“You’re a dick.”
“Thank you.” I continue my pacing just to piss him off.
Frustrated, Weeks slams my laptop, closing it.
“Hey, asshole, you break it, you are buying a new one.”
Stretching in the chair, popping his back. “I’ll see if Zion can send it to his guy at the FBI and have him run it for us. Maybe the system is fucked. I don’t know, man,” he says, defeated.
My mind spins, scenarios playing through it. The thought of someone having been around with Rowan here has me feeling some sort of way. I know she could protect herself if needed, but I don’t want her to have to. I want her to feel safe, and if I tell her this, she isn’t going to. The need to fix this feels heavy on my shoulders.
“Come on, let's have some drinks,” I tell Weeks, leaving the office to make my way downstairs knowing he’ll follow.
I go straight for the hard stuff, fuck a beer, I need liquor.
The music is blaring; I’m playing pretend harmonica to Whiskey Myers' Broken Window Serenade, barely staying on the barstool. It’s weird that my body is numb, but my legs feel heavy all at the same time.
“We’re fucked.” Weeks holds up the Borbon bottle, now empty.
I laugh because, yep; we are. “Shut up; this is my favorite part,” I tell Weeks as the harmonic solo sounds, and I get myself off the stool, acting like a damn fool, but it feels good to not worry about anything for a little while.
As the song ends, I’m rummaging through the refrigerator. “How the hell is someone going to come in here and steal my fucking steaks?”
“Hey assholes!” I spin around, and an enormous man is standing in my living room, Roxy wagging her tail, not making a sound.
“Oh, shit. You’re here. That was fast.” Weeks walks toward him but decides to sit on the step that leads to the living room area.
Fumbling for my cell, I turn off the music blasting through the surround sound speakers. “Hey.” I walk toward who I believe is Zion, trying to walk a straight line, reaching my hand out.
“Luca, this is Zion. Zion, Luca,” Weeks mumbles our introduction.
“Thank you for coming,” I manage to get out. “Sorry, shit's been crazy, and we decided a few shots would work, but now the bottle is gone,” I tell him honestly.
“I was out there for a while, knocking and ringing the doorbell. Your dog doesn’t do a very good job at protecting shit.” He pets Roxy. I’m amazed at how his hand is almost as big as her head. Motherfucker.
“Yeah, we have her just for the looks, apparently.” I motion for him to follow me to the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink?”
“So, I can be fucked like you two. No thanks. Here for a job.” He looks back at Weeks, who's now slumped over on the step. “Want to point me in the direction? Will already gave me the rundown of what went on. Let me see what I can do.” I like his no shit approach.
“Fair enough.” I lead him outside, showing him the camera, letting him do what he’s good at.
Once back inside, I make coffee, needing to sober up.
Weeks is no longer sitting on the step; he’s MIA probably throwing up. I cackle at the thought.
With my cup full of liquid, I make my way to the living room, paying special attention to the step and my coffee cup.
Passing Lauren’s picture, I can’t help but smile at her wide, beautiful grin. Going from having a sibling to having none is a true mind fuck. I was the protector, the one who was supposed to keep her safe, and now she’s not here and I couldn’t do that.
Breathing deeply, I shake my head to get rid of those thoughts. She’d try to beat my ass if she heard my thoughts. Key word: try. I laugh to myself, knowing she would give it a good run.
Leaning back on the couch, one arm outstretched on the back, I slowly sip my hot coffee, taking in my house, letting my mind run wild with images of kids playing, a full house of our friends, and Rowan. Fuck, Rowan. Even with my impaired mind,it goes to her. I want her, need her, and want to watch her at every stage of her life. I imagine her from who she is now, to the woman carrying my child, to the woman chasing them around our home. She’s the reason I want to step back from what I do. Not because I have to, but because I want to.
I’m yanked out of my thoughts when Weeks comes stumbling out of the guest bathroom, looking disheveled and worse for wear.
“You good, Brother?” I laugh out loud. I’m met with a grimace and a bird before he falls next to me on the couch. The smell that wafts from him and to my nose is ungodly. “What the fuck?” Leaning up, not able to get away from him fast enough.
Head falling back, he says, “I’ll have to clean your bathroom tomorrow.”
