Page 73 of Release

“I mean at all. And pay attention to me when we board the plane. Do not question, hesitate, or balk.”

His gaze narrows. “Ma’am?”

“You heard me. Yes, it’s going to be unpleasant, but Alpha Declan doesn’t sweat.”

He finally nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”

I pull him in for a long hug. “Hang on until tonight. Things should be a lot better after we talk.”

His question is muffled against my shoulder. “Can we all live together then?”

“Don’t rush me, sweetie. Give me time.”

It’s 6:49 when I pull up in front of George’s house and let myself in. The house feels eerily still and quiet around me, and I hope to hell I didn’t fuck up.

This is the other reason I wanted Declan to wait. Because if I fucked up, I don’t want him with this memory.

Regardless, before I can do anything, I make coffee, because he didn’t preset it last night. Either he’s alive and I need to put it in his hands, or he’s not, and I can tearfully explain to EPU that we always make him coffee first when we have to wake him up.

I opt to leave the clicker on the kitchen counter, where he has to walk past it to get his keys and wallet.

He can’t not see it.

While I’m waiting for it to brew, I walk into the living room, over to the shelf holding her urn. Last year, we added a picture to the shelf, of her and me and George on the day Ellen graduated from college. The school of education had a different commencement day than pre-law.

She beams at the camera, George flanking her on her left, me on her right.

I kiss my finger and touch it to the glass over her lips, the way I have countless times before.

“Miss you, girl,” I whisper. “I’m doing my best. Please don’t let me have fucked this up.”

Once coffee’s ready, I slowly mount the stairs and gird myself, either to face my own guilt, or to face one cranky-ass governor.

His bedroom door stands ajar, and relief washes through me when I hear him softly snoring inside. I set his coffee on the nightstand and go turn on the bathroom light so it’s not as harsh an awakening.

I’ll be upsetting him enough today. At least this one thing can be somewhat gentle before I dropkick him into hell.

I return to the bed and lean in, gently touching his shoulder. “George, wake up. Time to get moving.”

He startles, brief disorientation before he realizes it’s me. Once I know he’s awake, then I turn on the lamp on the nightstand.

He looks like shit, his eyes red and puffy like he went to sleep crying.

“I’ll lay out your suit,” I tell him. I turn, but he’s more awake than I gave him credit for and he grabs my hand.

“Case,” he hoarsely says.

I pause but don’t look him in the eye or reply.

“Where’s Declan?”

“My house.” I don’t pull away.

Yet.

“He didn’t come with you?”

“No.”