26. Hart
Hart’s forehead fell onto Cane’s shoulder, a groan leaving his lips as he listened to Black screaming bloody murder in front of his bedroom door.
He was surprised he hadn’t barged in.
Hart rolled his head just enough to glance over Cane’s shoulder, not ready to actually move yet and break the moment completely. He spotted the armchair that had been pushed toward the door. The one Cane had been sitting in when he’d first woken up.
On closer inspection, Hart saw that no, it hadn’t just been moved from its spot, it had been wedged under the doorknob completely.
He finally lifted his head, glancing at Cane’s smug face. “Did you barricade us in here?”
“Fuckers are pushy,” Cane said, zero regret in his voice. “They wouldn’t leave you alone until I threatened to end them one by one.”
Hart’s body filled with butterflies. Cane had been protecting him, in his own way. Giving him some breathing room, like he instinctively knew Hart would need it. The feeling of being understood was everything. Being cared for. A priority. He didn’t know why he’d fought it for so long, denying what would make him so happy and content.
If only that could extend to every facet of his life.
Hart closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steel himself for the conversation he wasn’t sure he wanted to have. The conversation with Cane had been the hardest—grueling and raw and emotionally draining—but the one ahead with his brothers was the scariest.
The things he’d said echoed in his head. The things they’d said to him, while true, had cut deep. And he had so much to say. So much he’d never told them. Years’ worth of emotional baggage they didn’t really deserve to shoulder.
He wasn’t sure he was ready.
He’d already decided to take the leap and flip his entire life. He didn’t know how much more upheaval his body could take, but he also didn’t want to hide anymore. The curse had put so much into perspective for him. What mattered versus what he had built up in his head.
He could still care for himself while caring for others.
He could be a little selfish now and then.
The world wouldn’t end if things got a little messy and disordered. (He’d work on that one.)
He was a boyfriend now. A partner.
He was one half of a whole for the first time in his life, with the only person he could ever think to complete that whole with. His mind needed time to adjust to that idea. To let go of the fears and the doubts and allow himself to just have that. To take for himself openly and without shame.
Being alone with Cane made that easy. There was never any reason for Hart to hide in front of him.
“Hellooooo!” Black called, banging some more.
But there was a world out there waiting for him.
There was a group of people out there who were a part of him too.
“I guess I have to face the music,” Hart said, slumping against Cane’s chest but being mindful of his injuries, letting him take some of his weight but not all. Mostly he craved the closeness.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Cane said, cradling his head and running his fingers through his hair, something he rarely got to do with the way Hart styled it. It was so nice that Hart thought maybe he could ease up on the gel…slightly. Baby steps. “They can wait. I can take you away from here until you’re ready. Just say the word.”
The thing about Cane was that his word was as good as gold once given to you. He’d move the universe if Hart asked for it, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask. The thought of being alone with Cane, truly alone, without the nagging feelings of guilt and regret nibbling at the corners of his mind was temptation itself.
He sighed. He needed to mend what he had broken. He wanted a fully fresh start. “I need to get dressed.”
“To talk to those assholes?” Cane asked, tightening his hold on him stubbornly. “I don’t think they’ll give a shit what you’re wearing.”
“I do!” Hart said primly, playing with the fabric of Cane’s shirt. “I just spent the last week running around in…”
“Casual separates?” Cane said.
Hart smiled a little, appreciating the attempt at levity, but he was still tender. The curse was still fresh. “Things that weren’t me. I wasn’t…”
He swallowed hard, trying to explain to Cane that it was important to him to be dressed like himself. To choose it. To go in front of his brothers looking like the person they’d grown up with and not the monster he’d been turned into.
“You want to feel like you,” Cane said into his neck.
“Yes,” Hart whispered.
Cane nodded, coaxing them off the bed and lifting Hart slightly even through his protests about his ribs. He let Hart slide down his body until his feet were firmly on the floor, gazing down at him with undeniable happiness and acceptance.
It was hard to look at directly, still unfamiliar and heart fluttering, but at the same time Hart didn’t want to look anywhere else. Which was why he made a noise of protest when Cane gripped his shoulders and turned him around until he was facing his wardrobe.
“Go make yourself look hot, sweetheart,” Cane said into his ear, giving his ass a slap that sent Hart stumbling forward.
He sent an indignant look over his shoulder, but it held no heat because he found Cane looking after him like he was his most precious thing.
He turned back around and rushed toward Cane, pecking his lips quickly once more, feeling the press of metal against his face before he dashed away to get dressed, Cane’s amused chuckle echoing behind him.
He picked a simple combination of beige trousers and a dark brown shirt, throwing a casual beige blazer over it. It was understated and without his usual flair, but still very Hart in its simple elegance.
He smoothed the clothes over his body, fixing his hair as he made his way back. Cane was sitting on the foot of the bed, leaning back on his hands.
His eyes focused on him as soon as he spotted him, roaming over him like he was wearing nothing at all. One part appreciative and five parts desire.
“You look much better in your clothes than you do in mine,” Cane murmured.
Hart flushed and bit his lip, feeling pleased beyond words. He walked himself between Cane’s lazily splayed legs, planting himself in his arms again. Cane’s eyes darkened, as if waiting for Hart’s next move. “I—”
“I’M ABOUT TO EXPIRE!” Black interrupted him, delivering another series of bangs to his door. “It’s taking you forever!”
Cane groaned, his head falling backward on his shoulders. Hart felt the loss immediately and glared at the door. He might not want to string Black up by his curls anymore, but he was certainly going to give him some choice words!
He walked to the door, removing the armchair before throwing it open and looking down at the annoying little blond in front of him.
“It’s rude to bang on someone’s door,” he said evenly. “Patience is a virtue, Black. Our patience will achieve more than our force.”
Black blinked up at him for a second before screeching in glee and launching into a lap of the hallway. “He’s back to normal! He just gave me a lecture! I got one before you losers! Hashtag scolded!”
“Hey! No fair!” Ash called up the stairs, footsteps pounding.
Hart shook his head, feeling a little curl of warmth in his chest. He looked over his shoulder to see Cane still sitting and watching him, but there was an unreadable look in his eyes now.
“Ready?” Hart asked.
“Me?” Cane asked, raising a pierced brow. “I can wait for you here.”
Hart frowned. “Why would you…?”
“I didn’t know if you wanted them to know,” Cane said, gesturing at the space between the two of them.
The words gutted Hart momentarily. Cane was offering him an out. A way to keep up appearances. A way to have him and still pretend he meant nothing. His fingers shook. Bile rose in his throat and he closed the distance between them in a few short steps, not caring that the door was open. Not caring that Ash and Black were bickering within earshot.
“No,” Hart said, grabbing Cane’s shirt. “I need them to know. Because you help me function. You keep me going. You’re what keeps me sane and makes me happy and they need to know that you’re a permanent part of my life. A necessity. I want you there with me. I’m not hiding you or me anymore.”
Cane watched him for a moment, before swooping up and kissing him. The kiss left Hart’s lips tingling and erased some of the anxiety.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Cane said, getting to his feet and taking him by the hand. Hart intertwined their fingers, a little in awe at the foreign feeling. Another first for them. “Let’s do this then.”
Black and Ash had taken the fighting elsewhere by then, the assurance that Hart was emerging from his cocoon enough to send them scattering to find everyone else, no doubt.
Cane led him down the stairs, moving slower than he usually did. Hart realized he was trying to buy him time before he had to face his brothers. He was instantly emboldened by the gesture, squeezing Cane’s hand and lengthening his stride to be closer to him.
They passed through the familiar halls, ones that hadn’t fallen down without Hart there to hold them up, following the sounds of chatter toward the living room.
Cane braved the entrance first, walking them inside. Everyone was there, and all eyes fell on them immediately, the chatter dying down into a squeak and then a whisper.
Hart dared to look at Fix first, who was sitting in his wide armchair. Hart felt like he’d hurt him the least, maybe. Or that Fix was the most forgiving. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he’d find something encouraging there.
And he wasn’t wrong at all. Fix was watching him intently, but his posture was completely relaxed, his lips curled into a small smile. He only looked happy to see him. Hart tried to return the smile, but he wasn’t sure it was working. He felt like he might throw up, so that wasn’t helping anything.
He risked a glance around the rest of the room. Black was dressed in cheery yellow, sitting on the floor, bare feet wiggling in their fluffy carpet. Midas was reclined in the ornate rocking chair that he insisted was the best chair to ever chair. Ash was on the couch with Morgan tucked under his arm and his legs folded up.
Hart suppressed a flinch at the sight of him in particular, and finally looked at the last two people in the room.
Wren was in one corner with Blu perched on his bent knee and the hood of his frayed, oversized hoodie pulled up, and Damir, the Arcstead cursebreaker was in the other corner. He was the only one not looking at Hart, his eyes firmly glued to Wren.
The room itself seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting for the fallout. A repeat of the scene from before. Hart felt Cane’s fingers squeeze his fingers, tugging a little and walking them toward the only vacant seat—an armchair that had suspiciously been positioned in the center of the room.
Cane perched on the arm of it while he made Hart sit down fully, laying his hand on his shoulder in silent support. Tension was sticking to his skin like a light sweat, and he felt lightheaded with anxiety, but he pushed past it. For himself. For them.
“Never believe you’re so great or important, so right or proud, that you cannot kneel at the feet of someone you hurt and offer a sincere, humble apology,” he said softly, signing as he spoke.
They all stared at him silently, eyes blinking at him from every direction, before they all burst into action all at once.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Ash threw his hands up in the air.
“Melodramatic AF.” Black sagged onto the floor, the back of his hand on his forehead.
Midas rolled his eyes at him so hard Hart was pretty sure he sprained something.
Wren sent Blu to peck his shoulder before flying back.
“Hart, you have nothing to apologize for,” Fix said, reaching out and patting him on the knee.
“While I appreciate the sentiment, I—”
“It’s the rules, so you can’t argue.” Ash cut him off this time, gesturing toward something behind his back.
Hart followed his gesture to the wall Hart had pinned one of the family rule lists to. Usually the others paid zero attention to anything that was on there, but there at the bottom of the list, written in bold black letters was a line that looked out of place. For starters, it was handwritten instead of printed. It was different in size and loopy instead of perfectly lined up with the others. And it was written in sparkly pink pen, the glitter catching the early morning light.
If you get cursed, shit you say cannot and will not be held against you in the court of this house :)
Hart didn’t know why that made him feel so emotional, but his eyes grew a little misty. They’d made him into a rule. And not just any rule, but the one on the most important list they had. The one placed at the heart of their living space. Their home.
“Hm. Definitely the rules,” Cane said. “I don’t know how you’ll get out of this one, sweetheart. We all know how you feel about those.”
Hart cleared his throat, the guilt not completely gone, but subdued slightly. “Well…if it’s in the rules…”
“I told you he couldn’t argue,” Black whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Fix, who was smiling while signing for Midas.
“So how about we skip the sappy stuff and just say that we all forgive you and you shouldn’t beat yourself up,” Ash suggested. “And that maybe some of us owe you an apology too. Maybe. Theoretically. And that we should all move on!”
He oofed when Morgan elbowed him in the side and said, “You were being a grade A asshole. And you didn’t have the excuse of a curse.”
Hart realized Morgan was sticking up for him against his boyfriend. As if he hadn’t been made to feel like he didn’t belong by Hart. As if he already knew how their world worked and had accepted everything that came with it.
Ash hung his head, looking like a scolded puppy. “I know.”
Hart shook his head at him indulgently, but there was regret punching him in the gut about something else. “If we were issuing apologies, theoretically, so as not to break the rules…then I would owe you one, Morgan. I’m sorry for making you feel like you don’t belong. For everything I said.”
“It’s okay.” Morgan waved him off, big brown eyes unbothered. “You were cursed.”
“I was. But I regret the words anyway. I have never seen Ash happier than he’s been these last few months. And it’s thanks to you. So I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you I appreciate you.”
“Theoretical apology accepted,” Morgan said with a smirk. “And it’s not like I didn’t give as good as I got. I’ve got a hair trigger and a nasty mouth.”
“You don’t say,” Cane drawled.
“You’re still not forgiven,” Morgan declared to him, though there was a levity to it that Cane snorted at. It made Hart feel infinitely lighter, the admissions cleansing.
Hart looked down at Black, who had received the next biggest helping of his cursed alter ego’s ire. Black simply stuck out his tongue at him, crossing his thumb and pointer finger to send him a tiny heart.
His heart warmed.
He flicked his gaze over to Wren without conscious thought. He hadn’t been outright mean to him, but he had ignored his pain. Pain that was evident even now. They’d had a rocky relationship in the past, for reasons Wren had never really shared, but they’d gotten so much closer over the years. Wren was just as much a part of Hart as any other team member.
Wren gave him an encouraging smile and a nod, running gentle fingers over Blu’s shiny feathers.
It all gave him the courage to take the final leap. Their unbending faith in him. Their love and kindness. It deserved complete honesty.
“So no apologies. But how about an explanation?” Hart said.
“That’s why Damir is here,” Fix said. “To talk about the curse. We can go over it now for you—”
“No, not the curse. Well, yes, we should discuss that, naturally. It’s very important, and paperwork needs to be filed and organized across both Slatehollow and Arcstead—”
“Sweetheart.” Cane bent down into his ear to whisper. “You’re getting off track.”
Hart blushed. “Oh, yes, well…what I wanted to say was I have something to talk to you about. About me.”
“Does that include this, as well?” Ash asked with a wry look at Cane sitting so close, hands still on him.
“It does, yes,” Hart said, lifting his chin. “It’s probably the biggest part of the whole thing.”
“Um, do you want me to leave for this talk?” Morgan asked.
“I could also give you time with your family,” Damir chimed in. “Whatever you want to share with them sounds personal.”
“It is,” Hart said, reaching out and laying his hand on Cane’s thigh, just above his knee. “But it’s not a secret. Not anymore. It’s nothing I’m ashamed of.”
He made sure the words were heard by everyone. Including Cane. Especially Cane.
“You and Cane?” Midas signed, dark eyes shrewd.
“Cane and I met three years ago because I needed an outlet. I…”
He struggled to find the right words. They tickled at the back of his throat, but he didn’t know how to shape them correctly. He didn’t want his brothers to think they were to blame for why he was the way he was.
They all waited patiently, Cane reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one before offering the pack to Hart like it was muscle memory.
Hart stared at the line of white sticks with wide eyes.
He could really use a smoke. It would take some of the tension from his shoulders. The comforting warmth of it would light up his chest and relax his mind.
Cane seemed to remember himself and pulled the pack back. “Sorry. Forgot.”
Hart’s hand shot out lightning fast, grabbing his wrist to still him. Cane gave him a questioning look and Hart licked his dry lips. “Light it for me?”
Understanding passed between them and Cane gave him half a smile, something like pride lingering around the harsh edges of his face. “Sure, sweetheart.”
Eyes were on Hart, disbelieving and shocked as Cane lit the cigarette and passed it into Hart’s practiced hand.
“Did you get addicted already from that one week?” Ash said, laughing a little. “Weak sauce, Hart.”
“We can look at some withdrawal resources,” Fix jumped in. “I’m sure since you haven’t been doing it that long, your symptoms shouldn’t be too severe.”
Hart brought the cigarette to his mouth for the first time in front of his family, taking a long drag, expertly sucking it in and feeling freedom amid the haze of smoke. He let it out and then met his brothers’ eyes.
“I’ve been smoking for ten years.”
The room was silent in the wake of his bombshell, and he nervously took another drag. He felt Cane lay a hand on his back in silent support.
“I knew,” Wren said.
Hart snapped his eyes to him, everyone else doing the same. Wren fiddled with his fingers, avoiding Damir’s gaze especially. “I’ve seen you smoke loads of times when you think no one’s around.”
Hart blinked, then blinked again before a laugh spilled out of him. He rested his elbow on the other arm of the chair and put his face in his hand.
After all this time.
The anticlimax was comical.
“Hey! All my lighters that went missing!” Ash suddenly said. “You made me write lines about taking better care of my belongings!”
Cane chuckled heartily, probably the first time anyone else had heard him laugh. “Now that’s funny.”
“It is not!!”
“It kind of is,” Midas signed.
“Don’t take his side!” Ash complained.
“I’ve been smoking for ten years. Sometimes I drink more than the recommended amount of alcohol. There are days when getting out of bed and finding a motivational quote is hard, though we should all strive to persevere of course, and sometimes my socks don’t match my pocket squares,” Hart suddenly ranted above the noise, getting it all off his chest before taking a heavy drag on his cigarette. “I’ve even sworn…on occasion.”
“That’s…” Fix started with wide eyes.
“Surprisingly normal and tame,” Ash said.
“Especially compared to you,” Morgan pitched in.
“Hey!” Ash complained.
Morgan crossed his arms over his chest resolutely. “Get rid of the flamethrower and get out of being grounded by Nexus. That might change my mind.”
“You’re still our Saint Hart,” Black said over the bickering couple, sending him a beaming smile. “I don’t mind whatever you do.”
“You wouldn’t,” Midas signed. Black blinked innocently back at him with his big blue eyes. “But I agree. Welcome to being human.”
Hart could feel tears threatening at the unflinching acceptance.
“Why didn’t you feel you could tell us?” Fix asked gently. “Did you think we’d care so much?”
Hart grimaced a little, looking down. “We all know how this team came to be. We all know we had to fight and endure so much to finally get to the point where we functioned as a unit. We all had roles to fulfill to make it work, and I guess I…I think I took mine too far. I wanted to be perfect. Someone you could rely on. Someone who would never break under the pressure, or show weakness…”
“Wait,” Wren said softly. “It’s our fault…”
“Wren, no,” Hart said. “Nothing is your fault. My pride and my need to be perfect are not on you. I should have believed in all of you more. Trusted you. Instead I tried to bury human failings and cover them up with motivational posters and neck ties.”
“Not that he doesn’t like the motivational posters and neck ties,” Cane chipped in helpfully. “So expect more of those.”
Hart sent him a wobbly smile. “You too. That warehouse is both depressing and a hazard.”
Cane took his burned-down cigarette from Hart and ditched it. “What’s mine is yours, sweetheart.”
Hart’s heart thumped like crazy.
“Okay, I would once again like to say that I called that shit,” Black declared, pointing at them.
Ash huffed, but surprisingly, he didn’t outright oppose them like he had before. His eyes simply moved between them, like he was seeing them truly for the first time without the veil of his own preconceptions.
That was all Hart could ask for.
Cane wasn’t Mr. Slatehollow. He wasn’t going to win any personality pageants. But he made Hart happy beyond words. And Ash was his brother. He didn’t want them to be at odds.
“I’m glad you told us,” Fix said.
Hart met his eyes and smiled at him. “If I could go back and do this all over again, I’d pick the same team to be a part of. I wouldn’t change a single one of you. This team isn’t whole without all of you.”
“Or you. Exactly as you are,” Fix said.
Hart nodded, truly fighting back tears now.
“Sorry to break this up, but I need to head out,” Midas signed, getting up from his chair with a clink of jewelry. “I have an active case at the moment that I’ve been putting off, so fill me in on the debrief later. Hart, it’s really good to have you back. The house’s organization has really gone to shit.”
He held Hart’s gaze for a second longer, and Hart gave him a smile, knowing that no matter how detached Midas seemed sometimes, he was still one of them. And he cared. In his own way.
With a final nod, Midas flounced out of the house, the rumble of his vintage car and Morgan’s sigh of disappointment accompanying his retreat.
“That was at least fifteen minutes,” Ash said, checking his watch.
“I had money on ten,” Black said, and Ash groaned, taking the slates out of his pocket and slapping them into Black’s palm.
“I was sure he’d last at least half an hour.”
Black shook his head. “It’s like you’ve never met him.”
“Did you just bet on how long Midas would be around?” Damir asked with a creased brow, reminding Hart there was somebody there who didn’t really know them all that well.
Someone who didn’t really belong.
Something inside him settled at that. Damir wasn’t part of their team. Cursed or not, he wasn’t there to replace Hart.
“They do that,” Hart said to him, catching his eye as he spoke. “It makes them happy.”
“Interesting team,” Damir said, his eyes straying back to Wren briefly before he managed to tear them away.
“Too bad you had to meet us under the most awful circumstance,” Hart said, trying to bring the conversation back to what needed to be said.
“Perks of the job,” Damir said. “Sadly, if it weren’t for things like this, we’d probably never meet each other.”
There was a weight to his words, and Hart knew Damir was talking about Wren.
“In any case, I’m really grateful for all your help. What you did for us…for me…”
Damir shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand through his thick tresses. “Just copying the best.”
“What?” Hart asked.
“I’m aware you don’t really put too much stock into it, but this team is pretty famous, Hart,” Damir said, looking around at them. “We all know your old cases. We’re all aware of your methods. And even if they don’t really match perfectly with our own, we’ve studied the way you do your stuff. What I did today was just to finish what you started, using your methods.”
“But I didn’t even know I was cursed,” Hart said. “Or that I could be, for that matter.”
“You knew Cane was,” Damir said. “You had the theory about the moving curse, and you were right about it. You just didn’t realize it had moved to you. That’s the only detail you missed.”
“A pretty significant detail,” Hart scoffed.
“Nobody could have seen it coming, Hart,” Damir said. “We’ve informed Nexus, and they’re up in arms about this. They’re digging into all the information they have, questioning everything they taught us. This case will change a lot about the way cursebreakers are being trained, and it’s all thanks to you. I had very little to do with this.”
“He’s being really modest,” Fix said. “He set up the mirror room, and his methods were also a big part of it. We told him you don’t allow other people present during the breaking process, but he absolutely insisted Cane be in there with you.”
“Oh…” Hart said, feeling his cheeks heat up. Cane squeezed the back of his neck.
“He’s important to you,” Damir said. “Having someone who keeps you grounded when there are things pulling you apart is always a good idea.”
“How did you…?” Hart started.
“I can always tell,” he said simply, not offering any other explanation.
“Thank you,” Hart said again.
“I’d say ‘anytime,’ but let’s all hope I don’t have to help with something like this ever again,” Damir joked, and Hart smiled despite the turmoil. “I should get going.”
He stood up, followed by Fix, who extended his hand to shake. Ash followed, then Black, Hart, and finally Cane.
Damir finally turned to the last person in the room.
The tension was back again, Wren looking anywhere else, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“Little Bird,” Damir called softly.
Wren glanced over, like an automatic reaction. Instinct. Like it was written into his being to answer to that name.
“Can we talk?” Damir asked.
Wren recoiled, shaking his head as he moved back toward the open window, Blu following.
“My name is Wren,” he said, chin jutting out slightly as he tried to set his face into a firm mask. “And I have work to do.”
“Please…” Damir called after him, but Wren was already climbing out the window and disappearing from view.
Damir’s face fell completely.
“A story you won’t tell us?” Hart asked.
“Not unless he tells you first,” Damir said, picking up his bag and phone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny envelope. He handed it to Hart.
“Give him this, please,” he said, expression beseeching. “He might never read it, but…”
“I will.” Hart took the small letter with both hands.
Damir nodded, looking around the room once more and giving them all a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before walking out.
“Have you guys heard any more news about Arianna?” Cane asked, breaking the silence. “I filled Hart in on some of the details.” He locked eyes with Fix as he spoke, something passing between them before Fix nodded once, resolutely.
“Last I heard from Cyrus, she doesn’t know anything about our mysterious list,” Black said. “But she’s also crazy, sooo…he’s working on it. For now she’s going to be taken into PUMA custody permanently for Nexus to deal with as not only an unregistered caster, but also a criminal unregistered caster. They’re very not happy about what she was able to do. She’ll probably end up in maximum security.”
Ash whistled. “The big leagues.”
Black nodded. “The good news is they’re so busy focusing on her that they still aren’t coming after Cane for anything right now. She kept talking about a body, but there was nothing there to find. Which is lame.”
“So lame,” Cane deadpanned. The only thing that gave him away was the small shift closer to Hart. Hart took his hand.
“Unexplainable curses are becoming too much of a theme around here,” Ash grumbled.
Fix nodded. “It’s too much to be a coincidence. The list itself and the two curses coming from casters that are tied to it is too much evidence to ignore. And the cyber messages too? Something bigger is at play here, we just don’t know what the hell it is.”
They all brooded for a few moments before Black did a full-body shudder.
“Well, that’s enough emoting for one day.” Black pocketed his phone. “We’re not going to figure it out right now, so I’m gonna go bother Cyrus a bit.”
He flounced out in a whirl of sunflower yellow.
“We’re off too,” Ash said, pulling Morgan up. “We have a date, and I think Fix has a mission to find a certain blond man.”
“It’s not a mission,” Fix said, playing with his beard in agitation.
Ash cackled as Morgan pushed him toward the door. “Looked like a mission to me,” he threw back.
Fix sighed heavily before sending Hart a smile. “Get some rest. And call if you need anything.”
He ambled out of the room, leaving Cane and Hart alone in the house.