No Simple Sacrifice (Secrets of Stone Book 5) (29 page)

Like a
sensei
breaking apart wooden planks, her words cut in—too deep. I fell back on the safety of levity, threaded with healthy sarcasm. “Wow, Claire. That’s pretty—ummmm—deep.”

She gave me a knowing side-eye. “Now it sounds like
your
boys are rubbing off on
you
. That was a Drake Newland impersonation if ever I’ve heard one.”

An unthinking smile broke across my face—but was gone a second later. She was right. My “bubbles” were gone—because the men who fueled them were. And the flat boards? They blocked the sun, turning the world gray, making me wonder if I’d ever see daylight again. Or ever wanted to.

“
Talia
.”

I jerked my head up, at what must’ve been her repeat effort to get through. “Huh? Sorry. What?”

Claire gathered my hands into hers. “Girlfriend…tell me what’s going on.”

I swallowed hard—as a disgusting decision weighed in. I wouldn’t heal from it, if I couldn’t even say it.

“We broke up,” I sighed heavily. “Drake, Fletcher, and me. It’s over.”

She jerked upward. “
What
? Are—are you sure? This isn’t just a case of mixed signals or something, is it?

A high sound burst out of me, like some annoying little dog. Served her right. “Mixed signals. You sure you want to reference Drake Newland and Fletcher Ford in the same
conversation
as that term?”

She acknowledged the truth with a grimace. “Well…when did this all go down?”

“Last time I was in Chicago.”

“Three weeks ago?” She pitched back into incredulity. “What the hell?”

“I’ve been trying to stay busy.” And invisible. And as close to dead as I could get.

She gazed out the window as if an answer would paint itself across the clouds. “Kil hasn’t said a word—which means neither Fletch nor Drake has, either.” She shook her head, brushing her light auburn waves against her high cheekbones. “He still thinks the guys are over the moon for you.”

“They have a crazy way of showing it.” I patted her hands before releasing them. Slumped back into the big, comfortable chair. “At least Drake does. He…started the snowball.” I rolled a lazy hand in the air. Damn, I was witty when I was despondent. “Fletcher was as caught off-guard as I was. He might have given it a try, with just the two of us, but…”

She leaned forward. “But what? He’s a beautiful man, sweetie—inside and out.”

I returned her stare…then sighed. Capturing fog. Riding a star. Explaining the magic of what we’d shared. Impossible feats always
sounded
great—if one was scripting a superhero movie. But I was no Wonder Woman. Today, I didn’t even bubble.

“It would never work,” I murmured. “In the end, Fletch probably knew that as clearly as I did. We can’t be together if we aren’t
all
together. It’s just…not right, Claire. Not in my head, and especially not in my heart.”

She scowled, clearly confused. I understood. I’d kept the hell of the last few weeks tucked away really well, locked against the world…scared of what I’d have to reveal if discovered. Terrified to relive the moment Fletch had read the letter from Drake, destroying the spell that had been us for those fleeting weeks. But I forced myself to do it now, spending the next twenty minutes recounting what had happened before, during and after the big SGC gala. Claire had been there that night, but was so wrapped up in Killian, the pregnancy, and being “on” as the CEO’s wife, she hadn’t really
been
there—and now tripped over herself apologizing for being an unavailable friend.

“Oh my God,” I rebuked, “don’t be ridiculous. You deserve to be happy, Claire. Take this time and savor it. These are the last few months you’ll ever be alone with your husband. You need to treasure every drop of the experience.”

I meant that. I wanted only happiness and love for my friends and family—and sometimes, even wondered if that had contributed to Drake’s bombshell break-off too. The man wasn’t a stranger to family ties; he had tight bonds with his own—but my clan took the interpretation to another stratosphere of meaning. Maybe he’d thought about that—really considered it—and hadn’t been willing to drink the Perizkova Kool-Aid, after all.

“We are. We
are
,” Claire reassured me. “But right now, I’m more concerned about
you
.” She grabbed up one of my hands again. “Are you sure you can’t make Drake see what he walked away from? What’s his issue, anyway?”

Cue the dramatic silence. Finally, I confessed. “My family.”

“Your
family
? How are they even an issue? They want you to be happy, right? Have they even met Drake and Fletcher? They’re amazing men, and all someone has to do is spend ten minutes around the three of you to see how in love you are.”

“Claire…” I let her see my deep, determined breath. “We aren’t in love.”

She sputtered through her initial reaction like a cat with a hair ball. “Are you blind, insane, or just in denial?”

I inhaled hard again. “Look—”

“No way.
You
need to look, Talia—and hard.” She spread her hands out, palms up. “Yeah, yeah, I know; I’m the last person to be slinging shit about running from your feelings.” She pushed up, restlessly roaming across the office. “Honestly T,
don’t
make my mistake.”

I sat up, twisting a confused gaze her way. “Your…mistake?” All I saw was a woman who gleamed so brightly, she could light up the entire Gaslamp Quarter by herself.

“You weren’t there. You were still wrapping up the case down in New Orleans for Andrea. Fiona, the voodoo priestess movie star.”

I groaned. “Oh, yeah.” Yikes, that had been a weird couple of months.

“Well, I made Kil chase me around for months, while I kept denying the obvious magic we had…the gift destiny itself had given to us. I put him through hell, Talia.”

I lifted half a smile. “I think he’s probably forgotten by now, Claire.”

“But I haven’t. I won’t ever.” She slowly shook her head. “And you know what I feel, when looking back on that all now? A
lot
of regret, missie. So much wasted time that I could’ve—
should’ve
—been spending making our relationship stronger. All because I was scared—plain and simple. Stupid and frightened of confronting the way I felt.” She took a turn at the deep pull of breath. “So I get it, okay? I’ve been there before. God…I’m still scared about these enormous feelings, and am so thankful each and every day for them now…but at the beginning it was all so much, you know?
So
much,
so
soon.”

“Now think about that in double.” I laughed again, just a little, when her eyes bulged. “
Then
try explaining it—being in love with two men at the same time—to a family who hasn’t brought their thinking out of the old world.” I doodled the tip of a finger along the chair’s arm, to focus on something other than the daunting impact of finally saying that aloud. “I likely would’ve been excommunicated…or, at the very least, disowned.” I arced the same hand, as if tossing out trash. “But it’s not really an issue anymore.”

“So are you telling me you’re giving up?” It was an accusation good as any Mama would’ve doled out—making me flash a glare up at her. Claire flung back as good as she got, twisting her lips in perfect disapproval. Did
that
come with the hormones too?

“Dammit,” I muttered. “What do you want from me?” I was exhausted. Beyond even that. A wrung-out washcloth would beat me at arm wrestling.

“Awww, T-bird.” Her chastisement made a turn toward gentle now. “I don’t want anything from you. I want it
for
you. I want you to be happy, Talia, and this certainly isn’t it. You’re not going to get it, either, by letting other people define it for you, or stand in its way. It’s
your
happiness.
You
have to make it. And
you
have to fight for it.”

I let it sink in. But I was still unable to let the truth drench me. I wanted to…dear God, how I wanted to…

I angled her a nonplussed glance. “Sheez, mama bear. When did you get so smart?”

“Must be the hormones.” Claire rubbed her belly and stretched. “And hey…at least you’re physically bound in the right direction, yeah?”

I shot a we’ll-see scowl while powering up my smart pad. “On
that
note…how about the full scoop on this ‘situation’?”

She didn’t skip the opportunity for her own harsh groan. “Right. That.”

I opened a new doc. Labeled it
Mama Bear’s Situation.
“Let me have it.”

“It’s the packaging and sealing process on the blush and the illuminator—but worst, the new eye color collection. Because of that, nothing’s getting the final seal of approval to ship. Of course everyone is pointing fingers, and I can’t find the dropped ball from here.” She sighed. “It’s a mess, and nobody wants to admit fault—yet until we rectify the situation, Nordstrom and Macy’s are threatening to pull the whole line.”

“Oh damn.”

“You can say that again—but don’t.”

After she instructed her assistant to hold all calls, we put our heads together for a couple of hours straight, strategizing an action plan for the problem—or at least a start. We agreed to keep brainstorming via instant messaging as soon as I was airborne and at cruising altitude—but right now, the key was actually getting me into the air.

Into the air.

I gulped back the trepidation. My uneasiness about being anywhere except planted solidly on terra firma wasn’t going to miraculously get better between here and Lindbergh. Like the heartache over Fletch and Drake, I had to simply suck it up and move on.

As I rose, Claire restated the plan. “Okay. So while you’re en route, I’ll contact Bill Nexus at Nordstrom and the team at Macy’s.”

“Be
nice
,” I exhorted.

“Aren’t I always?”

Coming from anyone else, I wouldn’t have taken the question rhetorically—but Claire Allyn Montgomery was in a league of her own in the killing-with-kindness department. I’d never literally seen that happen, but on a figurative level, she was a serial murderer.

I was tempted to put that into words for the simple reward of her full laughter, but the door to her office suddenly swung wide. Correction: was nearly knocked off its hinges.

Killian Stone filled the entryway, tall and dark and daunting, even without trying. And when the man really put some effort into it, “terrifying” was a really good word to start with. So were “looming” and “intimidating” and “forbidding”.

Immediately, he pinned every shining inch of his protective gaze on his wife. Curled up his model-perfect lips, almost as if to spit, and snarled, “Why the hell are you still here? Alfred was supposed to take you home at lunchtime.”

Claire huffed as if the man had simply dropped her ice cream on the sidewalk. “Not this again.”

“Claire—”

“
Killian
. I
told
you, I feel great. And I’m not in here shopping for nursery colors. We’ve run into a major issue with the cosmetics supply chain.”

His black brows hunched over the gaze that matched. “Fixable?”

“With Talia’s help, yes. So stop being such a mother hen. Remember what Doctor Marshall said?”

“Not a word beyond ‘healthy baby, healthy mommy’.” He wrapped his long arms around her middle, his hands easily clasping each other around her tiny body. “That’s why I count on you.”

She laughed softly, yanking at his silk tie. Even at six months pregnant, she looked small and treasured in his arms.

I looked away, suddenly feeling like an intruder on their moment. Still, Killian’s tone was bathed in welcoming warmth. “Hello, Talia.” He grinned, kissing the top of Claire’s head. “And thank you for the help.”

“Of course, Mr. Stone.”

“Killian. Please.”

I shifted from foot to foot. Damn. Claire’s earlier assumption was right. Neither Fletcher nor Drake had filled him in yet. Mentally, I rammed them both against a wall and punched them. But didn’t kill them. In my twisted little fantasy, they were both naked. That ruined the whole killing part.

“I’ll be ready for takeoff in about two hours.” Pushing forward with the plan seemed the best route.

“I’m sure you have Lindbergh’s protocols down cold by now.” Killian flashed another grin. Poor guy. Or maybe my concern needed to lie with Fletch and Drake on this one. He was going to bust their balls when learning the truth they’d been withholding from him.

“I—uhhh—just need to swing home and pack,” I stammered. “And call the sitter.”

Killian’s smile faded into confusion. “The sitter?”

“For Titus.”

“Titus?”

“My turtle. He gets lonely when I’m gone, so I arrange pet day care for him.”

“Oh.” He shrugged, smiling affably again. “Okay.”

Note to self: give the CEO bad news when his wife is in his arms. I doubted even a stock market crash could have ruffled the man right now. “I’ll be downtown by one.”

*

On the plane,
I composed three emails and two text messages—and never sent any of them. I’d longed to tell Fletcher I was airborne toward Chicago, but in the end, thought better of it. In the weeks since the gala, he’d barely made an effort to communicate. Well, not after I’d thwarted every attempt he’d made in the beginning…almost four weeks ago.