Page 59 of Laurels and Liquor

Jason sucks in a breath. “It’s possible. Even if he was willing to let it go, Dad still wasn’t thrilled about how everything went down. I think that has more to do with his pride, though. He’s big on deference to the patriarch, and y’all scooping Lydia out from under him without kissing the ring doesn’t sit well. But asking for money has my mother written all over it, but she wouldn’t… hmm.”

He trails off in thought, and when I go to ask a follow up, I’m interrupted by the beep of an incoming call.

“Hold that thought, it’s Caleb,” I say quickly.

I press the button for the other line, and the air explodes with sudden sound. A car engine revving, a woman moaning in pain, another voice that sounds like Lydia trying to calm the first woman down. After the shock wears off, I can take in some of the words, even through the sound of Caleb hammering on the car horn like it owes him money. There’s a squeal of tires, and more frantic shouting, and I can’t stay silent anymore.

“Caleb? What’s going on?” I ask frantically.

“De, na bisa, tviy pokazhchyk povorotu, ty, pavian bez materi!1Sorry, Ms. St. Clair. Lydia was with Sylvie today, and we’re headed to the hospital,” Caleb says, honest to God shouting. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him raise his voice once in the months since we met.

“Is everything okay? Is anyone hurt?” I press, uncrossing my legs and leaning forward.

“I think so?Shcho tam vidbuvayet'sya?2”

“Speak English and keep your eyes on the motherfucking road, you asshole!”

I don’t recognize the new voice, but it’s shrill and thin, and not Lydia. My heart slams in my chest, my skin cold. Lydia can’t be hurt, not now. Not after everything we’ve done to protect her. Caleb would have told me right away if Lydia was hurt, even if he’s technically off the clock right now and not obligated to keep to protocol.

“Slow down and explain yourself. What is going on?” I demand, pushing a little of my subaudible alpha back toward him.

But it doesn’t seem to have any effect, at least judging by the amount of Ukrainian spilling out of his throat. Another honk, this time from outside the car, and Caleb snarls loud and fierce enough to make me shiver.

“I have to go. We’re going to St. Mary’s, and I’ll—I don’t know, I’ll text you. Or I’ll try.”

And before I can answer, the line goes dead. He hung up on me. Caleb Novak, the consummate professional, the soldier I chose for his calm, unshaking control in stressful situations, hung up on me. I’m too stunned to speak, even when my phone switches back over to Rhett and Jason.

“What’s going on, Lex? Is everything okay?” Rhett presses.

I blink, trying to get my throat to work. “I… don’t know. Caleb is on the way to the hospital. He has Lydia with him, and his mate. But he didn’t say why or what’s going on.”

As I scramble for my keys, my bag, my cell phone, I can barely hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in my head. I need to get to the hospital and figure out what the hell is going on. And then maybe dock Caleb’s pay.

“Lex, wait a minute. What’s—”

But Rhett’s frantic question is cut off by another incoming call. I don’t even look at the caller ID as I slam my finger on the button.

“Caleb, you better fucking—”

“Now hold on there, just a minute. What’s going on, Lex?”

My heart skips a beat at the sound of Ted’s voice, and I flush hot as I realize who I’m talking to. “Sorry, there’s something going on with Caleb Novak, my head of security. He’s got Lydia with him and they’re on their way to the hospital. I don’t know why, and I was hoping you were him calling me back,” I ramble, rifling through my bag to make sure I have everything I need.

“Well, shit, that’s not good,” Ted puffs simply.

The only thing that keeps me from snapping at him is the knowledge that this man is the only hope I have for reuniting my pack before the new year arrives. I take a deep breath and recenter, pressing down my emotions to be dealt with another time.

“I assume you had something you wanted to tell me or ask me?” I ask calmly.

Ted chuckles, a noise that drags on my fragile nerves like broken glass. “I just got the word from the Orleans Parish DA. The grand jury is refusing to indict. Rhett’s coming home.”

I sag, hand to my chest. Closing my eyes, I send a prayer of thanks to every higher power I can imagine.

“Now it’ll probably take until Monday to get someone out to get that ankle monitor off him, but after that—”

“No!” I practically shout, sitting straight up. “I want him on the plane and in the air before midnight. You hear me, Theodore Calhoun? He’s been away from his omega for nearly eight weeks, and she’s being rushed to the hospital as we speak. He. Comes. Home.Tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do what I can,” Ted says, and I can practically hear him swallow.

---