Page 41 of Jump

I catalog her fuzzy sock collection in silence—and not once, in all the weeks we’ve lived together, has she repeated a pair.

“So, you ignore each other?” he demands. “She’s basically living alone?”

“No.” We argue sometimes. “We treat each other with respect.” And since I’m done with this conversation, I slide into my truck and set my thermos in the cup holder. “It’s a peaceful home, kid. I actually like this new arrangement, so calm the fuck down and stop stretching your neck out, trying to get the gossip. Things are good.”

“No breakfast?”

I slam the door shut and wind my window down with a chuckle. “No breakfast.”

“Thanksgiving, then.”

I stick my key into the ignition barrel and switch the engine on so the heater can start up. But I look to Axel and firm my lips. “What?”

“Thanksgiving is coming up, the week after next. We’re hosting it at the new house so Hannah can use her own kitchen. Nic and Preston are coming. Some of the other guys from Checkmate will swing by.” He sets his hand on the frame of my door, like that can stop me from driving away. “You’re formally invited. As is Viv. I want you to come and actually be a nice human. Stop scowling at anyone who looks at you sideways.”

Nope. No. No thanks! “I don’t think I can—”

“It wasn’t a question, Lieutenant. It was a fucking order. Hannah has all the food planned already, but feel free to bring fancy bread or a bottle of wine or some shit. Dinner’s at seven, and you’ll be expected to stay until dessert is done.” Taking a step back, he taps the roof of my truck and pins me with a look. “Understood?”

“I don’t get why you’re so intent on socializing me, like I’m some fucking wild dog with no manners.” I turn the heater dial all the way up, now that it’s blowing warm air, to get it moving through the whole cab of my truck. “I’m not a project for you to work on.”

“No. But you’re my friend, and it would make me feel a whole lot better about your mental state if you came out of your cave every once in a while.”

“So inviting me to dinner is about you and your feelings?” I balk, though I already know I’m going to that damn dinner. Especially if Vivian is going too. I can be her ride. She can drink and have fun with her friends, and I’ll make sure she gets home safe again. “You sound awfully selfish, kid. It looks ugly on you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says instead. Taking a step back and digging his hands deeper in his pockets, he arches his neck to burrow deeper into his jacket. “I’ll drop around sometime. And I’ll set a place for you at our Thanksgiving table.”

“Mmhm.” I shake my head and set my foot on the clutch, and with nothing more than a two-finger salute to my subordinate who lacks all respect for his higher-ranking colleagues, I push the truck into drive and amble away from the station.

I wouldn’t mind a piping hot stack of pancakes, really. A half dozen strips of bacon. I could do with a meal inside the warm diner, while the rest of the world happens around me.

But I’d rather go home and see Vivian.

I pull around the corner at the end of the block and start toward our apartment, and just a few minutes after leaving the firehouse, I come to a stop in front of our building and cut the engine.

The perk of living in a small town is that everywhere is a quick journey away.

Grabbing my keys and thermos, I swing out of the truck and scoop up my bag as I move. I head toward the front entry, up the stairs, through the front door, and dropping my bag to the floor just three feet inside the apartment, I know without looking further that no one is here.

The heat is on, like she knew I’d be home and was kind enough to keep the place warm for my return. But she’s not here. The television is off, and the coffee machine sits stagnant on the counter, so the only sound I hear is the fridge rumbling in the corner.

The shower is off. There are no footsteps on hardwood floors. There’s just me, and the pulse of panic in my blood as I wonder if she even made it home alive.

But a second scan of the room has me stopping on the two-book stack on the counter.

Curious, I wander forward, and find mine sitting on top. My brows furrow in question, and with just a single pointer finger, I open the front cover and find a post-it sitting inside.

My stomach jumps in anticipation. Her handwriting, elegant in the way she joins each letter in cursive, and my name.

Matt,

The freakin’ president did it! I stayed up until two reading this damn book. I planned to stop at eleven and get a solid eight hours of sleep, but then Agent Michaels discovered the deleted blueprints and blew my plan right out of the water.

I’m only a little mad about it.

Now I’m probably gonna go back to the first book of this series and meet everyone properly.

Consider me a new fan.

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