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Mine.
“Fuck,” I mutter, digging deeper and reviewing security footage from late afternoon. “This guy. Using an alias. I noticed him in the restaurant with another guy when I was with Celeste. He was also on the other end of the twelfth floor earlier, in the stairwell near Filmore’s previous room.”
“Gage is on his way,” Wells says, standing over my shoulder to study the shady rap sheet I continue to unearth.
Minutes later, Gage tramps in. “Felicity is asleep with Ivy,” he assures Wells before addressing me. “Whatcha got?”
I switch on the wall monitor so he can see what we’re viewing. “This asshole was working with Filmore. Had to be. I’m guessing he fled about the time I showed up to the suite, so he’s got a couple of hours head start. Doesn’t look like he was working alone, so there may be another. I want him brought in alive. I’m conducting the interrogation.”
He grins with a nefarious twinkle. “That’s fucking incentive. I’ll have him ready for you in less than forty-eight hours.”
Gage is perfectly content to secure information on his own, but he loves it when we join him to play. I forward everything I have on the guy to Gage, and he sets on his way, stopping at the door with a sigh and peering back.
“I peeked in on Celeste. I’m glad you’re playing, but I’ll be having my fun with that motherfucker too.”
“The more, the merrier, Big Guy.”
That will be motivation enough for him to save his wrath until he returns—a wrath I’m grateful he shares. A brief text from York and a few from Rex confirm everything is underway, as planned, so I’m out of my chair, anxious to return to my girl, when Wells speaks up.
“You were such a little shit when I met you. A genius but arrogant. Self-centered. Untrusting. Downright spiteful at times.”
“Our evening chitchat is taking a fucked-up turn,” I quip, snatching my Zippo for a few soothing snicks. “And here I was, worried you were getting sentimental, Chief.”
He traipses slowly toward the door where he knows I’m headed but shoves his hands in his pockets as he nears me and pointedly meets my gaze. “You had every right to be. But despite everything, you showed up for the guys again and again. You pushed yourself. You grew.” He pulls his hand from his pocket, dragging it down his face. “Even more so when Ivy came to us. You’ve loved her so well, earning her loyalty the same way you did with us.”
It’s clear fatherhood has gotten to him because this invincible man, who only cops to his softer side concerning his wife, is visibly choked up. “You’re not that narcissistic kid with a chip on his shoulder anymore, Liam. You didn’t deserve your childhood.” He grips the back of my neck, and that lump revives itself in my throat. “You’re a good man—as good as a man in our world can be. I haven’t said it enough, but I’m proud of you.”
No words from Wells could mean more than those four. I’m proud of you. I don’t need to tell him that though. He knows. He knows he’s more than a mentor. He’s my best friend, but also, although there’s only a few years between us, he’s the closest thing to a father figure I’ve ever had.
I swallow, nod, and throw a hitchhiker’s thumb toward my room because that’s all I can muster without puddling into a goddamn pussy. But when I’m a few steps away, he flings one more truth for good measure.
“You’re in love with her. And like someone wise once told me, you’re not alone.” Not the first time he’s used that. He didn’t respond when I said that to him about Ivy a year and a half ago, but he did finally claim his girl that night.
I swing onto the staircase and murmur, “Good night, Chief,” with a smile.
We both know I’m on my way to do the same—minus the sex until she’s recovered.
Wells must have texted Ty because he’s already out of the bed when I return, offering me a full report.
“The pain meds are working. She’s been resting well.”
“Thanks for taking care of her,” I say. It takes a village for everything in this house.
“Always. She’s one of us now, right?” His question holds far more than an inquiry regarding simple acceptance.
“Absolutely. One of us,” I confirm, and he beams ear to ear, patting my chest on his way out the door.
I make quick work of washing up so Celeste doesn’t wake up alone. When I crawl into bed beside her in a pair of boxers, it seems my timing is perfect.
“Wells was right,” she whispers, whiskey eyes waltzing all over my face.
“About?” I ask, sweeping her hair back from her forehead.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Knowing someone was working with Filmore, I get that, but I still failed her. I left her. Before I can protest, she drives her point home in an unexpected way.
“I wanted … I bought that dress for you. The candy-apple color.” She’s so shy, so vulnerable right now. Maybe it was being attacked, or maybe she senses the shift between us. Things are most definitely going to change, but since she’s broaching a lighter subject, I go with that.
