Page 42 of Until the Storm Breaks (The Midnight Men #1)

CALVIN

Several days later I wake alone in the bed that still smells like Maren’s shampoo. The morning light filters through the curtains, softer than it should be for what today is. Memorial day. The day we say goodbye to Mom.

Maren left a note on her pillow: Had to get to the bar early to set up. Be back in time for the memorial. You’ve got this. -M

I trace the letters with my finger, then fold the note and tuck it in my pocket. Something to hold onto.

The house is too quiet as I move through it, Laila at my heels, making coffee with Mom’s pour-over setup, the familiar ritual both comforting and painful.

Through the kitchen window, I watch the rental company wrap up setting out all of the chairs on the bluff.

White folding chairs in neat rows, facing the water where Mom used to sit for hours.

Maren helped us to orchestrate all of this.

The rentals, the timing, the logistics of grief made manageable.

I’m outside waving off the rental company van when Dominic’s BMW pulls up the drive, polished even for a memorial. Laila sits beside me, her tail sweeping the gravel as she watches the van leave. He’s early, of course he is. Always has to be first, always has to be in control.

He steps out looking like he’s dressed for a funeral and a boardroom meeting.

Black suit perfectly pressed, and that particular tension in his shoulders that says he’s ready for whatever conflict I might bring.

We haven’t spoken since the confrontation at his house.

Haven’t addressed the elephant in the room wearing a Verdant State logo.

Laila trots over to greet him, tail wagging, and Dominic bends to pet her.

“Hey there, girl,” he says softly, and she leans into his hand before remembering her morning mission and trotting off toward the big Douglas fir by the fence, the one where Maren says she saw a raccoon months ago. Laila checks it religiously every morning, just in case today’s the day it returns.

“Cal,” he says, straightening up.

“Dom.”

We stand there, two brothers who share so much history and absolutely no idea how to talk to each other anymore.

“The place looks good,” he says finally, gesturing at the house, the fresh paint on the shutters, the repaired steps. “You’ve been busy.”

“Maren and I handled it together,” I say.

He shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable at her name. “Right. She’s been... helpful.”

“She’s been everything,” I correct, feeling defensive. “She was here. Actually here.”

“I know that,” Dominic says quietly. “I told you that myself.”

We stand there for a moment, the morning still gray and quiet.

“We need to talk,” I say finally. “About the sale. The cabins.”

“I know. Theo already called me twice this week trying to get me to delay things.” He sounds tired more than angry. “And before you ask, I will consider alternatives if you can give me something concrete. But it has to be real, Calvin. Not just wishes.”

“I’m working on it,” I say. “I’ve been talking to my financial advisor, looking at what I can pull together. Between my savings, investments, and a potential loan against my Seattle place, I could make a reasonable offer. Should have real numbers by next week or so.”

Dominic looks surprised that I’m actually putting something together. “You’re serious about this.”

“Of course I’m serious. It’s our family home.”

“The developers’ offer is substantial, Cal.”

“I know.” I meet his eyes. “But please just give me a little time to try and make this work.”

He studies me for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do about slowing things down. But Calvin, I need something concrete soon.”

“You’ll have it.”

Before either of us can say more, another car pulls up. Theo’s Subaru, with Chloe visible in her car seat in the back. Perfect timing.

“Uncle Calvin!” Chloe races toward me as soon as Theo lets her out, a single daisy clutched in her small fist, already slightly wilted. “I brought a flower for Grandma Susan. Daddy says we’re going to throw it in the water and it will find her in heaven.”

Laila bounds over at the sound of Chloe’s voice, tail wagging so hard her whole back end moves.

“That’s perfect, sweetheart,” I say, lifting her up. She’s light, all energy and excitement, smelling like apple juice. Her dress is yellow, bright against all the black everyone else is wearing.

“Laila!” Chloe squeals, wiggling to get down. I set her back on the ground and she immediately wraps her arms around the dog’s neck. Laila licks her face enthusiastically while Chloe giggles.

Theo follows, already in his black suit, looking tired. “Alex is at the restaurant, making sure everything’s ready to transport to the bar for the celebration of life gathering.”

“Thanks for handling all that,” I say, meaning it.

“It’s Mom,” Theo says simply. “Of course.”

We’re still standing there, this incomplete family unit, when the distinctive roar of a motorcycle cuts through the morning quiet. Jack. He pulls up fast enough to spray gravel, pulling off his helmet to reveal hair that’s definitely too long for Mom’s taste and that grin we all know means trouble.

“Miss me?” he asks, swinging off the bike like he’s been gone for a weekend instead of missing most of the summer.

Laila abandons Chloe to investigate Jack, sniffing his boots with interest.

“You made it,” Theo says, relief clear in his voice despite trying to sound neutral. We’d all been worried he wouldn’t make it in time.

“Cutting it close, as always,” Dominic says, but there’s affection beneath the sarcasm. That’s just how they talk to each other, always have.

“Flight from Nice was delayed twice. Mechanical issues, then weather in Paris,” Jack explains, pulling off his riding gloves and absently petting Laila. “Then I had to Uber from SeaTac to Tommy’s place in Georgetown to get my bike. Got stuck on I-5 for an hour. But I’m here.”

“We weren’t sure you’d make it,” Dominic admits, which is as close to ‘I’m glad you’re here’ as he gets.

“Hey, Chloe-bear,” Jack says, immediately crouching down to her level, his whole demeanor softening. “That’s a pretty flower you’ve got.”

“It’s for Grandma,” she says solemnly, showing him the daisy. “For the water.”

Grief passes over Jack’s face, quick and raw, before he gets control of it. “She would love that. Yellow flowers were her favorite, did you know that? She used to make me pick dandelions with her when I was your age.”

Cars start arriving shortly after that. Neighbors who’ve known us since we were kids, friends from Mom’s book club, people she touched over the years.

The crowd grows, filling the space between the house and the bluff with quiet conversations and shared memories.

Chloe and Laila wander off together toward the chairs, Chloe still clutching her daisy while Laila stays protectively at her side.

I spot Maren’s car pulling up and feel my chest loosen. She’s here. Whatever else happens today, she’s here.

She emerges looking beautiful in a simple black dress, her hair pulled back, moving with that particular grace she has.

Our eyes meet across the yard, and the world narrows to just that.

Her looking at me like I’m worth crossing a crowded lawn for.

She starts toward me, but Dolores Henderson intercepts her, needing to share some memory about Mom.

Maren listens with patience, nodding, touching Dolores’s arm gently, even as her eyes flick back to me.

“So that’s happening,” Jack observes, following my gaze. He’s lit a cigarette despite Theo’s disapproving look, leaning against the porch railing like he owns the place.

“Shut up,” I say.

“She’s good for you.” He takes a drag, exhales slowly, watching the smoke drift. “Mom always said Maren had the best heart in Dark River.”

“Mom was right.”

“Usually was.” Jack watches as Maren finally extricates herself from Dolores, making her way toward us through the growing crowd.

Maren reaches us, and Jack grins at her with that particular charm he’s been perfecting since high school.

“Well, well. Maren Strand, destroyer of hearts and pourer of drinks,” he says, stubbing out his cigarette. “You clean up nice.”

“Jack Midnight,” she says, shaking her head but smiling. “Still making inappropriate comments at inappropriate times, I see.”

“It’s a gift,” he says cheerfully. “Thanks for everything you’ve been doing. The memorial planning, taking care of this grump.” He jerks his head toward me. “Must be exhausting dealing with all that brooding.”

“You have no idea,” Maren says, playing along.

“Tragic,” Jack agrees solemnly. “You know I tried to teach him how to have fun once. Summer before he left for college. Complete failure.”

“I’m standing right here,” I point out.

“We know,” they say in unison, and then Maren’s laughing, a bright sound that somehow fits into this heavy day.

“How’s the season going?” Maren asks him. “Still racing?”

“It’s good,” Jack says, his expression shifting to something more genuine. “Competitive year. The team’s solid, and there’s talk about a full seat next year if things go well. I’ll know more after Monza next week.”

“That’s exciting,” Maren says. “Susan mentioned you were doing well.”

“Yeah, she kept track,” Jack says quietly. “Even when I didn’t call enough.”

Dominic’s voice carries over the crowd, calling out that it’s time to begin, and we all move toward the bluff where the rental chairs wait in neat rows.

The crowd arranges itself with the rustle of programs and quiet murmurs.

My brothers and I stand at the front, the urn heavy and final in Dominic’s hands.

Theo speaks first, because he’s always been better at this than the rest of us.

He talks about Mom’s strength, her laughter that could fill a room, how she made everyone feel like family even if they’d just met.

Alex follows, shorter but genuine, about her teaching him to cook, to find beauty in feeding people, how she believed food was love made visible.

Then it’s my turn.