The sky is a deep midnight blue with a spattering of tiny silver stars sprinkled across the endless night. Streetlamps are few and far between on this piece of highway leading back to Las Vegas. The air conditioning whirrs through the car, the white noise lulling me after a perfect day.
My eyelids are heavy. I rest my head against the glass and stifle a yawn.
Fenton reaches over and takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together. It’s the most normal, basic gesture, yet it feels like so much more. “You tired, rudo?”
“Yeah,” I mumble. Despite my exhaustion, I can’t help but grin. “But it was so worth it.”
“Today was great. One of the best days I’ve had in a long time.”
He watches me with a look of contentment, his thumb stroking my knuckles back and forth. My lids grow heavier and I fight not to drift off. I want to enjoy this feeling, this stillness I feel, for as long as I can. It’s a moment that, if I could, I would hit “pause” on and live inside forever.
“When we get back to our suite, I’ll give you a bath,” he whispers, a creaminess to his tone that warms me. “And then we’ll go to bed together. But I do have a meeting early in the morning, so I won’t be there when you awaken. Order some breakfast from room service and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Maybe I’ll just sleep until you get back.”
“In that case, I’ll climb in bed with you and give you a proper good morning.”
I laugh an easy, carefree burst of happiness. “You’ve just struck another deal, Mr. Abbott.”
He draws my knuckles to his lips and places a gentle kiss to each one. He startles when his phone buzzes. He groans, but lifts his hips and digs in his pockets and retrieves it. I don’t miss the shadow that creeps across his face as he looks at the number.
Clearing his throat, he swipes the screen. “Abbott.”
I sit up, now wide awake, and watch him. The easiness of the last few hours has evaporated. His jaw twitches and he stares straight ahead. “All right.” He blanches. “Fuck!”
Placing my hand on his knee, my heart lodges in my throat. I have no idea what’s going on, but I know it isn’t good. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge my touch.
“Do we have any additional information?” He listens intently, gripping the back of the seat in front of him with his free hand. “My God.” His head dips towards the floor for just a fraction of a second as he listens to the voice on the other end.
“This situation is out of control. I don’t give a fuck what has to be done. Even if . . .” He shakes his head, the voice on the other end getting louder. “Throw all the motherfucking money at it you have to in order to get answers, but I want them and I want them fucking yesterday!”
I flinch at the sudden outburst, drawing my hand back slowly. The vein in the side of his neck begins to throb.
I feel sick to my stomach.
“Are you not fucking listening to me, Duke?” He squeezes his temple. He’s trying to stay calm and I wonder if it’s for my benefit because I’ve never seen this side of him before. His next words come out controlled, way too bridled. “I’ve been very clear I want this . . . situation,” he chokes, “Ended. I want answers. I want amounts, locations, deals, and I don’t give a fuck how much it costs me out of pocket, do you hear me?”
He exhales harshly. I, on the other hand, hold my breath. I have no idea what’s happening or what this means, and I feel like a spectator at an event I shouldn’t be at, a witness to a conversation I shouldn’t be hearing. If we were in a room, I’d walk out and give him space. Yet, there’s nowhere for me to go.
Fenton glances at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m aware of the possible outcomes and what the ramifications might be. I don’t care if they’re going to be pissed. Just . . . get it done, Duke. I mean it. Get. It. Fucking. Done.” He ends the call.
Clenching the phone in his hand, he places both hands against his head. He tugs at his hair, muttering something beneath his breath. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“It’s okay. Really. I just hope everything’s okay.”
He huffs, a blend of anger and sadness that chills me. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I say it before I think and realize it’s our ongoing joke.
He rolls his eyes. “Do you think I want to talk about it?”
“Absolutely.”
A small smile touches his lips. “I just . . . I have a situation I’ve been trying to resolve and it just keeps getting more complicated.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I have to,” he gulps. He eyes me before sitting upright. “I’m going to have to cancel our breakfast in bed for the morning. I, um, I’m going to have to make some decisions tomorrow that are going to take some time.”
I consider that giving advice might mean overstepping my bounds, but his willingness to share that with me without prodding makes me think it’s okay.
“My brother used to say to not make decisions based on whatever problem you’re having. You should make choices based on what outcome you want.”
Fenton doesn’t respond, just watches me with a blank look on his face.
“I never understood that,” I continue. “I mean, it makes no sense, right? But my brother is a doctor and he explained it to me this way once: if a patient is bleeding, you can focus on stopping the bleeding or you can focus on saving their life. Maybe stopping the blood is a part of saving their life, but the decision has to be made with the bigger picture in mind.”
“Smart.”
I grin. “It really is. You have to weigh the risks against the rewards of your decisions. And when the balance begins to tip one way or the other, you just have to find the courage to do it.”
He grabs my arm and twists me so that I’m lying across his lap, pulled securely in his arms. He nestles his head into my hair and holds me tight. “You’re a little light in my life, you know that?”
“That’s me. Bringing sunshine everywhere I go.”
He snorts and lets me pull back so I can see his face.
“I’ve not known you for very long, but I know you’ll do what’s best.”
“I don’t normally get too worked up about things. I just pick a direction and charge on. But this one is just such a mess and what I choose to do doesn’t just affect my bottom line. If that were the case, I know what I’d do.”
“Fenton, you already know what to do. Follow your heart.”
“What if that means walking through hell?”
“Then take a fire extinguisher with you.”
He laughs, but it’s weighed down with his troubles. “You and your fire extinguishers.”
The car rolls up to our hotel and it catches me off guard. I hadn’t even realized we were back on the Strip. I uncurl off Fenton’s lap and gather my things from the floorboard. The car door swings open, but Fenton grasps my hand before I can step out. I turn to see him observing me. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to.
“It seems complicated,” I whisper so the valet doesn’t overhear. “But it isn’t. Risk versus reward. And then follow your heart.”