“I have a bad feeling.” I shake my head, neck stiff, and I keep my voice low. “Since we got together, I feel like she’s holding me at a distance.” I re-clip the mic on the collar of my black shirt and fix my earpiece.
He sticks a toothpick in his mouth, frowning. “You two haven’t had sex since you moved in?”
I meet his eyes. “We’ve had sex every night.”
“Then what are you worried about? Because it seems like she’s holding you pretty fucking close.” The corner of his lip rises but then falls at the sight of my dark frown.
The physical part of our relationship was always going to be easy. But to push through the bad in her life, she closes off emotionally to a lot of people. So do I, and I’ve struggled to be emotionally available to girlfriends in the past.
But while we were fake-dating and sneaking around, we found an indescribable solace together. Point-blank, I wanted to tear myself open for Jane. No matter how brutal and gut-wrenching.
I wanted and want to keep her safe from every cruel thing.
I’m the only person she’s confided in that intensely about Nate, her fucking ex-friends-with-benefits. She’s the only person I’ve confided in that deeply about Skylar, my older brother who passed away.
I’m head-deep, un-fucking-believably in love with this girl, and I would do anything for her. What’s been gutting me is that I can sense her nerves. Jane is confident as all hell, but in the past week, sometimes she’ll drop her gaze from me. I can’t tell if it’s what her parents said about moving in together too fast or if her brothers have questioned her decisions and she’s doubting everything.
This kind of commitment isn’t easy for Jane. I know that, at least. She’s used to keeping men at arm’s length, emotionally. I think it’s partly why she’s only had friends-with-benefits.
Just sex.
No potential to fall in love, but she’s fallen in love with me.
I want to calm whatever fears she has about us. I want to be emotionally available to Jane in a way that I’ve never been before in a relationship.
But I just don’t know how.
There is no protocol for love. No orders passed down to me, and I’m walking through this blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back.
I stare hard at Banks. “I’m worried she feels like we moved in together too fast.”
“You were basically there every night when you were fake-dating,” he whispers. “It’s not that different now.”
I’m about to reply, but in the short beat, I zero in on the toothpick he chews. “How do you feel?”
He seesaws his hand. “Menzamenz.” Half and half. “I could use a cigarette like a prostitute could use a stiff dick.” He bites on the toothpick with a half-smile. “But you’re not gonna help me out.”
I nod strongly. He’s not wrong about that.
I’m not fueling my brother’s vice.
I tell him, “I never understood how you crave nicotine but I don’t.” In the military, we smoked about the same, but I quit easily coming home and I recreationally smoke a hell of a lot easier than him. He has one cigarette and he’s hungering for the entire fucking pack.
“Probably because you’re used to denying yourself life’s greatest pleasures.” He rests an elbow on the bar. “To make Dad happy, someone had to take most of the shit in our family, and you were good at it.” He winces in a thought. “He made you clean his Chrysler with a toothbrush, and all you said was, yes, sir.”
I must’ve been ten. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Banks cracks a quarter of a smile. “I’m pretty sure you liked living in hell and have no clue what heaven looks like.”
I instantly picture Jane at the mention of heaven. I’m trying to get there. I cross my arms. “Where do you think you’ll end up? Heaven or hell?”
He raises a shoulder in a stiff shrug. “I just know I want to be wherever you are.” He smacks my chest again. “And you’ll be chain-smoking in the afterlife with me.”
“Hell no.”
We smile, but it fades fast. My phone buzzes, and I take it out, expecting a text from Jane. Instead, I find a message from her brother.
Where are you? – Charlie
I reread the text with tightened eyes. Any text from Charlie to me is a thousand meters out of the ordinary.
Something’s not right. Carefully, I show the phone screen to Banks.
His brows furrow. “Haven’t the Cobalt brothers been icing you out?”
“Like a fucking arctic wind.” I text Charlie Cobalt my location, slip my phone in my back pocket, and tinker with my radio for better reception. Once her five brothers learned that I’m their sister’s real boyfriend, I thought they’d all have something to say to me.
Cobalts aren’t known to holster their opinions.
Instead, I got tumbleweeds.
Somehow that was worse.
My worry for Jane escalates, and the bar grows noisy as more people walk inside. Banks tries to flag down the busy bartender, and then he turns to me and asks, “What if your bad feeling about Jane is actually about Tony?”
Tony. His name rakes hot coals against my eardrums. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe Jane isn’t telling you how much of a douchebag he is during the day, which is why she hasn’t called you back. She’s trying not to cause conflict between you and him on the team.” He turns more to me. “She’s protecting your job.”
My deltoids pull taut, shoulders constricted. Jane isn’t really a peacemaker and terminator of conflict. She’s the co-pilot, the second-in-command, and she unites side by side with whoever the hell needs another pistol in the fight.
But I hesitate to say no to my brother because… “That’s something a wing-woman would do?”
Banks nods. “Fuck yeah.”
Goddammit.
Fuck Tony. “I need to talk to Jane.” I send her another text about meeting at the sports bar. “I don’t even know where she is.” Last we checked in, she was taking Ophelia and Licorice to get annual shots, but that was hours ago. Way before I got off-duty.
Banks glances at my radio. “Any intel over comms?”
I drop my voice another octave as more people pack around the wooden bar. Mounted televisions play football, drowning out our conversation. “Other than Eliot and Tom heading to Philly tonight, it’s been quiet on Epsilon’s line.”
It’d be easier if Tony Ramella were an Omega bodyguard. Akara, the Omega lead, would know where he is, and I could just ask him. But there’s a problem with that:
I fucked Akara over, and we’re not speaking. My fucking fault.
I thread my fingers through my brown hair. “There’s no chance SFE will tell me Tony’s AO if I ask.” Epsilon were my men, and very few respect me after I slept with a client.
I’m Farrow 2.0 in their eyes.
Banks touches his waistband for his radio, but it’s not there. He left it back in the car since he’s off-duty.
Once Xander was in for the night, I got off-duty too. Not long ago, I drove Xander home after a boxing session at Studio 9. The kid still wants to fight, even after his dad told him, “Not over my dead decaying body.”