My phone buzzes, and I scramble to swipe the screen and accept the call before I even check to see who it is.
Kate’s nasally voice greets me, and as hard as I try to hide it, my disappointment bleeds through.
“Still MIA?” she asks.
“Yep. God, Kate, I’m sick to my stomach over this. What happened? Where is he?” I right Bronson’s ears and stroke his sweet face. “What did I do?”
“Don’t you dare assume you did something wrong. Men are weird creatures.” She sniffs against her stuffy nose. “You didn’t do anything to push him away, did you?” Only Katlyn Hays Jackson can shame me for thinking I did something wrong and then, in the next breath, ask me if I did.
“No. I mean, I don’t think so,” I answer, groaning as the sour feeling I’ve been fighting all weekend returns.
“Give me his number. I’ll call him.”
“What good is that going to do? Who answers calls from unknown numbers?” I whine.
Kate sneezes five times in quick succession, followed by a muttered, “Well, shit.”
I can’t help but laugh at my sweet, pregnant friend. Poor thing just wet her pants. “Go take care of that. I’m going to go to bed and hope I feel better in the morning.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Miles
I’m too fucking old for this shit.
Never in my life would I have imagined that, at thirty-two, I’d be too old to put in a solid weekend of hard drinking and still be able to function at work on Monday morning. Or Wednesday afternoon. I honestly don’t even know what day it is anymore.
“Your new phone?” Erin asks stalely.
A FedEx box lands on my desk in front of me. The thud and slide of the small box echoes through my head, a dull ache settling behind my left eye.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
Any hope that Erin might take pity on me and walk on by goes to shit when she leans her hip against my desk and folds her arms over her chest. She waits patiently—or maybe not so patiently—staring me down.
“Enough of this, Clark.” She nudges the box toward me.
Clearly, I’m supposed to open the thing and get it up and functional. I palm the small rectangle of cardboard and turn it, finding a taped end. My thumbnail rhythmically scrapes acrossit, and I pick until a sliver of tape curls up. I pinch the free end and pull, the odd line of tape doing nothing to free the flaps of the box.
With a huff from Erin, the box flies out of my hands and reappears seconds later, empty with the contents set before me. Powered on, and the activation process started. “Are you going to finish setting this thing up, or do I need to have Chance hack your password and do it for you?”
The answer is no. I don’t even want to think about the shit that would end up on my phone if those two did the setup. Porn and God knows what else from Chance, and I’m sure a tracking app from Erin.
I don’t say a word. I just pull the phone toward me and tap in my email and password at each prompt. Sadly, my diligent focus on the task doesn’t discourage Erin from getting comfortable. Instead, I’m treated to twenty minutes of getting my ass handed to me by my boss. And more importantly, by my friend.
“I can’t keep lying for you,” Erin says.
“Can’t or won’t?” I ask. The look on Erin’s face leaves no doubt that there’s little difference. With my elbows propped on my desk, splayed wide, I scrub at my face. I’m sure my overgrown beard is wild. “I never asked you to. You want to talk about me? Go right ahead. I don’t give a shit, Erin. I don’t fucking care.”
“That’s the thing.” Her voice softens with concern. Concern I don’t want. Concern I don’t deserve. “I don’t want to talk about you. I want to talk to you. With you. I want you to trust in the people around you, who care about you.”
I glance up to see Jason give me a tight nod as he slips into his office. Even Chance tosses a look my way.
“Erin,” I sigh heavily and throw my hands in the air, exasperated.
“You’ve become an important part of the team here. Fire Born Security… It’s more than a job, and you know it. We’re a family.”
I hit her with an exaggerated slow blink and raise my brow.
