Page 5 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)

Declan

“—and I just don’t understand why this is so complicated, Dec.”

I’m stretched out on the narrow bed at Anchor’s Inn, one arm thrown over my eyes to block out the afternoon light that’s somehow making my headache worse.

Blake’s voice through my phone has that whiny edge that used to send our mother running to fix whatever crisis he’d created this time, and honestly, some things never change.

I grip the phone hard enough to hear the case creak.

I’m done with his bullshit and yet here I am.

“Come on, you’re like a miracle worker with this stuff. Remember Mom’s wedding ring after the renovation? That impossible door handle for the Prescott job? You always figure it out—it’s like your superpower or something.”

I drop my arm and stare at the stained ceiling.

“Blake, those were construction projects with paper trails and contractors who kept receipts. This is a family heirloom that vanished into thin air three months ago.”

“But you’re so good at this detective stuff! And it’s just one little compass—how hard can it be?”

My hands clench into fists hard enough that my knuckles crack. The room suddenly feels too small, like the walls are closing in.

He’s still that teenaged little twit that gets anything he wants.

“It’s not just one little compass, Blake. It’s a priceless family heirloom that’s been missing for three months. I’ve been to six antique dealers today, and nobody’s seen anything matching the description.”

I move to the window. The antique shop sits on the corner below, lights still on. Something in my chest pulls tight thinking about hazel eyes and the way everything else faded when vanilla sea salt hit the air.

“Well, maybe you’re not describing it right. Maybe you should let me come up there and help?—”

The growl starts deep in my throat before I can stop it. “Blake, you lost it in the first place. I don’t think putting you in charge of finding it is going to improve our odds.”

“That’s not fair! I didn’t lose it on purpose!”

“No, you just let someone steal it because you were too busy—” I bite off the words. My free hand finds the back of my neck, muscles bunching tight.

“Too busy what, Dec? Say it.”

“Forget it.”

“No, seriously. Too busy what? Too busy living my life? Too busy not being the perfect responsible older brother who never makes mistakes?”

I press my palm against the cool glass. Down below, someone walks past the antique shop—not Karma, but my pulse jumps anyway.

“Blake, I’m trying to help you. But I need you to understand—maritime antiques move through private collections, estate sales, online auctions. It could be anywhere by now.”

“But the bonding ceremony is in four months!” Blake’s voice cracks like he’s thirteen again. “Nova’s whole pack is expecting a traditional Mitchell bonding. I can’t show up without the compass, Dec. I’ll look like a complete failure!”

“Blake, maybe you should have thought about that before?—”

“Before what? Before I trusted the wrong person? God, Dec, you sound just like Dad. I thought you’d understand.”

“I am trying to help you.”

“Dad’s going to lose his absolute mind if I don’t have it. And Nova... God, Dec, what if she calls off the bonding? What if she decides I’m not worth it?”

He isn’t. But I keep that to myself.

The desperation in his voice hits me right where I’m weakest. Blake might be a manipulative screw-up, but he’s still my little brother.

“All right. I’ll keep looking. But Blake, you need to be prepared for the possibility that it’s gone for good.”

“It’s not gone for good. You’ll find it. You always fix things, Dec. That’s what you do—you fix everything and make it better.”

My shoulders drop, and I sink back against the headboard. The fight goes out of me all at once, leaving me feeling drained and defeated.

“I’ll do my best.”

“I knew I could count on you. Thanks, big brother. You’re the best.”

The line goes dead, and I’m left staring at my phone while a seagull cries outside like it’s commenting on my life choices. I dial Reed’s number because if I have to process Blake’s manipulation alone, I might actually throw something through this window.

“Please tell me you’re calling to say Blake found his compass in his sock drawer and we can all go home and pretend this never happened,” Reed answers on the second ring .

The knot between my shoulder blades loosens. I find myself sinking onto the bed.

“Not exactly.”

“Shit. Okay, how bad is it? Scale of one to Blake accidentally joined a cult again.”

“Blake never joined a cult.”

“That pyramid scheme thing came pretty close. And don’t get me started on the month he thought he was going to be a lifestyle influencer.”

I snort. “It’s complicated. Can you get Adrian on the line? I need to talk to both of you.”

“Hold on.” I hear Reed moving around. “Adrian! Conference call time. Dec’s having another Blake crisis, and I need backup to convince him he’s not responsible for his brother’s bad life choices.”

A few minutes later, Adrian’s gravelly voice joins the call.

“This better be important, Dec. I just spent four hours in a truck with Reed explaining why romantic comedies are an underappreciated art form.”

“Hey, those movies know what they’re doing,” Reed protests. “Great relationship examples, solid character development, and they always stick the landing.”

“They have predictable plots and unrealistic expectations.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Sometimes people need unrealistic expectations. Keeps life interesting.”

I lean back against the headboard and let their familiar banter wash over me.

“Focus, children,” I interrupt. “We have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Adrian asks, his voice sharpening.

“The family heirloom is definitely missing. Nobody’s seen it, nobody knows where it went, and Blake’s bonding ceremony is in four months. ”

“So tell Blake he’s shit out of luck and come home,” Adrian says without hesitation. “Problem solved.”

“Oh, but wait,” Reed jumps in with false enthusiasm. “Let me guess—Blake called you with the full guilt treatment. Probably mentioned Nova, definitely mentioned Dad, maybe threw in some manipulation about being the responsible brother?”

“How did you?—”

“Because it’s Blake, and he’s been using the same playbook since college. What was the line? You always fix things, Dec? Or did he go with, I knew I could count on you? ”

“Both, actually.”

“Called it. Adrian, you owe me twenty bucks.”

“I’m not paying you for predicting that Blake would manipulate Dec. That’s like betting water is wet.”

“It’s not manipulation,” I say, but the words sound weak even to me. Blake is definitely manipulating me.

“Dec,” Reed’s voice goes gentler but keeps that edge. “I say this with love—you’re like a golden retriever when it comes to Blake. Someone throws a problem at you, and you immediately start fetching solutions, even when the person throwing the problem created it in the first place.”

I lean against the window frame. A car drives down Main Street below, headlights sweeping across dark storefronts. My eyes stray to the little antique shop again.

“He’s my brother.”

“He’s a walking disaster who makes terrible decisions and expects you to clean up the mess,” Adrian says with his usual brutal honesty. “Being your brother doesn’t make him less of a catastrophe.”

“Adrian’s not wrong,” Reed adds. “Blake’s track record with responsibility makes a tornado look organized.”

My free hand curls into a fist. “Look, I know Blake’s not perfect?— ”

“Not perfect?” Adrian’s voice goes flat as concrete. “Dec, the guy’s been making catastrophically bad decisions for years while you play cleanup crew. That’s not, not perfect. That’s using you.”

“You don’t understand the whole situation.”

“I understand enough.” There’s a pause, and I can hear Adrian’s controlled breathing.

“I understand he calls you every time he screws up. I understand your parents treat him like he’s made of spun gold while expecting you to be the responsible one.

And I understand you’ve been carrying guilt about his mess-ups since high school. ”

Each word hits like a physical blow. My jaw clenches so tight it aches, and I have to force myself not to hang up the phone.

“Dec, we’re not saying this to hurt you,” Reed says, his tone warm but firm. “We’re saying it because we love you, and watching Blake use your sense of responsibility against you is like watching someone kick a puppy. A really big, alpha puppy who could definitely fight back but chooses not to.”

“He’s family.”

“So are we,” Reed shoots back immediately. “Chosen family. Pack. And the pack looks out for each other without the guilt trips and emotional manipulation.”

I turn away from the window and sit heavily on the bed.

“Blood family is different.”

“You’re right,” Reed says. “Blood family gets away with way more shit because people think DNA makes bad behavior acceptable.”

“Reed—”

“No, seriously. If Adrian or I pulled half the crap Blake pulls, you’d call us on it immediately. But because he’s your brother, you keep making excuses and cleaning up his messes. ”

“Why are you still planning to drop everything and help him?” Adrian asks.

I drag both hands through my hair hard enough to leave it sticking up.

“Because I can’t abandon my family, even when they’re...” I search for the right word.

“Disasters?” Reed suggests helpfully. “Train wrecks? Walking cautionary tales?”

“Shit,” I finish.

“You’re not abandoning him,” Reed says. “You’re letting him face the consequences of his own actions. Revolutionary concept, I know.”

“And if the consequences destroy his bonding ceremony?”

“Then maybe he should have thought about that before he screwed around and lost a priceless family heirloom,” Adrian says without missing a beat. “Dec. How many times has Blake faced actual consequences for his choices?” Another pause. “I’ll wait.”