Page 133 of Stolen Hearts
“Yeah, I don’t remember getting a gift from you yet.”
He snickers. “AndIdon’t remember getting an invitation to my own friend’s fuckin’ wedding. Prick.”
I roll my yes. “C’mon, you know…”
That it’s fake.
I don’t say that part out loud. Actually, I’ve been having a hard time even thinking of Callie and I as “fake” lately.
“Yeah yeah yeah, I know, you and your mafia shit. So listen, we getting this drink or not?”
“How’d you feel about having it at my place? I’ve got meetings until late, and I promised Callie we’d have dinner together.”
He chuckles. “Well shit, you really are married.”
I grin.
“But yeah, man,” he says. “Your place works for me. How about you supply the booze and I bring over dinner? I mean I’m in the city, I gotta grab some New York pizza while I’m here.”
“Sounds perfect, buddy,” I chuckle. “I’ll text you the address.”
* * *
“Holyfuck, brother…”
Jeremy’s jaw drops as he shoves the pizza box into my hands and hobbles past me into the apartment. He stares up at the high vaulted ceiling, the fireplace, theinsaneviews of the city through the walls of glass. He turns to slowly shake his head at me.
“I mean, I knew you were the king and all now, butfuck, Castle. This is some next level Godfather shit.”
I shake my head, frowning in concern as I drag my gaze unhappily over his arm in a sling, his foot in a walking cast, and the cane in his good hand.
“What thefuckhappened to you, Jer?”
He rolls his eyes. “Much as I want to lie and say it was some cool Jason Bourne spy shit…” He sighs. “No such luck. Just shitty fuck-head DC drivers, man. Motherfucker t-boned me a few weeks back.Andhetotally fucked up my car. Asshole.”
I grin as I walk over to him and give him as big a bear hug as I can while still making sure I don’t put pressure on his arm.
“Castle, this fucking place, man…”
I chuckle. “Yeah, it ain’t mine.”
“Yours or not, it sure looks like it’s fucking good to be king.”
It’s funny. Old friends can lose track of each other, or not talk for a year. You can each separately be processing the grief and the survivor’s guilt of mourning lost brothers in arms. But when you get back together, it’s like no time has passed and nothing has change.
We don’t talk about Kabul. Out on the patio, we simply make a toast and clink our beers together for Bryce, Matty, and Jason.
“So, how is it being at the top?”
I sigh and shake my head. “Meetings, man. Jesusfuck, so many meetings.”
He chuckles. “Welcome to my world, buddy. You think the CIA is gonna be car chases and gun fights and hot foreign women with sexy accents all day long. They don’t mention that ninety-nine percent of the job is emails, Excel spreadsheets, and proofreading reports on which piece of shit killed someotherpiece of shit in a country fuck-knows-where. The only accent I hear these days is from my falafel guy down the street.”
“What, and that’s not sexy enough for you?”
He chuckles.
Inside the apartment, I see the front door open as Callie walks in. She’s in a cute skirt and a cardigan with medium heels and her hair pulled back, giving her almost this sort of sexy-cute librarian look.