Page 45 of Gambit
“And?” I ask, my voice steady.
“We’ve talked.”
That’s all he gives me.
“Good talk or bad talk?” I venture, my tone light but probing.
“Surprisingly, good,” he admits, his voice carrying the weight of years heavy with secrets and lies.
“So, this is going somewhere positive?”
“Yes,” he says. “Slowly.”
“That’s all I ask.” I cross over to him and reach up to kiss his cheek. “I need to get back, but I’ll check on you two later, okay?”
“Thanks, Eliza,” Felix breathes out, the relief in his voice mingling with hope.
“Thank me by not screwing up,” I tease, keeping the mood light.
“Never,” he replies, a smile tugging at his lips.
“See you later,” I call out as I make my way out of the house, deciding not to mention Chantelle. That’s a conversation for another time.
The air outside is cool, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of rain on concrete. I let out a long breath, watching as it fogs in the chill.
“Everything sorted?” James asks, leaning against the Jeep, his arms folded.
“Getting there. Let’s go home and get back to some sort of normalcy.”
“Get back to?” Oliver asks with a laugh. “You mean get to.”
Giggling, I agree and slide into my car as James gets into the Jeep and Oliver reverse out of my way.
They follow me all the way home, which brings me a sense of comfort as well as peace in my own space.
23
TARQUIN
I siton the edge of the king-sized bed, elbows on my knees, fingers laced together. The room is quiet, just the soft tick of the clock and the distant rumble of the rain outside. I look down at my hands, knuckles rough and scarred, a visual journal of the fights and close calls. My mind wanders back to the nights spent poring over strategies for survival in a world that plays for keeps.
“Another long day.” Eliza’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She leans in the doorway, arms crossed.
“You’re back, and longer than some, because of it,” I reply, forcing a half-smile as I watch her. She moves with a kind of certainty I envy sometimes as she strolls into my room. There’s grace in her steps, even when she’s just crossing the room to where I sit.
“Brought pizza.”
I nod, but I’m not really hungry. I’m too worried about this creature kneeling in front of me as she places her head on my lap with a sigh.
“How did it go?”
“Good. Better than expected.”
“You have low hopes,” I chuckle.
“We’re talking about Damon Hughes,” she replies sardonically. “I had no hopes.”
“I’m glad it went well.”
