Page 80 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

Alex chuckles. “Like you said… ring.”

The irony doesn’t escape me. Twenty-two years ago, I walked away from Pelican Point to escape the chaos of my family—and frankly, to keep from killing my father. I’d left the coroner’s inquest in a murderous rage. I knew Candace had been angrywith me. There’s no way not to know that she’s been gunning for me and anything associated with me for years, and now she’s trying to take what little we have left.

“Thanks for the heads-up, Alex. Keep me updated. I’ll be headed your way.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Alex says before disconnecting.

I stare at the screen for a moment, the Celtic Knot logo shining brightly in the corner. I built Shadow Strike to handle fires—whether on oil rigs, in black ops, or even at Leathers. But this… this feels a lot more personal.

“And now another fire to put out,” I mutter, shoving the phone back into my pocket.

Before I can take a breath, the phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Emma. I swipe to answer, already bracing myself. My little sister is fierce, and she doesn’t sugarcoat anything.

“You need to get your ass home, Ryan,” she says, skipping any kind of greeting.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Emma, I’m on an oil rig in the middle of the Gulf…”

“I don’t give a shit,” she interrupts, her voice rising. “Candace Prescott is buying up everything in sight. Not just Celtic Knot. She just closed on the old Macon property and is eyeing the vineyard next door.”

“Macon’s? Seriously?” I run a hand through my hair, now stiff with grime. “What’s she planning to do, buy the whole damn town?”

“Raze it, more like. She wants to build some fancy-schmancy five-star resort. And if you don’t get back here and handle it, she’s going to be able to do it.” Emma’s voice softens, just slightly. “I know you have history with her, Ryan. But this is our family. Celtic Knot is mom’s legacy.”

She’s right. Whatever else I’ve built, Celtic Knot and my mom were at the heart of it all. The place where everything started—and where everything fell apart.

“Can’t I just send a check?”

“No goddamn it, you cannot. Money won’t fix everything…”

“Yes, it will,” I argue, knowing all the while that arguing with Emma, whose law school tuition and fees I paid, is futile.

“No, it won’t. Get your ass back here and work this out with Brennen.”

“Fine,” I say, my jaw tightening. “I’m on my way.”

“Good.” Emma doesn’t wait for a goodbye before hanging up.

I glance out at the horizon, the sea stretching endlessly before me. My hands tighten into fists.

I’ve faced fires, cartels, and corporate sharks. But this? This feels like stepping into a storm I’ve always known would come. It’s time to go home. This time, there’s no running away.

I take a breath, deep and steady, forcing my shoulders to relax even as tension coils in my chest. The night air is thick with the lingering scent of burned oil and seawater.

Focus, Ryan.

I look out where the moonlight glimmers on the waves, letting the vastness settle my thoughts. Then, with a slow exhale, I pull up a number I haven’t dialed in years. My finger hovers over the screen for half a beat before I decide stealth and surprise have always worked well for me. Turning back toward the rig’s command center, I wait for the support vessel and start making calls. The crew can handle things without me for a few days. The fire’s out, and the cleanup is manageable. My private helicopter, stationed on a nearby support vessel, can have me stateside before dawn.

As I pack up my gear and leave instructions for Maria to handle operations, one thought burns in my mind: it’s time to face the past.

Candace. Brennen. Celtic Knot. All of it.

When my helicopter arrives, I make my way over to the helipad and get into the chopper. First stop, my private airfield. The helicopter lifts off and I bank back towards Texas.

Calling my pilot, I say, “Get the jet ready to go.” Emma isn’t the only one who doesn’t waste time on niceties.

“Where to, boss?”

“Pelican Point.”

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