Minka
MINKA
“ Y ou need to calm the hell down.” I drag him into our apartment building and past a quietly observant Steve—our landlord. He’s more gargoyle than he is man, shielding his property and scaring away negative energy. “Archer!” I refasten my grip on his hand when he tries to pull free. But my heart gives a painful knock anyway, because I’m not sure, in all the time I’ve known him, he’s ever rejected my touch. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“He wants to stand between me and a bullet.” He quickens his steps and switches from pull ee to pull er . Now he races ahead of me, swallowing the stairs with his long strides and leading us to the second floor. Then the third. “It is not his fucking job to die in my place.”
“I certainly hope no one dies.” Panic shreds through my veins and leaves my heart trembling. “Archer? This isn’t one of those situations where a Malone has to be shot. In fact, I’d really like for you both to still be breathing when this is all done and put away.”
“I’m not gonna be hurt!” Is he shouting at me? At the universe? At the brick walls that surround us? “Dammit, . This is my job. I do it every fucking day, and I do it well. But you getting pissy about me staying with my partner, and then my brother threatening some motherfucker in the street all because he can?—”
“Oh, cool. So we’re fighting?” I sprint the last couple of steps and spin to stand over the man who knows power. He knows intimidation. He’s certainly not accustomed to being stood over. But as I toss his hand from mine and snarl in his face, I’m sure we resemble a couple of panting bulls, readying to charge. “You’re mad because I’m worried? That’s what we’re doing here?”
“I’m mad because it seems no one trusts me to do the fucking job! Because apparently I’m incapable of apprehending a killer and keeping myself alive long enough to see trial.”
“Worrying about you is not the same as doubting you!”
“It feels the fucking same! So now, when I’m walking the streets, it feels like I have eyes on my back. My stomach is in knots, not because I think I’m gonna be hurt, but because I don’t want to deal with the, ‘ I told you so’ s from every single person in my life! Jesus, Mayet. You’re making me question my abilities.”
I’ve been arguing with people for days. Weeks, even. I’m exhausted! And the last person I want to fight with on the eve of my trip is him . “We’re a team, Archer. You and me. We love each other. We worry about each other. Your incessant need to sneak protein bars into my coat pocket is proof you’re constantly thinking about my wellbeing. That means nothing except that you care about me.”
“You’re going away tomorrow.” A long, pained groan rolls along his throat. “You’re leaving, and I won’t be there to make sure you eat.”
“And you’re mad,” I breathe. “Because you want to be with me. Taking care of me.”
“There are very few things in this world that would keep me from you, and none of them are more important than whatever it is you want. So I need you to tell me it’s okay, .”
My heart aches at the pain burrowed deep in his tone.
“I need you to tell me to stay here. For Fletch. For the case. For what I feel is right. Because if we part ways tomorrow and we’re not in agreement, then I feel like the worst is gonna happen because we’re not together.”
“You’re doubting your instincts.” My anger washes away and in its place is sorrow. Sadness. Skepticism, too, but within myself. I step down off the landing and stop only one stair above his, so we’re eye to eye and his hands automatically drop to my hips. “I’m sorry for questioning you on this.”
“We’re a team,” he repeats my words back to me. “I need us to always be on the same side. I need to know that what we’re doing is the right thing. Because right now, I’m not so sure.”
“Archer—”
“You and I are fighting,” he grunts. “Tim is making mistakes. Fletch is clearly not completely focused on the job right now. And our killer is two for two in less than two days. So if you tell me I’m making the wrong choice, then I’ll believe you.” He brings his hands up, grabbing mine and cupping them in his palms. It’s almost reverent. Worshipful, even. “You’re smart, . You’re clinical on the job. You assess a situation without emotion and you make the right decisions. So tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll change the whole fucking world to make it fit.”
“You’re asking me to be clinical.” I bring our joined hands up and press a kiss to his knuckles. “But you’re my husband. I can’t see past my heart on this one.”
“Babe—”
“I’m worried because I love you. And for you alone, I would set the world on fire. I cannot live without you, so I’m anxious every single time you strap those guns to your body and walk out the door. Every single time, Archer. But now we have this other case, and those things we expect to protect you have become redundant. Add in that I’m leaving tomorrow, which means the worry I already carry overflows . So now I’m picking fights and being called the office bitch. I can’t be clinical about this.”
“Tell me what to do,” he begs. “If you insist I get on that plane with you tomorrow, then that’s what I’ll do. It’s what Tim wants. It’s what Felix wants. We could probably convince Fletch to pack up and come with us, too.”
“But then your killer continues to walk free.” I hate that he puts this on me. That he’ll make me choose for us all. So when the consequences come, whatever they are, they’re on me. “Come to New York, and then your killer executes more cops. But tell you to stay,” I sigh. “And I risk one of those cops being you.”
“I can’t pass the case on. I won’t be that guy; too afraid to do his job, so then I hand it off to someone else like their life matters less than mine.”
I unravel my hands from his and wrap my arms around his torso instead, resting my face on his shoulder and my lips against his neck. Too warm, despite the cold outside. His heart thunders loud enough to become a drum in my ear, while mine… well, it breaks.
“?”
“Stay.” My voice catches. Emotion clogs my throat, and with it, like a horrifying glimpse into a future that doesn’t yet exist, grief comes too. “Just because I worry about you does not mean I think you’re incapable of doing the job. Fletch will continue to run the case, whether you’re here or not. You and he are a team, too. Just like you and me. And just because I want you in New York with me, doesn’t mean I need you there with me. Together, you’re stronger.”
“I’ll call every hour,” he croaks. “I promise. I’ll text you, and you’ll text me. I’ll call you every night and lie with you till you sleep. And I even made Felix promise to leave you alone.”
I choke out a teary laugh. “The hero I didn’t know I needed. Thank you.”
“I’ll put you on that plane myself. And I’ll pick you up when you arrive back in Copeland a few days later.”
“I’m counting on it.” Pulling back, I bring my hands up and hold his face. “If you’re not waiting at the airport for me with a big, stupid smile on your face and no fresh injuries, I’m gonna be pissed.”
He nods. Soft and sad and still, he drags me closer until we’re almost nose to nose. “I’ll be there.”
“You’ve got this.”
“This case?” His eyes flick between mine. “Yeah, I’ve got this. And you’ve got your trip. You can take a couple of nights in your old city, looking out at Manhattan and remembering your life before me.”
“Then I’ll come back, knowing I belong here.”
“Good.” He plops a kiss on the center of my lips, while over my shoulder, the soft opening of a door alerts me to our new audience. “Fuck off, Cato.”
“Just checking our domestic disturbance has been dealt with.”
I pull back from Archer and glance over my shoulder to find the teen leaning against the doorframe, one foot lifted and his hand buried deep in a bag of Lays.
“I gotta say,” he taunts, “I thought leaving New York meant I’d see fewer arguments between a Malone and his woman. But here I am, young, impressionable, and already traumatized, living amongst the drama.”
“I’m leaving him behind, too.” I take Archer’s hand and turn to finish our trek home. “I have absolutely no issue with leaving the state and being somewhere other than where Cato Malone is.”
“You’re being hurtful, Doc.” He flashes a crumby smile as I roll my eyes and pass through the door. “Why do you insist on hurting my feelings?”
“It just comes so naturally to me, I suppose.”
“You’re turning it into a degradation kink.” He follows us in as I release Archer’s hand and shed my coat to hang it on the hook. Slamming the door, he resumes his pose, but on this side of the frame instead. “Next time I’m with a girl and she says something mean to me, I’m gonna blow my load and know it was because of how you’ve treated me.”
“That’s enough of that.” Archer grabs his brother, pulling him away from the door. Then he yanks it open, deposits the youngest Malone in the hall, then he slams the wood shut once more, so the walls rattle and the boy on the other side grumbles. “I don’t know that I’m gonna survive being here with him without you giving me something to focus on.”
“Lock yourself in our room and call me.” Grinning, I head to the fridge and take out my Factor pack. Two glass vials; one filled with liquid and the other with powder. I grab the tourniquet from the container on top of the fridge, then fresh needles, tubing, and tape.
Infusing my medication every second day has been a routine I’ve known since before I was old enough to speak full sentences. I’ve been doing the whole thing, from disinfecting to inserting needles and infusing Factor since I was in elementary school. And now, Archer has grown so used to the procedure, he knows to roll up his sleeves, clean his hands, and prepare me a meal.
Because once I slide the medication into my veins, chances are, I’m going to want to sleep.
“On a scale of one to starving, how hungry are you?” He moves to the fridge when I step away, yanking the doors open and perusing the contents. “Leftover pizza, carb-loading kind of hungry, or a yogurt pouch and slice of toast hungry?”
“Yogurt for an appetizer.” I collect my supplies and place them all in a pile on the counter, then I move to the sink and follow his lead, pumping antibacterial soap into my palm and flipping the tap on. “Pizza for the main meal. How long do you think we have before Cato is back?”
He scoffs, snagging a pouch from the fridge and hip-bumping the door closed. Unscrewing the lid, he tosses it into the sink so the plastic spins and dances in the stainless-steel bowl. Then he comes up behind me, plastering his chest to my back and nuzzling my neck until a groan rolls along my throat without my express permission.
Instantly, I abandon my handwashing and glance up at the ceiling instead, resting the back of my head on his shoulder.
“He could pick the locks at any time. The fact that he hasn’t implies he’s gone down to the bar to get himself a burger. Now lemme ask you something.”
Already, with his teeth on my neck and his chest pressed close, my body hums with pleasure. “Mmm?”
“When we roll the diluent between our hands before you infuse… that means we’re warming it, right? ”
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and moan when he brings his free hand around to my belly. “Yes. Room temperature is best.”
“So, instead of rolling it and speeding that process, we could, say, leave it on the counter for an hour and fuck instead?”
I choke out a laugh, only to startle when he places the opening of the yogurt pouch to my lips and gently squeezes a little onto my tongue.
“Eat,” he coaches, his gritty tone filtering directly into my ear. “You need food first. Then we fuck. Then after that, I’ll order you a whole fresh pizza instead of crappy leftovers and I’ll help you infuse. Hold this.” He drags my still-wet hand up and forces me to hold my pre-dinner, then he pushes away from me, stalking to the other side of the counter and grabbing a stool. My back breaks out in goosebumps now that he’s gone. My legs prickle and my heart stutters. But I watch him walk the stool to our door and place the seat beneath the handle. “It won’t keep anyone out. But it’ll slow them down a sec and make a bunch of noise so we know we have visitors.”
Grinning, he turns my way, his eyes burning against mine and his stride growing longer the closer he comes. “I said eat.” The moment he’s near enough, he places his hand beneath mine and pushes it up so my lips wrap around the pouch opening. Then he drops his hands to my pants and unsnaps the button. “I want you to have that in your belly before your blood sugar drops.”
“Archer—”
“Because once it drops, you’re gonna be cranky and sickly and mean.” He drags my pants over my hips, taking my underwear with them so no time is wasted, then he lowers to his knees and smirks. “You eat that. I eat this. We’ll both be happy, and I won’t have to feel bad about fucking you post-infusion.”
“Such a gentlemanly thing to say,” I drawl. And yet, I let him spread my legs and press a kiss to my hipbone. “You ever consider talking to a therapist about your tendency to turn anger into horniness?”
He buries his tongue between my legs, holding me up when my knees buckle and my back hits the edge of the counter. “You’re my therapist, Minnnka. And you already know everything about me. Now ride my face and eat your dinner like a good girl.”