21. Daze

TWENTY-ONE

DAZE

Shit. I've done it now. Can't say I feel too much guilt though. From where I'm standing, nose buried in a mess of wild, blond hair, my original plan is seeming like a damn good reason.

Until Frey wriggles away from me and spins around, head cocked at an accusatory angle.

"We have to go back," she insists. " We. I have to stop my father. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"We weren't sure," I admit. "And you had just gotten out of that fucking mess. You didn't need anything else on your plate."

"Don't make decisions for me. We're a team, remember?" She says it so hesitantly, like she isn't sure. Like she thinks I'll balk at the idea of having my fate lumped in with hers.

She's damn wrong.

I grip her wrist, pull her into me, and press my lips to hers, catching her off guard. When I draw back, her eyes are heavy lidded, all traces of irritation gone.

"You're damn right, we are," I say, meaning every single word. "We can handle this together. But if you think that I'm letting you anywhere near that city when there's a possibility that it, and everyone in it, could go up in smoke…" I hear the shift in my voice, and so does she. I watch her body tense before I say, "You've lost your damn mind. I almost lost you more than once already. You have another thing coming if you think I'm going to take that risk again."

And I refuse to feel an ounce of guilt over that. Still, I grit my teeth as she frees her wrist from my grasp.

"It's not your risk to take," she says softly, turning away.

I inhale sharply. Now isn't the time to launch into some deep emotional bullshit, but… Fuck it. We've both beaten around the bush for long enough. I need to know.

"I love you, and you think that means I shouldn't have any say over whether or not you risk your life? That's a bit fucked up, Frey."

She stiffens. Sucks in a startled breath. Exhales. "Daze…"

"Look, I don't care if you feel the same way or not," I add. It's the fucking truth. "But that doesn't mean I can sit back and watch you die. I can't. I won't."

Her eyes meet mine. "I do love you," she says. "That's why I won't sit back and let you take all the fire by yourself. That wouldn't be fair to you."

My mind is blown. I forget all about our conversation but those four words. I do love you.

So what if there aren't fireworks or other romantic bullshit to cushion the blow? I'd crawl over broken glass just to make her say those words again.

For the time being, I settle for reaching out, ghosting my fingers along her shoulder. "You love me," I echo, my voice low. "Well, that's nice to fucking hear."

Finally.

"As if it matters," she says, keeping her face turned away from me. "All I've done is get you and Sammy into danger."

"Well, guess what? It's not your risk to take. It's mine."

And when it comes to my life, I'd risk it again and again for her. Sammy has Lyra to take care of him should the worst come to worst—not that I would ever willingly let that happen.

"It doesn't hurt that I've proven damn hard to kill," I point out.

That makes her look back at me, and I suck in a breath at the sight of her—eyes questioning, bottom lip trapped between her teeth. "Well, then it seems like we're at an impasse," she admits. "We could fight about it. But…"

"But?" I take a step toward her without realizing it. Damn. It's like she has my heart in a vice, balanced on the palms of those delicate hands. I'm hanging on every second of silence that passes between us. For the rest of my fucking life, it's going to be like this. Waiting for her say-so over every little thing.

I could live with that—with no regrets, either. It blows my mind to admit it, but I don't dare second-guess myself. Even if Damien would hiss that I was pussy-whipped .

"Fine," I say through clenched teeth. "We'll do this together?—"

Her eyes widen and I know I made the right choice. Even if I hate the prospect of putting her in danger, I hate the thought of disappointing her more.

"But," I add. "I'm not letting you out of my fucking sight."

She interprets that condition with a curt nod, but some of the tension leaves her body. Damn. It's like we both can breathe again. I take her hand in mine again, pulling her close. This time, she doesn't pull away. It's only when I feel her start to shiver in the cool night air that I remember we're standing outside, in the middle of nowhere.

"We still have things we need to discuss," I tell her, leading her outside.

I pull her down the path until the trees shield us from view but leave a clear line of sight to the cabin. Then I turn to face her, and grab her by the waist.

"There's something important we need to square away before we talk about any other shit dealing with your father."

"What?"

"I'm going to need you to repeat that last part again," I say. "Before we were interrupted?"

Her eyelids lower as she sucks in a tiny, startled breath. Then something comes over her, empowering her to tilt her head back to meet my gaze head-on, without an ounce of fear.

"I love you," she says.

"That's damn right. Say it again."

"I love?—"

My lips seal over hers, and I inhale the confession like it's a fucking lifeline, and I've been drowning up until this point. All my life, I never realized the power of those three fucking words. How they can make a man feel when uttered in a broken whisper by a woman who sets his soul on fire.

Here, in the middle of nowhere, shrouded by trees, I feel like the richest man on the planet, unable to be knocked down by anyone else.

"Again," I tell her, when I finally let us both come up for air. "I need to hear you say it."

"I love you." Her words end with a moan as I press her back against the nearest tree. "Daze, Keaton…"

I sink to my knees, feeling like I'm at an altar, ready to confess my sins, and an angel is there to greet me, all I have to do is bare my soul.

And I'll gladly give her everything.

My lips find her thigh as I peel down her borrowed sweats and wrench up the oversized shirt. Each glimpse of her skin feels like the very first time all over again. I knew back then that there was more to what had sparked between us than a grimy one-night stand in my old man's gym. I knew from the second I saw her on the bridge, her face upturned to the sky, ready to submit to whatever fate had in store for her, that this woman would grab me by the balls, and I'd have no say in it.

"I love you," I hear her breathe out the second I let my lips come into contact with the sweet strip of flesh in between her thighs.

"I love you," I say, letting my voice easily overpower hers. It feels important for me to say it, over and over so that she can't doubt me. Not for a damn second.

I love her even if I don't understand the emotion beyond what I feel for Sam and my sister. I need her in a way that feels integral to my very being.

"Frey Heywood, I love you, even if you come to hate me. I always will."

No matter what we'll both have to go through to take her father down, I feel in the pit of my soul that I won't hesitate when it comes to protecting her.

No matter what has to be done in the end.

Her hand tugs impatiently at my hair, cutting off my internal shitty monologue. Like a servant at her disposal, I turn my attention to showing her the way I feel physically. I make her come so many times her knees are shaking by the time I finally pull back.

Then I strip her down to nothing and watch her body come alive, too far gone to give a damn for modesty. This is the way she's meant to be viewed. In utter confidence, by the only man she deems worthy of having her.

The power in that isn't lost on me. I know what it means for her to have chosen me, even if she thought I was a worthless punk. She saw through that in an instant. Somehow, she still seems to see right through me, to the person I didn't even know existed underneath.

He's a strange motherfucker, this new Daze Keaton. Someone I doubt I could see myself ever being, just a year ago. A man who puts his heart above all else.

And doesn't regret one damn thing.

When we head inside the cabin, Kane and Lyra are once again seated at the kitchen table. She throws her head back and laughs at something he must have said before we came in.

"And I thought I had it rough with one puking toddler to chase around. How on earth did you do it with twins?"

"Easy." Kane chuckles and sips from a chipped mug, filled with what looks to be coffee. "By the grace of God," he says. "Doing another tour in the army would be ten times easier, but I wouldn't trade them for the whole world."

"And you said they both live with your ex?" Lyra asks, but for once, her voice lacks the condescending tone I'm used to her using when it comes to me. "How old are they now?"

"Ten," Kane says. "But I still see them as crazy little runts running around with full diapers."

"I'll drink to that! I feel the same way about my own son." Lyra sips from her mug, still smiling, and for a second, I wonder if Silas and Heywood's grand plan was to have her body snatched with some less-uptight clone.

"Nice to see you two have been bonding," I say from the doorway.

Lyra scowls, instantly proving she's the same sister I know and love.

"I'm going to stay here and keep these three company," Kane says. "Damien and the others aren't far. You'll meet there to discuss the finer points of the plan."

I can feel Frey's eyes burning a hole through the back of my neck. "It'll be just Sam and Lyra staying here," I clarify. "Frey's coming with me."

Kane raises an eyebrow, but if he objects to her presence, he has enough tact not to say so out loud. "It's your crusade, man," he says with a nod. "We're just along for the ride."

"Along for the ride while sitting in the driver's seat," I point out, pulling out a chair. "We should go over the plan in detail."

Kane nods and reaches into his pocket for a cell phone. How in the hell he manages to get service all the way out here? I'll never know. Still, he places it on the table and pulls up a grainy photo of a map of Westpoint City. "Damien sent this over. He marked where the speech will be and?—"

"I think this is my cue to excuse myself," Lyra says, heading for the door to the porch. Judging from the way she pats the pocket of her jeans, she has a pack of cigarettes in there, ready to be chain-smoked.

As she leaves, I beckon Frey closer. "You still want to be included?"

Her eyes flash with determination. "Yes."

We go over the finer details of our supposed grand plan, until Sam wakes up from his nap and emerges from the bedroom.

"Why?" he demands when I tell him that I'll be heading back to the city. "Why can't I come too?"

"Because I need you here to protect your Auntie Lyra."

He takes in that request with a solemn nod. "Okay, but when you come back, you, me, and Ms. Lady, we'll go play in the lake, right?"

"You, me, and Frey will go walk by the lake," I say, ruffling his hair.

When we leave, I feel a pang in my chest that I don't expect. It lingers as Frey and I pile into the truck and worsens as I pull out of the driveway. By this time tomorrow, we will either be living out Sam's fantasy, or…

He'll be down one less parent. Hell, he's young enough that he might not even process the difference right away. Maybe that's for the best. I'm not oblivious to my absence in his life. Lyra has been more of a father to him than I've been lately, but that doesn't mean I'm not ready to rectify that.

I am. I want to be in his life fully without worrying that my past mistakes will catch up to me and take me away from him again. I want to be there for my son one hundred percent of the time.

I will be that for him, God as my witness.

And it wouldn't hurt to have a calm, beautiful woman by my side.

"I know you're worried," Frey says as if she can read my mind. She leans into me, hooking her delicate fingers around my own. "I am, too."

"Me, worried?" I scoff, but when I glance out of the corner of my eye, I can tell she's not buying the act. Then it hits me that if I want this to work, I can't rely on bravado alone. Honesty must come into the equation at some point.

"Frankly, I'm wondering what it will take for me to convince you to go back and stay at the cabin. It's too dangerous. I told you what your father has in store. You can bet that even having you within the city won't change his mind."

"I know," Frey says. Then she tilts her head, and I can see her brows furrow. She's thinking hard about something. Damn. I've forgotten how beautiful she looks like this, bottom lip trapped between her teeth, gaze turned inward.

I can't stop myself from asking, "What are you thinking?"

She sighs. "I'm thinking… What if he did know I was in the city?"

"I hate to be the one to say it, but if you're expecting some sudden change of heart because you're his daughter, that seems a little farfetched. Nothing he's done up until now seems to faze him."

"I know. That's because he thinks he's in control," she says, pressing her lips together in a thoughtful line. "But I keep thinking about something Silas told me..."

"Oh?" My vision threatens to turn red at the thought of that bastard coming anywhere near her. Over my dead body. "I hope that doesn't mean what it sounds like."

She shrugs, her gaze wistful rather than fearful. "He said that it appeared my father was in control, as if he knew something that we didn't. Then, with the fire and everything… I have to wonder if he isn't gunning to stage an outside ploy all along. What better time to strike than right when my father thinks he has a win sewn up and the levers of power on a silver platter?"

"You think Silas might be aiming to disrupt the grand explosion? How? I know the bastard better than you do, and taking credit for the work of another is his M.O."

"I'm not sure," Frey says softly. "Maybe there's more to it than my father realizes. Maybe the bombs are planted in a different location than where he thinks? I mean, why would Silas do his bidding perfectly? My guess is he wouldn't. He has to have a backup plan."

"I hate to break it to ya, but Damien and his boys scoped it out. The shit seems to be set in the concrete used by Higher Limit. Hard to prove even if Heywood didn't own the cops, and it's too soon to stop what's in motion anyway. All we can do is try to keep anything from detonating."

A task easier said than fucking done.

She's silent for a long time, still thinking, and my dick twitches at the sight of her. She's never been more beautiful than she is now, with her intelligence on full display. There's something I missed, but she hasn't.

"You aren't convinced," I say, inferring what her silence means. "Talk to me."

"What if those aren't the only locations of the bombs?" she says. "What if, there is more of the city under attack than my father realizes?"

I frown, thinking it over. The plan is already risky from a logistical standpoint. Explosions mean fire and fire is hard as hell for anyone to control. Especially if Heywood's aim is to enact some twisted version of Marshall law that will allow him to take over the city.

Unless…

"City hall," I say. "It was on the list, but there was no construction date. I thought it was just there to mark where Heywood would be, but…" Son of a bitch. Why didn't I see it sooner? "What if Silas is planning to hit there?"

I wouldn't put it past him, the son of a bitch. Hell, it's just like him—lure his so-called partner into a false sense of security. Then strike like the sneaky bastard he is.

Frey's eyes widen, her jaw tight. "That would be total chaos. It would be?—"

"Anarchy," I finish for her. "Which is Silas' fucking middle name. You might be right. The bastard could be planning to wipe out all the power in the city in one fell swoop. We have to find a way to evacuate the city or?—"

"Maybe we beat them at their own game," Frey says softly. "We call their bluff."

I glance at her so sharply that I nearly drive us both off the road. At the last minute, I right the wheel, thankful that the highway is mostly empty. "You're not saying what I think you are? That we let the city explode with us and countless people in it?"

"No." She looks at me with that confident gleam in her eye, and I instantly feel like an idiot for doubting her. "But what if we take advantage of the moment to expose the reality behind my father's lies and Silas' greed?"

"How? You want to use your reporter friend and try to get it in the paper or some shit? It's a smart idea, but I don't think we have the time."

"Not in a newspaper," she says, her voice soft. "We go directly to the news station and jam the broadcast. We expose everything that my father is planning in detail, in real time."

"Yeah, but he'll be broadcasting around the same time. Besides, there's no way in hell anyone will believe it without proof."

"We don't need proof," she insists. "We simply need to buy time and get my father and Silas to see each other's true colors. Turn on each other. If we can stave off the detonation and seed doubt, they'll do the rest. Silas himself even told me a salient piece of advice." Her cold, hard smile reveals that she isn't looking back on these words fondly. "Pride cometh before the fall. We let them both revel in their victory and then force them to watch it collapse before their very eyes."

"Well, I'll be damned," I say, feeling my lips quirk into a smile. "Sounds like I've been rubbing off on you."

"There's one part of my plan I don't think you're going to like," she adds before I can gloat too much. "For this to work, it can't just be anyone on the broadcast. It needs to be me."

And she saw the same fucking map I did.

Among most of the lower side, one building in particular stands in the path of a potential bomb. The news station.

And she wants to place herself there, right at the most pivotal moment of this entire crazy scheme.

Right when all our lives will be on the line.

I want to refuse outright. Scream at her, hell no . Riot. Argue. Fight.

Instead, I look her in the eye, and I don't see the same frightened woman who once tried to jump off a bridge. I see a fighter. Someone who is more than capable of holding her own, no matter the risk.

Someone I'd be a selfish bastard to hold back.

So, I nod, just once. "It better be a convincing fucking speech."