Page 3 of Fierce Love
“I’ll just go see her. I won’t fly to California tomorrow. I’ll fly to her.”
Verna closes her eyes, and when she opens them, her brown eyes are crackling with anger. “That girl is allowed to tell you she’s done, that she doesn’t want what you’re offering. You don’t own her, Nathaniel Tucker. You Tuckers can’t just do whatever you want with people. You hear me?”
I rear back, shocked at the venom in her voice that feels misplaced, unearned. “I’d never—I wouldn’t…” I rub my face, fighting tears. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“You and Hollyn are over. That’s just the way it has to be.”
I want to argue with her, but I don’t even know what to say. So I leave without another word, the rain drenching me before I can get inside my vehicle. But I don’t stop at home to get new clothes or think anything through. I drive to the airport.
Once our private jet is ready, I run through every possible scenario, everything I could say to Hollyn to convince her that ending things between us is silly, unnecessary. A few years of long distance is nothing when compared to a lifetime together.
But she’s not in her dorm room, and when I go to the registrar on the first day of school, they tell me they have no record of her being registered. Her phone number is disconnected, and she never comes back to Bellerive.
She never comes back to me.
Chapter Two
Nathaniel
My knuckles are white as I grip the steering wheel of my McLaren GT. After Verna didn’t show up for her shift in the kitchen at my brother, Gage’s, catered family dinner, I agreed to check on her.
Stupid, really.
I’ve avoided the woman, the whole family, since Hollyn ghosted me almost fourteen years ago. Once the dirt on the grave has settled, hardened, you don’t fucking dig it up.
The police car pulls out of the parking lot, Stephen waving to me from the driver’s side, and I manage to get one hand off the steering wheel long enough to wave back.
Thankfully, he told me the police are responsible for notifying the next of kin, so my duty here is done.
When I’d arrived, I got the building manager, got into Verna’s apartment, and when I found her collapsed and cold, I called911. Then I waited until everyone was here to get her out, to clean up the scene. Duty done.
But fuck if my heart doesn’t hurt at the realization of what Verna’s death will do to Hollyn, wherever she is, whatever she’s been doing since I saw her last. Maybe she’s got kids and a husband, a family to soothe the ache that Verna’s absence will leave behind.
If I was feeling generous, I’d want that for her.
But I can’t remember the last time I felt generous where Hollyn was concerned.
I rub my chest and stare into the distance. There was a time when I could have called Nick or Brice Summerset, the younger princes in the royal family, who had always been up for a good time in years past. We’d have taken a trip to Vegas, sunk any hint of these unstable emotions threatening to float to the surface with the anchors of gambling and alcohol. But they don’t do those things anymore, and I haven’t needed that type of amusement in a long while.
Thankfully, I’m done caring about Hollyn and her family problems, so I don’t need that type of distraction either. If Verna’s death causes Hollyn to crumble, those aren’t my pieces to reassemble.
After starting the vehicle, I steer it toward the one place where I know I’m always welcome, no matter the time, the one person who’ll understand why I’m so thrown by tonight’s events. Finding a dead body is one thing—having that body be Verna Davis is a total mind-fuck.
Cal steps out of his cottage and onto the porch, which rests on the edge of the campground. While his father still technically owns it, Cal is the one who takes care of the day-to-day. Tourists always assume he’s just a worker, and he lets them.
“You hear?” he asks. “That why you’ve come?”
“Hear what?” I ask.
“Verna Davis. Passed away tonight.”
“Jesus, the gossip travels fast,” I say, taking the glass of gold rush he offers me before sitting in one of the rocking chairs on his porch. “I didn’t need to hear. I was there. I found her.”
“Fuck off,” Cal says, slumping into the chair beside me. “Are you kidding?”
“I wish.” I take a deep drink and stare out at the smattering of trailers that are here year-round. Spring isn’t exactly high season. With my free hand, I’m flipping my phone from front to back, over and over.
Cal stares at the motion for a beat and then takes a long drink. “Tell me you don’t still have it.”
