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“It’s not about whether I can stand Celeste. Fuck, Chief, give me some goddamn credit on how we conduct our business. We don’t let personal feelings, one way or another, interfere.”
He unwraps a raspberry Tootsie Pop and plops it into his mouth, pensive while he mulls over my point. “What’s it about then?”
“It’s about the absolute disrespect he showed for Ivy. There is no better friend. Celeste is lucky. Anyone worth their damn salt would recognize that,” I justify, snatching my Zippo to snick it open and closed, losing myself in the billowing flame. I hardly ever smoke now, but I can’t forgo the lighter. “And it’s not like she’s unprotected here. How can you not be offended by that shit?”
“Goddammit.” He swings his lollipop through the air, like he’s slicing his Mozart tranquility to pieces. “What’s up your ass this morning, Graves? He wasn’t against Ivy, but the life she chose is in fact dangerous. We can barely let her leave the house. We bought a wing of the maternity hospital for safety precautions, for Christ’s sake. Need I go on? It makes sense he wouldn’t want Celeste to fall into a life here, so we’ll do as he asked.”
Irritation flares in my veins, right along with the snick, flick, flame mesmerizing my vision. “You’re going fucking soft, Chief. Those are prime examples of the lengths we go to so we can protect those under our care. Frank’s a dick for not knowing that.”
He stays quiet, sucking on his candy and staring at my disappearing and reappearing light. “I’m not offended because, in spite of the valid points you’re making, I can’t help but wonder if, someday, I’ll be saying the same about my little girl.”
My head snaps up. “It’s a girl? You’re—we’re—having a girl?”
“Jesus Christ.” He laughs—big, blustery, and full of joy. Ivy wanted us all to be surprised. I doubt she knows because she’d surely blurt it out if she did. And the nursery is neutral. She’d have a closet full of dresses. “Yes,” he confirms. “It’s a girl, but keep your goddamn mouth shut. During the ultrasound to reveal the gender, Ivy said she’d been having more feminine escapes—dandelion dreams and butterfly kisses, which was almost confirmation enough for me, but I needed to be sure. So, I checked the chart.”
We all enjoy Ivy’s quirky thoughts and instincts, but Wells decodes them best.
“You are so fucked, Chief.” I rub my forehead with a cynical chuckle, imagining the blaze he’s about to encounter. “When she finds out everything you’ve been hid—”
“She won’t,” he insists. “This stays between us.”
“Can’t believe you slipped,” I taunt.
He scans me, popping that damn sucker out to speak again. “I didn’t slip. I wanted you to know, Liam.”
And there it is again, his selfless leadership. I’m sure he wanted to share this good news, but he also knows being the one he chose to share it with first means a lot to me. It certainly pulled me out of my spiral.
I choke down the sentiment, not wanting this to turn into a moment when Gage would rightfully label me a pussy. “Thanks, Chief. For telling me. I was hoping for a girl.”
“Me too,” he confesses. “But that’s why Frank’s request isn’t offensive. It’s a sacrifice. He’s trying to save his little girl, just like Tom saved Ivy. Different methods but the same heart. Willing to keep his distance for her protection. The right thing—the only thing—to do is to support that.”
“Right.” I nod, turning my attention back to my flickering Zippo, still angry with no idea why. It might have something to do with the revelation that there is more to that brown-eyed vixen who incites me.
Snick. Flick. Flame.
“Good.” He lets out a relieved breath, but I can feel his wary eyes on me. That doesn’t prevent him from barking orders. “Assist Ty and Ivy in vetting the political douchebags and help Celeste fall in love—or at least find someone she’s willing to hitch herself to. Then, everyone will be happy. You’ll only have to see her on occasion. Frank will breathe easier. And my wife will know her friend is safe and thriving. Done.”
“Sounds like a fucking fairy tale,” I deadpan, standing to leave this godforsaken meeting behind.
Before I reach the door, Wells chimes, “Don’t go stockpiling girlie shit or hinting to Ty and Gage.”
“I won’t. Promise. I’ve got you, Wells.”
“You always do. And I’ve always got you. We’re in it together, Liam.”
That’s remarkably similar to what I said to him when I encouraged him to pursue Ivy. I’m not sure why that thought enters my mind.
It’s been three days since Celeste arrived, and I’ve done my best to steer clear and simply observe. Ivy took a few days off work, so they’ve spent every waking moment together. They’re downright giddy and stupid in a cute girlie way. But as soon as Celeste shows up for a meal with the rest of us, her well-cultivated uppity bullshit is reinstated. I want to see the girl who’s eager to get her hands dirty in the Carver burial grounds. Or even the one who’s so lost in reminiscing with her best friend that she forgets herself and snorts through a story.
Frank’s a fool. Ivy is good for his daughter. Celeste is real with her. Their time together will lessen tomorrow though. Ivy needs to tie up loose ends before this baby arrives. Ty and the rest of us will be able to cover for her, but she strongly dislikes being out of the loop. Her need to work has Celeste making other plans.
No dates yet even though she’s been called. Her only interest seems to be in an equestrian school—she’s contacted them twice.
Last July, when I found the hit on her father, I installed a cloning app on her phone. It allows me to view all her communication.
For safety purposes.
Natasha, Ivy’s mom, arrived earlier today. She’s a frequent houseguest that we all adore because she treats us like her boys. Wells chuckles every time she refers to him as a kid. He’s thirty-two but probably feels like he’s far older since we’ve lived a couple of lives already, and he’s been in charge in both.
