Once my dad exits with her, I’m left with my siblings. All standing on their chairs. Eyes all on me.
They all know this will end miserably, don’t they? Of course they do, Jane. There is no realm where a bodyguard could be with me.
They believe Thatcher is strictly professional and I have a crush from the fake dating ruse—and soon, we’ll break up.
I’m on a one-way street of love, and I’m afraid to drive down alone. But I must in order to feel something.
Is that it?
I repeat all of this, and they say yes. They can’t know that I’m sleeping with my bodyguard, none would’ve held back from mentioning it. But I suppose it doesn’t change the feelings that I’m fighting.
I wipe my splotchy cheeks. A pain in my heart, my stomach still sinking, and I reach out and clasp my little sister’s hand.
I stand up on my chair next to her. “Whose idea was this tonight?” I ask curiously.
Everyone looks to Eliot.
It worked well.
Because my chest floods, and I hold on to the possibility that I might be hopelessly in…
“It’s alright, Jane Eleanor.” Tom tilts his head and gives the room a sweep with his gaze. “Thatcher wouldn’t fit in here anyway.”
All of my siblings nod in concrete agreement.
I feel like I can’t even give Thatcher the chance to try.
44
THATCHER MORETTI
I’m at one of the most elaborate, private Halloween parties I’ve ever seen. Mostly, it’s a challenge for the team.
Fog rolls along a dark, sprawling farm. Three-hundred pre-vetted guests in costumes run around screaming and shrieking. A massive graveyard sits on a steep, muddy hill. Where a DJ plays remixes of classic Halloween songs, adding to the cacophony.
The real threat so far tonight is a heeled leather boot.
“I doubt it’s broken,” Jane winces, eyes on her foot. If I could, I’d take a fucking bat to every smoke machine here. She didn’t even stumble. The heel of her boot just sunk into wet mud that neither of us could see.
She’s seated on a hay bale around the carnival games. In my peripheral, a cluster of costumed fairies bob for apples and ogle us, interested in my relationship with Jane.
I’m squatting and cupping her ankle in my large hand. With my right, I quickly but carefully unlace her leather boot. “Could be a sprain,” I say.
Farrow hasn’t checked it yet, but I’ve already radioed him. He’s grabbing ice with Maximoff before they return to this side of the farm.
“That’s most likely.” She holds on to her witch hat that tries to take flight in a gust of wind.
Our gazes brushing as I look up, constantly checking on Jane. Green paint coats her face, hiding her freckles, but she’s flat-out the cutest witch I’ve ever seen.
After Jane, Sulli, and Luna posted a picture from their facemask night on Instagram, fans started affectionately referring to them as the Witches of Philadelphia , and they embraced the name for Hallow Friends Eve.
All three are witches. Green faces, black dresses, black hat, and black leather fucking boots. Which I’m still unlacing.
Jane watches, and I notice how her eyes skim the whistle around my neck and my red trunks. An October chill tries to nip my bare chest. I gave Banks my windbreaker since he forgot to bring his, and I can withstand the cold.
To boost morale, the Tri-Force let the whole team decide on a group costume. We’re lifeguards, but I didn’t really care what was chosen.
Other actual concerns bear on my chest. Like how this is my last public outing with Jane as boyfriend and girlfriend.
The end. We’ve reached it. And I hate it.
Jane keeps two hands on her hat. Still eyeing my costume, she says in thought, “I realize we weren’t ever given the chance to wear couple costumes, so at the time, I hadn’t considered what you and I would be.” She pauses. “But now I think I know what I would’ve loved…”
Our gazes latch for a strong beat.
Very softly, she says, “You would’ve been my Tarzan, and I would’ve been your Jane.”
It slams into me. The would’ve been . And the feeling that she might be open to more. Is that my role in her fucking life—I just prepared her heart for some other man?
I nod a few times. A pit in my ribs. “I wanted that too.”
“Bien,” she says, wiping the crease of her eye.
It’s killing me. “Jane,” I say deeply.
“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me.”
Not possible. “I’m your bodyguard, honey.” I gently pull off her boot, and I see heartache filling her eyes. She clutches my muscular shoulder for support.
“I’m not trying to make this harder for you,” she whispers, wide-eyed. “It’s not my intention. I know there’s no way we can have everything, and I don’t want to be unfair to you.”
I clutch her green-painted cheek. “You’re not, Jane.” I suddenly sense movement coming in on my three o’clock, and I drop my hand off her face.
My expression hardens as I watch actors in masks wield chainsaws and chase two zombie girls in our direction.
My head is so wrapped up in my emotions, I need to keep checking myself.
Get your mind right.
Protect her. Protect her—that’s my sole duty.
The girls shriek bloody murder, running towards us, and I shoot a death glare at one of the actors who hawk-eyes Jane.
No.
If he comes over here and tries to wave a weapon at her—unchained or not—he’s on the ground. It’s too easy for a masked actor to harass a famous one under the guise of Halloween. A clown has been trying to “poke” Luna all night, and we posted most of the extra security on her detail with Quinn.
Security Rules: SFO aren’t supposed to work events like tonight’s. It’s been a stipulation in the past, after Omega gained fame. Farrow and I are even higher on that fucking shit list for being more publicly recognizable now. But we need more eyes tonight, so the Tri-Force allowed us to go on-duty. We just had to bring twice as many temp guards along.
If I weren’t the one protecting Jane here, I’d be going out of my fucking mind.
The actor sees me and lifts up his growling chainsaw, high-tailing his ass toward the crate of floating apples. He scares off the cluster of fairies.
Focusing back on her ankle, I gently slip off her untied boot. Her ankle is swollen. I study the wince in her bunched brows. Her jaw sets like she bites down pain.
I just want to comfort her in any way I can. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.” The words come out, and my chest knots. Whatever hard call I make soon, I feel like I’m hurting Jane. She loses a bodyguard or she loses a boyfriend.
I can’t be both to her anymore, and even now, it’s only halfway. Rules and red tape and 3 a.m. closing hours.
“You’re not,” she says quickly, exactly what I just said to her. You’re not being unfair to me, Jane. You’re not hurting me, Thatcher.
But this is unfair to us and it is hurting us, and I rake a hand through my hair. “If you can’t walk, I’m going to carry you.” I peel a flyaway, frizzed strand of hair off her lips.
She smiles, but it fades in a thought. “Are you allowed to carry me? Didn’t security tell you that we’re supposed to appear distant for the breakup?”
Alpha and Epsilon gave me clear instructions:
Don’t be too physical with her.
No kissing.
Treat her more like she’s just a client.
In this situation, I’d carry my client, but also, fuck them for these fucking orders. It’s unnecessary. “Yeah, I’m allowed—”
“Janie!” Maximoff calls from the distance, jogging over like she’s in mortal danger. He’s dressed as Captain America. Farrow smiles over at his fiancé, more at ease but keeping pace. I notice a baggie of ice in his hand, trauma bag strapped across his chest.
Farrow could’ve been a lifeguard like the rest of the team. But he had a
choice, and he made the right call.
He’s the Winter Soldier, but with his regular dyed, bleach-white hair. SFO has been talking about how Farrow and Maximoff broke the internet when they stepped outside together.
It’s taken a spotlight off the public hating that I didn’t dress up with Jane.
My brother is also in tow. He’s been attached to Maximoff tonight since Farrow has had to make med calls.
Banks stares deeply into me like it’s going to be alright. He’s been giving me that look all day.
I asked him what I should do, and he said, “I’m not the one who makes the calls. You are.” I almost rolled my eyes, but he gave me advice.
He said, “I think she’s afraid, and you’re afraid.”
Yeah. I think he’s right, and this is going to be the hardest trigger I have to pull. In either direction. It’s still tearing me up.
Indecision is hell to me.
“I’m okay,” Jane says to her best friend. Maximoff takes a seat on the hay bale and hugs her shoulders.
I stand up, and Farrow replaces me to check her ankle. He presses around her foot, and I scan the perimeter and her.
Banks is beside me, and comms are active, constant chatter in my ear. I tune in.
“Sulli is going into Hell 2,” Akara says, using the code for one of the haunted houses. He’s required to go into those areas with his client. He’s just updating the team of their location change.
Banks clicks his mic. “With or without the Rooster?” Rooster is code for Will Rochester.
“With,” Akara says heatedly.
Jane was hanging out with Luna and Sulli earlier tonight. Before the ankle injury. So I saw Akara on-duty, and at first, he was trying to do what I would’ve done in his situation.
Do not watch her and him. He can survey Sulli’s surroundings. His eyes don’t have to be on her laughter while a shitbag is flirting with intent to fuck.
But he has a real friendship with Sulli, and they began teasing each other. He stole her witch hat, and she took his whistle. From the outside, it would’ve been hard to decipher who she was actually on a date with: Akara or Will.
It reminds me that if the Alpha and Epsilon lead find out I’ve slept with Jane, they’d start really worrying about other bodyguards on SFO fucking their clients. Especially Akara, who has one of the closest relationships to a client you can have without crossing that line.
“No fractures,” Farrow says, adjusting the ice on her ankle. “Just a sprain. You need to ice for twenty minutes—”
“Ben?!” Maximoff calls, voice firm, and all of our heads swing towards Jane’s youngest brother.
Ben Cobalt is ten meters away and turns to look at Maximoff. He wipes wet hair out of his face, his climate-change-is-real shirt drenched after he just bobbed for apples. Twenty-three of his high school friends surround him, most dressed as baseball players—he got them on the guest list.
He’s allowed to be here, but I already know why Maximoff is concerned.
Xander.
Banks and I share a hard look, and I lift my mic to my mouth. “Thatcher to Tony, what’s your client’s AO?”
Ben jogs over to the hay bale. “Hey, Moffy…Jane?” Concern floods his eyes when he sees his older sister icing her ankle.
“I’m okay,” Jane assures with a soft smile, meeting my gaze for the shortest second.
My muscles tighten.
Maximoff stands up. “Ben, I thought my brother was with you? You said you were looking out for him tonight.”
Ben puts an earnest hand to his chest. “Xander told me he wanted to be alone. He was adamant, and I didn’t want to hassle him—and he seemed okay, like happy. I would’ve called you if I thought he wasn’t.”
Maximoff nods. “I’ll check on my brother. Just have fun.”
Ben clasps his hand, they hug, and then he speaks in French to Jane.
I’m still waiting for Tony to reply to comms. He’s not rogering up. Blood starting to boil, I try again. “What’s your AO, Tony?”
Banks shakes his head, pissed. He scouts our six and whispers, “And Epsilon thinks he’s the Messiah of their force. Yeah right. And I’m the Virgin Mary.”
SFE hates Farrow so much that they’re desperate to tote an Epsilon bodyguard who’s better. But praising Tony is like waving around a gold-foiled candy bar believing it’s solid gold.
I start to think Tony isn’t rogering up because of personal grievances. Fucking shitbag. “If he’s not responding just to fuck with me, I’m going to break his itty-bitty dick in half.”
Banks nods. “Amen.”
Farrow uses comms. “Farrow to security, anyone seen Xander?”
While I listen to comms, I head back to Jane. Seeing that she’s about to rise off the hay, I clasp her hand. Helping her to her feet, and she grips my waist, bracing herself to me.
“Thank you,” she whispers, our eyes meeting more than once.
“Can you put weight on it?” I wrap my arm around her hips.
She tries, and intakes a sharp breath. Negative. Jane looks up at me. “I have a feeling we’re going to need to go on a search for Xander. Maybe I should wait alone and find a crutch so I don’t hold the group back?” She turns her head, noticing Banks grabbing her boot and ice. “Thatcher—”
I already pull her in my arms.
“Oh my God,” she gasps under her breath while I easily cradle her against my chest. Her cheeks flushed, holding on to her black hat. She’s almost panting, and it takes me too long to stop looking at her.
This is where she’s meant to be. In my arms.
In my arms.
But as a bodyguard or a boyfriend? Can’t have both.
I narrow my searing eyes on the perimeter. Doing a quick scan for nearby threats. And for a red Power Ranger. Xander’s costume.
“He’s not answering my calls,” Maximoff says, phone to his ear again.
“We’ll find him,” Jane assures, her arm hooked around my neck. She’s careful not to pull out my earpiece.
Farrow tosses Banks a bandage from the trauma bag, and while I’m cradling Jane, my brother places the ice on her ankle and secures it with the wrap.
Still no word from security.
Maximoff slips his phone in the belt of his Captain America costume. He throws the red and blue shield aside in case he has to run. Ready to be with his brother. We have to find Xander.
I stay rooted to the present moment. To the mission. “Let’s push out,” I say.
“Together,” Jane adds. “I don’t think we should split apart.”
Maximoff nods in agreement, and Farrow clutches the back of his neck in comfort.
As we all head away from the carnival area, concern finally infiltrates me. Don’t think it. But I already am—I’m thinking about how Xander reminds me of the brother I lost.
He always has, and I’ve always tried to let that raw thought go.
But Xander is fifteen now. He’s the same age that Skylar died. And I can’t lose that kid like I lost my brother. He was mine to protect.
They both were.
* * *
We finally get word from temp security. Xander is at the graveyard on the hill. Where the DJ is stationed, and we move out in that direction. To ensure he’s okay.
The farm is massive. Over a hundred acres, and a four-wheeler passes with a giggling group of college-aged kids dressed as ghouls.
We pass the back of Hell 4: a rickety barn transformed into a haunted house, and sitting against the red chipped wood, Charlie Cobalt smokes a blunt and reads a book.
No guests approach him, per the rules of the party: no autographs, no pictures, no hassling the famous ones.
Oscar Oliveira is standing next to him. Scoping the area. So his gaze lands on me first, curly pieces of his hair falling over a rolled bandana. Looking the most Baywatch-ready with aviators on.
“Charlie,” Oscar says, alerting his client.
Charlie sees us, folding his book. He stands up, not bothering
to dust dirt off his three-piece suit, and he joins our group.
Maximoff texted Charlie earlier to see if he wanted to come along and help find Xander. Charlie replied, “You’ll pass me.”
That was it.
And now he’s on the trek with us.
Jane smiles in my arms, seeing her brother and best friend work closer together.
Charlie sucks on a blunt and scrutinizes me holding Jane. Saying nothing about his sister in my arms. He’s been nice towards me specifically. And Banks too.
I didn’t know why until I asked Jane. She said Charlie told her, “Thatcher chose his twin, knowing it’d be harder to be seen as an individual.”
I chose to be around Banks instead of distance myself. We both chose that. A harder path, but the only one we’ve known. And apparently, Charlie values that.
That’s good. Considering Charlie is Jane’s brother. And I don’t know which one of her brothers would be the hardest to gain trust or respect from—she has five.
My jaw tics. Why would I need to gain anything from them? She’ll just be my client soon. I can still feel myself vacillating in two directions—I hate it.
I look down at Jane. She ditched her witch hat, and she rests her temple on my shoulder, comfortable against me.
She needs a bodyguard who she trusts. Stability. It’s vital to Jane, and I can’t abandon her detail.
“Stay frosty,” Banks says as we approach the muddy hill. Orange strobe lights swaying up towards the star-blanketed sky.
I focus. Tuning into my instincts, my senses. I hear yelling and cheering that accompanies competitions. Fervent. Loud.
Aggressive.
And that’s when I see the red Power Ranger, and adrenaline fuels my brain and blood. At the peak of the hill, Xander is in a full-blown fistfight with a white ranger.
No helmets to their costumes. I spot his shaggy brown hair, his gangly body, and pretty boy face: one-hundred percent him. And an audience is howling and goading them to hit harder.
I taught Xander to fight, but not so he could lay punches in at a fucking Halloween party. Guilt barrels into my chest, and Farrow’s jaw muscle twitches. He helped teach Xander to box with me. So did Banks, who inhales a strained breath.
Tangled Like Us Page 39
