Page 68 of Forget Me Twice

“Yes, the second Sunday of every September. I’m aware.” I’m trying my best to keep the brattiness out of my voice, I swear, but it’s a trial.

Dominic grunts but doesn’t call me out on it. “Are the Sinclair kid and his friends going?”

Unexpectedly, my neck prickles and a zip of uneasy…protectiveness oozes down my spine.

I’m so fucking confused.

I mean, I’m here to recruit them for him. They’ll have to meet him eventually.

But for some cursed reason, the idea of Sebastian being in the same room as the Pantheon is making me really uneasy. The sensation is extremely foreign to me and entirely unpleasant.

“Um,” I swallow roughly, my throat raw and my guts churning like I just took that Ash shot in the arm all over again. “I haven’t been able to confirm that yet,” I rasp out. Does my voice sound weirdly high to his ears as well?

Dominic’s forehead creases, and he looks like he’s about to burden me with his extreme disappointment, so I’m quick to add, “But I was able to confirm they’re definitely working with a faction and it’s not the Strange Aces. I wasn’t unable to identify the contact’s alliance, initially.”

“Initially?”

“I’m still working on it.”

Dominic swipes a large hand along his jaw, pinning me with a look. “I expect a full report once you do. He’s still not happy with you.”

I don’t bother arguing with that, and instead offer a small jerky nod and shrug combo that says how could I forget?

He stares me down for a moment longer before giving me a return jerk of the chin. “Make sure they’re all there on Sunday night. The boss had a dress delivered to your room.”

Then he’s melting into the surrounding shrubbery, looking to find his exit around the backside of the building.

All the adrenaline from the last half hour or so whooshes out of me, leaving my head spinning like a carousel and my muscles feeling like they’ve been filled with lead.

I’m not entirely convinced it warranted the in-person drop-in; but I suppose Dominic just wanted to physically set eyes on me, and ensure I still have a healthy fear of Sebastian after leaving Lexington.

I guess this means I get to see at least one more week of sunrises.

How the actual fuck I’m supposed to keep my head in this stupid fucking ball game is anyone’s goddamn guess.

I mean—it’s hard on my so-called best days, right?

The days where my heart doesn’t feel like it’s about to beat straight through my fucking ribcage and my head doesn’t feel like a pile of snakes.

Days which—as anyone of my brothers will tell you—are pretty fucking rare.

Even now, in the middle of a rostered season game, my skin feels tight and impatient, like it wants to just up and crawl straight off my body. It’s like the unease is curdling deep down in my very marrow, somewhere just out of reach.

When it gets this bad, I’d do just about anything to gouge these feelings out. Well, most of those anythings are really more like anyones. I mean, it’s not like it’s hard to find warm, willing holes around here—especially if you’re a fucking Rox Boy.

Jesus, who even came up with that shit?

Wasn’t any of us, I swear. Probably that newly endangered bitch Walker and her obsessed little Tristan Sinclair PR team.

No, I much prefer Hermes. That’s one title that brings back the smile to my face. I can feel the satisfaction of our little lost Wifey’s claim creeping in and I welcome it.

I still can’t believe she’s actually here.

In the flesh.

Not dead, like we’ve believed for the past six fucking years.

Now my brothers just need to pull their heads out of their goddamn asses so we can make her ours again.