Page 72 of This

“You miss me, too, and how much scares the hell out of you.”

I wait for her to tell me I’m wrong, to find an excuse to go, but she does neither. Maybe I shouldn’t tell her I’m in her room right now. If she’s anywhere near as miserable without me as I am without her, maybe she won’t run when she sees me.

“I’m in San Francisco, Bennett.”

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I wince and mouth,Fuck!This woman has ruined the chill I once had. Until her, I’d never blurted a goddamn thing in my life. I tap the phone on my forehead a few times before I bring it back for damage control.

“I only found out you were coming after I got here. Steve has it in his head he’s a jacked Lindsay Lohan, playing parent trap.”

Every beat without a response kills me. Death after death and then, “Oh.”

Oh?I can’t readohover the phone. I need her eyes, her lips, a second syllable at least.

When it comes to Bennett, there are two ways past the force field. The first, you have to feel out. Give her time to panic, breathe, overthink, and come to terms before you slowly back your way in. The other, bulldoze the fuck through. Number two carries the potential to detonate in your face, but given the time frame and lack of visual cues, I’ll clip the wire.

“Get on the flight,” I tell her. “I don’t care what reasons you come up with not to, just get on the fucking plane, baby. Two days. Two days you already promised me.”

“Dane…”

I hear the doubt she’ll use against me if I let her.

“No, Bennett. Two days. You can give me that. Now, lay your sweet head on the pillow and drive your sexy ass to the airport in the morning to be with me.” I hesitate to push any further, but she’ll either come or not at this point, so why the hell not? “I’ll be here, waiting. I love you.”

Before she can say anything, I hang up. Then I resume staring at my phone, expecting to see her name appear. A call or text to say she’s not coming. She’s sorry, but it’s not a good idea. But the screen stays black for a minute and then an hour.

I fall asleep, thinking maybe she’ll listen. I fall asleep, thinking in a few hours I’ll be holding her again. I fall asleep, thinking I’ll be waiting when she walks in the door and we’ll have a second chance to figure this out—to be together here, there, wherever. I fall asleep, thinking a lot of things.

The call from Liam wakesme around nine. They found the old man at his desk, like he’d claimed we would. The EMTs worked to get his heart beating again, air to his lungs, but he was gone. The doctor said it’d happened fast, a massive heart attack that would have killed him, no matter where it happened. If it’s true and not only meant to ease the family’s minds, then I’m glad it was there, the way he’d wanted it.

I’m out of the apartment within a few minutes, boarding a plane to Phoenix at the same time Bennett’s flight should be landing. Later, a text from Steve tells me she wasn’t on it. My grandfather died a few hours ago, but I’m grieving my relationship again instead of him.

I go straight to the office. Not the mortuary where my uncle and cousin are, not anywhere I will see anyone. I’ve shut off my phone too. Liam and Shane know I’ll surface when I’m ready. We all process death in different ways. Mine involves being left the fuck alone.

The building should be locked, shut down for the next few days at least. Isn’t that what happens when the leader of the pack falls—the others bow their heads? But the door gives without my key, and the alarm has been disarmed.

I know why. And it pisses me the fuck off.

“Couldn’t bother to wait until his body cools?” I ask from the doorway of my grandfather’s office.

Greg continues shuffling through the papers on the desk, sitting in a dead man’s chair. “Ah, I see you’ve arrived in time to act superior.”

I looked up to him once. He was a king in my mind. Then my mind aged and noted the difference between royalty and royal bullshit.

A wry smile forms as I step farther into the room, arms folded over my chest. “If you’re looking for the will, it’s in the wall safe.”

This, my father deems worthy of his attention. His head snaps up, a look of panic in his eyes despite the calm demeanor he tries to maintain. He slouches back in the chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “What do you know?”

Miles showed me the papers before I left. True to his word, my father’s name appears nowhere, mine in its place. As he left me at my desk, he clapped me on the back the way he would.“Proud of you, son.”

Words he'd never spoken to his real son, who'd never spoken them to me.

The back of my throat tightens. The memory, the gesture, the rest of the past twenty-four hours hovering over me. Yesterday, I had years to decide if I would take over my half of the company. Time to sort out the life slipping through my fingers lately. Today, I have neither. A trust has kicked in, my familial duties engaged.

I readjust a golf trophy on the bookshelf and return to the door with one last look at my father. “I know enough to tell you to get the fuck out of this office.”

The streetlights have turned onby the time I lock the door to leave. Crossing the parking lot, I finally switch on my phone. I only plan to check in with my uncle, see what needs to be done and when over the next few days.

I stop halfway to my truck, reading a text from earlier in the afternoon.

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