Page 50 of Fool Me Twice

Fix frowned, walking into the meeting room and settling in one of the chairs around it. He was dressed in his usual jeans and boots, a dark blue plaid shirt buttoned over his wide chest. He looked tired.

“Fine. Just thinking about tomorrow’s affirmation,” Hart lied, doing his best to stay alert and focused. Cane had blurred his lines too much already. He couldn’t let that bleed into his work. Or his family. “You?”

“Tired,” Fix said, running a hand over his black and gray beard. “I can’t wait to get home.”

Those words made Hart freeze.

Home.

He’d been so out of it that he hadn’t even registered that Fix hadn’t been home in the last couple of days since Hart had slinked back to the house with his tail between his legs. Hart had booked it out of Cane’s office after being caught by none other than Cyrus with his blood on his lips. He’d made it through that mortifying conversation, repeatedly deflecting all the questions about his safety and keeping it strictly about the case.

Then he’d made excuses about research and work to avoid going back to Cane’s place at all. He hadn’t bothered picking up any of his personal belongings, and it had been mostly radio silence between him and Cane in that time.

It made Hart itch.

Both with the unknown and…irritation.

Why hadn’t Cane checked in? Why wasn’t he hounding him? Dragging him back by his hair. Demanding his attention and time.

All of his senses had refused to leave that office. They’d stayed glued to Cane. He was the only thing Hart could think of as he moved through his days in a haze. So much so that he’d completely missed the absence of one of his brothers.

He wanted to slap himself. It felt unnatural. Fix was a part of him, just like every one of his brothers.

But…Hart hadn’t been himself lately, had he? It felt like he had lost himself somewhere and now he was clawing through the darkness, trying to find his way back. He was spiraling as he lost the handle on his hard-earned control, and he didn’t know how to stop himself before he hit the bottom.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead, trying hard to be present. To be the Hart they knew him to be.

“Eh, it’s just the job.” Fix waved his hand dismissively, agreeable as always. “I did get a call from the team in Kinport.”

“Oh?” Hart’s mind cleared slightly at the information. Kinport’s team was one of the ones he’d reached out to for information about Cane’s case. Nobody else had replied or got in touch with him in any way so far.

“They heard I was gonna be close by, so they wanted to give me something.” He took a thumb drive out of his front shirt pocket and slid it across the table toward Hart. “Said those were all the cases they could dig up that might have even a slight resemblance to the Cane case. They hope some of it helps.”

“Have you looked at it?” Hart asked, picking up the drive and twirling it in his hand.

His heart raced. He’d spent hours digging through Slatehollow’s old cases until the words had blurred in front of his eyes. None of the cases seemed even remotely similar to what was happening to Cane. It was driving him as insane as the man himself.

“Not yet, no,” Fix said. “We can do it now if you want? I’ll stay and help.”

Hart looked him over, the dark circles under his eyes making him look older than he actually was. The drawn expression.

“You should head home,” he said softly.

Fix shook his head automatically. “I promised I’d help you.”

“And you have,” Hart said, waving the thumb drive in the air. “You brought me research. You can go and get some rest.”

“Insert Hart quote about rest being for the weak,” Fix said with a smile.

“I would never say such a thing.” Hart gasped, feeling his own lips pull into a matching smile. He felt marginally more like himself with Fix around. Just slightly more like his skin was actually his. The smile pulled at the cut, dragging him back down. He shook it off. “There is virtue in work and there is virtue in rest.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Fix laughed. “But I really am fine. I’d just be pacing the house if I went back.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Hart said dubiously.

Fix scooted his chair out from under the desk and walked it closer to Hart without standing up. He settled in next to Hart, close enough that Hart could smell him. The pine scent of his beard products, the fresh smell of his bodywash, and then something that sent Hart on that same downward spiral he’d been trying to dig himself out of for days.

The smell of cigarette smoke.

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