All of my siblings nod in concrete agreement.
I feel like I can’t even give Thatcher the chance to try.
44
THATCHER MORETTI
I’m at one of the most elaborate, private Halloween parties I’ve ever seen. Mostly, it’s a challenge for the team.
Fog rolls along a dark, sprawling farm. Three-hundred pre-vetted guests in costumes run around screaming and shrieking. A massive graveyard sits on a steep, muddy hill. Where a DJ plays remixes of classic Halloween songs, adding to the cacophony.
The real threat so far tonight is a heeled leather boot.
“I doubt it’s broken,” Jane winces, eyes on her foot. If I could, I’d take a fucking bat to every smoke machine here. She didn’t even stumble. The heel of her boot just sunk into wet mud that neither of us could see.
She’s seated on a hay bale around the carnival games. In my peripheral, a cluster of costumed fairies bob for apples and ogle us, interested in my relationship with Jane.
I’m squatting and cupping her ankle in my large hand. With my right, I quickly but carefully unlace her leather boot. “Could be a sprain,” I say.
Farrow hasn’t checked it yet, but I’ve already radioed him. He’s grabbing ice with Maximoff before they return to this side of the farm.
“That’s most likely.” She holds on to her witch hat that tries to take flight in a gust of wind.
Our gazes brushing as I look up, constantly checking on Jane. Green paint coats her face, hiding her freckles, but she’s flat-out the cutest witch I’ve ever seen.
After Jane, Sulli, and Luna posted a picture from their facemask night on Instagram, fans started affectionately referring to them as the Witches of Philadelphia , and they embraced the name for Hallow Friends Eve.
All three are witches. Green faces, black dresses, black hat, and black leather fucking boots. Which I’m still unlacing.
Jane watches, and I notice how her eyes skim the whistle around my neck and my red trunks. An October chill tries to nip my bare chest. I gave Banks my windbreaker since he forgot to bring his, and I can withstand the cold.
To boost morale, the Tri-Force let the whole team decide on a group costume. We’re lifeguards, but I didn’t really care what was chosen.
Other actual concerns bear on my chest. Like how this is my last public outing with Jane as boyfriend and girlfriend.
The end. We’ve reached it. And I hate it.
Jane keeps two hands on her hat. Still eyeing my costume, she says in thought, “I realize we weren’t ever given the chance to wear couple costumes, so at the time, I hadn’t considered what you and I would be.” She pauses. “But now I think I know what I would’ve loved…”
Our gazes latch for a strong beat.
Very softly, she says, “You would’ve been my Tarzan, and I would’ve been your Jane.”
It slams into me. The would’ve been . And the feeling that she might be open to more. Is that my role in her fucking life—I just prepared her heart for some other man?
I nod a few times. A pit in my ribs. “I wanted that too.”
“Bien,” she says, wiping the crease of her eye.
It’s killing me. “Jane,” I say deeply.
“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me.”
Not possible. “I’m your bodyguard, honey.” I gently pull off her boot, and I see heartache filling her eyes. She clutches my muscular shoulder for support.
“I’m not trying to make this harder for you,” she whispers, wide-eyed. “It’s not my intention. I know there’s no way we can have everything, and I don’t want to be unfair to you.”
I clutch her green-painted cheek. “You’re not, Jane.” I suddenly sense movement coming in on my three o’clock, and I drop my hand off her face.
My expression hardens as I watch actors in masks wield chainsaws and chase two zombie girls in our direction.
My head is so wrapped up in my emotions, I need to keep checking myself.
Get your mind right.
Protect her. Protect her—that’s my sole duty.
The girls shriek bloody murder, running towards us, and I shoot a death glare at one of the actors who hawk-eyes Jane.
No.
If he comes over here and tries to wave a weapon at her—unchained or not—he’s on the ground. It’s too easy for a masked actor to harass a famous one under the guise of Halloween. A clown has been trying to “poke” Luna all night, and we posted most of the extra security on her detail with Quinn.
Security Rules: SFO aren’t supposed to work events like tonight’s. It’s been a stipulation in the past, after Omega gained fame. Farrow and I are even higher on that fucking shit list for being more publicly recognizable now. But we need more eyes tonight, so the Tri-Force allowed us to go on-duty. We just had to bring twice as many temp guards along.
If I weren’t the one protecting Jane here, I’d be going out of my fucking mind.
The actor sees me and lifts up his growling chainsaw, high-tailing his ass toward the crate of floating apples. He scares off the cluster of fairies.
Focusing back on her ankle, I gently slip off her untied boot. Her ankle is swollen. I study the wince in her bunched brows. Her jaw sets like she bites down pain.
I just want to comfort her in any way I can. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.” The words come out, and my chest knots. Whatever hard call I make soon, I feel like I’m hurting Jane. She loses a bodyguard or she loses a boyfriend.
I can’t be both to her anymore, and even now, it’s only halfway. Rules and red tape and 3 a.m. closing hours.
“You’re not,” she says quickly, exactly what I just said to her. You’re not being unfair to me, Jane. You’re not hurting me, Thatcher.
But this is unfair to us and it is hurting us, and I rake a hand through my hair. “If you can’t walk, I’m going to carry you.” I peel a flyaway, frizzed strand of hair off her lips.
She smiles, but it fades in a thought. “Are you allowed to carry me? Didn’t security tell you that we’re supposed to appear distant for the breakup?”
Alpha and Epsilon gave me clear instructions:
Don’t be too physical with her.
No kissing.
Treat her more like she’s just a client.
In this situation, I’d carry my client, but also, fuck them for these fucking orders. It’s unnecessary. “Yeah, I’m allowed—”
“Janie!” Maximoff calls from the distance, jogging over like she’s in mortal danger. He’s dressed as Captain America. Farrow smiles over at his fiancé, more at ease but keeping pace. I notice a baggie of ice in his hand, trauma bag strapped across his chest.
Farrow could’ve been a lifeguard like the rest of the team. But he had a choice, and he made the right call.
He’s the Winter Soldier, but with his regular dyed, bleach-white hair. SFO has been talking about how Farrow and Maximoff broke the internet when they stepped outside together.
It’s taken a spotlight off the public hating that I didn’t dress up with Jane.
My brother is also in tow. He’s been attached to Maximoff tonight since Farrow has had to make med calls.
Banks stares deeply into me like it’s going to be alright. He’s been giving me that look all day.
I asked him what I should do, and he said, “I’m not the one who makes the calls. You are.” I almost rolled my eyes, but he gave me advice.
He said, “I think she’s afraid, and you’re afraid.”
Yeah. I think he’s right, and this is going to be the hardest trigger I have to pull. In either direction. It’s still tearing me up.
Indecision is hell to me.
“I’m okay,” Jane says to her best friend. Maximoff takes a seat on the hay bale and hugs her shoulders.
I stand up, and Farrow replaces me to check her ankle. He presses around her foot, and I scan the perimeter and her.
Banks is beside me, and comms are active, constant chatter in my ear. I tune in.
“Sulli is going into Hell 2,” Akara says, using the code for one of the haunted houses. He’s required to go into those areas with his client. He’s just updating the team of their location change.