Archer
ARCHER
“ W ho are you texting?” I try to catch a peek at Fletch’s screen and the simple ‘yes’ he responds with, but he hits send too fast and slips the device into his pocket before I can. “Fifi?”
“None of your business.” He dips his spoon into a noodle soup thing and ignores the stares of everyone who watches him. Because I wasn’t the only one to notice his phone coming out, and he sure as fuck sits away from Aubree, so she can’t ferret out his secrets. “It wasn’t Sera. But I’m allowed to text people and it not be a thing.”
“Sure…” I pick at Minka’s noodles, moving quickly when she tries to smack my hand away. “Except you’re being weird about it. Being weird means we’re gonna ask about it.”
“It’s not weird to not tell you every thought that runs through my head.” He grinds his teeth when the phone buzzes again. But he doesn’t take it out of his pocket. I’m not sure a single one of us wouldn’t snatch the damn thing up and find the information for ourselves. “Mind your business, Malone. Or fight me for it. I could do with a bare-knuckle round to work through my frustrations.”
“Are you talking to a woman?” Minka leans forward, her voice low so Mia doesn’t spin from the television to listen. “Are you turning into Slutty Fletch again to cope with everything going on? Because that wouldn’t be unheard of in situations like this.”
“It’s not uncommon to slide back into bad habits when you’re going through something stressful,” Aubree adds. “We’re all aware you chose the hoe life after Jada.”
“Jesus.” He scoops more soup and noodles onto his spoon. “Can you drop it already?”
“And wanting that kind of distraction isn’t unreasonable,” Minka continues. “We’re burying Jada tomorrow, but it’s not like you were together when she passed. This isn’t a you’re moving on too fast situation. But I’m worried you’re?—”
“There’s an unspoken something between you and Fifi,” Aubree growls. “I know things are rocky, and everyone is walking on eggshells. Nothing is set in stone, of course, which technically means you’re single, but?—”
“It doesn’t sound unspoken to me.” Frustrated, he sets his spoon down and stares up at the ceiling. “Can I just enjoy my dinner without the fuckin’ Gestapo over here questioning every move I make?” He brings his eyes back down. “I’m not texting a woman, and even if I was, that would be between me, her, and Sera. I was confirming last-minute plans for something tomorrow, and it’s hardly a topic I wish to discuss at the dinner table. Just let me eat and rest before it’s time to put my baby to bed. Because tomorrow is gonna suck, and I’m kinda clinging to the fact it’s not here yet.”
Innocently, Aubree extends her hand across the table. It’s a friendly gesture, accompanied by her kind smile. But Fletch isn’t stupid. So he stands and takes his bowl to the sink. “No, thanks.”
“You’re being unnecessarily difficult!” She rotates in her chair to keep him in her sights. “I just want to hug you. Comfort you.”
“You want to comfort yourself. And you hate not knowing everything all the damn time. Can we just put a movie on, take turns cuddling my baby, and call it a day?”
At a knock on his apartment door, he glances across and groans when Fifi hesitantly opens it and steps in.
Where perhaps she would expect a smile, or at the very least, neutrality, Fletcher grabs his hair and tugs. “For fuck’s sake.”
“Right. Well…” She spins on her heels to leave again. “That’s enough of that.”
“No, stop!” Aubree jumps up from the table and dashes to the door. “That’s not about you. He’s having a moment.”
“Walking in to an unhappy grunt is a sign for me to leave.” She attempts to tug her hand from Aubree’s. “Two days in a row is obviously too much for us.”
“No.” Fletch releases his hair and draws a long, lung-filling breath. “Stay, please.”
“Fifi!” Mia finally dials back in on the world around her, turning from the television and beaming over the back of the couch. “You came back, Fifi! I told Daddy you would.”
“Go.” He gestures toward the couch in permission. “It’s fine. Everything is fine. I just need to breathe.” He tosses a hand towel back to the counter and strides through the living room and into the hall. Stomping feet and, when he reaches his room, a slamming door.
“I should go.” Fifi’s eyes are all for Mia, but her body already points back to the door. “It’s obvious I’ve stepped into something I wasn’t invited to.”
“You’re invited,” Tim rumbles. “He’s just not in the mood to socialize right now. None of us are welcome. It’s not personal.”
“See!” Aubree forces a goofy grin. “Even Tim says so, and he’s the king of antisocial behavior.”
“Pretty sure you’re offending me, Aubree Grace.”
While Tim stands and starts toward the girls, I turn to Minka and press a kiss to her temple. “I’ll be back soon.”
Her eyes swing around, searching mine. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“Probably going to hit him, to be honest.” I lean in and press a kiss to her perfect, plump lips. “But it’s fine. It’s what we do. Don’t follow me in, okay? Not till things are calm again.”
“—”
“I’d feel bad if you got hurt because Fletch and I haven’t evolved beyond apes using our fists. Stay.” I set my hand on her shoulder and push up to stand, then I meet Tim’s eyes in warning. “Don’t follow me in.”
“Ohh! Fight.” Cato bounds to his feet. “I wanna watch. I won’t interfere, promise.”
I hold Tim’s stare that way we’ve done a million times in the past, so when he nods, I know we have an agreement. He’ll keep Cato and the girls out of our way. And if Fletch and I escalate to the point of hospitalization, he’ll step in before things get too serious.
“Great.” I turn on my feet and start into the hall. Adrenaline bubbles in my veins, because me and Fletch don’t fight often. Not the real, bloodied knuckle, asshole behavior kind of fight. But when we do, it’s because one or both of us can’t handle the world of hurt trying to take us down. He needs an outlet, and if he won’t fuck away his frustrations, it seems I’ll be the next best thing.
I don’t slow at his door, and I don’t announce my arrival to give him time to prepare. I let myself in to his room and stop to find him spinning in surprise, locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket like I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t.
“Arch! What the fuck? Get out of my room.”
“Nah.” I move past the door and close it again to keep the busybodies out. “Who is on the other side of those texts, Charlie?”
Hard-faced, he sets his hands in his pockets. “None of your business. And don’t Charlie me. I’m entitled to my privacy.”
“You’re gonna tell me.” I place my hands on my hips, if only to give him just a little longer before I swing. “Because if you’re in trouble, I need to know so I can help. If you’re buying a hooker, then that’s your business. It’s a mistake,” I clarify, “especially now that you’re patching things up with Fifi. But if you insist, then I’ll support you, even if I think you’re wrong for it.”
“Fine.” He flashes a devious smile. “I’m ordering a hooker. Now leave me alone.”
“You lie.” I saunter a little closer, staring down at my boots with each step. “You’ve never been particularly good at that. So it’s not a hooker, which brings me back to you being in trouble. I won’t stand for it when I know I could probably make the trouble go away.”
“I’ve been talking to a chick.” He broadens his shoulders and sneers. “She’s not Sera, and she’s none of your business. If I choose to fuck away my problems, then that’s my prerogative.”
“Nope.” I stop three feet from where he stands and bring my gaze up again. “Your nostrils twitch when you’re spinning shit, Charlie.” I reach up and tap the end of his nose to illustrate, only to grin when he slaps my arm away.
He’s made first contact, which makes my future guilt exponentially less potent.
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” he snarls. “And back up out of my space.”
I tsk and take another step closer. “Don’t think I will. Not when you’re at your most vulnerable and, by the looks of things, doing some shady shit on your phone. Show me what you’re doing, or I’ll smash your face and take the fuckin’ phone anyway.”
“That’s what we’re doing, huh?” He slams his palms to my chest and shoves until my back hits the door. “You don’t win, . You never do, so the fact you keep trying boggles my mind.”
“I guess we have differing opinions on the specifics of success.” I move off the door and tap his cheek with my open palm. It’s so much more offensive than a fist to his eye socket. “Remember the first time we did this after your wife fucked another cop?”
Rage burns in his veins, turning his cheeks red and his eyes like pin-pricks. “Tonight? Really? Of all the nights you wanna do this, you’ll do it with my baby in the next room and my ex-wife going in the ground tomorrow?”
“That’s what we do, isn’t it?” I tap him again, but with my left hand, to keep him guessing. “She wanted someone else, and instead of letting you kill him, I picked a fight and kept you out of prison. This seems like a good night to repeat history, since it’s clear you’re not sexting a chick.”
“What makes you so fucking sure?” He slaps my arm away when I swipe for a third time. “I’m the slut, no? I love women.”
“You love Seraphina,” I taunt. Another point for me, because I used that word, and he sure as shit wasn’t ready for it. “You were begging her to talk to you, and now she is.” I throw my arm out, lightning-fast, and smash the side of his jaw until he spins. “No way you’re screwing that up again.”
“Fucking prick.” He swipes a thumb along the corner of his lip and collects a droplet of blood. “You’re really gonna send me to a funeral tomorrow with a busted face we can hardly explain to my daughter?”
“We can stop here.” But hell if I don’t bounce on my feet to stay light. Moving, in case he decides to charge. “Tell me who you’re secretly texting and what illegal shit you’re planning. I’d rather explain a busted lip to Mia than, ‘ Daddy’s gone to prison, but the state will take care of you. Don’t worry, baby. He likes it when the big men fuck him in the ass in the showers. Consent isn’t a word in jail.’ ”
“I’m not going to prison.” He digs his fist up, planting it in my belly faster than I can see it coming, buckling me in half and following it with a knee, since I practically fucking walk into it. “Except, of course, after I kill Uncle Arch and do everyone a favor.”
I’m an asshole, I know. Yada yada yada. But I ball my fist and pound it directly over his healing bullet wound. And when he cries out at the fiery pain, I bounce back again with a grin. “I remember now. I don’t win these fights. But neither do you. In the end, we both walk away with something broken and bad attitudes.”
He heaves for fresh air, green in the face and sweat beading on his brow. Because I’m a dirty fighter. Though in my defense, he knew that already, so…
“I fucking hate you.” His breath whistles past bone-dry lips. “Fuck you, Malone.”
“I love you too. That’s why we do this.” And while he’s sick to his stomach, I stride forward and grab his hair to pull his face up, his glittering eyes struggling to focus on mine. “What stupid thing are you doing? Let me in so I can help.”
“So you have no issue with the thing,” he pants. “You just hate being left out.”
“I have a problem with my best friend making poor choices while he’s vulnerable.” I push him back till he’s sitting on the edge of his bed. Then I lower into a crouch and brush away the guilt bubbling in my belly, because nausea rolls in his and sweat trickles over his temple.
Bullet wounds fucking hurt.
Being jabbed in a bullet wound is… next level.
“Talk to me, or we’ll fight about it. Either I’ll keep you so fucking wrapped up in this discussion that you won’t have time to do the thing you’re planning to do, or you’ll tell me what’s up, and I can help you make the plan safer and smarter. Unfortunately for you, those are the only choices you have. Fortunately,” I add with a mocking smile, “you have me, ready and willing to lend a helping hand.”
“You’re a prick.” He claps my arm away and lets his head droop, dragging air into his lungs and gently kneading his thigh—around, but not touching the wound I’ve fucked up. “I’m looking for Booth,” he wheezes. “He needs to be off the streets.”
“You said you trusted Elen and Balladae to take care of it.”
“I trust that they’re trying. Doesn’t mean I can’t try, too.”
“And when you find him, you’ll, what? Hand him over to the detectives and walk away?”
He only shrugs, swiping the sweat from his brow. “I’m open to whatever options may present themselves to me.”
“Right.” I scoff. “So, have you found him yet? Got any leads?”
He shakes his head and lowers his hand again. “Whispers, only. I’m trying not to let it consume me, but if someone has information, then I read the text and handle whatever needs handling.”
“So you’ve got CIs on the streets looking for him? You’re stressing about money, but palming fifties every time someone sends you a text?”
“I’m flush with money,” he groans, though his lips curl into a devilish sneer. “Seems I’ve had a windfall lately, and I don’t mind spending your money to put Jada’s killer behind bars. Mia deserves to know it’s taken care of.”
“Mia doesn’t even understand a person hurt her mother, you dumb fuck! She’s running with the Mommy was sick thing, and by the time she’s old enough to ask questions and figure this out, ten years will have passed, and Booth’s asshole will be split wide open in Gen Pop. Why the rush now?”
“Because I don’t know what else to do!” He massages his thigh and groans. “I’ve done everything else, Arch. I’ve planned the funeral and ironed Mia’s dress and prepped a healthy breakfast so we don’t crash in the morning. I’ve let Aubree and Minka mother me, and even Sera is back in my life. There’s nothing else to do but take care of Booth.”
“You could try grieving. You could try just existing, right here in this moment with us. You could let Minka and Aubree coddle you some more, and maybe even let Fifi know she’s not shit stuck to the bottom of your shoe. You insulted her, you begged for her to come back. Now she’s back, and you’re acting like she smells of dog fart.”
He chuckles, desperate and sad.
“You don’t have to solve this crime, Fletch. You can just be you, spend time with your baby, and flirt with Fifi a little to let her know she’s worth something. She clearly has trauma that revolves around her mother treating her like shit. So if you think she’s gonna stick for anything less than fucking devoted , then you’re gonna be sorely disappointed. She loves your daughter, but she could do just fine without you. So you better think long and hard about what you want, and then start acting like it. Because she’ll walk, and you won’t get another chance at her again.”
“Excuse me for not thinking about how to woo a woman the night before burying my ex-wife. I have other things on my mind, clearly.”
“You don’t get to use burying my ex-wife as an excuse if you’re not even spending that time healing and processing. Hunting Booth down and sneaking texts in, not even letting your friends be a part of it, means you have time and mental capacity to multi-task. You’re focusing on the wrong shit.”
“It’s just collecting information!” He shoves up off the bed, unbuckling his belt and unsnapping his jeans.
And since I’m still crouching, I push up fast enough to make my legs sing. “Why the fuck are you undressing?” I hear the shuffle and whisper of people in the hall. “Folks are gonna start gossiping.”
He shoves his jeans down to reveal black boxer shorts and a leg wound so fucking angry and red, my stomach jumps in response.
“Oops.”
He snarls under his breath and tosses his jeans away, only to replace them with a pair of loose basketball shorts that, when he pulls the fabric up, reveal his healing wound.
“I’m heading out there to find some dessert. Then I’m gonna make your wife treat my leg. She’ll be right by my cock, Arch, and you deserve to watch. Since you’re clearly the fucking asshole who doesn’t mind low blows.”
“Make Aubree do it!” I follow him to the door and stop when he swings it wide and finds everyone except Mia and Fifi on the other side.
Cato’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Things started to sound a little gay in here, till I heard the part about Mayet touching Fletch’s cock.” He reaches down to adjust his pants. “I volunteer to shoot myself in the leg if it means?—”
“It doesn’t.” I move through the doorway first, slamming my baby brother to the wall and grabbing Minka’s hand to take her with me. “You’re not treating his leg. You’re a doctor for the dead, and unfortunately for Fletch, he’s still breathing.”
“You’re bossy.” But she stumbles behind me, clinging to my hand and following me back into the main living space. “I’m not sure Aubree’s allowed to help anymore. Her owner won’t let her.”
“You’re not funny!” Aubree snaps. “And stop talking about my relationship.”
“See?” Minka crashes into my chest when I stop and turn, wrapping her arms over my shoulders and stepping onto her toes to nibble on my bottom lip. Not bleeding. This was a win for me. “He’s got her locked down and unwilling to help. The old Aubree would volunteer to treat a man’s wounds. But now she’s Mrs. Tim the Third, and suddenly, she can’t even help a friend.”
“I would hurt you if I wouldn’t feel bad about it when we were done.” Aubree strides past and makes a beeline for the fridge. “I have seven siblings, Mayet. Don’t think for a second I can’t throw down.”
“Mmhm.” She looks up into my eyes. “Everything okay?”
I cup her jaw and bring her to the very tips of her toes. Because I can, and because I fuckin’ love knowing she’ll do whatever I want. “Nothing has changed. We just have to be faster when shit hits the fan and save him from doing something stupid.”
“Oh, good.” She drops to flat feet. “Status quo, then.”