Page 65 of Wild Like Us
Careful with a sleeping baby in his arms, Farrow slings a trauma bag over his shoulder, then heads to the motel.
I stare at the door. Worried about her foot, the scorpion sting. Fuck, I forgot the washcloth in thefuckingsink. I didn’t even do what Farrow recommended to help decrease the swelling.
I would’ve remembered.If her cousins hadn’t arrived, I would’ve remembered.
And the longer I stare at the closed door, the more I remember my kiss with Sulli.
How it started with her challenge toprove it, and I wouldn’t trade anything…except maybe the location. Forhersake.
“God, I feel like a real jackass kissing her in a motel,” I mutter out loud. It’s not the same feeling I had when I kissed other girls in a motel. They deserved more too, but I was a broke-as-hell teenager back then. A motel room was thetippy-topof what I could actually give, and so it felt like everything.
Looking back to Thatcher, I go rigid.
His face is contorting in a series of emotions—and finally I see that he lands on utter, suffocatingconcern. For me.
Tendons pull taut in my body. Pain bears on my chest.
“You really like her,” Thatcher repeats what I said earlier, but with more awareness of the true depthof my affection for Sulli. His concern keeps amassing. “Banks—”
“I know.” I’m unblinking now, drilling my gaze into him.Please don’t say it.
“She’s going to choose him.”
“I know,” I whisper back, eyes burning. Throat swelling. “Once Akara comes around, it’s game over for me. But right now, who knows what’s going on in his head?” I lift my shoulders again. “Come what fucking may.”
“Come what fucking may,” Thatcher repeats into a shake of his head. “Your fucking motto works on days you’re shifted between three clients without so much as athank youor a five-minute warning. Come what fucking may isn’t what you’ll be saying when you’re watching her with Akara and having to stand off to the side.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“It’s not going to be fine,” Thatcher whisper-growls now. “You’re setting yourself up for a damn suicide mission. And I’m going to have to pick up the pieces.”
“Then I’ll ask someone else to do that.” I smack the back of my hand against his chest. “Take it off your hands.” I cock my head with a fleeting smile. Trying to add some levity to the quicksand my brother believes I’m stepping in.
I love living life on my toes. So quicksand of any type is a fucking fear—being pulled so deep under that I can’t crawl out and move.
Thatcher has trouble smiling on a normal occasion, so drawing one from him now is next to impossible. He’s keyed to aProtect Banksfunction.
He lets out an angered breath. “Just reconsider where you’re going. It’s not too late to change course. You only kissed once. The deeper you get, the worse it’ll be coming back up for air. I promise you that.” His gaze subtly shifts to Jane.
He’s thinking about her.
But there wasn’t another man waiting in the wings for Jane. His biggest competition washimself. Thatcher Alessio Moretti vs. His Duty.
I’m in a different gladiator match. Unsurprisingly. Thatcher and I take shots at life from different angles, different distances and speeds. Our battles were never gonna be the same.
It’s not too late to change course.
I bob my head a few times. His eyes on my eyes as I tell him, “I’m not going backwards.”
His pained glare hits the night sky.
I’m setting myself up for misery. “I’ll take whatever time I have with her,” I tell him. “Whether it’s a week, two weeks—hell, it could be a year or three. Maybe it’ll be the best three years of my life.”
All I know is that I’d rather crawl hands-and-knees towards a future where Sulli exists than hitreverseand never know what it’s like to be with her.
Either I’m masochistic or an even bigger dumbass, but I’m willing to be both.
“Can you thinklongerabout this?” Thatcher pleads. “Take a day or two.”
