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“FUCK MY LIFE. Please tell me you’re joking,” I asked Keaton.
“I wish I was. Sorry, man.” He slumped back in his seat.
Something Quin said last night bothered me to the point I was texting my new FBI grunt at four thirty in the morning. Unfortunately, he was as good of an investigator as I was led to believe, possibly even better. The proof was sitting on my desk in an official-looking manila envelope and it was bad. Catastrophic, actually.
“We assumed the files were sealed because of her age,” Caleb spoke from where he leaned against the wall. “I never would have even thought to go through my dad’s old case files if Clarke here hadn’t been pounding on my door at the butt crack of dawn.”
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I roared.
Standing abruptly, I grasped the edges of my desk, flipping it on its side. Keaton scrambled backward, narrowly avoiding being hit by the three-hundred-pound projectile I’d carelessly flung in his direction. My laptop crashed to the floor, shattering into a billion pieces, much like Quin may do when she discovered the truth.
I drew back my fist, ready to send it flying into the wall when the sound of Creed’s “With Arms Wide Open” echoed from somewhere in the room. It was the ringtone I’d set for Quin. Dropping to my knees, I found my phone under the same envelope I was staring daggers at moments ago. The irony was not lost on me.
With shaky hands, I unlocked the screen and focused on the picture of her I’d saved as the background. I’d taken it the day we went to the park to discuss our future. She was on the swings, head tipped back a little and eyes closed. As she started to pick up a little momentum, her lips tipped up at the corners into a smile and strands of her glorious red hair floated around her face, blowing in the gentle breeze. She looked so at peace…so settled, I couldn’t help but snap a quick photo before she noticed.
Quin: The massage was nice, but Jessie’s hands didn’t feel as good as yours.
Sitting in a pile of destruction, I laughed. Leave it to my girl and her smart-assery to help me gain perspective.
Me: Jessie better have tits, baby.
Quin: Do moobs count?
Me: Depends on what moobs are.
Quin: Seriously? Man-boobs, Alec. Jeez.
Shaking my head, I laughed again.
“I think he’s lost it,” Keaton mumbled.
“I’ll get Gabe.”
Caleb turned on his heel and left before I had a chance to stop him. Knowing my big brother, I only had a few more minutes before he barged in my office.
Me: And does Jessie have moobs, baby?
Quin: Nah. She’s all girl.
Me: I’m glad you’re having a good day.
Quin: Thank you for the two bodyguards and for keeping me safe.
Me: Always, baby. I love you.
Quin: Love you too.
“What the hell happened here?”
_______________
“THEY’RE TWO MINUTESout,” Gabe announced.
After he helped me clean up the mess in my office and threatened to deduct the cost of the busted laptop from my next paycheck, I showed him the contents of the infamous envelope. Then we spent the next forty minutes boarding up the window he broke when he launched a chair through it. Deciding we’d caused enough damage around the office; we took our frustrations out to the gun range. Ten empty boxes of bullets later, we’d come up with a half-assed plan of attack.
“Are you sure about this?”
We were on the porch at the farm where I was seriously beginning to second-guess our decision. Ma and Pop were inside with Quin’s folks, having returned a few hours ago from breakfast. They got along better than I imagined, which was a blessing in disguise.
