I stand off the bed. Cats greeting me, all five rubbing up against my calves while I find my clothes, as quietly as I can.
I move in systematic order. Boxer-briefs on, black slacks on—I pull a black crewneck over my head, and then I grab my radio, holster my gun to my waistband.
And I find her sticky pad on the end table. About to jot down a quick note, but I notice her illegible handwriting. I trained myself to decipher it when I was a lead.
I read the words clearly.
Merci mille fois. Pour tout.
xoxo Jane
She knows I can translate simple French phrases. She wrote: Thank you a thousand times. For everything.
My lungs expand. I tear her note off the pad. Pocketing it, and then I write on the top blank one.
It’s my honor to be with you in everything.
I place the note on the pillow next to her. And I’m at the door in two strides. I look back. Checking on my client, she breathes contently.
I grip the doorknob. I fucking hate this part.
Leaving Jane after we had sex.
At the beginning, it was hard. Now it’s excruciating. The reality is, I’ve never been a frat-bro and she’s never been a quick meaningless fuck to me.
What happened last night deserves a morning. Where she wakes up in my arms.
But that’s not part of the agreement.
I’ve already accidentally pushed a fucking hour. And right now, my head is killing me. I rub at my eyes, static still in my ear. But my radio isn’t on.
Fuck me.
I slip out of the room. No lights on. Toodles, her sixth cat, lounges sluggishly by the bathroom.
With my long legs, I skip two stairs at a time. Bypassing ones that I know squeak. Silent as I descend.
I reach the living room. Dark—but soft light illuminates from the kitchen archway. I pick up sound in that direction.
Someone is awake.
I strain my ears…
And I hear Farrow. Contempt in his rough voice, and it takes a hell of a lot to push his buttons. I would know.
Concern drives me toward his location, and I listen to his angered whisper.
“I’m not bartering with you…” A pause is taken. “You worthless bastard… Is that a threat? Yeah?”
Instinct pushes me through the archway.
I see Farrow with a phone to his ear, elbows on the counter. Hunched forward in a lunge. He sees me, surprise flashing in his heated eyes. But he doesn’t stiffen or move a muscle.
He cuts his gaze forward. “You’re in prison, you motherfucker. This call is recorded.”
Prison.
Donnelly’s dad or mom could be on the line. His dad is supposed to be released from prison soon, and I only ever considered that intel in terms of Donnelly’s wellbeing. But if he’s threating Farrow from prison…
My brows pull together, and then a sharp ringing pierces my head—I touch my ear. My heart rate spikes.
Fuck this.
I walk tensely to the sink. Turn on the faucet and splash water on my face.
Farrow watches my movements. Still talking on the phone. “No. Never…” His jaw muscle tics, and then he hangs up.
I rub water off my eyes. “Was that Sean Donnelly?” I name Donnelly’s dad.
“Yeah.” Farrow leans his side casually on the counter. Just in drawstring pants, tattoos scatter his chest, ribs, arms, and neck. He’s assessing me as much as I’m looking at him.
I grip the sink’s ledge. “Is he going to be a problem?”
Farrow eyes me up and down. “I’ll let you know when I know.”
He’s not sure yet. I nod once. And I splash more water on my face before shutting off the faucet. My heart rate is starting to slow. I dry off my forehead and jaw using the hem of my shirt.
Farrow goes to the fridge and tugs a water bottle out of the door. He extends the drink to me. Like I once tried to do for him in Greece.
I take the water and nod in thanks.
“What helps you?” Farrow asks me, vague. We’ve been vague about PTSD.
“Water on my face should be enough.” I unscrew the bottle. “You said yours is triggered by rain?”
He kicks back against the closed fridge. “Yeah, but it’s been better.” He pauses. “Is yours frequent?”
“No.” I swig the water, coolness rushing down my throat. “I haven’t had a nightmare in a while.”
“It kicked your ass awake?”
I meet his eyes. “Like a hammer to the skull.”
He nods a few times.
We exchange this look that reaches into me. Acknowledgement. An I understand you and I’m here. Something that I’ve never shared with Farrow face-to-face.
SFO is a brotherhood. More than any other force.
After hurting him, I’ve wanted to be deserving of it. Can’t say that I am, can’t say that I’ll ever be—but I won’t retreat.
I hold his gaze. “I stuck a fucking thorn in your side.”
“No, you were the thorn,” he says matter-of-factly. “And being honest, I didn’t know what Jane saw in you. I didn’t think you’d ever break a rule to give her what she wants and needs, and the fact that you did—it makes you someone I don’t mind hanging around.”
I nod slowly, realizing this fucking whole time, he would’ve appreciated me breaking the “don’t fuck your client” rule. For Jane.
I cap the water bottle, my eyes narrowed at the reality. With the looming breakup, it’ll all reverse. Like I never broke the rule to begin with.
Farrow checks the oven clock. “And you broke her little 3 a.m. get-the-fuck-out rule.”
“Accidental. ” I set the water bottle on the counter. “Don’t go buying me a fucking round.”
“Man, you don’t have to worry that I will.” He pushes away from the fridge. “I only buy rounds for broken hearts.”
I open my mouth to speak—a crash thunders from upstairs. Shaking the kitchen. Like a body just hit the ground. We don’t wait for the vibrating to stop.
We bolt. As fast as our fucking feet can carry us. Concern detonating a strong force inside of me. Fear hyper-focuses me. Four souls upstairs. Jane, Sulli, Luna, Maximoff.
Jane.
Jane.
We don’t call out to them.
In case someone broke in without setting off the alarms, we can’t yell their fucking names and give our positions away. We’re already risking being heard as we race up the old stairs. I’m out in front of Farrow.
Adrenaline pitching my pulse. Her name is a scream caged inside me.
Maximoff is running down the stairs from the attic. Towards the second-floor. Where the girls are.
We come up to the landing, just as Jane’s door opens and she steps out, cautious. “Thatcher?” Her eyes widen, scared for her cousins.
I act fast. Clutching her waist, I pull Jane further out of the room. Behind my back, and Farrow goes straight to Luna and Sulli’s door. He kicks it open.
“Whoa, fuck ,” Sulli curses from inside.
By her surprised tone, I can already tell this is a false alarm. But we need to check her room regardless.
Protocol: Jane can’t come in until it’s all-clear . Neither can Maximoff.
It’s hard to leave her. My chest knots. “Wait here until I call you,” I tell her strictly. She’s safe.
“I will—”
Our heads turn as Sulli suddenly fills the doorway, yanking earbuds out, drenched in sweat. “Uh, guys…is this about the fucking bang because that was me. I’m so fucking sorry.” She wipes her forehead with her toned bicep. “I was doing deadlifts and dropped the bar too hard. Luna slept through the noise, so I didn’t think anything of it.”
“It’s okay,” Maximoff says.
Jane lets out a deeper breath. “We’re just glad you’re safe.” Her gaze pins back to me, and our eyes lock. Thoughts and feelings tumble between us. But we’re quiet. Even with Maximoff and Farrow knowing our secret, Luna and Sulli are still in the dark. It’s a reminder that we still have to be careful. Can’t get too comfortable.
But she is right—at least everyone is safe.
Especially her.
41
JANE COBALT
I knew I’d be nervous when this day finally came. But I didn’t know I’d have a swarm of caterpillars crawling around my stomach. So naturally, I called in reinforcements.