Page 25 of Scooter's Endgame
“It’s just, I got a message from Knight asking me to come in tomorrow, if possible. If you need me, I’m happy to stay though.”
“Goodness, no. It’s your job and you need to go. We’ll be fine.” I’m relieved that the reason he’s changed his mind is because of work.
“All right, well as long as you’re sure you’ll be fine then. But if you need me, I’m just a call or a text away, okay?” I nod. “I mean it. Call me if you need anything. I usually turn my phone off if we’re in meetings or anything like that, but tomorrow I’ll keep it on vibrate.”
“That’s very sweet of you. Thanks.”
“Sleep tight. See you tomorrow.”
He waves, and I watch as he walks toward the main house. He doesn’t get far when he turns around, and I’m mortified he’s caught me watching. He gives me that cheeky grin of his. “Go on in and lock up behind you. I’ll wait.”
“Okay. Good night then.”
Closing the door quietly, I lean back against the wooden panel and let out a deep breath. Effortlessly, and without even being aware he’s doing it, that man makes me hot. I have to bite back a shriek when Luke appears before me. Beckett even makes me forget my poor, sick child.
12
SCOOTER
It feels weird to come home and find a cooked meal ready and waiting for me.
It’s been a long, grueling day that ended far later than I anticipated. I had hoped to make it home in time to check and see how Kathleen and Luke are doing, but it’s late, and I don’t want to disturb them.
I messaged Kathleen this morning to let her know she didn’t need to come in to work today. In a few days’ time, Luke will be able to go back to school as long as Dr. Murray’s happy with his progress, and Luke knows that he’ll have to be careful. In the meantime, he needs her more than I do.
I’m guessing this was what they had for dinner tonight, and she made me a plate. It’s been so long since anyone else cooked for me, and I’m not gonna lie, I like it. I could get used to this.
When I first conceived of the idea to offer Kathleen a job as my housekeeper, it was mostly to help her out of a tight spot, with a healthy dose of selfishly wanting to have her close. Initially, there was no thought of making a play for her. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I like the idea of it.
Tomorrow’s Indigo’s surprise birthday party. And there’s no better time to test the waters.
For now, I have notes and building diagrams from recon missions I need to study. This extraction we’re planning is complicated and will need careful attention to detail. Papers and coffee in hand, I make my way to my home office and lose myself in those details for a few hours.
It’s two in the morning when my eyes are finally too gritty to keep going. But a restlessness unlike any I’ve ever experienced has me on edge, and I’m nowhere near ready to sleep. Done with the groundwork for now, I grab a beer and head outside for some quiet time by the pool.
The tranquility of the gardens and the gently lit pool is soothing. It’s been a favorite spot of mine since I was little. All school breaks and holidays and more weekends than I can count. This house was my home, my safe space, my sanctuary. My grandmother made it that way.
My paternal grandmother was under no illusions when it came to her son. Or his wife, for that matter. I once overheard her tell someone that all children deserve parents, but not all parents deserve children. And that’s how she’d felt about them.
From one day to the next, my parents had no idea where I was, who I was with, or what I was doing. In fact, even if theydidknow, they didn’t care. They were too busy living a carefree, child-free lifestyle to give a rat’s ass about their son.
God, I miss her. Every single day.
I don’t suffer much with insomnia anymore, and certainly not like I used to when I was young. But tonight, it’s made one of its rare appearances. Pink is just a barely-there blush on the horizon when my body surrenders to the siren call for sleep. I make my way back to the house, and my bed, my brain finally emptying itself enough for me to give in to the need.
* * *
A large mugof strong coffee clutched in one hand, I knock on Kathleen’s front door with the other. Relief fills me when she opens up.
“Good morning,” she greets.
“Hi. Kay, I need your help.”
“Okaaay. Sure. What with?”
“I have less than no idea what to get Indigo for her birthday. I mean, what do you buy for a woman who isn’t your significant other?” I ask.
“What do you mean? Haven’t you ever bought a woman a gift before?” Her confused frown is cute and distracts me for a nano-second. But then I remember my dilemma.
