29. Tatum
Chapter 29
Tatum
I toss pancake batter in a bowl, trying not to think about Dom and how we haven't really talked since what happened on the plane. Well, other than the usual strategies and Thomas shit talking. This kitchen has become my sanctuary - a place to keep my hands busy while my mind wanders.
"You're making those fancy ones again?" Isaac walks in, already dressed for their surveillance mission.
"Blueberry ricotta. Someone has to feed you properly before you go stalk my husband." I pour the batter onto the griddle, watching bubbles form. "Speaking of, you guys packed and ready?"
Dom appears in the doorway, duffel bag in hand. "Almost. Just need to grab the surveillance gear from the office."
Connor shuffles in last, his dark hair messy from sleep. He heads straight for the coffee maker, barely acknowledging any of us. Not that I blame him - being stuck on babysitting duty probably isn't his idea of a good time.
"Here." I slide plates of pancakes across the counter. "Brain food for the road."
"Shit, these are good." Isaac devours his stack while checking his phone. "Thomas just posted about heading to his 'much- needed spiritual retreat' this weekend. To find some internal peace in hopes it may help in locating his dear Tatum."
I snort. "Spiritual retreat? Is that what they're calling it these days?"
"His exact words on Instagram," Dom confirms between bites. "Complete with prayer hands emoji."
"What a tool." I start cleaning up, trying to keep my hands steady as Dom and Isaac finish their breakfast and begin gather the rest of their things. It's weird how quickly I've gotten used to having all three of them around.
"We'll check in every few hours," Dom says, shouldering his bag. "Connor, you know the drill."
Connor grunts in acknowledgment, still nursing his coffee.
"Be careful, okay?" The words slip out before I can stop them. I busy myself wiping down the already clean counter, avoiding eye contact.
Isaac's laugh rings through the kitchen. "Well I'll be, is someone worried about us dangerous criminals?"
"Maybe I just don't want to be stuck alone with broody over here." I gesture toward Connor, who rolls his eyes behind his coffee mug.
"I'm not broody, I'm focused," Connor mutters.
Dom steps closer to me, his presence making my hands still on the counter. "We'll be fine. This isn't our first rodeo."
I look up, meeting his intense gaze. The memory of the plane ride flashes between us, electric and unspoken. My throat tightens. "Just... don't do anything stupid. I know Thomas - he may be an idiot, but he's a paranoid idiot."
"Aww, she really does care," Isaac teases, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Don't worry, lady. We'll keep your boyfriend in one piece."
Dom shoots Isaac a look that could freeze hell over. What the hell? Do I have I slept with your fearless leader tattooed on my forehead?
"We'll be on our best behavior," Dom says softly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Promise."
The weight of everything unsaid hangs heavy in the air between us. I manage a nod, forcing myself to step back. "Good. Because if anything happens to either of you, I'm stuck eating Connor's terrible cooking."
"What the hell!" Connor protests, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice.
I watch from the window as they load up the car, my stomach doing that annoying flip thing it does whenever Dom's nearby. The engine starts, and just like that, they're gone.
The kitchen falls silent except for Connor's coffee mug hitting the counter. Just me and the quiet one for the next few days. This should be interesting.
Two hours crawl by. I've reorganized the spice rack twice and Connor's been typing away at his laptop, occasionally glancing my direction when he thinks I'm not looking.
"Fuck this shit," Connor finally says, closing his laptop. "I'm going stir crazy."
"Same." I stretch out on the couch, my t-shirt riding up slightly. "I've counted all the ceiling tiles. Twice."
"Want to grab a pizza?" He runs a hand through his messy black hair. "There's this place about twenty minutes from here. Best deep dish in Connecticut."
I bolt upright. "Real pizza? Not like veggie pizza?"
"The greasiest, most unhealthy pizza you can imagine." His lip ring catches the light as he smirks. "Complete with actual carbs."
"Oh my god, yes." I'm already heading for the stairs. "Give me five minutes to change."
"Grab a wig," he calls after me. "And bring a hoodie - we need to keep you somewhat incognito."
"Should I bring a trash bag to cover my head? Like when you kidnapped me?" I yell back, earning a low chuckle.
"That was not a damn trash bag. Just… hurry up before I change my mind about taking you out in public."
"You sound just like my husband," I tease, "minus the part where you're actually willing to be seen with me in public."
"Jesus fuck, woman. Get dressed before I leave without you."
"Empty threats, Connor." I grin, disappearing upstairs. "You'd miss my sparkling personality."
After a normal trip to the pizza place. Without an expected high speed chase or gunfire like I had imagined, were now back at the house. I curl up on one end of the sectional while Connor queues up some action movie I've never heard of.
"Oh hell no, what is that?" I squint at the TV screen as some muscle-bound guy in a tank top shoots up what appears to be an entire city block.
Connor shifts on the couch, his arm brushing against mine. "310 to Yuma. It's a classic."
"A classic what? Tutorial on property damage?" I lean across him, snatching the remote from his grip. His breath catches as my chest presses against his arm. "Sorry buddy, but guest gets to choose."
"You're not a guest, you're a hostage." He makes a half-hearted grab for the remote, but I pull it out of reach.
"A hostage who cooks your meals and reorganized your spice rack." I scroll through the streaming options. "Besides, you owe me for that pizza with anchovies."
"You liked those anchovies."
"That's not the point." I settle back into the cushions, tucking my legs under me. "Aha! The Perfect Match. This is what we're watching."
Connor groans, his head falling back against the couch. "A rom-com? Really?"
"It's about a woman who hires a fake boyfriend to make her ex jealous." I press play before he can object further. "Sound familiar?"
"We didn't hire you, we kidnapped you. Completely different."
"Semantics." I wave my hand dismissively. "Now shush, it's starting."
"If Dom and Isaac happen to unexpectedly walk in on us watching this, I'm telling them you threatened me."
"With what? My deadly cooking skills?"
He snorts, but doesn't protest further as the opening credits roll. I catch him watching me from the corner of his eye, a slight smile playing at his lips.
The pizza box between us is almost empty, and I'm feeling brave enough - or maybe just carb-drunk enough - to make an attempt at normal conversation with Connor. It's been awhile since I've been able to shoot the shit with someone that actually cares what I have to say.
"So, what did little Connor want to be when he grew up?" I tuck my legs under me, settling deeper into the couch cushions. "Before the whole professional criminal thing?"
He pauses mid-bite, those dark eyes finding mine. For a moment, I think he's going to brush me off with some sarcastic comment.
"A cop, actually." His lips quirk up at one corner as he sets down his slice. "Had this whole plan to go to BLET school and everything."
"Seriously?" I lean forward, intrigued. "What happened?"
"Life." He shrugs, but there's tension in his shoulders now. "Dad got sick my senior year. Medical bills piled up. I got angry. Turns out committing crime pays better than those who work to prevent it."
"That's..." I search for the right words. "Actually kind of sweet. In a totally fucked up way."
"Sweet?" He snorts, reaching for his beer. "Nothing sweet about it. Just did what I had to do."
"No, I mean the cop part. I wouldn't have pegged you for a cop, maybe more like a drummer in metal band."
He laughs. "Yeah, well." He picks at the label on his bottle. "Always liked the superiority of it. No matter how shitty of a person you thought you were, it was like people we're expected to respect you. Whether you were worthy of it or not."
"That's kind of deep."
"Yeah," he sighs. "But then the anger didn't die when my dad did, and I started to hate everything and everyone. So wasn't really in the mind space anymore to be an upstanding citizen.
"You don't hate Dom and Isaac though." I say with a smile.
"Well no." He laughs, deep and genuine. "I just hate entitled people who think they own everything they see." His eyes meet mine. "Speaking of entitled pricks..."
"Yeah, yeah. I have terrible taste in men. Though to be fair, I didn't exactly choose Thomas."
"What would you choose?" He asks it casually, but there's weight behind the question.
I consider this, pulling my knees to my chest. "Someone real. Someone who sees me for who I am, not who they want me to be." I gesture at the pizza. "Someone who'd let me eat carbs without making me feel like shit about it."
Connor's quiet for a moment, then slides the pizza box closer to me. "Have another slice. Doctor's orders."
"You're not that kind of doctor."
"No," he agrees, "but I am the kind that knows how to dispose of bodies. So I'd say my opinion carries some weight."
I laugh despite myself, grabbing another piece. We settle in to watch the movie, and for the first time in years, I feel completely comfortable just being myself.
The movie plays on, I've seen it a hundred times, but never really watched it. Not like this - sprawled on a couch with pizza and beer, wearing sweats instead of Valentino.
"God, I used to dream about this," I say, gesturing at the screen where the lead couple shares a perfectly choreographed kiss in the rain. "The whole fairy tale thing. Meeting someone who'd look at me like that."
Connor shifts beside me. "Instead you got Senator Stick-Up-His-Ass?"
"Instead I got a marriage certificate before I could legally drink." My laugh comes out hollow. "You know what Thomas said on our wedding night? He told me I should be grateful - that no one else would put up with how ordinary I am."
"Ordinary?" Connor's voice drops low, dangerous. "That fucking-"
"It's fine." I wave him off, but my voice catches. "I mean, he's right. I'm not exactly mob-wife material either. I just… I don't know what I am anymore."
"Look at me." Connor's hand catches my chin, turning my face toward his. His brown eyes lock onto mine, intense and unwavering. "There's nothing ordinary about you."
My breath hitches.
Before I can respond, he closes the distance between us. His lips capture mine, soft at first, then more demanding. The kiss deepens, and I taste beer and pizza and something uniquely Connor. His hand slides into my hair, and I grip his t-shirt, pulling him closer.