The Hacker (The Bro Series Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  “Is that the type of man you are, Holden? The kind that just takes what he wants.” Her salacious tone swells my cock and my vocal chords. She scoots her body closer to me, eyes holding mine hostage. “You lack patience.”

  Thoughtlessly, I growl, “I don’t have to have patience for what belongs to me.”

  The corner of her lip twists upward. She slowly wets her lips and tilts her head to the side, silently begging me to conquer her now.

  We can’t repeat that mistake.

  Hell, maybe if I say it enough times I will start to believe it actually was one.

  “I mean, for what…for who,” my words become jumbled as I desperately try to back away from where the situation was leading, “for what I need to know about the people who spend time around my children.” I clear my throat. “I like to know everything about the people my kids come in contact with.”

  She tries to hide her disappointment with a sigh, “Bit overprotective.”

  “I have a job that constantly shows me how terrifying the world really is. Of course I’m fucking overprotective.”

  Meena lets the argument go. “I financially help my parents because I can.”

  Silently, I wait for a better explanation.

  “My brothers and sisters constantly have something going on in their lives. Mya has two kids and is struggling to pay her mortgage. Marc is a brand new detective barely able to afford his downtown apartment. Mora has so much credit card debt from her constant shopping, I don’t even know how she buys groceries or if she ever does since it seems like she’s always eating at our parents’ house. Mario just joined the Marines and Mara’s trying to balance school and waiting tables. Unlike them, I’ve had back to back lucrative jobs, a couple of which wiped away the lingering debt I had.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  Her eyes twitch a glare. “Are you asking me if I slept with someone for money?”

  Do I really want the answer?

  She doesn’t bother waiting for a response. “Because I didn’t. I negotiated terms that were in my benefit. You’d be surprised at the lengths a wealthy congressman will go to have his secret affair child provided with stellar care.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  We share what feels like a secret smirk.

  “Out of all my brothers and sisters I’m the only one with nothing tying them down.” An unexpected smile crosses her lips. “No house. No apartment. No kids. No pets. Everything I’m responsible for in my life fits in a suitcase.”

  The conversation should end here.

  I shouldn’t ask the next question.

  It isn’t any of my goddamn business.

  But fuck, I want it to be.

  “Why?” I whisper out with more intrigue than intended.

  A somber glaze glosses her eyes. “Because everything in life is just temporary. Kids grow up. People get remarried. Life. Moves. On. I learned very early people need you until they don’t. Life moves a lot like butterflies. It’s tiny then consumes and consumes until it sort of just pauses and you transition into something else.”

  “Is that why your body is covered in them?”

  She nods. “One for every new direction I take. Every new adventure I have. One to commemorate the moments that have come and gone. I’ve got one for Lynk…”

  My mouth bobs in shock. “Show me.”

  “Say please…”

  The feeling of my balls aching knocks a groan around my chest. “Please.”

  Meena tugs her t-shirt to the side and exposes the green butterfly tattoo on her collarbone that has a tiny L in one of the wings. “When I was his babysitter, it was his favorite spot to sleep. Right there. His big head would just land there and never wanna move.”

  Memories of watching her hold him rather than repel him like his mother begin to strangle me.

  “Lynk was the first non-family, non-neighbor kid I ever cared for. I mean, the money was great and all, like really great considering the shit pay I could’ve made waitressing, but it was more than that. I loved being around Lynk. I loved holding a baby. I loved watching him grow…” She lets go of her shirt as well as her nostalgia. “But…a time came and I was no longer needed. I had no choice but to move. On.”

  I wish she knew it wasn’t exactly a choice.

  I wish I could tell her that.

  “Shortly after I stopped caring for Lynk…something hit me hard and I had to ask myself, why get attached to anyone outside of your family when eventually you just have to let go anyway?”

  Unsure of what else to do with her grim view, I challenge, “What if someone got attached to you? What if they wanted you to stay? What if they wanted…fuck that…what if they needed you permanently in their lives? Would you stay then?”

  Meena’s eyes flood with hope, but she isn’t given a chance to respond.

  “Hey Dad, wanna play Street Racers 4 with me?”

  I start to respond when my computer pings with an email from The Dollhouse. My finger automatically stretches out to click it open, the words causing me to sigh as I scan them, “Wish I could, Lynk. Got a work thing I need to do before I go to my other job.”

  “Oh,” Lynk’s disappointment pangs my chest. “Okay…”

  “What about just one round?” Meena interjects, grabbing my attention. “Maybe like fifteen minutes? Why don’t we skip your normal fifteen minutes of reading before bed and the two of you can play then?”

  She pleads with her eyes for me to agree.

  Does she know something I don’t?

  “Maybe you can tell him about the 98 you got on your math test.”

  “You got a 98?”

  He sheepishly nods.

  That’s new. His grades have always been mediocre at best. Getting anything over an 80 felt like a miracle.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You weren’t at dinner.”

  Because I was working…What else did I miss?

  “You two can play and talk about the field trip you’re taking tomorrow.”

  My eyebrows furrow. “I don’t remember signing a fieldtrip form.”

  “I signed it.”

  Rage rings in my voice. “Who the hell told you you could do that?”

  “You did when I signed their school paperwork.” She folds her arms across her chest again. “Besides, it’s on all the calendars.”

  “It’s no big deal, Dad,” Lynk says with unmistakable annoyance. “We’re just going to the aquarium.”

  I should still know that. Have I just become so comfortable with Meena caring for them that I am forgetting to pay attention? Is this what it would’ve been like had Beth given a shit? Would I have just become complacent and expected her to do all the work rather than me?

  “And you should also tell your dad about the problem you’re having with Kyle.”

  “Who the hell is Kyle?”

  “It’s not important. None of it is,” Lynk tries to brush it off and looks up at Meena. “And we can do our reading thing. It’s fine. I like doing that.”

  Without hesitation, I close Beauty, my laptop. “You know what, I agree. You need to keep reading every night before bed, so why don’t we just a play a round now?”

  “What about work?”

  I shrug. “It can wait.”

  “But Dad-”

  “I worked through dinner, probably would be a good idea to take a small break. You’re gonna have to tell me about this 98…What happened to those other two points? Did you drop ‘em? Soccer ball bounce the right answers out of your head or something?”

  Lynk laughs and I’m more grateful than ever Meena intervened.

  My kids always come first.

  Doesn’t matter the cost.

  “Why don’t you go set it up while I take my dishes downstairs?”

  “Sure!” He joyfully says and rushes out of the room.

  As soon as I reach for the plate, Meena drops her hand on mine to stop me. “I’ve got it. Go spend time with Lynk.”

  Our b
odies gravitate together until her jean covered hips brush against me.

  We shouldn’t be this close.

  It shouldn’t feel this good.

  It shouldn’t be this natural.

  I need…I need…I need to hit 0.

  She stands up a little straighter and quietly says, “Don’t worry, Holden. Your son still needs you.”

  Unable to stop myself, my hand lifts to gently stroke her cheek. “He needs you too.”

  It lingers for a brief moment before my thumb brushes her bottom lip.

  And Lynk’s not the only one…

  Meena’s breathing ceases clearly waiting for more, but I step back the same way I always do.

  The same way I have to.

  Rather than risk possibly fucking up this fragile relationship further, I hastily slide past her, no other words spoken.

  Never has doing the right thing for my kids been so fucking difficult. Even trying to make a broken marriage work for their sake was easier than this. As much as I wish I could cave, I know now more than ever that I can’t. She’s having such a positive effect and providing so much stability that to fuck it up just to feel her against me would be the most selfish thing on this planet I could ever do.

  I’m not that bastard any more.

  Kids first.

  Cock last.

  I’ll figure this shit out.

  I don’t have a choice.

  I give the pregnant woman waiting on the couch next to me a small smile remembering my best friend’s advice about not shying away from contact with them even if I find myself feeling envious.

  She gives her stomach a small stroke at the same time the office door thankfully swings open.

  “I’ll see you next week, Emma,” my best friend says handing the little girl a lollipop.

  “Thank you Dr. Joanne,” the adorable child who appears to be around Sage’s age, replies.

  Her mother stands to her feet, links hands with her daughter, and gives Joanne a concerned expression. She simply shakes her head and the woman lets out what can only be a sigh of relief.

  We watch them exit through the glass doors at the front of the building before I grab the empty box sitting between my feet and slip into her office.

  Joanne lets her long, thick brown hair down to pool on top of her slender shoulders. “You’re early. Were you waiting long?”

  I shut the door behind us. “No. Five minutes max. My doctor actually got me out in unusually good timing.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Routine checkup.”

  She flops down into her white leather chair. “Didn’t you just get one when you got back from working in Doctenn?”

  “I should’ve, but unexpectedly working for Holden kinda threw a dent in that. This was the soonest they could get me in.”

  Joanne folds her long fingers in her lap. “And how is it working for Holden?”

  “Oh, no.” My head quickly shakes. “Don’t do that. Do not analyze me. I came here as a friend to collect the toys for charity, not as a patient.”

  “You can never technically be one of my patients. I only work with children.” She briefly pauses, “But you do know I’m here if you ever need to talk that way.”

  “I know.”

  “Or even if you want to talk over cocktails about the investment banker you spent three days with in the Bahamas last year and never spoke to again after the limo brought you home.”

  “He really wasn’t that special.”

  “Or the podiatrist from two years ago who you stopped speaking to after he simply asked about marriage.”

  “It was like our fifth date!”

  “He asked how you felt on the subject not if you wanted to rush to the altar.”

  It sure the hell felt like it. And for a foot doctor he lacked the ability to make my toes curl.

  “Or if you’re finally ready to talk about the pilot you were dating, but abruptly broke up with before you left-”

  “It wasn’t abrupt.”

  “You sent him a text telling him you took a job and were leaving the country at 2 a.m.”

  With a short shrug, I defend, “At least I told him.”

  “Which is more than some get I know. Your inability to form long relationships outside of your family would make for an interesting case study in my book.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Everything makes for an interesting case study to her. She’s been saying those words since we first met at an early childhood training retreat six years ago. We were roommates for three days and by the end of it, friends. She has this way of getting me to talk that no one else has.

  Well.

  Almost no one.

  “What do you call my friendship with you?”

  “An anomaly.”

  After flashing her my middle finger, I ask, “Do you have the toys already gathered or do you need to sort through them?”

  She tosses her head to the closest, which is on the opposite side of the room from the toy area she uses for patients. “They’re all packed and ready to be donated.”

  “Perfect.”

  As I make my way towards the door to collect them, she rewinds the conversation backwards. “How are things working out with your new job? I haven’t had the chance to really talk to you about it since you started. Seems high maintenance. Actually, all the nanny jobs you have been taking over the past three years seem to require more and more of your attention. Why is that?”

  With my hand on the door knob, I glance over my shoulder. “Didn’t I already tell you not to analyze me?”

  “I’m asking as a friend.”

  “You’re asking like a consejero.”

  Her pale hands fly into the air. “Well I don’t know how else to ask!”

  Joanne’s frustrations cause me to snicker, and I return to the task at hand.

  “Seriously, I swear I hear from you less and less every time you take a new job.”

  “To be fair, the last one was in a different time zone.”

  “Meena.”

  I begin to place the neatly stacked toys into the box, actively avoiding her accusations.

  My work consumes me, the same way hers does. Just because I don’t have to sit at the table in a light blue painted room and analyze the issues children are facing from the death of a parent, or abuse from an alcoholic one, doesn’t make what I do any less important. It doesn’t mean I should be scolded for submerging myself into my profession.

  “Meena,” the repetition of my name successfully stops my movements. When I turn to face her, she calmly confesses, “I’m just worried, that’s all. I want you to have more to your life than work. You’ve already gone to two seminars since you’ve been home and recertified your CPR training, which I don’t think was anywhere near being expired.”

  “I do more than work. I have my family. I help them whenever I can. Loaning money. Dropping off groceries. Picking up medications.”

  Her lips press together to prevent whatever comment she anxiously wants to counter with.

  “I’ve been spending a little more time with Mia, helping her hunt down the perfect homecoming dress.”

  Joanne remains quiet.

  “Outside of that, I collect and donate toys to women’s centers and shelters. I am very busy with any extra time I actually do get.”

  She nods slowly. “But what do you do for you?”

  “Qué?”

  “You just told me all this shit you do for other people, but what do you do for you?”

  I glance away.

  “Last guy you briefly dated was your boss’ brother.”

  “Despite what the tabloids tried to insinuate, date would be a strong word.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her point isn’t missed even though I wish it were.

  “You should get back out there,” she encourages kindly. “Go to a Happy Hour when you’re not working or whenever their dad wants some quality time with them.”

  Why would I troll a bar for a one nig
htstand when the only man I want to be coming for is more often than not just a few feet away from me?