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 notice before. 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 brother would bring 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 with jerks?”
“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.”
My partner doesn’t answer. Just looks out the window, jaw tight.
We drive six hours north and watch the landscape change from skyscrapers to trees and mountain ranges. After one stop for lunch and another for a piss break, we turn into the long gravel drive. Dusk has settled over the lake in the distance, turning the water into a sheet of dull silver.
The cabin looks the same as it did a few months ago on Labor Day weekend. I came alone. The weathered wood, lumpy furniture, and smoky scent from a fire calms me. It’s my slice of peace in the middle of nowhere when it all gets too much.
Dirk hauls a cooler out of the back. “You two hit the store for sides before they close, yeah? I’ll turn on the water and heat, and get the fryer set up for tomorrow.”
That’s our tradition, but I suddenly don’t want to go. I don’t want to be alone with Blade.
“Yeah,” I say anyway, because I’m going to have to get over it.
Or... Maybe I should call in a transfer to Shane’s detail, cover for a missing guard. It’s not like Blade would miss me.
Dirk tosses his keys to Blade, who just hops into the driver’s seat. Doesn’t even ask me if I want to drive his new Ford F-150 Raptor.
“Music?” he asks.
“Sure.” I automatically reach for the dial to find something fast and loud to avoid talking.
Blade also reaches for it, and our hands collide.
Something raw detonates beneath my skin. My hand jerks back, and I glance over to see if he’ll ask why I won’t touch him. He looks at me, but doesn’t say a word. Just turns back to the radio, jaw tight.
“The 70s station, right?” He finds it on the XM menu, and Abba’s Dancing Queen pumps out of the speakers.
I’d rather hear Take a Chance on Me. But I settle into the seat for the ten-minute drive to the nearest open grocery store.
The place is nearly empty, and they’re closing in thirty minutes. We’re not feeding an army and only need the basics for our Thanksgiving dinner. We’ll come back on Friday for what we need to get us through the rest of the weekend.
The aisles hum from the old fluorescent lights above. I grab a cart and follow Blade because in everything we do, he’s the lead.
He’s the...top. Warmth creeps up my neck at the thought.
He starts talking, the words spilling out like he’s afraid of what too much silence between us will lead to. Confessions? Apologies?
“Shane and Lennox’s baby is due soon,” he says, reaching for a bag of potatoes. “You talk to Creed much?”
I freeze, wondering if he can read my thoughts, how I’d been thinking about working for Shane. “Creed and I text occasionally.”
“Text?” Blade glances over his shoulder. “About what?”
Damn, why did I mention texting?
Sighing, I confess, “I was thinking of asking him about taking that open guard position.”
Blade stops short. Right in the middle of the aisle. “You leaving me and Rhys?” His tone sharpens, edges scraping.
Guess, he would notice...
“Nothing’s decided.” I pull at my collar and head down an aisle for the cranberry sauce. “I haven’t mentioned it to Creed yet. So, keep your mouth shut.”
Blade grumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like someone else leaving me. I pretend I don’t hear it, but the words hang in the air, thick and painful. I’m not sure how to feel about that.
We keep shopping. Blade tosses boxed stuffing, canned gravy, and even a pie into the cart. His shoulders are tight, movements clipped and rough.
I follow behind, pretending to scan the shelves for what else we need.
I’m really watching Blade. The way those jeans hug his ass.
The way the veins in his hands flex when he lifts something heavy.
The way his neck looks when he tilts his head.
Those tats and smooth skin are things I shouldn’t be thinking about.
The sound of his voice, grunting and coming last night, still echo in my head, and I want to jam a knife in my eye. I shouldn’t have stayed and listened. Shouldn’t have looked to see what I can’t unsee. But I did. And now I’ll never forget.
Blade catches me staring at him, eyes dark as sin. “You okay?”
“Perfect,” I say and push the cart ahead so I don’t have to look at him anymore.
By the time we get to the one open checkout lane, I’m sweating under my coat. Blade’s gone quiet, his expression unreadable. When I try to pay for the food, he slaps my hand away.
“I got it.”
I don’t expect or want to be taken care of.
But it’s in his nature to be the caretaker.
How do I feel about that? I’ve never even kissed a man and have no idea where I lean bi-sexually.
Top or bottom? I’m dominant with women. Yet, the thought of Blade taking me and being rough with me excites me in ways I didn’t expect.
We drive back to the cabin, the radio filling the silence again, Blade staring straight out the windshield.
White smoke belches from the cabin’s chimney, and I can already feel the warmth. Inside, the cabin smells like wood smoke. Holding the grocery bags, I’m halfway to the kitchen when I hear a woman’s laugh. Dirk’s voice follows, growly and teasing.
My stomach drops as I open the louvre doors to the galley kitchen.
Hana is pressed up against Dirk, kissing him. She’s not supposed to be here. She never comes.
Dirk looks up, grinning. “Surprise. Hana is spending Thanksgiving here this year. Told her parents she’s tired of their crap.”
Hana’s old world, traditional parents don’t approve of her six-foot, tattoo artist, morally gray boyfriend. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, all sweet, even though she’s a shark lawyer.
I force a smile. “Of course not. I’m glad you’re here.”
Given my mood, their joyous laughter and grunts of arousal are not sounds that belong in the same house with me right now.
I’m not mad at Hana. Not really. She has every right to want to be here with Dirk. It’s the holidays. Nobody should spend them alone.
“Whose car is parked—” Blade ambles up behind me and stops, seeing Hana.
I didn’t even notice the other car outside. That’s how inside my head I am. And apparently Blade isn’t. It’s business as usual for him.
Dirk pulls away from Hana long enough to nod toward his bedroom off the kitchen. “Hey, Blade, I put your stuff in Jett’s room. Hana loves the clawfoot tub in my bathroom.”
Blade blinks. “What?”
The air shifts. Uh oh.
Blade and Dirk always shared a room. It was the one silver lining to this whole mess. And it just got tarnished.
But Dirk doesn’t hear Blade’s question. He’s already kissing Hana. I appreciate how happy he is. Dirk must be thrilled that she stood up to her parents for him.
Blade and I trade looks. His jaw flexes once before he grabs his duffel from the lounge chair in the living room and disappears down the hall to my bedroom.
Where there’s only one bed.
I just stand there, staring at the spot he left, my heartbeat thudding in my ears.
I know tonight, when the house goes quiet, Blade isn’t going to accept my silence. Unless he silences me.
With his cock.