Page 60 of Rock Bottom

Church squeezed my shoulder and mouthed, “Are you okay?”

I nodded slowly.

“There’s talk of moving Dante into the bunker,” Bowie said.

I caught Church’s eye and shook my head. It was one thing to be trapped in the middle of nowhere for thirty days. At least Church and I were mostly alone out there and had room to mess around. If they shoved me into some underground safe house, there would be around the clock surveillance. I wouldn’t be able to sneeze without someone showing up to wipe my nose. We’d never get a moment alone together again.

“Is Boone there with you?” Church asked.

“No, and we talked him down. You have Wattson to thank for that. He argued that moving Dante might have an adverse effect on his sobriety. The added stress and all that. So you’re good for now, but if anything else happens…”

“Dante is safe with me,” Church assured Bowie.

“I don’t doubt it, brother,” Bowie said with a small sigh. “And believe it or not, neither does Boone. We know you can do the job you were hired to do. Nobody’s doubting you. It’s just that this might not be a one-man job anymore. If Oscar shows up again, we’ll have to rethink our strategy. We’ll keep digging on our end and hopefully we’ll track him down and it won’t be an issue. You just worry about Dante.”

They finished up their conversation and Church hung up, but I could tell Bowie’s suggestion that I go hide in their bunker bothered him. I imagined he felt like they were disappointed in him, which must’ve been rough. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel bad.

I wrapped an arm around his. “Why don’t we spend the day together?”

He frowned. “We already spend every day together.”

“No, I meant why don’t we do something?”

Church glanced around the kitchen. “I suppose we could watch another movie…”

“Is that what you really want to do?” I squeezed his arm. “Come on, Church. I’m not some fragile princess made of glass. I know you’re the outdoorsy type. Pick something you’ve been wanting to do out here since you arrived, anything. I’ll even roll in the mud with you if that’s what you want.”

He chuckled. “Well, there is a really nice, stocked lake about a quarter mile into the woods, but if you’re not into fishing…”

“I don’t know if I am, but I’d love to try.” I gave his butt a light swat. “Get dressed, baby, and take me fishing!”

Sunlight glittered on the surface of the lake. Wind whispered through the tree branches at our back and birds called to each other from a distance. Standing on the shore, I cast my line into the water and let out a contented sigh. This was heaven.

Dante let out a shriek, followed by a string of curses.

Almost heaven.

I turned my head and frowned at the sight of him stomping around in the shallow water, trying to shake mud from his designer boots. “Dante, stop. You’re scaring the fish.”

“The fish?” he said, indignant. “Something in there tried to bite me!”

“They’re just curious.”

“They’re about to be my dinner.” He shook his fist at the water.

Not if you don’t get out of the bloody water, I thought and got up from my spot to move down the bank a little. Not too far. I still had to stay close to Dante, no matter how loud he was being, in case something happened. I didn’t think Oscar would be so bold as to show up at the cabin while I was right there, but I’d been wrong about him before.

Dante finally stomped back to shore and plopped down to untangle the line. I’d told him a dozen times already not to let it get tangled, but he didn’t listen. My little rockstar was not an outdoorsman by any means.

I stopped. My rockstar? Since when did I think things like that, especially about Dante? I glanced over at where he sat, picking apart the tangled line. My rockstar… Mine. Warmth spread through me at the words. I wanted him to be mine, but this arrangement was only temporary. I had to remember that.

Maybe it was a mistake, getting involved with Dante, but I was glad I had, even if this had to end. I’d never known anyone like him. He wasn’t shy about what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to pursue it with everything he had. Dante wasn’t someone who would ever settle for a half-baked effort. He’d either be the best at everything he attempted or he wouldn’t do it at all. There was a certain beauty to the passionate way he threw himself at tasks, trying to conquer each one as if it were a contest. It made me want to see him succeed, even if the path there got a little muddled.

He saw his addiction as a weakness, and it was, but what he didn’t see was how strong it made him to fight as hard as he did to find himself. Dante deserved the world, and I wanted to be the one to give it to him.

But our lives outside of the cabin were too different. I couldn’t fathom a world in which I gave up working for Boone to be with him. I loved my job. It gave me purpose, which I badly needed when the PTSD symptoms were at their worst. The work gave me something constant to do, a distraction when nothing else worked. I couldn’t walk away from that, even to be with Dante. If I left being a mercenary and bodyguard behind, I wouldn’t be me anymore, and neither of us deserved that.

That was also true of Dante’s passion for music. He thrived on the attention of his fans. Whenever he spoke of tours and concerts, it was with unmatched, excited energy. I couldn’t ask him to give that up, certainly not for me.

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