“Done.” I nodded, glancing at both Marc and my uncle.
“Mr. Di Carlo?” I turned toward Vic’s father, well aware that Vic and Teo—and everyone else in the room—were watching us. “Do you need more time to make your decision?”
Di Carlo smiled and reached out for my hand, swallowing it in both of his. “No. I trusted your father with my life, and I trust his decision. You are a fiery little ball of fierce determination tempered by a strong moral compass and a heart as big as a bruin’s. The rest will come with time and experience, if you listen to your advisers and learn from your mistakes. And I think you’ll do both of those, won’t you?”
I could only nod, determined not to cry again until I was alone. “Thank you.” I swallowed back unshed tears of gratitude. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”
“Oh, child, it’s not my expectations you have to meet. It’s your Pride’s. And something tells me your own standards are higher than even what they would expect of you.”
With a sudden jolt of understanding, I realized he was right. My expectations for myself were sky-high, because they were the expectations my father had set from the beginning. And I would live up to them—or die trying.
When Di Carlo stepped back, I glanced around to find that most of the bruises had been iced, the cuts cleaned, and the gashes stitched. Marc was the last to receive medical attention, and Vic was finishing his sutures that very moment—a long but thankfully shallow cut along his right outer thigh.
“Okay, let’s go.” I turned toward the door, and the men stood.
“Um, Faythe?” Marc reached for my arm, and a small grin turned up one corner of his beautiful mouth. “As my first official piece of advice to the new Alpha, let me suggest that you put on some pants. And maybe a shirt.” His grin grew and he pulled me closer to whisper in my ear, while Jace watched us stiffly from across the room. “While this look definitely works for me, I’m thinking the other Alphas might take you more seriously if you dress the part.”
I flushed, suddenly aware that I was half-naked. And that Marc had voluntarily touched me without a needle in his hand or a grudge behind his eyes.
“Yes. Clothes. Good idea.” In the bedroom, I dug through my suitcase and chose a pair of black slacks and a matching thinly pinstriped blouse. I was buttoning my blouse when the door opened. Jace stepped inside and pushed the door closed at his back.
“You okay?” he asked.
“As okay as can be expected.” I tucked the tail of my blouse into my slacks and buckled my belt.
Jace leaned against the dresser facing me and his gaze searched mine. “I haven’t actually had a chance to say this yet, and it feels so…inadequate. But I’m so, so sorry about your dad.” He held out his arms, and I stepped into them. I let him hold me. He asked for nothing and offered only his presence, and a moment of soft, warm comfort, minutes before I’d have to show the world my steel spine and granite visage.
I put my chin on his shoulder and he rubbed my back, whispering into the hair that hid my ear. “I don’t actually remember much about my dad, but there hasn’t been a day since he died that I didn’t wish he was still here. Hell, if he were, none of this would have happened.”
“No one thing caused this, Jace. And we can’t undo it. The best we can do is end it. End Colin Dean and destroy Calvin Malone.”
“You know I’m with you. Whatever you need.”
“I know.” I sniffed back unbidden tears. “Thank you.”
Before he could answer, the door creaked open, and I pulled away from him to find Marc staring at us. His jaw tightened, but he swallowed whatever he wanted to say, no doubt out of deference to the circumstances. And to the fact that Jace and I were both fully dressed. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” I straightened my shirt and cleared my throat. “I just… I need a minute. With my dad.”
Marc nodded, and I slipped down the hall and into my father’s room, closing the door behind me, trying to block out everything else—the hushed conversation, the tension and fear roiling in waves from the living room, and the conflict and need that churned in a constant, violent cloud around both Marc and Jace.
I pushed it all back as I approached the bed, wading through the heavy silence in my head and the fresh ache my father’s death had left in me, only brushing the much-sharper agony that would come when I finally had time to deal with my loss. To accept it.
The sheet someone had draped over him couldn’t obscure the shape I knew so well. My father had been the single greatest strength in my life. He was the force that made the clocks tick, and the sun rise and set. In my youth, his expectations fueled my ambition and his disappointment cut deep into my heart, even when I rebelled in an attempt to forge my own path. When I grew up, making him proud still carried the same weight, even if I wouldn’t admit it.
My hands shook as I folded back the sheet. He stared up at me, unseeing, and I couldn’t stop fresh tears.
When I was a child, all problems had ended with a single word from my father. A smile from him was sunshine, his scowl a bolt of thunder. He was smart, and generous, and honorable without fail. He could exile a trespasser, check my math homework, and fix the leaky bathroom sink, all before dinner. For the longest time, I thought he was invincible. Above the petty problems that plagued normal people.
And now he was gone.
I sat on the edge of the mattress. “I’m going to do it, just like you wanted,” I whispered, wishing desperately that he could actually hear me. “I’m going to try, anyway. I’m gonna lose, but that’s not really the point, is it?” I stared at my hands in my lap, realizing for the first time that I had a narrow version of his fingernails, on my mother’s long, slender fingers. How had I never noticed that before?
“Mr. Di Carlo?” I turned toward Vic’s father, well aware that Vic and Teo—and everyone else in the room—were watching us. “Do you need more time to make your decision?”
Di Carlo smiled and reached out for my hand, swallowing it in both of his. “No. I trusted your father with my life, and I trust his decision. You are a fiery little ball of fierce determination tempered by a strong moral compass and a heart as big as a bruin’s. The rest will come with time and experience, if you listen to your advisers and learn from your mistakes. And I think you’ll do both of those, won’t you?”
I could only nod, determined not to cry again until I was alone. “Thank you.” I swallowed back unshed tears of gratitude. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”
“Oh, child, it’s not my expectations you have to meet. It’s your Pride’s. And something tells me your own standards are higher than even what they would expect of you.”
With a sudden jolt of understanding, I realized he was right. My expectations for myself were sky-high, because they were the expectations my father had set from the beginning. And I would live up to them—or die trying.
When Di Carlo stepped back, I glanced around to find that most of the bruises had been iced, the cuts cleaned, and the gashes stitched. Marc was the last to receive medical attention, and Vic was finishing his sutures that very moment—a long but thankfully shallow cut along his right outer thigh.
“Okay, let’s go.” I turned toward the door, and the men stood.
“Um, Faythe?” Marc reached for my arm, and a small grin turned up one corner of his beautiful mouth. “As my first official piece of advice to the new Alpha, let me suggest that you put on some pants. And maybe a shirt.” His grin grew and he pulled me closer to whisper in my ear, while Jace watched us stiffly from across the room. “While this look definitely works for me, I’m thinking the other Alphas might take you more seriously if you dress the part.”
I flushed, suddenly aware that I was half-naked. And that Marc had voluntarily touched me without a needle in his hand or a grudge behind his eyes.
“Yes. Clothes. Good idea.” In the bedroom, I dug through my suitcase and chose a pair of black slacks and a matching thinly pinstriped blouse. I was buttoning my blouse when the door opened. Jace stepped inside and pushed the door closed at his back.
“You okay?” he asked.
“As okay as can be expected.” I tucked the tail of my blouse into my slacks and buckled my belt.
Jace leaned against the dresser facing me and his gaze searched mine. “I haven’t actually had a chance to say this yet, and it feels so…inadequate. But I’m so, so sorry about your dad.” He held out his arms, and I stepped into them. I let him hold me. He asked for nothing and offered only his presence, and a moment of soft, warm comfort, minutes before I’d have to show the world my steel spine and granite visage.
I put my chin on his shoulder and he rubbed my back, whispering into the hair that hid my ear. “I don’t actually remember much about my dad, but there hasn’t been a day since he died that I didn’t wish he was still here. Hell, if he were, none of this would have happened.”
“No one thing caused this, Jace. And we can’t undo it. The best we can do is end it. End Colin Dean and destroy Calvin Malone.”
“You know I’m with you. Whatever you need.”
“I know.” I sniffed back unbidden tears. “Thank you.”
Before he could answer, the door creaked open, and I pulled away from him to find Marc staring at us. His jaw tightened, but he swallowed whatever he wanted to say, no doubt out of deference to the circumstances. And to the fact that Jace and I were both fully dressed. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” I straightened my shirt and cleared my throat. “I just… I need a minute. With my dad.”
Marc nodded, and I slipped down the hall and into my father’s room, closing the door behind me, trying to block out everything else—the hushed conversation, the tension and fear roiling in waves from the living room, and the conflict and need that churned in a constant, violent cloud around both Marc and Jace.
I pushed it all back as I approached the bed, wading through the heavy silence in my head and the fresh ache my father’s death had left in me, only brushing the much-sharper agony that would come when I finally had time to deal with my loss. To accept it.
The sheet someone had draped over him couldn’t obscure the shape I knew so well. My father had been the single greatest strength in my life. He was the force that made the clocks tick, and the sun rise and set. In my youth, his expectations fueled my ambition and his disappointment cut deep into my heart, even when I rebelled in an attempt to forge my own path. When I grew up, making him proud still carried the same weight, even if I wouldn’t admit it.
My hands shook as I folded back the sheet. He stared up at me, unseeing, and I couldn’t stop fresh tears.
When I was a child, all problems had ended with a single word from my father. A smile from him was sunshine, his scowl a bolt of thunder. He was smart, and generous, and honorable without fail. He could exile a trespasser, check my math homework, and fix the leaky bathroom sink, all before dinner. For the longest time, I thought he was invincible. Above the petty problems that plagued normal people.
And now he was gone.
I sat on the edge of the mattress. “I’m going to do it, just like you wanted,” I whispered, wishing desperately that he could actually hear me. “I’m going to try, anyway. I’m gonna lose, but that’s not really the point, is it?” I stared at my hands in my lap, realizing for the first time that I had a narrow version of his fingernails, on my mother’s long, slender fingers. How had I never noticed that before?
