He snorts, like there’s no way I should be asking him that.
“I’m serious! I’m not going through this alone. James is your brother. He’s your parents’ son. This affects your club in a massive way if you help me.”
“Him,” he corrects emphatically. “This affectshim, Esme. If we pay this debt, it’s James who owes the club money. You’re not responsible. You’re here because you needed a safe place to land when someone you trusted broke that faith and did you the worst kind of wrong.”
My vision fractures despite my resolve to be done crying after I washed away years’ worth of tears in the shower. Resolve is stupid, though, isn’t it? How can I promise myself that I won’t get emotional when I have no idea how much worse this is going to get?
Or how much more amazing Wizard and his club can be.
He rakes a hand through dark auburn hair. In this light, it’s shot through with gold. He tries to smile, but anyone onearth can see that he’s exhausted and deep in some not so great feelings.
I set my hand on his arm. It’s awkward when his eyes flick down to it and practically cross. I’m trying to offer comfort, but it all feels wrong. Off. My fingertips sting after I remove them and tuck my hand at my side. “What time is it?”
“Time for breakfast,” Wizard sighs. “Are you hungry?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
“Yeah,” he snorts. “Who could eat when they’ve already had firsts, seconds, and thirds of big heaping plates of bullshit?”
I laugh. So what if it’s watery and a little rough around the edges? It feels good to smile, even if it’s just a little and my eyes are stinging and glossy again. “That’s right.”
“The guys ordered heaping amounts of the good stuff. If you don’t want to eat anything, that’s okay, but there’s coffee.”
“Mm. Life fuel.”
“More like battery acid strong. Odin made it and he’s not great when it comes to measuring. His eyeballing generally involves dumping half a can of grounds into the industrial maker, not nearly enough water, and letting it buck.”
Wizard’s eyes scrape over me, something raw in their depths. I’m sure I look like I’m barely hanging on, and getting swallowed up in his clothes isn’t doing anything to help me look put together. His sweats are soft and the massive t-shirt is as big as a blanket, but it’s comforting. The clothes don’tsmell overly masculine. They smell like soap. I’m the one rocking Wizard’s shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash after a shower that had zero right to feel so damn good. Who says that hot water can’t fix anything? I stepped in a total bawled out mess, and came out feeling much more refreshed.
My bravado might have faded a little while I waited, tense, curled up in the desk chair because I didn’t feel right about turning into a ball in the middle of Wizard’s bed. I thought that I might close my eyes and start going places in my mind that I’d rather not visit alone.
I still did plenty of feeling sorry for myself and trying to sort through a snarled ball of emotions from the chair.
I’m not nearly ready to face anyone, especially not the club’s President and VP, but holding out in here isn’t an option any longer. It’s time for lady balls, big girl panties, and a brave face.
Wizard holds out an arm like an eighteenth century gentleman. He’s not so far off. This man was a hero long before he went off to serve his country.
I try to control the trembling that wants to start up, quaking from a spot of wreckage and ruin deep inside of me. I don’t want Wizard to feel it when I slip my arm through his. It’s weird, walking like this. The first few steps we bump into each other, banging our hips together painfully. The step after that, he almost crushes my foot.
I drag my arm from his, though I immediately feel far less safe and a whole lot colder. Mental stuff for sure, all in my head because he’s literally stillrightbesideme.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, more confident than I feel.
“I found him,” he says, but not until after we’re well on our way down the hall.
I’m not surprised. I had every confidence he would. “What did he say?”
Wizard focuses his gaze straight ahead. “He had his phone turned off but he didn’t pull the chip out of it. Fucking idiot. He used his real ID, as I knew he would. He was frantic when he fled. He didn’t plan this out at all.”
“I don’t know if that’s a relief or not.”
We turn a corner, and the swell of voices reaches us from a distance. Male voices, not raised. Not alarmed. Probably from the kitchen. No one shouts or sounds pissed off. No one’s barking orders or talking frantically about massive sums of money. I can’t make out what anyone is saying because it’s all at a normal volume. That gives me hope.
“I phoned the resort he’s at and offered the guy at the front desk a thousand dollars if he’d go find James or transfer me to his room and make sure he took the call. The guy took a phone straight to his room himself.”
“And James was… what? Not sorry?” I almost want to laugh. It wouldn’t be a pretty one, and it would probably trend from bitter to hysterical, to outright mean and then morph into self-deprecation, so I stuff the urge down.
“He was… uh…James.”
