“Take my name in vain, yeah.” The two of us command the hallway, student athletes and swimmers parting as we walk.
Once we reach the office, Akara raps his fist.
“It’s open!”
I follow my boss inside.
Coach Ryan Reed is seated behind a mahogany desk and toiling over a stack of papers. Two buttons are undone at the top of his long-sleeved floral shirt, and his light brown hair has a dramatic fade on both sides, plus he has black gauges in his ears.
He’s twenty-nine.
Just like me.
I knew that before I walked in here, but if someone asked me to play Guess This Man’s Age, I’d say he was a college student. Not a head coach of a swim team.
Feels backwards.
Coach Reed pries his attention off his work. “You both made it, great.” Seems friendly enough. “Did you get your student IDs?”
“Have them, and we already talked with administration,” Akara says with the same friendly rapport. “We just need to walk around the facility and chat with some of the swimmers.”
I thread my arms over my chest. Giving off the stiff bodyguard vibe, but while Akara talks, I’m inspecting the coach’s office.
Covertly.
No photos of kids or of a wife or husband. Of course we did an extensive background check on Coach Reed before today.
He’s not married.
Verified and confirmed.
But he could be in a long-term relationship. Since he’s an “infrequent” social media poster (mostly uploading pool pics) Ryan Reed isn’t a complete open book ready for us to flip through. And I know well and good that people harbor secrets.
Whether or not he’s the kind of guy who’d shove a skeleton behind a wall—that’s yet to be determined. All I know is that Sulli will be around him, and it doesn’t hurt to be heedful and vigilant.
At first, quick glance, he appears ordinary.
Coach Reed stands up. “I can give you a tour.”
“That’s kind but unnecessary,” Akara replies. “It’ll be easier to get a feel for the space on our own.”
He wavers for a beat. His cautious stance throws me off.
What does he have to be cautious about?
“Sullivan is safe here at Warwick. The team is excited to have her on board, and so am I.”
First impression: I don’t like him.
Maybe it’s his unbuttoned shirt or perfectly styled hair or the fact that he looks more ready to be a lifeguard on Venice Beach than a collegiate swim coach.
“That’s good to hear,” Akara nods, authority puncturing his words. “Her safety is our first priority.”
Yes, it is.
Coach Reed smiles. “I’m just happy she chose to come here for the job. Princeton was about to reach out to her before I made the call.”
Princeton. Talk about bougie.
Sulli would have rejected the Ivy League invite on location alone. Warwick isn’t a far drive from the penthouse and suits her better, even if it’s a slightly smaller college.
“Do you have the key to her locker?” Akara asks.
“Right, yeah, it’s over here.” Coach Reed retrieves the key from a filing cabinet and hands it to Akara.
“Can I leave this here while we walk around?” I raise my tote bag. Do not want to haul this thing everywhere, but I’m not about to toss perfectly good cups.
“Yeah, no problem.” He has trouble looking me in the eye. Intimidation is just the skin we wear, but I’m damn glad I’m intimidating him.
We leave at that.
Akara twirls the keyring around his finger. The hallway is quiet as we both slow our pace to take notes of exits, entrances, and security cameras. Akara logs some of the information on his phone, while I take the old-fashioned approach and jot in a small spiral notebook.
With a Warwick University pen.
This thing writes nice. Smooth crisp ink. Simple pleasures, man.
As we pass a Fizzle vending machine, Akara tells me, “I’m going to ask her out.”
I click the pen, a bit surprised. “You’re already dating her, Akara.”
He cranes his neck behind us, ensuring no one is rounding the corner. We’re alone. “On a date, Banks.”
I scratch the pen against my jaw. “That kind of asking out.”
Concern pulses behind his brown eyes. “I’m not asking for permission—”
“You don’t have to,” I interject. “Take her out. She deserves to be wooed and doted on and loved, and I’m just pissy ‘cause I haven’t even considered where I’m taking her yet—and I bet by the time I do, you’ll be on date number thirty-seven.”
Logistics.
Never been my specialty.
But they are his.
Akara takes his baseball cap off, pushing back his hair, then fits it on to ask, “Are you supposed to come along?”
I scrunch my brows. “On your date?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you want me to?” I wonder.
He asks, “Do you want me to join yours?”
I lift my shoulders as an answer.
“Yeah…that’s where I am too.” He sighs. “Either way, I think I’d be okay with it.” He flips his phone in his palm. “This is really hard to figure out. I don’t know the right way to do any of this shit.”
I feign slugging his shoulder for cursing.
He doesn’t even flinch.
So I pat his back. “Survived this time.”
“Every time,” Akara says like a promise.
“Amen.”
I can only hope.
He checks his phone, scrolling, and the strange, constipated look on his face goads me to ask, “What are you looking at?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says too fast, pocketing his cell.
“Christ Almighty, I used to love that phrase,” I say, rocking forward on my feet towards him, “don’t worry about it, Banks. I’ve got it, Banks. Now it’s as ugly and grating as the face you just made two seconds ago.”
He glares.
“Give me your phone.”
“No,” he scoffs. “This isn’t a negoti—Banks.” He cuts himself off and raises the phone above his head after I try to steal the thing. “I love you, but you accidentally break my phone, you die.”
“You are way too attached. It’s like a fuckin’ parasite. Clinging to you with its 1s and 0s. Where’s the fucking scalpel?”
“Banks.”
“If Sulli were here, she’d try to cut if off you first.”
“Well, she’s not here.” He expels a sharper breath, then rolls his eyes. “Fine.” Something I said does the trick. Not sure what it was, but he lowers his arm and shows me his phone. “I was doing a quick social media check.”
Twitter, I see.
“Those are your notifications?” I ask what I’m staring at.
“Yep.” His jaw tenses.
I skim the tweets about him…and her. And they read like this:
Sulli & her bodyguard are THE PERFECT match imo! Total stan here.
Kitsulli 4Ever!
Omg can you imagine how beautiful Akara & Sulli’s babies would be? Puh-lease let it happen!!
There’s no way Sulli and her bodyguard aren’t dating. The chemistry is off the charts. So obvious.
Akara isn’t fooling anyone. He’s definitely into our Sullivan Meadows.
And on and on and on.
The public praise is hardly newsworthy. They’ve been rumored to be a pairing for a while, even before our trip to Yellowstone.
I push his phone back to his chest, and we scan our surroundings, then move.
Humor has already drained fast as we stop in the middle of the hallway, right next to a set of double doors that leads to the pool room.
Something serious lingers between us. Something raw.
Very quietly, he says, “I don’t want you to ever feel second-best to me when it comes to her.” They have history together.
They have pre-existing love.
It doesn’t hurt to know or see. And I’m not living in fear that it will.
I drop my voice another octave. “Sulli has never made me feel like that.” Not for one damn second, not for one fucking moment. She has only ever made me feel irreplaceable, invaluable, worthy. And I’m not seeking a first-place prize or a trophy.
I live for the beat of my heart, and it beats at a wild, unafraid, unfathomable pace around her.
Akara worries though. “Other people could make you feel lesser than.”
He worries for the same reason my brother does. He knows I’m constantly compared to another human being as a twin. And I’m the dispensable one, and by God, I’ve already proven that fuckbag of a father wrong.
My life isn’t a waste.
“If anything,” I tell my best friend, “being compared to Thatcher for twenty-nine years has me prepared as hell for the day the world compares me to you.” I smack his chest. “And the only people who matter to me are her and you, man. The rest can rank me at bottom two.”
I don’t even mind being called a zero.
To Sulli, I’m more.
To Akara, I’m more.
To my family, I’m more.
To myself, I’m everything. Hell, I’m all I have when I’m alone. I better be happy with who I am.
Akara nods strongly.
We wield a love for one another that has no words. Just a feeling. He wouldn’t be so pressed about what other people are gonna think of me if he didn’t care.
He squeezes my shoulder as he pushes open the double doors. The smell of chlorine hits me all at once. Eight swimming lanes are roped off in the pool. Half are filled as students practice.
To Akara, I whisper, “If you go on a date, you should put me on someone else’s security detail for the night. It’ll take some stress off you and actually let you enjoy the night for a change. Hell, maybe you’ll be able to make it through the date without getting a phone call.”
His lip quirks. “Unlikely.”
It’s partly my fault that my dad has been speed-dialing Akara. Couple days ago, Akara officially put me on Sulli’s permanent detail with him.
I’m no longer a floater.
No longer the man rushing to Maximoff’s detail, if Farrow receives a med call.
Change keeps me on my toes where I like to be.
This change I love even more.
Farrow’s sour over the transfer, and I can’t blame him when I was his best substitute every time he was pulled away from his husband’s detail.
Now Maximoff will have temps.
But with my dad training temps like they’re SEAL recruits, the fresh blood is looking more qualified, and Akara plans to hire more bodyguards to the 24/7 roster.
One day Security Force Omega will grow to more than just seven men, but the recruits have to get through my dad first. And I grew up with him. He’s not easy.
Not in the least.
He wants constant communication with Akara, and I can see it wearing my friend down.
I did reach out to my dad.
Through text.
I said, hope all is going well.
He replied, it is. We should grab lunch next time you’re free. Let me know when’s good for you.
I sent, K.
Haven’t solidified any plans to meet-up for tea and crumpets and a side dish of painful family history, and I’m not sure I’m ever going to.
After Akara and I walk a couple laps around the pool, we scope out the unisex locker room. Garrett and Ray are back here chatting, and when they spot us, their conversation dies immediately.
“Wait,” Garrett says. “I thought you guys aren’t swimmers.”
“We’re not,” Akara states.
I find Sulli’s new locker, and Akara hands me the key.
“Hold on,” Ray says. “Why are you opening the assistant coach’s locker?”
Ladies and Gents, this is the fun part. I smile as I look to him. “We’re Sullivan Meadows’ bodyguards.” Dick.
Ray pales.
Garrett says, “Shit.”
I click open the locker. An avalanche of stuffed animals tumbles out. I go rigid, muscles tensing. You’ve got to be shitting me. I pick up the Sasquatch plushie. A small plastic gold medal tied around its neck. Anger brews in my chest.
Before I became a floater, I used to protect the kid who’s constantly revered for his beauty. Xander Hale never had a bunch of shitbags stuff Sasquatch plushies in his locker.
Worse, even, they’re fucking with my girlfriend.
“Who did this?” Akara nails a glare on them.
Garrett smears a hand down his mortified face. “Uh, you know…the whole team? It’s a welcome to Warwick kind of thing.”
I narrow my gaze. “Is that the new definition of hazing these days?” I crouch down and scoop up as many plushies in my arms as I can.
Naughty list for life, the whole damn team. They’re lucky I’m a bodyguard and can’t incite a fight, or else they’d be on the fucking ground.
“They have gold medals around their necks,” Ray says. “We’re honoring her. She’s a legend, man.”
“We’ll let her know,” Akara says with a lethal bite. “But let’s be clear here, don’t fuck with her locker. You can pass that along to the team.” His threat comes in clear, and I’m making an exception for the “no swearing” bet he lost.
He can curse when protecting Sulli.
Nothing says, back off or eat pavement like back the fuck off.
I trash the plushies in the nearest garbage can.
Akara relocks her locker just as Garrett and Ray vacate the room quickly, probably scared shitless they’ll get in more trouble. Sulli’s not a teammate.
She’s their coach.
I dump the last Sasquatch. “Are we telling her about this? I’m asking from boyfriend to boyfriend. Because I want to.” She should know and be prepared. Relying on us is fine (I’ll always have her six), but Sulli wants to rely more on herself these days. It means being more aware of threats around her, more than her dad ever let her see, more than Akara did too in the past.
“From boyfriend to boyfriend, I think we should.” He steps away from the locker. “They didn’t seem malicious, but she can go into the job with a firmer hand if she knows they’re not respecting her position.”
I bob my head, agreeing.
Comms sound off. “Been surfing through fandom sites,” Donnelly says with a thick South Philly lilt, “and I saw something important online.”
Akara clicks his mic. “Text it to the group chat.”
My phone buzzes.
“Done.”
Check this link. Flag as high-risk? – Donnelly
What do I know about Paul Donnelly?
I know he’s from the same town as me, and even my broke as hell family wouldn’t associate with people like the Donnellys, gun to our heads.
But Akara and Thatcher told me what I’ve found to be true. Donnelly has the one trait you can’t teach or pray for or force inside a bodyguard.
That knockout, hand-to-heart empathy.
He cares about these famous families like their hurt is his hurt. And he’d throw himself into oncoming traffic for every single one.
Donnelly wanting to flag a site means that the site is something with potential to harm.
Akara and I both open the link.
THE ROYAL LEAKS
We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.
ROYAL LEAK #1: Maximoff Hale is taking back his position as CEO of H.M.C. Philanthropies.
ROYAL LEAK #2: Jane Cobalt hired a new cat sitter.
ROYAL LEAK #3: Sullivan Meadows is on birth control.
#TodaysLeaks #omg #birthcontrol
I stare at those three leaks. All I know, for certain, is that number three is true. Don’t know how the fuck this ended up on some random website.
Akara frowns. “Do you know anything about one or two?”
&n
bsp; I shake my head. Maximoff’s decision about going back to H.M.C Philanthropies has been up in the air for a while, and as far as I know, Jane was still conducting interviews with cat sitters. I didn’t think she hired one yet.
Akara’s nose flares. “Could someone be making shit up?”
“How would they know she’s on birth control?” I ask since this recently happened. After Akara and Sulli had sex without a condom at his gym, she wanted to be on the pill.
Her gynecologist wrote her the prescription. I picked up the pills from the pharmacy.
Sulli’s footprint is nowhere near birth control. So how the hell did that leak?
“It’s a good guess,” Akara says tightly. “She did have a boyfriend.”
I want to correct him that she has two boyfriends, but I can’t do that in public. We’re still just her bodyguards to the world.
I study the website. Colorful doodles of crowns, lipstick smudges, and the words shhh! make up a graphic header. Someone put effort into this shit.
Akara frowns and stares harder at his phone. “The thing is, if it’s all true, it doesn’t make it gossip.”
I rake a rough hand across my jaw. “And if it’s all true, how did they find out this information before us?”
Security’s motto has always been stay ahead of the media.
Is the leaker even a part of the media? Who’s running the site?
Akara motions me back towards a water fountain as a few swimmers climb out of the pool. I huddle closer to him as he lifts his mic to his lips. “Akara to Farrow and Thatcher, check the link Donnelly sent and confirm whether your client’s leaks are real or rumor.”
No surprise, Thatcher rogers up first. “Real. Jane just hired a cat sitter.” My brother sounds tense. “She only told her family over the phone.”
A phone leak?
Farrow comes in next. “Real.”
“Redford,” Oscar speaks. “The Husband is going back to H.M.C.?”
“Yeah. He already put in his final notice at the aquatic club.” Maximoff teaches little kids how to swim. Guess that’s ending.
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