Where is Tony? His bodyguard should’ve broken this up. I look to Banks. “Tell the temp guards to break up the fight.” I see three just watching.
Banks switches radio frequencies and speaks to them in comms.
Maximoff starts to run up the slick, muddy hill, and Farrow drops his trauma bag. Catching up to his fiancé’s side. It’s not an easy climb. They slide.
When the white ranger slams a left hook into Xander’s jaw, Maximoff digs in harder and yells, “XANDER!”
Banks goes to help.
My muscles flex, and Jane can feel my shoulders contracting as she holds on to them.
I’m not planning to join. Neither is Charlie or Oscar. Our clients are here. We stay here. We stand near, but far enough from the foot of the hill that our view of Xander isn’t obstructed.
“Put me down,” Jane says instantly, hurriedly. “Go, go —I’ll stay with Charlie.”
“No. I’m not leaving your side.” My voice is concrete. In my head, there is no other option. And even if there were, this is what I want. Her detail.
Her.
I trust my brother. I trust Farrow and even Maximoff to get the job done.
Suddenly, part of the audience breaks off, mostly drunk frat-bro-looking shitbags dressed as Vikings, and they slide down the hill. Grinning, aiming for Farrow and Maximoff, the Winter Soldier and Captain America.
Being a bodyguard for so long, I sense what’s about to happen. The Vikings want to push our men down. Just to prolong the entertainment at the top of the hill.
Oscar and I exchange a severe look. They’re not making it to Xander. And the temps aren’t moving a muscle, which means the extra guards are listening to another order.
Tony, I’m guessing.
I’m about to tell Oscar to go and I’ll watch Charlie. But he beats me to speak. “You go, Moretti. You’re taller.” Oscar is over six feet, but I assume he thinks my longer limbs will help me climb up the fucking hill faster.
Probably because Banks was high up, almost to the top. But he changes course to protect Maximoff and Farrow.
Jane looks panicked at the scene. “Go, go .” She taps my shoulder.
“Listen to my sister,” Charlie says, shooting me a harsher look.
I glance at Oscar, and he nods to me, “I have her.” I trust him. Instantly. I move into action. Carefully setting Jane onto her feet, and she hangs on to Charlie’s arm.
Fear strikes her eyes. She pushes me towards the hill. “Thatcher.” Her empathy for her best friend takes over.
A Viking charges Maximoff, about to shove him, and Farrow intervenes fast. He cold-cocks the Viking hard. Lights out instantly, and the rest erupt on both of them.
I run.
Maximoff is brawling his way through these shitbags, and Farrow is swifter, more trained. Nailing one with an uppercut to the jaw. Banks keeps about three from storming in on them, putting a guy in a headlock, and I ascend another part of the hill.
Clear of Viking targets.
I’m not able to check back on Jane. I place all my trust in Oscar. Sounds of cheering escalate the higher I climb, my boots muddying.
I’ve been in harsher terrain. Under harsher conditions. But I wouldn’t call this a cakewalk by any fucking means.
My pulse pounds in my temple. The DJ plays “I Put a Spell On You” on full blast, the bass shaking the ground.
I dig my foot into mud, and with one last shove up, I reach the graveyard. Seeing over every head, I have an eye on Xander.
He almost trips backwards into a fake headstone, dodging a jab to the nose. Blood already gushes down his mouth and chin.
I don’t waste a second. “Break up!” I yell, storming toward the fistfight in the center of the graveyard. No one tries to restrain me here. They see my imposing height and build, domineering stance, and lethal glare—and they part instantly.
Making a clear path for me to go through. But they boo. Pissed that I’m about to end their party.
My boots crunch red Solo cups while I charge ahead. Unblinking, reflexes humming. Not far.
And then the white ranger lands a hard blow into Xander’s face. Blood gushes out of his nose.
And he crumples on a headstone in a heap. I’m here. One second too late, but I wrench the white ranger back by the collar.
Someone yells, “Holy shit! Baywatch-Thor is coming out of nowhere!”
The white ranger flails at me. “Heymangetoffme.”
I throw him to the side with extreme force. His chest thuds on a mound of dirt. Quickly, I crouch to Xander, who groans and cups his nose.
Lanky at six-foot-two, he’s pretty scrawny for fifteen—and without pause, I lift him in my arms.
He tucks his head into my chest with some type of familiarity, seeking safety in my clutch. As though he knows exactly who I am without checking.
I’m almost whiplashed with how many years I’ve spent protecting him, and as I carry Xander down the hill, I feel like he’s nine-years-old again.
He’s safe.
Probably broke his nose, but he’s safe. Hell, he’ll be joining the broken nose club. Many bodyguards are in it, and so is Maximoff.
I swat a plastic cup that someone tries to throw at me. Booing intensified. I don’t give a rat’s ass.
Finding some foot traction, I reach the bottom of the hill without slipping. And right as I lock eyes with Jane—Tony motherfucking Ramella cuts into my path.
I glower. Wanting to choke him with his lifeguard whistle.
He looks just as murderous. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Moretti?”
“I’m holding your bloodied client and you’re asking me that? You shouldn’t have even let Xander swing—”
“He wanted to fight,” Tony sneers, his blue eyes pulsating with rage that I feel. “It was a boxing match.”
“Where’s the fucking ring ?” I growl.
Tony points at me. “See, that’s your goddamn problem. You can’t hover over your client. You gotta let him live his life.”
“He’s fifteen!”
“He’s a fuckin’ teenager! You did worse at his age—”
“Vaffangul’,” I growl. Fuck you.
He spits the same Italian curse at me.
If Xander weren’t in my clutch right now, hiding in the crook of my arm, I wouldn’t be able to control my hot-blooded urge to deck Tony in the fucking face.
It’s the only reason I walk away from him now.
He shouts at my back, “You’re gonna regret this, Moretti!”
We’ll see.
45
JANE COBALT
Everything changes today. The first day of November.
I’m home. I lean back against the brick wall, right beside the adjoining door that leads to security’s townhouse. It’s so strange to think that just on the other side, Thatcher is meeting with the three leads to discover exactly how we have to announce our breakup for tonight.
Press release.
Instagram post.
Rocket flare.
I can’t imagine a suitable way to do it because there’s no part of me that wants to wake up tomorrow and be someone less to Thatcher than what I’ve been. To rewind and be nothing more than his client again…
Ophelia nudges my hand for pets, and I stroke her white fur.
“Janie,” Maximoff whispers, his voice tough but incredibly consoling. He has an arm around my shoulders, and I lean my weight into my best friend.
His black eye isn’t so swollen anymore, but a yellowish bruise blemishes his cheek, the aftermath of the fight on the hill. Farrow only has a split lip, and Banks strained a muscle in his shoulder. I’m just thankful no one was more severely injured. Including Xander, who’s recuperating from a minor nose fracture.
I glance over at the kitchen archway. Seeing a portion of Donnelly’s outstretched legs. He’s sitting on the floor against the cupboards.
Farrow is next to him, the same way that Moffy is beside me. I walked past this morning and saw Do
nnelly pinching his watery eyes.
He was called here earlier to talk to the Tri-Force. They’re transferring him off Beckett’s detail. It wasn’t such a shock, really. Beckett learned about Donnelly’s deep-seated family history with drugs, and he didn’t want his bodyguard around cocaine. So he requested a transfer.
Everyone is trying to protect Donnelly, it seems. Oscar and Farrow were the ones to tell Beckett.
I take a breath in the quiet. Ophelia turns to Moffy, bumping her nose into his wrist. He scratches her, but looks at me. Deep empathy coursing through his green eyes.
He’s known longer than anyone that I’ve liked Thatcher. That I’ve been attracted to him. That I’ve slept with him, and he’s seen from the start where this could lead. And he’s been afraid for me. One-way roads. Not together. Different directions.
My lips are chapped and I lick the cuts forming on my bottom one. “I’ve been telling him that I don’t want him to quit security for me,” I whisper to Moffy. “And I don’t…but…at the same time, I do.” Tears well up in my eyes. “And I hate that part of me. That’d wish him to sacrifice anything to be with me.”
I rub at my eyes.
Moffy hugs me closer. “Sacrifice is a part of being in a relationship with people like us,” he says softly.
Sacrifice.
I hear Beckett’s voice.
Ophelia darts off at the sound of birds chirping outside. I rest my cheek to his shoulder. Tears spilling down my face.
Moffy looks pained, but he hugs tighter.
I rub snot on the sleeve of my blouse. “I’m just thinking about how he’s going to come back through those doors and everything will be different. I won’t even be able to touch his hand…” I take a sharp breath. “Or run my fingers through his hair.” My sleeve is sufficiently wet. “He has really good hair.”
I try to smile.
Moffy tries too. “I know. He’s got great hair.”
We both laugh. Me through my tears. Him through his reddened eyes.
In all of this, I’m glad I have him. And just as deeply, I’m so very glad Thatcher has Banks. We both won’t be alone. No matter what.
And yet…
My heart is still breaking.
46
THATCHER MORETTI
I’ve got my head on right. It’s what I know when I take a seat across from the Tri-Force. Price, Sinclair and Akara all lounge on security’s leather couch. Price has a tablet on his knee, Sinclair a notebook, and Akara, his phone.
I’ve pulled up a chair. Only the coffee table separating us.
Not long ago, I would’ve been sitting on the other side as a lead. I was their equal. I’m not intimidated by them. I’m not cowering or shrinking back.
But I understand that Price cuts the checks. All three of the leads have the same power, but make no mistake, this is his company. He built Triple Shield Services, the legal name for the security team as a whole, which everyone sees on their 1099. Keeping in good graces with Price was always a priority.
Each lead examines their notes. About to discuss further details concerning the breakup announcement. One of which is to use my family as a reason for fake animosity between me and Jane.
Banks told me, “A few headlines isn’t going to knock our family down. We’ve survived worse.”
I know we have.
My stringent posture stretches my muscles taut. Obedient, patient, and I sense more rules. More boundaries being reconstructed in solid brick.
All the walls I smashed down, that she smashed down, are being cemented back together. Right in front of me.
But there’s one thing I’ve realized in all of this:
I couldn’t compartmentalize Jane.
Not very well in the past, not at all in the present, and there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to in the future.
I’ve given up a lead position. I’ve lost my privacy. I’ve risked the safety of my family. All for her—and at the end of the fucking line, I can’t shove her in one box and walk away. I couldn’t then; I can’t now.
She is everywhere inside of me. And that’s where I want her to be.
I can see my grandma. Feel her loving hand on my face. Hear her soft, aching voice. Wishing with her whole soul for me to just be happy.
I inhale strongly.
“Before you all start,” I tell them. “I’d like to say something.”
Sinclair gives me a quick once-over. We’ve been on good terms, despite his grievances with a couple men on Omega. That’s about to change. He nods. “Go ahead.”
Sitting forward, I cup my hands. “I don’t want to waste your time,” I say as a professional courtesy. “So I’m not going to beat around this.”
Akara slips me a confused look, his brows crossing.
I expel a breath through my nose, and I address all three. “I’m not breaking up with Jane.”
Price frowns. “Pardon?”
“We want to be together, sir, and I understand that there may be a conflict of interest with me working for security. If that’s going to be a problem, I’m willing to give you my formal resignation today.”
They’re all stunned silent. Whiplashed. This is probably the last thing they expected to hear.
Akara keeps shaking his head. Shock and heat building in his gaze.
I’m sorry.
Fucking him over is one of the worst things I have to do. But I couldn’t warn him because he needs to wipe his hands clean of me. And even hate me. Maybe then he can try to maintain trust with Price and Sinclair.
“You both want to be together?” Sinclair repeats, like it doesn’t make sense.
“Yes, sir.” I’m more on edge, waiting to see where the shrapnel lands.
Price locks eyes with me. His fingers clenching his tablet tighter. But he’s not about to jump the table. They’re all leads for a reason. A cool, controlled temperament is a hallmark to being a good bodyguard.
“I’m going to ask you one question,” Price says, his voice even, despite the bite in his eyes. “And you better be fucking honest with me.”
I nod.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sinclair lets out an aggravated laugh. Price shoots to his feet. I stand at the same time as Akara, who slashes his hurt, angered gaze at me.
“You and me, Thatcher,” he says harshly. “You and me—we’ve protected our men for years. That’s the way it’s been.”
Covering asses, cleaning messes. Good cop, bad cop. Him and me.
I nod.
“And you should’ve known better,” Akara says between gritted teeth. “You knew , more than anyone, what you’d fucking destroy.” His nose flares, pained.
SFO.
His men.
His responsibility.
Nothing I say will make a difference. But he deserves an apology. “I’m sorry,” I say from my core.
Akara shakes his head more, still fuming, still in disbelief.
Sinclair glowers. “This fake dating op wasn’t a gateway for you to stick your dick in her.”
I rake a hand across my mouth, acid in my throat, shifting tensely on my feet. Don’t charge. But I fucking hate how he’s talking about Jane.
“You took advantage of my trust in you,” Price states like a leader disappointed in his men. “And I should fire you right now. I honestly can’t stand to even look at your fucking face.”
That one cuts.
Only because I think of Banks.
How much shit is he going to get for this?
My jaw clenches, muscles flexed. Staying quiet. Opening my mouth isn’t going to help, and I can’t disagree with them. I did take advantage of the op. And of their trust in me to stay professional.
I screwed them.
Price runs two angered hands over his head. He blows out a breath and looks at Sinclair. “He needs to go.”
“He can’t,” Sinclair states. “We have that problem.”
My brows knit in confusion.
&n
bsp; Price turns to Akara and asks him, “What are the chances that if we fire Thatcher, Banks will quit security?”
“One-hundred percent,” Akara says, still glaring at me.
That’s not really true. And Akara knows this. My brother would want to stay and protect these families. And I’d want him to keep them safe. Especially if I’m dating Jane.
But I keep my mouth shut.
I trust Akara, who knows a hell of a lot more than I do right now.
Price lets out a long breath and narrows his gaze on me. “I won’t accept your resignation.”
What the fuck is going on?
I look between all three of them. Not interrupting.
Price continues, “After the fight on Halloween, Lily and Loren Hale have requested that you or Banks return to Xander’s 24/7 detail.” Their son.
The Tri-Force only needs one of us on the team. But Akara just saved me with a package-deal lie.
My chest rises, a surge of emotion rushing through me. I’m going to keep my job as a bodyguard.
They’re not taking my radio or my gun—but where the hell am I going?
Jane.
Let me stay with Jane.
Breath imprisons my lungs.
Price picks up the tablet he’d thrown down. “We were planning on putting Banks with Xander.”
I nod stiffly.
Sensing the hammer about to drop.
“But you’re not staying on Jane’s detail after this. You sealed your own fate.”
My mind is reeling. They’re punishing me. Because they couldn’t fire me.
I try to exhale, reminding myself that I’m being given more than I thought I’d receive coming in here. And I knew there’d be consequences to my decision.
“You want me on Xander’s detail, sir?” My voice is professional. Stern. Like always.
“Correct. Your post will start soon.”
I nod. “Thank you, sir.”
He nods to me, hurt still in his brow. Hurt in all of them.
Price became a bodyguard at twenty-two for the long-haul, same age that I did, and I think he saw his longevity and leadership in me.
Sinclair is the one who relates to the military in me. I’m supposed to be like one of him.
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