Chapter 34
Fisher cracked open one eyelid and stared at the digital display on his alarm clock.
Two AM. Who the hell is still up and carryin’ on?
He could hear music coming from the courtyard out back. There was also a lot of laughter and the occasional shout.
He sniffed the air. Someone had built a fire in the firepit despite it having been ninety-five degrees when they landed at O’Hare.
Chicago summers were usually beautiful, so much more pleasant than the brutal, cloying heat of the South. But this summer had been particularly warm in the City of Broad Shoulders. Even at night, it was rare for the temps to drop low enough to make an outdoor fire enjoyable.
He tried going back to sleep. The last op had been awful. He’d probably only slept fifteen hours in seven days and every muscle in his body ached from having spent a trans-Atlantic flight crammed into the cargo hold on a military transport. The instant he heard Eliza’s delighted giggle, however, he knew he was more likely to sprout a second dick than get back to sleep. Especially when a responding male chuckle reached his ears.
Who the fuck is out there with her? And don’t they know we need rest?
After throwing back the covers and tugging on jeans—he skipped the boxer briefs; there was no time—he jerked open his bedroom door and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. By the time he’d landed on the first floor and had made his way down the hall to the kitchen, his blood was at a full boil.
He told himself it was because the music was too damn loud. He told himself it was because Eliza and company were being rude as hell. But the truth was, he was mad because he was miserable.
He was miserable and it sounded like Eliza was having the time of her life and?—
All thoughts screeched to a halt when he yanked open the back door and saw Boss, Becky, Hewitt, Graham, Eliza and Britt sitting around the firepit.
The sky was clear and bright, the stars managing to compete with the city lights. There was a slight breeze blowing in from the direction of Lake Michigan. It was cool and pleasant. There were bags of chips, empty bottles of beer, and a few of Eliza’s homemade desserts strewn around the mixed-matched end tables next to each Adirondack chair.
In short, it was a party.
“Did my invitation get lost in the mail?” He stepped onto the wide, gray flagstones. Everyone currently in residence was outside enjoying the night—Sam had adiosed himself over to Hannah’s apartment as soon as he’d stowed his gear, and Hunter had loaded up some of Eliza’s dinner and then quickly raced home to his wife, Grace.
Everyone but me, apparently.
“Sorry,” Becky winced. “Were we being too loud?”
Her phone was face-down on the arm of her chair. But she quickly turned it over and started swiping. Within three seconds, the volume coming through the Bluetooth speakers lowered from club levels to more appropriate backyard barbeque levels.
“Somethin’ like that,” he admitted, frowning at Graham as he walked over to an empty seat. “Aren’t ya exhausted, G-man?” Fisher accepted the longneck Hewitt handed him. “Ya been humpin’ yours and Britt’s gear for two days now.”
In typical Graham-fashion, he said succinctly, “Never too tired to drink with friends.”
“And what about you?” Fisher turned to Britt while popping the top on his Goose Island IPA. His wingman’s busted leg was propped on a stool, his bare toes glowing pink in the firelight. “You shouldn’t be drinkin’ when you’re takin’ scheduled narcotics.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.” Britt picked up a water bottle from beside his chair. “All I’m doing is hydrating”—he pulled a prescription bottle from the pocket of his robe and shook it—“and staying high.” His grin was toothy.
Becky and Boss sat next to each other, holding hands and looking like newlyweds even though they were decidedly not and had two kids to prove it. “Where are the girls?” he asked them with a curious cant of his chin.
“With their aunt and uncle.” It wasn’t Boss or Becky who answered. It was Eliza. Her words were slurred and one eyelid hung lower than the other. And her grin? It wasn’t just a little lopsided. It was a lot lopsided.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her tipsy. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her that way.
“Did you rouse yourshelf—” She stopped and blinked. “Yourself out of bed just to come down here and harsh everyone’s mellow?”
Despite his foul mood, he found his lips twitching. “Have you been dippin’ into Britt’s pain meds?”
“Oh, ha ha.” She gave him an irritated look. He reckoned that was what she was aiming for anyway. In truth, she looked sort of…constipated. “That’s what we’ve been missing tonight; your unparalleled wit.”
For whatever reason, her drunkenness made it impossible for him to maintain the dickish disposition he’d donned since the morning he told her there would be no more benefits. “I’m thinkin’ ya might want to slow down on that stuff.” He tilted the neck of his own beer toward the one she held in her left hand. “You’re startin’ to sound like Ozzie.”
“Can you recall when I asked for your opinion?” she snapped back. “Neither can I.”
To prove her point, she took a long slug of her beer. After she’d drained it, she slammed the empty bottle down on the arm of her chair and belched loudly.
He blinked. Then he blinked again when she stood and walked—wobbled?—over to him to point a finger at his nose.
“I don’t like this pershun—” She stopped and moved her lips like they might be numb. “Personality you’ve recently acquired,” she managed. “Being a bitter butthead doesn’t make you prettier, in case no one’s told you.”
She turned, stumbled a little, and announced to the group, “Thanks for the fun, everyone. But since Sir Sourface has arrived”—she gestured to Fisher—“I’m calling it a night.”
She weaved her way to the back door and Fisher called after her. “Don’t let me ruin your fun!”
“Too late!” She stabbed a finger in the air before disappearing inside.
“Yeah.” Britt slapped the arms of his chair. “She’s right. It’s late. Time to turn in. Who’s carrying me upstairs?”
“I’m your huckleberry,” Hewitt raised a hand.
Graham simply drained the last of his beer and stood to assist Hewitt in getting Britt out of the Adirondack.
“Wait. What?” Fisher frowned. “I show up and suddenly everyone’s turnin’ in?”
“You snooze, you lose, brother,” Britt grinned.
Graham and Hewitt acted as human crutches and escorted him into the old factory building.
Fisher looked expectantly at Becky and Bossy. “And then there were three.”
“Two,” Becky corrected. “I’m headed to the cottage to brush my teeth. They feel like they’re wearing fuzzy sweaters.”
“Y’all are spendin’ the night?”
She winked at him. “We figured we’d take advantage of bein’ child-free and relive a bit of our past.”
Before they’d had children, Boss and Becky had lived in the little foreman’s cottage out front. Now it sat empty most days.
“I’ll be right behind you.” Boss smacked Becky’s ass when she stood. “Just lemme finish this last beer.”
“Don’t keep me waiting too long.” She bent to kiss his lips. “You know I get impatient.”
“One of my favorite things about you,” Boss grumbled, and the light in his eyes as he looked at his wife was so hot and intimate Fisher feigned sudden interest in the dancing fire.
After Becky disappeared around the side of the building, Fisher made a face at Boss. “Didn’t mean to run everyone off.”
“Nah.” Boss dismissed his comment with a wave of his big mitt. “You just reminded us we’re not twenty-five anymore. If we don’t call it quits now, we’ll be paying for it tomorrow.”
“I think Eliza is going to be payin’ for it regardless.”
Boss eyed him curiously. “Sometimes the only way a person can hide their hurt is to drown it.”
Shifting uncomfortably, Fisher returned his attention to the flickering flames.
Boss wasn’t deterred. “You gonna tell me what happened between you two?”
Being put on the spot by Boss made him feel like a twelve-year-old who was seconds away from getting into trouble.
Taking a slow sip of beer, he tried to find the right words. Then he decided there were none. There was only the truth.
“We want different things, that’s all.” He shrugged and tried to act nonchalant even though talking about it caused his throat to go dry. He took another drink and welcomed the harsh taste of the hops. It matched the bitterness in his cold stone heart. “She wants a big BKI love like all you originals have, like Hunter and Grace have, like Sam and Hannah have. And I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish.
“You what?” Boss prodded.
“I can’t.”
Boss stared hard at him. Which was sort of like being stared down by a silverback gorilla. When it became clear Fisher wasn’t about to go on, Boss forced the issue. “Can’t or won’t?”
Fisher sighed. “If I’m being honest? Both.”
Boss took a slow sip of his beer, eyeing Fisher over the end of his bottle. Once he swallowed, he said, “You’re gonna need to give me more than that.”
Fisher debated the advisability of airing the piles of dirty laundry from his past. But eventually decided, Fuck it. If anyone will understand, it’s Boss. Boss who knows exactly how dangerous guys like me can be even when we aren’t saddled with hereditary jealousy.
He told Boss the same story he’d told Eliza about his parents. He went on to admit the way he was programmed to love wasn’t healthy. And he ended with, “I knew right from the start Eliza was dangerous for me. Because I liked her and respected her and thought she was the most beautiful woman on the planet. And the first time I saw her with another man, I wanted to walk over and gouge the sonofabitch’s eyes out. When she seemed to be gettin’ serious about Charles McClean, it took everything I had not to punch the bastard’s teeth in each time he opened his damn mouth around me.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Lord, when I saw that ring on her finger? Before I found out how it all went down at that cocktail party and how she hadn’t actually accepted McClean’s proposal? Ya know, when I thought she was goin’ to be Mrs. McClean?” He took a sip of his beer because his voice had gone hoarse. Likely due to the lump suddenly lodged in his throat. “Man, I tell ya what. I wanted to break the world into a hundred pieces and then bury it where no one would ever find it. And if that isn’t fucked up, I don’t know what is.”
For a while after that pronouncement, they both sat in silence. Both staring into the orange and yellow flames. A knot in a log popped and sparks erupted into the air above the firepit like lightning bugs.
When Boss finally spoke, his deep voice was quiet. So quiet Fisher had to lean forward, elbows planted on his knees, to hear the big man.
“So what I’m hearing is you broke things off with Eliza not because you were scared she isn’t the one. But because you’re absolutely terrified she is.”
Fisher swallowed. The damn lump in his throat kept growing.
“She told me she loves me. She thought I was asleep, but I was fakin’ it. And she said…”
He couldn’t repeat what she’d said. It’d been too beautiful. Too painful. If he spoke those words aloud, he’d lose it, and the last thing he wanted was to break down and cry like a baby in front of Boss.
Shaking his head resolutely, he declared instead, “I had to end it. If I could love her the way she deserves, free of jealousy, free of obsession, free of all that toxic shit that runs in my blood, believe you me, brother, I’d have gone down on one knee then and there. But I can’t promise her that. No matter how much I wish I could.”
“Ah.” Boss nodded. “I think I’m starting to understand. But let me ask you this. Why didn’t you walk over and gouge that man’s eyes out? Why didn’t you punch Charlie McClean’s teeth in?”
Fisher’s chin jerked back. “Because, despite my most recent behavior, I try not to be an asshole and take my frustrations out on innocent folks.”
Boss nodded again. “You know, one of the interesting things about us humans is we tend to judge ourselves by our intentions and everyone else by their actions.” When Fisher frowned, he continued. “If we hurt someone, especially someone we love, we always say to ourselves, but that wasn’t my intention. Whereas if someone hurts us, especially if that someone is supposed to love us, we don’t care what their intention was. All we care about is that their action did hurt, and we don’t want it to happen again.”
Fisher lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah. I reckon you’re right about that.”
“Which means we usually go easier on ourselves than others,” Boss went on. “We give ourselves a pass if we didn’t intend to do something. But you? You’re harder on yourself.”
“How so?” Fisher felt his eyebrows form a V.
“You thought about gouging that guy’s eyes out but didn’t. You considered punching McClean’s teeth in but didn’t. And yet here you sit, castigating yourself as if you’d actually followed through.”
“The fact that I even had the thoughts?—”
“Proves nothing,” Boss interrupted before he could finish his sentence. “You think I don’t want to break legs and bash heads when some asshole ogles Becky? You think I don’t get jealous when Graham walks by her without a shirt on? The bastard’s built like Alan Ritchson. Of course I get jealous.”
“You’re built like Alan Ritchson too, Boss.”
The big man made a rude sound. “I used to be. But I’m middle-aged and enjoying the good life as a civilian now. My six-pack is long gone, and I’d likely have a stroke if I tried to hump eighty pounds of gear more than a hundred yards.”
Sighing, Boss added, “My point is, jealousy is a human condition. We all suffer from it. And obsession? You think I’m not completely obsessed with my wife? She’s the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I want to see before closing my eyes at night. My love for that woman is all-consuming.”
“Yeah, I know. But?—”
“No buts.” Boss cut him off again. “You’re not your father. You’re not a monster. Because you can be obsessed, you can be jealous, and yet you don’t act on those baser instincts.”
Fisher’s nostrils flared as he fought to keep his emotions in check.
Is Boss right? Is what I feel normal? Is it possible I can love the right way? The real way?
“I’ve known you for four years now, Fish. I’ve seen the way you treat people. You’re a good man. And if anyone can break unhealthy cycles, it’s you.”
The back of Fisher’s eyes burned. Hearing Boss, someone he’d grown to respect and admire, call him a good man healed something in him. Maybe that something was the little boy who’d sought the approval of his own father but had never gotten it.
Boss chuckled. “But don’t get me wrong. If you decide to give in and give love a try, don’t be thinking it’s all gumdrops and gladiolus. There are times it’s hard. Times when you’ll be so mad at your woman you can’t see straight. Times when you doubt yourself and wonder if you’re enough. But news flash, she’ll feel all those ways too. Loving someone is incredible and awful and then incredible again.” Boss’s teeth flashed white when he smiled at the slowly dying fire. The embers glowed and danced in that magical way only embers could. “And in-between the incredible and awful is the boring, routine, ordinary parts of living a life together.”
Boss held Fisher’s gaze then as he finished. “So you revel in the incredible. You make sure to be gentle with each other through the awful. And you relax and enjoy the comfort of the routine. That’s what it means to truly know incredible, awful, ordinarylove.”
Fisher couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. It had grown to the size of a watermelon. And he hastily dashed away a tear that had slipped past his barriers to roll down his cheek.
“Welp.” Boss slapped the arms of his chair before pushing to a stand. “I don’t dare keep my wife waiting a minute longer.” He looked around at the mess. “Don’t bother cleaning up. Becky and I will get to it in the morning. Just be sure to douse the fire before you turn in.”
Fisher nodded because that’s all he could manage.
Boss turned once he’d made it to the corner of the building. “Hey, Fish?”
Fisher dashed another tear from his cheek before swinging around in his chair to face the older man. “Yeah?”
“I know it might not feel like it given how all us original Knights are partnered up with our soulmates, but real love, true love doesn’t just fall out of the sky like frozen airplane toilet water.”
Fisher fell back on his humor because it was the only thing that wouldn’t end with him in tears. Or…more tears. “Wow, Boss. And they call me the poet.”
Boss chuckled, shook his head, and disappeared around the corner, leaving Fisher to stare into the flames and ponder the big man’s words…