Instead, I make a mental note to have Carter separate the two of them during their shifts. Does it make me a jerk? Maybe. Am I willing to risk it after everything that has already happened? No. I’ll just have to figure out a way to suggest it to Carter without getting Nash or Mikayla in trouble. Maybe I can suggest Mikayla for the security room detail when we reach London.
It’s well after midnight when all the earpieces have been returned. The venue is finally empty of all the concert attendees. Jaxon left an hour ago for his hotel and was reported as safely tucked in bed about forty-five minutes after that. Apparently, the line of fans outside the hotel was huge but well behaved.
“Do you need some help?”
I turn, trying not to let the increased pace of my heart show. I’m not sure how Carter always manages to sneak up on me, but it’s a bit worrisome for my ability to do my job…and my safety, I suppose.
The sight of him makes my breath catch, and I’m forced to question how I’ve known this man my entire life and yet, somehow, my traitorous hormones waited until the most inappropriate moment to decide he requires a response. Ugh. I’m even starting to think those damn Mitchell Security button-ups are attractive.
“I’ve got it,” I say, carefully packing the earpiece back in the storage box. Lincoln, the tech expert on my team, determined the earpieceshad been exposed to some kind of liquid, causing them to short-circuit. Not everyone’s went down that night, but Carter’s and mine both did, as well as the ones worn by the entirety of the team guarding Jaxon. It hypothetically makes sense—we store them based on teams, since they are preset to specific channels depending on which team or teams you may need to communicate with. It just doesn’t feel right to me. I can’t imagine someone spilling something in the cases and not mentioning it. And I know there wasn’t any liquid in them when I handed them out the night of the concert. It’s a loose thread that has kept me awake far longer than it should have both nights since.
“Right,” Carter says as I continue to inspect each earpiece. I hope my dismissal will be the end of it, and he’ll leave me alone to finish my work.
I should’ve known better than to think things between us were anything other than a workplace rivalry. Those are the exact words JT used when I told him about what happened yesterday morning. He called me, asking how things were going, and in a minor lapse of judgment, I told him about Carter not backing me in the meeting. JT had the gall to sound happy about it as he whispered, “Workplace rivalry. One of my favorites.”
He’s an idiot, but he’s not wrong. Carter and I are rivals, and I’d be stupid to ignore the possibility that someone from Mitchell Security is behind the earpieces going out. I can’t believe they’d stoop that low, but it is a competition, so I can’t rule them out.
The door shuts behind me, and I sigh, thankful Carter decided to leave. I don’t know when I started expecting more from him than the usual backstabbing bullshit I experienced with my ex, but for somereason his silence during the meeting felt louder than any criticism he could’ve thrown my way.
At the sound of footsteps behind me, I force myself to close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“I said I don’t need help.”
“I know you don’t.” His deep voice comes from a few feet behind me. “I’m not here to help. I’m just keeping you company.”
“I don’t need your company, Carter,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
The man is frustrating. If he knows these things, then why is he here?
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m sorry.”
I snort. Classic patronizing. He likely doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. Lukas had that move on repeat when we were together.
“I am,” he says, stopping next to me and looking over the equipment I have out on the table in front of us.
“No apology necessary,” I say, shrugging. “I’m not even sure what you’re apologizing for.”
I can tell he’s staring at me, but I keep my attention focused on my fingers as I quickly clean, test, and store another backup earpiece.
“It’s considered common courtesy to look someone in the eye when they’re apologizing to you.”
“Society has a lot of norms I don’t tend to agree with,” I say. “And I don’t need an apology.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you in Vancouver. The earpieces weren’t your fault.”
“They were. They were my responsibility, and they failed. That’s on me.”
“Sometimes, things are out of your control.”
“Is that how you would’ve felt if you’d been in my position?” I ask.
He lets the silence in the room go on long enough that I don’t think he’s going to respond.
Tracing his finger along the side of the case in front of him, he says quietly, “When my mom first got diagnosed, I blamed myself.”
