Skygods (Hydraulic #2) (31 page)

I hopped to my feet and began to pace. “Are you absolutely sure Caroline would betray Samuel?”

“Oh, honey, she already has.”

My brain raced. Caroline warned me she’d do anything to be with the man she loved, and I’d just assumed she meant Samuel. But Caroline had only ever loved Samuel’s words, hadn’t she?—his beautiful, brilliant words and the success they brought her. So when Samuel distanced himself, she—what had Samuel called it? I grimaced. Used her Midas touch.

That was
not
going to happen. “Do you have a copy of this book?”

“Not personally, but I’ve been told it’s scathing. Caro waltzed into Buitre’s New York office yesterday and dropped this outrageous monsta on Jerome’s desk. Called it ‘fair play’—crazy, huh? Jerome sent a hard copy over to us at Berkshire House this morning so we’d be ready for fallout.” He noisily exhaled into the receiver. “We need Sam in New York
now
to figure out what’s true and what’s false. Then we can slug Togsender with a defamation suit and get that injunction before this goes public. Lemme tell you, she’s got guts.”

“We’ll leave as soon as we can, Justin.”

“See you soon, killa.”

I stared at Dani, who’d undoubtedly heard enough of the conversation to comprehend what was about to go down. Her eyes were wide, her hands frozen to her mouth. “No. Poor Samuel.”

Without thinking, I punched Jaime’s number, nursing my tender finger while I waited for her gruff voice. Before she had a chance to chew my tush, I spat out Justin’s bad news.

“You’re screwed,” Jaime answered when I caught a breath.

“That’s all you’ve got to say? Can she and Togsy even do this?”

“Oh yeah. I’m no media lawyer, but I’m pretty sure that publicist is right. Caro can’t write the book herself, but Togsender sure can. Given he knows Cabral from his brownstone days, and he probably uncovered the same gory story I did in our dossier, I’d say your boy toy’s about to have his Lego castle topple in on him. The higher they rise, the farther they fall.”

“Thanks for that bit of wisdom, Jaime.”

“Save the sarcasm for the boardroom, Trilby. You better hang up and get your little lackeys in order.”

I ended the call and blinked at my phone. My head spun. They were not going to destroy him, these people who’d carved chunks out of my Samuel since the day he was born. I was going to shut down Caroline. First things first—find Samuel and get to New York.

“That puffed-up piece of plastic never once cared about Samuel’s happiness,” Danita snarled. “And, honestly, Samuel didn’t care much about hers, either. Now it’s coming back to bite him.” She took my injured hand in hers and poked at my swelling finger. I winced. “
¡Hijo de la bruja!
You’ve got to wrap this before it gets any worse.”

“
La bruja
, all right. I’ve also got to break this to Samuel.” I hadn’t even realized she’d meant my finger.

Chapter 10

Funnel

When a skydiving formation becomes unstable,
divers find themselves in a turbulent burble
and the formation must break off.

Hydraulic Level Five [working title]
Draft 2.31
© Samuel Caulfield Cabral & Aspen Kaye Trilby
31. Fate & Faces

C
AULFIELD
,

Come on, send me the book. No bigwig editor is ever going to give a short story a second glance, or even a first. My man said the excerpts you shared in workshops are phenomenal, but I have yet to see one. If you don’t have the balls to share your writing with the world, then your career is as good as over. One more shot, Caulfield. Send me something I can pass to my editor, or this favor has run its course.

CO, Junior Editor

BigName Publishing House

Witch. Caulfield clicks open the piece he sent his buddy’s girlfriend, “The Bard’s Two Faces,” which expounds on how a seemingly insignificant chain of choices determines whether a story will end as a comedy of errors, or a tragedy. Caulfield believes in fate, but after this evening, his future hinges solely on a choice.

They were ambushed tonight. Like two sheep hustled into a shearing pen, their parents invited them over for coffee after the rehearsal dinner, then pounced in a last ditch effort to talk sense into their children…

“Flower, I just don’t want to have to say ‘I told you so’ in two years’ time,” Aspen’s father pleads.

A muscle twitches in the small fingers laced with his, and Caulfield feels the miniscule movement race up his marrow and straight into the organ furiously pumping blood into his angry-red brain.

That single muscle spasm conveys only a fraction of the hurt screaming to be loosed. Aspen knows what her father truly means. He doesn’t want his baby girl to stagnate, rooted to a place she doesn’t quite love, shouldered with a baby who frightens her and a lover so bland, her tongue forgets how to taste…but not quite. Aspen hears his unspoken words:
if you marry, you will wither.

At the same moment Aspen’s fingers twitch, her mother grimaces. Neither she nor her mother observe it. But the same pain that keeps her mother silent spurs Aspen to speak.

“You won’t have to say ‘I told you so,’ Dad. I swear to you, all of you, I want to be his wife. I love him.”

“You’re both so young,” says Caulfield’s
Papá
. “Just wait a few more years, please.”

“No,” she says. “We’re marrying tomorrow.”

“Caulfield?” his mother asks.

His eyes fix on the tops of her flip-flops, studying her pink toes as they clench, wiggle, then clench again. Aspen holds her breath as he raises his eyes.

“I love Aspen.”

Tension lifts from her shoulders and she exhales. She doesn’t notice he fails to say “I want to marry Aspen” or “I want to be Aspen’s husband.” His parents see. Her mother sees and grimaces again. But Aspen is too occupied by her defiance, hard and flinty and daring their mutual enemy to question their love. Caulfield loves her defiance. He’d cross the Rubicon—or a satin-covered church aisle—just so she can have what she wants.

She wants marriage. He wants her. No less will appease either of them.

But that night…just before bed…she notices.

“Still up, kiddo?” Her mother cracks open her door, all bleary and watery. “It’s a big day ahead of you. This time tomorrow, you’ll be a married woman.”

“If he shows,” she mutters.

“Oh, Aspen, he’ll show. That boy loves you.”

“What if it’s not enough? Let’s face it—he doesn’t want to marry me, Mom. But he’s going to do it anyway, and I’m going to let him.”

Her mother awkwardly hugs her shoulders, as if she were an out-of-state aunt rather than a mother. “Aspen, you and Caulfield are meant to be together. You will be, whether it’s tomorrow or ten years from tomorrow…”

The next morning, he is there. Her pale ankles skip over the lawn, fresh and lovely in white lace, and he is overcome. He knows this is right when he sees her dainty frame and a bouquet of daisies and roses between her fingers.

“May I touch you?” Caulfield’s voice quivers. He can’t bear to dirty her dress.

“Yes.”

His hands quake as he brushes her waist. Then he grips her to him, head bent and buried in the crook of her neck. “Thank you, Firecracker. I love you, so much.” How could he ever have considered letting her go? If marriage proves he loves her, so be it.

Aspen’s hands find their way into his cub’s mane, one of the last corporeal strongholds of his youth. She murmured against his lips. “I love you, Caulfield. Always have.”

That afternoon, as a small gathering of friends wander beneath April leaves, he remembers “The Bard’s Two Faces.” It is tucked away in his boyhood room, and he still thinks it’s pretty good. C.O. was an idiot. How could anyone not understand that hovering above the chaos was Fate’s calm hand? One small choice might have changed whether Aspen and Caulfield found each other: If his mother hadn’t left him to his uncle. If Aspen’s parents had left Bear Creek after their split. If he and Aspen never had a penchant for ghosts.

But Fate pre-ordained them. He believes that old biddy will bind them, no matter what comedies and tragedies life whips up.

C.O., Junior Editor, could kiss his ass.

Kaye—What were you thinking after our parents staged their intervention? ~Sam

I was scared we were making a mistake, too, but I wanted so badly to prove them wrong. I regret so many things. But, Sam, never once have I regretted loving you, even in the dark times. There’s a difference.

P.S.—It seems as though you’ve got some serious passive-aggressive tension building, Mr. Cabral. Want to meet me in the bathroom? ~Kaye

Passive aggressive? I’m a rational adult and Caro deserves to be heard. Besides, the airline bathrooms are too small for this man, Firecracker. ~Sam

Caro deserves to be strung from the Chrysler Building by her tatas. And ego much? I don’t want to touch anything in that nasty bathroom, anyway. Truly. ~Kaye

“Don’t you trust me, Kaye?” Samuel asked.

He shifted the unfolded copy of
The New York Times
he’d picked up at La Guardia, using it as a barrier between me and the driver’s rearview mirror. Subtle. I doubt the man could have seen into the backseat, anyway. We were passing through the Queens Midtown Tunnel, and the blurs of light outside the window barely lit the interior. I worked a gray silk stocking up my prickly leg, careful not to snag it on my new bracelet.

“It’s not a question of trust,” I answered. “But the facts speak for themselves.”

“Facts. As in, secondhand information from Justin—a man who tends toward the dramatic.”

“
Facts
, as in Togsy’s tell-all book and Caroline’s split from Buitre. She can’t possibly come out innocent in this mess.”

Since we’d caught a red-eye flight, I’d barely had time to fish a professional-looking outfit from my suitcase before a bleary-eyed Buitre intern whisked us away. We were being carried straight to Midtown, where the agency’s headquarters were located. It wasn’t until we careened through Queens that I noticed my horribly rumpled skirt, cleavage hanging out of a half-buttoned blouse, and unseemly legs. I grudgingly donned the stockings I’d stuffed in my purse. Samuel, on the other hand, was immaculate in charcoal trousers and a crisp oxford. I didn’t know how he did it—only that it was typical.

He stiffly refolded the newspaper. “She wouldn’t sell me out.”

“Oh no? You told me yourself that she’s ruthless when it comes to business.”

“Ruthless, but loyal.”

“And it was loyal of her to overload your schedule?” I had him there.

“In order to advance my career.”

“She knew full well what could happen to your health.”

“I could have said no a lot earlier, but I gave her a green light,” he retorted. “Caro and I were caught up in the publicity game years ago, whether I like to admit it or not.”

I narrowed my eyes. “But when you finally told her no, she threw a hissy fit and betrayed you with that book. Samuel, this isn’t friendship!”