Page 12 of The Long Game

“ThisisJack we’re talking about,” Barnaby said dryly.

Right. Fiercely private, tight-lipped Jack. Terrible at telling people what he wanted or needed and even worse at telling themwhy.

Grady flew through a light that could charitably be called yellow—if one controlled the space-time continuum.

“I’m sorry for the panicked texts,” Barnaby said. “Travis is in meetings out of town and I didn’t know what to do. Garrick didn’t seem to, either. I shouldn’t have interrupted your night.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m pulling up out front.”

“You’rewhat?” The last word was a little more than a squeak. “But you—”

“Priorities, B. You can tell me what a shitty date I am as soon as I know Jack is okay.”

Barnaby let out a huff that Grady didn’t know how to interpret. Rather than worry about it, he hung up and tore into the first guest parking spot he found.

Jack’s door opened the instant Grady rang the bell. Garrick was totally unsurprised to see him, slapping his shoulder and gesturing him toward the living room. Grady made himself walk calmly, even though his instinct was to fling himself into the room and demand to know what was wrong.

Jack sat on the couch with Barnaby and looked…fine. Or most people would think so. Hell, most people would be too distracted by that beautiful face to notice if he was a total mess. But Grady could see what most people couldn’t.

Especially when it came to Jack.

He was paler than usual, his thick dark hair disheveled and only getting worse when Jack ran his fingers through it again. He was smiling at something Barnaby said, but the smile didn’t quite reach those gorgeous blue eyes.

At least until he saw Grady. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

Barnaby looked at Jack like he was an idiot—an idiot he loved a lot, but still an idiot.

Grady smiled and studied Jack’s face. He could write entire treatises about Jack’s crow’s feet, the depth and angles for happiness or sorrow or worry or laughter all familiar after years of careful analysis.

Something was definitely wrong, and Grady felt a weird preemptive frustration. Getting the full story out of Jack would be like trying to crack a walnut with his teeth.

He considered trying to play off his sudden appearance, but fuck it. Maybe the first step to cracking that proverbial walnut was to bite down hard.

“I heard something happened at dinner and I came to make sure you’re okay.”

Jack blinked at Grady’s unexpected candor. He didn’t seem to know what to say. He was saved from answering when Garrick came out of the kitchen with a round of beers. He passed out the bottles, then dropped into the chair Grady usually sat in when he and Jack hung out.

Jack took a long sip, his eyes sliding closed, visibly collecting himself. Grady frowned. He could see Jack fortifying his defenses, strengthening his walls.

And it wasn’t that Grady wanted to take those away from Jack. He understood how important they were, even if he wasn’t sure why. Grady just wanted to be let in now and again. He didn’t want Jack to feel more vulnerable, but he also wanted to help.

The question was,how?

2

Jack couldn’t believe Grady had ditched his date.

Of course, Jack felt awful he’d blown everyone’s evening to hell, but the idea of Grady getting up and walking out on his date made Jack feel a lot of things he probably shouldn’t.

He was going to end up in the hottest section of hell one day for being so selfish, but he had to admit, if only to himself, he felt better now that Grady was there. More settled. Not because Grady was a cop or anything like that, but because Grady was…

Well,Grady.

Jack had long ago accepted the whole action-hero thing worked for him—so much so that shit was imprinted at this point. Grady was like an anchor in the storm, and for the first time since he’d humiliated himself in Quigley’s, Jack’s brain stopped racing and he feltpresent.

Of course, the downside to that was he had to acknowledge his friends’ obvious concern.

Grady glanced around the room then sat on the couch, close to Jack.

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