“That’s what I’m saying.” Ethan leans forward between the seats. Drops his voice so Ben can’t hear. “You’re both in good places. So... don’t... fuck it up.”
There it is. The reason he wanted to come along today.
“What do you mean?” I ask. Even though I know exactly what he means.
“We already talked about this.” His eyes lock on mine. “Keep it professional.”
I force a smile. “That’s all it will ever be, Ethan.”
“Good.” He sits back and his voice returns to normal. “Because if you hurt her, I’ll have to hurt you. And that would suck because I actually like you.”
He’s joking. Sort of. The kind of joke that’s ninety percent truth wrapped in ten percent humor.
I purse my lips. My competitive instinct is to reply:You can certainly try. To hurt me, that is.
But instead I tell him: “She won’t be hurt.”
He nods. “Cool.”
Ben suddenly looks up from Frederick. “Who’s hurting who?”
“No one, sweetie,” Ethan says, giving her a side hug.
We pull up to the school. Filepe’s already positioned at the curb doing his security sweep. The protective triangle. Marco, Ben, driver. Same as always.
I unbuckle and move to help Ben out of her seat. She’s clutching Frederick like the plush snail is an extension of her nervous system.
“Ready,piccola?”
“Ready.” She does the hand squeeze to herself. One, two, three. Breathes. Then looks at me with those huge brown eyes. “You’ll be here at pickup?”
I smile at her. “Most days it’ll be Jess, remember? But I’ll be there Thursday and Friday this week. And whenever you need me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. And Jess will be there everyother day.”
She squeezes my hand three times before letting go. Our ritual. Started by Jess. Now ours.
I watch her walk to the entrance where Mrs. Chen is waiting. She glances back once. I wave. She disappears inside.
Back in the Range Rover, Ethan’s checking his phone. Maybe responding to dispatch.
“You got plans later?” he asks. “The mat tonight?”
Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Where I go to burn off tension I can’t burn off anywhere else.
“Maybe.” I should go. Need to go. Because sitting at home while Jess does bedtime with Ben is torture. “I’ll text you.”
“Do that.” He pockets his phone. Looks at me again with that assessing stare. “You good? You seem off.”
Off. That’s one word for it.
I’m thinking about his sister constantly. Violated the contract we signed. Keep replaying the sounds she made when I was inside her. Can barely function during nightly debriefs because all I want is to cross that kitchen island and finish what we started.
“Work stuff,” I lie. “Media pressure. The usual.”
“Right.” He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the set of his jaw. But he doesn’t push. “Well, if you need to talk. I’m here.”
