“Get off me, for God’s sake. I’m not dying. Not yet.”

Cal jerked away. His father’s eyes flew open. The familiar coffee-brown eyes held a hint of disdain at his son’s weakness, even though they were red rimmed and weary. Cal shoved down the brief flare of pain and arranged his face to a neutral expression. “Good, because I want you to take over the Weatherspoons. They’re a pain in my ass.”

His father grunted. “I need some future political favors. Handle it.” He practically spit at the nurse hovering and checking his vitals. “Stop poking me. When do I get out of here?”

The pretty blonde hesitated. Uh-oh. His father was the worst patient in the world, and he bit faster than a rattlesnake when cornered. Already he looked set to viciously tear her to verbal pieces while she seemed to be gathering the right words to say.

Cal saved her by answering. “You’re not. Doctor said you need surgery to unblock some valves. They’re sending you now.”

His father grunted again. “Idiot doctor has been wanting me to go under the knife for years. He just wants to make money and shut me up. He’s still bitching I overcharged him on materials for his house.”

“You did.”

“He can afford it.”

Cal didn’t argue. He knew the next five minutes before his father was wheeled into surgery were vital. He’d already been told by the serious-faced Dr. Wang that it wouldn’t be an easy surgery. Not with his father’s heart damage from the last attack and the way he’d treated his body the past few years. Christian liked his whiskey, his cigars, and his privacy. He thought eating healthy and walking on treadmills were for weaklings. When he was actually doing the construction part of the business, he’d been in better shape, but the last decade his father had faded to the office work and wheeling and dealing behind the scenes.

“I’m calling Tristan and Dalton. They need to know.”

In seconds, his father raged at him in pure fury. “You will not. Touch that fucking phone and I’ll wipe you out of my will.”

Cal gave him a hard stare, refusing to flinch. “Go ahead. Been looking to work at Starbucks anyway.”

“Don’t mock me. I don’t want to deal with their guilt or bullshit. I’ll be fine, and we both know it.”

“Dad, they have a right to know.”

“They walked out on me. They have a right to know nothing.” A thin stream of drool trickled from his mouth. Cal studied the slow trek, embarrassed his father couldn’t control it. Losing bodily functions would be worse than death for his father. He needed to come out of this surgery in one whole piece, or he didn’t know what would happen.

Ah, shit, he needed to call his brothers. His father made a mule look yogic. They might have had a falling-out and not spoken for too long, but they were still family. The hell with it. He’d contact them as soon as his father went into surgery—it was the right thing to do.

Christian half rose from the pillow. “Don’t even think about going behind my back, boy. I have ways of making your life hell beyond the grave, and if I wake up and they’re here, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Again that brief flare of pain he had no right to feel. How long had he wished his father would show him a sliver of softness? Any type of warmer emotion? Instead, he’d traded those feelings for becoming a drill sergeant with his boys, the total opposite of the way Mom had been. Not that he wanted to think of her anymore. It did no good, only scraping against raw wounds. Caleb wasn’t a martyr, so he stuffed that shit back down for another lifetime.

“Whatever, old man. Save the fight for the surgery.”

They were interrupted when Dr. Wang came in with an easy smile. “Okay, gentlemen, this is it. We gotta wheel him into surgery. Say your good-byes.”

Caleb froze and stared into his father’s familiar face. Took in the sharp, roughened features, leathery skin, bushy silver brows. Those brown eyes still held a fierce spark of life. In that moment, Caleb decided to take a chance. If something happened in surgery, he didn’t want to regret it for the rest of his life.

He leaned down to kiss his father on the cheek.

Christian slapped him back with a growl. “Cut it out. Grow some balls. I’ll see you later.”

The tiny touch of emotion flickered out and left a cold, empty vastness inside his belly. So stupid. He felt so stupid. “Sure. Good luck, Dad.”

“Don’t need no damn luck. Make sure you do what I say. I don’t want to see your brothers.”

They were the last words Caleb heard as his father was wheeled into a surgery that took over five hours to perform.

The next morning Christian Pierce was dead.

And then the nightmare really began.

chapter one

Caleb sat in the fancy conference room of the lawyer’s office. His brothers had arrived and taken seats at the gleaming mahogany table far away from one another, eliciting a raised brow from his father’s lawyer. Yeah, the Pierce brothers had no love lost between them. Caleb had waited too long to make the call, and now there was another item to be checked off the Caleb-is-a-shit-brother list. He should’ve gone with his instincts and told them as soon as Christian was wheeled into surgery. Instead, he figured he’d wait a bit, not wanting them to hurry home to his father’s nastiness. Caleb never doubted he’d make it through the surgery. It wasn’t even a worry in his mind as he sat in the waiting room drinking bad coffee, answering texts, and watching CNN on the television. Of course, he’d been wrong, and now he was taking the heat. He’d ripped the choice out of Dalton’s and Tristan’s hands on whether they wanted to make the trip to see Dad, and when they showed up and looked at his body, something cold passed between them, stretching the distance by a few miles more.

He refused to feel a pang of pain. It did no good. There was never going to be a tearful reunion around his father’s casket anyway, and even during the wake they’d all stood separately, greeting people with a polite demeanor and only speaking when necessary.

Even now, Dalton’s face held a permanent scowl. Didn’t really go with the whole California-surfer vibe he had going on. His hair was caught back in a ponytail and had gone almost blond. The face that launched a thousand ships—his many girlfriends’ tagline—now looked like he’d be happy kicking someone’s ass. Probably Caleb’s. He’d gotten the height in the family, so those long limbs were crossed at the ankles under the table like he was on lunch break at the beach rather than waiting to hear the will. He’d changed. Still the best-looking in the bunch and probably still a man whore, but there was a new determination his aura reflected that was never there before. At twenty-eight years old, he was the youngest and always seemed to be competing for his place. Of course, it had been over five years since Caleb had seen his brothers. After his mother’s death in a horrific car accident, everything had splintered, shoving them into confrontation, and breaking underneath the strain. Both his brothers had walked out shortly after they lost her and never looked back. This time, the pang came and went without even an inward flinch. He’d gotten better under his father’s tutelage to bury all that anger and discontent. Too bad Dalton hadn’t received the same benefit.