The Fixer

by Jessica Gadziala

  And I was cherishing it.

  "Quin, if Finn sprays one more fucking spray of that..." I heard a woman's voice call out, making Quin let out a growl.

  "Minty chemicals. I almost miss the smell," I admitted, smiling a little as I watched my tree.

  "He couldn't find the mint shit here. And he's not happy about it. It's kinda bubblegum-smelling. It's disgusting."

  "I mean it, Quin. I am going to get the frying pan and..."

  "Alright, I'm coming," Quin barked, then sighed hard.

  "You have to go," I guessed.

  "I have to go," he agreed, sounding regretful. "I have a feeling that if I don't de-escalate the situation, some hikers are going to be finding a cabin full of bodies six months from now."

  "Okay. You go play lion tamer," I agreed, feeling a small pang of sadness that it was over already, even though we had been on the phone for almost an hour. "I hope things wrap up soon for you, so you can come home."

  "Me too, babe. Me too. Have a nice holiday," he told me before ending the call.

  I hugged my knees to my chest, wondering if maybe, just maybe, the weird, insistent sinking and soaring at the same time sensation in my gut was possibly telling me something. About Quin. About how I felt about him. About how he probably felt about me too since he kept initiating contact.

  I guess, in this situation, time would tell.

  He would be back in town in a few weeks tops.

  And then I could really see if he was feeling like I was. Like maybe this was something special, something worth exploring, something important.

  FOURTEEN

  Quin

  It was finally, finally fucking over.

  We just so happened to luck out that Sergai Korol and the bulk of his protection crew packed into an SUV and headed out of town the day after Christmas, leaving only four guys guarding this mammoth of a compound he called home.

  Thanks to some meticulous planning by Smith who had prepared extraction techniques that included stealth and full combat-mode options, we had been able to figure out the guard's schedules, the best points of entry and exit, and could get in and out without having to raise any kind of awareness.

  We were already halfway to the rural airport before our equipment told us that the guards realized she was missing.

  Kai sat next to her on the plane, hand curled around hers, whispering quietly to the woman who had fresh cuts and bruises, and was still walking slouched to her side, her busted ribs clearly not on the way to mending.

  Gunner would meet us at the airport, take her, and get her lost forever.

  Me, well, all I could think about was getting the fuck home. Getting a real shower, sleep in a bed, and a solid meal.

  Maybe one I would share with Aven.

  Because, quite frankly, shit was happening there.

  It was foreign territory for me.

  Especially seeing as we hadn't seen each other face-to-face in over a month. It was strange to me how we could forge a bond without physical contact. But there was no denying that we had. I had told her stories that only the people who had been there - namely Smith - knew. I had laughed and felt lighter while talking to her than I had felt in years. Maybe ever. I had listened to her stories about her childhood, especially about her father who had been a good man by all accounts, and her adolescence with a mother who chose a man over her. She laughed until she likely had tears streaming down her face in recalling some of the insane shit that Benny guy she worked with said day-to-day.

  And she came with my name on her lips.

  Over the fucking phone.

  I had never been a fan of phone sex before. Even the idea seemed seedy and impersonal. But it wasn't that. Not with her. It had been sexy. New. Exciting. Satisfying. Even if it did leave me wanting her more than I had before, which didn't seem even possible.

  There was this tugging feeling in my gut, something I understood, something that I had known all my life, something that I knew to trust when I felt it. An instinct.

  About her.

  And because I always followed it when I felt it, I had every intention of getting in touch with her for something in-person as soon as I was cleaned up and less road-weary.

  But first things were first, I had to stop into the office to make sure shit was running alright with only Jules and Gunner around to keep an eye on things. Christmas season was never crazy busy to begin with, but I wanted to make sure there were no pressing cases that Jules had kept to herself because she didn't want to distract us from the case we had been on.

  I spent two hours there, going through the files, before I finally decided to shut down work-mode, and head home to feel human again.

  I had been walking out the front doors when I saw it.

  Them.

  I saw them.

  Aven.

  And Fenway.

  Aven had absolutely no reason to be on this side of town. There was nothing here for her.

  Except, of course, Fenway.

  Since she had no idea that the rest of us were back.

  She was climbing out of her parked car, smile huge as she saw Fenway walking down the street.

  "Sweetheart!" he called, smile as welcoming as hers as he held out his arms, and waited for her to run into them.

  Something, I watched with a fist in my throat, as she did, throwing her arms around him. His hands moved down her back, sinking into her ass, and holding her against him as he spun her in circles, head tucked down by her ear, talking to her as she let out a delighted squeal.

  Fenway?

  Fucking... Fenway?

  That was who was stealing her time when I was gone? A man she claimed to have no interest in? A man I warned her off of?

  I watched as he placed her back on her feet, his hands leaving her ass to frame her face - finally free of trauma, more beautiful than I could have imagined - looking down at her for a long couple of minutes, before lowering his mouth toward hers.

  The punch to the gut was enough to knock my wind out of me.

  And that was about all that I could take.

  I turned, throwing myself down the alley beside my building, mind racing, heart pounding more than it had been when we were infiltrating a building with heavily armed Russians trained to shoot first, and ask questions later.

  My arm swung out right before the mouth of the alley, my fist colliding with the unforgiving brick wall, the pain ricocheting up my wrist, the warm trickle down my fingers letting me know I had broken the knuckles open.

  Great.

  Like I needed to explain that one to anyone.

  What could there be to be said?

  Oh, I saw a girl I wasn't involved with technically offering up her mouth to a man I didn't like.

  Yeah, that shit wouldn't work.

  I threw myself into my car, my head slamming back on the rest as I exhaled a deep breath.

  So much for my fucking gut on this one.

  It was the first time it had failed me.

  I guess there was a first time for everything.

  FIFTEEN

  Aven

  I had no idea what the hell was going on.

  One moment, I was getting a text from Fenway telling me to come say hello - and goodbye - because he was finally free, and jetting off to Sydney for the New Year. Because, apparently, the fireworks there could not be beaten. And, I figured, after weeks being trapped in a small space, he was itching to get the sun on his face, sand beneath his feet, and - let's face it - half naked women all over him.

  "Try not to get into more trouble," I told him, giving him a stern look.

  "Me? Trouble? Why, whatever would make you think I would be capable of such a thing?"

  "Four. Million. Dollars." He had slipped and told me the night before what his latest mishap was costing him - never returning to Russia, and four million dollars. He did it the casual way that only wealthy people could about large sums of money. Oh, these shoes? They were such a steal. Only fifteen-hundred dollars! Meanwhile, my shoes were
from Payless. On clearance. And I still fretted about the cost for a week after. Four million dollars for a mistake was simply absurd. It made my chest get tight every single time I thought of it. And yet Fenway seemed as calm as could be about the whole situation.

  "Yeah, that is going to affect my big birthday plans this year," he agreed, nodding, pretending to look grave.

  "Your big birthday plans were going to cost in the millions? You could dig wells and give clean drinking water to everyone in Africa for that, you ostentatious ass."

  "Hey now, I give a lot to charity," he insisted, looking not the least bit insulted by my calling him an ass.

  "Giving boob jobs to out of work actresses does not count as charity," I qualified with a smirk.

  "Aw man. Your standards are too damn high!"

  From there, we talked for just a few more minutes, promising to keep in touch. He told me that he would drop in if he were ever in Jersey again. I said that would be nice even though I had a feeling it was just one of those things people said We should totally get drinks and catch up sometime! Meanwhile, no one has any intentions of doing such a thing.

  "Alright, I better get the hell out of here before Quin comes out with the fire hose."

  With that, he kissed my cheek and disappeared into a town car that seemed to be waiting for him just at the corner.

  I turned back to Quinton Baird and Associates, wondering if I had a valid excuse to go inside, to maybe happen upon Quin. But with Gunner and Fenway gone, there was no rational reason I would be in there. Sure, I saw Jules often enough, but we hadn't exactly bonded.

  It would look weird.

  And desperate.

  So I got back in my car and drove my ass home.

  And did something that I feel a churning fist of shame every time I think about it - I waited by my phone.

  The first day, I excused it.

  He had been out of the country for weeks. He had been staying in a shack in the woods eating canned meat and rice. He probably wanted a shower, a steak, and a good night of sleep in his own bed. I was totally in no place to judge that.

  I figured he would call when he was clean, fed, and rested.

  And yet there was no call.

  Or text.

  Not that day.

  Or the next.

  Or the next.

  On the fourth day, I was pretty happily settled in What The Fuck mode.

  I mean, I hadn't been imagining all those texts and calls over the last several weeks.

  To be fair, he never said he wanted to date me. That was my own wishful thinking there. But at the very least, we had forged a friendship. A steady one. One with secrets from both our pasts in the mix. We had talked, in some form or another, several times a day since Christmas. Until, apparently, he was on his way back to the States.

  That was just bizarre, right?

  Who did that?

  At least without reason.

  But if he had a reason, I was completely in the dark as to what that could have been.

  I tried to pretend I didn't care as I polished off the last of my Christmas cookies, as I wondered if it was too soon to take the tree down, as I listened to my coworkers talk about their plans for New Years.

  But there seemed to be no end to the swirling thoughts.

  Then New Years Eve morning came.

  And my stupid, traitorous brain could think of nothing else than the silly little promise he made what felt like a lifetime ago.

  About 1600 Broadway, #7C.

  I hadn't even written that down. Normally, I was terrible with things like addresses. That one, for whatever reason, had stuck with me.

  And this morning, as I watched as women in the salon got their hair done for their New Years plans out on the town somewhere, I couldn't help but roll it around in my head.

  1600 Broadway, #7C.

  Was that where he was going to be? Alone in his apartment with a drink in his hand, overlooking the city, feeling like he was missing out?

  Would he think of me?

  "Ugh," I growled, thrusting my arms into my coat sleeves hard enough to make my shoulders object with a pang, waving goodbye to my coworkers who were finishing up for the night, getting in my car, and heading home to my quiet house.

  I still couldn't sleep in my bedroom. I had forced myself to try several times, getting into a nightdress, and climbing under the nice new sheets. But as soon as I spread out, there was a tight, suffocating feeling on my throat, like his hands were all over me again, like I was reliving the night. Like, I thought as I reached to flick on the light, I had his life in my hands again. It almost felt odd to walk toward the door and not see the body there. Even though the rational part of my brain knew it wouldn't be.

  But the couch was my new safe spot with Mackey only ever a few feet away, sleeping under the heating vent where I had put his new fluffy dog bed that he spent half the day trying to destroy.

  Even sleeping far away from it all, I still woke up in the middle of the night at times, sick to my stomach, choking back a scream.

  It would pass.

  I knew this was temporary.

  Maybe once I moved on, got a new place to live, it would become even more infrequent.

  Or maybe I would never be able to fully sleep through the night again.

  Time would tell.

  "Hey bud," I said as Mackey flew out of the open door, going to take his tour of the property. He was hyper-aware of things ever since the night he attacked the woman who had been bashing my head into the house.

  I moved inside, looking at the bottle of champagne I had sitting on the counter, bought on impulse the day before when I was in a very Fuck him and the horse he rode in on mood about the whole situation. It only lasted until I got home, took it out of the bag, and set it on the counter.

  Then all I could think of was how pathetic it would be to drink champagne - something meant for celebrating - alone in my house with nothing really to celebrate.

  It hadn't exactly been a banner year for me. Crippling financial insecurity, a stalker who took the gross to level ten, a beaten face, blood on my hands, sex with a man who clearly didn't want me. I mean... it was a real banner year for me.

  I guess an argument could be made for celebrating it being over. For another rotation around the Earth that I could see as a chance to change things, to get out of my funk, to make my life something it had never been before, something I woke up in the morning truly excited to experience.

  I couldn't, however, seem to muster the enthusiasm to sit down and formulate a plan on how to create such an overhaul.

  Hell, maybe I just needed to move.

  I didn't have an exact date for when I would suddenly be allowed to do such a thing - if I even could with how bad the market has been around here - and could no longer, it seemed, reach out to Quin. I guess I could ask Gunner. He had just gotten back yesterday, shooting me a text demanding something 'cheese filled and awful for me' sometime in the next week. Maybe I could get some details from him too. Without having to ask because he had made it clear that he thought what had gone down with Quin was completely unacceptable - on Quin's part. And maybe a bit foolish on mine.

  And he had no idea that it had gone beyond that last day at the office after we'd had sex.

  I couldn't imagine the lecture I'd get from him if he did know. Especially if he picked up on the fact that things had gone south like he knew they would.

  But yeah.

  Maybe I was done with Jersey.

  Maybe it was time for something new. The south somewhere. Maybe Florida where what I could get from the sale of my house could get me something decent. I wasn't overly fond of snakes, alligators, or humidity, but at least it was different.

  My phone dinged, making my belly flutter hopefully as I lunged for it. There was a distinct, familiar sinking feeling when I realized it wasn't from him.

  It was Fenway.

  A picture from whenever his celebration was at its height, two women pressed to either
side of him in skimpy bikinis that just barely passed decency laws, half-melted iced drinks in their hands. Fenway himself was shirtless, showing off a chest and abdomen that was more muscular than you would expect, a little golden from his hours in the sun.

  Ringing in the New Year right. Your pretty ass better not be sitting alone in the house with that dog.

  Ugh.

  That was exactly what I was doing, I realized as I moved to let Mackey in the door with some giant stick that was really practically an entire tree branch that he would systematically destroy all over the house, ensuring splinters for the next week no matter how well I swept up after.

  I dropped down on the sofa, reaching to turn on the TV, watching commercials for the upcoming festivities, and feeling a deep unhappiness press down on me, making my shoulders feel lower, my head hang.

  It was hardly twenty minutes later when I found myself moving to stand, walking over toward the door, shrugging into my coat, and reaching for my purse and keys.

  I didn't know where I was going; I just knew I couldn't be cooped up in these four walls any longer.

  It wasn't until I found myself parked at the train station that I realized what it was I really wanted. Despite knowing it was a terrible idea, that it was asking for more pain, that if I showed up there, I was letting him see that I had been pining, that I was hung up on him.

  My pride would never normally let that slide.

  But I found myself getting out of my car, reaching for the red and white striped package that had been sitting on my passenger seat since I bought it. For him. And making my way to the computer to plug in Penn Station.

  1600 Broadway, #7C. That is where I will be this New Years. If you have nothing going on and don't want to be alone, it is a short train ride away.

  That was what he told me all those weeks ago.

  They were the words that rolled around my head the entire hour and twenty-minute ride into the city, sitting beside a group of young just-twenty-one-year-olds who had clearly been pre-gaming at home before heading into the city, loud and happy. And because I was neither, obnoxious to me.