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.”
Xander asked Farrow, Banks, and me to convince his parents to let him box again, and we agreed to be his advocates and to keep training him if he made a promise to stick to throwing punches in the ring. Or else, we’re out.
The only reason we’re not siding with his parents is because we all know how much boxing can help Xander feel empowered. Especially in situations where he feels helpless.
My brother leans back, realizing he has no radio on him.
“They wouldn’t have responded to you anyway, Banks.” My eyes sear, hating this part of being an identical twin. I slide a grave look to him. “My sins are your sins.”
He bites harder on the toothpick. “Not everyone is a knucklefuck who treats us like one person.”
“Not everyone is Akara,” I sling back since Akara is still speaking to my brother.
A rock lodges in my throat. I want to unburden Akara after the hole I sunk him in with the other leads, but I’m not in charge. I can’t help him anymore, and not being able to do anything of worth—that fucking suffocates.
I swallow hard.
Banks points to my radio. “Let’s just see. Pretend to be me and ask Epsilon for intel on comms. We practically have the same voice.” They won’t be able to tell the difference.
I nod once, and I click the mic at my collar. “Banks to Epsilon, anyone know Tony’s AO?” I ask for his area of operations.
Static crackles in my ear.
And then the Epsilon lead cuts in, “Not your business, Banks.”
I glare at the wall. Jon Sinclair shouldn’t be dismissing my brother that quickly. Banks protects Maximoff Hale often, and Maximoff is close to Jane. My brother should be able to ask about Jane’s new bodyguard.
“Fucking horseshit,” I mutter under my breath, switching a knob to Omega’s frequency. I tell my brother what happened.
Banks exhales his irritation out, pissed.
“Excuse me?”
Our heads turn as a middle-aged woman leans on a stool and taps the bar counter near me. Skin sags on her face, teeth yellowed. She reminds me of a neighbor we used to have who smoked three packs a day.
The sports bar is crammed with South Philly locals.
She gestures between me and Banks. “Are you two twins?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we say automatically.
Her face lights up. “And you spoke at the same time!” She laughs.
I try to remember this is routine. Before we even stepped
through the doors, we were asked the same thing. Twice.
It’s aggravating me since I’m not in a great fucking mood. Banks ignores her completely and orders a beer. Leaving me to handle this interaction, which usually I don’t mind. It’s how we operate.
I lead.
He follows.
“How old are you two?” She places a hand on my forearm. “Do you do the same thing for work?”
Apologize. Move out. I start, “Sorry but we’re—”
“Mom,” a young girl cuts me off and whispers to the woman. We make eye contact, and quickly, she averts her gaze and blushes.
On any day, I’m intimidating, but I bet I’m glaring into every ring of hell right now. I rub my face, then drop my arm to my side.
Where are you, Jane?
I glance at the door that creaks open, an old man filing in and patting his buddies on the shoulders near a dirtied high-top table. I stay alert and keep track of movement in the bar. Habit. There aren’t famous ones here I need to protect.
Not yet.
She’s not here yet.
“Paige, look, they’re twins.” She beams at her daughter. “Aren’t they handsome?”
“Mom,” Paige hisses, eyes popping. “They’re the Moretti brothers.” People at the bar start to overhear and plaster their gazes on us.
But the one thing we’re used to is staring.
“The who?” her mom asks.
“They’re the bodyguards to the Hale, Meadows, and Cobalt families—and Thatcher is dating Jane Cobalt.” Paige speaks in a nervous rush.
Banks rotates to me. “You want something?” The bartender is still in front of us, waiting for me to order.
I nod. “I’ll take a water.”
Banks frowns slightly at me. He must’ve thought I’d order a beer. We speak in short glances, and I give him a look like, I’m still staying sober. He knows why.
A target broke into the townhouse last month, and with no evidence, it’s becoming more probable that we won’t know who broke in until a second attempt happens.
I have to be vigilant. I can’t lose sight of what matters. Of who matters. Everyone in that townhouse.
The intruder could’ve been Nate.
It could’ve been a stalker.
I don’t know who—I just have to be ready for them.
“Water?” the bartender repeats and assesses me with a long, incredulous stroke. His snide tone puts me on edge.
“Yeah,” I say concretely. “Water.”
He wipes his hands on a towel. “You aren’t gonna find sparkling water here.”
“We’re from here.” I scowl, acid running in the back of my throat. I’d take a punching bag and gloves right about now. Nothing grates on me like people trying to shove me out of the place where I grew up.
This is my fucking home. I’m South Philly born and bred.
“Doesn’t look like it to me.” He tosses his towel aside.
I don’t break his gaze. “Tap is fine.”
He quirks his brow. “You’re with a Cobalt, aren’t you? You’re probably drinkin’ some gold-infused sparkling water seven days a week.”
I glare, unblinking. What makes him think I’d tell him anything about the Cobalts?
“My brother doesn’t drink bougie water,” Banks says coldly to the bartender.
Banks has always thought even knock-off brand bottled water is bougie. Which he knows I drink a fuck ton of, so he’s just trying to push the bartender off my ass.
Somewhere on the other side of the packed bar, a man shouts, “Yeah, he’s just been fuckin’ a bougie girl!”
My narrowed eyes swerve and find the voice. Grease stains his white shirt, his middle-aged face weather-beaten and antagonizing.
He leers over the bar. “Women around here aren’t good enough for you? You gotta go eat that expensive pus—”
“You want your head inside your asshole, keep fucking talking,” I growl, blood coursing hot through my veins.
Banks chews his toothpick and stands threateningly off the stool. His arms crossing over his firm chest.
The guy looks between us and our towering heights and cut builds. His smile recedes with a breathy laugh, and then he raises his hands. “Just sayin’ what everyone is thinking.”
Banks says frostily, “No one asked you.”
He opens his mouth again, but people nearby yell at him to shut up and just drink. We all reroute our attention, and the bartender slides an ale to my brother and a glass of tap water to me.
Banks sinks back onto the stool. “What a fucking stunad.”
I nod, knowing he’s calling him a drunk idiot. I check my phone.
No new messages.
Charlie hasn’t replied. With a rough hand, I rub my sore jaw that I’ve been clenching. I push back some apprehension and grip my glass of water.
Banks has been waiting for Friday Night Fight to start, a pro-wrestling match that plays weekly. But as I look at the TV, entertainment news airs first with some blonde hotshot, Hollywood-looking anchor—and the current topic is me.
I can’t look away.
JANE COBALT & HER BODYGUARD BOYFRIEND – HAVE THEY SPLIT?
Fake.
Rumor.
Still, I’m reading the slow closed captions with a knot in my throat.
Where is… Thatcher Moretti? Fans are wondering… why Jane Cobalt… has a new bodyguard. Trouble… might be brewing between the… 23-yr-old American princess… and her towering, rugged protector… make that ex-protector.
This November, Jane has barely… been spotted with Moretti in public. If you thought they’d head down the altar… before Maximoff & Farrow… maybe you should… rethink your bet.
I stop reading, and I take a tense sip of water. “I’m fine,” I say, sensing Banks staring. I try to pack away most ass-backwards, eye-roll-inducing commentary from the media, but this one slices at the neck.
Because it’s not all wrong.
I hang onto a fact: I’d rather take a million strangers critiquing me than have Jane take the unwarranted, toxic rage they shoot. Even when she’s used to this shit.
Banks swigs his beer. “Ever since you’ve switched details, you two really haven’t spent much time together in public.”
“I realize that.” I set down the water with accidental force, the glass clanking harshly.
“And that vacation next month to wherever Maximoff and Farrow pick, you won’t be with Jane then either.”
I give him a hard look, then survey the bar. “Try not to throw your back out pouring all that salt on me.”
He smiles and wipes moisture off his glass. He’s lost in thought and sips his beer with a contemplative stare.
I rest my back against the bar to face my brother. Concern grips my shoulders. “What is it?” He has something on his mind.
Banks licks beer off his lips. “I’m supposed to go on this trip and help protect Maximoff, and you’re supposed to stay behind and protect Xander.” His lip rises. “Switch places with me.”
I think I hear him wrong. I know my twin brother is like a strong wind. He can adapt to any fragged mission and fly through hellfire. But he can’t be suggesting that. “Say again?”
“You get to spend more time with Jane and keep an eye on Tony, and I get to have some quality time with Xander.” He speaks hushed. “Just for the trip, you pretend to be me, and I’ll be you.”
He’s lost his damned mind. “No,” I say strictly. “Hell no.”
Banks lets out a short laugh. “You’re such a fucking gabbadost’.” He can call me a hardhead all he wants.
I’m just more rational about the optics of his idea. “You’re acting like you’re suggesting we play patty-cake on Tuesday,” I say under my breath, arms woven tensely over my chest. “This is a big deal.”
“It’s just one week, Thatcher.” He stands off the stool so we can talk more quietly. “We tell the truth to who we trust. We’d just lie to whoever would snitch to the Alpha and Epsilon leads.”
Any Epsilon bodyguards.
I can barely entertain this plan, for so many reasons. “I’d have to lie to Price and Sinclair again. After I just got buried by a lie.” All the honor that I had like a vessel to my heart was crushed under my actions.
I lied to my superiors. I became romantically involved with a client. I chose Jane.
“They won’t find out,” Banks says with so much assurance. “When has Tony ever been able to tell us apart?”
I take a long pause and then shake my head at myself, pissed that I’m even considering this for half a second. “Consequences aside, the fucking ethics of switching places, Banks, should be enough to say no.”
He leans forward. “You just radioed in as me, Thatcher.”
“You know that’s not the same as impersonating each other for days.” My voice is severe, and the darker look my brother wears and the short nod says, I know.
I add, “You can act like we’re in some candy-coated twin movie and suddenly swap, but this is real.”
He puts a hand on my stiff shoulder. “But it’s not like you’re falling in love with someone pretending to be me, and I’m not kissing Jane pretending to be you. Should we really feel that guilty fooling Tony? That prick treats us like dogs, man, and I’m tired of Epsilon acting like he’s God’s greatest creation.”
What Banks says, I feel, but if we’re caught deceiving two leads, I’d be putting my brother in a broiler, and he’s my responsibility. I’m about to shake my head, but my phone rings.
Banks watches me slip it out, and I breathe in when I see her name on the screen.
Cell to my ear, I say, “Jane?”
“Thatcher. I just pulled up to the sports bar.” Her voice is higher pitched. Strained. “Can you meet me in the car?”
I’m already walking out the door.
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