by Geneva Lee
“I need to pack,” I say, stalking back toward the bedroom.
“We don’t need to go,” Adair says in a confused voice.
I can’t bring myself to look at her. Instead, I continue back to the bedroom. I hear Adair heading my way, but Francie stops her in the hall.
“Let him be,” Francie says. “We don’t want to take advantage of anybody’s hospitality.”
“But you aren’t,” Adair says. “You have every right to be here.”
“Part of that is having the right to walk away when someone treats you badly,” Francie tells her. “We’ll be more comfortable somewhere else. Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll figure out where to go next?”
Adair is quiet as she comes back into the room. She disappears into the bathroom, while I shove my things in my duffel bag. I pull on my clothes, sit down on the end of the bed, and wait for her. My brain plays the last few minutes in a loop. Not the good bit with Adair in bed, but everything after. Adair’s terrified shriek when the door flew open. The pinched disapproval on the manager’s face. Francie appearing in the hall. But the images aren’t the worst bit—it’s the cycle of shame that accompanies them.
It hadn’t mattered that it was a mistake—not until Adair stepped in and used her family name to prove it. I might as well have been speaking in Latin. Nothing I said mattered, because I was nobody.
I am nobody.
“Hey,” Adair says softly. She’s in her huge dress again.
“We should go.” I don’t trust myself to say more. It’s not her fault that this happened. I shouldn’t have been so stupid as to think I could fit in enough not to raise questions.
“I’m sorry that happened,” she says. “They had no right to treat you like that.”
“Don’t they? I don’t belong in a fancy suite at the Eaton. I don’t belong in Valmont. I certainly don’t belong with you.”
“Don’t,” she orders me. Adair strides to me and grabs my chin. “You don’t get to decide who belongs with me. I do! And I choose you. The rest of them can have their vapid cocktail parties and keep score of how important they are. They have to, because they have nothing else to offer the world.”
“And I do?”
“Yes, you do,” she says. “You’re smart and kind and better than all of them combined, and I would trade all of this to be with you.”
“You say that now, but wait until you’re stuck in a studio apartment in Queens trying to keep the lights on. I can’t give you this life.”
Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath.
“Why can’t you see what I do?” She holds a finger over my lips when I start to answer. “I don’t want this life. I want you.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I kiss her instead. When I finally release her, she says, “I’m going to find my shoes. We can go to your dorm or my place. Whatever.”
She disappears into the hall and I follow, spotting Francie’s silhouette waiting by her door. Our eyes meet and it’s clear she heard everything Adair said to me.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit to her in a low voice.
“Believe her,” she says softly, “and believe in yourself, because she’s right about you.”
18
Sterling
Present Day
The last thing I want to do after seeing her is deal with business, but this situation with Noah can’t be ignored. Plus, I’ve just agreed to do the one thing I promised I would never do, and that means it’s time to talk to my brothers.
The Barrelhouse is only a few blocks from Adair’s office, so I text Luca to meet me there. I find Jack behind the bar, prepping for the evening crowd. His shirt, bearing the blues bar’s iconic logo, stretches tightly across his chest, the fabric blacker than his skin. He greets me with a smile and guilt surges through me.
“You look like a man who needs to confess,” he says as I take a seat at the bar.
“Luca is already on the way,” I say, bypassing his preternatural greeting. Maybe he can sense what I’ve come here to tell him. “We need to talk about Noah and stuff.”
Jack raises an eyebrow before nodding and grabbing another glass from the sink.
“Why do you think he’s here?” he asks as he dries the tumbler. He adds it to the stack of clean ones at the end of the bar.
“You always do your own dishes?” I ask.
“It’s distracting,” he admits. “I keep waiting for Noah to walk through that door. Better to keep busy than go crazy.”
None of us should be that surprised over Noah’s appearance, but that doesn’t mean we’re excited to see him. Luca’s been tracking him all week, without much to report, and he doesn’t seem concerned. But Luca could stand in the eye of a hurricane and not look ruffled. Jack, on the other hand, tends to worry. I see it on his face now. He didn’t buy this bar, effectively planting roots in Nashville, to hide. He won’t be willing to run. He did it to move on and start fresh.
“Jack, he’s here for me,” I say. “Maybe Luca.”
“The last I checked,” he says, leaning down to the bar and lowering his voice so that the handful of his employees setting up for the night’s performance don’t overhear him, “I’m just as responsible for what happened in Afghanistan.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say with a shrug. “But he can’t do anything about that. He already tried, remember? Now he’s just going to try to punish us in other ways, and you’ve kept your nose clean since then.”
“I have. Maybe you should get out of town,” Jack adds. I know what he’s really saying. Maybe I should disappear. Start a new life. Leave all this behind. That might’ve been an option a few months ago. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I would have returned to Valmont if I’d known Noah might come sniffing around again. I cover my tracks well, but it will only take one mistake—maybe not even my own—to give the FBI the excuse they need to investigate further. That begs the question: did I fuck up? Did someone else? Or is this just a courtesy call to remind me that he’s not giving up?
“I need to know why he’s here,” I say. “Until I do, I can’t move on anything.”
Jack groans and reaches for another clean glass. “How do you know he’s here for you, anyway? Last I checked, Luca is just as much trouble—if not more.”
“That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.” Luca drops onto the bar stool next to mine. “He’s right, you know. Noah might be looking for me. Then again, it doesn’t really matter who he’s looking for, because he wants to take us all down.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jack says.
Trust Luca to be sensitive to Jack’s anxiety. It’s not that he can’t read the room, it’s just that he prefers chaos to order. “Just keep minding your own business,” I tell Jack. “He’s got nothing on you.”
“What could he have on you?” Jack asks.
“That’s a good question.” I have a list of possibilities in my head already, and it’s not getting any shorter. “But I actually want to talk to you about something else.”
“Here it comes,” Luca mutters, but I ignore him.
“So, things have changed with Adair,” I begin.
“We noticed,” Jack says.
“But we’re not exactly on the same page,” I continue. “She’s got questions.”
“That’s not a surprise,” Jack says. “What does she want to know?”
“It would be shorter to list what she doesn’t want to know. I already told her that I can’t tell her everything, but—”
“I can’t believe you’re going to be the one to break the pact,” Luca interjects. “Wasn’t it his idea?” Jack nods, but, unlike Luca, he doesn’t look angry, he looks like he’s holding down laughter.
“I told you that he would,” Jack says.
“Wait, what?” I ask. “I had no intention of telling her anything when we came here.”
“That’s just it,” Jack says. “It might not have been your intention, but like I told Luca, a man
doesn’t spend five years obsessing over a woman just to throw away another shot at her.”
“I didn’t come back for a second chance,” I protest.
“Then, I guess you’re lucky she’s giving you one, anyway,” Jack says.
“Can we focus on the fact that he’s planning to break his sacred vow?” Luca asks, but the edge is gone from his voice. That doesn’t mean he’s pleased about my change of heart.
“I’m leaving you two out of it,” I promise.
“Like hell,” Luca says, spinning on his stool to jab a finger into my chest. “You aren’t taking all the credit for our success.”
“Is that what you call it?” Jack asks dryly.
“Okay, I’ll leave Jack out of it,” I clarify.
“And you make sure she knows that Cairo was—”
“Tell her what you need to tell her, brother,” Jack says quickly. The last thing he needs is another fight breaking out over what happened in Egypt, especially since this time it would be his bar taking the damage.
“Whatever. Listen, want to grab lunch?” Luca asks. He checks his Rolex. “Or maybe early dinner? Whatever you eat at three in the afternoon.”
“High tea,” Jack offers dryly. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”
Luca rolls his dark eyes. “I’d ask you, but let’s face it, you’re married to this joint.”
“And it’s true love,” Jack says with a grin.
“I’ve got plans tonight and I need to prepare,” I say with intentional vagueness.
“Plans? With whom?” Jack bats his eyes in feigned innocence.
“I had no idea you needed to check my schedule,” I say, dodging the question.
“We’re just curious,” Luca says. “It must be important if you can’t buy lunch for the man who saved your life.”
“You’re getting your stories mixed up,” I tell him. “I thought I saved your life.”
“Boys,” Jack interrupts us. “Let’s not fight, especially since I’m the one that saved both your asses.” He slides a glass to Luca. “Stay and have a drink with me. We can mourn the taming of our dear friend, Sterling.”
“And the loss of his balls,” Luca adds, while Jack uncaps a bottle and begins to pour.
“I have no idea why you two are still single,” I say flatly.
“It’s a mystery, right?” Luca agrees. He takes a sip of the whiskey Jack just poured him. “Celebrating her new job?”
A primal urge awakens in me and I lean closer. “How do you know about that?”
“She lives down the hall from me, remember?” He waves his napkin in surrender. “Don’t worry. I’m not sniffing around your girl.”
“I never said you were,” I say stiffly. I need to get this whole caveman thing under control or I’m going to catch more hell from both of them. “Or that she’s my girl.”
Luca sniffs his glass and looks up at Jack, continuing to sniff the air. “What’s that smell?”
“What smell?” Jack asks, looking around the bar quickly, his forehead wrinkling with concern.
“Something stinks.” Luca swivels back to face me. “Some kind of shit. A bull’s, maybe?”
I hop off the barstool. “Well, this has been fun, truly. The next time I need to talk about a woman, I will call my sister. I have somewhere to be.”
“Stalking is illegal, my friend,” Luca calls after me, but I ignore him.
* * *
I’m two steps onto the sidewalk when a familiar figure blocks my path. Like the rest of us, Noah Porter has filled out since our Army days. His wallet hasn’t, however. The suit he wears is a typical FBI affair: black, boring polyester. His hair is still cropped closely to his head, and he makes no effort to hide the angry scar that runs down the side of his face. But unlike most FBI agents I’ve encountered—and I’ve encountered quite a few—he looks like he might burst through its seams at any moment. Staring at him now, it’s hard to remember that we used to have so much in common. Now, we’re as far apart as night and day. We don’t even exist in the same time.
“It’s been awhile,” Noah says. He slides his gas station sunglasses off and looks me up and down. I wonder what he sees. Is it the same funhouse reflection that I see? A version of his life he decided against? It could have been different. I could be standing in his shoes if I’d made different choices. He knows it. I know it. It’s what makes it so hard for us to look at each other, let alone coexist. We are one another’s might-have-been.
“I didn’t know you were in town.” I shove my hands in my pockets and tell myself this is just two old friends catching up. But I still check my periphery for signs of other officers. The street is empty and quiet. He’s come alone, which means he doesn’t plan to arrest me. Whatever he has on me must be flimsy. Not that it matters. Anything is blood in the water where he and I are concerned. Noah will circle and wait. I’ve lost him a few times. Shaken him a few more. But, like a bad penny, he always turns up. I’m not sure why I thought he might let me go when I came to Valmont. Because it would mean I was keeping a low profile? Because I’m not actively working for any clients? Because as far as he knows, returning to Valmont is like the un-prodigal son finally coming home?
“Didn’t you?” He flashes a cold smile full of straight teeth, perfectly aligned by some Midwestern orthodontist. “After you went to all the trouble of carrying your girlfriend off to her room?”
Fuck. He had seen me that day. I keep my face carefully neutral and shrug like I’m drawing a blank. “Girlfriend?”
“The pretty redhead.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I sell this easily, because it’s true. Adair has made that clear.
“Why did you come back, then?”
“I had a business opportunity,” I say, knowing that’s as bad as admitting to any of my dealings. Just that statement alone is like throwing chum in front of a great white. But it will distract Noah from Adair, and that’s all that matters.
“So you didn’t come home for Adair MacLaine?”
Of course, he knows who she is. He has access to files full of information I’d rather he didn’t see. But, as careful as I am, the FBI usually manages to collect a few. That’s the trouble with lying to former best friends—sometimes they know too much about you. Noah Porter used to be one of us, which means he heard all about the girl who broke my heart. I can’t believe he remembers her name all this time later. It becomes a problem when that old friend works as an FBI agent, and you’re his number one target.
“Buy you a drink?” he asks.
“I don’t drink,” I remind him.
“That’s right. I got confused when I caught you stepping out of a bar.” He manages to play it like he actually forgot, but I know it’s a test. “Lunch?”
“I was actually on my way to meet someone.”
“I’ll come with,” he says, calling my bluff.
“You win.” We could do this two-step all day, but I’m not wearing my dancing shoes. I start walking forward, away from the Barrelhouse. At least I can lure him away from Jack and Luca. “How about coffee?”
“That works.” He glances to the Barrelhouse sign swinging on its post. “Maybe we should invite the guys.”
“Does this concern them?” We might as well get to the bottom of this now.
“Not really.” He frowns as if delivering bad news.
“Don’t look so disappointed,” I say.
“It’s okay. I just have to remind myself that patience is a virtue. I’ll find a reason to catch up with Luca and Jack later.”
I hope that’s not the case.
“It was ballsy,” he continues. “Coming here—all three of you.”
“Feeling left out?” I ask.
“A little,” he says as we begin to walk.
I lead us a block over and shoot off a quick warning text to Luca. Noah claims he’s not here for either of them, but they need to know he made contact. He wouldn’t risk our leaving unless it somehow served his purpose. I might as well get as muc
h information as I can.
“Tell them I said hello,” Noah says before I can slide my phone into my pocket. He pauses in front of a coffee shop and points to it. “This okay?”
I don’t care where we go as long as we get it over with soon, so I nod. We take a seat at a high-backed booth in the back and a waitress with purple hair skips over, laminated menus in hand. She plops them in front of us. “What can I get you?”
“Two coffees,” I say before Noah can answer her.
“You want to grab a bite?” he asks me. The waitress hesitates, waiting for a response.
“Two coffees,” I say again firmly. I’m giving Noah exactly as long as it takes me to get to the bottom of this cup before I’m back out the door.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.” He settles against the red vinyl booth, dropping his massive arms along the top of it as he assesses me for a moment. “You’ve changed.”
“And you haven’t?” I ask, as the waitress reappears with two mugs.
“Don’t take it so badly,” he says. “You look good. Successful.”
“Let me guess, you’d like to know what I’ve been up to recently.”
“Nope.” He blows steam off the top of his mug. “I already know what you’ve been up to lately.”
An alarm rings inside my head, but I ignore it. “Buying a house. Investing in a media conglomerate. Boring stuff, really.”
“In my experience, Sterling Ford and boring don’t go in the same sentence.”
“And yet. All I’m doing here is walking my dog and catching up with old friends.” I drain half the coffee in one gulp, ignoring the way it sears the back of my throat. I may not want to give anything away, but I’m not going to sit around here all day making small talk, either.
“Among other things.” Noah abandons his mug, along with the other pretenses of our conversation. “Look, I don’t know why I am telling you this.”
I narrow my eyes. Noah has tried to play me before. The difference between those times and now is the concerning level of sincerity in his voice. “Telling me what?”