Page 68 of Fuse

“Why yes, darling. Yes, I am.”

With a seething sneer, I pivot toward the door that leads to the driveway. “I’m setting my alarm for one hour from now.”

She jerks a golden eyebrow. “Make it two and you can have my extra-frosting cupcake.” In response to the questioning quirk of mine, she clarifies. “Apparently Joany stress-bakes.”

I school my features against exposing too much of my open drool. Beyond the sandwich I forced down sometime yesterday afternoon, I haven’t had anything to eat in the last twenty-four hours. “Ninety minutes.” I attempt to bargain.

“That starts when your head hits the pillow,” ’Dia counters.

“And I still get the whole cupcake?”

“After you wake up.”

I roll my eyes, realizing she’s probably already sampled the frosting in globby spoonfuls by now, though calling her out will do nothing for this negotiation. Finally, I capitulate. “Fine.”

My sister grins. “Sweet.” Then wiggles the tips of her fingers. “Rest well.”

“Resting is part of the bargain, sister. But I didn’t promise anything else.”

She raises both hands as if I’ve drawn a pistol on her. “Fair enough.”

Chapter Two

Emma

The second I reenter the house and turn toward the stairs up to the master bedroom, I can’t push my foot past the bottom step. I can’t think about going back to the bedroom—our bedroom—as if this is just another stressful day in the adventures of Bolt and his lady and taking a nap will prepare me for facing the rest of it better. It’s too great a pretense to ask, no matter how deeply my exhaustion is embedded into my bones.

Prowling through the house likely won’t count as a worthier effort, but after issuing a silent apology to Lydia and saying a wistful goodbye to the cupcake on the kitchen counter with its flawless frosting rose, I’m off for my first lap of my stress-induced journey.

I make fast work of carousing through the kitchen, the dining room, and the den. I stop halfway down the glass-lined hall that leads to the gym and the downstairs office.

Where just a few hours ago, I’d found Sawyer crouched over a fallen, depleted Reece.

Where I’d dropped to his side too and watched in helpless dread as Faline ripped his mind away from me. As she’s just tried to do again, bringing on a hundred times that agony.

Because she’s that much closer to succeeding?

No. No.

I wrap my arms around my middle so the resolve has to stay locked inside, despite the chaos of my heartbeat, the tumult of my nerves, and the churn of my belly. But there’s no wiggle room on this. I will drive everyone on this team to the point of no return if I have to—starting with the girl reflected back at me from the window, with her exhaustion-hollowed eyes—until we find a way to snatch back Faline’s new play toy.

The bitch has picked the wrong freaking shiny this time.

I drop my hands and straighten my shoulders as the resolve fortifies me, all but trumpeting through me—until that victory parade is roadblocked by another voice from inside.

Oh, yeah? Says you and what army, honey?

Because in the end, without the “Bolt” part, “Team Bolt” is just three tech geeks and a couple of girls from Newport Beach, though there’s a chance the surf god and Deneuve’s double might decide to stick around if Joany keeps plying them with cupcakes. But even killer cupcakes will only take us so far. While each of us understands a different part of Reece’s drive, none of us has the entire scope of it the way he does. As close as I am to the man, I have to accept that there’ll still be lots of nights on the figurative prairie porch, wringing my hands and staring out at dirt and twigs. Though at least now, that last part is literal.

“Emmalina?” The quiet query hits the air like a whip, making me behave the same way. I snap around though order myself to chill out when confronting a familiar pair of catlike eyes, perfectly made up in shades of blue and gray, perfectly matching her mottled skull. “Are you all right?”

I chuff softly, not sure how to answer. Well played, fate. I’ve mentally parked myself on the porch, only to get an offer of companionship by Angelique La Salle, whom I watched Reece walk away with the first time I was here, nearly a day ago. Practically a lifetime ago…

In that pivotal moment, I’d been so viciously tempted to give the woman some very choice words and an oh-so-eloquent finger flip. I fight the same provocation now, only the conflict stings a lot worse and burns a lot deeper.

But damn it, Angelique’s stare is brimming with true sincerity. She even attempts a little smile. What if fate wants me to see some kind of lesson here, despite its timing needing some serious help?

So I turn a little, leaning against the dark-wood wall comprising the other side of the hall, and mutter, “No. Not really.”