Page 13 of Eternal Light (Fated in the Stars #5)

A Sire’s Destiny in Death (Jay)

Clearwater is beautiful.

Since stepping foot on Florida soil after a decade, Jay has been inundated with memories of a life that—while not perfect—had its moments: days on the white sand beaches, swimming in the clear Gulf waters, hanging out downtown with friends.

They’re all pieces of a place he’s loved his whole life—and even if he couldn’t always be here, it’s always been home.

Jay fucking hates that the reason he’s chosen to return is tainted—first by Carnell’s agenda, and now by the weight of his parents’ deaths.

Despite that, he can’t help but feel a bit of calm as he and Gideon set out from their safe house. Some places may have changed—he may have changed—but the Florida sunshine and the rhythm of the tide remain the same.

“You’re calmer than I’d expect,” Gideon mutters, as he aims the Buick toward WRBY 88.1 Indie Rock Radio, in the center of the city.

He’s gorgeous—his movie-star hair waves in the breeze from the half-cracked window, aviator sunglasses shading his face, pale blue oxford shirt sleeves rolled just above his forearms.

No one does the old money aesthetic like Gideon Carnell.

Jay closes his eyes and leans his face into the sun blazing through his window, letting the image of his stunning mate imprint in his memory.

Both bring warmth to his skin, and he’ll have to explain new freckles to Nix when he gets back.

His mate had counted each of the twenty-three on his nose and cheeks just last night—and made him promise he wouldn’t get more without him present.

But the complaints will be worth it.

If he gets back.

“I can hear you thinking dire thoughts, though, so fuck off.”

“Gid. Look, things are going to be fine. Remember? Home before Valentine’s Day. That’s the goal.”

It’s more of a mantra for Jay—but given that they have so many loose ends to tie up, it seems more and more unlikely, especially if Carnell has his way.

“You keep saying that, yet when you said you’d see them later, it sounded like goodbye.”

Jay can’t deny it. He hadn’t wanted to leave them without making sure each of them knew he loved them.

He sighs, caught out. “What do you want me to say?”

“Dammit, Jaybird. I was kidding, but…fuck…maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

It’s the first sign of uncertainty Jay has seen from Gideon today. Always the one who—once he’d set his path—put one foot in front of the other until the deed was done, no matter who he stepped over or through to do it.

It should have been enough to give Jay pause.

But while it might be Gideon’s first show of doubt, it wasn’t Jay’s.

He’d been through it all—over and over again—from one side to the other.

And this was still their best option.

“Gideon, this is a good plan. Our only plan. Best-case scenario is Carnell walks up to us and asks to talk. Yeah?”

Worst-case scenario is Carnell grabs him off the street and tortures him until Gideon does whatever Carnell has planned.

Not that Jay wanted to talk about that.

Still, maybe Jay should hear him out. Throwing himself in front of the fire didn’t have to mean he would drag Gideon along with him.

“Are you having regrets?”

“Would it matter if I were?” Gideon grunts, and merges onto the highway.

Yes, but not for me, Jay thinks, but says, “He’s not going to pass this opportunity up. The two of us? The visit to the station has been all over the news, and Phoenix Records and LRH socials have been plastered with the itinerary. But I could do this alo—” He swallows. This has to work.

“Stop right there. This is our best chance at finishing this today. It’s not just on you—you know that, right?”

Gideon doesn’t say it. Doesn’t tell him it’s the way they’ve done everything for the last two years and how they’ll do things in this life and the next. Together.

He’s not done, though. “But I am going on record right now in saying that if I have to listen to Leo tell me I told you so over your dead body, I’m going to be very. Put. Out.”

It’s gallows humor, and Jay laughs—as he should.

“Ditto, love.”

Jay forces a smile past the lump in his throat, in preparation for the one he’ll be wearing all afternoon. It’s not hard to slip his “on” face into place over the gnawing worry and the tingling sensation of impending doom.

“Let’s get in, talk to the sick kids, do the interview, and hopefully meet Carnell for a nice, long talk about being reasonable.”

It’s Gideon’s turn to laugh. “He couldn’t find reasonable with both hands and a mirror the size of the Goddess’s full moon.”

“We can always hope?”

Jay flips the visor down, Luca’s handiwork reflecting at him—his wavy hair in artful disarray, every trace of exhaustion concealed. Nix and Rowan had whistled at him, making raunchy comments the entire time. The little shits.

He smirks at the memory but doesn’t touch his hair. No need to mess with Luca’s perfection.

“You look hot. Don’t fuck with your hair. I like it long.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Jay growls, with a smirk and a wink.

“Fuck off. If you give me a hard-on before we meet the kids, I am going to beat your ass.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Wrong audience, love. But I’d let you beat something else—if you’re super nice to me.”

Gideon sticks his tongue out and rolls his eyes. “If we survive today, I will blow your mind tonight. Deal?”

“Deal. That’s what I call incentive.”

It isn’t as if Gideon hasn’t done so before, or wouldn’t anyway—but the light-hearted banter has gone a long way to return Jay to his previous state of—if not calm, exactly, then resigned acceptance.

“What’s our ETA?”

“Right on time. Five minutes, by my estimate.”

Jay scans the bios, already bracing for impact. Zef Viento. Omni Fuller. Words blur as he takes in the diagnosis and the prognosis. The weight of it settles low in his stomach—cold and leaden. These kids weren’t just sick. They were fighting for every goddamn breath.

“Fuck Gid. These kids.”

Gideon doesn’t look over—just grips the wheel a little tighter. “It’s good, alpha. The rest of this plan might be shit, but this part of it? It’s good.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” And it is good, but there’s so much bad going on in the world. So many people are just trying to get through the toughest times. It pisses him the fuck off that Carnell has to create even more.

The sun disappears from the Buick as they head down the street between high-rises and office buildings, and it’s not long before Gideon says, “We’re here.”

WRBY 88.1 Indie Rock Radio sits on the eighth floor of a high-rise, and as they drive past, Jay can already see fans out front in the hundreds—maybe more. Phones are pointed at their vehicle, posters raised in the hope that he’ll see them.

“Holy shit.”

Gideon closes his window, and even then it can’t block out the noise. “What did you expect? You haven’t been seen since before Christmas, and Margot has done her level best to make sure Carnell knows we’re here. I’m going to park around the back. Check to see if our contact can meet us?”

They park in the staff lot behind the building, and Gideon turns the car off. The absence of the A/C means Jay can hear the engine ticking in the silence. Before he can say anything, Gideon opens his door and steps out into the Florida sunshine.

Fine. Jay had said everything that mattered. Gideon wouldn’t thank him for a maudlin goodbye—or a “good luck.”

Their contact, Melody French, is a spunky thirty-something with a big smile and bright black eyes.

Her dark hair is tied up high in a red bandana that matches her t-shirt, one emblazoned with Jay’s face, and a grunge-inspired red rose tattoo winds along her forearm.

“Fuck me! Jay Rhodes, thanks for coming.”

Jay’s smile slots easily into place as he shakes her hand. “Thank you so much for having us. This is Gideon Carnell.”

Jay turns on his celebrity image like a switch, protecting the Were community and his mate’s identity with an overabundance of charm—because he’ll be damned if he refers to his beloved mate as staff.

Gideon manages his most officious smile and nods once.

“Well, we hadn’t expected to get a call from your team this week, that’s for sure, but the kids are here already. You got the kids’ bios?”

“We did. Looking forward to meeting them.”

“I gotta ask, neither of you are sick, right? The kids are immunocompromised, and while they’re willing to risk it all to meet you, I am not.”

Jay likes her even more.

“We aren’t. I appreciate you asking, though. This is supposed to leave a positive impression, not a dangerous one.”

Yes, Jay recognizes the irony of his words.

“Great! Let’s get it, then.”

They take the elevator to the eighth floor and walk through reception to a conference room just off the main lobby. It’s a small station, given radio budgets are shrinking in every market.

“Give me a minute to prepare them, okay? Your team expedited all kinds of merch, so if you wanted to give gifts at the end, you can.”

Bless Margot for thinking of everything.

“That’s great. I can sign some stuff, too. Whatever.”

“I think Zef brought his guitar if you wanted to play something for them…” Melody says, and Gideon snorts.

“I’d be delighted.”

“Great. Give me a second to let them know you’re here, okay?” she says, and slips inside the room.

“A guitar? When was the last time you played?”

“Don’t ask. I’ll manage.”

He hopes—it’s like riding a bike, right? The guitar is Luca’s instrument these days; even though Jay had played when he auditioned, he’d long ago let it slide for the piano and the mixing console.

“Hey,” Gideon says, before slipping a hand into Jay’s for a brief squeeze. “No matter what…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fucking die today.”

“Love you, too,” Jay whispers as the door opens, but Gideon is waiting for something, so Jay adds, “I promise.”

And it’s enough to make Gideon’s lips twitch in acknowledgment.

There are six people in the room besides Jay and Gideon. The kids each brought a guardian, along with Melody and a photographer/videographer.

“Jay Rhodes, this is Zef Viento and Omni Fuller.”