- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE -
COSTELLO
I stared at the ceiling. I’d been staring long enough to know how many cracks were in it. Three hundred and six, for the record.
It helped to count them. Otherwise my mind would keep wandering back to the phone calls I kept ignoring. My father had reached out to me, as had Thorne. Their text messages told the story of what their voice mails would be.
Thorne: Dad is going to kill you.
Thorne: No joke.
Thorne: Don’t tell me where you are. I’m pretending to look, but if I know for real, he can get it out of me.
Maverick: Call me. Now.
Maverick: How could you betray us? What kind of son are you?
Maverick: The Valentines want to do a handoff. If we arrange it, they won’t turn their rage on us. On you. On your brothers and sisters.
Maverick: If you don’t stop being selfish, people you love will die.
I’d clutched my phone when I’d read that last one and nearly broken it. People I loved would die if I didn’t turn Scotch over? And what about if I did? This whole situation had gone off the rails. I couldn’t figure out how to fix it without someone getting hurt.
If it had been just me Darien wanted, I think I’d have done it—let myself be a casualty of revenge.
But Darien didn’t want me.
My father didn’t want me.
Everyone wanted her.
And I’d never let that happen.
“Costello?” Scotch whispered, inching down the stairs. I was stretched out on the living room couch under a blanket I was positive Margie had crocheted. I sat up as Scotch approached; she had a long gray robe wrapped around herself. She’d have looked better—more comfortable—in rose pink.
The room was illuminated by some plug-in night-lights near the stairs. I’d seen the sort before, but there were tons around this home. It was excessive. But it did let me see her clearly as she walked over the white rug toward me. “Hey,” I whispered.
“Are you comfortable?”
I half smiled. “It’s like you forgot I once slept on a motel floor.”
Her eyes darted to the side, her hands deep in the robe pockets. “I didn’t want you to do that, you know.”
“I know.”
My blunt answer made her stare at me. I could see the shapes of her hands under the cloth—tight fists. “If you knew, then . . .” Shaking herself so that her blonde hair rolled over her forehead, she refocused on me. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Adjusting on the couch, I reached for her. I didn’t give her a choice; my fingers were quick, muscles coiling to guide her onto the couch, onto me. Scotch’s spine nestled on my chest, her scalp under my chin. “Go on, ask.”
“Like it’s that easy when you do things like this,” she mumbled.
“Like what?” I teased.
“Forget it.” Her body shifted, warm ass stroking me. Intentional or not, it had my lower belly tightening in pleasure. “I just wanted to know . . .” Her hesitation was tangible. I was inhaling her scent, dizzy with her heat. I might have answered anything she asked. “What did my uncle say to you?”
My mood cooled. That was what she wanted to know? It didn’t feel like that was what had been on the tip of her tongue. But fine. This was what I was faced with. “He said a few things.”
“Right, and those were?”
I was glad she couldn’t see my face. “It’s best you didn’t know.”
“Costello—”
Catching her chin, I turned her my way, sliding my mouth on hers, trying to suffocate away all my dark thoughts. All my guilt. Scotch was even better than her namesake; she allowed me to quench myself, and she kept refilling herself so I had more to take. There’d be no hangover . . . but I was sure, by the end, there would be regret.
I was already drowning in it.
Her hands caught mine, both of us inhaling as we split apart. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?” she asked.
Tensing, I moved to kiss her again; her muscles fought to insist I not. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re lying.”
Crinkling my nose, I looked away. “Can’t you let me? It would be so much easier for us both.”
“That’s insane. Costello, you’ve told me so much, what could you possibly have to hide from me still?”
“So much,” I laughed bitterly. “There’s not enough time to tell you everything.”
“What?” The pain in her voice drew me back. Her eyes were half-shadowed by her heavy lashes, but that didn’t disguise her distress. “You make it sound like you’re going somewhere.”
It took all I had not to flinch. “Do you know where I’m going?” I moved so that she slid under me, my weight pressing her into the couch. Reaching between us, I cupped the inside of her thigh, and she jerked with a gasp. “Here. I’m going right here. But first I’m going to kiss you. Can you stay quiet enough that your parents don’t hear us?”
“Costello!”
“Shh,” I murmured. “Your dad doesn’t like me. If he sees us like this, he’ll definitely kill me.”
Sandwiched between our bodies, my phone buzzed. Then it buzzed again.
“Who keeps calling you?” Scotch asked.
I pulled my phone out, but I didn’t look at the screen. “Take a guess.”
“Your dad.” Sitting up, she reached for it. I shouldn’t have let her have it, but I did. “The Valentines want to do a handoff,” she said, reading. Then she went stiff. “Is this real? Will your loved ones be in danger because of me?”
The screen lighting up her face gave her a blue sheen. It made her look too much like a corpse. I quickly took my phone back, saying, “Because of Darien, not you.”
She challenged me with a flat stare. Fuck, it broke my heart. “I’m going to fix this. I’ll make everything right.”
The way she said that hit too close to home. I’m used to double-edged promises. Pulling her against me, I coiled the blanket around us both. “We’re doing this together.”
“I know. I just need you to know that I never meant for any of this to go so far.”
“It’s not your fault. None of this is.” Shaking my head, I made her look at me. “If you’re thinking the solution is you should have just died in that champagne room, you’re wrong. And if I get a hint that you’re thinking that again, I’ll . . .”
“What?” she chuckled. “Kill me?”
I pushed the back of my head into the couch cushions, my laugh hollow in my chest. “Something worse.”
“What could be worse than death?”
I had a hundred ideas. I said none of them. “The not knowing will keep you in line.”
“Pff.” Her lips made a funny shape; I bent down to kiss it away. Her eyes remained shut for a heartbeat when I pulled away. She always looked so content like that. I wished I could keep her this way, never worrying—a perfect stasis of happiness.
Snowy wind buffeted the living room window. Scotch’s eyes cracked open, seeing it, seeing me. “I have to go upstairs.”
“Do you?”
Grinning, she tossed the blanket over my head. When I pushed it away she was standing on the bottom step. “You’re the one who said it earlier: my dad will kill you if he catches us sleeping together.”
Propping myself up on the couch arm, I slid the blanket down my bare chest. “Wouldn’t that be a way to go, though?” I was only half joking.
Scotch was glowing in the night-lights. She didn’t move, and I wondered if she sensed I was serious. Her smile was coy; she gave me a light wave, whispering, “Good night, Costello. See you in the morning.”
I wondered how many mornings we’d have together before this was over.