Page 4 of Holiday Scars
He asks how it went at the docks.
Grumbling, I give him a report that the boat never showed up, hoping Shane Quinlan, the Cyber Specialist and Mastermind of Quinlan Empire, doesn’t hack into the cameras and see me and Jett splashing around the water, and then me giving him mouth-to-mouth.
Trace buys my story. Probably because it’s late and it was a small shipment.
I manage a few hours of sleep. After a cup of strong coffee, I dress in a plain gray hoodie and jeans. My duffel zipped, I lock up and head down to the street to wait in the cold.
If Jett looks at me the way I think he will, like the words in that message were a confession instead of a mistake, I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep pretending I don’t want him, too.
CHAPTER THREE
Jett
The drive to Blade’s apartment on Wednesday morning is already filled with chaos. Taxi horns and my brother Dirk on the phone with a client from his tattoo parlor who’s begging him to fix a tat this weekend. With each glance at me, I wait for him to bring up my text. But he doesn’t.
Maybe he hasn’t read it. Or he’s waiting for a quiet moment to address it. Feeling vulnerable and unsure now, I’ll just say I was drunk and fat-fingered some words. If I get my hands on his phone later, I’ll delete it.
Dirk holds the steering wheel with one hand, his coffee with the other, still dealing with the crying client, reminding her for the third time that his shop won’t be open until Monday.
I’m glad he’s not giving in. We look forward to this trip every year. This is the first week it really gets cold in New York, and I’m even ready for some snow.
This year, the chill won’t just be from the dropping temps.
I settle into the front seat, feeling the city buzz around us with that pre-holiday tension as I watch people trying to get somewhere. Dirk makes the turn onto Blade’s street. My gut tightens at the thought of facing him after watching him have sex with another man.
He’s lived in one of those limestone row houses carved up into several units for two years now. Getting jobs with Quinlan Empire gave us both financial freedom. I couldn’t bring myself to commit to anything costly per month, so I took a prewar renovated one-bedroom a few blocks from Dirk’s place.
Blade is waiting outside when we pull up. His parka’s hood covers much of his head, and a duffel hangs from one tight fist. He’s broader in that coat. Or maybe I just didn’t let myself noticebefore. For a man who came with a roar of pleasure a few hours ago, he doesn’t look very happy.
“Morning,” Dirk says as Blade slides into the backseat.
“Hey,” Blade returns low, sounding tired.
My throat tightens.
“Hey,” I echo, but don’t turn around to meet his eyes.
“Jett,” is all he says in response. He’s probably annoyed I left him in the bar. And I’ll hear it later when we’re alone.
Dirk pulls away from the curb, and with his client finally off the phone, he says, “Blade, are you planning to stay in that apartment, since...you know?”
My brotherwouldbring up the breakup with Stavros.
“Nah,” Blade huffs through his nose. “Jerk landlord is raising the rent. I don’t want to live there anymore, anyway.”
Something in his voice snaps my attention away from the window. He doesn’t want to live in an apartment that he shared with Stavros. His voice sounds hollow and wounded. That hurts me in a way I don’t understand.
Dirk nudges me. “Don’t you two know how to deal withjerks?”
“We do enough for the Quinlans,” I counter sharply. “People who deserve it.”
“Like Rhys Quinlan wouldn’t slit a man’s throat for trying to raise his rent,” Blade thwarts my reply.
“I’ll reconsider,” I say, thinking my confession list is getting too long.
If Blade doesn’t renew his lease, he’ll need a new place to live. Dirk’s got Hana. I would never let Blade sweat out finding a place and would offer my sofa, but that gesture feels dangerous right now.
Dirk cuts off a Mercedes getting on to the West Side Highway with a cackle. “You’ll find something, Blade.”
