Page 27 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter Seventeen

Blake

Q uinn hums under her breath as she colors, cross-legged in front of the fireplace with crayons scattered, waiting for the unsuspecting to walk past and step on one. She hasn’t asked where Chloe is, and that worries me more than if she had.

I sit on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, refreshing the lock screen for the hundredth time. No new messages. No missed calls. Just the same empty screen since Dominic’s update that they wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.

The house feels wrong. Not because it’s quiet.

Our pack knows how to live around each other’s silences.

But the balance is off. Like a table with one leg shorter than the rest. Holden’s been in the kitchen since sunrise, cycling through muffins no one asked for, baking Chloe’s favorites as if it will summon her home faster.

She’s not here to enjoy the cranberry-orange baked goods, though. And none of us are saying the one thing we’re all thinking.

What if Simon had managed to kidnap her? How many times do we have to almost lose her before we’re allowed to relax?

“Uncle Blake!” Quinn holds up a new sheet of paper, a mass of swirls and scribbles with a bright purple heart in the center. “It’s me and Chloe and you and Holden and Dom and Nathaniel. Can we send it to Chloe?”

Tightness grips my chest. “We don’t need to send it to her, princess. She’ll be home soon.”

“Okay.” With a shrug, she sets the drawing aside and plops back down on the floor to start a new drawing.

The easy acceptance and lack of questions hurt my heart.

How many times has someone said those same words to my niece about her mom coming home from another trip to the hospital or a stint in rehab?

Does she really believe that Chloe is coming back?

Or has she just learned that no matter what she does, it won’t change anything?

Quinn looks up at me guilelessly. “Do you want to help me color, Uncle Blake? ”

I settle onto the floor, trying to focus on her, trying to be present the way Quinn deserves. The way Chloe deserves. But the thought of Sadie out there and Chloe out there and us all on our own again won’t stop circling, no matter how much I force my attention to Quinn.

“What else do you have in your art gallery?” I force enthusiasm. “Are you making me famous?”

Quinn giggles. “Yes! I’m going to sell your picture for a hundred billion dollars.”

“That much, huh?” I tease, and when she focuses on her crayons again, I send a text to Chloe.

Blake

I love you.

I stare at the screen, willing a response.

Quinn holds up another drawing. “This one is a butterfly! See the rainbow wings?”

I tuck the phone into my pocket. “I see them! It’s beautiful, just like you.”

The words are true, but even as I say them, my mind wanders back to how Dominic had explained Simon showing up at Chloe’s apartment. About how he’d gotten her onto the elevator before Dom even realized she was missing.

What would have happened if she hadn’t fought back? If the police hadn’t scared him away. Again.

Holden shuffles into the dining room with a basket full of muffins, the tart citrus that perfumes the air mixing with the too-sweet tang of anxiety rolling off him.

He sets it on the coffee table beside Quinn. “In case you’re hungry.”

She scrambles forward to peer into the basket and wrinkles her nose. “Eww. Where are the chocolate ones?”

Dismay fills Holden’s face. “Oh, you’re right. Sorry, princess. I’ll whip up a fresh batch.”

“Quinn,” I snap in warning.

“No, it’s okay,” he tells her, a hitch in his breath as he picks up the basket. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Quinn watches him go, then turns to me. “Did I hurt his feelings?”

“No, but that was rude, and you should apologize when he comes back out,” I reprimand. “Holden is not your servant. He’s your uncle.”

Her bottom lip juts out and wobbles.

I sigh and hold out my arms. “I’m sorry, princess. Come here.”

She scrambles over to curl up in my lap. “I didn’t mean to be bad.”

“I know.” I kiss the top of her head. “But we have to remember how much Uncle Holden does to take care of us. And we can’t ever let him think we take that for granted. Understand?”

She nods, her eyes downcast.

I tickle her sides. “Do you know what would make Uncle Holden happy?”

She squirms and falls off my lap. “What?”

“If you drew a picture of him and you baking together.”

She brightens instantly, all sadness forgotten. “I can do that!”

While she picks up her crayons, I check my phone again.

Nothing from Chloe.

I twist toward the kitchen, worried about the strain on Holden’s face and the way his hands shook when he set the basket down. My gut tightens, not liking the look on his face.

“Keep drawing, princess.” I kiss the top of her head before rising.

Quinn stays with her crayons, humming as she draws lopsided ovals on the paper.

When I enter the kitchen, Holden’s back is to me. A fresh pot of coffee percolates away on the hot plate, and he stands next to his mixer, measuring ingredients into the large bowl.

I pretend not to notice the tightness of his shoulders or the nervous set of his jaw. “Need a hand?”

“No.” He dumps in cubes of butter. “I can do it.”

I move a step closer. “Hey. You don’t have to bake more muffins just because Quinn is being a brat.”

His posture slumps, and he rests his head on the top of the mixer. “I know, I’m just…”

I wrap an arm around him. “She’ll come back. Dom is with her.”

The tang of his anxiety thickens, like vanilla frosting left out in the sun. “Maybe one of us should have gone with her instead of Dom.”

I rub my cheek against his, purring softly. “To Dom’s doctor’s appointment?”

He huffs out a breath. “Okay, that was silly of me.”

My heart aches with the need to comfort him, but I’m not sure what to say. There’s nothing that isn’t a repetition of what I’ve been saying since we got the call last night. We can’t stop Chloe from ever leaving the island. Hell, she’d almost died while on Misty Pines twice now.

“I can have Quinn pick up her mess, and then we can all go for a walk.” When he doesn’t respond, I prod, “Holden? ”

He lifts his head, and I catch the sheen in his hazel eyes before he blinks it away. “No. I want to be here when she gets back. And I might as well bake Quinn her chocolate muffins while I wait.”

The fragile edge in his voice slices through me. “Okay, then I’ll take the trash out. No reason for it to be in your way.”

Holden shakes his head. “The trash can wait.”

“Okay.” I’m a little dense sometimes, but even I can catch on to the nonverbal plea that I not leave him alone. I check the ingredients he already has on the counter. “You need the chocolate chips and cocoa powder, right?”

He blinks, staring at the ingredients for far too long. “Right. I…must have forgotten to grab those.”

I release him. “Let me fix that while you mix the butter and sugar together.”

“Cream,” he corrects, brow still pinched in confusion. “You cream the butter and sugar together.”

I head for the pantry. “Why do you call it that?”

“Mixing is just to combine them.” He gives himself a shake as he reaches for the sugar already weighed out in a bowl beside him. “Creaming is to aerate them. It’s a form of mechanical leavening that helps provide lift.”

Talking about baking always grounds Holden. I don’t care about the science behind it all, but Holden pours over cookbooks to learn these tricks.

As I bring the chocolate ingredients from the pantry, Quinn’s high-pitched yell pierces through the doorway. “Uncle Blake! You have to see this!”

I hesitate.

Holden flaps his hand in a shooing gesture. “I’ve got this. You should go.”

“I can stay.”

He turns away. “It’s fine.”

“Or, she can come in here and draw at the island?” I try again.

“I said it’s fine,” he snaps, spinning toward me, and his elbow knocks the sugar bowl off the counter.

I try to catch it, but it slips through my fingers and shatters on the tiled floor.

“Shoot.” He kneels and reaches for the broken pieces, but his hands shake too badly.

I gather them all, picking up the ones that slip from his trembling fingers.

“Stop,” I tell him, a little sharper than I mean. “You’re going to cut yourself.”

“Does it matter?” he asks. “We keep doing our best to turn this place into a thriving business and a home, but it doesn’t stop bad things from happening. ”

Despair darkens his features, and it kills me that I can’t fix this for him. “Holden…”

What can I say? How can I fix this?

I don’t know if I can.

I don’t know if any of us can.

What can we do when the police can’t even find Simon to throw him in jail?

“What if he had hurt her,” he says. “She doesn’t even belong to us yet, and we could have lost her.”

My hands pause over the broken ceramic, my breath catching in my throat. “Don’t say that. Please.”

“We should have gone with them.” Holden swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “When they come back, we need to stick together. No one goes anywhere alone.”

His fear unravels me. “That’s not sustainable.”

Holden doesn’t answer. He just rises and dumps his pieces of glass into the trash bin, the slope of his shoulders set in defeat.

“Holden, I?—”

“I need a minute,” he says, his back still to me.

“Okay.” I give him another hug. “But please, take it easy. I’m worried about you.”

His mouth opens as if to speak, but then he closes it.

“She’s safe, and she’ll be home soon,” I say, not wanting to leave when he appears about ready to break down.

“Yeah.” He flips on the mixer to drown out further conversation.

I leave him in the kitchen and head for Quinn. She has four more drawings now, scattered across the floor in front of the fireplace.

Her excitement bubbles over as I step back into the room, her energy unfazed by my scolding of minutes ago.

“It’s a secret message!” Quinn tells me as I sink down beside her on the hardwood floor. “You have to crack the code.”

“I thought you were making a drawing for Uncle Holden.”

“I did!” She grabs the one she was working on when I went into the kitchen, which appears to be her and Holden rolling out cookies.

“But I also made this special one for you.” She throws her arms around my neck, squeezing so tight my breath catches.

“Because you’re the best Uncle ever, so please don’t be mad at me anymore. ”

Fuck . My eyes sting as I wrap her in a bear hug. “I’m not mad, princess.”

“Promise?” she asks into my shoulder.

“Promise.” My throat thickens with emotions, and I set her back from me. “Now, while I decipher this code, go give Uncle Holden his drawing. He needs his day brightened by your smile.”

She snatches the other drawing off the floor and races toward the kitchen.

“No running,” I twist to yell after her. “And go through the door slowly!”

She skids to a stop at the two-way door and pushes it open slowly. A moment later, her bright chatter fills the air, telling Holden about the drawing and asking if she can help with the new batch of muffins.

Good. If Holden won’t accept my offer of company, then he can be saddled with Quinn’s enthusiastic attention. He won’t have the heart to send her away, too.

I grab my phone, checking my messages again. Why isn’t Chloe responding?

About to break down and call her to give me peace of mind, my phone rings in my hand.

For a wild, aching second, I think it’s Chloe calling to say that everything’s fine, that they’re on their way back, and that she loves me.

But it’s not her name on the screen.

Sadie – Rehab Center flashes in bold letters, and my stomach drops.

I look toward where Quinn vanished. Not wanting her to come back and catch the conversation, I slip outside, pulling the front door shut behind me just enough to muffle the sound.

For a moment, I consider letting it go to voicemail. I don’t need more stress added to my day. But that will only delay the inevitable.

“Blake Harris,” I answer.

“Mr. Harris, this is Dana Griggs calling from the Elmwood Recovery Program,” comes the clinical reply. “I’m reaching out to inform you that your sister, Sadie Patel, has been cleared for early release from residential treatment as of this morning.”

I grind my teeth. This has our father written all over it. “That wasn’t supposed to happen for another month.”

“She’s shown consistent progress and met the adjusted benchmarks set by her treatment plan. As part of her reintegration, she’s requested a supervised visit with her daughter.”

There it is. The blow I’ve been waiting for.

I stare at the porch railing to give me something to focus on as my world tilts. “ She asked for Quinn?”

“Yes. We’re hoping to schedule a visit sometime in the next few weeks. A sober companion would attend the visit at a site you both agree on.”

I exhale slowly through my nose. Keep it steady. Don’t let them hear the panic. “I’ll need to discuss it with the rest of the pack.”

A pause, then, “Of course. Let us know, and we’ll find a time that works for everyone.”

“I will.” I hang up before she can say anything else.

I stare at the screen for a long moment, Sadie’s name burned into my retinas. The pressure in my chest tightens. Rage and fear coil together behind my ribs, a familiar mix I’ve learned to swallow.

She wants to see Quinn. The courts might think she’s earned that right.

But I know better. And I’ve given up too much, we’ve given up too much, to let Sadie come back now and tear this all down.

I wish I could believe that she’ll put Quinn’s needs first.

Instead, I see the same future unfolding, over and over again. Our father will push her, threaten to cut off her expenses, and then we’ll end up in court.

The judge won’t care how much Quinn loves it here, how much she’s settled in, or that Sadie surrendered guardianship. As far as the courts are concerned, biology trumps everything. As far as the courts are concerned, Sadie still has a right to take Quinn.

Even if it destroys her.