Page 26 of That Last Secret

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Page 26 of That Last Secret

“Agreed,” Marc says. “It’s dangerous as shit.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.” I laugh. “They also have to know about Uber. It’s on their phone, so don’t ask me why they can’t use it. On a more positive note, the talk of the precinct is that I’m up for promotion soon. One last step to get me closer to a fancy desk job.”

Or one step closer to following in my dad’s footsteps. But I don’t say that out loud. Bringing up my dead dad is not a conversation I want to have on my birthday.

The job never leaves my head, though.

This job is my entire life and always will be.

I’m lucky to have nights like these with the guys to escape that pressure I put on myself to be the best at what I do. It’s a weird juxtaposition: loving what I do but also wanting to get off the streets.

“I think it will be good for you,” Marc says. “You would make an excellent chief. This next promotion will be a big step in that direction for you.”

“Thank you.” I offer him a smile. “Hopefully sooner than later.”

Over the next hour, we discuss what Marc and Thomas have been up to over the last two weeks. They tell me Oliver has been traveling non-stop lately and insanely busy with business trips for his blog.

Thomas fills us in on his brand new place outside the city with Peyton and how much he loves it. He can’t stand the commute to and from work, but it makes her happy. He’s such a sappy shit now that he has a fiancée.

Then Marc opens up about how he’s been on edge since he took Avery, his assistant, and Peyton’s best friend, to the holiday gala as his fake fiancée this past December. His boss still hasn’t said a word about who he’s deciding to hand the real estate agency down to when he retires.

I feel bad for him because I know how much he wants this and the feeling of wanting something more than your next breath. It doesn’t help that he’s been swamped with work since Avery took time off to help her mom in Vermont after she had to have surgery.

“Fuck. My phone must have died at some point,” Thomas says, trying to turn on his phone. “I should probably head back before Peyton worries.”

“I can’t help you because mine’s been dead since before I got here,” Marc scoffs.

“When has she ever been worried?” I laugh. “She knows she has you wrapped around her finger.”

“Shut up,” Thomas says with a smile. “When you stop fucking around and find the woman of your dreams, you will feel the same way.”

“I still don’t get how Thomas found a future wife before me,” Marc adds, shaking his head. “I’m the brother who wants that in the future.”

“That’s because you can’t stop looking for a wife. You have to date before you walk to the altar, Marc,” I scoff.

“We’ve had this discussion before. I vividly remember those words coming out of your mouth that first night Thomas met Peyton.” Marc scowls.

I chuckle against my glass of water. “I like to remind you every once in a while.”

“Whatever.” Marc rolls his eyes. “I’m out of here too. I have a long day tomorrow.”

We all throw cash down on the table the same way we do every time we visit Moore’s. “I’m meeting up with Silas, anyway. I have to drop the bike off first, and then I promised him birthday drinks.”

“Remember, you’re thirty now,” Thomas jokes.

I give him an evil eye and ignore the comment because I’m not the party animal he thinks I am. “I’m hitting the restroom before I head out. Get home safe, guys,” I say, my concern for their safety evident in my voice.

It’s the same thing I always say when I part ways with them. I’ll always be protective of my friends like this ever since losingmy father the way I did. I worry about anyone close to me when they get behind the wheel. And not because I don’t trust them. I don’t trust others on the road. It’s a responsibility I take seriously.

“Happy birthday, brother,” Thomas says before bringing me in for a hug.

My chest tightens when any of them call me that. They don’t use it in terms of friendship; it’s used to remind me we’re like family.

“Thanks,” I say, returning the embrace.

“Yeah, happy birthday. We love you,” Marc singsongs.

I glare at him. “Don’t you start getting sappy on me now too,” I joke.




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