Chapter 8

Calla:

The garage always sounded different after everyone left. During the day, it was chaos. Engines roaring. Air compressors screaming. Reid arguing with customers who thought they knew more than him. McKenna talking on the phone while pretending she wasn't listening to every conversation happening around her. Julio quietly fixing everything everyone else broke. Noise. Life. But after five? Nothing. Just the hum of the lights. The slow drip of the faucet in the corner. The occasional pop from an engine cooling down.

I sat on the hood of an old Mustang in Bay Three, staring at the same invoice I'd been staring at for fifteen minutes. Numbers blurred together. Parts. Labor. Shipping costs. Money going out faster than it came in. The joys of running a business nobody wanted to admit was dying. I rubbed my eyes. The garage had been Camden's dream. Not mine, well not at first. I loved cars, Loved racing, Loved the feeling of an engine responding beneath my hands, But Camden… Camden had loved people. He loved giving kids a place to go. He loved teaching teenagers how to build cars instead of wrecking their lives. The garage wasn't just a shop. It was home. And I refused to be the person who let it disappear. Even if it killed me.

The front door opened. I didn't look up. Everyone else had left. Which meant one person. "You're still here." My father's voice echoed through the garage. I sighed.

"Obviously."

Tom Vance stepped inside wearing a navy suit that probably cost more than my first car. Which was ironic. Because my first car had actually done something useful. It moved. My father looked around. His eyes always did the same thing whenever he came here. Not sadness. Not pride. Disappointment. Like the grease on the floor was a personal insult. "You know most people leave work at a reasonable hour."

"Most people don't own a failing garage."

His jaw tightened slightly. "That's not fair."

"Neither is reality."

He ignored that. "You need to start thinking about your future."

I grabbed a rag and wiped my hands. "My future is making sure this place stays open."

"Calla." There was that tone. The father tone. The one that meant he thought he was about to say something wise. "You can't live in the past forever."

I laughed quietly. "You mean Camden?" 

His expression shifted. Just enough. "That's not what I meant."

"It always is."

He looked away. "There's a charity gala tonight."

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish."

"I know what you're going to say."

"Reve is attending."

"Exactly."

"Calla."

"No."

"You need to make an appearance."

"I'm not a politician."

"No, but you're the daughter of one of Calusa Cove's oldest families."

I stared at him. "Since when?"

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means you spent twenty years telling everyone you built everything yourself."

I stepped closer. "And now suddenly our name matters?"

His face hardened. "Watch yourself." There it was. The version of my father I knew. Not the smiling businessman from magazine covers. The man underneath. The one who didn't like being questioned.

"I'm just saying," he continued, adjusting his cufflinks, "you can't keep walking around covered in grease and ripped jeans."

I looked down at myself. Then back at him. "Tragic."

"Calla."

"Sorry. I forgot appearances are more important than actually doing something."

His jaw clenched. "This isn't about appearances."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

He sighed. "Reve is a good man."

I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I grabbed my keys. "That's funny."

"What?"

"I was going to say the same thing about Camden."

The silence after that was brutal. My father's expression changed. Pain. Guilt. Something else. Then it was gone. "Be ready by seven."

"I didn't say yes."

"You'll go."

"I won't."

He walked toward the door. "Your brother would want you to stop hiding."

I froze. The words hit harder than they should have. Because Camden would've hated this. The fighting. The anger. The distance. He would've shoved us both into a room and forced us to talk. But he wasn't here. And that was the problem. My father paused at the door. "Seven." Then he left.

I hated that he knew me well enough to know I'd go. Not because I wanted to. Because refusing would only create another fight, and I was tired, so damn tired. I drove back to Eastside in silence. My Mustang sat beneath the condo parking garage, looking painfully out of place between luxury SUVs and sports cars. The pink paint caught the fluorescent lights. Bubblegum. Still. I hadn't driven her in years. But I couldn't sell her. Couldn't let anyone else own something that held that much of my life. I parked and headed upstairs.

My apartment was beautiful. Too beautiful. Glass walls overlooking the ocean. Modern furniture. Neutral colors. A place that looked like it belonged in a magazine. A place that felt nothing like me. I showered. Changed. Put on a black dress. Simple. No jewelry except the small necklace I never took off. A tiny silver chain with a pendant Camden gave me when I was sixteen. I sat at my vanity, applying makeup.  Not because I cared. Because I knew the game. The world liked pretty things. It liked smiling women beside successful men. It liked pretending everything was perfect. A knock sounded at my door. Right on time. Of course. I opened it. Reve stood there in a black suit. Perfect hair. Perfect smile. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." It was automatic.

He stepped inside. His eyes scanned the apartment. "Ready?"

"Unfortunately."

He smiled. "You joke, but this is good for you."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

He grabbed my coat. "You need to be seen."

"Why?"

"Because people talk."

"People always talk."

"Exactly."

I grabbed my purse. "Then let them." His smile faded slightly.

The charity gala was exactly what I expected. Expensive. Loud. Fake. The venue overlooked the marina, all glass walls and crystal lights reflecting against the water. Eastside loved events like this. A chance to prove they were generous while wearing watches worth more than most people's houses. Reve immediately slipped into his public persona. Hand on my back. Smile. Charm. Everyone loved him. "Smile."

I glanced at him. "What?"

"Smile."

"I'm smiling."

"You look like you're considering murder."

"I am considering murder."

His fingers tightened slightly. "Calla."

I looked around. Everyone was watching. So I smiled. The fake one. The one I'd perfected over the last two years. "There."

"Better."

"Glad I could improve your evening."

He leaned closer. "You're with the most eligible bachelor in Calusa Cove."

"I'll try to survive the honor." His smile remained perfect. But his eyes sharpened.

"You're impossible."

"I've heard."

For the next hour, we played our parts. Reve shook hands. I accepted compliments. People asked about the garage. I lied and said things were going well. Then someone mentioned racing. My smile slipped. Barely. But Reve noticed. "You've been distracted all night."

"I'm tired."

"No."

His voice lowered. "Something happened."

I took a sip of champagne I didn't want. "Nothing."

"Calla."

I should've stopped. Should've let it go. But maybe it was because I was exhausted. Maybe because seeing Jace had ripped open something I'd spent two years burying. "He was at the meet."

Reve went still. "Who?"

I looked at him. Like he already knew. "Jace."

The change was immediate. The smile disappeared. Not slowly. Not gradually. Gone. "He's back?" The anger in his voice surprised me.

I looked around to make sure nobody heard. "Apparently."

Reve stared toward the crowd. "Why?"

I shrugged. "How should I know?"

"That lowlife." His jaw tightened. "He's been gone two years."

"And now he's back."

"Why would he come back?"

I didn't answer. Because I had wondered the same thing. Reve looked at me. Really looked. "You talked to him?"

"No."

"Calla."

"I saw him."

"That's not what I asked."

I set my glass down. "Don't start."

His expression hardened. "That guy doesn't belong here."

My eyes narrowed. "Careful."

"What?"

"You sound like you're scared."

A flash crossed his face. Gone almost instantly. "I don't scare."

"Everyone scares."

"Not me."

I looked away. But something about the way he said it… The way his anger appeared so quickly… Made something in my stomach twist. Because for the first time since Jace came back… I wasn't wondering if he was dangerous. I was wondering why Reve thought he was.