Page 73 of Blackwood

“Cal treats bro-code like a damn buffet. Picks what he wants and skips the rest.”

August snorts. “And what’s your big brute of a boyfriend think about you drooling over some hot piece of ass? Where is he anyway?”

“One, Lex is at a Hollow Kings meeting.”

“And you’re not invited?” August grins. “The shame.”

“I’m not a King,” I say simply. “Two, we’ve both agreed to keep our eyes open.”

“For girls?”

“For a third. Forher.”

He whistles. “Jesus. That’s some kinky shit, man. So what, you’re just gonna stand here all night and pretend you’re not obsessed?”

“Not pretending. Not obsessed.”

“Nah man, you’ve got that look. Like you’re already picking out a wedding date.”

I take a slow sip of my beer. “Only if the cake’s good.”

“You’re such a fucking Whitmore.”

I glance at him, calm as ever. “Funny. You’ve spent the last how many years trying to be one of us?” My gaze moves to Ellie. “Or at least fuck one of us.”

He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him the chance.

“What’s the saying?” I ask, letting my eyes drift back to Bella. “She’s just not that into you.”

We fall silent again but I don’t stop watching her. Not because I’m desperate. Because I’m sure. There’s something about her, about the way she moves, and the way the whole room bends around her without even realizing it.

She’s not the kind of girl you chase. She’s the kind you meet at the right moment. When the timing’s sharp enough to cut through doubt and the fire is already lit.

The kind of girl who once made me drive to Saratoga Springs because she lost her shoes at a party. The kind who always laughed when she was hungover. The kind who used to steal my hoodies and pretend she didn’t.

Of all the moments we’ve already had, I intend to make sure this moment is the one that counts.

Chapter 26

CADE

Whitmore Family Yacht

547 Days Since Zeke’s Death

It’s Dad’s birthday. A Whitmore holiday in every curated detail. Tradition. Legacy. Mimosas and entitlement.

It’s the kind of spring heat that pretends its summer. Warm enough for linen shirts and cold beer, but not quite ready to burn. The breeze still bites if you’re in the shade too long, but no one mentions it. Not today.

The water stretches out like brushstrokes, layered shades of cerulean and sapphire bleeding into one another, sun-glazed and infinite. It’s the kind of view that makes your chest ache. The kind you want to capture but know you never could. The sea glimmers like polished glass, soft crests breaking into foam as the yacht slices through them.

Somewhere behind me my parents sip chilled rosé under the awning of the upper deck, all linen and legacy, framed by laughter and perfectly arranged charcuterie. Cal’s shirtless, of course, double-fisting cocktails and bragging about god-knows-what. Ellie’s probably off to the side, no doubt checking one of her infamous social accounts, thumbs flying like it’s a competitive sport.

And then there’s me. Sitting on a lounger, phone in hand, thinking about a girl who doesn’t belong to this world at all.

The last few messages from Bella are still lit up on my screen.

BELLA:So, do you want to maybe come to a Trifecta practice next week?