chapter three
Wren
For as long as I can remember, there has been a Blue Jay. This figure has been more present in my life than my father or my dead mother. And I hate it. I hate him. A Blue Jay was with me so much as a child I thought the masked man was my uncle. It was only when he left, and a new Jay took his place, that I learned I’d been erroneously calling him Uncle Jay for years. Jay waited outside my nursery school while pretty mommies and nannies and daddies picked other kids up. A hulking, masked Jay picked me up. He was the recipient of my coloring pages and penmanship tests. And then he’d leave, and a new Jay would replace him.
I’ve decided to rid myself of the overbearing and creepy bodyguard once and for all. I have learned to defend myself for the last five years with weapons and martial arts, and there has not been a single threat against me since the death of my mother twenty-two years ago. It is time for me to be alone . And not alone in the lonely sense, but without a constant companion who is, for lack of a better phrase, a built-in cock block.
I want independence. Freedom. To be away from my masked shadow. I purchased a house outside of the city where life will be quiet, cozy, and filled with birds. A dream of a home visited by hundreds of local birds has followed me since my mother’s death. She was a bird fanatic.
The sound of grief and healing is the sound of birds chirping. It reminds me of her, even though I have very limited memories of my mother. But touches of her still grace the home I share with Dad. Graceful bird themed décor, the names assigned to our staff, and even the cheesy plastic clock that chirps with different bird calls to sound the hour still has a place in our home. Someone once told me a visit from a cardinal was actually a lost loved one. To some, that gives comfort. To me, despite my love of birds, it makes me angry. Because if my mother wants to see me, she shouldn’t have fucking died.
“Good morning, Dad,” I say as I enter the breakfast room, where he is already seated with Hawk. Hawk, my father’s masked bodyguard and head of security, is his own constant companion. “Hawk.”
“Good morning,” they both greet me over their identical morning newspapers.
Hawk never changed out. It has been the same grumpy and stoic man under that mask since my father hired the security company. That man knows me almost as much as my father does and has been the tongue-in-cheek recipient of my “Mother’s Day” cards since I’d learned sarcasm and dark humor as coping skills for my grief. It made my dad cry the first time, but at age fifteen that was considered a win, and I never stopped.
“What refreshing and wonderful days I’ve had this week,” I say happily as I pour a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
Hawk and Dad both give me the same expression over their newspapers. That long suffering, I Know What You’re Doing So Stop It parental look. I haven’t had a Jay for an entire week. Not because I won completely, but because I have exhausted every available and qualified employee at Safe House Security. This week, without a Jay, I’ve only left the house with Hawk when my dad was home, followed all protocol, and behaved like a good little girl. I want to show Dad I can handle life without a bodyguard.
“Don’t get too excited. Blue Jay comes back today,” Dad mutters and looks back at his newspaper.
“No,” I whine and let my forehead fall to the table with a thunk that rattles the tableware. I vaguely wonder if my action splattered my brown hair with the yogurt parfait in front of me.
“Wren Elizabeth Taylor, we’ve been through this time and time again,” Dad scolds and sets his newspaper onto the table next to his empty plate with an angry crinkle of the paper. He rips off his reader glasses and points at me with them. “If you want the money released for your house from your trust fund, then you will have a Blue Jay.”
“You know, a lawyer once told me after I graduated college and turned twenty-one and the money was turned over to me, nobody could tell me what to do with my trust fund.”
Hawk shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Anyone else would have missed the slight movement, but ninety-eight percent of the people in my day-to-day life have all but their eyes covered by a balaclava. So, I learned to read body language and micro expressions very well, very early.
“Nobody is going to fight my decision,” Dad says in a cocky tone. He doesn’t always have a big head about being one of the most powerful businessmen in the country, but sometimes he certainly does.
I slump in my chair. I’m being childish, but it’s hard not to when he treats me like one.
“Now, Jay will be here this morning—”
“To be my creepy shadow and prevent me from dating.”
“To keep watch over you while you go about your life,” Dad practically shouts over me. He adds in his normal voice, “It’s not creepy.”
“It’s creepy.”
“Tell that to Hawk’s face,” Dad challenges and gestures to the large, black clad man across the table. Hawk looks supremely uncomfortable to be dragged into our bullshit.
“I would if I could see it. Hawk, your job and Jay’s job is creepy,” I say, looking Hawk directly in his brown eyes.
“I aim to be spooky. I’ll try harder, thank you,” Hawk deadpans.
Dad’s eyes light with vindictive joy.
“Ugh,” I groan. “Not only do men hate to date a woman with a bodyguard, but it’s going to be so weird in the suburbs. What am I supposed to do? Walk my dog and my bodyguard every morning?”
“We prefer fenced in backyards,” Hawk adds in his deep monotone.
“You’re getting a dog?” Dad asks. “Who’s going to clean up after it? You?”
Ignoring his jabbing question, I continue, “Dad, this Blue Jay thing is out of hand. I’m moving out of the city, my new house will have multiple layers of security, I know how to shoot a gun, and I’m a black belt in taekwondo. What else could you ask for?”
“A bodyguard who will live with you in your new home,” Dad replies simply, like he isn’t asking for something outrageous .
“A person who lives with me and I don’t even know their real name or their face? Am I allowed to know their dietary restrictions before I cook dinner? Oh my god, do I have to cook for them? Dad, this is ridiculous. Why would a bodyguard want to live with me in the suburbs? Is he allowed to move his stuff in? This is the cringiest thing ever. What will the neighbors think?” I recognize I am practically shrieking, but I am so entirely over it. I can understand having a bodyguard for outings. And maybe living in the city where my mom was kidnapped and killed despite security constitutes the need for a bodyguard. Sure, I can wrap my head around that. But in the suburbs? Insane.
Hawk looks down at his breakfast, and I can see the thoughtful crinkle of his eyes. He is eating the same food as Dad. If I wasn’t so mad, his being self-conscious after eating our food for about twenty years would have made me laugh. When I have a Jay, he also eats breakfast with me and will eat whatever our Sparrow Cook makes for us all. But it will be completely different when I am the one cooking for the two of us.
An image of me cooking breakfast for Maxwell, my boyfriend, the morning after a night of intense sex pops into my head. I’d be in his button-down shirt from last night, no pants, hair a mess, cooking eggs in the soft glow of morning sunlight. He would be drinking a cup of coffee and watching me with love in his eyes… and then a masked man would emerge from his room and ruin the mood and I’d have to make him breakfast, too.
“Hawk has personal belongings in his room. He lives here,” Dad says. “Lately your Jays have not stuck around long enough to feel comfortable.”
Hawk’s eyebrows move in irritated agreement.
I grin with mischievous triumph.
“This is not something to be proud of, Wren,” Dad says with a sigh before sipping his coffee.
“Well, I will not be nice to this one either,” I say in a petulant tone as I bite into my now cold toast with vigor.
“Please,” Dad insists. “We’ve exhausted Bradley’s entire staff. I had to swipe a new recruit.”
I feign an innocent expression. One that Hawk and Dad would surely see right through if they had a single brain cell between them. “A new guy? I’ll be nice to him then. Welcome him to the team, and all.”
Hawk glares at me, and I smile back.
“Has he been warned?” Dad asks Hawk.
“He has,” Hawk replies, not breaking his eye contact with me.
I finally look away to eat my breakfast. Breaking the staring contest to finish eating is better than remaining in this stupid room with these stupid men any longer.
Back in my room, I flop on my bed and look at my phone. Maxwell sent me a good morning text, and I smile at it. Maybe I can ask him to meet up during his lunch break for a quickie. Doing it in his office would be fun. I type out a flirty message and then groan and delete it. Maxwell hates hooking up while my bodyguard is standing outside the door. I don’t blame him, but the idea of making a new Jay listen to us fuck would be a fun way to make him want to quit. Maxwell also hates a lot of the ways I want to fuck, but that is a different frustration. I throw my phone down on the bed.
My dating pool, even in a city as big as New York, isn’t large by any means. Having my identity hidden means meet-cutes in public don’t happen often. I’ve gone on dates with one or two guys from outside my circle before and they always declined a second date after they learned they couldn’t know my last name and my masked, armed bodyguard had to come with us. I never blamed them, but it still sucked balls. Maxwell is the son of one of my dad’s business lawyers who has known me my entire life and signed an NDA long ago. In fact, all my friends, family, and my dad’s business associates signed NDAs to know me. So, my dating pool consists entirely of the sons of my dad’s business associates. Not exactly ideal. I’m not sure how moving to the suburbs would entirely fix the issue, considering they’d still need to sign an NDA to know me, but it had to be a step in the right direction. I just need to get rid of Jay.
My new house would be ready in a week for me to move in. I signed papers a month ago and met with a security contractor from Safe House and a designer and contractor who are making my house into the home of my dreams. When I move in, most of the updates will be finished. I can’t wait. The sounds of the city will be a thing of my past. The smog, the rude people, the trash on the streets will soon all be replaced by quiet, peaceful mornings listening to my birds and baking sourdough bread.
“Hello?” a voice calls from the next room. “Hello? Bitch, come get me!”
My African Gray Parrot, Angelica, is my favorite bird and weapon against Jays. Her room is next to what will be Jay’s room when he gets here. My dad and Hawk’s rooms are as far from me and Angelica as they can get. Angelica has been with me since I was ten and she was a year old. Fifteen years later, we’re still as thick as thieves.
“Hey girl,” I say as I open her room. She isn’t in a cage here, as she never really has the urge or the opportunity to fly away. She is spoiled, and she knows it. Leaving me would mean no more toys and less sweet potatoes. “Did you sleep good?”
“Yes,” she says and bobs her head.
“A new Blue Jay comes today,” I say as I open a drawer of puzzles for her.
Angelica imitates the call of a Blue Jay bird.
“Yeah, he’s a new one.” I set out the puzzle for her that hides some of her food pellets.
“Mean,” she says. She is asking if we are going to torture him together.
“Of course!” I reply and scratch her head after she lands in front of the puzzle.
“Good girl,” she says in a cooing imitation of my voice.
“I’m going to be working on packing in my room,” I explain as I check her water. “You can come and sit on your high perch and then scare him.”
“Boo!” she says and flaps her wings.
“Hell yeah,” I say and hand her a treat.
“Hell yeah, motherfucker!” Angelica squawks.