51. June
JUNE
Don’t puke.
Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke.
I twist my fingers in my lap and wait for Bryan to join me.
Because I asked him to join me here. Because Ford asked me to ask Bryan to join me here.
I still can’t believe I said yes. That I agreed to this insane plan.
Or maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d do anything for that pain in the butt, and now here I am, sitting at a booth in the middle of a bar I’ve only been to a handful of times, all because Ford asked me to.
I guess this is proof, even if it means lying out of my butt to protect him.
I repeat, don’t puke.
The Pelican is relatively quiet. It makes sense, considering it’s not even six o’clock on a Thursday evening.
I asked to leave work an hour early so I could change into a cute outfit instead of coming straight from the office in a pair of baby blue scrubs.
Maybe it’s a little manipulative, but considering the fact that this entire endeavor stems from Bryan still being interested in me, I’ll take all the help I can get.
I nibble the straw between my teeth and glance at the door. Again. Ford gave me free rein—as he put it—to handle everything in whatever way I see fit. Gracious? Sure. Way too much pressure in the big scheme of things? Definitely.
At least there isn’t a half-naked woman dancing on the stage like there would be if we were in Drift territory. If there was, I’d really be a mess. I twirl the straw in my lemonade and vodka, trying not to look at the opposite side of the bar where Roman’s sitting.
Did I really need the muscle-slash-secret-spy-slash-bodyguard for this mission?
I’d like to say the answer is no, but after hearing what Bryan got himself wrapped up in, I’m not so sure.
How could he help Ford’s father? Why would he do something so stupid?
Deep down, I really think Bryan’s a good guy, but I guess his money troubles were even worse than I initially assumed.
I thumb the small wire tucked into my cleavage that Hawke gave to Ford earlier today.
It makes me feel like an undercover cop.
And a snitch, but I refuse to dwell on that part.
My eyes wander to Roman despite my best effort.
He gives me a reassuring smile before his gaze falls to his phone.
To be fair, it’s probably smart. Act like we aren’t here together. Because we aren’t. I’m here for Bryan.
Bryan, Bryan, Bryan.
I glance toward the door and flinch back.
“Hey, you.” Bryan greets me.
“Hey!” I squeak, clutching at my chest. “Oh my gosh, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” He kisses my cheek. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.” I smooth down my white blouse, confirm the wire is still very much out of sight, and motion to the opposite side of the booth. “Take a seat.”
“Thanks.” Sliding in, he rests his hands on the table. “So, how’ve you been?”
“Good.”
“I was surprised you texted.”
“Me too.” I cringe.
Great start, June.
“I just mean, you know,” I mumble, reaching for my glass. “Uh, how’s work?”
“Good.”
“Any more fires you’ve put out?”
His mouth lifts. “A few.”
Was he always this hard to talk to?
“How’s your sister?” I press.
“She’s good. She, uh, she was asking about you,” he adds.
Something in my chest pinches, and my anxiety turns down just a notch. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Asked when you’re going to help with her cavities.”
I smile. “She knows where to find me, Monday through Friday.”
“Guess so.” The warmth in his chocolate brown eyes is nothing but inviting, and it only heaps on the guilt.
Why? Why would he put his job in jeopardy for a guy like Titas? And how in the world do I convince him to tell me the truth while promising not to get him fired in the process? And is that my problem? Or is it a natural consequence of teaming up with the devil for money?
Resolution coats my stomach as I press my arms together, giving him a solid glimpse of my boobs. “Speaking of my work, did you ever get the”—I clear my throat and steal a sip of my drink—“the, uh, the billing question figured out?”
Smooth June. Real smooth.
“Uh, yeah. It’s no longer an issue,” he announces when the waitress approaches. After ordering his drink, he turns back to me. “So, you and Ford, huh?”
I lift a shoulder, then reach for my glass. I know Ford said I could play this however I need to, but the idea of saying we aren’t together anymore? It feels wrong. Like, really wrong. But if I want to play this the way I probably should, it means I need to make Bryan think he has a chance with me.
Don’t I?
Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m here at this point.
Because your boyfriend needs you, that’s why.
“No answer, huh?” Bryan muses.
“It’s complicated,” I admit. Peeking up at him through my lashes, I take another sip of my drink, wrapping my lips around the straw. “He has a lot on his plate, you know?”
When he realizes he’s staring at my mouth, he clears his throat and shifts his gaze to mine. “I can imagine.”
“He’s still trying to wrap his head around the whole house fire thing,” I add.
“Yeah, I can imagine,” he repeats, though his voice seems more strained than before.
“I’m so glad you were there,” I continue. I reach forward and grab his wrist. “I mean, what are the odds, you know? You being on call, me showing up and having someone to talk to at the house.” I give him a shy smile. “Still wonder if I should’ve taken you up on the ride offer.”
He relaxes ever so slightly. “Nah, it’s all good. Just glad you called.”
The waitress sets a beer in front of him then disappears, leaving us alone.
“You’re a good guy, Bryan,” I decide. “You have so much on your shoulders, you know? You take care of your mom and your little sister. It's really commendable.”
His chin falls to his chest. “Nah, it’s nothing.”
“Not nothing.” I drag my thumb along the inside of his wrist. “I can imagine how difficult it would be. To live with that kind of pressure. And the obligations?” I let out a long breath. “You’re a good guy.”
“I, uh, I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” I murmur. “It’s why I was so confused.”
His eyes flick from where I’m touching him to my face. “What?”
“I just never expected you to…” I lick my lips. “You know.”
He tilts his head. “You never expected me to what?”
Come on, June. It’s now or never.
“When did Titas approach you about covering or…starting the fire at Ford’s place?” I ask. “Was it at the chili cook-off? When I was standing right next to you?”
He pulls his hand away and moves it under the table. Honestly, if I’d slapped him, I think he would’ve been less shocked. I guess I don’t blame him. He thought he was coming to reconnect with me, and all I’m doing is interrogating him.
“I don’t know what you're talking about,” he mumbles.
And I hate it. Because Bryan really is a good guy. A good guy who was cornered and offered an opportunity to wipe away all his financial struggles. The motive was clear as day when Ford brought it up earlier, and it’s clear as day now, too. So, how do I get Bryan to fess up to it?
“I’m not trying to get you in trouble,” I murmur. “I promise.”
“Is that why you asked me to meet you?” he demands.
He’s mad. He has every right to be. But this isn’t going to go where I need it to if he feels like I’m blaming him or trying to set him up. I’m not. Truly, I’m not. So, how do I make him recognize the truth?
With a sigh, I murmur, “I asked to meet you because I know you, Bryan. I know you’re a good guy. I know you have a good heart. I know you would never do anything to hurt anyone. And I also know that you needed that money to help your mom and your sister.”
Something hits his eyes. It’s a combination of remorse and resolution. Add in the fact that he hasn’t stormed off, and I feel like this is going pretty decently.
“Titas lied,” I continue. “Whatever he told you, whatever promises he made about your job or protection, he’s threatening to throw you under the bus.”
He pulls back. “What?”
“I won't let it happen, I promise,” I rush out. And I mean it, too. It isn’t fair for someone like Bryan to be manipulated, then kept as a potential scapegoat all because he’s financially crippled by a loving mother and a baby sister.
“What I need to know is when he reached out to you, and what happened that night. Can you tell me?”
“June.”
“Titas Harden is nothing but a back-stabbing asshole,” I tell him. “If he can torch his own sons’ house out of spite, what do you think he’ll do to you, a random fireman?”
He gulps, then reaches for his glass, swallowing back half its contents. With a clink, he sets it down again. “What do you want to know?”
My smile is relieved as I sag forward in my chair. “Everything.”