Mr. & Mrs. (The Mister Series Book 6)

by JA Huss

She smiles and squeezes my hand. “I know he’s fine. But he’s a little boy. We can’t let him keep doing this.”

  “I know,” I say, pulling on my shorts and reaching for a t-shirt. “I get it.”

  Tori sighs. “I know he thinks he’s big, but he’s not, West. He needs to learn how to be a kid.”

  “I get it,” I say, deciding to go barefoot. This island is filled with sand. Probably gets filled on some kind of regular basis. Because all the pathways are white, and soft, and feel very fucking good on bare feet.

  I stumble out of the cabaña and look around. It’s dark. I didn’t catch the time, and I’m not wearing my watch, but I grew up on the ocean. And one look at the stars—one look at the Pleiades high in the southern sky—tells me it’s about one AM.

  I’m always the one who goes looking for Ethan at home too. I tell Tori he only goes to the porch, and most of the time he is on the porch, but I found him at City Park once. And sitting outside Shrike Bikes a second time. Both of which are about half a mile from our house.

  I would’ve called the police both times, but then they’d start asking questions and… yeah. We don’t need that.

  Besides, I think I get Ethan in a way that Tori doesn’t. A way that most people won’t.

  So I wander down towards the closest beach first, because if I was eight again, and I was on this island, that’s exactly where I’d be.

  I hear a weird humming sound before I get there and once I push past the final few palm fronds and the sea comes into view, I understand what it is.

  Mr. Mysterious, lying down on the sand, staring up at the stars, singing some kind of army marching song under his breath.

  “Hey,” I say, walking over to him. “What’s up?” I sink down into the sand next to him and he turns his head. Fuck, he smells like a goddamned bar.

  “Drunk,” he says.

  “I can see that. Why are you out here on the beach?”

  “I dunno,” he slurs.

  “Hmmm.” I stare at him for a second. I don’t think I know Paxton Vance all that well, but I don’t think anyone really knows him. So I don’t mind that too much. He’s a friend. For sure. He saved my ass—and Tori’s—couple times at least. So even though he’s mostly an insufferable jerk, he’s the kind of insufferable jerk you can’t help but like.

  “We’re gettin’ married,” he says, after a long silence.

  “Yup. You worried about that?” I ask.

  “Are you?” he asks, turning his head towards me. But his eyes are closed. He’s too fucked up to even see me shrug.

  “Not really,” I say. The seconds tick off and it’s pretty clear he’s not gonna offer up anything else. So I say, “But it’s weird, right?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbles. “She’s probably gonna hate me in like… six months.”

  “What?” I laugh. “Cindy Shrike? Dude, if ever there was a girl who could rein you in, it’s her.”

  “I donwannabereinedin…” It comes out like one long, drunk word. And then he sings, just a little bit louder, “‘I wanna be an Airborne Ranger. Live me a life of blood and danger…’”

  “Ah,” I say, leaning back in the sand to rest on my elbows. It makes sense now. He’s Mr. fucking Mysterious. And he’s about to get married. Which probably makes him think all that exciting shit he’s been doing for the past—well, his whole life, I guess—is now over.

  I don’t really know what to tell him. Because you can’t play that game forever. Not if you want a love life. I know that better than most. Hell, I might just be plain old Mr. Corporate, but my childhood was about as mysterious as it gets.

  Which reminds me of why I’m here. “You seen my kid anywhere?”

  He points to the ocean. “There,” he says.

  I squint my eyes and focus on where he’s pointing.

  “I’m making sure he don’t drown.” Pax sighs. “Just being a good friend.”

  Which makes me laugh. Like a real, honest-to-goodness laugh. “I don’t know if you’re really qualified to play lifeguard. But what the fuck is he doing?”

  Ethan is nothing but a black silhouette against a gray night sky lit up by a rising moon. He’s standing on a rock, waves crashing all around him, one arm drawn back.

  “Spearfishing,” Pax says, opening his eyes to look at me. Like that explains everything. “He came up. Asked me if I had a knife.”

  “Why?”

  “To make a fucking spear,” Pax growls. “So I gave him my knife.”

  “OK,” I say, like this is all just normal shit for a Mister kid. Because it is. Ethan’s got some kind of story to tell, I’m just not sure he’s ever gonna tell it. “I guess I better go get him.”

  “Prolly,” Pax says, eyes closed again. “I can’t watch everybody, Weston Conrad. I can’t. Not if I wanna be happy.”

  And that explains everything too.

  So I say, “You’ve been relived of duty, soldier.” And then I slap him on the stomach, which makes him groan and push me away. I stand up so I can look down at him. “Find another army to work for. This one doesn’t need you anymore.”

  I walk out to the beach, swim over to the rock outcropping Ethan is standing on, and pull myself up, dripping wet.

  It feels like coming home for some reason.

  “Hey,” Ethan says, just before he throws his spear.

  “Hey,” I say, watching it hit the target below the surface of the water.

  Ethan jumps into the ocean. Fearless. Determined. He grabs his spear, and then hoists himself, and his catch, back up onto the rocks. He slides the fish off the end of the stick and it plops down into his pile.

  He’s got… one, two, three, four… ten. Ten fucking fish on this pile of rocks.

  “Looks like you’ve caught your quota,” I say.

  He stares at me for a second, squinting in the bright moonlight, then looks at his catch and seems to do a mental calculation. “Do you think it’s enough?”

  “For what?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “Breakfast,” he says. Like this is obvious.

  “I’m pretty sure Five and Rory have enough food for everyone. We don’t need to provide it.”

  “I know,” Ethan says. And for an eight-year-old, he sure does come across like he’s walked this earth forever.

  “So we’re good?” I ask. “We can go to bed now?”

  He stares up at me like he really wants to say no. But then he looks out at the beach where Pax is still singing his Airborne Ranger song and says, “OK. But we can come back tomorrow, right?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Sure. I’ll bring you back tomorrow to fish.”

  Ethan nods at me and then produces a fishing line, hooks all his fish onto it, and hoists it over his shoulder. “Cool,” he says, jumping back into the water.

  We swim back, drag ourselves out of the ocean, and head towards the bungalows.

  “How old were you?” he asks.

  “When?” I ask.

  “When you had to fish for a living.”

  “Older than you,” I say. Which is a lie. I was his age exactly. But I don’t want him to know too much about who I was back then.

  “How much older?” Ethan persists.

  “A few years.”

  “And that’s when you found that gold?”

  Shit. “Where’d you hear about that?”

  “I heard Oliver talking to Katja a while back.”

  I search my memory for when he’d have that opportunity and come up blank.

  “I snuck out,” Ethan says, like he’s reading my mind. “And I was over at Oliver’s house.”

  Oliver lives down the street from Shrike Bikes. And suddenly I realize, I have no idea what my son does at night. “Did they know you were there?” I ask.

  “Nope,” he says through a smile. “I’m sneaky when I wanna be.”

  “Very.” I laugh. “But it’s late, Ethan. And I need to think about this for a little bit before we talk anymore. So do you think—for your mother’s sake—you can stop being sn
eaky until we have that talk?”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Because she’s worried about you.”

  He stops walking. Which makes me stop walking. And he says, “Are you worried about me?”

  My entire childhood flashes before my eyes as I think about his question. All the things I did. The people I was around. The danger, and the excitement, and the mystery.

  And I decide… “No. No, I’m not that worried, Ethan.”

  “Good,” he says, starting to walk again. “Because I can take care of myself. I like you guys, so I stick around. But I don’t need you guys.”

  I watch him go. Just stand there on the path and watch him go. He disappears through the jungle of palm trees and tropical ferns.

  “Yeah,” Pax says, stumbling up to me. “He’s here because he wants to be. And there’s nothing you can do to change that, West.” And then it’s his turn to slap me in the gut. “Because that kid is just like us. We were born this way. This is just who we are. And putting him in a pretty house, on a peaceful street, and giving him parents can’t change that.”

  I watch him disappear through the trees too. Wondering if there’s any hope for us at all. Have we been through too much? Did we fuck it all up years ago and there’s no going back?

  I mean, look at us. Even perfect Mr. Perfect is struggling with normal life. Nolan is in way over his head with that baby girl, everyone can see it. I’ve adopted a kid who’s lived through something big, and he’s never gonna forget it. Mysterious is already missing his old life and the new one hasn’t even started. And Match… Match is trying to pretend nothing’s happening. Nothing to see here. Everything’s great.

  But it’s all an illusion, isn’t it?

  Just one. Big. Fat. Lie.

  Chapter Eleven - PAX

  I don’t know how long I wandered the jungle after I left West and the kid, but I do know I passed out. And when I finally open my eyes again and figure out I’m on the beach again, I start humming I Wanna Be an Airborne Ranger.

  “‘Live me a life of blood and danger.’”

  I turn my head and realize Cindy is next to me. The sand is cold, so I absently wonder if she’s cold. “Hey,” I say. My voice is all raspy and my head is still kinda spinning.

  “‘I wanna be a scuba diver,’” she sings. Softly. Not the way it’s supposed to be—all loud and chanty for marching.

  “‘Jump right in that muddy water,’” I say.

  “‘Scuba diver,’” she whispers, placing her head on my chest. Like she wants to make sure I’m still here. That my heart is still beating.

  “‘Muddy water,’” I reply.

  “‘I wanna be a paramedic,’” she continues.

  “‘Shoot some blissful anesthetic.’”

  “‘Airborne Ranger.’”

  “‘Muddy water.’”

  “‘Anesthetic.’”

  “It’s not what you think,” I say, ending the song.

  “I don’t think anything, Detective. I’m just here, ya know?”

  “I’m not having second thoughts,” I say, wanting to make this clear. “Not about you, anyway.”

  She props herself up on her elbow and stares at me. The moon is setting, but it’s enough light to see the blue of her eyes. “Then what’s going on?”

  “I did something,” I say. “Something…”

  She swallows hard. “Something you need to talk to me about?” she asks, her voice shaking slightly.

  I nod my head.

  “So talk.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out. Try and think of where to begin. But… it’s all pretty fucked up. So I turn my head and stare up at the stars.

  “I was with Rory tonight,” Cindy says, changing the subject.

  I look at her again. Study her. I don’t deserve this woman. Not at all. “How’d it go?”

  “Good,” Cindy says, lying back down in the sand. She puts her hands behind her head and just stares up at the dark sky. “She’s like…” And then she laughs. “She’s just like my mom. It’s so weird. I mean, I never thought of her as a sister. Not really. We’re so far apart in age, ya know?”

  But I don’t know. I don’t have any siblings. I have almost no family at all. Just my mom, who is very cool as far as moms go. Maybe not as kickass as Veronica Shrike, but still. I love my mom. And she can hold her own as far as I’m concerned.

  “I was gonna watch a movie the other day,” Cindy says, changing the subject again. She looks at me. We stare at each other. “But there was already a movie in the Blu-ray.”

  I wince.

  “It was Challenge Accepted.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I was watching it a couple weeks ago. I guess I forgot to put it back.”

  “Charles was pretty good in that movie. I watched it. Just curious, ya know. I was trying to see if you looked like him.”

  “Do I?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says. “Like… kinda a lot. It’s weird. You look like a movie star, Pax.”

  “Well.” I laugh. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you look like a starlet, Miss Cookie. We’re perfect for each other.”

  “Destined to be together,” she adds.

  “Destined,” I say. “For sure.”

  “Do you want to stay out here on the beach? Or do you want to come to bed with me?”

  I smile. “Bed.”

  “Then let’s go.” She stands up, grabs my hand, and then pulls. I’m still a little bit drunk, so it takes me a second, but I get it together and don’t lean on her too much as we find our way back to the bungalow.

  When we get inside we leave the lights off. She lifts up my shirt and I help her get it over my head. Then she unbuckles my shorts and pulls them down.

  I just stare at her. Wondering what she’s thinking right now.

  She bites her lip and I want to kiss it. I want her to stop thinking. I want to take her to bed and hold her tight, and just forget what I did.

  I wait for the question to come again. But it doesn’t. She just sighs as she takes off her shirt. She’s got no bra on. Like she was in bed before she came looking for me. And then she wiggles her shorts over her hips, lets them drop to the floor and takes my hand again. She leads me to the bed, and we get in, cover up with the soft covers, and hug each other. Hold each other close.

  I wonder how she got so patient. Because she’s very patient with me. We’ve done some crazy shit over the past year. We started our own investigation business and we’ve made a pretty good go at it. We mostly stay in Fort Collins to be near my friends—who are now her friends—and her family, who are now my family, but we travel a lot. Mostly to Southern California, since that’s where most of my clients are. I don’t fix things for people anymore.

  Usually.

  But I’m in the middle of some fixing right now and that’s what’s eating me up.

  So I say, “I’m doing something.” But then I don’t know how to continue and just let that bullshit hang there.

  “OK,” she says.

  “And I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

  “All right.”

  “But I love you.”

  “I love you too. That’s why I’m marrying you, Detective.”

  “It’s gonna be a great wedding,” I say, then realize… it might not be.

  But she says, “I know. I’m not worried about the wedding. I don't even care about the wedding. I just like being here with everyone else, ya know? And you. I like the islands. I don’t think we spend enough time on the islands.”

  “I love it here,” I say. “Hey, you know what Nolan told me tonight?”

  “What?”

  “He was looking for a babysitter so he could take Ivy out on a date.”

  “Did he find one?”

  “No idea. But I like the thought of a date with you, Miss Cookie.”

  She snort-laughs. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, so let’s make our last day together as single people a date day. What do ya say?”

  �
��One last date before we’re married? You’re building up some high expectations in me, Detective.”

  I laugh… but she’s right.

  “What will we do?” she asks.

  “We could…” I start thinking up ways to impress Cinderella Shrike. Something spectacular. And fun. And sexy. And that we can do on an island. Scuba diving, snorkeling, surfing—not that this place is really surfable, but we could try. Or maybe build a sand castle, or have a picnic, or hike around the island. Maybe there’s a cave. We like spelunking.

  But we’ve done it all. Our lives this past year have been exciting and fun. Pretty much one hundred percent of the time.

  “You know what?” Cindy says, reaching down to grab my dick.

  “What?” I say, turning into her so I can kiss the soft skin of her breasts.

  “Leave it to me. You’ve got something on your mind, so let me take care of it.”

  I wait to see if she’s gonna ask me more. If she wants to know what I’m up to. What’s got me so worried. Is she picturing me getting caught? On trial for any of the nefarious things I’ve done in the past? Serving time? Leaving her alone… adrift… lonely?

  “OK?” she asks in my silence.

  “OK,” I say, bringing my kiss up to her lips.

  I just want to enjoy her. Forever.

  But forever is a myth. I think everyone knows that. In the back of their heads, right? There’s no such thing as forever. So weddings… that whole eternity thing.

  It’s bugging me.

  Chapter Twelve - OLLIE

  “Hey,” I call out to Cindy the next morning as Kat opens the bungalow door and waves her inside. “Where’s Pax?”

  “Sleeping off a wicked hangover after getting drunk all by himself last night.”

  Katja and I both exchange raised eyebrows.

  “What’s that all about?” I ask.

  Cindy sighs and then slumps down into a chair.

  “He does drink a lot,” Kat says.

  Which I cannot argue with. Fucking Mysterious has been known to drink before noon plenty of days. But he doesn’t often go on binges. It’s usually just a glass of Scotch when things blow up. He likes to pour them and then not finish them too. I think it’s a habit. Like… the act of handling that crystal decanter and the clink of the ice just kinda sets his world right so he can think straight.