Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SEVEN VIRTUES NORTH CAROLINA
From all of us at StellaNova, we would like to offer our sincerest congratulations to all of the graduates of the class of 2024.
Surprise us. Do great things.
—StellaNova
Present Day
An enormous smile creases my face.
Ethan:
I still can’t believe you managed to graduate from a school called Seven Virtues.
Fallon:
Really? Are we still doing this?
Ethan:
Virtuous is the last thing you are, Fal.
Fallon:
It takes one to know one, E.
Ethan:
Hmm. That it does, witch. :)
Ethan:
What time is graduation tomorrow?
Fallon:
Six.
Ethan:
What are you doing until then?
Fallon:
Working. I picked up a shift at the bar.
Ethan:
Are you kidding?!?!
Ethan:
What happened to celebrating?
Fallon:
I need rent money. My new job doesn’t start for a month.
Ethan:
You should be doing something to celebrate.
Fallon:
I am. Dinner tomorrow.
Ethan:
I meant with friends.
Fallon:
See comment above.
Ethan:
Proud as fuck, Fallon.
Ethan:
Straight out of college and hired to be an associate museum coordinator for Biltmore?
Ethan:
That’s a long way from the girl I rescued from her first hangover at UT.
Fallon:
Stop, E.
Ethan:
Stop what? Reminding you of your first college 9-1-1?
Fallon:
No, the compliments.
Ethan:
Why???
Fallon:
Well, for one, you’re making me blush.
Ethan:
I didn’t think that was possible.
Fallon:
You’ve just never seen it.
Ethan:
Does it cover every inch of you?
Fallon:
Wouldn’t you love to find out?
Yes . The answer leaps to the forefront of my mind. I can’t believe it’s been five years since Fallon and I began talking outside the confines of our defined roles within my family. Yet, we still haven’t crossed that final boundary with each other. I haven’t seen the glory of a blush spread across her perfect skin.
I haven’t touched it.
Kissed her.
That’s going to end soon.
When she texted me a 9-1-1 emergency request for help due to a hangover that turned out to be so much more, I know I shocked both her and my niece when I pounded on their doom door three hours later. Eventually, once I was certain the GHB was out of their system, I fed them my surefire hangover cure of Funions, Gatorade, and Ho Hos. Both women, still trussed up in the clothes they’d worn the night before, were passing a mop bucket between them as they puked something called “Witch’s Brew.”
Appropriate for my witch—my Fallon.
After I got them both moderately sober and left, Fallon texted me her heartfelt thanks on my way back to Kensington.
Fallon:
Don’t know what I would have done without you. I have an exam on Monday.
Ethan:
Take it from someone who knows—avoid the mixed drinks, Fallon.
From then onward, our relationship bloomed. We became friends that have aroused, amused, and irritated the fuck out of each other. Case in point, I scroll back and chuckle over the snap and GIF of the West Wing, where the president is banging his head on the desk.
Fallon:
I’m so close to doing this. Why did I agree to be fixed up?
Ethan:
Ditch him.
I sucked in a breath at the selfie I got at that point of Fallon decked out in an excuse for a dress.
Fallon:
Because I look good, E.
Ethan:
You look better than good, witch.
Fallon:
Sweet talker.
Ethan:
Want me to tell you what I’d do if you were nearby?
Fallon:
That sounds more interesting than hearing about stock futures.
Ethan:
Then ditch the date.
Fallon:
Fine. So bossy.
Ethan:
You have no idea.
Fallon:
You’d better make good on some of these promises.
Fallon:
I need something to fantasize about.
Ethan:
You’re just looking for trouble tonight.
Her response caused my cock to stir.
Fallon:
The trouble I want has been too chicken shit to be with me.
Almost a year old, I wasn’t certain why I saved it—then. Now? I know the answer. Fallon was brave enough to step out on the edge with her emotions. She recognized where we were going.
It’s why I’m camped out in a hotel room a few miles from her apartment, debating how to answer her last text.
Yes, I want to discover everything about her, but is now the right time to smash through the thin wall we’ve kept between us? It’s been on my mind more and more as of late.
A new text comes in.
Fallon:
Anyway, I have to go.
Fallon:
Will you be up later to tell me a “bedtime story”?
She blows me a kiss and sends me an eggplant emoji.
I text her the rolling eyes emoji in return before giving her my response.
Ethan:
You are the antonym of a good girl, Fal.
Fallon:
Do you want me to become one?
Ethan:
I’m not holding my breath.
Fallon:
Good. You know me better than that.
She’s right. I do. Our friendship means so much more. She’s woven herself into my life, and I don’t know what will happen if I take a shot and she bolts.
She’s family, but she’s not.
She’s a friend, but she’s more.
She’s just Fallon. And I’m still me.
But this can’t be put off much longer. When the time is right, I’m willing to take a chance on us if she is.
My thumbs fly.
Ethan:
Try to be good?
Fallon:
I’m always good.
Ethan:
No, you’re exceptional. Never forget that.
Fallon doesn’t reply. Knowing I’ll see her tomorrow—even if she doesn’t—I decide I’d better get on with the work I was contracted to provide.
Booting my computer in my hotel, my fingers dance over the keys as I reread the assignment through my secure email. Still, Fallon lingers in my thoughts even as I prepare to go into deep hunting mode. I forcibly shove her to the back of my mind and concentrate, knowing I was brought into the assignment for a reason.
A painful one that’s going to resurrect secrets and demand further justice for a death of someone lost far too soon.
Even though the citizens of Kensington, Texas believe I repair computers, the United States Navy didn’t stop at that kind of training. It’s a good thing most people can’t tell the difference between a computer repair shop and a server room that lurks just behind it.
When I recall the volume of government officials and private agencies who have come under deep cover to Texas to procure my services, I’m amused. I specialize in cybercrime investigation and too often come across data no one expects me to unearth. Such was the case with the information I found recently, which is how I ended up being contracted by my current employer.
Still, despite the implications that are flying fast and furious through the dark web, I needed to be here to see Fallon graduate. Because somewhere between her first 9-1-1 text and now, I’ve fallen for the little minx.
As I predicted, she never returned to Kensington. But hell, how could she? She was offered her dream job just after spring break. Nor do I blame her; I just want to figure out if it’s possible for us to blend our lives together—if that’s what she wants.
I contemplate the kind of family outrage I’m going to stir up when I finally come clean about her, about the depth of my feelings for Fallon. But what if she doesn’t want to be with you? What if you wasted too much time? Dragging your feet, waiting for her to live her life before you moved in? I slam the door on that idea. I can’t—won’t—let myself think like that.
We’re going to face enough problems as it is.
My heart clenches painfully when I recall how she reacted when I declined her invitation to attend her graduation. Still in my world of denial, I demanded, “What would you have me say, Fallon?”
“That we’re friends? Friends show up when they’re asked,” she retorted.
“ I know we’re friends. You know we’re friends. My family has no clue.” A pin dropping could be heard at a hundred paces with the silence between us after I released that bomb.
She whispered, “Still? I told my mother about you and me a long time ago, Ethan.”
That flabbergasted me. “You did?”
Her next words were like a knife driven through my heart. “ I’m not the one ashamed of our... friendship.”
I heard the hitch in her voice by her choice of word right before she disconnected our call. I let out a blazing “Fuck!” even as I dialed her back.
I was sent directly to voicemail.
It took me two weeks of almost constant persistence to get her to speak to me again—even through text. I finally let out some of what my heart was feeling in voicemail, admitting, “Before you, there wasn’t anyone I wanted to protect, Fal. It’s instinctive. I don’t know what to say where you don’t get hurt.”
She begrudgingly came around. When I finally talked to her again, she texted me something I’ll never forget.
Fallon:
Don’t be ashamed of who I am.
Ethan:
I was trying to protect you. I care too much for you not to try to, Fal.
Fallon:
If I care for someone, I’ll go straight to hell for them. I want them to know they’re in my thoughts on the way down.
Frowning at the computer screen at the information I’ve located, I should be leaping with joy. Instead, a knot of worry has slithered into my stomach. The part of me that knows Fallon is the end of my heart’s journey—despite my underlying worries—is the man sitting in the hotel room, waiting to surprise her at her graduation.
The part of me hunting down the people who ordered the death of an Agency’s relative so they could pull her out of her special identity on the dark web makes me wonder how Fallon’s going to react when I can’t tell her about these assignments. Will she understand? Will she be able to handle the pressure? Will it just be one more burden on top of the twenty-year age difference between us?
Either way, I’ll know when I see her face tomorrow when she realizes Austyn’s husband Mitch isn’t the only man attending her graduation.