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His grandfather sighed, the sound heavy with remembered loss. “Your grandmother foresaw her death. She prepared for it in the way of theTódich'íinii—the Bitter Water Clan. She lived in harmony with her fate.”
He touched the polished wood of his daughter’s casket. “Lillie’s path, too, was determined before she was born.”
Caleb’s jaw clenched. Fire crawled up his spine.
“Does it help you sleep better at night to believe that?”
Shit.So much for keeping his mouth shut.
“I don’t believe in your traditions. I don’t believe in fate. Grandmother died because of a lack of decent medical care. Mom died because her family turned their backs and let her waste her life on a good-looking loser.”
His accusation landed like a grenade in the stillness.
Rather than anger, his grandfather’s expression conveyed sorrow. And something else. Something Caleb couldn’t quite decipher.
“We were very proud,” Ben continued after a long moment, “to learn you served in the Army and had become a Green Beret.”
The old man kept track of him?
The forgotten boy deep inside Caleb soaked in those words like needed rain.
He covered the emotional jolt with a sneer. “You mean you were shocked I didn’t end up like my father.”
His grandparents had despised Julian Varella and never hid it. Handsome. Charming. Manipulative. Drug dealer. He charmed Lillie Blackwater, got her pregnant when she was eighteen. From him, Caleb had learned what kind of person he never wanted to be.
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “You have a warrior spirit. It has served you well. But now it’s time to make peace with your family. I suspect there’s much you don’t know.”
“I’m not here to make peace.” Caleb’s voice cut sharp. “I’m here to bury my mother. As soon as that’s done, I’m gone. Back to my life.”
He lifted his chin toward the closed door—and the armed sentries beyond it.
“Like your boys out there, I get to use my warrior spirit to keep people safe. Only I get paid a helluva lot more than they do—and I’m not stuck on the rez.”
It was a childish jab. One his grandfather didn’t react to. His expression stayed neutral.
But the boy Caleb used to be—the one with an emotionally fragile mother, the one written off as the drug dealer’s kid—remembered the sting.
Silence. Then Ben spoke. “There is more to this life than money and status, Grandson.”
Before Caleb could respond, the door opened.
David and Vanessa Blackwater stepped inside. Faces from his early childhood. Zach’s parents.
His uncle was a younger version of Caleb’s grandfather, dressed in a dark suit and white shirt with a bolero tie, his short black hairthreaded with silver. His aunt’s dark hair was swept up in a bun. A traditional Navajo red sash wrapped the waist of her long-sleeved black dress. Behind them was his cousin, in a navy suit.
The woman accompanying Zach made the rest of the room fall away.
Gia wore a sleeveless black dress that hit just above her knees, black ankle boots, and a gray scarf with turquoise clusters draped gracefully over her shoulders. She’d braided her hair in a French plait, the end curling over one shoulder.
When their eyes met, she offered a tentative smile.
He forced himself to look away. To ignore the sudden lightness in his chest.
She hadn’t run. Instead, she’d come to his mother’s funeral.
For him.
Her gesture mattered more than he wanted it to.