Chapter Twenty-Four
Brogan
The door opened too quickly.
“Brogan,” Jade said, as if his name still held weight.
Brogan stared at him, wearing his hoodie, hair messy, and feet bare. A cocktail of anger and sadness stirred in his stomach. “This isn’t a reunion.”
“And you didn’t have to come in person either.”
“I shouldn’t have come, but I wanted to drive you to the airport myself.
” Brogan stepped inside. He could smell cheap cologne and desperation soaked into the walls.
He should have emailed the ticket. Why had he come?
Blinded like a fool, once again thinking Jade needed him and he was the only one who could fix him?
No, he wanted to make sure Jade got on that damn plane and didn’t waste his time and money.
Jade’s eyes searched his face like he was trying to locate something lost. “I’ve made mistakes. But I never stopped—”
“Don’t,” Brogan cut him off. His chest ached, like his heart was still bruised from the last time. “You don’t get to rewrite things now. I know what this was. I know what we were. You fucking used me like you’re doing now. All you ever wanted was my money, not me.”
“Not true. You meant something to me. And I did to you too,” Jade whispered.
Brogan reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope, his hand steady despite the war inside him. “One-way. Dublin. Take it. There’s nothing left for you here.”
Jade flinched like the ticket was a slap. “You think you can just erase me?”
“You asked me to buy you a ticket to Dublin. I did.” Brogan laughed bitterly.
“Then why do you still care enough to show up?”
That did it. Brogan’s chest exploded with everything he’d been holding back—grief, rage, betrayal. “Because I won’t be used by you again. Take the ticket and let’s go. I’m taking you there myself!”
Jade snapped. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“The fuck you aren’t.”
Jade lunged. Brogan staggered back. The coffee table splintered as they crashed into it. Brogan shoved him off, but Jade came at him again, swinging wildly. A lamp fell and shattered. Blood flashed across Jade’s lip, and Brogan’s knuckles throbbed where rage met bone.
“I gave you everything I had!” Jade screamed, grabbing a drawer and flinging it across the room.
“No, you used me every fucking time,” Brogan growled. “And when you didn’t need me, you vanished.”
“You needed me too!”
“Not anymore.”
Jade swung again, and Brogan blocked it, this time pinning him to the wall.
Police sirens wailed outside. Someone had called it in.
Then came the pounding on the door—authoritative, furious. The door burst open, splinters flying.
Rafael Duarte’s voice cut through the chaos like steel. “Brogan? What the hell?”
He saw the blood, the broken glass, the look on Brogan’s face—a mix of fury, heartbreak, and shame.
Brogan didn’t say a word. He just lowered his hands and let the cuffs click into place. Rafael cuffed Jade too. What would Archie do when he found out what had happened here?
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. But maybe it was the only way it could.
Brogan barely registered the cold slap of the squad car door slamming shut.
His breath came in short, angry puffs, the sting of handcuffs biting into his wrists.
Bits of broken motel lamp clung to his shirt.
Somewhere behind him, the muffled voice of Officer Duarte barked something into the radio, but Brogan didn’t catch it.
He was too busy staring at the scratched plexiglass between him and the front seat—and thinking about Archie.
Archie. Christ.
He hadn’t meant to sneak out like some brooding teenager.
He had to make sure Jade was really leaving California for Dublin.
He was trying to remove Jade from the equation permanently.
Exhausted by Jade’s repeated interference, he felt his future slipping away.
He wouldn’t allow Jade to hurt Archie. This was the only way out of this mess and forward to his future.
Next thing he knew, the lamp was broken, the coffee table was splintered, and someone from the next room must’ve called it in.
Now here he was, cuffed in the back of a cop car, brain spinning with dread and too much adrenaline. Archie’s face flashed into his head—worried, disappointed, betrayed maybe. What would he even say?
The driver’s door opened, and Officer Duarte slid in, the leather of his seat creaking. He didn’t start the engine. Just sat there a moment, watching Brogan through the rearview like a man deciding whether to yell or just sigh.
“You know,” Duarte said finally, “you’re an asshole and the sooner you and Jade leave, the better off we’ll all be.”
Brogan sank lower, forehead pressing against the window. “I was trying to get rid of Jade with a one-way ticket to Dublin.”
Duarte snorted. “By bustin’ motel lamps and tables and shouting the whole damn building awake?”
Brogan didn’t answer. What was there to say? He had nothing but regret, and the sour tang of the cheap motel carpet lingering in his nose.
“I should haul your ass downtown and book you for more than disorderly,” Duarte muttered. “But you know what’s worse? Andrew vouched for you to Archie. And here you are, screwing around with your ex while living with my cousin.”
Brogan’s throat tightened.
“Does he know you were sneaking out to see Jade? In the middle of the night?” Duarte asked, eyes sharp now. “What were you planning with him while Archie waited home in bed?”
“I wasn’t planning anything,” Brogan said, voice low, cracked. “I wanted to drive him to the airport to make sure he’d leave.” Brogan repeated himself, hoping Duarte would understand what was going on.
“Jade’s not your responsibility,” Duarte cut in. “But Archie is my cousin by marriage, which means he’s family. Do you think I won’t tell him what you’ve been up to?”
Brogan flinched. He felt smaller than he had in years.
Duarte let the silence hang for a while. “You owe him the truth. I won’t have to say a word if you grow a spine and do it yourself.”
The car rumbled to life, the engine’s low growl matching the churn in Brogan’s gut. As they pulled away from the motel, Brogan pressed his fists into his lap and stared out into the dark. His reflection in the glass looked like someone else entirely.
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t know how to explain himself—to Andrew, to Archie, or even to the guy staring back at him.
Once he was in the small jail, noticed Jade was nowhere to be found. Soon, they would question him and hopefully release him. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know how to explain himself—to Andrew, to Archie, or even to the guy staring back at him.
The holding cell smelled like sweat, bleach, and boredom.
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, giving everything a grayish tint—even the orange plastic bench he was half-slouched on.
Brogan rubbed his temples, elbows on his knees, the residual buzz of adrenaline in his system starting to dip into the hangover of regret.
The other two guys in the cell kept to themselves, one asleep, the other muttering to no one in particular about a lost pack of cigarettes.
When the officer handed him his phone, and said, “You get one call,” Brogan didn’t waste time. He punched in the number he knew by heart and muttered, “Ken, it’s me. Yeah. Disorderly. Don’t ask—just please come get me.”
Ken Mercer showed up forty-five minutes later, tie crooked, coffee in hand, and that always slightly exasperated look that seemed permanently etched into his forehead.
He greeted the desk sergeant like an old poker buddy, smoothed things over with a few quiet exchanges, and fifteen minutes later, Brogan was signing a release form while trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
“You know,” Ken said as they walked out into the sticky early morning air, “you really ought to consider meditation. Or therapy. Or just texting me before you get hauled in.”
Brogan didn’t argue. He slid into the passenger seat of Ken’s car and stared out the window at the passing gas station. “Can we stop by the motel? I left my car there.”
Ken glanced at him sideways. “You sure you don’t want to call it a day and let this one blow over?”
Brogan shook his head. “No. I gotta…I gotta handle something.”
As they pulled into the cracked parking lot of the motel, the weight in Brogan’s stomach got heavier. His car was still where he had left it, looking just as out of place as he felt. But it wasn’t the night in the cell that had his chest tight—it was Archie.
He stood by the van a moment longer, fingers drumming against the hood.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Jade had left for Dublin or was he arrested too?
The thought ran through his mind to knock on his door to see if he was still there.
Then he went to the front office and asked the person behind the check-in desk.
“Did Jade from room 107 check out?”
“You are banned from the premises. So leave now.”
“Did Jade leave?”
“He’s banned from here too. Now get out of here.”
Brogan turned around, made it to his van, got in, and started the engine. It was early in the morning. He made a phone call and asked for a substitute, then drove off.
He went over in his mind how to explain to Archie when what had happened and why didn’t he leave a note, but he had figured he’d be back before he got up.
There was no clean version to give. Not when Jade was involved and Brogan was in his motel room.
He could already hear Archie’s voice in his head: cool at first, then strained, quiet in that way that meant he was trying not to sound furious. Had Rafael gotten to him first?