“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I don’t know what else to say.
“Don’t.” He pulls back and jerks a hand through his hair. “It’s not you. It’s her. It’s all her. I can’t believe I… that I thought…”
His eyes blaze, but beneath the anger I can still sense his pain. Lou is supposed to be his family, and yet she waltzes in and out of his life as it suits her, coming to him when she needs something and running away again just as quickly. He wanted to fix this thing between them, and she wouldn’t even give it a chance.
I want to tell him to forget her. But I can’t. You can’t just ask someone to turn his back on the only flesh-and-blood relative he has in the world. Even when that relative is horrible.
“She’s your sister,” I whisper. “She loves you.”
And honestly, I believe it. For all of her jabs at me, she seemed to show some genuine affection for Calder—even if whatever mischief she has planned ultimately took precedence over mending the rift between them.
For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. I have no other consolations, no comforts to offer—at least, nothing that wouldn’t sound hollow and flimsy right now. No matter how wild or reckless Lou might be, she’s still Calder’s family. I want them to work things out—but I have no idea how to fix this.
Something’s niggling at my mind, though. I’m not sure I should say anything at all, but I want to hear the whole truth. From him.
“What happened after your father’s death?” I say. “I mean—she said you didn’t want her here. That you sent her away. That doesn’t make any sense.”
He stiffens slightly, and I know the answer to my question even before he opens his mouth.
“I didn’t take our father’s death well,” he says softly. “But you know that part already. Louisa took it hard, too, but in a different way. We fought—a lot—and it just made it harder. On both of us.”
One of his hands presses against the small of my back while the other tangles itself in my hair. I lean into him.
“She’d been working over in Thailand when he died,” he continues, his voice flat and even. “And she’d been enjoying the work. She always had a very strange relationship with the world in which we grew up. She wasn’t interested in the trappings or the money. If anything, she felt guilty for it.” He releases a heavy sigh. “That’s why she gravitated toward those volunteer organizations. I wasn’t trying to push her away. I thought… I thought it would be easier for her, to go back to the place where she was happiest. Where she felt fulfilled. She didn’t care about the money or where it went. I thought I could deal with that part of things on my own. She told me she would stay, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I practically forced her on the plane.”
I tighten my arms around his waist. I hate hearing him like this, his voice full of regret and guilt and grief. He loves his sister, but love doesn’t magically make all complications disappear. Half the time, it makes them worse.
“She’ll be back,” I say, but the words ring hollow. “And if she isn’t…”
“If she isn’t, then I’m no worse than I am right now.”
“If she isn’t, then I’m here for you. No matter what happens. We might not be related by blood, but I’ll be your family.”
He seems a bit shaken by my words, almost as if he’s afraid to believe them.
“I want nothing more,” he says softly. He’s got that look again—the one so full of emotion that it makes me feel like I’m melting.
His fingers trace my face, moving along the lines of my jaw and lips and cheeks and brow. There’s no easy way to erase the pain in his heart—and maybe there will always be a hole where his father and sister are—but I refuse to let him believe that the hole is all there is. If I have to spend every day for the rest of my life trying to convince him, I’ll do it. I want him to be happy, in spite of his family. I want him to know unconditional love and support and trust.
And as we hold each other, I see the hope in his eyes. It’s only a flicker at first, a faint light behind the shadows that cloud his gaze, but it grows brighter the longer he looks at me, the longer his fingers caress my skin.
“We should finish our game,” he murmurs after a moment.
“Now?” Our little challenge is the last thing on my mind. It suddenly seems so silly, so frivolous next to everything else we’ve been dealing with tonight.
But Calder is adamant. “I think now is the perfect time.”
I shake my head, still confused. “I don’t even remember whose turn it is.”
“How about this,” he says softly. “I’ll give you two minutes to search the apartment. You find the gift, it’s yours.”
“And if I don’t?”
He gives a wicked smile but says nothing.
I’m about to question him further, but he shakes his head and says, “The seconds are ticking away. I’d get started if I were you.”
There’s no point throwing away this opportunity—though I’m loath to leave his arms. If he wants to keep playing, then I won’t deny him.
I turn back toward the room, surveying the dozens of boxes that need investigating.
“A minute and thirty seconds,” Calder says.
I move.
If our apartment was a mess before, it’s nothing compared to the disaster area I now leave in my wake. I throw open every cardboard box in the room and sift through the contents. I stick my arm down inside every overstuffed garbage bag of linens or sweaters. I unzip every suitcase and check all of the compartments.
Calder, meanwhile, stands in the doorway to the kitchen and watches me with amusement.
It isn’t long before every packing container in the living room has been searched. I don’t find anything even remotely resembling a present, so I decide to move on. I start to move toward the guest bedroom, but Calder stops me.
“It’s in this room.”
I glance around. I’ve searched everywhere—every box, every bag, every packing container we crammed in this place.
“Is this a trick?” I ask. I look back over at him. He’s still standing by the door, but his own gaze is fixed quite obviously on the chair to his left. There are a couple of throw pillows stacked on the seat, and one of his coats is draped across the top. There’s nothing that could hold any sort of gift.