish the sentence.
Her fingers twist her wedding ring over and over again.
"Max, you don't understand. Tally's like my sister.
Yeah, she's got that mouth on her, but when I needed someone?
There she was. Every time." She looks up, eyes red-rimmed.
"I refuse to believe she's gone. I can't."
My stomach drops to my toes. Something terrible has happened.
I catch Max's eye. "Spill it. Now."
He avoids my gaze. "It's nothing, really."
"Cut the crap! Something's happening, and I want answers!"
"Cameron, you're about to walk down the aisle. Whatever it is can wait until after the ceremony."
My hands clench at my sides. "Max, I'm not asking. I'm telling you to come clean." I step closer, my voice dropping. "If you're hiding something that I could fix, and I don't get the chance because you kept quiet? I’ll never forgive you. Never."
Celeste stands up, mascara streaming down her face.
“I just got a call from Marisa. Tally is MISSING!
" she screams, her voice cracking. "Three days. THREE FUCKING DAYS! She was supposed to call her mom Wednesday night and every night thereafter. Nothing. NOTHING! Since I found out, I’ve called her phone fifty times.
Her mother's called hundreds since Thursday morning.
Voicemail. Always voicemail." She grabs my arm, fingernails digging into my skin.
"She SWORE she'd check in every night from that campground. "
Celeste's sob rips through the air like a wounded animal.
My blood turns to ice. Tally. Missing. The words hammer in my skull. Celeste said she went hiking alone in the Sierra Nevadas. Convict Canyon Trail. That death trap with thousand-foot drops that even experienced hikers avoid. And Tally—stubborn, fearless Tally—would've taken it as a challenge.
Reckless. Foolish.
MINE. Dear God, she's MINE.
Wednesday to Saturday. Seventy-two hours.
My heart threatens to explode. My mind floods with images: her body broken at the bottom of a ravine, attacked by a mountain lion, kidnapped by some backwoods psychopath.
NO. She has to be alive. She HAS to. She wouldn't leave her daughter motherless. She wouldn't do that to her mother.
She wouldn’t do that to me.
Before I know it, I'm sprinting to my bedroom, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I tear at my bow tie, fingers trembling so badly I can barely work the buttons of my crisp white shirt.
Sweat beads on my forehead as I wrestle out of the $10,000 bespoke Armani tux.
Five frantic minutes later, I've traded wedding finery for worn jeans, scuffed hiking boots, and a thick cable-knit sweater the color of storm clouds.
Max appears in the doorway, his own tux still immaculate, face flushed with concern. "Cam, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" I snap, grabbing my keys from the nightstand. "I'm getting ready to drive up to Convict Canyon Trail and search every goddamn inch of it myself."
"Cam, you have 300 guests who are already filing into the Greystone Mansion as we speak," Max says, his voice rising.
"The champagne is chilling, the five-tier cake is set up, the twelve-piece band is tuning their instruments, and Judge Reynolds is waiting.
People have flown in from across three continents for this.
You can't back out now! Anyhow, Tally's mom called Search and Rescue—professionals have spent the last 48 hours looking for her. "
I fix Max with a glare that could freeze hell. "I'm not saying 'I do' while Tally is out there missing. Do you think I could live with myself if something happens to her? Especially knowing I was sipping champagne instead of helping?"
Max shakes his head, his green eyes clouding with resignation. He knows what's coming—I'm bolting, leaving skid marks on this marble floor. My phone feels heavy in my pocket; I'll call Willow from the car, stammering through explanations she won't accept.
Max is right about the consequences—this lavish affair cost half a million, crystal champagne flutes and peonies and roses everywhere, guests who crossed oceans to be here.
But the weight of the platinum ring in my pocket means nothing compared to the image burning in my mind: Tally out there somewhere in the wilderness, her lips cracked from thirst, maybe curled under a tree for shelter.
Three days without proper water in that merciless sun would leave anyone delirious.
Three nights in the 30 degree weather would induce hypothermia.
And Tally would have packed light—just enough for day hikes before returning to a proper campsite with facilities, not for surviving alone in the backcountry where cell signals die and trails disappear into nothing.
I'm already on the highway when I call Willow.
"Cameron!" Her voice crackles through the speaker. "The ceremony starts in a few hours!"
"Something's happened, Willow."
The silence stretches between us. My knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as I count one, two, three heartbeats.
"What is it?" Her voice shrinks to a whisper.
"Tally's missing." My throat tightens. "She's my daughter's mother. I have to find her. That comes before any wedding."
"You want to postpone?" Disbelief edges into her tone. "People flew in from three continents for this. The costs alone?—"
"I know about the band," I cut in. "The cake, the catering, the guests being seated right now. But Tally's out there somewhere. Search and rescue is looking, but I need to be out there too. I just—I have to do this, Willow. I have to."
"Cameron, for God's sake—there are professionals looking for her. What do you think you can do out there?" Her voice cracks with desperation.
I grip the steering wheel as I hop on the 395, my jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps in my cheek.
"I'm going to find her. I don't give a damn about search and rescue protocols.
Every second counts." I merge into another lane, almost cutting off a car, so I wave an apology out the window.
"You think I could stand around tonight in a tuxedo, drinking champagne, nodding at Silas's toast while Tally is out there?
Freezing? Hurt? Dying?" My voice drops to a dangerous whisper.
"That's. Not. Happening. And if you think I'm the kind of man who could smile and make small talk while the woman I—“ I stop, breath ragged. "Then you don't know me at all."
Willow's voice rises with each word. "Cameron. Please. You can't be serious. It's our wedding day."
I grip the wheel tighter, still seeing that sedan I nearly sideswiped. My knuckles go white. Arguing with Willow while I'm already this emotional and flying down the highway at eighty? Recipe for disaster.
"I have to go." I end the call and press my foot harder on the gas, watching the needle climb.
Five hours. Five goddamn hours by car. My hands grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. I need to get to her faster. Roman. Roman could fly me.
I talk into my infotainment panel, “Call Roman.” He answers on the second ring.
"Rome, I need you," I say, my voice tight.
"Name it, bro."
"Tally's gone missing up at Convict Canyon Trail—Mammoth Lakes area. I'm looking at a five-hour drive to the Sierras, and I?—"
"Chopper's fueled and ready," he cuts in. "Meet me at Hawthorne. I'll have her warmed up."
I race back to Hawthorne municipal airport and sprint toward Roman's private hangar. He's waiting by his helicopter, bow tie undone against his white collar, tux jacket slung over one shoulder. Lilith stands beside him in her evening gown, checking her phone.
"Where's the baby?" I blurt, noticing Aria's absence.
Roman runs a hand through his wind-tousled hair. "Celeste insisted on babysitting. She wanted to join the rescue mission, but when we explained she'd be more hindrance than help, she volunteered to watch Aria instead."
I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to keep it together. "Okay, so once we reach Convict Canyon Trail, then what?"