Anchored: Book Three, The Reign Series

by Piper Malone

  I rattle the mouse, hoping the computer will jump to life, but the whole system remains silent. The monitor is tucked under an overhang. It’s a great privacy measure for guests, but it is a pain when I need to figure out an issue. Turning the monitor, I locate the black-on-black power button and listen to the screen warm up. Before pushing it back in place, I double-check the power cords, making sure each is snug and secure. In the darkness of the desk’s overhang, my hand brushes against something hard that tips and smacks against the counter.

  My fingers fumble to find the object. Maybe Reagan left something behind and someone shoved it behind the computer screen. From the darkness, I pull a small bird that sits in the curve of my palm perfectly. Its weight is light despite the solid-wood structure. Maybe Reagan found the little tchotchke on their honeymoon. Holding the bird closer to the light, I can examine its wings, decorated in intricate detailing and sweeping lines. The ornate pattern seems richer, deeper under the light, covered in a deep-blue stain.

  I know it’s his before I look to see his initials carved at the base. Nick’s passion flows from every detail of the work. On the underside of the bird’s tail, a thin line marks the words, Wings for my angel.

  The cavernous hole in my chest fills with liquid grief, threatening to drown me. My heart pounds, rattling my ribs as I try to hold back a sob. With shaky hands, I try to place the bird down and knock the tail against the desktop. I curse, scared the force damaged his work. I cannot ruin something he made. Something he created.

  For me . . .

  The tears push forward, and I fight to compose myself.

  “No,” I say to no one, “this is best. He belongs there. That is his home.” I hear the words fight for air under the suffocation of my emotions. “Get yourself settled,” I say to myself, swiping tears from my cheeks.

  Down the hallway to my room, I’m forced to stare at the entrance to his quarters. Next-door neighbors no more. The key slides into the lock, and I am standing in the middle of the functional room I once thought was cozy and quaint. Now the walls seem cold, impersonal. They lack the warm depth of natural wood or a romantic stone fireplace. The bed sheets are in disarray, pulled and mounded at the edges. Anger hits me for a brief moment before I remember.

  I needed to hurt, so I asked her to hurt me . . . She did her job. I came home and drank myself into an oblivion. Blake found me the next morning in your room . . . I needed something. Your room still smells like you.

  The realization cleaves me in two. Sobbing, choking for air, I climb onto the bed and press my face into the sheets, the scratch of the fabric against my cheek a bitter reminder that I am no longer in a place of comfort and luxury.

  I am a woman desperate to soothe her broken heart with the lingering scent of the man she loves.

  Chapter 41

  Nick

  Harris Woodworking Designs is an epic shit show. My brother is the lead monkey in this circus of idiots. Genius big brother created a business without a business plan and opened custom orders three weeks ago. We have been flooded, and our systems can’t handle the volume.

  Plus the heat pump in the store blew four days ago, which means all production has shifted to my house. Adam is practically living with me, and I hate him for it.

  “You’re an idiot, Adam. Thanks for fucking everything up.”

  Adam shoots me the death stare, which I am completely immune to at this stage of the game. If he wants jackass roulette, bring it on, motherfucker.

  “Nothing is beyond fixing. We’ll figure it out.” Adam spews the words out as he picks up his phone. “Veronica will manage the glitch in the software, and Ben will get the business paperwork squared away.”

  “Great ideas. I will take this moment to remind you again that you did all of this without consulting me on a business that possesses my name.” It has been easy to wear him down the past few weeks. He’s lousy at asking for help. We all suck at admitting we need an extra set of hands, but he’s the worst.

  “It’s my name too.”

  “Correct, but it’s my work. My livelihood. It’s my craft that you made a decision about without consulting me.” The words fire back so quickly that he looks up from the phone and I wonder if he’s going to punch me. “And while you’re at it, see if Ronnie can fix your glitch too,” I mutter.

  He rips the phone from his ear. “We have a professional relationship.” He’s moments away from pulverizing his teeth to dust.

  “I’m sure you do.” I can’t help pouring on the sick sweetness. “But you could change that with a simple slip of the tip.”

  Adam throws down his phone and launches toward me. “You little fucking shit . . .” His arm bars across my throat. “Have some fucking respect.”

  “Back at you, brother,” I choke out before driving my elbow into his chest. Adam tumbles to the floor in a heap, gasping for air. “Your ribs are your weak spot. You should do better to protect them.”

  He coughs and, to my surprise, stays down. Adam breathes through the cheap shot and then stares at the ceiling, nested in the thin layer of sawdust that always coats the floor. “She doesn’t want me,” he says. “She’s caught on you.”

  Adam is smart with many things. With women, he is a moron. “I’ve watched her trying to tempt you for the past three weeks. She might pretend to be caught on the past, but she knows I’m not interested. How about you open your good eye and take a look at the boobs she’s been shoving in your face.”

  He leans back, his hands pushing through his hair. “We tried and she . . .” Adam stands up and moves a few steps away, radiating tension. I get a sideways glance as he brushes the dust from his pants. “My relationships are not for public consumption.”

  “Good. Neither are mine. Remember that.”

  “Not when you make bad decisions, Nico. That pink-haired chick flaked out on you. You know it,” Adam jabs.

  The venom pulses in my blood, thickening and glowing with white-hot rage. We’ve had this fight almost every week since they left. This will be round number three. “I will say this to you one more time. You manipulated this entire situation: the business, Ronnie, the announcement, and me. Be grateful I’m even allowing you on this property, Adam. You alienated me from my friends—for what? A faulty computer system and an ancient heat pump.”

  “This is going to work for you, Nico. You can have this dream. You weren’t moving on settling yourself.”

  “Where are you on settling yourself, Adam? The last time I checked, you aren’t living the blissful married life with a wife, three kids, and a golden retriever.”

  “What I do with my life is my business. You were rudderless, Nico. Dad always said—”

  “Dad is gone, Adam.” The words escape with more bite than I intended. He hasn’t mentioned our father to me since he passed. “We are adults. Why can’t you accept that he would be proud of us? So would Grandpa.” I wait for him to volley back, but he’s mute. “And if you ever pull shit like this again, if you ever think for a minute we’re still teenagers and you can boss us around again, I’ll help you change your mind.”

  “Is this still about her? She left you, Nico. Twice.”

  “Her name is Skyler. Use it. Skyler, and everything about her, falls under the category of my business. Why you feel the need to control and undermine every potentially caring relationship is beyond me. I will deal with Sky’s mind and her choices. Not you. But since we have a massively fucked-up situation on our hands, I can’t work on any of that. Thanks again for all your help on that one. Call Ronnie and figure it out. Now!”

  He blinks. “I don’t sabotage.”

  “That sounds like a defense that needs to be directed at someone other than me.”

  Deep satisfaction settles in my gut when he stumbles.

  “I’ll call Veronica,” he mutters.

  Chapter 42

  Skyler

  “It is freezing out here!” Kat bounces on the balls of her feet. Her gloved hands wrap around a large Starbucks cup. “Are
you really going to run in this weather?”

  “Yes!” Running in the biting cold has been the only thing that has gotten me through the past month. I used the cold air to visualize freezing away my sadness and building a robust stamina. I haven’t heard from Nick. If Caleb and Reagan have had communication with him, they have not told me. Which is a good thing.

  I need a clean break.

  A fresh start.

  Which will begin as soon as this race is over.

  I will run. I will feel the icy chill on my face. I will finish, and when I thaw, I will not cry over Nicholas William Harris.

  I will stop sleeping in the shirts he left in his room.

  I will not allow myself to relive the fantasies of our time in Rockland. I refuse to wallow in the memories of his arms and lips and our sensual nights in the firelight of his bedroom.

  “Look at you, fancy pants,” Reagan squeals as she joins us. Her rough spots of morning sickness have passed, and now she just glows with new-mommy energy. “You look fantastic!”

  I wanted a little color boost and found a salon in town that was willing to call The Warren. Rabbit shared the color combination she used to dye my hair for Kat and Blake’s wedding. I scheduled an appointment before the race so my hair would be bright for the run.

  “Thanks! Now you’ll be able to pick me out when I’m running,” I say, happy to feel the embrace of Reagan and Caleb. “Thanks for all your help with fundraising.” All proceeds from today’s race will go to breast cancer research. I didn’t realize how good running and fundraising would be for me. It’s nice to have a positive purpose outside of Reign. Plus I have the added bonus of a marketing mastermind and a stellar researcher in my corner. Over the past few weeks, Reagan and Kat have helped me raise almost four thousand dollars.

  “We like to put good things into the world,” Kat says. “Do we have a total? I posted a last-call social media campaign this morning to generate some more donations.”

  “Well”—Reagan squelches a smile—“I checked the account just before we left . . .”

  Kat crosses her fingers and closes her eyes. “Please tell me I did it! Tell me I blew the social media algorithms out of the water with my stellar marketing skills.”

  “You might have!” Reagan’s eyes glitter with excitement. “We have a donor who has matched your existing funds. As of twenty minutes ago, you have close to eighty-five hundred dollars raised!”

  “Oh my gosh” I squeal, jumping up and down. “That is so amazing! Do you know who the donor is? We need to send them a thank you.”

  “Well, um . . . Yes. We know who they are.” Reagan fumbles for a minute, her gaze flickering behind me.

  Caleb sidles closer to me, his hand wrapping around Reagan’s. Even Kat falls eerily silent beside me.

  “You guys are freaking me out. What’s going on?”

  “Harris Woodworking Designs made the donation, Skyler. We are happy to support your cause.”

  The voice is close, but not familiar enough. I turn and come face-to-face with the nucleus of my pain.

  “No.”

  Adam Harris is standing in the middle of my town, on my race day, looking too much like Nick. The pain I have fought against for weeks wells up like hot magma.

  “No way in hell! You do not get to do this. You,” I say and jab a pointed finger at his face, wishing with all my might that lightning would spark from my fingertip, “don’t get to come here and try to fix whatever you think needs fixing with money.” I step forward, ready to drill him in the face when I feel an arm around my waist. “Your donation”—I try to fight Caleb’s grip, but it’s useless—“will be returned as soon as this race is over. I will not be bought.”

  “Hold up there, Sky,” Kat says, trying to edge me back a bit. “You know I’m all about duffing a douchebag in the face, but hear him out. Plus you’ve got fifteen minutes before this race, and you need to stay focused.”

  I glare at Adam, only relaxing enough to signal Caleb can let go of me.

  “We’re right here, Sky,” Reagan assures from behind me.

  “Well?” I ask, crossing my arms across my chest, unwilling to give him any more of my time than absolutely necessary. “Why, on today of all days, did you make the trip here?”

  “Fuck,” Adam runs a rough hand over the back of his neck. “Skyler, I, uh . . .” Adam falters for a moment, looking over the crowd. “I, um, wanted to say . . .”

  From the mass of people, Ben emerges at his brother’s side, looking every part the cool, collected politician. “He screwed up, Sky. Adam may be the oldest male in our family, but he’s certainly not the wisest.”

  “He also thinks he’s the best looking,” Evan chimes in as he materializes from the crowd to stand next to Adam. “Which is wrong in so many ways.” Evan gives me a warm smile before leaning in and giving me a quick hug. “You look great,” he whispers in my ear before moving back to Adam’s side.

  “He has zero business sense,” Jude chimes in, simply turning on his heel to enter the group.

  “And,” Wyatt shouts through the video call on Jude’s phone, “he’s a bully.”

  “I agree with all of this,” I say, bewildered by the presence of all of them except one. “I’m not sure why all of you had to come here to tell me this. You made a trip for no reason.”

  “Skyler,” Adam hedges, “I put Nico in a bad situation. I thought I was helping him find a way to fulfill his dreams and keep our family together. I wasn’t willing to accept how he felt about you. I know how much my brothers have dealt with over the years, and I get overly protective. Without our father, I feel very responsible for my family. I viewed you as a threat to Nico’s success. We’ve lost a lot over the years, and I wasn’t willing to consider splitting up my family or having Nico sacrifice his passion. We’ve talked, and Nico understands why I did what I did. He told me I needed to apologize to you, so that’s why I’m here. I’m sorry for my actions toward you.”

  “Well, thank you, but none of this is necessary.” I shrug, the anger coursing through my veins exaggerating my movements. “Your grand plan worked out, and you got your wish. I saw the website. Orders are open. He’s doing exactly what you wanted for him.”

  “Oh yeah,” Adam agrees. “Nico is up to his eyeballs. He got his first international order yesterday.”

  I can’t respond. Adam’s confirmation that everything is swimmingly fantastic feels like he just dumped hand sanitizer on a paper cut that runs the length of my body.

  Evan jabs Adam in the ribs, forcing him to collect himself. “Yeah, so, I have a business proposition for you.”

  “A business proposition?” I scoff, hugging my arms tighter against my chest. “I can’t wait to hear this one.”

  “Harris Woodworking Designs needs an office coordinator. I’ve tried to manage everything—”

  “And he shit the bed,” Jude finishes.

  Adam slants a dirty look at his brother. “I need help running the business. I know you are skilled and can help make Nico’s business the success it deserves to be.”

  “No,” I reply.

  The Harris brothers’ objections tumble over each other. Adam steps closer, his brows knit together. “Are you kidding?”

  “I have a job and a place to live here. You can’t come in here, flash some cash, and think I’m going to jump through your hoops.”

  Caleb leans into the space between Adam and me. “You’re fired, Sky.”

  “What?” I screech. “Why!”

  “Well, um, my wife”—he gestures to Reagan—“doesn’t like that I work in such close proximity to a pretty woman.”

  My eyes feel like they are going to bulge from my head. I look at Reagan.

  “Oh.” Reagan snaps to attention. “Oh, yes, that’s true,” she says with feigned indignation. “I’m totally jealous, and I want you away from my man.”

  “Very convincing,” he mutters to his wife. “You are also evicted,” Caleb says to me.

  “Yes. That too,�
� Reagan seconds.

  “So now I’m unemployed and homeless?”

  “There is a job for you at Harris Woodworking Designs,” Jude chimes.

  I know Caleb would never really kick me out, but all of this is too much. This is my race day, and now I’m jobless and homeless, and the most popular people in Rockland, Maine, are staring me down.

  “You guys.” My voice trips over my emotion. “I can’t. I left him . . . again! He needs his family and his work. I’m sure you can hire someone who will be a maverick with national and international orders. I will not walk into Harris Woodworking Designs and plop myself down at a desk and think Nick will be fine with it. That’s asking for a replay of the past five years, and I can’t live through that again.” Tears pool in my eyes. “Does he even know you’re here?”

  “I know they’re here, angel. I brought all of them here for this sole purpose.”

  Nick’s voice cuts through the noise of the crowd, the pressure ramming against my skull and the thrum of my anxiety pressing against every cell in my body. Please be real.

  To my left, Nicholas William Harris, in his charcoal beanie and heavy wool coat, closes the gap between our families.

  The sight of him is painful; tears crest my eyelids as the wounded parts of my heart bask in the joy of his presence.

  “You can’t be here, Nick,” I heave, tears breaking free with a heavy sob. “I can’t do this.”

  “Jesus Christ, Adam.” Evan punches his brother in the arm. “Are you proud of yourself? Look at what you’ve done to her.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Nick says to me as he steps forward and brushes away my tears.

  Desperate for him to be close, I wrap my arms around him, locking him against me. His scent permeates every pore, my muscles giving in under the delicious pressure of his embrace. In the heaviness of his arms, I succumb to the ache and pain of the past four weeks.