30. Happy Place
happy place
Mirren
Jamie’s words play on repeat in my head.
Cunning. Calculating. Cruel.
They’re not far from how I would describe him—Jamie, that is—though cruel would never play into his M.O.
Cold is more accurate. And that’s only when he’s separated himself from the situation, like with ops or in his business dealings.
When his heart is in it, when it’s family, he’s… Well, he’s my Hambone.
What the hell were Mom and Dad thinking with these God-awful nicknames? It’s not like they came from events and stuck. We were dubbed, and that was that.
I let my thoughts whirl on that topic, or any other for that matter, because thinking of the man I’ll see in just a few hours as cruel or calculating, as someone who would use me, is such a mindfuck that it’s almost debilitating.
How can I trust my judgment at all if the first man I believe in, outside of my regiment at least, could be playing me to fuck me over for my job?
That would mean my gut is off in a huge way.
So much so, I wouldn’t have confidence in my own mind.
Not to mention, I’d need a new career. My job is too risky to not trust my gut so intrinsically, knowing that it and my brain are keeping me alive.
Either my gut is good or it’s not. It’s honed or it’s wonky—those are my options.
Hammy never said my gut was good. He didn’t blow sunshine up my ass and call it a breeze.
Nor did I ask him, to be fair. I couldn’t give away any more than I had.
He only said he had the training and skill to get past my gut without me knowing.
What if Strider does too?
That’s my fear. And it’s one that’s wait and see. Now I’m on guard because we’re beginning our descent into Nashville, and I need to be smart and watch. Watch Strider—his mannerisms, his choices, how he moves through town with me, how he treats me.
It’s the least I can do for Brody. His string of bad days is going to get worse when I tell him on Monday I can’t take the assignment.
Why would I have ever disclosed my dating status to my handler? What are the chances? I know the answer to that.
Statistically? Zero.
Unless I’m being played.
Strider
I’ve burned so much dang energy bouncing and pacing the terminal.
It’s a good thing people have gotten so lax at the airport, because I should be garnering attention with all my energy.
But I’m not in my pajamas… or riding my suitcase like a scooter…
and I showered before coming, so I’m not the oddity.
People of Walmart and People of the Nashville Airport are cut from the same cloth.
Mirren’s flight has touched down and is beginning to deplane.
I thought it would be cute to hold a sign like those official people do.
I hand wrote Freckles on an iPad app, but the screen keeps trying to go dark so there are little dots in the corner of the screen where I keep tapping so it stays illuminated.
There’s my girl. A crisp white button-up shirt and dark denim jeans highlight those legs I want wrapped around me. A bright marine blue coat is thrown over her arm as she pulls her orange roller bag.
Her face morphs when she sees me, but something’s off. She rolls from suspicion to cautious, then, ultimately, to happiness. The caution is what stops me in my tracks. But only for a moment. Her smile pulls wide as if she can’t stop it, and she beelines for me.
Wrapping her in my arms, I drop my lips to hers and take her mouth. It’s too much for public like this, but what’s the lady in her house slippers going to say that she shouldn’t say to herself?
“Hey, baby.” I pull back and kiss her forehead. “How was your flight?”
She doesn’t answer. In fact, she’s studiously silent. Her fingers dance along my neck, tripping along my Adam’s apple that bobs under her touch. “This looks… awful.”
“The arnica and Advil helped. Thanks for the tip.”
Her eyes lift from the ring of bruises to my eyes, studying me, as if she can see inside my soul if she just looks hard enough. “Sure, honey.” She pushes up on her toes and taps her lips to mine, sealing something I don’t understand.
Threading my fingers through hers, we walk hand-in-hand until the bottleneck makes it tough to be this wide. Pressing a hand to her back, I slow my pace and slide in behind her as we leave the terminal and make our way to the ride-share area.
The air is brisk, but the sun is shining, and it doesn’t take long for a car to whisk us to the hotel.
“Wow,” Mirren says from the sidewalk in front of The Hermitage.
Yeah. She’s not wrong. “The pictures didn’t do it justice.”
She repeats herself when we get inside. “Wow. I feel… underdressed. And young.”
There’s a joke in there—maybe two—but I’m so busy looking around that I miss the opening to take it.
“So, I did okay?”
She turns her gorgeous face up to me. “Yeah. I won’t argue with this.”
“Well, come on then.” Taking her hand, we check in and find our room.
She takes a couple of photos of the suite and then, with her back to the mattress, she trust-falls onto the plush cloud of bedding, with a giggle. “Seriously, shoot me straight. Did I die and they let me into Heaven? Because this is paradise.”
She is paradise, but I don’t correct her.
I do, however, stalk to the bed, lean over, caging her in and take her lips in a deep, meaningful kiss.
When we’re both out of breath, and she’s wrapped around me like a spider-monkey, I drop my forehead to hers.
“I’ve missed you. Missed us. Thanks for coming. ”
She presses her lips together, fighting a grin. When she loses the battle, the words burst from her. “That’s what she said.”
I set myself up for that. I did.
But nothing could’ve set me up for Mirren Jones. No sickness hell, no purgatory, no amount of good deeds. She’s a reward I don’t deserve. And one I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep.
“Now, baby, do you want to stay in bed, or do you want to go explore Nashville?”
She looks to the side, toward the sunny windows with their harsh glare so that nothing can be seen beyond them. “I want both. But we don’t do quick, so we’d be here all day—not that there’s anything wrong with that—but I’d like to walk around a bit if you’re cool with that.”
I press myself away from her warm body and look between us. Her beneath me is my happy place. Also, her above me, her beside me, you name it.
“Let’s go, Freckles. You can have me when you’ve had your fill of the city.” I offer her a smirk.
She takes my extended hand and falls into my chest when she stands. “I’m so glad to see you, Strider. I needed this. More than you know.”
“Me, too, baby. Me too.” It’s the truth, but more than that, I need her more than she knows.
That thought doesn’t scare me the way I thought it would.
I always assumed that dependency on another person would register fear somewhere deep down…
something that can be taken away or lost, never to be recovered.
Instead, it’s a warmth spreading through me, waiting to radiate to the people around me.
She rubs a finger between my eyebrows. “What has you so deep in thought?”
How do I explain it? I can’t. Instead, I grasp her hand. “Nothing. Let’s go explore.”