This year’s Thanksgiving was also quieter without Mel’s presence. It was the first major holiday without her and they were all feeling her absence. Ian had trouble getting out of bed this morning—one of his favorite days of the year—knowing that he wouldn’t be seeing her smiling face across from him at the table.
Noah had been alternating between sticking close to Rowe when he attempted to drift off alone and giving him space when Snow or Jude were entertaining him. For the first time since Ian had met the man, he seemed uneasy and anxious.
“I’ve got it under control,” Ian said. “We’re nearly ready to eat. If you want to do something, you can text Andrei or Lucas and find out where the hell they are. If they’re any later, food is going to start getting cold and Lucas knows bet—”
The sound of the front door opening and closing cut off Ian’s rant and he breathed a sigh of relief. They were finally here. Stepping around the island in the middle of the kitchen, Ian walked toward the foyer to greet the missing couple but his heart skipped a beat. There was only Andrei standing there, looking worn and lost. Dark shadows underlined his eyes and his hair hung limp around his face.
“Lucas—” Ian started.
“Isn’t coming,” Andrei finished and then cleared his throat. He didn’t look up at Ian, keeping his hands shoved into his pockets. Ian could hear the others come up behind him, their voices suddenly dying off when they noticed Andrei standing there alone. “He called this morning and said that he wouldn’t be able to make it back today because of work. He thinks he might be back in town tomorrow night, but since he has to be in Geneva next Monday, he might just stay over.”
“That’s fucking bullshit,” Rowe snarled. “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”
“He has never missed a holiday,” Ian murmured.
Snow heaved a heavy sigh and Ian looked over his shoulder to see the surgeon push a hand through his hair. “This is Lucas’s form of dealing with shit—he doesn’t. He buries himself in work until he doesn’t feel anything anymore.”
“I’m…I’m thinking about moving out,” Andrei admitted, lifting his red-rimmed eyes for the first time. Ian started to talk him out of it, but Andrei shook his head. “He’s barely been home since that night in Covington. The day after he jumped on a plane to Seattle. Then it was London and Madrid. Next week is Geneva. He’s avoiding me, can’t even stand to look at me. I’m not running him out of his own home.”
Rowe reached around Ian and tightly grabbed Andrei’s shoulder, giving it a shake. “You’re not going anywhere. You belong in the penthouse with him. You belong with him.”
Andrei shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. “I think I’ve already lost him.”
“You haven’t,” Snow said. “We’ll drag him home and knock some sense into him if we have to, but you’re not leaving.”
Rowe smirked over at Snow. “Why do I get the feeling you’re looking forward to delivering a little tough love?”
Snow grinned back. “Certainly not because he’s beaten me with it over the past few decades.”
Noah helped Andrei shed his winter coat and they followed Ian into the kitchen with the intent of helping him get everything served. The group had fallen silent, the weight of two missing members heavy among them.
“This is my fault,” Andrei whispered, the words cutting through Ian. “If-if I had just been more careful. Hadn’t been so stupid and just watched my back...”
Ian’s hands tightened around the ceramic platter for a second before he gave in to his temper and smashed it against the floor. When he spun around, everyone was staring at him with a stunned expression, mouths hanging open. Good. He wanted their full attention.
“Enough! We’re done playing the fucking blame game. Andrei, you feel guilty for getting kidnapped and pushing Lucas into being reckless. Lucas is drowning in guilt, because he thinks what he did led to all this recent hell, including Mel’s death. Rowe has undoubtedly twisted the events in his head to feel guilty about Mel. Snow probably feels guilty for attacking Gratton all those year ago.”
“Nope,” Snow interjected and just flashed him a wicked grin. “Just guilty about not killing him the first time we met him.”
“Whatever,” Ian said with a roll of his eyes. “You want to get technical? This is my fault. If Snow, Lucas, and Rowe had never met me years ago, had never tried to help me, then Jagger would never have entered your world. But you know what? Fuck it! I love my life. And I love my family. And this entire shitstorm comes down to one man: Boris Jagger.”
Ian suddenly swung around to face Snow, poking him in the chest. “You want to get Lucas back here? You call him and tell him I’m going after Jagger. We are done with this bullshit and we are bringing Jagger down for what he’s done to this family and other families.”