by Webster, K
“Soccer, huh?” I ask, darting my gaze over to Zac.
He wears the same uneasy expression I do. If Seth is here, then where is Rachel? I fucking hope Clove is still off shooting with Leo.
As Seth babbles about his soccer team, I shoot Zac a look that says, “Find Rachel.”
He rises from the sofa just as Rachel steps into my office.
“There you are,” she chirps to Seth. “I see you found Sebby.”
He nods, grinning up at me. I can’t help but ruffle his hair. He’s a sweet kid.
“I think Leo should be back to clean guns any second,” Ford says, rising. “Want to help me and Leo clean them?” He holds his hand out to Seth, who runs over to him without hesitation.
The moment Ford and Seth are gone, I stand and storm over to the door to close it. Then, I turn my fury on Rachel.
“What did I tell you about just showing up at my house? You don’t live here anymore, Rachel,” I growl.
She winces at my words, clearly stung by them. Her eyes water with unshed tears and I immediately feel like a dick. “You told me to tell you if Joey comes back by and I saw his truck today. It was parked on the drive leading up to my trailer. We didn’t wait around to see what he wanted or where he was at. Just jumped on the golf cart and came here. Jesus, Sebastian. I’m not some villain trying to cockblock you from your little princess.”
Hastily, she swipes away her tears. Zac awkwardly pats her back. I walk over to her and regard her closely. Underneath the hardness and her pounds of makeup, she’s tired and shaken.
“If he’s harassing you, we should call the cops, Rach,” I say softly.
She absently rubs at her neck. I know from her past that he used to choke her out when he was drunk as hell. More tears leak down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
She throws her arms around my middle to hug me. Zac gives her shoulder a squeeze.
“We may not be together, but I still care about what happens to you and Seth,” I admit. “I won’t let Joey fuck with you two. Zac will go stay with you guys tonight and then in the morning we can go take a visit to the sheriff’s office before you move on.”
She lets out a sad laugh. “I’ve missed you guys. It’s nice having people who care.” Her body pulls away enough that she hugs Zac with her other arm.
We’re just pulling away when someone gasps. Zac and I jerk our heads toward the sound. I can hear Ford, Leo, and Seth all laughing somewhere else in the house. But it’s Clove who stands in the now open door, heartbreak written all over her pretty face.
Fuck.
It’s not what she thinks.
She blinks away her tears and holds up her hand when I start for her. “No. I need some space.”
“Clove,” I call out.
But she’s gone.
“Oh no,” Rachel mutters. “Does she think?”
I scrub my palm down my face. “I’ll talk to her. Zac, make sure Rach and Seth get home okay.”
They both walk out of my office and I pace, wondering how I’ll explain this to Clove. She probably thinks the worst. And that’s my fault. If I had come out right after she learned who Rachel was to me, all this could have been avoided. But no. I had to try and preserve her feelings, banking on the fact Rachel would get a clue and leave me alone.
No such luck.
My phone rings, and I groan at being interrupted.
It’s Jack.
“Hello?”
“Sebastian,” Jack greets. “How are things?”
He calls every week, checking in, and each time it unnerves me. It makes me wonder if his security team is attempting to pinpoint our location. I try to keep our conversations short just in case.
“Things are well. President yet?”
He chuckles. “Don’t I wish. Clove? Is she okay? She’s not mad at me, is she? I can’t get her to respond to my texts.”
Because we turned off her phone to keep her safe.
“Clove is fine. We take care of her,” I assure him.
“Good,” he breathes as though he’s relieved. His sincerity is deceiving.
“Jack,” a feminine voice calls out. “Your web interview is in ten minutes. We need to get you ready.”
“Of course, Marjorie. Give me a minute,” he says to her. Once she’s gone, he lets out a sigh. “Women.”
I grunt. “If that’s all, I need to get off here and take care of something important.” Your daughter. I need to fuck an apology into her.
“No, that’s fine. Do your job. Her safety is my primary concern. Please have her call me, though. I miss her.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I grumble. “Goodbye, Jack.”
We hang up and I stalk out of my office on a mission. I hear the shower going in the master and I wonder if I should just bombard her shower to calm her down. In the end, I decide not to. Instead, I walk into the dining room to find Ford cleaning the guns from Leo and Clove’s shooting practice.
“Rach and Seth leave?” I ask, dropping down into the seat across from him.
“Yeah, Zac took them back just a minute ago.” He frowns. “Clove knows. Leo went to talk to her.”
I help him clean the guns and we fall into a broody silence for the next twenty minutes. There’s no screaming or crying coming from the master, so Leo must be calming her down. It’s better for Leo to talk to her until I can explain better. He always gets through to her in a way no one else can.
The front door opens and Zac walks inside, frowning. “Where’d Leo go? Was she that mad?”
“What?” I ask him in confusion.
Ford straightens. “Leo’s showering with Clove.”
Zac sprints off toward the back of the house. My hackles rise and my chair scrapes across the tiles as I go after him.
“What the hell?” I demand, trailing after him.
Zac storms into the bedroom. Leo sits on the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist and his phone pressed to his ear. Zac rushes into the bathroom and then roars with fury just as Ford flies into the room.
“Tahoe’s gone,” Ford barks out. “Where’s Lucky?”
Leo hangs up on his call and stands up. “She was in your office with you,” he snaps. “Rach said you two were talking.”
“For five minutes,” I hiss. “Where the fuck did she go?”
Zac exits the bathroom and his jaw clenches. “She left. She took the Tahoe and fucking left.”
Ford jerks open the end table and then kicks it shut. “Her purse is gone. Fuck. Seb, she left!”
“Call Rach,” I order, “we need her car.”
Zac is already pulling up his phone app. “Tracker shows she’s twenty-five miles from here. Goddammit. She’s hauling ass too. The weather is turning shitty. I was just out there.”
Panic makes my heart stutter. This is all my fucking fault.
“Stay here,” I bark at Zac. “Find out what you can. Ford and I will follow her. Have Rach have her car ready. Rach’s dumbass ex is hanging around, so make sure you have eyes on her just in case. We’ll find Clove.”
“What do I do?” Leo demands.
“Put some fucking clothes on and try to get Clove on the phone.”
Ford and I dart out of the room, yanking our coats off the rack along the way. We rush outside into the blistery cold. Pellets of ice sting my face. Rach’s pussy-ass little Chevy Malibu will be a bitch to drive if the weather gets worse. Thank fuck the Tahoe is outfitted with good tires and four-wheel drive.
We waste a precious ten minutes running up the drive to Rach’s trailer. Luckily, she’s waiting with the keys in hand.
“Be careful,” she calls out after me. “Please be careful.”
“I will,” I grumble as I yank the car door open. “Zac and Leo are nearby if Joey shows up.”
I squeeze into her tiny ass car and turn over the engine. Seconds later, we’re cruising down the drive and then onto the main road. Ford now has the tracker app open on his phone. He points me east. We drive down th
e dark highway as the sleet turns into snow. The Malibu slides a bit on corners, but I’m able to keep it on the road. For nearly thirty minutes we drive until we pull into a motel.
“Bingo,” Ford mutters, pointing at the Tahoe.
I whip into the spot next to it. We both jump out. The vehicle is empty and the keys are sitting on the seat.
What the fuck?
“I’ll find out which room she checked into,” Ford barks out before stalking into the office.
I pace around the Tahoe, making sure I didn’t miss anything. My phone rings and I answer on the second ring, putting it on speaker.
“Talk to me,” I growl.
“She called her dad,” Zac hisses. “Not from her phone but from a pay phone at a hotel.”
“She’s not here,” Ford bellows, storming over to me. “The clerk said she took an Uber from here.”
“An Uber?” I demand. “To where?”
“Obviously back home,” Zac says coolly.
“You know how expensive it would be to have an Uber drive her hours back home?” I snarl. The icy wind whips around me and snow flutters against my face.
“Real fucking expensive,” Ford utters as he opens the Tahoe driver’s side door and peeks inside. “But she’s Clove fucking Sterling. She’s loaded.”
“We need to get her,” I bite out. “Now.”
“Go after her, man,” Zac orders to me.
“The Tahoe needs gas, but then I can come get you guys,” Ford tells Zac. “We won’t be far behind Seb.”
“We’re already on our way,” Zac informs me. “Rachel’s new guy Rick showed up and we borrowed his car.”
Borrowed. I bet her new dickhead boy toy loved Zac and Leo stealing his car. They’ll get over it, though. Our primary focus is on getting Clove back.
“Seb,” Zac barks out just as I slip back inside the Malibu. “We’re going to get our girl back.”
We fucking better.
When the Uber rolls to a stop in front of the iron gates leading up to my house, the warm, familiar feeling I was hoping to wash over me in welcome is absent. My thoughts remain lost to my four guys. They’ll be going out of their minds with me just up and leaving. In the heat of the moment, I was angry—too hurt by Rachel’s implications. And then to find them embraced in such an intimate way? I let my rage guide me and now I’m here. I don’t know if it was the right thing to do. If my guys had allowed me my cell phone, they could have called me, and I could have explained that I needed some time to let all the new information sink in. To allow my insecurities time to adjust to my new life. To accept that maybe I’m not special to them…that I’ll also have to learn to share them.
No.
I couldn’t ever do that.
It may make me a hypocrite, but it was just never an option. I can’t share them. It would be too painful. They’re mine…or at least I thought they were.
I need to talk to my dad. To clear up any suspicions the guys have toward him.
“Identification?” some broad guard I don’t recognize barks to the driver.
Opening the car door, I step out and approach him. “I’m Miss Sterling, your boss’s daughter. I live here. Please open the gate.”
The man’s brows tug down, making a scar slashed through his right eyebrow tug up the eyelid, making him appear menacing. “Miss Sterling, we weren’t told to expect you.”
“Doesn’t change the fact I’m standing here. So, again, please open the gate and inform my father that I’m home,” I say testily. The long day has exhausted me, physically and emotionally, and I want to curl up and cry.
“Right away, ma’am.” He nods and goes to the little visitor box to press the button that opens the gate. “I can take you up,” he informs me, handing the Uber driver a bunch of bills and jerking his head to dismiss him.
Gesturing with his hand to a golf cart, he eyes me expectantly. I shake my head to decline. “I’ll walk. I could use the air.”
The truth is, I need the short time to hash over what it is I’m going to say to my father. Up until now, all I could think about was Rachel’s words rattling around my brain, making a hole open up in my chest. Her seemingly insignificant rant had more impact than I would’ve liked, making me feel foolish.
I regret offering to walk almost straight away. It’s too cold. I pull my coat tighter around me to try and bring heat to my skin as the house comes into view. I’m nervous when I shouldn’t be. This is the house I was raised within. It’s always been my haven, yet it feels oddly unfamiliar now.
My feet protest the walk up the winding driveway, blisters rise on the soles of my feet, and I sigh when I reach the steps leading to the house. Marjorie comes rushing out to greet me. She hurries toward me, throwing her arms around me, catching me off guard and forcing me backward on my feet. She’s never this affectionate. Perhaps she missed me?
“Clove, honey, whatever are you doing here?” she coos into my ear before pulling back and looking behind me. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, I needed to come home,” I say with a sigh, walking around her and up the steps to go inside. The door clicks closed behind us, and I push my shoes off before dropping my purse and coat on the rack.
“Is Dad home? I left him a message, but I was at a pay phone and he may not have listened to my voice mail.” My ears perk, listening for any noise, but only silence greets me.
“No, I’m afraid he’s not and won’t be returning until later.” Marjorie offers me a pat on the back like I’m an abandoned child.
“I’m going to go to my room to rest for a while,” I tell her, feeling her eyes on me with a million questions I know she’s dying to ask me. Marjorie hates surprises and not being in the know. She is meticulous with our lives and anal when it comes to constructing our family image to the public, so she will be on damage control to pay the Uber driver off to keep his silence about his passenger for the night, and to make sure no paparazzi caught me on my travels home looking like a train wreck.
Pushing into my bedroom, the scents of my old life burst over me, reminding me of how much change has happened in such a small amount of time. Brushing my fingers over the dresser, I note a little film of dust lacquered upon it. They must have told the cleaner to stop coming in here. I am forgotten, out of sight out of mind. I hate my thoughts. They’re weak and pitiful, but I feel like I was cast away and life went on for my father. All the panic and worry for the threat on my life one minute and then as soon as I was out of the way, he went back to a politician, a product of what the people want. A man without worry. The man who is on his way to the White House.
Where was the father hidden between the layers of this man who once was the sunrise and sunset for his little girl? Leo’s words echo inside me. “He might be involved, sweetness.”
I shake them away, stuffing them so deep down that they don’t exist to me anymore. They can’t be the truth. I refuse to believe them even if my guys have proof. It would take my father pulling out a gun and shooting me point blank before I could ever think my soul could be so cursed that even my father could take it from me.
Sitting on the bed that doesn’t feel as soft or welcoming as Sebastian’s, my foot taps mindlessly on the wood floor. Will I get past this deception of Seb having a child with another woman? Do I have a right to be this mad with him? With them? They all knew and let her have this pocket of information to take out and drop on me at her choosing. I wasn’t prepared. I was naïve and she could see it written all over me, exploiting it. The anger bubbles inside my chest once more. Tears of sorrow and fury wage war inside me. I hate that she has a part of him and can offer him a normal life without this chaos and media storm waiting to swarm. I resent her and hate myself for it. A tap on the door draws my attention and Marjorie opens it, stepping inside without prompting.
“I made you a cup of chamomile tea,” she says with a smile, placing a china cup on my bedside table. “We gave the staff a long vacation just to keep an eye on who is coming and going on the property
with threat levels being high.” She lingers, folding her arms over her small chest. The cardigan she wears is an awful toffee color and makes her skin look washed out. She could be pretty if she tried, but she ties her long hair into a low bun and opts for oversized glasses rather than contacts and minimal makeup as to not draw attention to herself. I know she’s in love with my father. I can recognize it now—the looks, the longing, the need. I feel bad for her in that respect, because my father will never have time to love anyone else. And when he is ready to remarry, he’ll look for an accessory, a woman who will look good to the public. Maybe a charity background or a wealthy, wholesome family. Marjorie has no family. We’re her family. My father’s career is her entire life’s work. Her blood, sweat, and dreams are all wrapped up in another’s success or failure.
I pick up the cup and sip, trying not to wince when the bitter twang of an added lemon hits my tongue and explodes over my taste buds. “It’s perfect, thank you,” I lie, offering her a tight smile.
“So, what brings you home with no forewarning? Your father said you would be away at least another month.”
“Things change. I don’t believe I’m in any danger. There’s no motivation for someone to want to hurt me. I’m no threat to anyone.” I shake my head and laugh, but it’s awkward and makes me squirm a little when her face remains stoic.
“Someone tried to run you down,” she reminds me. “I would hardly say you’re not in danger. Something like that can have so many ramifications. The psychological effects can be life-altering.”
Quirking a brow at her, I snort and place my cup back on the dresser. “I’m fine, Marjorie, just fed up with living like a hidden princess. I want this over with. I refuse to live my life in such a way. My father is going to be heading for the White House, and surely I can’t be hidden away forever.”
My head swims a little and my heart begins to slow inside my chest. Smacking my lips together, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and feel nothing. It’s numb. What the hell?
“You look tired. I’m going to run you a nice bath. Drink your tea,” Marjorie insists before going into my bathroom. I turn to the cup and reach out, but my limbs are awkward and long, heavy, uncooperative. The china cup topples from my unsteady grasp and crashes to the floor, shattering like my sanity over my wood panels. Fog clouds my mind, soaking me in its damp mist. What’s happening to me?