No Simple Sacrifice (Secrets of Stone Book 5) (28 page)

In the morning, it felt like I’d run a goddamn marathon.

That was only the start of the hell.

Talia’s fingers were fine, so as she showered and dressed, she asked me to call and have the jet readied. She was pleasant about it…Too fucking pleasant.

The strangeness continued during breakfast. As she cooked us a couple of omelets and chopped fresh fruit on the side, her demeanor reminded me of the early days when Drake and I had worked with her on the SGC cosmetics line. She was cheery but not obnoxious. Friendly, but professional.

And pleasant.

Too. Fucking. Pleasant.

The absolute worst thing? My direct line into her brain had been snipped clean. I wasn’t sure if she’d deliberately blocked our telepathy, or if something had changed in her mindset altogether. Every time I tried steering the subject to when she’d next be coming to Chicago, or any possible dates for a meeting again in San Diego, the conversation turned precarious at best.

And ridiculous.

Without Drake, plans weren’t worth it.

And we both knew it.

Which turned our goodbye at the terminal into a soppy, awkward mess.

I couldn’t bear to let her go.

She couldn’t get away fast enough.

Though she was a nonstop flood of sniffles and tears, she pushed back from my arms without so much as a parting kiss after. All but sprinted to the plane and up the steps, never stopping once.

Never looking back.

Still, I watched the plane rev up, taxi out, then take off. Forced myself to watch its ascent into the sky, finally vanishing beyond the veil of low clouds that haunted the horizon.

Made my way back to the limo.

Shut myself into the darkness of the back seat.

And lost my shit.

Stupid, huge, wracking sobs. Shameful sounds of weakness and heartbreak and grief.

And I didn’t care.

I never wanted to care again.

I smelled her on my skin. I felt her in my arms. The only thing left empty was my heart. I searched for her inside it…for any resonance of hope she might have left behind. But just like Drake, she’d left.

Even without the mental party line, I knew why. Even understood it, to an extent. Though she hadn’t said the words, our goodbye had been a festival of sorrow. Maybe Drake had been on to something. Cutting the losses before they cut first.

Too late for me.

This cut—deeply.

Because, in the parts of my heart still capable of functioning—and the parts of my head lining up with them—one deduction kept ringing clear as our new truth…

It was over.

Talia

I
n daylights, in
sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee…

A long round of pounds vibrated the wall behind my couch. My new neighbor, obviously not a
Rent: the Musical
fan, hadn’t been too fond of its soundtrack set on repeat for the last three weeks. I missed Beth and Heather. They were a happily married couple who disappeared on long bike rides over the weekends, and had always begged me to turn up the tunes, though their favorites were the rock classics:
Tommy, Hair, Jesus Christ Superstar…

In the beginning of this hell, I’d actually attempted their version of the musical therapy—but Roger Daltrey, for all his vibratos and angst, wasn’t cutting it for comfort.

On the other hand…neither was this. Not really.

What the hell had happened to my life?

And why couldn’t I bounce back from the fall?

It had taken no time after Gavin. My heart had sealed shut before I’d yanked off the real bandages, ready to refocus, reconstruct, regenerate.

I’d kissed Fletcher goodbye three weeks ago. It still felt like yesterday. Still hurt even deeper.

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife…

I sang even louder. The pictures shook on the walls. His call to management would be next. I didn’t even care.

My mother, father, and the Association put me on notice, so I’m terminating the lease. Where am I going to live? I’m thinking Tahiti. You can always come visit…or not.

That would certainly give them something fun to focus on. Katrina would owe me too. She’d be off the hot seat, not having to answer for why she’d enrolled Anya in—gasp—hip-hop instead of ballet.

How about love?

How about love?

How about love?

Yeah, how about it?

Because at the moment, love thoroughly sucked. Penny Positive had left the building—and hung herself.

When I actually got to the office, I couldn’t string more than two thoughts together without
them
intruding—and tossing me back into the basket of heartache.

They were everywhere.

In the scarves they’d left behind one day, hanging side-by-side on hooks behind my door. In the way those damn things taunted me with their scents, earthy spice and expensive cologne in one erotic collision, every time I stepped near.

In their empty coffee cups at the sideboard station, their initials embossed just below the SGC logo, crossed out by Sharpie in favor of the nicknames they’d scribbled for each other instead.

Ninja Newland

Fancy Boy Ford

In the phone screen now empty of their faces, once pinging at me at least once an hour, constantly flowing with silliness, smiles, and love.

In the email inbox now empty of their messages, even professional ones. I’d even opened the minutes from the recent monthly telephone meeting of the board, just to see their names on the roster. Just to know they were still alive.

When had they become my everything?

And did the answer really matter?

They were encamped in the middle of me. Had driven in stakes, erected their flags, marked their claim. Had drawn their rivers of blood in the doing.

Blood I didn’t want to—couldn’t—shed again.

Not yet.

Not yet.

I trudged into the office, forcing my brain into work mode. I’d once loved this job, even without them as part of it. Surely one day, that passion would return. Maybe today would be that day.

I breathed deeply, clinging to that shred of hope, though waking up my computer just brought the lists that awaited, proving my original point. It was going to be all business, all day. Nothing to make me smile or laugh…or even giggle a little, as aroused tingles invaded my body. I’d worn a gray suit, and now it seemed appropriate. Gray threads, gray hours ahead. Even the sky was gray. It was never gray in San Diego.

Thank God for the daily bustle—hitting already in the form of an inter-office message.

To: Talia Perizkova

From: Claire Stone

We have a situation.

“Oh boy.” I muttered it while tapping a fast reply.

To: Claire Stone

From: Talia Perizkova

What kind? How bad?

To: Talia Perizkova

From: Claire Stone

Supply chain. Broken link. Minor last week; major this week. We need leadership on the ground right now—in Chicago.

To: Claire Stone

From: Talia Perizkova

I’ll call Liam. He can be on the next plane out.

To: Talia Perizkova

From: Claire Stone

This requires you. Kil has cleared the private jet. Can you make it happen?

I pulled in a sharp breath.

Me. In Chicago.

Which didn’t have to mean anything. At all. Was I going to avoid the corporate offices for the rest of my damn life?

“Of course not.” I forced the answer out loud, just as I compelled my fingers over the computer keys again.

To: Claire Stone

From: Talia Perizkova

Of course.

To: Talia Perizkova

From: Claire Stone

Come up to the office so we can debrief.

*

The nerves were
easier to deal with, once I got my body in motion. I grabbed my smart pad and opted for the stairs to the next floor up. When I stepped through the door next to the elevator landing, the woman I called boss
and
friend was waiting, resting a hand on one heck of a cute baby bump. Now officially in her second trimester, Claire had traded her normal crisp work suit for an equally stylish maternity dress, color blocked in navy and cream, matched by new Louboutin pumps on her feet—like anyone could notice the accessories beyond the rock on her left hand.

I pounded a smile onto my lips. Ordered it to stay there. I refused to dampen Claire’s glow with the sudden and strange ache of my heart at observing her swollen belly. Having children had never been anything to even doubt in my life. I adored them; I wanted them; I’d always expected that the man brought to me by fate would be equally excited about the idea of a big family and lots of love around.

In truths that she learned…

And wasn’t fate getting in the last giggle on that one?

Except…not.

All I could think about was
one
truth—like how lucky any child would be to have
two
amazing fathers in its life.

Never to be. Aren’t you getting
that
part yet
?

I swallowed back the agony while leaning over the bump to hug Claire. “Hey. Long time no see, apparently.”

“Hey,” she said cheerfully. “Actually, the explosion just started. Literally in the last week, I went from the stretchy spring sweaters to—” Her voice clutched short. Her rich gold eyes tightened, taking me in from head to toe. “
Whoa,
baby. What the hell, T?”

I yanked back, tossing off a dismissive
pffft.
“What the hell…what?
You
called for this party, woman—remember?”

She didn’t buy it. Cocked her head, astute and attentive. “Try that tack again, and I’ll call for reinforcements from the E suite.” When she referenced the executive level, she only meant one person. Sometimes it sucked to be friends with the CEO’s wife. “
Why
didn’t you call me sooner?
Don’t
answer that. Not out here.” Still stacked in four inch heels, she started down the short hall toward her office. Once I followed her into the modern but feminine space, she closed the door then wheeled back around. “Okay,
now
you spill.”

I huffed. Plopped into a big, curved chair next to her desk, flinging a dismissive hand. “Nothing to spill. Please, let’s just move on.”

She folded her arms. “Uh-uh.”

“The supply chain? The ‘situation’? Remember?”

“Not yet.” She stepped in, hitching a hip to the desk. “
Girl
, it’s me. Now what the hell?” She cupped my shoulder with one mama-Claire-bear hand. “Has
nobody
in your office said a word? You…you look like you’re about to fall apart.”

The hand. Her protectiveness. Her kind words. They were all it took.

The cork on the tears was yanked.

I watched them tumble free, swiftly cascading off my cheeks, splashing onto the lapel of my suit. “Oh God,” I rasped. “Claire.
Dammit.
”

She lowered into another chair. Though wordless, her tension was palpable. I sensed it almost as strongly as one of Fletcher’s moods, which either meant he and Claire had picked up where our telepathic thing left off, or she was really miffed. As soon as she spoke, I knew it was the latter.

“Okay, what have they done?”

I tried to laugh, but it was a watery sound at best. “They who?”

“Don’t play coy, missie. Tell me, dammit. Those two won’t be getting homemade lemon bars the next time they come for barbecue at the house, and I need to know the reason why.”

I laughed again, feeling wicked for it. Fletch and Drake went orgasmic just talking about Claire’s lemon bars. Denying them shouldn’t feel so good. “Easy, mama bear. Your husband’s really rubbing off on you. So pushy.” The last word was more a hiccup. I was trying so hard to stay “chipper,” but ached everywhere. Even the roots of my hair hurt these days.

Claire’s lips curved up, full of sexy mischief—her default response to any and all things Killian Stone. Their legendary love affair made her glow under normal circumstances; she could probably be seen from space with their new child growing inside her.

“All right.” Just like that, she was back to serious and focused. “No more slacking, woman. Out with it. Something’s wrong, and you’re not going to tell me otherwise.”

I tried to laugh again. I really needed to stop doing that. “How?’ I blurted. “How do you just…know?”

She smiled softly. “You’re not bubbling.”

My eyes widened. “
Bubbling
?”

“Yeah…you know…”

“No. I don’t think I do.”

“Normally you remind me of Alka-Seltzer. Bubbling up and over the top of life’s glass,”—she tossed up wiggling jazz hands—“sparkling up into the air.”

“And tickling your nose?”

“That too.” She giggled, but once more deepened the expression, studying me hard. “But right now…” her hands flattened, the jazz routine becoming two karate chops “…flat as a board.”