6. 5
I’m pacing up and down the hallway at Barnes, Barclay, Bitters and partners, a fancy law firm. Chester is sagging on a chair that probably costs more than what I earn in a month and he couldn’t look any more out of place.
He’s wearing gray skate pants, a shirt that says ‘stick it to the man’ and a black beanie that covers most of his face. It’s like he’s trying to hide as much of himself as possible, and I can’t really blame him. We’re waiting to be called in for Chester’s meeting with his parent’s lawyer. Once he decided he was going to go through with this, he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.
His whole demeanor is screaming at the whole fucking universe. He doesn’t want to be here though.
And I get that.
If there was anything less on the table than being able to save kids by accepting this money, I’d be telling Abraham Von Liechsenfield to go fuck himself in several languages. One of which would be punching him in his stupid face.
“Why are you not freaking out?” I ask Chester suspiciously. I like him better when he’s having a hissyfit.
He doesn’t even acknowledge my question, so I kick his foot with the steel nose of my shoe. Yeah, I didn’t bother dressing up either. I’m here in my tac pants and a sports top. That’s the most I could be bothered with.
Petulant? Certainly.
But damn, does it feel good.
He finally looks up, doing the bare minimum by raising his brow and his chin.
“Why are you so relaxed?” I repeat.
He sticks his hands beneath his beanie and pulls out his ear buds, and the notes of some soul-crushing metal song reach me. Obviously, he hasn’t heard my question the second time around either, so I repeat it again.
“I took a double dose of my chill pills,” he says with a droopy smile. I snort, because he got some Xanax prescribed a long time ago to take in case of an emergency, but he’s never taken them. Perhaps this is the first time he felt like he needed them.
Was he immediately going for a double despite having no tolerance? That’s just Chester being rebellious. Stick it to the man indeed. It’s always been his go to method to highlight the things he feels strongly about.
My smiling earns me another lazy smile, and just when I’m about to say something, the lawyer’s door opens up. A man in his late fifties in an expensive Italian suit greets us, his eyes cool and calculating.
“Mister Von Liechsenfield?” he asks, his voice a deep baritone.
“You know fucking well who I am, Tim. You’ve been my father’s lawyer for the past twenty years,” Chester scolds him as he stands up and walks into Tim’s office without waiting for any further invitation.
Without any further ado, he sits down in Tim’s desk chair, leaving a very confused Tim standing in the doorway. Chester rolls the chair back and pats his leg, letting me know exactly where he wants me to sit down.
My whole world is blowing up, so why the hell not?
Walking past Tim, who’s still trying to get over the shock as to what’s happening here, I get to Chester and let myself fall.
Tim has composed himself again, awkwardly sitting in one of the chairs meant for clients. He looks as if it’s trying to eat the back of his legs. It’s hilarious.
“So,” Chester says, ready to get this over with.
“So, Mister Von Liechsenfield. Thank you for taking this meeting. Your parents requested that I talk to you about receiving part of your inheritance. They want to set you up with a part of their fortune right now.”
“My little trust fund baby,” I fake whisper to him, and I can feel him scoff.
“They’re willing to give you twenty-five million right now on the condition of you getting back into contact and their lives.”
He’s got a set of balls on him, this Tim dude. Sitting there so stiffly and stoically, telling Chester to get back into his parents’ life. Chester ever so slightly shifts beneath me, until he leans forward and rests his chin on my shoulder.
“Isn’t this the Gilmore Girls’ pilot?” he says, and I laugh out loud.
Tim is less amused. He probably doesn’t get the reference.
“If you’re unwilling to meet that demand, they can only give you ten million…”
“I’ll take the ten,” Chester answers before Tim can even finish his sentence. Ten million is nothing in terms of money for the Von Liechsenfields, hell, even the twenty-five is nothing. But to us? To FIX Foundation? It means everything. It’s the difference between having to beg for donations and being able to hire additional staff so we can grow. Grow and save more kids from the horrible doom that’s hanging over their heads.
Tim, of whom I wonder if he’s the Barnes, Barclay or Bitters, doesn’t look surprised. My guess is he’s the Bitters. It’d be fitting.
“If you’re willing to meet with me once a year, I’ll make you the same offer every year. If you’re willing to have your parents present for this offer and invite them into your life, they’ll give you the twenty-five.”
“Well, set up a meeting, put on the red light and call me Roxanne because apparently I’m selling myself out,” Chester huffs, standing up and taking me up with him. Guess this meeting is over. “I’m not seeing them though, ten will be fine. Be sure to wire it through. ‘Kay. Bye.”
He starts walking towards the door, grabbing my hand and pulling me along after him. I wave the tops of my fingers when I pass a slightly confused Tim.
Chester heads to the elevator, pressing the button relentlessly until it finally arrives, and presses me against the back wall of it as soon as we step in. He attacks me with his mouth, taking out all his frustration in one long, furious kiss. I arch my back to get into it.
This?
This is why we work so well.
Talking about feelings? Pssh. Acting on them and getting the shit kissed out of me? Way better. Give me the physical over emotional every day. If I want to talk, I’ve got Robin.
When the elevator dings and we’ve reached the ground floor. Chester backs away, no sign of what he just did besides the slight flush of his cheeks and the heated look in his eyes.
We walk out of the building in silence, and it isn’t until we’re outside and Chester looks up at the big letters showcasing the firm’s name that he speaks up.
“Why?” he asks me.
“Why what?”
“Why now?”
“I need a little something more than this, Ches.”
He sighs. “Why are they so desperate to get back into contact now? Why suddenly give me money? Why lure me back into their lives?”
I shrug, because if he can’t figure it out, I sure as fuck can’t either. I watch how his eyes keep flitting over the lettering of the building.
“Something is up, something is off. And I’m going to figure it out,” he states with all the determination in the world. His blue eyes remind me of the sky lighting up during a thunderstorm. I might be the one trained to take out people in the field, just like Beckett. We can be lethal when need be. But this look on Chester’s face? The sheer willpower to get to the bottom of this? When he puts his mind to it, he’s the most dangerous out of all of us.
And for just a second, I feel sorry for the person who’s behind this shit. They’ve got something coming for them.
My feet are dangling in the pool water in the basement after we return home later that afternoon. The day was wasted anyway. Chester was in a weird headspace and taking him back to the office wouldn’t have done him any good. So we came home and called Remy, who joined us as soon as we could.
The effects of his chill pills have worn off though. Gone is the laid back Chester.
He is blasting a mix of Rage Against The Machine and The Offspring through the speakers, indicating he’s in a mood to break some shit. He’s gliding through the water so fast I think he’s beating his personal best if I’d start timing him.
Remy has long since given up on trying to keep up with him.
It’s like the times when I go for a run with someone but don’t talk to them the entire time we’re together. It’s the being together part that’s healing. That, and Chester blowing through all the energy he has pent up. The wheels in his head seem to be working at triple speed, and sometimes it’s just best to give him a physical outlet.
Remy swims to where I’m sitting, pushing my knees outwards until he’s hanging onto the side of the pool. His wet, dark hair is dripping tiny droplets all over his face, sticking to his nose and eyelashes. He’s a sight to behold on a regular day, but right now? Damn.
“How long before he crashes?” he asks me.
“At this speed? Give it ten minutes. Prepare for panic setting in soon after. Once he’s physically spent, he won’t have the mental barriers to keep out everything having to do with Satan Co and he’ll spiral.”
Remy nods, following Chester when he pushes himself away from the side of the pool, swimming back to the other side using the front stroke.
“He doesn’t have to do this, you know?” Remy says after a prolonged silence.
“The only reason he’s doing it is for the Foundation,” I answer, keeping an eye on my best friend. He’s bound to crash soon.
“I could just keep making donations so you guys can keep going. I’m good for the money. It’s rotting away in the bank doing nothing.”
A sigh escapes my body, but I’m pretty sure there are little heart-shaped figures in my eyes when I stare at him.
“That’s very generous, but maybe we should have this conversation with Chester instead of for him.”
Remy hums, nods and then pushes himself up on the side of the pool, making my clothes wet in the process. He kisses my nose before letting himself glide back in the water again.
His timing is impeccable because Chester is swimming towards us.
“Better?”
He grunts in time when the music blasts the ‘Fuck you. I won’t do what you tell me’ lines from Killing in the Name Of through the speakers. He climbs out of the water, sitting down next to me, pushing his long, wet hair behind his ears.
“I was just telling Abby, you guys can have my money so you don’t have to take this.”
Chester inhales sharply, wiping the water from his face. I reckon he doesn’t even realize he starts spinning his thumb ring.
“I kind of need to though. For some reason, it feels really right to have my parent’s money go into an organization where we use it to save kids. It’s… sort of healing, I guess?”
That makes sense. It’s just the first I’m hearing of it.
“Fair enough,” Remy answers quickly.
“But,” Chester starts with a grin that reminds me of the Grinch, “maybe we can waste your money on totally trivial things.”
“Like what?” I ask, smiling.
“Like…” He takes a second to think, staring in the distance. “Like organizing another Woodstock.”
“Yeah, because the ‘99 version turned out so well.”
“What better way to spend money than total anarchy and an awesome lineup?”
“I’m going to have to veto this idea,” I cut in.
“How about a ridiculously expensive vacation?” Chester suggests.
“Deal,” Remy says so quickly I barely have time to register what he’s agreeing to.
“After we’ve caught Wayne,” I add.
“After, yeah.”
“Let’s make a deal,” Remy suddenly says, pushing himself away from the side of the pool and floating on his back. I raise my eyebrow, curious as to what he’s going to say. When both Chester and I don’t answer him, he continues talking.
“When Wayne’s caught, and we’ve been on a glorious, luxurious vacation, I’m going to sell my house, and you’re going to let me donate the money from the sale to your Foundation, and you’re going to let me move in here.”
I swallow. That’s kind of quick, right? We’ve only been seeing each other for about four months. Then again, I’m not as opposed to the idea as I thought I would be.
“Don’t you want to keep your parent’s house?” Chester asks. With his commitment issues, he is slowly spinning his ring, but nowhere near as fast as I expect him to.
“No. It’s never been home again after I got back from New York. It’s always just been an excuse to retire. I think I’ve spent more time here the last few months than I have been at home.”
Oddly, I’m okay with this. That should be a sign.
“Sure,” I say, “as long as Chester agrees as well.”
He shrugs. “Fine.”
“Jesus Christ, guys, between the two of you there are no words lost. I’m forcing myself to move in and all you have to say about it is ‘sure’ and ‘fine’.”
Chester raises his brow. “You want us to fight you on it?”
“No, numbnut, I just want some passion! Is that too much to ask?”
“You don’t think we give you enough passion?” I tease him.
“Jamais!” he yells, echoing through the pool area.
“I’ll show you passion,” Chester says, lowering himself into the water again, quickly following Remy to the middle of the pool. There’s a lot of splashing, Remy’s head disappears under water, and finally, there’s a lot of wet kisses, while Chester yells ‘Passion!’ every few seconds.
The best thing? Chester completely forgets to crash and lets go of the events and emotions of the morning.
I’m in the kitchen when my phone notifies me there’s someone at the front door. I’m halfway through making a batch of dumplings, and I’m messy. Chester has disappeared into his office to work, but now that he’s in the mood, and Remy’s in the living room watching God knows what.
“Can you get that, Remy?” I yell in his general direction.
“Sure.”
I load my steaming basket with a batch of vegetable dumplings, grabbing a bunch of plates so I can fix dinner once they’re done. The fried rice is ready to be plated, and it won’t be long before we can eat.
“Are you interested in one grumpy FBI agent, ma luciole?” Remy asks when he walks into the kitchen with Beckett right on his heels. It still surprises me to see Beckett walking around on his socks with his off jacket like he belongs here. His cheeks are pink from the cold outside, but his look means trouble.
“Are you grumpy or hangry?” I ask. Then I walk back to the cabinet to grab an extra plate. Deep down, I’m a feeder. I fix emotions with food. The only reason I look the way I look is that I can’t sit still and have to work out to do my job. It certainly doesn’t reflect on my eating habits.
“Neither,” Beckett says, clearly lying.
“Sure thing, sunshine,” I placate him. The dumplings should be ready, so I take the top of the steamer off and start dividing them over the plates.
“Can one of you go get Ches?” I ask, finishing my plates. When I see what I’ve made, I feel strangely satisfied. When I look up, I find Beckett studying me and Remy missing. Guess he’s getting Chester.
“Grab those plates for me,” I tell Beckett when I point my chin towards those nearest them while grabbing the other two. I don’t wait to see if he’ll listen and start making my way to our dining room. We set the plates down, and I head back to the kitchen to grab utensils to start eating.
When I get back, all three men are waiting on me. It’s like I’m looking inside a children”s book, the different emotions someone can have made flesh. Remy looks joyful, Chester looks angry, and Beckett seems kind of sad. Good thing food works for all of them.
“Enjoy,” I say when I sit down, shift my attention to my plate, and dig in.
“Did we know Becky was coming over?” Chester grunts.
“It wasn’t planned,” Beckett answers.
“But he’s welcome anyway,” I add.
“So why are you here when it wasn’t planned?” Chester asks, his mouth stuffed with dumplings.
The green of Beckett’s eyes turns three shades darker, letting his head fall between slumped shoulders. “Because I wanted to be here.”
“But why?”
“Because!”
“So articulate,” Chester says, rolling his eyes. It’s like he’s trying to get a rise out of Beckett.
“Why are you so angry?” Remy asks Chester.
He falls silent and starts spinning his thumb ring. “I don’t want to say.”
Both of them are starting to piss me off. They can feel and act however they want to, but not wanting to talk about it is getting on my nerves. I like the fact that Beckett came over unplanned. I can’t even tell you how much I like that he took off his shoes when he got here, like he belongs here. I love that Remy was able to distract Chester from his earlier breakdown. And I hate that my dumplings aren’t magically fixing everything. Come on, they totally should.
Chester starts spinning his thumb ring. Beckett has that one protruding vein and Remy is tapping his foot so fast it annoys the crap out of me.
“Okay,” I half shout, pushing my plate back on the table with half the food still on it. “Okay!” I shout aloud, repeating myself, mostly to give myself a breather to gather my thoughts. “Treasure!” I declare.
“Treasure?” Beckett asks.
“You gonna let him in?” Chester asks, fuming.
“You’re okay with him being in this… relationship, but you’re not okay with him being reeled into treasure?” I know it’s something that started between Chester and me, but Remy has been involved and I don’t think it’s fair to leave Beckett out of it. Not if we’re going to make this work.
“What the hell is this treasure we’re talking about? We’re already hunting down a serial killer; now doesn’t seem like the time to go treasure hunting!” Beckett yells. His sadness has given way to his anger, and I start laughing before I can help it.
“It’s a thing,” Remy explains before he turns to Chester. “Can I tell him? We don’t have to say anything until he agrees to follow the rules.”
Chester scowls, picking up a dumpling, filling his mouth with it and giving one curt nod.
“So, when Abby and Chester were in boarding school together, there were things they had trouble confiding. They only had each other and their own issues, but they also had a hard time trusting and talking. So they came up with treasure. When treasure is declared, the thing you tell the other person has to stay buried after the conversation. You can’t talk about it unless the person who brought the topic up says it’s okay. If that never happens, you must agree to let it stay buried and keep your mouth shut.”
I sit back, watching this conversation between my guys unfolds without me getting involved. I might play a big part in why we’re together as a group, but I want them to feel the same closeness I feel for all of them.
“I can keep my mouth shut,” Beckett says. “I’ve got a high clearance level. I’m used to not being able to discuss things.”
“This isn’t just not telling anybody else. This is not speaking about it ever again, for as long as you live, not even with us, if that’s what the person who confided in you decides.”
To my relief, he takes a moment to think it through. He moves a dumpling around on his plate before finally saying, “I’m okay with that.”
“Great,” Remy says, still in a visibly good mood. “Treasure.”
“Treasure,” I confirm.
“Treasure,” Chester says, still trying to kill people with the look he has on his face.
All three of us expectantly look over at Beckett.
“You have to say it,” I help him.
“For real?”
“I’ve you’re not taking the sanctity of treasure seriously. We won’t think you seriously mean it. Say it,” Chester spits out.
“Well, uh, treasure,” Beckett says. It’s not like he’s unwilling to say the word. I can just see him trying to wrap his mind around this from over here.
“So, who’s going first?” I ask.
“Dibbs on last,” Chester says.
“Let’s not make this harder on Beckett than it is,” I scold him.
“You go first then!” he yells at me. Fuck, that asshole still manages to piss me the fuck off, even if I love him to pieces. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to me.
“Well, I’m coming to terms with… feelings. I seriously wonder if my behavior is normal. I care more for a dead girl than I care about myself, and that’s just not healthy. I’m worried about this whole relationship stuff. I don’t do that, let alone with three people at once. And I’m kinda angry that nobody appreciates my dumplings.”
Like always, just spewing these thoughts helps me understand them. Once you bring problems out into the light, they seem less heavy. It’s the same thing with having intrusive thoughts at night and having the same thoughts during the day; getting them out into the light makes them feel lighter.
“You’re normal,” Beckett replies.
“Is that your personal opinion or your professional one?”
“Both.”
I hum, pulling my plate towards me again and picking up another dumpling. “Robin said the same.”
“Robin?” he asks.
“My therapist.”
“The dumplings are really delicious, babe,” Chester says looking at me with kind eyes. The worst of his anger is gone, and he does indeed have most of his plate cleaned already. “And you’re not a monster.”
“They damn well are fucking delicious,” I mumble, ignoring the not a monster part. “So, why did you feel the urge to come over unexpectedly?” I ask Beckett.
He takes his time, eating multiple dumplings. I can’t figure out whether he’s stalling or looking for the right words.
“I’m a fucking failure,” he says so softly it’s barely even audible. He keeps his eyes on his plate and seems to deflate at least three sizes from his usual puffed-upness. This is him being vulnerable, and my heart goes out to him.
I give Chester a quick side glance, mentally telling him to shut the fuck up and not start making any jokes now. But I shouldn’t have underestimated the sanctity of treasure. I guess it shouldn’t really surprise me. He just sits there, finishing his fried rice and waiting for the conversation to unfold.
Chester is a ‘once you’re in, you’re in’ kind of guy. He doesn’t let many people in, but I guess Beckett is there now.
“Why do you feel like you’re failing?” Remy asks. His tone is genuinely interested, sitting back in his chair and giving Beckett his undivided attention.
“Because I can’t catch this fucking asshole. I didn’t even recognize it when I had him in custody. My gut told me I should look further into it, but I just believed the alibi.”
“Because it was a solid fucking alibi,” Chester says.
“Until it wasn’t,” Beckett mopes.
“So you’re saying Ches and I are failures as well?” I ask nonchalantly.
His eyes widen and his mouth falls open a little. “Of course not!”
“Then why are you any different?”
“Because it’s my job to catch him. You two just got caught in the crossfire.”
“Going on that analogy, every time some perv kidnaps a kid and I’m not able to save them, it’s my failure?”
Beckett’s look darkens.
“It’s different.”
“No, it’s not,” I press, stretching my hand out over the table and grabbing his hand. In a rare moment of tenderness, I caress the back of his hand with the pad of my thumb, and he squeezes my fingers.
“Really not,” Chester concurs.
Remy is unusually quiet. He’d normally have something to say about this. Guess we’ll get to the bottom of that later. It feels like a night for digging, whether it’s unearthing secrets or burying them deep. Give me a shovel, and we’ll work through this.
“So, we all agree. Not a failure. We just still have a task at hand.”
Beckett scowls.
“Listen, asshole, would you tell Winny she’s a failure?”
“No!” he shouts.
“Then stop telling yourself the same thing! Talk to yourself the way you talk to your friends. Words matter. Especially the words you say to yourself!” I yell back.
“Robin?” Chester asks, the corners of his baby blues slightly wrinkling.
I nod, giving a knowing smile. “That woman deserves a raise after all the wisdom she’s imposed on me over the years.”
Everyone continues eating for a while, until curiosity gets the better of me. “So why were you all pissy?” I ask Chester. “Something to do with Satan Co?”
“Satan and Co?” Beckett interrupts.
“My parents,” Chester answers, as if that explains everything.
“What’s up with them? I’ve caught on to something happening, but I can’t figure out what it is.”
“They condoned me being molested by my nanny and picked her side when I wanted to come forward,” Chester says matter-of-factly, summarizing in two sentences what took me the better of ten minutes to explain to Remy. Chester’s eyes become hard, and there is some thumb ring spinning going on, but he’s way too calm for the anger that went on earlier when Beckett arrived.
I can’t believe my ears though, he’s telling Beckett like he tells the story all the time and it doesn’t affect him on a daily basis.
“How come you’re not having a panic attack, telling him that?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Because I’m just not.”
“Are these the after effects of your medication?”
He huffs. “I wish they’d work like that. No, I’m just… not having a breakdown over it. He’s going to find out anyway because we’re all in this together.”
Remy moves his chair back, the legs scraping over the floor. “Then how come you couldn’t tell me yourself?”
“Because I was having a mental breakdown when you got the story.”
“Why were you having a mental breakdown the last time?” Beckett asks. He looks so confused, but it’s almost cute.
“Because I kissed a girl. Keep up, Becky.”
The profiler is looking at me for help, but he looks so confused I can’t help but laugh. “But you kiss Abby all the time.”
“This was before I realized I’m not gay. Well, not completely gay. I think I’m a five on the Kinsey scale.”
“So, if it’s not about your parents, then what the hell is making you mad?” Remy asks calmly.
“Wait a damn minute, you can’t just tell your parents chose your molesting nanny over you and then act like it’s nothing! We need to do something about this!” Beckett shouts. The vein in his neck is pulsing like mad again, and he could set lakes on fire with the look he’s giving us. Honestly? It warms my heart.
“I’ve got no proof. My parents will bury me in legal bills if I try to fight Esther and besides, the statute of child molestation in Oregon runs out when I turn thirty, so there’s still a little time. I’ll get her, someday. Right now, I’ve got more pressing matters.” Chester is talking rationally right now. He’s cut himself off from all his emotions. I guess it’s the only way he can address this right now. The fact that he’s talking about it at all is blowing my mind.
Beckett seems to be fuming, but he shuts his trap.
“And what pushes your buttons so much that you become angry the moment you see Beckett coming in?” Remy continues.
Chester bites his bottom lip, letting it plop in and out of his mouth a few times. “I was working and getting nowhere. Nothing on those missing boys, nothing on fucking Wayne, so my mind started wondering.”
“And you came up with an evil plan to take over the world,” I joke to lighten the mood.
“Nah, I’ve got that down if need be. It all comes down to bananas.”
“Bananas?” Remy asks, rubbing both his hands in front of his eyes.
Chester waves his remark away. “I’ll tell you later, now’s not the time. Anyway, I started thinking about how I missed Wayne’s criminal record. And how it was sealed. This is not just because someone hacked the system, but because someone from within the FBI actually legally sealed it, supposedly to protect national security. And then they made the evidence of that disappear. Not good enough, but enough for me not to look into it right away.”
He takes a deep breath.
“Now, what does someone being convicted for possession, getting a minor sentence, have to do with national security? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Which just means one thing, and that is that there’s a fucking dirty fed somewhere on the payroll. We can’t trust the feds, so seeing Beckett makes me angry.”
I stare at him open-mouthed. Because he’s right. “Your mind is a scary place.”
“Bananas?” Remy repeats, making the corner of Chester’s mouth rise just a tad.
Beckett’s face has pales. “So there’s a dirty fed, high enough up the chain to seal a file for a bogus reason and then make the evidence disappear.”
“Yeah, so all feds must be rat bastards and we can’t trust them.”
“Jesus, have you ever been diagnosed with paranoia?” Beckett counters.
“It’s not paranoia if it’s true.”
“Listen, I won’t say there are no dirty feds out there at all, but just because there are some doesn’t mean we all are!”
Chester just raises a brow.
“You want to tell Winny she’s dirty?” Beckett asks him.
That makes Chester’s blush. It might be best for his health because I think Beckett will pounce on him if he implies that Winny is dirty.
“Just what we fucking need. Another problem. You’re going to try to find out who the fed is, right?”
Chester’s face breaks into a smile the Cheshire Cat would be jealous of.
“Let me get this straight. In the last few months, we’ve uncovered a giant child trafficking ring, have outed a dirty chancellor of the university, solved a cold case, got a warden to admit he was bribed, uncovered who one of the nation’s most prolific serial killers is and are now going to expose a dirty fed,” I count, sticking up a finger with every item on my list I say out loud.
“And conquered love,” Chester adds.
We all get a cheesy smile, except Remy, who has disappeared somewhere during the conversation. Not physically, but he’s no longer fully there. He sits slumped back in the chair pushed away from the table, his half full plate of food long forgotten.
If he didn’t look so lost, I’d get a hissyfit about him not eating my food all over again. I catch his eye, and they’re so sad I just know something is wrong.
“What?” I whisper once I have his attention.
He shakes his head.
“Treasure, remember?”
Beneath the table, I seek out his leg and curl my own around his, anchoring him to me to wordlessly assure him I’m here. His leg feels warm and strong, and I like it.
He sighs, breaks eye contact and proceeds to look everywhere but at me.
“You’re all out there saving people and I’m pouting because I miss being on stage. It doesn’t really compare.”
I swear to God, if either Beckett or Chester says something to bring him down right now, I’ll kick their asses. Thankfully, they have a little more tact than that.
“If I would be benched and not able to do my job, to do what I’m passionate about, I’d be fucking depressed,” Beckett says, focussing on his fried rice and finishing the last of it.
“You take my computers away. I’ll enforce the bananas,” Chester mumbles, whatever it is that might mean.
Silence returns.
“See, we’ve all got our issues,” I summarize.
“Do you have to be retired?” Beckett asks Remy.
Another sigh.
“I don’t have to be; it was just a smart thing to do.”
Chester scoffs. “Doing the smart thing rarely leads to any fun.”
Remy looks lost, maybe a little purposeless, and I don’t know how to fix it. Not now anyway. I guess we’ll get back to it.
“I think you have the hardest job out of all of us,” Beckett says, staring down and finishing his plate.
“How’s that?”
“You’re the one who keeps both Ches and Abby grounded. You deserve a fucking medal.”
“A purple heart at the least,” Remy mumbles.
“A purple heart for dancing? You? Don’t make me laugh.” Chester scoffs, bumping his side against Remy’s. The taunting seems to bring back some of my passionate artist’s spunk.
“Not for dancing, for saving lives, because you’d all be lost without me. I just have the grace and the rhythm to accompany it.”
The guys start debating hypothetical medals for dancing, and I kick my chair back, sit back, listen and enjoy.