Page 94 of Piece Us Together
“I thought he was retired?”
“Semi-retired. He can share what he wants when you see him, but this is personal for him. Sort of. I—he’ll have to explain himself. But it’s a mission of his own. Not a contract. He works for himself now.”
I focus on what’s important—there’s someone who needs saving.
This is what you do. This is who you are. These people you saved are why you do it. You owe it to them. To Carter. To Nolan.
“How soon?” I ask, my voice coming out all thick and wrong.
Keats frowns, but he doesn’t question me on it. “Fairly soon. I put the file on your office desk. Read it when you can.”
“You think it’ll be tonight?” I ask, suddenly thinking of the whiskey bottle I’ve been eyeing all night.
He shakes his head. “It won’t be any sooner than Sunday, I’d think. There are a few pieces that still need to fall in place.”
I nod at him, forcing a cocky grin. “I’ll be ready.”
Keats gives my shoulder a firm squeeze before heading toward everyone else. I give the direction a glance, wondering if I should sneak away to see the file now or later. My eyes catch on Hunter before I can decide. He’s looking right at me. Watching me. He’sbeenwatching, I can tell by the expression on his face. It’s too worried. Too searching. The kind of gaze he uses when he’s trying to decide what’s best for me, trying to figure me out.
I turn away and head toward my office before he can see the truth. I already know what’s best for me. I intend on doing the opposite anyway.
It’s cold. Probably too fucking cold to be standing out here in nothing but a sweater. The whiskey is warming me from the inside out, though. Besides a little windburn on my cheeks, I feel pretty alright.
Well,physically. I feel alright physically.
That file was a hard one. That file—this mission—is going to be one of the ones that haunt me. I can already feel the ghost of itin the back of my mind. I can already feel the absolute darkness that exists in this world closing in on me.
I take another drink. It burns. I like that. Makes the sting in my eyes make sense.
The door behind me slides open. Reflex has me wanting to look over my shoulder, but I fight it. I don’t want to know. Regardless of who it is, I have a feeling I don’t want to hear what they have to say. My head is already too fucking full between what Keats dropped on me and the fuckingHunterof it all.
Shoes crunch on the light layer of snow dusting the back deck, stopping just to my right where I stand in front of the railing. I close my eyes, his cologne permeating the air already.Of course it’s him.I bring the whiskey back to my lips.
“You’re having a bad night,” Hunter points out.
I grunt in acknowledgment, deciding it’d be stupid to argue. He’s the all-knowing dom, after all, and I’ve never been very good at hiding things when I’m drunk.
“Is it because of the holiday? Carter? Whatever that man—Keats?—was talking to you about?” He turns so he can look at me. I keep my eyes focused on the river. “Is it because of me?”
I jerk, nearly dropping the whiskey. He’s frowning when I turn to him, concern etched in the furrow of his brow. He’s not wearing a fucking jacket—again.
“Why’d it be you?”
“Maybe you’re realizing that you don’t like your two worlds mixing.”
You’re not one of my worlds,I think.
But…isn’t he?
“You’re different here,” he says softly, as if the observation isn’t dangerous.
Maybe I’m a masochist like Nolan because I ask, “How so?”
He eyes me. I can tell he’s trying to decide how honest he wants to be.Cards on the table, boys. I’m yours.There are layersinside of me, created by those words. Panic and confusion and joy and relief all overlapping and bleeding until I can’t identify one from the next.
“You’re drowning here. Like at the pub. Like in the alley.” I close my eyes.I am. I’m drowning. Save me, please.“Do you pretend for them or for yourself?”
“Pretend what?” I croak.