5.
I straighten my back as I fix my hair, then rub my lips together as I quickly glance at myself in the viewfinder before facing my camera.
“Hey, guys! I am so excited to finally sit down and film today’s video for you.
You lot have been asking me for weeks now to give you my honest opinion on…
” I trail off, feeling completely blank.
I blink at the camera’s lens, then swallow and exhale through my lips as I ready myself to redo the intro, only to get tongue-tied a second time.
“Fuck,” I whisper as I dab the pads of my forefingers under my eyes to make sure my concealer isn’t creasing.
My eyes land on the open glass window in the bedroom, and on the beaming morning light as it invades the space, brightening it.
I can’t focus on anything other than thoughts of tonight’s gala.
I spent over an hour on my makeup, and around forty-five minutes setting up my filming background and equipment in the bedroom.
The massive PR box from Tory Burch is staring at me from where I’ve placed it on a small table to my left, but I simply can’t bring myself to grab it, let alone move it from its place.
Heaving a sigh, I loosen my shoulders and sit up straight again. I fix the collar of my white broderie anglaise dress and fluff my hair, but as soon as I see my reflection in the viewfinder, I frown and slump in on myself.
This is a waste of fucking time; I am too distracted to work right now.
Despite asking myself not to act paranoid earlier, I still feel restless.
I can’t help it; my brain just won’t stop thinking in overtime.
The ‘what ifs’ and various possible outcomes of our actions keep occupying my headspace, and try as I might, I can’t get rid of them.
I turn off my camera and switch off my ring light, then get to my feet and walk over to the bed. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I climb onto the mattress, and with a loud huff, face-plant onto it.
“Fuck today,” I mutter, then twist my body so that I can lie on my back. Opening the FaceTime app, I click on his name in my list of contacts, then press call. As expected, he picks up exactly after the third ring has gone through, which immediately makes me smile.
“Little Swan.” The gentle husk in his voice causes goosebumps to prick my skin.
He has the phone angled in a way that gives me a clear view of the sweat dripping down the taut column of his neck.
His white tank top is stretched out perfectly against the hard plains of his muscled frame, and with the long, uneven smudges of grease staining both the fabric and his skin, he looks too divine to be so far away from me.
Dorran loves Finesse . After we sold the garage back in Riverside, the first thing he did was buy a property here so that he could rebuild it.
Even though he bought the place all by himself, it’s his and Jayce’s names written underneath Finesse’s .
He’d once told me that him and Jayce started the garage together as a way of owning something that belonged to them, and them alone.
Although Jayce is no longer with us, I know this is Dorran’s way of honoring his best friend and brother, and for that, I love and respect him beyond comprehension.
“I can’t bring myself to film today,” I tell him, then turn to my right and place my chin on a fist.
He ducks under a car’s hood, and a second later, I hear a muffled swish on the other side. “Don’t you have some promotional stuff you need to advertise?” he asks.
“I do. But I also don’t want to. Not right now, at least.”
He’s moved the phone away from himself as he tinkers with something in the car, which makes it impossible for me to see him. But the sound of his silk-smooth chuckle – yeah, that sure does meet my ears.
“Have you tried listening to music? That always helps you.”
“I don’t want to,” I say, and I know I sound childish, but what is one to do when the brain refuses to do its job? In other words: my brain isn’t braining right now, and that’s mildly, if not wholly annoying.
The swishing stops, just before Dorran reemerges from under the hood and faces the screen again.
“Tell me what’s troubling you.” He runs the back of his wrist under his nose and slams the hood shut, then leans against the car as he lifts a brow at me.
Sunlight hits the back of his head, casting a shadow against his sharp features.
I am so lost in him that it takes me a good thirty seconds to realize that he’s waiting for me to speak.
“Why, and how the fuck do you look like you’ve just stepped out of a Playboy magazine?” I ask absentmindedly.
He glances down at himself, giving me more time to admire him. His curls are damp, and I don’t know if it’s dust or smoke sprinkled over them, but either way, it favors the whole aesthetic he’s got going for him right now.
“I am reeking of sweat and grease,” he tells me, then gives me an incredulous look. “And let me tell you: that is not a nice combo to have on your person.”
“You know I don’t care when it comes to you,” I counter.
“Oh yeah, I do. But I also know that you’re changing the subject, sweetheart.”
I briefly close my eyes as I breathe in, and then out, before opening them back again and looking at Dorran. “You already know what’s troubling me.”
His forehead creases as he assesses me. “But I thought we were past that,” he says with concern.
“I thought so too, but fear and doubt just won’t stop nagging at my conscience.”
His jaw ticks as he nods, more to himself than at me. “You know what my first time going on an official mission was like?” he says, then laughs a little before moving away from the car and settling down on a chair that I know he always keeps close by for holding spare tools and what not.
“I don’t think you’ve ever told me,” I admit, smiling when he laughs again.
“That’s because it was embarrassing as fuck . And since that day, I’ve vowed to never associate myself with that word ever again. It was a once in a lifetime sort of thing.”
I chuckle. “Give me all the details, and don’t you dare leave anything out.
” I know he’s telling me this not only to make me feel at ease but also to center himself, because somewhere in his head, he too is anxious about going on this mission tonight.
Especially without Jayce there to hold us all in place.
“Alright, let me set the scene for you,” Dorran starts, then pushes back on the chair and leans against it.
“I was seventeen. Not even legal enough to drink, let alone kill an actual human. Solo had accompanied Jayce and I to this weird warehouse-like place where the target was. And Cigs, that guy was insane . He’d kill people, cut off their pointer fingers, and store them in jars filled to the brim with UW solution.
That warehouse was a storage room full of them.
Turns out, he was an accountant by day and digit-collector by night. ”
“You really thought you were smart by using the term “digit” in there, didn’t you? Since he was an accountant.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Shut your face. So…” he continues.
“We walked into the warehouse – all Avengers style – and told him he was about to meet his end and shit. Well, Solo is the one who did the talking, not Jayce and I. The guy tried to run, of course, and in his defense, he started dropping those jars in our way to slow us down enough to escape. Now, most jars broke upon facing impact against the concrete floor, but one – oh, that one jar – it kept rolling, and roll it did until it met my boot. And when it broke, it signaled my fall. I tripped over that motherfucker, landing beautifully over a bed of soaked, pickled fingers. I even kissed one when my face landed on top of it. It was a whole thing on its own. But killing that asshole was just… Woof , it was euphoric.” He swallows, then speaks the next words so softly that I barely catch them.
“I miss that feeling.” He smiles and shakes his head. “You can go ahead and laugh now.”
I shift in bed and tuck my fist further under my chin. “It was your first time going on a kill, Dor – at such a young age. Give yourself some grace.”
“I didn’t tell you that story to earn your sympathy,” he muses.
“I know. What I mean is: your story is inspiring rather than funny. It shows how far you’ve come since that day.
Besides, this incident of yours doesn’t even come close to the time my mom insulted the dignity out of me after I got drunk at a club gathering with all her peers and sang random pop songs at the top of my lungs.
Thank God for Mave, because he dragged me out of there before I could vandalize the place to shit. ”
Dorran’s expression darkens. “Fuck Miranda. I hope her bones are in a disarray in her grave.”
I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure they are.”
He sighs as he shifts in the chair. “Man, I miss Maverick. That guy will eternally have my respect for looking after you the way he did.”
My eyes sting, and my throat tightens as I sniff against the burning in my nose. “He should be here with us right now. Jayce, too.”
Dorran swallows, and his expression turns distant as he looks sideways. “Yeah.”
Silence takes over – a heavy yet breathable one.
We’ve had several moments like this before, Dorran and I. I don’t know what it is that he thinks about in the comfort of this quiet, and I have yet to gather the courage to ask him. Maybe I will someday, once I’m ready to hear all about it.