Chapter 12 Chris
CHRIS
Istared at the beer in front of me glumly. I thought a drink or two would make me feel better, but the longer I sat there, the heavier my chest felt. Jaime’s words looped again, uninvited and relentless.
I’d been standing outside the clinic, excited to see and talk to Jaime about the case’s latest developments, when the words caught me like a hook under the ribs.
I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. I hadn’t even realized Jaime was talking about me at first… and then I had.
I dragged a thumb along the condensation on the glass, watching the water bead and slide.
Inexperienced wannabe trainer.
I took a swallow. The beer tasted flat now, bitter in a way it hadn’t been earlier.
I’d really thought I was contributing. Not just filling space or simply tagging along because I happened to have some enforcer potential. Sure, I leaned on Jaime. I wasn’t blind to that.
His instincts were sharp, honed by years of experience in his field. I trusted him. Still, somewhere along the way, I’d started believing I was pulling my own weight too.
Apparently that belief had been… optimistic.
The stool beside me scraped softly as someone shifted nearby, and I barely registered it. My thoughts were loud, crowded, turning in tight circles like a wolf pacing a fence line.
Maybe I’d been operating under my own misapprehension, thinking I was more than an eager set of hands. More than enthusiasm and good intentions dressed up as competence. I snorted quietly and took another drink.
“Hey.”
A hand landed on my shoulder, solid and familiar. I looked up, irritation already sharpening my tongue, ready to snap at whoever thought now was a good time to—
Levi.
My older brother stood there with that same steady expression he’d worn my entire life. Dark hair pulled back, eyes sharp and assessing, like he was already cataloguing everything I wasn’t saying.
The irritation collapsed into something closer to relief.
“Hey,” I said miserably.
He tipped his head, his gaze flicking from my face to the beer, then back again.
“That look usually means you’re either about to do something stupid or already did,” Levi said.
I huffed a humorless breath. “Good to know I’m consistent,” I mumbled.
He slid onto the stool beside me without asking and motioned for the bartender. “Whiskey. Neat.”
I lifted my glass, then hesitated before gesturing. “Another beer,” I said.
Levi’s brows drew together as the bartender set it down. His eyes flicked to the half a dozen empty bottles on the table, then back to me with a concerned look.
“I know our kind doesn’t get drunk easily,” he said quietly, leaning in just enough to keep the words between us, “but shouldn’t you slow down?”
“I deserve to unwind,” I shot back. The defensiveness flared hot and fast, a spark in dry grass. “I’m having a bad day.”
That earned me a long look. The kind Levi perfected years ago. It wasn’t judgmental; Levi was being patient. It was as if Levi was waiting for the truth to catch up to my mouth.
“I take it the mission’s not going too well,” he said.
I took another pull from the beer, longer this time. The alcohol barely dulled the edge, but it gave my hands something to do.
“It’s going fine,” I muttered.
He didn’t react or push. Levi simply took a sip of his whiskey and waited. The silence stretched and pressed. Then it all spilled out of me, messy and unfiltered.
I told him about the clinic. About overhearing Jaime’s words and how they’d lodged themselves somewhere ugly and tender inside my chest.
“He called me a wannabe,” I said, my voice low, my jaw tight. “Said I’m enthusiastic. Like I’m some overeager kid playing at being useful.”
Levi’s brow furrowed, but he stayed quiet, listening.
“We were supposed to be partners,” I went on, bitterness creeping in. “Not…that. I thought I was helping. I thought I was earning my place. But maybe he just sees me as someone he has to manage.”
I laughed, sharp and humorless. “Like a project,” I added.
Levi set his glass down carefully. “Chris—”
“It’s like he doesn’t trust me,” I said, the words tumbling over each other now. “And I get it, okay? He’s been doing this longer. He’s better at it, but damn it, I’m not useless.”
My voice had dropped, a low growl vibrating under the words before I could stop it. Levi’s eyes snapped to mine, sharp as a blade.
“Careful,” my brother warned, his voice low.
I froze. Heat flushed through me as I realized how close I’d come to slipping. The bar was crowded, noisy, full of local humans and tourists who had come to see the dog show.
I swallowed hard and forced the sound back down where it belonged. I willed my shoulders to relax. Maybe there was some truth to what Jaime had said. I’d nearly let my emotions blow my cover.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
Levi’s gaze softened just a fraction, but the warning lingered. He leaned back, studying me anew.
“I think you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he said finally.
The words landed wrong, and I glared at him. A quiet snarl curled in my chest, but I kept it there this time.
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” I said. The words sounded a little childish, even for me.
“I am,” he said calmly. “Which is why I’m saying this.”
I scoffed. “He basically said what he thinks of me in one sentence.”
Levi shook his head slowly. “That’s not what I heard,” he pointed out.
“That’s because you weren’t there,” I snapped. “You didn’t hear the tone. The way he said it.”
“And you’re forgetting the part where he said he trusts you fully,” Levi countered.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
“He was defending you,” Levi went on. “Against another trainer who was clearly trying to diminish you. And you latched onto the one part that hit your insecurities and ignored the rest.”
I stared into my beer. The foam had thinned, leaving a dull surface that reflected nothing back at me.
“He still said it,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” Levi agreed. “And maybe he said it clumsily. Maybe his emotions were running high too. You think he enjoys having his fake husband questioned in public?”
That gave me pause. Levi took another sip of his whiskey.
“You’re not the only one under pressure right now. This whole situation’s tense. Maybe there are even eyes on you both,” Levi pointed out.
I exhaled slowly, the anger beginning to bleed out of me, leaving behind something heavier and quieter.
“He never said you were incompetent,” Levi added. “Sounds to me like you focused on the wrong half of the sentence.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, the stubble rasping against my palm.
“Maybe,” I admitted grudgingly.
“Chris,” Levi said, softer now, “you’ve always been hard on yourself. You hear one doubtful note and drown out the whole damn song.”
I huffed. “Maybe.”
He shrugged. “Occupational hazard of being your older brother.”
Silence settled again, but it was different this time. Less sharp. The bar’s noise washed over us, laughter and clinking glasses and the low thrum of music. After a few more drinks, the tight coil in my chest loosened.
My head felt clearer, the sting dulled to something manageable.
“I was excited,” I said quietly. “I wanted to tell him about Cooper. About Jimmie. I thought I was onto something.”
Levi nodded. “Then tell him.”
I frowned. “After this? I don’t want to sound defensive.”
“Talking things out isn’t being defensive,” Levi said. “It’s being an adult.”
I grimaced. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” he said. “But letting it fester is worse.”
I tipped my glass back and drained the last of the beer. “You really think I misread it?” I asked.
“I think you heard it through fear,” Levi said gently. “And fear’s a lousy translator.”
I sat with that for a moment.
“Thanks,” I said finally. “For listening.”
“Anytime,” he replied, standing and clapping a hand on my shoulder again. “Don’t let this turn sour. You’ve got something good. Don’t tear at it because you’re scared of not measuring up.”
I nodded. “I’ll fix it.”
As Levi walked away, the words echoed quieter now, stripped of their sharpest edges. Maybe Jaime hadn’t been tearing me down. Maybe he really had been standing up for me.
I was hoping to have some alone time when I returned to the hotel room, but Jaime and Pampi were already there. After taking a few calming breaths, I closed the door quietly behind me.
The room was dimmer than when I’d left. One of the lamps was on low, casting a warm amber pool across the carpet. Pampi lay sprawled on her side near the foot of the bed, paws twitching faintly as she dreamed.
Jaime stood near the window, arms crossed, posture tight enough that I felt it before he even turned around.
“Where have you been?” Jaime asked. No, it sounded like a demand.
I stopped just inside the door, the weight of the evening still clinging to me. The smell of the bar, of beer and whiskey and old wood, probably followed me in like an accusation.
“I went out for a drink,” I said. “With my brother.”
Jaime’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I didn’t hear it,” I shot back, irritation spiking. My head was still buzzing, not enough to blur the room but enough to make everything feel a little louder, a little sharper. “I’m allowed to step away for a couple of hours.”
His gaze flicked over me, assessing. Then his mouth tightened. “You smell like alcohol.”
That did it. Something defensive rose up in me, fast and ugly. I crossed my arms, mirroring his stance without even meaning to.
“So what? I had a few drinks. I didn’t disappear. I didn’t do anything reckless,” I pointed out.
“I didn’t say you did,” he replied, but there was an edge there now too. Concern had sharpened into something harder.
I opened my mouth, the words already lining up. I was going to tell him about the clinic and what I’d overheard, about how those words had lodged themselves under my skin and wouldn’t let go.
But the mood had shifted. The warmth I’d imagined bringing back with me had evaporated somewhere between the bar and the elevator.
I was suddenly exhausted, my chest tight with too many emotions stacked on top of each other.
I closed my mouth again. Jaime studied me for another beat, then exhaled and turned away slightly.
When he spoke again, his tone had changed, smoother but distant. “What did Cooper say?”
The abrupt shift threw me off balance.
“What?” I asked.
“Your meeting with Cooper,” he clarified. “You said you were going to follow up. Did you learn anything?”
I stared at him, a petty, sour thought rising unbidden. Funny how he trusts Cooper without question.
For half a second, I considered not telling him. Letting him wonder. Letting him feel the same uncertainty that had been gnawing at me all evening.
The thought made my stomach twist. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.
“Yeah. I talked to him. And the sheriff. I questioned Jimmie Hodge.”
Jaime turned back fully now, attention sharpening. “And?”
“He didn’t say anything useful,” I admitted. “Refused to talk. But Cooper and I both think Jimmie’s holding the line for someone else.”
Jaime nodded slowly, thinking.
“Jimmie Hodge doesn’t sound like our culprit,” he murmured. “At least not the mastermind.”
“No,” I said. “More like a piece on the board.”
“An accomplice,” Jaime said, nodding. “Or a fall guy.”
“Exactly.”
He glanced down at Pampi, who let out a soft huff in her sleep, then back at me. “And when you questioned him… he really said nothing?”
Something inside me snapped. The question itself wasn’t accusatory. Not really. But layered on top of everything else, it landed like a challenge or doubt. Heat flared up my spine, my control slipping before I could catch it.
“I questioned him as well as I could,” I snapped. “Do you think I just sat there and waited? Stared at him and hoped he’d confess out of boredom?”
Jaime stiffened. “Chris—”
“You can call me a wannabe trainer if you want,” I continued, the words tumbling out faster now, edged with hurt and anger.
I should have stopped then, but I kept going. “But I know how to do my job. I know how to read people when it matters. I know how to push when there’s pressure.”
My voice rose despite myself, vibrating with a low intensity that made Pampi stir.
“I questioned him to the best of my abilities,” I said. “Or do you have doubts about that too?”
The room went still. The words hung between us, ugly and sharp, and the moment they left my mouth, I wanted them back.
I heard the defensiveness in my own voice, the way it curved around old wounds and fresh insecurities. Jaime stared at me like I’d spoken a different language.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.
The confusion on his face cut deeper than anger would have. I swallowed hard, the adrenaline draining out of me all at once, leaving behind a hollow ache.
I suddenly felt very tired. Very aware of how close we were to saying something we couldn’t easily take back.
“I…” I rubbed at my temple. “I need some air.”
Jaime’s jaw tightened. “We’re not done talking.”
“I know,” I said quickly. “But if we keep going right now, it’s only going to get worse.”
For a heartbeat, I thought he might argue. Might press or demand answers I wasn’t ready to give. Instead, his expression closed off, shutters dropping behind his eyes.
“That’s probably a good idea,” he said coolly.
The distance in his tone hurt more than if he’d raised his voice. It was controlled and professional. The same voice he used when he was walling himself off.
I nodded, already backing toward the door. “We’ll talk later,” I told him.
“Yeah,” he said. “We will.”
I slipped out before either of us could say anything else. The hallway felt too narrow, the air stale and heavy.
I leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closed, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
I’d started it. I knew that. I’d let my insecurities steer the conversation, let the alcohol loosen my tongue just enough to aim the blade inward and outward at the same time.
I pushed off the wall and headed for the stairs, needing movement, needing space.