31. Ford
FORD
My chest heaves as I jump rope in the corner of the gym while Hawke throws another jab-cross combo at Jagger.
He blocks the hits, taking each one in stride before offering his own retribution with a quick kick to Hawke’s outer thigh.
From the outside looking in, you’d think Jagger’s the only real fighter in the family, but we’ve all taken our turn in the ring.
Jagger’s the one who does it recreationally.
I do it to burn off my energy. Roman does it to fight his demons. And Hawke? Hawke does it to bury them.
By the time we’re all dripping in sweat, Jagger raises his hand and grabs his water from the edge of the mat while Hawke reaches for a towel from the cabinet so he can wipe up some of his perspiration.
“Looks like you need another shower,” I joke.
Jagger smirks. “Little frustrated, Hawke?”
“He means sexually,” I quip. “Or have you finally broken your vow of celibacy?”
Hawke flips me off but doesn’t comment.
“Speaking of frustration.” Roman collapses on the mat and begins stretching his quads. “You never told us what happened with Morgan last night.”
Hawke’s body tenses. I’m not sure why. We’ve all been curious to know what went down between them.
Numbers and drama. We always share plenty of both the morning after a Harden Night.
And since Morgan showed up on the grounds, and Hawke was the one to talk with him, the line of questioning makes sense. Hawke’s response, though? Not so much.
Scrubbing the towel over his sweat-soaked torso, Hawke mutters, “I, uh, I told him he wasn’t welcome.”
Roman’s attention snaps to Jagger’s. “You sure that was a good idea?”
“Not sure I had any other option,” Hawke returns.
I can’t help my scoff. “Considering our relationship with his uncle, I’m pretty sure there were a dozen other options you could’ve chosen before tossing Morgan out on his ass for attending a Harden Night, but that’s just me,” I point out.
“Did he try to share the video of Vi and me during the haunted house or something?” Jagger questions.
A twinge hits Hawke’s jaw. “No.”
Jagger holds my stare, then turns to Hawke. “What happened?”
“He was being…” Hawke scrubs his hand over his face. “Difficult.”
Annoyed, Roman grits out, “Morgan’s always difficult.”
“Yeah, well,” Hawke’s molars grind, and he squeezes the damp towel in his grasp. “After I caught him groping a few girls, I made a call.”
Groping girls? All right, now he has my attention. If there’s anything my brothers and I take seriously, it’s safety. And at a Harden event? Right under our noses? Yeah, that shit doesn’t fly. I know it. Roman knows it. And so does Jagger.
“Who did Morgan grope?” Jagger demands.
“A couple of the cheerleaders,” Hawke replies. “He was giving them shit for not wanting a Drifter after they told him they didn’t want to party after the event.”
“That’s it?” I ask. I could’ve probably chosen my words more wisely, but getting anything from Hawke lately feels like pulling teeth.
I’m not trying to downplay what happened.
I want to know if that’s literally everything that transpired last night.
And I mean everything. The more we know, the better our response can be.
Thankfully, my brothers know me well enough not to question my motive or demand clarity for my less-than-perfect word choice, and Hawke nods.
Roman scratches his jaw. “Gus has a pretty strict policy at The Body Shop. If we spin this like we’re holding the same standards at our events as he does in his own establishments, then it’s not on us. It’s on Morgan for fucking with our policy.”
Jagger nods. “I like it.”
“Me, too,” I announce. Call Gus what you want, but he looks out for his girls.
Pinning Roman with a sharp look, Jagger asks, “Have you heard anything from Gus?”
Roman shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Do you think Morgan would keep his uncle in the dark?” I ask before standing up and pacing the gym area. After everything I just heard, I’m too amped to sit still.
Roman stays quiet, considering the possibility.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Morgan stayed quiet.
Then again, it also wouldn’t surprise me if he ran to his uncle and tattled on what terrible hosts we were last night.
How dare we stand up for our guests and throw out a low-life who doesn’t know the word no?
“I’m not sure,” Roman admits, “but either way, if we’re going for the upper hand, it’d be smart to be the first to bring it up instead of waiting for Gus to jump to his own conclusions.”
“Yeah, but if it looks like we’re tattling on Morgan to his uncle, Gus won’t like that, either,” Jagger points out.
He’s right. The last thing we want is to stir up drama when things are already precarious enough as they are.
“I could ask Rafe,” Roman offers. “See if he’s heard anything.”
“It could take days for Rafe to hear anything about this. By then, it might be too late,” Jagger says.
That’s a good point. What to do? What to do? I thread my fingers along the back of my skull and look up toward the ceiling, considering our options. Talk about a rock and a hard place.
Hawke says, “What do you think, Ford?”
The legs of a folding chair scream against the floor as I drag it from the corner of the room. Resting my elbows on the back of it, I plop down and announce, “I think time isn’t on our side with this. Whatever we decide, we need to move quickly.”
“Agreed,” Jagger says. “Rome, talk to your brother and see if he’s heard anything already. If not, set up a meeting with Gus for tonight.”
Pushing to his feet, Roman replies, “I’ll get it done as soon as we’re finished here.”
“Thanks, man.” Jagger glances at me again. “Speaking of finishing things, how’d we come out last night?”
My mouth lifts. “Decent.”
“Any specifics, or have you been too preoccupied with a certain brunette to run the numbers?” Hawke prods.
I scowl at the bastard. “Says the guy with a hard-on for Morgan’s little sister—”
“Enough,” Jagger orders.
With my middle finger, I scratch the edge of my nose, flipping Hawke off before my attention shifts back to the oldest of the family.
“After set up, security, cleanup, the halo cut, the small bonus to the guys, and Gus’s cut, we still did twelve grand.
” I glare at Hawke. “Or more specifically, twelve thousand, four hundred, thirty-two dollars, and twelve cents.” I turn back to Jagger.
“Eight was for the actual event, and four was from customers double-dipping on a few games last night.”
Hawke shakes his head. “We should’ve made twelve from the event alone.”
“And we will,” I argue. “But we need to look at this from a bigger perspective than one night only. How many restaurants offer discounts to get people in the door—”
“You’re not the only business major, asshat,” Hawke grumbles.
“Oh, do you actually go to classes now?” I toss back at him. “Funny, I thought you were too busy stalking your new plaything—”
“Shut the fuck up before I make you.”
“Enough!” Jagger booms. “Both of you!”
My jaw threatens to snap, but I keep my mouth closed, and by some miracle, Hawke does the same. All right, who am I kidding? I’m the one who can’t keep my mouth shut. Hawke’s practically a mime these days. Even so, I know when to stop talking, and I’ve already made my point. “I’m done,” I mutter.
Hawke tosses the used towel into the hamper beside the lockers for Doris to clean. “Me, too.”
“Me, too.” Jagger checks his phone, then sets it face down on the mat and reaches forward to stretch his hamstrings. “One more thing.”
“Yeah?” Roman replies.
Jagger looks up at me, his stare so severe, I’m almost worried he’s about to tell me someone died.
“You good?” I finally ask just to break the tension.
“What’s going on with you and June?”
Well, stick my dick in a blender. That’s what he wants to talk about?
Me and June? To be fair, I always knew he would never be okay with me crossing that particular line.
I can’t even blame him, either. We all know I’d only use her, fuck her up, then be on my merry way.
Trouble is, the more time I spend around her, the more I’m starting to wonder if I’m the one who’s being fucked with.
Even before last night, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.
At first, it was little things. Small moments when she’d cross my mind, distracting me from the usual obligations of my day-to-day activities.
Then, she showed up on my doorstep, and I gave her a free tutoring lesson, and I caught myself looking up sourdough recipes and the little town she grew up in.
And now that I’ve tasted her? Yeah, if anyone’s fucking with anyone’s head, it’s June messing with mine.
Not numbers. Not the games I know are going.
Not even my classes or the future of Mercer Consulting.
Nothing has consumed my thoughts the way June Withers has managed.
However, being aware of the shift on a personal level is a hell of a lot different than airing out my confusion to everyone in this room.
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” I volley. I tack on my signature smirk. The one I know pisses them off and makes most women’s panties melt.
Roman snorts. “Yeah, and we’re all aware you’re no gentleman.”
A low chuckle hits Hawke while Jagger stays sober as a fucking nun, staring at me from his spot on the mat. Guess he didn’t find Rome’s comment as funny as the rest of us.
Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I prepare myself for the inevitable fatherly lecture I’ve only ever received from him.
I shouldn’t resent him for it. I know he means well.
But sometimes, I want a damn brother, not a pseudo-father, when the only example I’ve ever had is one for the books.
Besides, disappointing Daddy Dearest is one thing.
Disappointing Jagger is another beast entirely.
Unable to stand the silence, I order, “Just say it, Jag.”
“You sure you want to bring her into this?”
Okay, not what I was expecting.
“Bring her into what?” I ask, even when I already know the answer.
“This mess with Gus and Morgan. And Titas,” he adds, almost grudgingly.
“Who says I want to bring her into anything?” I challenge, though he hit the nail on the head like a seasoned blacksmith.
Hell yeah, I’ve been thinking about it. How to protect her from our enemies.
Even if it’s from a social standpoint and not a physical one, my life is messy, and there’s a line out the door of people who want to see me fail.
I know from the outside looking in, our world appears as if it’s run by rainbows and butterflies when it couldn’t be further from the truth.
And even though I know I never want to go there with anyone, lowering my walls and letting them in, it doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it with June.
What it would be like. If I could actually pull it off.
If I could let my guard down without burning all that’s good in my life to the ground.
A twitch hits Jagger’s jaw as he stares at me, and I swear it’s heavier than the moon. “You don’t get to be impulsive with her.”
“Who says I’m being impulsive?”
“So you’re committed?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“Jesus, Ford,” Hawke slams the locker shut and leans against it. “June isn’t someone you hook up with, then let loose.”
“She’s one of Violet’s best friends,” Jagger says.
Yeah, like I need the reminder.
Tongue in cheek, I shove my hands in my basketball shorts’ pockets and mutter, “I’m aware.”
“And she’s pretty damn innocent,” Hawke adds. “Or at least, she was.”
My mouth lifts at the reminder of everything we did last night, and everything I fantasized about doing with her since.
It’s only half real. The smirk. The rest of me is still stuck on Jagger’s reminder of the deep shit we’re drowning in and how it could affect my little June Bug if I opened that door. “What’s your point?” I ask.
Jagger shakes his head, and I have a feeling I’m grinding on his last nerve.
“My point is, if you cross that line—”
“Based on the footage last night, I’m pretty sure he’s already crossed it,” Roman interjects.
Jagger’s nostrils flare. “All right, if she thinks whatever is happening between you two means more than a good time,” he clarifies, “you two better be on the same page.”
His words drum up the look on her face as I climbed off her last night.
Not sad or angry or even confused. Only…
acknowledgment, like my departure wasn’t only accepted, but expected.
It shouldn’t be possible. June Withers knowing how I’d react when I didn’t even know myself.
Hell, maybe I wouldn’t have left at all if Roman hadn’t called to warn me about the cameras.
Or maybe I’m giving myself too much credit.
Maybe I should be more on June’s page, since it’s clear she knows me so well.
I look down at the ground, flexing my feet in my Nikes in hopes of grounding myself. Even then, it doesn’t take away the sting of realization.
I left her last night. Used her, then left her.
“Because if you two aren’t on the same page…” Removing the boxing gloves from training, Jagger stretches his hands in front of him, then makes another fist. “I’ll beat the shit out of you.” The calmness in his tone is eerie as fuck, and I fight the shiver racing down my spine.
“We all will,” Roman adds from the edge of the mat, his tatted arms crossed over his chest. And just like that, a glimpse of the Drifter inside of him, the one he hides so well, rises to the surface. So much so, I’m almost surprised a nine millimeter doesn’t appear in his big hands.
Well, would you look at that, June Bug? You have more people on your side than I do.
At least I’m not the only one who’s fallen prey to her pretty blue eyes.
Not that I’d admit it out loud.
My attention flicks from one person to the next. “I’m sorry, are you her brothers or mine?”
“All we’re saying is June isn’t some plaything. You know it, and so do we,” Jagger repeats. He checks his phone again and sighs. “I gotta shower. We’ll talk more later. For now, keep up the good work. And if you decide not to be a dick, then I’m happy for you. She’s a good one.”
Yeah. She really is. That’s the problem, isn’t it?
One by one, they leave me alone in the gym, and I hang my head.
What the fuck am I supposed to do?