16. Cara #2
The hallway's quiet when I step out, and I'm halfway to the kitchen when I hear voices from downstairs.
Male voices, more than two of them, and one of them's Falcon's.
I recognize it before I've processed anything else.
I should keep walking. I stop instead, at the top of the stairs, not exactly to eavesdrop, who am I kidding, mostly to eavesdrop a little.
"We can cover the safe house without increasing visible patrol," Zip's saying.
"And if Merrick moves?" Vulture.
"Then we respond."
Falcon, next. "No. If Merrick moves, we confirm what they're moving toward first."
A pause.
"You think they're setting another pull," Vulture says.
"I think every move they've made so far is tried to split us. They hit the warehouse to see what we'd do. Used the prescription run to pull officers off the property. Tested the fence last night to see if we'd chase."
"You think they'd try it this fast?" Zip asks.
"Yes." No hesitation at all. "Because eventually they expect us to get angry enough to stop thinking."
Something in my chest goes tight, hearing him name the trap out loud instead of walking straight into it.
"No solo moves," Falcon says. "Nobody follows anything outside the perimeter without approval. If they want us out, they come to us."
Zip laughs, quiet. "Who are you and what did you do with Falcon?"
"Fuck off."
"What about you?" Vulture asks, and the silence that follows is different than the rest of the conversation.
"Same rule," Falcon says eventually.
"You good with that?"
"No. But I'm doing it."
That's exactly what I told him last night. He wants to chase, and he chooses not to anyway, and the change is believable precisely because it costs him something to make it.
I step away before anyone finds me listening. The kitchen's empty, so I make real coffee instead of the watery stuff from the hospital, and a few minutes later footsteps approach. I know who it is before I turn around.
Falcon stops in the doorway when he sees me. "Morning."
"Morning."
He doesn't come any closer right away, I notice, and I don't mind noticing.
"Did you sleep?" he asks.
"A little."
"Emily?"
"In my bed. I got kicked out."
His eyebrows go up. "Basically," I say, and pour a second mug without being asked. "Do you want one?"
He looks at the mug, then at me. "Yeah. Please."
I hand it over, and our fingers touch, and neither of us pulls away too fast. It's small. It still means something.
"Thanks," he says.
He takes a drink and stops. "Jesus."
"What?"
"This is good," he says, taking another sip.
"It's only coffee."
"Harrier's been lying to us."
I laugh. He leans against the counter, a comfortable distance between us, no urgency in it.
"I heard you," I say.
His brows lift. "That's ominous."
“Talking to Vulture and Zip."
"Ah."
"You think they're trying to split the club again."
His expression sobers. "Yeah."
"You think they'll come back?"
"Yes."
At least he’s honest, which is exactly what I asked for.
“Soon?” I ask.
“Probably,” Falcon admits.
My stomach tightens.
“We’re ready,” he says, then catches himself. “As ready as we can be.”
“That’s better.”
“I’m learning.”
“So I keep hearing,” I tell him.
He takes another drink. “Are you okay?”
“Are you?” I counter.
His mouth twists. “Classic deflection.”
“Yes,” I admit. “You’re right.”
“Impressive.”
I smile, then let it fade. “I’m scared.”
Falcon sets his mug down but doesn’t move any closer. “Of them?”
“Yes.”
“And?” he prompts.
He watches me and waits.
Of course he already knows. "You."
Pain flashes across his face, and I hate that I keep putting it there. It's still true, though. "Okay," he says.
"You're not going to argue?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm scared of me too," he says, quieter.
That catches me off guard. "What do you mean?"
He rubs a hand over his jaw. "I spent years trusting instinct because instinct kept me alive. Most of the time it still does. The problem is I got used to believing the first instinct was automatically the right one."
I wait.
"When somebody threatened people I cared about, my first instinct was always to put myself between them and whatever was coming. That's not always wrong."
"No."
"It's wrong when I act on it before I've looked at every other option."
That's exactly what I keep telling him, hearing it out of his own mouth for once. "So, what happens next time?"
"I ask my brothers whether I'm seeing the whole board before I move."
"And if they say no?"
"Then I listen."
"You make that sound easy." I’m watching his face, checking his emotions.
"It won't be."
I fold my arms. "And if I tell you something?"
"That depends."
"On what?" I ask.
"Whether you're telling me as Cara, or trying to run club security."
I stare at him, then laugh. "Asshole."
"I'll listen either way. Just so you know."
"That was nearly charming." I smile at him.
"I’ve been practicing."
His gaze drops to my hands, then back to my face. "Last night meant a lot," he says. "I don't want to push it."
"I know."
"Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask what you wanted to ask last night," I say.
His expression shifts. "What?"
I smile, and for once I'm the terrifying one in the room. "Can I kiss you?"
My breath catches. There it is the question he didn't ask on the porch. I could say yes. I want to say yes, my whole body's already leaning toward him in ways I refuse to examine too closely. But wanting isn't the same as being ready.
"Not yet," I say, gentle.
He nods, there’s no disappointment turning into pressure, and no argument. "Okay."
That means almost as much as the kiss would have. I step closer anyway and take his hand. "I'm getting there."
His fingers close around mine. "There’s no rush."
"You've never been good at waiting."
"I’m adding it to the list."
"Is the list a minimum of six pages?" I love this banter back and forth.
"At least."
I laugh, and he squeezes my hand once before letting go before I have to. It’s another choice, another brick gone from the wall around my heart.
Footsteps sound down the hall. Sarah walks in, sees us, and stops. Her eyes go from Falcon to me and back.
"Morning," she says, careful.
"Morning," I answer.
Falcon lifts his coffee. "Morning."
She heads for the cupboard. "I saw nothing."
We both laugh, and Sarah makes tea while Falcon finishes his coffee, and nothing feels awkward, which might be the strangest part of the whole morning.
Eventually he pushes off the counter. "I have collections with Rook. He's making sure I don't enjoy myself."
"Go," I tell him, meaning it.
"Security update after?"
"Sounds good," I saw watching him turn to leave.
He heads for the door, and I watch him go. Sarah waits until Falcon is out of earshot before turning to me.
“You held hands,” she says.
I close my eyes. “I liked you better when you were traumatized and quiet.”
Her mouth falls open. Then she laughs so hard she has to put the kettle down before she drops it. I start laughing too because I can’t help myself.
“That’s terrible,” Sarah says when she can breathe again.
“I know.”
“You cannot say things like that.”
“I just did.”
Emily’s sleepy voice comes from the hallway. “What happened?”
“Cara held hands with Falcon,” Sarah shouts.
I stare at her in horror. “You are dead to me.”
Emily shuffles into the kitchen. “Did she kiss him?”
“No,” I answer.
Emily looks disappointed. “Why not?”
“My romantic life is not a group project.”
“It kind of is now,” Sarah says, sipping her tea as if the matter is settled.
For the next ten minutes my love life becomes breakfast entertainment.
I complain. They ignore me. And somewhere between the laughter and the coffee and Falcon heading out to do somebody else's grunt work instead of heading toward danger alone, something calms in my chest. I still don't know what happens next with Merrick, with the women, or with him. For once, I can live with that.
I don't need forever today. Today I need information, and choices, and a man who asks before he kisses me. A family that annoys me before breakfast. And the knowledge that when danger comes again, none of us will have to face it alone.