Page 65 of The Omega Verse

“If that’s what you call a friend,” Silva drawls, his nostrils flaring, “I can see why you live out here on Paranoia Point.”

Cass elbows him in the ribs and reaches out to pull me into their huddle. “He did us a favour getting rid of those predators. So, I’m glad he’s your friend.”

“I’m glad you don’t have to think about that place anymore,” I tell her, and she melts against us, her denim eyes shining. “In fact, I think we should celebrate.”

Silva perks up, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “You thinking cake, Alpha?”

And just like that, staring down into their shining faces and the scent of their happiness swirling through the air, I need to pinch myself again. But I settle for a kiss on Cass’ lips and a slap on Silva’s arse. “That, or we go take care of the cream you left on my bedpost.”

Cass

Since Tom isn’t planning on sleeping at his place for a while, the next morning we close up the shack, grab Banjo, and drive in convoy to Willow Beach. Jett and Kobi headed out after dinner to catch up with Hoover, but River stayed the night with us. It was a tight squeeze, even given the size of Tom’s bed, but I was so exhausted I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. And if the guys got up to anything exciting while I was asleep, they kept the details to themselves.

As soon as we get back, Silva takes Banjo down to the beach to get him acclimatised to his new home. Tom heads to the gym for a session, and while I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall during his workout, I ask River if he wants to explore the house with me.

“So much has been going on, I feel like we’ve barely moved in,” I tell River as we climb the stairs to the attic. “But I really love it up here. I’m not surprised this is where Steven put his writing desk.”

I drift over to touch its edge, my eyes drinking in all of his trinkets. Jett took the song fragments to look over, but there are still other little pieces of my brother scattered on the surface. A part of me wants to claim them, to try on his reading glasses and take his coffee cup down to the kitchen, but another part feels like I might break the spell.

River must be able to read my mind, because he loops an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in for a kiss. It’s just to my forehead, but like every time River Ryder touches me, it ripples all the way to my toes. “You can change things around if you want, sweetheart. Steven wouldn’t mind.”

“But it’s all so perfect. I don’t want to screw up the aesthetic, or whatever.”

“It’s your home, not a magazine picture. Go on. Tell me one thing you’d change.”

I bite my lip and look around. Steven clearly paid someone a lot of money to decorate this room, but I’m not sure it was lived in much, other than the beautiful writing desk. “I guess I’d buy a different daybed. That one’s really elegant, but it puts my bum cheeks to sleep. I’d get something softer, maybe with a few more curves.”

“Something more like a nest?”

The word hovers between us for a moment, bringing back all sorts of heated memories. “I didn’t think of that, but maybe. Anyway, I’ll have to save up for something that won’t stick out like a sore thumb in this room.”

“Have you checked Steven’s office? Mark will put you in touch with his accountant, but he always had a lockbox hidden away with some extra cash.”

I follow River downstairs to the office and over to the more formal desk. There’s a very masculine vibe in this room, and I’m not sure how much time I’ll spend in here when I have the pretty room in the attic.

“He usually keeps the lockbox hidden under a very smelly pair of sneakers.” He gives a sad little chuckle as he opens the bottom drawer and pulls out a pair of pungent Air Jordans.

I shake my head, thinking some things never change. “When we were kids, he always kept his money in his sock.” My heart hurts remembering how he used to show me the crumpled notes tucked inside his ragged shoes. “Not that we ever had much to hide.”

Setting the shoes aside, River lifts out a metal box about the size of a manila folder and places it on the desk. It’s the depth of a casserole dish, and I have to wonder what he stores in here other than loose change. “Have you got your keys?”

I pull them out of my pocket, and he points to the smallest one, so I slide it into the lock.

“That’s not loose change,” I murmur when I get it open. There are neatly stacked wads of cash inside – more money than I’ve ever seen in one place. “This is crazy. How am I going to sleep knowing there’s all this money under our roof?”

River leans on the edge of the desk and smiles at me. “Sweetheart, you know that painting in the living room? It’s a Bryce Wallard Davies. It’s probably worth a couple of million to the right collector.”

I stare at him, completely stunned. I mean, I knew Steven was rich. The band has been making hit records for a decade. But having enough money to hang a million dollars on a wall in a house you barely live in? That’s a level of wealth that is completely foreign to me. “We had nothing growing up, River. We used to carry our things around in a rubbish bag. I’m the wrong person to look after a legacy like this.”

He takes my hand, and if he feels how damp and unsteady it is, he’s too kind to say anything. “One option is to have an auction house come in here and clear it out for you. They could hand you a nice big cheque, and then you could buy all new stuff. Is that what you want?”

“Are you kidding? I’d never do that.”

He smiles, like he didn’t expect anything different. “Which is why you’re the perfect person to take care of all this. You don’t just see a mansion with expensive things on the walls. You see parts of Steven.”

I nod. That’s exactly what this house is to me. Because if it was burning down and I could only save one thing, I’d probably grab his reading glasses or those scraps of paper with his song lyrics on them, instead of that insanely expensive piece of art on the wall.

I shake my head, still feeling overwhelmed. “I think that’s enough exploring for today. Maybe I’ll go for a walk and see if I can blow the cobwebs away.”

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