Page 15 of Breathless

Chapter Four

Thoreau

He was still thinking about that look Seamus had given him as he dodged photographers on the way to the elevator from the parking garage. It seemed more approving than judgmental, and he couldn’t help but be relieved. There were few people he respected more, and his plan only worked if he had allies. At least, if it even got to phase three.

He kept his head down and smirked when the bored journalists barely looked his way. That’s right. Nothing to see here but a black man in an elevator with a beer.

What was it with these guys? There were people in the world who honestly believed the earth was flat and science was fake, but these motherfuckers didn’t have anything better to do with their time? Like maybe reporting some actual news?

He wasn’t sure how Seamus and the others dealt with all the attention, but he was relieved he’d gotten by without notice. He had no desire to be famous or infamous, just successful enough to take care of himself and his family if need be. Attention wouldn’t get him closer to his goal. Wyatt would.

Thoreau just hoped he was in the mood to listen. Particularly to him. Despite their family ties and the years of knowing each other at a distance, neither one of them had made the effort required for actual friendship. Wyatt had been with Noah or Fiona, Thoreau had been working and going to school and they’d both been too busy lusting after Fiona Howard to come to any kind of understanding.

That was part of what Thoreau was here to change.

He smiled absently at one of the nurses as he maneuvered through the plain white hallways, still concealing his contraband. Fi hated her last name. She thought Howard sounded average and boring, like somebody’s old golfing buddy. But she refused to have it legally changed.

“I need to remember where I came from so I always know where I’m going.”

She kept the details of where she came from to herself, though, along with a lot of other things about her life before Seamus gave her the job at the pub. As far as his family and Wyatt’s were concerned, Fiona had magically sprung up fully formed in their time of need. She tended bar, doled out advice, befriended children and led Thoreau and Wyatt on a chase that had lasted years.

She also kept disappearing, and Thoreau wasn’t about to let that happen again. Not when anyone could see that she belonged here. With them.

Fiona thrived around the Finns and Waynes. She fit in as if she were born to, and Thoreau wasn’t that big a believer in things like meant-to-be. More than that, she needed them. Whether she accepted that or not.

Coming to the pub had changed her trajectory, the same as it had Thoreau’s. He and Wyatt had made her linger. But unless he played his cards right today and got Wyatt on board with his plans, there was still a chance she could walk away for good. And nobody would be happy with that decision. Fiona least of all.

When he got to Wyatt’s floor, he braced himself and knocked lightly before pushing open the door. He found Wyatt asleep on the bed, surrounded by an entire roomful of flowers and mylar balloons shaped like firetrucks.

Shit. Well, at least he’d timed the Finn family scheduling right. No one was here, so he must be right in the middle of a shift change.

He moved closer to the bed and took Wyatt in. His color was better. The oxygen mask on his face was a smaller version than the one they’d strapped on him the day he and Fiona arrived. There were also fewer machines in the room, so that had to be a good sign.

They must have had a beautiful mother, Thoreau thought absently. Wyatt, Rory and Noah were all prettier versions of Finn than he was used to. Their features were more finely formed. Full lips, thick lashes and good cheekbones.

Wyatt would hate being classified as pretty, he knew. And out of the three of them, he was the one who seemed the most masculine. His jaw was a shade stronger and usually clenched with irritation. His hair was a dirty-blond mess that looked he’d driven his truck with his head sticking out of the window. The way he sat and spread out like the world owed him extra room. The way he roughhoused. His athleticism—though Thoreau imagined that came with the job unless you were stuck behind a desk at the firehouse.

Good lookingwas probably the safest adjective. He wasn’t ready to delve too deeply into the other one that sprang to mind.

Sexy.

Wyatt stirred and Thoreau had his bottle out before the man could open his eyes.

“Thor?” He sat up, scowling at his mask and tugging the contraption off his face impatiently. “What happened to Fiona? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, Wyatt. She just went home to sleep for a few hours.” It made sense that he would go there. Why wouldn’t he? “I wanted to talk to you alone. Run something by you.”

Wyatt was looking at him suspiciously, but his eyes widened in surprise when Thoreau held up the bottle of beer. “I need a taste-tester. I thought after a week in this place, you might want to volunteer.”

He almost laughed when Wyatt glanced at the door like a child about to break curfew. “Well?”

“Well, I’m not saying no,” he responded, his voice deeper and raspier than Thoreau remembered. “Though I’m not sure how accurate this test will be. Anything that’s not broth or Jell-O is going to taste like fucking heaven right about now.”

Let’s hope so.Thoreau wrapped his fist around the top of the bottle to keep it from popping too loudly as he flipped the metal hoop up to open it. A slight thumping hiss escaped, and now they were both glancing at the door.

“Sips only,” he warned, pouring a small amount of the golden liquid into a small plastic cup before handing it to Wyatt. “Bronte’s orders, and trust me, you follow those or you suffer.”

Wyatt looked quizzically at the cup and gave it a tentative sniff, then took a sip, bright blue eyes studying Thoreau the entire time.

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