Page 17 of Protecting Mr. Fine

So we would go to New York.

I moved off the bed and tried to get myself under control, tried to keep my hands to myself instead of grabbing him and pulling him back against my body where he fucking belonged.

“Okay,” I forced myself to say.

Zane looked awkward as he stood barefoot on the lush carpet and shifted from foot to foot. For some reason, he looked tiny in his oversized clothes. “Okay?”

I nodded and clenched my jaw. “It’s fine, right? You said it’s fine, so it’ll be fine.”

He frowned. I could tell he wanted to know why I was suddenly agreeing with him instead of arguing with him.

Too bad for him, because I could never tell him that if I stayed inthat room with him for even three more seconds, I would do or say something both of us would regret.

So, instead of staying in that bedroom and playing with fire, I moved past him and opened the door to the main room of the suite.

Landry’s head snapped up from where he’d been reading one of the style magazines from the coffee table. “Zane okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” I growled. “He’s totallyfine. I’m sure he’s waiting for you to get back there and calm him down.”

Landry tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’m not sure he is, but okay. Hey, Ryan? I apologize if I’ve, ah… provoked you at all.”

I scowled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I strode past the supermodel to my bedroom and closed the door behind me, then stepped back to press my ass and shoulders against the cool wooden surface of the door while I focused on not having a stroke.

Breathe in for four… hold it for four… breathe out for four… hold it for four…

Box breathing. Apparently, Navy SEALs used it before missions. It did fuck all for calming me down, though, which left me wondering what the hell the SEALs did when their stupid breathing techniques failed to put them in the right frame of mind for a mission.

“Fuck,” I breathed. “Fucking fuck.”

My sweet principal, the man I loved more than anyone, was scared out of his fucking mind and determined to push through it. And there wasn’t a damned thing I could do except be there for him and help keep him safe.

For the first time, I thought I might understand why the Ventdestinians relied so much on their damn winds “whispering fortune.” The fear I felt for Zane—for his safetyandfor the emotional toll this was taking on him—was so huge I might have actually listened to superstitions if it meant keeping him whole and protecting his heart.

As I lay in bed that night, staring at my darkened ceiling, though, the winds weren’t whispering a goddamn thing. All I knew for sure wasthat Zane wasnotfine…

But that I would make sure he was, as soon as possible.

Even if it fucking killed me.

FIVE

ZANE

Bears in the wild are known to chase off scavengers. Nobody’s getting a free meal on their watch! Bears respect those who work hard for their food, and they’ll send uninvited guests running before sacrificing an ounce of their honey.

—Bear Facts for Insomniacs, Episode 8

“There he is, my sweet punkin.” Gran stood proudly on the front porch of the house she’d lived in for as long as I could remember. Nowadays, it was practically unrecognizable since I’d bought up three vacant lots around it and forced a big renovation on her about five years ago. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the upside-down horseshoe over the front door for luck and to ward off bad spirits.

As I got out of the dark SUV, I tried not to notice the eight other vehicles crowded in Gran’s driveway. I knew from experience she didn’t see any reason to say no when all of our extended family insisted on swinging by “just to say hey” to “good ole Zee.”

“Fucking Christ,” Bear muttered under his breath from where he stood holding the door open for me. He stretched his head from side to side before murmuring into his wireless earbud, “Lou, get Boomer to run those plates.”

I sighed. “White truck with the Jesus stickers is my uncle Bart. Gray Malibu is my second cousin Pearl. Red Trans Am is my cousin JK. I think the yellow Jeep is my high school friend Carrie-Beth. Brown minivan with the Coexist sticker is Aunt Rinny. No clue who drives the motorcycle, but that’s pretty sick.”

“You will not be taking a ride on anyone’s motorcycle,” Bear warned too low for anyone to hear.

I ignored him and trotted up the three steps and into Gran’s arms. “Hey,” I said, inhaling her Jean Naté bath splash and the scent of french toast and syrup. “God, I missed you.”

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