“All the same.” He wiggled his eyebrows before planting a smacking kiss on her mouth.
“Fine. Yes. I’ll share a beer with you guys.” Eliza was glad to have a distraction from Fisher, from her thoughts of Fisher, from herlovefor Fisher. “If it’ll make you stop rubbing your sickeninglywonderfulrelationship in my face, I’ll share ten beers with you.”
“Challenge accepted. I’ve been needing a good, ol’ fashioned, adults-only house party. ” Becky laughed and grabbed Boss by the hand to pull him toward the kitchen.
Eliza took a more leisurely journey down the hall, marveling she was still functioning when she felt as fragile as glass and as sad as a person could get. She still talked and walked like normal. Still got up in the morning, brushed her teeth twice a day, washed her makeup off before climbing into bed at night.
The human heart is stronger than I ever imagined,she admitted.Even broken into a million shards, mine still manages to pump blood.
34
Fisher cracked open one eyelid and stared at the digital display on his alarm clock.
Two AM. Who the hell is still up and carryin’ on?
He could hear music coming from the courtyard out back. There was also a lot of laughter and the occasional shout.
He sniffed the air. Someone had built a fire in the firepit despite it having been ninety-five degrees when they landed at O’Hare.
Chicago summers were usually beautiful, so much more pleasant than the brutal, cloying heat of the South. But this summer had been particularly warm in the City of Broad Shoulders. Even at night, it was rare for the temps to drop low enough to make an outdoor fire enjoyable.
He tried going back to sleep. The last op had been awful. He’d probably only slept fifteen hours in seven days and every muscle in his body ached from having spent a trans-Atlantic flight crammed into the cargo hold on a military transport. The instant he heard Eliza’s delighted giggle, however, he knew he was more likely to sprout a second dick than get back to sleep. Especially when a responding male chuckle reached his ears.
Who the fuck is out there with her? And don’t they know we need rest?
After throwing back the covers and tugging on jeans—he skipped the boxer briefs; there was no time—he jerked open his bedroom door and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. By the time he’d landed on the first floor and had made his way down the hall to the kitchen, his blood was at a full boil.
He told himself it was because the music was too damn loud. He told himself it was because Eliza and company were being rude as hell. But the truth was, he was mad because he was miserable.
He was miserable and it sounded like Eliza was having the time of her life and?—
All thoughts screeched to a halt when he yanked open the back door and saw Boss, Becky, Hewitt, Graham, Eliza and Britt sitting around the firepit.
The sky was clear and bright, the stars managing to compete with the city lights. There was a slight breeze blowing in from the direction of Lake Michigan. It was cool and pleasant. There were bags of chips, empty bottles of beer, and a few of Eliza’s homemade desserts strewn around the mixed-matched end tables next to each Adirondack chair.
In short, it was a party.
“Did my invitation get lost in the mail?” He stepped onto the wide, gray flagstones. Everyone currently in residence was outside enjoying the night—Sam had adiosed himself over to Hannah’s apartment as soon as he’d stowed his gear, and Hunter had loaded up some of Eliza’s dinner and then quickly raced home to his wife, Grace.
Everyone but me, apparently.
“Sorry,” Becky winced. “Were we being too loud?”
Her phone was face-down on the arm of her chair. But she quickly turned it over and started swiping. Within three seconds, the volume coming through the Bluetooth speakers lowered from club levels to more appropriate backyard barbeque levels.
“Somethin’ like that,” he admitted, frowning at Graham as he walked over to an empty seat. “Aren’t ya exhausted, G-man?” Fisher accepted the longneck Hewitt handed him. “Ya been humpin’ yoursandBritt’s gear for two days now.”
In typical Graham-fashion, he said succinctly, “Never too tired to drink with friends.”
“And what about you?” Fisher turned to Britt while popping the top on his Goose Island IPA. His wingman’s busted leg was propped on a stool, his bare toes glowing pink in the firelight. “You shouldn’t be drinkin’ when you’re takin’ scheduled narcotics.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.” Britt picked up a water bottle from beside his chair. “All I’m doing is hydrating”—he pulled a prescription bottle from the pocket of his robe and shook it—“and staying high.” His grin was toothy.
Becky and Boss sat next to each other, holding hands and looking like newlyweds even though they were decidedlynotand had two kids to prove it. “Where are the girls?” he asked them with a curious cant of his chin.
“With their aunt and uncle.” It wasn’t Boss or Becky who answered. It was Eliza. Her words were slurred and one eyelid hung lower than the other. And her grin? It wasn’t just a little lopsided. It was alotlopsided.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her tipsy. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’deverseen her that way.
