Page 107 of Lovers Like Us
I clock two hours a sleep a day trying to track a stalker. I spent the last four tour stops, including Nashville and Boston, securing the convention space just on the chance that they would appear and attackMaximoff.
And what’s worse: I’ve added my own father to the short suspect list. Because he has access to the families. To security. Knowledge of the next meet-and-greetstops.
And it makes me physically sick to think he could be harassing myboyfriend.
To hear Thatcher say that I’m not committed is a slap in the face, but I want to know whyhe thinks that I don’t care. Especially when my actions say Ido.
I stand up with a deep frown. “Tell me why I’m notcommitted.”
“Since the start,” Thatcher says sternly, “you’ve had one foot in, one foot out. At any minute, you can leave for a hospital. Soleaveif this isn’t what you want to do.Go.”
“Hey,” Akara snaps. “He’sstaying.”
My nose flares again. I’ve been in a cold war with my father over choosing this career. I’m fighting against a generational legacy just standing here. But if he can’t see that, then there’s only one way to prove that I’m serious about security. The team, this job, this lifestyle, myclient.
It matters tome.
As much as I can’t stand Thatcher, I drop to a push-up position, and I say, “I’m not goinganywhere.”
25
MAXIMOFF HALE
“What are the judging parameters?”Sulli mutters to herself and uncaps a pen with her teeth, blank paper on herlap.
I zip up the back of Jane’s reindeeronesie.
“Merci,” she smiles and drops on the floor in front of Beckett. She could sit on one of the two gray couches in the first lounge, but Beckett pops open a sewing kit. Planning to attach antlers to Jane’shood.
He already sewed Sulli’s, who wears an identical onesie. Now she sits cross-legged on the opposite couch. In deepcontemplation.
My lips startrising.
This is our first Christmas Eve away from our families. It’s weird, but not bad. Beckett and I sport ugly holiday sweatshirts, winter beanies, and camping socks. We decorated the bus with Christmas lights, candy canes, and plastic ornaments. Bought gingerbread cookies and made eggnog, Janie’s favorite, and now the air is light-hearted.
Notension.
Maybe because Charlie refused to participate tonight. He’s holed up in hisbunk.
I was about to ask if he wanted to join, but Beckett stopped me. He said that Charlie wouldn’t see the invite as an olive branch. I just learned that in Charlie’s mind, mebeing niceis the equivalent of being pompous, overly heroic,goddamn flashy and ostentatious—like I’m fucking Gaston inBeauty and theBeast.
Beckett said, “Let him do his ownthing.”
Fine withme.
I hand out mugs of eggnog to everyone, and I tap Sulli’s shoulder so she pries her face out of thepaper.
“Oh, fuck.” She cups the mug. “Thanks.”
I sit beside her. “Vote for whoever looks the best.”Farrow, my mind blurts out in response. I swear my brain is one terrifying step from making shrines of the guy. Which is notcool.
Notcool.
And my mouth wants to upturn, butthatI can control. I’m not smiling. I do steal a glance down the hall. The door to the second lounge is stillclosed.
The front of the bus is quiet without SFO. But Oscar is in earshot and in view from behind the wheel. Eating pizzelles that Thatcher’s brothersent.
“What is consideredthe bestthough?” Sulli bites the end of herpen.
