Page 57 of Pastel Kisses

“No needles,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper, as whatever drug cocktail Sarah slipped into my dinner wages war against the last dregs of adrenaline pulsing through me.

“Okay, sweetheart,” the woman says softly, brushing hair from my forehead. “No needles. You’re safe now. We’ve been looking for you for so long.”

Her words crash into my chest like a freight train. My lip trembles. My jaw tightens. The floodgates break.

I sob.

Not from pain. Not even from fear.

From freedom.

“There, there,” she soothes, wrapping warm hands around mine. “You’re safe now, dear. We’ve got you.”

For the first time in months, I feel warmth. Not the kind that comes from food or blankets or lightbulbs. The kind that seeps into your soul and whispersyou made it.

But just as I open my mouth to thank her, the world tilts. My limbs grow heavy, my breath short. Panic flares, but it's swallowed quickly by the exhaustion riding in behind it. The nurse’s face blurs and spins.

Someone yells. Something beeps.

Then everything goes black.

CHAPTER NINTEEN

Kamden

“C

ongratulations, Kamden. You’ve just become a silent partner in your restaurants," my lawyer says, clasping my hand firmly as he slides the signed paperwork across the polished mahogany table. His flight into town was a short one, but the decision it finalizes feels like a monumental shift—one I never thought I’d make.

Today, I officially step back from the day-to-day operations of my businesses. The restaurants I built from scratch in San Diego are no longer mine to run, at least not in the traditional sense. The new executive chef I brought in will take over front-of-house decisions, staffing, menus, all of it. I’ll still handle major business calls and financial decisions—stuff I can manage remotely—but for the first time since I opened my first location, I’m no longer in the kitchen or on the floor.

And honestly? That’s exactly how it needs to be.

Avery’s disappearance changed everything.

It’s been months now. Long, empty months filled with search parties, interviews, late-night phone calls, press conferences, and dead ends. The house she built into a home is still hers, but it’s us keeping it alive. Her dad, Dan, refuses to step foot inside until she comes home, so we made it our mission to be there—for her, and for him. Every room, every plant, every detail she designed has become sacred to us. Letting it fall into silence and dust would feel like giving up. And we’re not doing that.

But that doesn’t mean doubt hasn’t started clawing at the edges.

There’s this relentless pressure under my ribs—this quiet, gnawing voice asking how long we can keep doing this. How long before the trail is officially cold? How long before we start to believe she won’t be found? No one says it out loud, but I know I’m not the only one who feels it. It's in the long silences between us, in the weight of Dan’s eyes when he looks toward the front door like he’s expecting her to walk through it at any second. It’s in the grief we’re all too afraid to name.

So, I did what I could. I followed my brothers' lead.

Jaxton told Hollywood to go fuck itself. Full stop. He walked away from the industry that made him a millionaire. Liam and Lennox backed out of every contract they had lined up. And me? I sold off forty percent of my restaurant shares, made myself a silent partner, and handed over the reins to someone I trust. We’ve got enough money between the four of us to never lift a finger again and still live well. But this isn’t about money.

It’s about time. Time we’ll never get back if we waste it looking the other way.

We chose to stay. Oregon is where our hearts are anchored now—not because of the state or the scenery, but because this is where she is. Somewhere. She has to be.

Staring down at the signed documents, there’s a strange sense of closure. Like this version of my life—the version where I built empires—is paused indefinitely. Maybe forever. But I’d trade every restaurant, every accolade, every fucking dollar in my bank account just to hear her laugh again.

Because when she comes home—and I still believe she will—I want to be standing on that porch. I want her to see us there. To know she was never forgotten. Never abandoned.

I pull into Dan’s driveway just after six, the sky already painted with streaks of orange and purple. The guys are inside—I can hear them through the windows, their voices low but lively, and the occasional burst of laughter spilling onto the porch like music. Dan wanted to do a pizza night, crack open a few beers, and catch the football game. Just something normal. Something that makes us feel like the world hasn’t fallen apart.

I can’t blame him. We all need this.

They’re all waiting for me. I know it without even walking through the door. Waiting to hear how the paperwork went. Waiting to see if I’m still standing after handing over the reins to the empire I built from scratch.

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