by Finn, Emilia
“I’m in love with Spencer,” she whispers. “I know that’s going to make you mad, and I know you’re going to shout at me about it. But you don’t know him the way I do, and my love is true and real, and I’d rather you know and approve, than make me hide it away and act like it’s something to be ashamed of.” She pauses for a moment before adding, “I’m not ashamed of my love. And I refuse to bow down under that pressure, all to make you feel more comfortable.”
“This dude at Luc’s party,” I begin. “He, uh, he said that Spence is a cool dude. Loyal, protective, and formidable.”
“He’s all of those things.” Her voice cracks. “He’s also strong, and sure. Confident, but not unbending. He’s sweet, Mitchell. He’s gentle, and kind, and he lives a life with all of these strong, scary friends, but they don’t scare me. God knows they should. But I’m not new to having large men in my life, and I realized through you guys that these men, no matter how big and scary they look, all have a marshmallow inside. You just have to search for it.”
“Jay Bishop calls you Red, huh? He’s your bro now?”
She chokes out a soft laugh. “He’s not in my speed dial or anything. But he’s my pal. When he’s around,” she finishes on a sigh.
“He’s away with Spence? Traveling for work?”
“Yeah.” She exhales. “Kane’s here, though. And Jess brings the twins into the shop regularly.”
“And Spence?”
“Calls me every single day,” she answers quietly. “He calls, he texts, he FaceTimes, and Checkmate Security put cameras all over the shop on Spencer’s orders.”
My temper spikes—it’s habit, I swear. A habit I’ll work on changing. “So he can stalk you?”
She scoffs. “It’s hardly stalking if I’m the one who calls him five times a day. He loves me too, Mitchell.” She’s back to whispering, as though afraid of my blowup. “He loves me. He’s a good man. And when he comes home, I’m still going to date him. I might even kiss him in front of you sometime, purely to torment you.”
“Argh! Abby, no!”
She snickers. “I’d really like for you to get on board with this eventually. Because every day that you don’t, you break my heart.”
“And if I don’t?” Luc spins his board in dangerously fast circles, ten feet from my head. “What then, Abby?”
She thinks on that for a moment. Hums under her breath. “Well, if I must, then I’ll choose family every time.”
“Well that’s not so b—”
“The family I want to make with him,” she inserts before I can finish. “I may never have his babies, Mitchell. But that doesn’t mean he and I can’t make a family together. It doesn’t mean I deserve to be alone for the rest of my life.”
“Jesus.” The hand that was resting on my belly now rubs circles against my chest. “Abigail. That was a bullseye.”
“I don’t mean to hurt you,” she whimpers. “But my heart wants what my heart wants. I love him, and when he comes home, he’ll be coming home to me.”
“You just went and grew up on me, huh? No thought or care for my heart?”
She gives a watery chuckle, then sniffles so I see her in my mind, wiping a tissue under her nose. “Lots of thought and care for your heart. But then Spencer came along, and my heart started beating a new tune. I cannot ignore it, Mitchell. I can’t let this go right now.”
“Right now?” I know I’m cherry-picking her words and applying my own meaning—and pushing my luck—but I say it anyway. “So you’re saying there’s still a chance you won’t work out?”
“Ha.” I feel like I can hear her eyeroll. “Maybe I should date Jay Bishop? He’s not yet married. How do you feel about that?”
“Somehow, my sister dating a Bishop feels less desirable than her dating Serrano. At least there’s only one of Spence, right? No surprise brothers?”
“No brothers,” she giggles. “Single mom, single child, no skeletons in the closet.”
“Are you gonna marry him, Cadabby?”
“Am I…” She chokes on her words, and stumbles over a million retorts. “What?”
“Marriage. Are you going to marry him? It’s a simple question.”
“Well, sheesh!” she exclaims on a squeak. “I don’t know. We’re not that far into this yet. Give me a minute to adapt to having a boyfriend at all before you break out the crystal champagne glasses.”
“I wanna be there,” I cut in. “Wherever, whenever. When you say I do, I want to be there. No takebacks.”
“You’re just…” Abby’s shaking breath hits my ear. “You made it a million times scarier. Why would you do that, Mitchell?”
“If it’s right, it shouldn’t be scary.” Am I talking to Abby now, or Nadia? “If it’s meant to be, then the idea of marriage shouldn’t be such a kick in the butt.”
“Says the eternal bachelor,” she grumbles. “Where’s your wife, Mitchell? Where’s your wedding and white picket fence?”
“I… uh…” Alcohol. It’s the only excuse I have for loose lips. “Well… I like someone, Cadabby. I like her a lot.”
“I wondered if you did,” she murmurs, and though I can’t see her, I’m certain I hear a smile in her voice. “You’ve been grumpier than usual, and for a while there, you weren’t around as much.”
“I’ve been around!”
“This time last year, we were eating dinner together six nights a week,” she taunts. “This year, it’s more like three.”
“You’re always on my case about being around too much!” My arguments are useless, but still, my drunk brain insists I try. “You say don’t come around, so I don’t come around. Now you’re complaining I’m not around often enough?”
“Sure, Mitchell.” She laughs. “Put it on me and pretend I was the reason you were skipping dinners to hang with your lady friend.” She pauses for a moment with a soft chuckle on her breath. “You gonna bring her home any time soon? If it’s meant to be, then meeting the family shouldn’t be scary, right?”
“Heh.” I stare up at the starlit sky and breathe. “Maybe it’s not meant to be for us. Or maybe it is, but I have my own shit to work through first.”
“Cussing,” Abby admonishes. “And yeah… maybe. It’s clear you have issues that stem from our childhood. It’s funny, I was actually talking to Nadia about something similar recently.”
“You were… Nadia?” My heart gives a heavy knock against my diaphragm. “You were talking about me?”
“Well, we were talking about all of you guys,” she says. “It was a while ago, and I was saying how I want my brothers to marry good women and settle down.”
“Wow.” I bite down on the million things I want to say, starting with ‘You were discussing marriage with Nadia?’ and ending with ‘Did she sound into it?’. Instead, I go with, “Okay. What about it?”
“So, I was saying how Troy needs someone who will bring him home, and Nix needs someone who might encourage him to try for a safer career.”
“Oh geez, Ab—”
She laughs. “Nadia schooled me on the fact I was shopping for women who will ‘save’ my brothers, and she might have said something about how it’s not a woman’s job to be a rehab facility for his problems.”
Fuckkkkk. “She said that?”
“Something along those lines,” she giggles. “She was a little harsh in what she said, but I can’t say she was wrong. And that…” she ponders. “Is why Nadia was the perfect person for me to hire at the shop. She doesn’t sugarcoat things when it’s important they’re said. Sometimes, even if she can be a little short-tempered and snappy about it, what she says is a bullseye.”
“Yeah… I guess.” My heart aches, and my brain swirls. “Who knew Nadia Reynolds could be so clever, huh?”
“Oh please! I wish you and her had hit it off better, ya know? The constant bickering gives me a headache when I’m trying to work.”
Just tell her! Tell Abby you’re in love with her assistant.
Thankfully, before my
drunk brain can open a can of worms, a beep comes across our call for us both to hear.
“Oh! That’s my other line,” Abby says. “I have to go, M—”
“Swear to god, Cadabby, if you hang up on me so you can talk to Serrano, I’m going to disown you.”
“Sorry not sorry. Love you, Mitchell!”
And then she’s gone. She hangs up on me so I’m left lying on the grass with an early-onset hangover, a stomach that swirls with dread and maybe a little reflux, and a woman at home—at her home—waiting for me to fix myself.
Because it’s not her job to be my rehab facility.
“Fuck.”
Pulling my phone away from my ear and battling fatigue to bring it around so I can see the screen, I open up my text box, find her name, and start typing.
Nadiaaaaaaaaa. I heard you. The bit about my trauma and drama and all the other words that end in a. I’m working on me, and I’m thinking about you while I do it. Also, I’m a little drunk, and I learned how to skateboard tonight. Don’t ask Luc for the video. It’s not as funny as he’ll have you believe. I’m not booty callin’. Swear. I’m just… thinking of you, and I wanted you to know it, and I did it in text, so there’s no pressure for you to say anything back.
I miss your face, and the saddest bit is, I saw it today. It makes me sad that I have to pretend we’re… ya know… not even pals.
Did you know Abigail and Jay Bishop are pals? What the hell alternate-universe kinda dumbfuckery is that?
But, ya know what? We’re not gonna talk about my sister right now.
I talked to her about Spencer, just so you know. She told me she loves him, and he loves her, and they’re never gonna make babies… and though, in theory, the impossibility of her and him and babies should bring me some kind of relief, what it really is, is fuckin’ sad. ‘Cuz she wants so bad to be a mom. Not yet, I know, ‘cuz she’s young. But soon. She’s getting old enough soon to be a mom. And she can’t. And I know that makes her sad.
And look, you just made us talk about Abby again, when I said I wouldn’t.
Me and you… huh. Me… and… you…
I miss you. And I know the L word scares you, but it is what it is. I love you, and, Nadia, swear to Christ, I tried to turn it off. Turns out, you can’t. So I’m over here, loving someone who won’t love me back, but I’m using my time productively, working on me and all that. This text isn’t to be a dick to you, I don’t wanna make you mad. But being terrified of loving someone, all because your mom loved too many, is perhaps your own trauma thing to work on.
Let’s just… you know, work on our shit separately. And when we’re both smiling again, maybe we could come back together and try again. I won’t attempt to control everything, and you won’t pretend you don’t love me back. And maybe, eventually, things’ll work out. And if they don’t, then I’ll spend the rest of my life bickering with you in the shop and giving Abby a headache.
“Rosa!”
I pull my thumb away from the text box, and glance across to Luc standing at the top of a cement halfpipe. The front eighty percent of his skateboard is suspended in the air, while his left foot sits on the very back and keeps him and the board in one piece.
“Put the phone away and get over here. I wanna show you how to smash your brain open, but in a really cool way.”
Snorting, I bring my phone back up and keep typing.
Luc wants me to skate again. So I’m gonna go. His friend Angelo kinda scares me a little. He seems quiet and kind, but there’s somethin’ in his eyes, Mooch. Something that evolution tells me not to mess with. So since he’s staring at me with those eyes, and I’m over here on the grass, dragging Luc’s party down, I guess this is my stop.
I’m gonna skate some more, and maybe break my leg. And then tomorrow, we’ll be back in the rig, saving lives and making enemies. My boss is still an asshole, btw. And James Evans is still giving me a hard time. But it’ll work out. It always does.
Love you, Nadia. I’m gonna say it, and I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. It’s just… in my family, if you love someone, you tell them. Keeping it to yourself just doesn’t make sense.
So, love you. Have a good night. And I’ll see you around.
If I come into the shop tomorrow, maybe you could be considerate of the hangover I’ll be carrying. It’s gonna hurt, so maybe tone down your snark. I’m only a man, a mortal, and your tongue is sharp.
Knowing Luc is getting impatient, and Angelo is going to tear my face off soon, I finally hit send, toss my phone down onto the grass, then I push to my feet and snigger when I sway.
Yep, Nadia’s tongue is sharp. But I also know what it feels like wrapped around my cock.
“Dude!” Luc cackles as I stumble onto the smooth concrete. “Don’t be walking my way when you’re popping a tent.”
I look down my body and find my cock pointing straight forward in my pants. “Oops.”
“Put that shit away!” Alex laughs. “You’re making it weird.”
23
Nadia
Roses Are Red
“Oh. My. God.” Frustrated, Arlo throws her hands in the air and turns to the coffee machine with a huff of impatience.
I sit at my counter, coffee cup by my elbow, and my phone clutched between both hands. And in my pyjama best, with messy hair and morning breath, I stare at the text I’ve read and reread a thousand times since it arrived a little more than two weeks ago.
He loves me.
He’s working on himself.
He acknowledges his sister is in love.
And he called me out on my own shit.
“Just call him.” Arlo mashes her thumb against the coffee machine and barely functions enough to get through her life before caffeine. She’s young, fit, hot, and not a complete airhead, but pre-coffee, she’s one step below the crap that sticks to the bottom of a boat.
And my morning brain can’t remember the word for that.
“Seriously, Nadia. Stop staring at a text message like a creep and expecting it to change. Or expand.” She grabs a mug from the cabinet and slams the door shut again. “Or reach out and give your insecure ass a hug.”
“You’re mean in the morning.”
“I’m the realest person you know in this world. I see you pouting, okay? I see your extra ice cream consumption.” She whips blonde hair back over her shoulder with a silent threat to chop it all off if it continues to get between her and coffee. “Everyone knows you’re in love with the guy. He’s your Romeo. You’re his Clair de Lune.”
“And you are seriously confused when you haven’t had coffee.”
“You know what I mean!” she snaps. “Romance, love, yadda yadda yadda. He’s not coming around no more, you miss him, you wish he would come back. Blah blah freakin’ blah.”
“You have such a way with words,” I grumble. “You’re unbelievably in touch with your sensitive side.”
“Shut the fuck up. I was raised by a narcissist. I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances.”
Chuckling at her brutal honesty, I set my phone to the side and switch it out for coffee.
Arlo is… well, my friend again. She’s taking up residence in my home. Washing my dishes sometimes. Leaving her bras hanging on my doorknobs and being a general pain in the ass that I’ve somehow become a babysitter for.
But… I like it. I like having her here. I like knowing she’s more like her mother than I gave her credit for. I like knowing Tracey didn’t lose everything when she lost her family. And I like having someone to eat ice cream with.
So sue me.
“I miss him,” I finally admit, though of course, it surprises no one here. “I miss him more than I thought I would, and I know that, really, there’s no genuine reason for either of us to hurt.”
“Pride, Nadia. Gets the best of us. How about you go over to his workplace today, drop to your knees, and s—”
“Arlo!” I scold. “You are not old enough to speak that way! What the ever lovin
g—”
“Say sorry.” Smirking, she brings her freshly poured coffee to her lips and sniggers behind the mug. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“You’re grounded.” I snatch up my phone, my coffee, and push to my feet, then I make my way to the door with plans to head upstairs. “I don’t care how old you are, I don’t even care that I’m not your mother. I don’t care about any damn thing, because you’re filthy, and I can’t in good conscience approve of that.”
“I wasn’t being dirty!” she shouts at my back as I walk away. “That was your own filthy mind projecting onto me. I’m just a child, Nadia! You’re a terrible influence.”
“Grounded!” I repeat when my feet hit the first stair and begin carrying me up. “Two weeks, no phone, no takeout, no Netflix.”
“Speaking of which, who ate the last of the Thai?” The sound of a slamming fridge follows me up the stairs. “I was saving that for breakfast.”
That would be our squatter. But out loud, I shout, “That was me. And it was my pre-emptive attack on your grounding. Next time, you’ll be less gross. Go to church or somethin’!”
“Go put on something naughty,” she tosses back. “Then visit your doctor friend. Maybe it’ll help you be less grouchy.”
“He’s not a doctor!”
“But can he say the alphabet with his tongue on your v—”
“Arlo!”
Scandalized, I slam my door shut and face Milo as he lazily drapes across my unmade bed. His golden eyes flicker open despite my shouting and door-slamming, then when he decides I’m boring and come with no snacks, he closes them again and promptly goes back to sleep.
“I’m not going to Mitchell’s workplace,” I grumble… and search through my panty drawer. “I refuse to go to him. No way. I need to stand my ground and not be the reason he has a backslide in his journey of recovery and self-discovery…” I pick up a black lace bra and frantically search for the matching panties. “Dammit, Mitchell Rosa. Why do I hate to love you?”