Page 93 of The Anchor Holds

“Calliope has a vested interest in keeping herself alive,” I countered. “If not out of self-preservation then because she knows the pain it would cause the people she cares about.” I’d seen it. She’d tried to hide it, but I recognized the fierce love she had for all of her family and friends in Jupiter. It was one of the reasons I was rapidly falling in love with her.

Hadfallen.

“You don’t know her like I do.” Rowan rubbed his eyes. He had a newborn at home, so he probably wasn’t sleeping, and what little sleep he got was probably interrupted by concern for his sister. “It’s been a lifetime of near misses. Her luck is running out.”

“Calliope doesn’t need luck,” I told him firmly, taking glasses from the sterilizer. “She’s smart enough to take care of herself.”

He eyed me, a slight curl to his upper lip. I understood his skepticism. We operated differently. Though that didn’t mean I didn’t have all the same urges as he did, to protect her, follow her, not let her out of my sight.

“I may not know her like you do,” I continued. “But you don’t know her like I do either. I know that the quickest way to lose her is to take away her agency. And I’m not losing her.”

“Well, good for fucking you.” Rowan pinned me with a stern gaze. “But I’ll settle for having her pissed at me, strutting around in stupid fucking shoes as opposed to burying her.”

I nodded, taking great effort not to flinch at the thought of Calliope dead. “I respect that. But I won’t be part of it.”

I weathered what was an appropriately badass stare from Rowan that would’ve sent a lesser man running.

Then he left without another word.

I wasn’t sure if I’d gained an enemy of Rowan Derrick thanks to that conversation, but we weren’t slated to be best friends anytime soon. Which was fine with me. My focus right then was Calliope.

I went about the notions of getting the restaurant ready for the lunch rush, all while glancing at my phone every five minutes, checking to see if she’d gotten back to me.

Though I knew better than to expect her to contact me. She’d told me she was alive, that’s all I was going to get. She’d gone somewhere. To keep everyone else safe if indeed the shooting had had something to do with her.

Prideful woman. I shook my head as I put the last of the glasses away.

“Tell me where you are,” I demanded, leaving the message that her voicemail cautioned me against. I walked into the kitchen, surprised and delighted to find my brother there. “Please,” I added before hanging up. Beau looked up and met my eyes as I put the phone in my pocket.

Despite all the things I was battling with right then, it was pretty great seeing Beau back where he belonged. The restaurant had always felt partially empty when he wasn’t in the kitchen. It was the whole reason we’d opened the place, for it to be a family business. I didn’t like running it alone.

“I’m glad you’re back,” I told him genuinely. “Even though you’re a grumpy old bastard, you do bring a sense of cheer to the place.”

Though I didn’t expect Beau to smile back at me, I didn’t expect him to glower either.

“You need to rethink this relationship,” was Beau’s reply, while continuing to chop onions.

He’d somehow finally let us convince him to hire a nanny to look after Clara. She was in her last year of nursing school andhad an extensive background check, and managed to somehow survive his grueling interview process.

I’d met her. She was younger than I’d expected. Pretty. Kind. Barely five feet tall yet stood up to my brother. Interesting.

“Excuse me?” I didn’t mask my ire from my tone. It was no mystery who and what he was talking about.

“I heard about what happened.” He ignored the uncharacteristic warning in my tone, even though I knew he heard it. Beau wasn’t going to be scared away by me, not when he had something to say.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Of course, you did.”

I’d had enough foresight to call my father earlier that morning, giving him the blandest version of the story I could. Though there wasn’t really a bland way of explaining we were shot at.

My unflappable father took the news as well as a parent hearing their child was shot at might’ve, simply asking, “Your girl, she okay?”

I had smiled at the warmth and concern in my father’s tone, mentally making a note to organize a dinner with them once I’d convinced Calliope to come back. “She’s okay,” I’d told him. “Although I doubt she’d appreciate you calling her a girl.”

“You’re probably right,” my father had chuckled. “But I’ll do it. Because I’m an old man, and she is a girl to me. And I’m sure I’ll find it a little amusing to see Calliope Derrick’s claws.”

I’d shaken my head at the mischief in my father’s tone, a sudden warmth blooming in my chest at the prospect of seeing them at a dinner table together. At threading Calliope into the fabric of my life.

“You didn’t tell me,” my brother boomed, jerking me back into the present.

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