Chapter 8 #3
Cricket sets her mug down with the air of a judge reaching a verdict. “Okay. Then let us be the judge on if she stays. Bring her to the wedding Friday.”
“Hell no. Not a chance.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s way too new, Cricket. A wedding? You only bring someone to a wedding when you’re serious. I’ve known her—”
“Callen.” Cricket cuts me off, gentle for once.
“Quit overthinking it. Lance and I already are what we are. The ceremony’s just theatrics, family stuff.
I won’t throw the bouquet at your date.” Then the mischief comes back.
“And if the ceremony’s too much, bring her to Martinis after.
Drinks. Low stakes. Eden and I will meet her properly, and give you our read. ”
“Yeah,” Eden says, nodding eagerly. “I like all of this. Please, Callen? Let us help you find love again.”
“Why?” I groan.
“So I can put it on my résumé, obviously,” Eden teases.
“You know,” Cricket thinks out loud, “I’ve never once written a résumé.”
“Of course not. It’d be less than half a page: Assassin,” I point out. “And underneath in a bullet point: struggles with boundaries.”
Cricket looks at Eden, then me. “I’m struggling to find the insult in that. And anyway, I’m the bride, you have to do what I say. Do it. Invite her.”
“There’s no way you two will let this go, is there?” I grumble.
They nod in perfect unison, a wall of enthusiasm I have no defense against. It’s my fault. I did it to myself by bringing Sylvie up. Maybe on some level I did it on purpose.
“Text her,” Cricket urges. “Right now.”
“You know we can’t text down here.” I gesture at the ceiling, the thirty feet of signal-killing earth above us.
“Then go take lunch.”
“I’m eating lunch.” I point to the picnic on my desk.
“All carbs,” Cricket reproves. She stands, maneuvers around my desk, grabs my shoulder, physically levers half of my body up out of my own chair, and thrusts an arm toward the door like she’s directing traffic.
“Go get a salad and some sunshine. And then text her. Better yet? Call. That’s my wedding present. ”
“You said no presents.”
“I changed my mind. Presents are required and your date is the only thing on the registry.” She points harder at the door. “Go, go, go.”
“Eden.” I look to her, my last hope. “Little help?”
“Oh, no. I fully support this. The muffins will keep. Off you go.” Her smile goes soft and real for a second. “We want to see you happy. That’s all.”
I rise the rest of the way, keeping my muffin in hand, and head for the door. Stopping at the frame, I turn back around.
“You know, you’re genuinely much better friends than the guys. Those animals roast me every chance they get about my love life.”
Cricket sucks her lips in, fighting a straight face, and loses. “Oh, yes. So cruel, the boys. And I have never once participated in that.” She blinks, innocent. “Not even that one time last year when you accidentally bought a glass of champagne for the drag queen who—”
I whip around to stare at Eden. “You told her that?”
Eden’s face vanishes into both hands.
“I told you to keep that confidential, Eden.”
Cricket is folding in half. She’s wheezing.
“Nothing happened,” I declare, to the room, to my own dignity, even though Eden was there when it happened. “I just—I didn’t clock the situation until after I’d already ordered the drinks—”
Cricket can’t breathe. Eden, face still entombed, manages: “She was beautiful, Callen. No immediate tells. Honestly, you couldn’t have known.” But her shoulders are shaking, and the betrayal is complete.
“I take it back.” I point at both of them, backing toward the hall. “You’re worse. You’re so much worse than the guys.”
“Callen,” Cricket gasps, reaching for me. “Aw, come on.”
But she’s still heaving, and I’m already out the door and down the corridor, and the thing is, a little embarrassment aside, I’m smiling.
This is exactly how little sisters would treat a big brother.
The teasing that only lands because there’s love packed under it.
The vetting that’s really just we want to see you happy, we want to make sure you’re safe.
When I started working with PALADIN I was sure I’d always be the outsider, the FBI plant, the desk rider who’d never belong to whatever this strange lethal family is.
Now I’m walking down a hallway with a muffin, grinning like a buffoon, because two women I’d take a bullet for just bullied me toward something good.
This is what family feels like. I’d forgotten.
Maybe I’d forced myself to forget because after losing one family, I didn’t feel worthy of another. I buried the need when we buried my SEAL brothers.
I pull out my phone as I walk toward the elevator, thumbing a text that won’t go through until I break the surface and the signal finds me again. I look at it a long moment before I hit send because Cricket’s right and I’m tired of being a coward about the small things too.
Would you like to go on a real date? Meet some of my friends Friday night? We have a family thing. I’d like to bring you.
I push the text through. Watch it hang there, pending, waiting for the sky.
Then, I step into the elevator and start to rise.