Page 8 of Love in Training
Randall Jones suggested I email you directly. I have a story you might be interested in—information you have not yet covered related to the Unmatched app. Please reply to this message, or you can call or text: 303-555-4462.
Mrs. R.
I close my laptop and wander to the fridge for a bottle of water, scrolling through my phone for music to break up the thoughts in my head. If there’s anything worse than reading your own hate mail, it has to be also sifting through everyone else’s. I was not, however, expecting to find an actual lead.
I want the raise my boss offered today.Needit, if I’m honest—my credit card balance has crept into the lie-awake-at-night range. But I’ll have to find something else to write about. I don’tknow where Randall dug up “Mrs. R.,” but I’d still rather lose sleep worrying about money than ever write another word about Unmatched.
Before I can turn on my favorite guilty pleasure Broadway score, the theme fromScooby Doocuts through the air, and my brother’s face fills my screen. I let out a resigned sigh.
“Shouldn’t you be out causing trouble?” I ask. “Thought you were deploying soon.”
“Yeah, soon,” Theo confirms. “Just trying to tie up some loose ends.”
Something in his voice sounds off. He hasn’t mentioned being sick recently, but I find myself scanning his handsome face, looking for signs he’s been under the weather. Nothing stands out. His eyes are clear; his skin flawless, as always. There’s stubble across his square jaw, but his head is shaved so close he might as well be bald. Otherwise, he’d have a full head of thick, curly hair like mine. In the looks department, we’re a fifty-fifty mix of our Italian mother and Black dad. I guess despite all his faults, no one can dispute that Anthony Phipps was attractive.
“What loose ends? You literally don’t even own a houseplant.”
Theo’s a Navy SEAL and has been for the last eight years. It had been his goal since we were at least ten, but I didn’t really understand the phrase “living the dream” until I attended his graduation ceremony. After I watched him receive his trident with the rest of his class, it was clear he lived and breathed for those guys, and they felt the same way about him.
I thought I’d had something like that too.
“Actually, I’m going to drop in on you one last time before I head out.”
“Theo. I have managed to maintain my existence the last six months, even with you back in Virginia.”
“I know. I’ve been monitoring your front door footage.”
I huff and wrinkle my nose. “You won’t be able to do that from wherever it is you’re going this time.”
“True. Which is why I’m bringing you something before I leave.”
“Oh no. You’ve done more than enough in the way of gifts. I already have pepper spray, a Taser, and a personal safety alarm—which, by the way, went off by accident in the grocery store last week. I couldn’t figure out how to shut it off for like two minutes.”
Theo bites his lip in amusement. Since we were old enough to walk, he’s swung back and forth between serving as my protector and enjoying my torment. “Just looking out for my little sister.”
“I am still, and always will be, three minutes older than you.”
His joking tone fades abruptly. “Anyway, I might need you to come get me at the airport Friday... with a car.”
I furrow my brow, setting my water aside. “I might be able to borrow Lydia’s. Why?”
He grunts. “I really think you should have one of your own...”
“Maybe when they start giving them out for free. My Vespa gets me anywhere I can’t ride my bike. Or I take the light rail.”
He frowns. This is an old argument. “Whatever. Sure, borrow Lydia’s.”
My mood—and the appeal of his visit—is dropping by the moment. I glance at my calendar, remembering the stupid pet expo Randall’s making me cover. “Actually, I’ll be busy that day. Call Mom or get an Uber.”
“Reece. Can you just not make everything an argument for once?”
I set the phone against my fruit bowl and fold my arms. “Okay. I won’t argue. If you tell me why I need to phone in afavor with my best friend just to give my grown-ass special ops-trained little brother a ride home from the airport.”
He looks up at the ceiling. “It’ll be much easier to explain once I get there.”
“Great. Then get yourself to my apartment and explain it to me then.” I reach forward to end the call, no longer in the mood for Theo’s games.
“Wait,” he says. And the ragged edge of his tone, paired with the haunted look on his face, keeps me from hanging up.
