Farrow pops a bubble in his mouth, and he wraps an arm around Maximoff’s waist, territorial and protective. “Okay, but there are still some hostile fuckers who think they have a shot with Maximoff, and he’s not just dating a bodyguard like Jane would be. He’s a fucking step further and engaged.”
“That’s why it’s not a hundred-percent, Redford. Can’t rid them all.”
“Sixty-five percent success rate,” Akara says. “It’s not bad.”
I lift a finger. “Pardon, but where did that number come from?”
Oscar answers, “Seven years of experience handling a thousand different kinds of motherfuckers.”
“Amen,” Banks nods.
It reminds me that I wasn’t always a part of these serious security meetings. Not until Maximoff and I became closer to SFO. I trust their knowledge and what they’ve been through and dealt with as bodyguards.
I can’t assume that I know best when I actually know very little about what they’ve each experienced.
But I have witnessed the consequences through Maximoff and Farrow.
I lock eyes with Thatcher, his stern expression yet to change shape. To lessen the risk of another Nate situation—I wonder how far he’d be willing to go.
I think being thrown into a media and public wildfire is too great of a sacrifice. “You can’t go through what Farrow has gone through just to protect me,” I tell him. “You’ll be doxxed, and your family in South Philly could be harassed.”
He’s one of the most private people I’ve ever met. More private than even Farrow, and by publicly dating me, he’d expose himself to so many probes from paparazzi, tabloids, and internet fiends without the ability to say no or stop.
They will dig up his military service.
They will dig up more than he could even think of or imagine.
Akara looks to Thatcher. “The tech team can try to wipe out web searches that pop up your mom’s home address, phone number, all of that. They think it’s how Reddit users found out where Farrow’s stepsister lived.”
Maximoff slides an arm over Farrow’s shoulders.
So there’s a slight ability to circumvent some negative attention to his family. Keeping them safer if we were theoretically publicly together.
It seems like such a dreadfully high risk, but now mostly it’s just on his shoulders and Banks.
“Your life will be fodder for the public. I can’t let you do this for me,” I tell Thatcher. “If you’re considering it at all, that is.” I’m not even sure what he’s leaning towards.
“I’d do anything to keep you safe, Jane,” he says deeply and without falter.
I hear what he just told me: I feel a strong responsibility to you.
I inhale a sharper breath.
Can we do this?
Should we do this?
Am I in the strangest dream?
And do I even want to wake up?
No.
I’d rather see what happens next. Selfishly. This may be the most selfish thing I’ve ever craved.
“Will her parents care?” Oscar asks.
Every person turns to me for the answer.
The attention doesn’t cause me to balk, but Thatcher’s intensity heats me up from head to toe.
My parents.
That hasn’t even crossed my mind yet. My parents. My brothers. My little sister. What will they say?
“My parents,” I ponder quickly. “No, they won’t think it’s unprofessional if I fake-date a bodyguard.” I smile in thought. “I’m sure they’ll actually think it’s a bit of fun strategy. Like chess.”
SFO relaxes more at this news.
Banks rotates to Akara. “What about Alpha and Epsilon? They’re already on Omega’s ass about all of us being barely famous, and they’ve limited our ability to go on-duty during events. So having another bodyguard as famous as Farrow will…?”
“The other forces may try to tie our hands, guys,” Akara says diplomatically to all of SFO. “But we already have less power on the team right now, regardless if we take a risk today or down the line.” He snaps his fingers to his palm and then glances between Thatcher and me. “Whatever you both decide, we’ll all back.”
Every bodyguard nods in agreement.
Even Farrow, who easily rises above his dislike for Thatcher if the outcome means protecting me.
Thatcher steps away from the staircase. Eyes set on Banks, he motions to the adjoining door, and then he glances at me. “We’ll be back.”
I nod, understanding completely.
Whatever happens will affect Banks, and possibly, he’s confirming with his brother that he’s okay about their military backgrounds being exposed to the team and the world.
As they disappear, SFO whispers quietly to each other, and I head to the fireplace where Maximoff and Farrow stand.
I’m so confused, and my voice is a whisper as I ask, “Shouldn’t you two be anti-this-plan? It involves me being closer to someone you both dislike.” I don’t blame them at all for not loving Thatcher.
Maximoff puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m pro-Jane.” His intense green eyes speak a thousand promises. To always stick by my side. Through every terrible and wonderful thing.
My eyes burn with emotion, and I feel a smile at my lips.
Very casually, Farrow tells me, “I’m also pro-Jane more than I’m anti-anything-else.”
Maximoff smiles at Farrow like he beat him at something strenuous. “You just copied me.”
Farrow chews gum while grinning at him.
They both love one-upping each other.
His smile vanishes, and he gestures to Farrow’s chest. “You did copy me, man.”
“Technically, I said a hell of a lot more than you.”
Maximoff grimaces, trying to hide his affection for his fiancé in this moment. He does a very decent job. I give my best friend a solid 7.5 out of 10 for effort and execution. His arm is still around Farrow’s shoulders or else he’d be a perfect 10.
He’s about to speak, but the adjoining door swings open.
The Moretti brothers are back already from their quick chat.
Thatcher’s intense gaze descends upon me. “I need to talk to Jane alone.”
My eyes grow and I sweep him more inquiringly. Moments like these, I’d love to be able to predict the future.
13
THATCHER MORETTI
“Ignore the mess,” Jane says as she snatches dirty clothes off a fuzzy rug and flings them in a narrow, stuffed closet.
I shut the door behind me.
Her room is drenched in pastel colors, sequins, and animal prints. Coming here is like jumping into some type of milkshake-drinking bubblegum-blowing pop era that dresses up as the fucking 80s. Banks says it gives him agita . Makes him want to chug three bottles of Pepto-Bismol, and if it weren’t for Jane, I might feel the same.
But I step foot in here and I just see all the sides of Jane Cobalt. Bold and soft. Outlandish and unabashed. Feminine and eager.
Beautiful.
It makes me never want to leave.
Don’t go there —but I’m already here, and truth is, I’ve been in her room plenty before. For security. After the Nate incident, she asked if I could make routine checks each night.
I have.
It’s not a big space. Not many places for a target to hide. Not many entry-points for a break-in. Her four-poster bed is tucked up against the only window, and a pale blue vanity and cushioned stool hug a corner.
I’ve opened the mirrored closet door and peered behind her skirts and blouses before. I’ve lifted up the pink duvet, so I could inspect the dark area underneath her bed. Always littered with cat toys.
I’ve had to stretch over her mattress and push aside cheetah-patterned drapes. Just to secure the latch on the window and reset an alarm.
But I’m not here right now to assess and observe. I’m here to talk to Jane.
This is still about security , I remind myself.
This is still about her protection.
That’s all it should be.
I stand at the door like I’m on patrol and shouldering eighty-pounds of gear on my back. Just routine. What I’m trained for.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
I fold my arms over my chest, and I watch Jane fling a stray pair of cotton panties into the closet before she whirls around. Almost tripping over her own feet. She brushes wavy brown strands out of her face, and then she settles a confident hand on her waist.