Anything For Family

by Lola StVil

  Gage, you could be wrong, genius. He could be a nice guy who loves and protects her. But she felt like slumming it and came to the bad part of town without telling anyone.

  Yeah, I can see her doing that. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to follow logic or reason. She could easily have come down to the bar on a whim.

  It doesn’t matter. Once she wakes up, someone will call her boyfriend or whoever and he will come get her. You can go back to your night.

  “Sir, she’s awake now,” the doctor says as he comes towards me. The relief I feel throws me off. It’s not just a small sigh; my entire body is relaxed now that I know she’s going to be okay. What is going on with me tonight?

  “What happened?” I ask the doctor.

  “She had a mild concussion. I gave her Tylenol; now she needs bed rest and fluids. Also, someone should be with her to wake her up every two hours, just to be sure her condition hasn’t worsened. By tomorrow she should be all better.”

  “Okay, thank you, Doc.”

  “Certainly. Would you like to see her now?” he asks.

  I nod, and he takes me into her room. He greets her and leaves us alone. She’s lying on the bed; she looks weak. It tugs at my heart. I have an overwhelming desire to brush the stray strand of hair from her face and gently tuck it behind her ear.

  Seriously, Gage. What. The. Holy. Fuck?

  “How are…are you alright?” I ask. I get closer to her, but still keep a good distance between us. Something tells me that tucking-her-hair shit is something I might actually do if I get any closer.

  “I’m fine,” she replies.

  She’s not. I can tell by her voice. It’s far less defiant than when we first met. She’s looking off to the side, out the dark window. If I didn’t know better, I would say she’s going to cry.

  “I can call someone for you if you want,” I offer.

  “It’s fine; I got it.”

  “Argh, why don’t you just let me call someone? What is it, Wonder Woman? Can’t you put your cape away just for a few minutes?”

  “I don’t know. Can you put your muscles away?”

  I take a deep breath and wonder why the hell I’m still in the room. She’s fine, and the hospital will call Chad or Asher, and they will come get her stubborn, feisty ass. I don’t need this shit.

  “Okay, have it your way. You can tell the staff, and they will call for you. The doctor told you that someone will have to watch over you for the next few hours? You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I got it. Why don’t you go lift weighs or leap a tall building in a single bound, Superman? I got it from here.”

  I shake my head and march out of the room—almost. Once I’m at the door, I place my hand on the knob, but I don’t turn it.

  Just walk away, Gage Hunter. There are way too many nuts in that fruitcake.

  But I don’t walk away. Instead, I turn back to her. I cross my arms over my chest and try again.

  “Before I leave here, I’d like to know that you have someone coming for you. Can you at least promise me that someone is coming?”

  She looks over at me. “Why does it matter to you? I was rude to you, even after you helped me, so why do you care?”

  Something about her tone breaks my fucking heart. God damn it! She genuinely doesn’t get why I stuck around. It goes against my better judgment, but I walk back over to her.

  “It’s my mother’s fault. She drilled some crap about service and helping others into us. I tried to get her voice out of my head, but it turns out it’s kind of stuck there. Besides, McDonald’s gives me a free apple pie for every ten women I save. So I need you to be okay because, well, you’re number nine today.”

  “So you’re only one woman away from a free pie?” she says, pretending to be genuinely impressed.

  “That’s right.”

  “What about the tenth woman? Where you gonna find her?” she inquires.

  “I’ll find another woman to save. If I have to kick an old lady’s walker and then ‘save her,’ I’ll do it. I have no shame when it comes to baked goods,” I reply. She laughs.

  Oh. My. God.

  Her laugh is intoxicating. It fills the room and makes me feel warm all over. What’s happening to me? Please, let it be medical. Please let it be the flu. Or else, I’m in real fucking trouble.

  “Just so you know, all the nurses are calling me Wonder,” she says. She tries to sound annoyed but I can tell by her eyes she likes the nickname.

  “Well, I had to write down something. Now tell me, what’s your real name? What do people call you when you’re not wearing a cape?”

  “My name is Shelby.”

  “Hi, Shelby.”

  “Hi, Gage.”

  The nurse comes back to look Wonder over one last time before they release her. I take that time to step out of the room and make a call to the agency. I’ve been with the CIA for a few years now, and it’s nothing like it is on TV. It’s gathering information, accessing possible threats to national security, and basically being America’s eyes and ears overseas.

  I’ve seen more action than most because the territories I cover are volatile and fragile. I’ve overseen operations in China, North Africa, and the Middle East. But lately, a lot of the action has been taking place right here at home. Someone on our side, right here at home, has been leaking information to various foreign powers.

  It’s because of that leak that a few nights ago, yet another operation went south. We lost an agent: Kurt Sanders. I knew him well. He was married and had two kids. Kurt’s mom battled breast cancer and won, only to lose her son a year later. When we find the asshole who betrayed us and caused his death, we’re gonna put him under the fucking prison—if he lives that long.

  There’s an operation that has been put in place to lure the person out—Operation Snake Head. I’m off tonight, but I call to check in because when it comes to the agency you are never really off. I get on the call, and it lasts no longer than a minute. The update is, there is no update.

  Damn.

  I make my way back into Wonder’s room. The nurse has already left.

  “I’m officially free to go. What’s wrong?” she asks as soon as I enter her room. I didn’t think I looked worried, but I guess I was wrong.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, once again taken by her beauty.

  “You look stressed out. Is something wrong?”

  “No, everything’s fine.”

  “Can we agree to not lie to each other? I figure this is the safe-to-tell-the-truth zone because we’ll never see each other after tonight.”

  “Okay, but what if there are things we just can’t say?” Things like, I am a CIA agent who works in the field and is sometimes called on to do very ugly things.

  “You can plead the fifth.” She smiles.

  Christ; that smile.

  “Okay, deal. Now, let’s figure out where we should go,” I suggest. I give in to my urge and reach for her.

  “Listen, I will be fine on my own. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I can handle myself,” she insists.

  I tell her I have no doubt about that but I’m not about to let her go home by herself. I tell her that I could keep an eye on her back at her place. She places both hands on her hips and purses her lips.

  “Did I forget to tell you I’m a black woman?” she retorts.

  “Yeah, I got that part. So?”

  “So there are things that as a full-fledged black woman, I won’t do.”

  “Oh really?” I ask as I cross my arms against my chest. “Like what?”

  “Well, for one thing, I won’t run into the woods with you to ‘check something out,’” she says.

  I laugh. How the hell does she get me to do that? Laughing is just not something I do a lot of, especially since my sister, Rose, passed away, and yet, here she is making me literally laugh out loud.

  “Is there anything else black women won’t do?” I push.

  “We don’t feel the need to investigate
strange sounds coming from the basement; we don’t climb snowcapped mountains just to see if we can conquer nature. And we certainly don’t let a stranger into our homes simply because he’s gorgeous.”

  “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  “No.” She pauses and then mumbles, “I think you’re…not ugly.”

  I drop my head, bemused. “You sure know how to win a guy over,” I reply. “How about this: we get a hotel room—a suite with adjoining rooms. That way I will stay on my side, and you stay on yours. I’ll knock on your door every two hours, and if you call out, then I know you’re okay. But if I call your name and I don’t hear anything, I’m breaking the damn thing down.”

  “You would really do that?” she probes.

  “I don’t save people just to lose them. What do you say?” I ask.

  She nods and allows me to help her up from the hospital bed. She lets out a terrified yelp as she looks down at her hospital robe.

  “Are you in pain? Do you need the doctor again?” I ask. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Look at me, Gage. Just look at me,” she says desperately. “I’m wearing a cotton blend.”

  Argh, this woman is going to be the death of me!

  ***

  Gage Hunter takes me to the Broome, a boutique hotel in lower Manhattan. It’s a charming four-story building with exposed brick, a tiled courtyard, and large bay windows. There are lush green plants that hang over the balcony, and luxurious fabrics cover the antique furniture. As soon as we walk in, I inhale the intoxicating scent of citrus, vanilla, and amber. This place smells amazing. It feels like we escaped New York City and entered a secret, Moroccan oasis.

  He checks us into a suite and asks if I need anything before he heads into the adjoining room. I don’t answer, but my stomach does. It growls. “Sorry,” I reply, truly embarrassed.

  He shakes his head, amused. “Never be sorry for being hungry.”

  “I’m not hungry. I’m fine.”

  My stomach growls again.

  Damn it! Shut up!

  “Did you have dinner?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I had a salad.”

  “Salad isn’t dinner.”

  “It had croutons.”

  He furrows his brows and tilts his head slightly, showing his blatant disapproval.

  “That wasn’t all. It had croutons and chicken,” I add.

  “Not good enough. The kitchen is closed here, but I’ll run out and get us something. You good with burgers, or do they have to be from a top-of-the-line fashion designer?”

  “Well, Dolce & Gabbana just unveiled a new line of hamburger buns.”

  He smiles. All the air leaves my lungs. I swallow hard.

  What’s happening to me?

  “So you’re good with burgers and fries?” he says.

  “Fries…” I repeat reluctantly.

  “Okay, if you say you want a salad instead, I should let you know that I plan to judge you.”

  I laugh. “Oh really, why?”

  “Well, you seem like kind of a badass, and they generally don’t eat salad.”

  “Well, for your information, I was going to request sweet potato fries along with my burger.”

  “Wow, a rebel among rebels.”

  “That’s right. Extra hot, please.”

  “You got it. Be right back.”

  He leaves, and I’m left on my own. I need a shower, a cold one. I strip my clothes off, enter the shower, and let the cool spray hit me. I need the water to refresh me but also to cool down the surge of heat that comes from being near Gage.

  It would be okay if he were just a pillar of muscles and raw attraction. I could deal with that. But the way he is with me—warm, considerate, thoughtful—is throwing me off.

  Could it be that not all men are ruthless, selfish, vile creatures? Could it be that Gage is a real-life good guy?

  Shelby, don’t lie to yourself; not again. You thought that once and it cost you everything.

  The moment that thought crosses my mind, I flash back to moments in my past I don’t wish to relive. The only way I can push back the wave of hurt that’s about to crash down on me is to make a list of things out loud. It always calms me. It helps me to have to focus on something else. I start whispering my list—tonight it’s US presidents. I say them over and over until I am sure the flashes are gone. When it’s finally over, I’m weak with relief. I grab a towel, dry off, and slip into the robe the hotel provided.

  Gage is back. He’s seated at the small dining table by the window that overlooks the city. He takes in the sight of me in my stark white robe and looks away quickly—too quickly. My heart sinks.

  Why are you disappointed, Shelby? It’s not like this is romantic, right? That’s the last thing we want, right?

  “I thought you got lost in the bathroom and I’d have to gather a search party to come get you,” he says as he lays out the food.

  “Yeah, I lost track of time.”

  He’s not looking at me. It’s as if he’s trying to look busy so he won’t have to look my way. I’m probably a mess to look at right now, but that doesn’t mean he has to block me out completely.

  It’s fine, this is just for the night. And so what if he doesn’t want to look at you? He’s trouble. All men are. So, eat the damn food and go to bed.

  “Come, have a seat. You’re not the only one starving. I got you a few drinks, wasn’t sure which one you’d like,” he says as I take a seat across the table from him. We begin to eat. There are a few specks of salt from the fries that transfer to his lips. I want to reach over and lick them off. My desire to taste his lips is overwhelming; I have to refocus. I conclude that in order to quiet my hormones, I have to feed them—sweet potato fries. I shovel a stack into my mouth, not realizing he was looking at me.

  “So, you were hungry?” he teases.

  “Maybe a little,” I admit. We laugh, and as the laughter dies down, we can’t seem to look away from each other. I have to hold on and grip the side of the table to prevent myself from reaching out to him. It helps me stay in my seat, but it does nothing to stop my pulse from racing. And it certainly doesn’t prevent the tingling sensation from traveling down my spine.

  Shelby!

  I take a deep breath and force my hormones to behave themselves. To take my mind off how much I’m drawn to him, I ask him about the hotel.

  “My family used to come here,” he states.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, I’ve always loved this place. When we were kids, we made it our mission to explore each and every inch of this place. We used to get kicked out of here—a lot,” he says as he bites into his burger.

  “You came here with your family?” I ask as I inhale a stack of fries. He smirks.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I’d come here with my four brothers and my little sister. My dad had meetings down here a lot, and my mom would bring us here to surprise him. My youngest brother, Wyatt, got his head caught in the banister. My other brother, Jackson, tried to do his best Tarzan impression and got stuck hanging on the chandelier. The fire department had to get him down.”

  “How the hell did he get up there?” I ask.

  “Who the hell knows? But the person that caused the most trouble was my baby sister, Rose. She tore the hotel apart staging elaborate treasure hunts. She dared us to find what she had hidden. She was actually really good at setting them up, so whoever could figure it out had bragging rights.

  “We used hammers, tore up wallpaper, and yanked paintings off the wall. We would do thousands of dollars’ worth of damage all to retrieve a five-dollar trinket. In the end, we’d get in a lot of trouble. But it was worth it.

  “When we got older, we stopped playing around, of course, but Rose never stopped making treasure hunts—it was our thing. No one else in the family knew about it. She’d send me a cryptic message. That message would lead to a place and then another place. Sometimes it took hours, and sometimes it took days, but eventually, I’d f
ind what she had hidden. It was always something I didn’t know I wanted until I got it.

  “And even though she’d make it hard to find, she’d encourage me to keep looking. She always believed that I would somehow work it out and find the treasure. She looked up to me. I could see it in her eyes. And that scared the shit out of me.”

  I study his now pained expression. “Why did that scare you? You’re her big brother; she should look up to you.”

  He shakes his head slowly and speaks in a pained whisper, “It scared me because I knew one day I would let her down. One day, she’d hide something so far out of my reach, I’d never get to it. And I was right. One day she did hide something so far out of my reach…I could never get to it.”

  “What was it?”

  “A cure for leukemia.”

  My heart sinks.

  “Is she…?”

  “She died not too long ago,” he says quietly. I’m so damn stupid. I should have known by the way he spoke of their adventures that Rose was no longer here. His pain is palpable. I reach across the table and place my hand on top of his.

  “Gage, I’m sorry.”

  He pulls his hand away as if my hand shocked him; a look of panic makes its way into his eyes. It’s as if he accidentally pulled back a curtain, allowing me to see what I wasn’t supposed to see.

  “It’s fine. And um…thanks,” he says awkwardly. “Listen, you should probably get some sleep. I will be in the next room. Check on you in two hours.”

  The curtain is drawn. I can’t see inside anymore. I call out his name as he heads for the door that separates our rooms.

  “Gage…”

  “Yeah?”

  He looks back at me with great desperation in his eyes. He’s begging me to let it drop; his sister is a forbidden subject. I’d like to know more about her. I’d like to know about their adventures and what she was like when she was alive. But he won’t let me in again. And why should he? We’re just here together for a few hours. That’s all he has to give. That’s all I have to give.