Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3)

by Clara Stone

  “Don’t go there—” Fisher growls, his gaze narrowing. But I’m not done.

  “And I was thinking that when I gave you fucking twenty-four hours to get the fuck back to me, you fucking didn’t. So I had to come hunt your stupid ass down. That’s what I was thinking. Satisfied?”

  He flinches and falls silent. “Anna came to you?”

  “Yeah, man. What did you expect? You’re her only family, and you disappeared on her.” I plop down on the couch, taking another swig. “And honestly, I don’t deserve this shitty treatment, since I just spent the day getting authorization to save your ass from whatever it is you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “Harrington—” He paces back and forth. “What are you—?”

  “I know what I am, but what are you?”

  He smacks me upside the head. “Don’t be an ass.”

  I turn slightly to the side and point a finger at myself. “Oh, now I’m being an ass? Dude, you’ve got that definition wrong.”

  He runs his hand down his face. “I know. I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m sorry that I ever got myself involved in this shit. And now . . . you . . . I’m so sorry, man. I wish you didn’t—”

  “What, was I just supposed to let you get yourself killed? That’s not what best friends do. That’s not me.”

  He sighs. “Well that explains why you suddenly showed up on Stamos’s radar, but why didn’t you return my calls? I thought I was going to find you in a body bag, or worse, dig your decomposing corpse from the bottom of the river.” He jumps over the back of the couch and sits next to me.

  I shrug. “Because I could.”

  “You ignored my calls because you can?” He asks, like he’s shocked that anyone could be that rude. Funny.

  I give him a pointed look. “Yup.”

  “You’re a jerk.”

  “Bitch.”

  Silence falls between us. I take another swig of beer while Fisher looks down at his hands folded in his lap. I can feel the guilt radiating off him, and I know he’s thinking about Anna.

  Finally, he says, “I know I was a dick. I shouldn’t have just up and left like that. But I couldn’t tell her. It was too dangerous. I just couldn’t sit by and wait for someone to do something about Stamos, and I . . . I don’t know, I just thought I could fix it.” He gives me a sad smile.

  “You still should have told her something, man. She’s been worried sick about you.”

  His smile disappears, turning into a frown. “I know, and I will. But not yet. I’m following a lead and I can’t risk her getting involved.”

  “You’re all she has. She deserves to at least know you’re alive.”

  “Like your family deserves to know that you’re not actually becoming a lawyer?”

  I look down at the can in my hand and scowl. “That’s different, and you know it.”

  “How? How is it different? You’re not exactly getting ready to graduate and take the bar. So why haven’t you told them you’re FBI?” he challenges, clearly deflecting.

  I empty the can and place it on the table before me, remembering all the times Blake yelled at me for placing stuff on tables without a coaster. “You know why.”

  We fall into awkward silence again, glaring at each other until Fisher finally looks away.

  “So you’re undercover now?” he asks. It’s hesitant, and I know he’s hoping I’ll let the previous topic drop. I don’t want to talk about my father and his expectations for my life, so I’m all too happy to oblige.

  “Yup.” I pop the P at the end. I may be willing to let the conversation shift, but I’m still pissed and I want him to know it.

  “Do I even want to know how you managed to pull that off?” He offers me a half-grin, visibly relaxing.

  “Not really,” I say. “It may or may not have required that I charm the pants off Assistant Director Benson.” I grin as his eyes widen and his jaw drops.

  “No fucking way.”

  I laugh. “You know I could do it, but no. Actually, she was against the idea and Wilson was the one who convinced her.”

  He gives me an impressed nod and turns so he’s facing me fully. A wide grin spreads across his face. “Okay, then. What happens now, Brain?”

  I give him a grin of my own at the reference. “Well, Pinky, now we kick Stamos’s world in the nuts.”

  I hum the Pinky and the Brain theme song as he laughs.

  THIS WAS A bad, bad idea. Like worse than Sam’s plan to rid the Mark of Cain from Dean Winchester’s arm.

  “It’s our day off. We couldn’t go somewhere else?” I wince, feeling the warmth of whiskey burning its way down my throat.

  “And pay for our drinks?” Cat asks, her body slightly slanted to the side. “Hell to the no!”

  I laugh, because really, what else did I expect? I’m tired and running low on energy. Between work and practice with The Torque, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in almost two weeks. And now, instead of falling face first on my very comfortable bed, I’m here. Playing wing-woman to my one and only girlfriend.

  “See anyone interesting? And please, this time can you pick someone who doesn’t look like he’s desperate to get laid?” I add, quickly diverting my thoughts.

  Cat puts her hands up and says, “What, you didn’t like being asked to go somewhere private so you could be mauled?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not that desperate!”

  “But you would be, if the right brand of man-candy came along.” She grins, wiggling her eyebrows.

  I told her about my little run-in with Harrington—aka Killshot—by the river a couple weeks back, and she hasn’t let it go since, taking every opportunity to remind me, tease me, and basically make me wish I’d never opened my mouth to begin with. She grabs my hand and pulls me behind her.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “I didn’t dress up in these killer shoes so we could sit in a corner of the bar.” She drags me through the crush of bodies on the dance floor until we’re in the dead center. Then she lets me go and starts moving her hips to the blaring beat of the music ricocheting through the club.

  “Nah-ah!” I say loudly, unable to stop the laughter from escaping. “Killer shoes or not, I’m not dancing. I suck at this. Like bad.”

  She laughs. “Nobody sucks at dancing, darling. You just move—like this, and this.” She draws a sort of eight with her hips. “See? Easy.” She looks at me, grinning. “And if you want to get down and dirty, you just need to get a bit closer.” With that, she turns around and snakes her way down before coming back up.

  “Easy for you, maybe!” I yell over the loud music.

  She shrugs and takes my hand, then starts swaying side to side with our hands up in the air. The music changes and some guy grabs a hold of Cat at the same time another lays his hand on me.

  I stiffen and look over my shoulder. He’s a little taller than my five-foot-five inch frame and is sporting blond locks that reach just about to the nape of his neck. His blue eyes sparkle when he looks at me. I notice Cat dancing with her new partner, so I turn around to face him.

  “We’ve been watching you girls from the bar—not in like a stalkerish way or anything.” He runs his fingers through his long hair, nervous. “I’ve just been trying to figure out how to talk to you.” Then he adds, looking over my shoulder, “I’m not very good at this, unlike my friend over there.”

  “Funny you say that . . .” I say, feeling myself slowly moving to the music. “Because I feel the same way. I’m only here for my roommate.”

  He smiles down at me, understanding. “So, what would you like to do then? Dance? Or grab a drink? My treat.”

  The buzzing of my phone, tucked safely away inside my bra, interrupts us. “One sec . . .” I say, putting a finger up and fishing out my phone.

  Vincent. Why is he calling me so late?

  “I’m so sorry, but I gotta take this . . .” I tell the guy.

  His mouth hangs open, but I don’t wait for his response. I press a
finger into my ear to dim down some of the noise and yell, “Hello? Hello? Vincent? Wait, I can’t hear you. Hang on.”

  I walk out through the narrow hallway that’s labeled “Employees Only,” which leads to the dumpsters outside. The night chill hits my face like a breath of fresh air when I shove open the door. “Hey, can you hear me now?”

  “Yeah.” Vincent’s voice comes loud and clear. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No. Actually, it couldn’t have been more perfect.” I lean my back against the brick wall and wrap one arm under the other for support. “How are you? How are the boys?”

  “Good. At least, they’ll be good.”

  “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

  Something is definitely off, and I have feeling it might have to do with his half-brothers. Last year, when he caught his step-mom doing drugs again, leaving his younger brothers to starve for nearly three days, he called social services. He’s been working hard to make money and show he’s fully capable of taking care of his three younger brothers ever since then. And with Rock graduated and off on his own, he’s had no one around to help.

  “No, everything is fine. I just wanted to hear your voice and make sure you were doing okay. Everything still going good?”

  I nod, understanding that he’s not ready to talk about whatever it is that’s weighing him down. “Yes. John’s been amazing, when he wants to be. And Cat, well, she’s something! I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

  “Good. Good.” His response is so distant, I feel my heart seize with guilt. I should be there for him. But I couldn’t stay in that hell hole. Even though leaving him behind was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

  “Vincent . . .” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “You know I only moved away in person, right? I’m still your best friend.” I lean my head back and look up at the starless sky. That’s one thing I do miss about home—stars. Everything’s too bright here.

  He sighs. “Just give me some time, Jessy-girl.”

  I give a sad smile, though I know he can’t see it. We stay silent a moment longer.

  “So, tell me, how did your auditions go?” he asks finally.

  For the next ten minutes, I tell him everything about the band—how Tom’s hated me since I stepped foot in the audition room, and how touchy-feely Jarod is.

  “Well, if you ask me,” Vincent says, “they’re lucky to have you. You’re an amazing drummer.”

  I laugh. “You’re biased . . . since you’re my best friend and all.”

  He chuckles. “Maybe. But even if I wasn’t, I’d still think you’re pretty amazing. Miss Winters always thought you’d be amazing too. Remember how she tried so hard to get you to join the marching band?”

  I sigh into the cold night.

  “Hey, Jess?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You are happy, right?”

  I think about it. I think about Cat and John and all the laughs I’ve had since moving here. About my job, the band. And Harrington. But most of all, I think about living on my own and not having to worry about what the night might bring. “Yes. Yes, I’m happy.”

  “Good,” he says, and I hear a satisfied smile in his response.

  “I miss you like crazy, though. And our talks.”

  “Me too, Jessy-girl. Me too.” A loud cry comes from the background. I hear muffled voices on the other side.

  “Vincent? Vincent?” I call. What happened? I start to panic and wonder if I need to call 911 when I don’t hear anything from him.

  “Hey, I gotta go,” Vincent says, a little breathless. “Carl knocked Chucky over and it looks like he’s bleeding. I need to get him taken care of.”

  “What? How? Wait, the kids with you? Does that mean—”

  “I can’t right now, Jessy-girl.” He cuts me short. “But I’ll talk to you soon and tell you everything, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, my voice small.

  “Hey. I love you,” he says before hanging up, not even waiting for me to respond.

  “I love you too,” I whisper into the cold night.

  I miss him and the boys. They were only things that kept me happy in my old life. And now I’m so far away from them that he probably doesn’t want to burden me with whatever it is he’s dealing with. That’s so like him. Knight in shining armor for everyone but himself.

  I know he wasn’t happy with my choice to move away. But he didn’t try to stop me either. In fact, he helped me get out of my mom’s trailer and helped me land my new job by putting in a good word for me with John, whom he’d met through the car shows he used to attend with my father. But now . . . does he think I moved because I don’t care for him, or that I’m too busy to talk to him?

  That doesn’t sound like the Vincent I know.

  “Ugh!” I groan into the night sky. Why can’t things just be normal?

  The back door opens and I jerk my head toward it. A familiar face comes into view.

  Speaking of normal . . . or not so normal.

  Harrington.

  He shoves his hands into his front pockets and looks everywhere but at me. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling. I seem to be doing that a lot when I’m around him. Smiling. It’s so weird how, before him, I rarely even looked at boys, let alone spent time with them. But everything feels different when I’m with him, normal. Like it had with Vincent—without the fucked up situations of our families, of course.

  “Hey you.” He smiles in that adorable boy-next-door way I can’t resist.

  Something stirs at the bottom of my stomach. He’s smiled at me like that the last few times we met. But this time, it just feels . . . warmer, personal. Like it’s only meant for me. Which sounds crazy.

  Maybe I’ve had one too many tonight.

  I shiver.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurt. Because, hell on wheels, I wasn’t expecting to see him or feel whatever hormones are raging through me tonight.

  “What, no hello, or how’s it going?” He makes his way toward me, the corners of his mouth crinkling into a smirk.

  I shake my head, holding back my own smile. “Hi. And you didn’t answer the question.” I hesitate, just for a moment, because I don’t know if I want to know the answer. “Are you here with Stamos?”

  His expression is unreadable, stoic. I don’t know what to make of it. “If I said yes, would that bother you?”

  I look down at my hands. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  He leans his shoulder against the wall next to me. “You went missing for so long I got worried.”

  “That implies that you’ve been watching me.” I look up at him. He’s staring at me with smoldering hazel eyes and I forget what I was so worried about. “I wasn’t gone for that long.”

  He doesn’t respond to my accusation. Just raises one perfect eyebrow, that smug smirk still curling the corner of his mouth.

  “You were watching me,” I state.

  He admits nothing. Instead, he says, “I’d have come earlier to rescue you from that asshole, but didn’t want to undermine your ability to handle him.”

  I laugh. “You’re so . . . weird.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Well, that’s a first. No one’s ever called me weird.”

  “Well, there’s a first for everything, mister.”

  “I certainly hope so,” he says.

  He leans closer, like he’s drawn to me, and I follow his lead. If I’m being truthful, all sorts of crazy sparks have been shooting off inside my head. I don’t know what to make of him. I mean, he obviously likes me in some capacity, seeing as how he’s always flirting.

  But these days, you never know. Flirting doesn’t always equal liking. He could simply be looking for “fun.” Like a friends with benefits situation or something.

  Argh! I’m thinking too much.

  “Quarter for your thoughts?” he asks. I can feel the faintest heat from his breath against my skin.

  “Huh?” I blink. �
�Wait, isn’t it a penny? Not a quarter?”

  He closes some more distance between us. “Your thoughts are worth more than a penny, sweetheart.”

  “But not more than a quarter?” I say, turning fully toward him.

  What are you doing, Jess? What are you doing?

  “Well, I want to know all of the thoughts in that pretty head of yours,” he says, his tone deep and husky. “And I want to be able to afford them.”

  We’re close. So, so close. I tilt my head slightly and look at him.

  He takes another step, closing the distance. His hands come up on either side of my body, pinning me between the brick wall at my back and him in the front.

  Our breaths swirl between us, hot and heavy.

  “Do I scare you?”

  I swallow. I think I nod, or maybe I shake my head, I can’t tell. Under the dark street lamps, and even darker skies, and with his body so close to mine, I don’t know if either of those answers would be a lie. Because I am scared, but I’m also not. I’m scared of the way my heart’s thumping in my chest, and I’m not because I’m confident when I’m with him.

  “Who are you, Jessica Owens?” he asks, his mouth moving a little closer to mine. “What’s your story?”

  My breath hitches when he slides a finger under my chin and angles it up toward his mouth. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t seem to figure out how. His eyes are a dark shade of blue-green as they bore into mine.

  “I’m just me,” I respond.

  “Hmm . . . You’re just you,” he repeats, like he’s trying out the words as he studies my eyes, thoughts churning almost visibly inside that head of his. “Has anyone ever told you”—he leans closer—“that you have the most beautiful eyes?” His finger presses lightly against the mole at the corner of my chin, like he’s caressing it. “And this . . .” He glances at my birthmark for a second before he brings his intense gaze back to mine. “Breathe, Jess. Breathe for me.”

  I find myself relaxing into that voice, like hypnosis.

  “Good girl.” A breathtaking smile appears on his perfectly shaped mouth, and all I want to do is get on my toes and press his lips to mine . . .