Thatcher doesn’t blink. His stern eyes speak words that are hidden somewhere in my mind. “You think Akara makes more exceptions for me than he does for you? He’ll let you off the hook a thousand times in any ass-backwards, shit-fucked direction.”
I’m about to shake my head.
“Banks, he’s seen you flirt with her and what’s he done about it?”
Alright, my brother has a point.
But I drag my gaze towards the rotting trash in the dumpster, then to the motel room where Charlie, Jane, and Maximoff have left. They’re talking and walking to their parked rental cars.
We watch them intently. Really, my brother is watching Jane. But he doesn’t move a muscle because Farrow, Oscar, and Akara are in range to protect her. Still, we go quiet. Hawk-eyeing their surroundings from afar, our vigilant gazes sweep the outside of the motel.
No threats that I can see or hear.
Sulli didn’t leave with her cousins.
She must still be in the room, and I watch as Maximoff gestures Farrow over.
Careful with a sleeping baby in his arms, Farrow slings a trauma bag over his shoulder, then heads to the motel.
I stare at the door. Worried about her foot, the scorpion sting. Fuck, I forgot the washcloth in the fucking sink. I didn’t even do what Farrow recommended to help decrease the swelling.
I would’ve remembered. If her cousins hadn’t arrived, I would’ve remembered.
And the longer I stare at the closed door, the more I remember my kiss with Sulli.
How it started with her challenge to prove it, and I wouldn’t trade anything…except maybe the location. For her sake.
“God, I feel like a real jackass kissing her in a motel,” I mutter out loud. It’s not the same feeling I had when I kissed other girls in a motel. They deserved more too, but I was a broke-as-hell teenager back then. A motel room was the tippy-top of what I could actually give, and so it felt like everything.
Looking back to Thatcher, I go rigid.
His face is contorting in a series of emotions—and finally I see that he lands on utter, suffocating concern. For me.
Tendons pull taut in my body. Pain bears on my chest.
“You really like her,” Thatcher repeats what I said earlier, but with more awareness of the true depth of my affection for Sulli. His concern keeps amassing. “Banks—”
“I know.” I’m unblinking now, drilling my gaze into him. Please don’t say it.
“She’s going to choose him.”
“I know,” I whisper back, eyes burning. Throat swelling. “Once Akara comes around, it’s game over for me. But right now, who knows what’s going on in his head?” I lift my shoulders again. “Come what fucking may.”
“Come what fucking may,” Thatcher repeats into a shake of his head. “Your fucking motto works on days you’re shifted between three clients without so much as a thank you or a five-minute warning. Come what fucking may isn’t what you’ll be saying when you’re watching her with Akara and having to stand off to the side.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“It’s not going to be fine,” Thatcher whisper-growls now. “You’re setting yourself up for a damn suicide mission. And I’m going to have to pick up the pieces.”
“Then I’ll ask someone else to do that.” I smack the back of my hand against his chest. “Take it off your hands.” I cock my head with a fleeting smile. Trying to add some levity to the quicksand my brother believes I’m stepping in.
I love living life on my toes. So quicksand of any type is a fucking fear—being pulled so deep under that I can’t crawl out and move.
Thatcher has trouble smiling on a normal occasion, so drawing one from him now is next to impossible. He’s keyed to a Protect Banks function.
He lets out an angered breath. “Just reconsider where you’re going. It’s not too late to change course. You only kissed once. The deeper you get, the worse it’ll be coming back up for air. I promise you that.” His gaze subtly shifts to Jane.
He’s thinking about her.
But there wasn’t another man waiting in the wings for Jane. His biggest competition was himself. Thatcher Alessio Moretti vs. His Duty.
I’m in a different gladiator match. Unsurprisingly. Thatcher and I take shots at life from different angles, different distances and speeds. Our battles were never gonna be the same.
It’s not too late to change course.
I bob my head a few times. His eyes on my eyes as I tell him, “I’m not going backwards.”
His pained glare hits the night sky.
I’m setting myself up for misery. “I’ll take whatever time I have with her,” I tell him. “Whether it’s a week, two weeks—hell, it could be a year or three. Maybe it’ll be the best three years of my life.”
All I know is that I’d rather crawl hands-and-knees towards a future where Sulli exists than hit reverse and never know what it’s like to be with her.
Either I’m masochistic or an even bigger dumbass, but I’m willing to be both.
“Can you think longer about this?” Thatcher pleads. “Take a day or two.”
He leads with his brain.
I lead with my heart.
After a breath, I nod stiffly, but thing is, I already made my choice. “Got it.”
Thatcher lets out a long sigh, knowing I’m taking his advice and tossing it into the dumpster beside us. Our attention veers over to the sound of crunching gravel. Jane has left SFO behind with the parked rental cars and strolls over to us.
“Don’t tell her—don’t tell anyone,” I whisper quickly to Thatcher.
He brushes a tensed hand over his mouth. His gaze on his fiancée.
“Thatcher.”
“Okay.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, drops his hand. “Okay.” He nods more than once.
“Thank you.” The words barely get out before Jane reaches us.
“Well, you two don’t look suspicious at all,” Jane notes, digging through her pumpkin-shaped purse that hangs on the crook of her elbow. “Just two men lurking in the shadows of a one-star motel.”
I weave my arms. “Practicing for Halloween early. Figured we could be ghosts.”
Her brow rises. Christ, Jane has a way of staring through you. Like my intentions are tattooed from my forehead to my ass-cheeks. “Can you take care of this for me?” She suddenly turns and asks Thatcher, passing him a slip of paper from her purse. The digression almost puts me in a cold sweat.
Thatcher eyes the paper.
“What is it?” I ask.
Jane speaks fast. “The car service that your family is adamant I use for the wedding. I want to hire drivers to pick up guests from Philly to the venue in Newtown Square.”
The castle-like venue is a stone-built, historic mansion only a half-hour from Philly. When I first saw pictures, I told Thatcher, “It’s perfect, Cinderella.”
He shoved my arm but actually smiled.
But I haven’t heard about the car service drama yet. “It’s Uncle Dino’s business,” I say to Jane. “He’s family, so they want you to hire family.”
“But he won’t answer the phone,” Jane says strongly. “It’s driving me mad.” She looks more stressed than usual.
Dealing with our family can have that effect. Love ‘em, but all together, we’re like a stampede of stallions. Rambunctious, too chaotic and too stubborn.
Thatcher notices her tension. “I have this, honey. Anything related to my family, let me handle.”
She sighs. “I was hoping to stay more in contact with wedding details so they felt like I was including them. Especially after how upset your grandparents are with me.”
“Us,” he corrects.
Jane nods. “Us.”
The last big family meltdown happened when our grandparents on our dad’s side heard Thatcher and Jane aren’t marrying in a Catholic church.
I’m partly grateful I’m not heading for matrimony like Thatcher. I already have literal migraines every other fucking
day. I’d rather not add in a figurative one.
“You’re already doing enough,” Thatcher assures her. He comes up behind her and wraps an arm around her collar, then places a kiss on her temple.
Her freckled cheeks pull in a smile, then she leans against his chest and holds onto his forearm at her breastbone.
It makes me smile because I’ve wanted someone for my brother. Someone he loves more than me. So maybe if I die first, it won’t hurt him so badly.
Thatcher stares harder in my eyes, and I know he’d want the same for me. But I also know he’d call me a stunad for thinking our bond could be contested. What we share is just different.
It always will be.
“I didn’t forget, you realize,” Jane says to me.
“Forget what?” I ask, trying not to break into another cold sweat.
“You and Sullivan, my cousin,” Jane emphasizes, letting go of Thatcher’s arm. She tears from his embrace just to step closer to me. “I think she quite likes you.”
I eye Jane like she’s eyeing me. Cobalts. They all must be descendants of Sherlock fucking Holmes. “Well, I quite like her.”
Jane instantly smiles. “Then do something about it.”
Thatcher exhales a heavy breath. “Akara loves her, Jane.”
Her eyes grow. “Since when?”
“It’s unspoken,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “This isn’t leaving the three of us.”
“Oui,” Jane nods. “Can I help in any way?”
A phone pings. Thatcher digs his cell out.
I shake my head to Jane. There’s nothing she can do. Sulli and I just need to confess to Akara that we kissed and then go from there.
Thatcher texts someone. He must feel me and Jane staring because he says, “It’s Donnelly.”
I shift my weight. “Is Xander alright?” Xander has had Donnelly as a bodyguard for almost a whole year. Not a week goes by where I’m not thinking about that kid.
“Yeah, he went to Wawa tonight.”
I start to smile. That must be the tenth time he’s gone to Wawa this month. Donnelly is good for the kid, and I could be a resentful asshat about it. Thinking that maybe I wasn’t doing enough for Xander when I was on his detail.
But Thatcher and I protected him during a time in his life where he lacked confidence, sought shelter indoors, and feared most people. A time where he was losing his brother to college. He needed us to be big brothers. Not cool friends.
Thatcher continues, “Donnelly is letting me know he’s going off-duty.” He hoists his phone, reminding me he’s out of comms-range with the two Omega bodyguards back in Philly: Paul Donnelly and Quinn Oliveira. As the lead, my brother has to know our whereabouts and wrangle all our asses.
I crack a smile. “My twin brother, from Cinderella to Adventures in Babysitting.”
Thatcher glares more at his phone. “And Quinn is the long-lost child I can’t fucking find.” He shoves his cell in his pocket. “It’s too much to ask for him to send me a text letting me know where he’s fucking off to. I have no idea where he’s been today. Luna could be in a fucking ditch.”
Now he’s stressed out.
Jane whips out her phone. “I’ll text her and see what she’s up to.”
They’re a good team.
It’s my last thought before I spot Farrow and Maximoff exiting the motel room. Is Sulli okay? The single question pushes me off in their direction.
Nodding to my brother in a quick see ya, I sprint over to Farrow while he’s mid-conversation. Straining my ears, I pick up some on my way.
“You have the keys?” Maximoff asks his husband. “I’m driving next.”
“You sure about that?” Farrow smiles, shifting the strap of his trauma bag.
“Let me think.” Maximoff barely pauses (the Hale sarcasm, I know well). “Yep. I’m over-my-dead-body positive. We agreed to switch off.”
“Okay, but I only drove for two hours. I’ll swap later, and you have something in your hair, wolf scout.”
Maximoff lets out a laugh, like he foiled Farrow’s master distraction plan. “No I don’t.”
Farrow runs his tongue over his bottom lip, grinning. “I’m not fucking with you. You have something in your hair.”
“My bionic superpower is all-seeing, and I see that there’s a bucket load of nothing there.”
Farrow smiles more. “Just when I forgot how big of a dork you really a—”
“You check out Sulli’s foot?” I interrupt the very second I roll up in front of them. Causing them to stop abruptly in place.
Farrow eyes me with raised brows, like I’m a bat flapping hysterically out of hell. “Yeah, her foot is fine. She’ll live.”
Maximoff slips me a tougher look. The don’t hurt my cousin warning is something I’ve seen him shoot more at my brother. I just now realize he’s holding his son.
Ripley isn’t sleeping anymore. The baby rubs his tired, blue eyes, his cheek on Maximoff’s chest.
I nod, “Thanks.”
Farrow frowns. “Why are you acting like you stung her, Moretti?”
Maximoff tenses. “Did you do something—?”
“No,” I cut in sharply. “I didn’t exactly do a knockout job helping her with the swelling. I just wanted to make sure she’s okay.”
Her cousin eases a bit. “She’s alright. Sulli is tough.”
I nod, “Yeah, she is.”
I kissed her.
I kissed her.
We fucking kissed. I bite down on my molars, hoping the truth isn’t raging through my eyes like it’s raging through my head.
I can handle this.
Hell, I’ve got this. Yeah, it’s fresh on the brain—it literally just happened and I’ve already spilled to Thatcher—but this news can’t be that hard to shelter. I’ve done a twin-switch before and pretended to be my brother for weeks on end. Now that was fucked up and impossible.
“You took a shower with her?” Maximoff asks suddenly.
“No,” I say. “I took one after her.” At least I’m not lying. He might only be twenty-four, but this third-degree feels like he’s her fifty-year-old father grilling my ass.
So I step out of their faces, and we all head for the same place. The rental cars where Oscar, Charlie, and Akara still talk.
On our trek, Farrow plucks a leaf out of Maximoff’s hair. He shows his husband. “You were saying?”
“I saw that,” Maximoff replies, trying to suppress a smile.
Farrow keeps smiling until Maximoff breaks his composure. Keeping pace, Farrow cups the back of Maximoff’s head, bringing him closer as they walk. Slipping each other affectionate smiles.
They have that storybook love.
What I used to call sentimental, sappy romance when I was a kid.
Attainable for only few. Like my Cinderella brother.
Maybe I thought of love as a storybook because it seemed unreal. Something I never had. Something I couldn’t grasp because I’d trip before reaching the door.
And the love I saw as a child was destroyed by a toxic divorce. One that ripped through my family like shrapnel. Sometimes I still feel the ache inside me, metal lodged underneath my skin.
Storybook love.
Now that I’m older, I know it’s just another word for soul mate. What the lucky few will find in their lifetime.
At least my brother found his.
I look up at the star-blanketed sky. Wondering if I should ask a higher being or my other brother if I’m meant for more.
My other brother.
I almost roll my eyes at myself. Love and hate tumbles through me in a nauseous mixture. Skylar is a sore subject, even in my fucking head.
“You okay, Banks?” Akara asks as we come up.
I must look how I feel. Christ, his concern puts a pit in my gut. For more than one reason. If I even mentioned the name Skylar, Akara wouldn’t know who the hell I’m talking about.
No one except Jane would.
The death of my older brot
her is long-forgotten. So buried that it never even leaked online when Thatcher got more famous.
Memories might fade, but his memory is still there. Wreaking havoc on me.
I love that Jane knows about him because I never had to vocalize the story. Never had to drudge up the history. Thatcher did all the work, and I reaped all the benefits.
Having someone else know is a weight off my chest. Some days it’s even a comfort.
Right now—staring at Akara—the second pit in my stomach is heavier.
I kissed Sulli.
“Yeah, I’m alright.” I cross my arms, scanning the parking lot.
I kissed Sulli. Fuck, I want to tell him.
Meeting this impact now and not later sounds way fucking better.
I kissed Sulli.
I uncross my arms. “You about ready?” I motion with my head to the motel room.
Akara nods, clasps Oscar’s hand in a goodbye.
“Wait, before you go,” Maximoff says to us. “We have a ton of extra food you should take for the car ride. We overbought.”
“Moffy overbought,” Jane corrects, approaching with Thatcher by her side.
“Overprepared,” Farrow chimes in, then explains to Akara. “We have about two hundred cups of applesauce. Ripley won’t finish all of it, and we need to make room.”
“We’ll take it,” Akara says. “Saves us from stopping constantly. We’ll make better time on the road.”
In the next few minutes, they wrap up to leave. Maximoff hands me a heavy grocery bag of applesauce cups and snack-sized packs of Teddy Grahams.
I hug my twin brother. “See you on the other side.”
Thatcher hugs tighter. “Stay on comms.”
“Is that my brother speaking or my lead?”
“Both.”
“Right on, right on,” I smile. It’s okay, Thatcher. I speak the words through my gaze. He’ll understand. He always does.
Thatcher nods stiffly.
I’ll be okay.
I have to believe I’m headed towards something good and beautiful. I’m headed towards her, aren’t I?
Soon, their cars are kicking up dirt and gravel. Leaving me alone with Akara. It’d be easier to tell him about the kiss right now. Not have a second where I’m keeping anything from him. But I understand why Sulli needs to do it, too. It’s the same reason I have to. We care too much about Akara. Simple as that.
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