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“You can,” I reinforce.
Xander nods more, then hops back on the skateboard. “Hey, can you not mention to Donnelly that I’m worried he thinks I’m boring?”
I hold back a small, fleeting smile. “Yeah.” Donnelly might actually be good for him. Even if Xander goes outside just to impress a bodyguard, it means he’s braving the world.
We chat more about the twin swap, and then Donnelly arrives with hot hoagies from Wawa.
For lunch, we stay professional and keep quiet near the desk. Xander slouches on a red beanbag, reading a fantasy paperback and biting into a meatball hoagie.
I peel the paper off mine. “Where’d you rack out last night?” I whisper to Donnelly. I heard Epsilon threw his luggage on the lawn, and ever since he hooked up with Luna, I feel accountable for what happens to them. Almost like a fucking accomplice, and I can’t report him to the Tri-Force.
I wouldn’t risk his career.
I just want to make sure they’re both safe in whatever they’re doing. Just like Jane does.
He sips a fountain drink. “Couch in security’s townhouse.”
“You can room with my brother.”
“Nah.” Donnelly picks up his hoagie. “He already offered, and Farrow even said I could crash in his room. But the couch is fire.” He takes a huge bite and mumbles, “Just like this hoagie.”
I lean on the desk and lower my voice. “So you didn’t sneak into Luna’s bed?”
He chokes a little, then shakes his head. “Nah, man.” He glances quickly at Xander, then back to me. “It was just that one time—”
His voice slices in half as boxing gloves topple off the desk. Probably from my weight against the wood, and as he picks them up, more shit starts falling. I set down my hoagie and crouch.
I start gathering items, and I move slower as I find a Celebrity Crush tabloid and three Famous Now magazines.
Donnelly frowns. “I thought he’s not supposed to read that.”
“He’s not.” I fan open a Famous Now, worried he’s hiding something. I land on the Alphas Like Us column series—the one that documents Maximoff and Farrow’s life.
Their couple pictures are haphazardly cut out. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing.
Donnelly flips through the Celebrity Crush, the tabloid also clipped and sheared. He pauses on an article.
The Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts—they’re like us! They read books. They love movies. They go shopping!
The title: Sexy Like Us
This photo isn’t missing. I’m with Jane. We’re leaving a cat shelter, and I’m putting my brown leather jacket on her shoulders.
She was cold.
I wish I could just drink in us, but my eyes instantly narrow on Tony. In the photo, he’s out in front with a shit-eating grin. He was an asshole that night.
It’s starting to become routine, and I don’t want to be desensitized to his bullshit. Because I don’t want him to stay her bodyguard.
Get your head on straight.
We sift through the other tabloids. Only pictures of Maximoff and Farrow are cut out.
“I can explain.”
Our heads swerve to our client.
Xander stands close, breathing hard. “Those aren’t mine. They’re Kinney’s—she had this great idea for Moffy and Farrow’s Christmas present this year. And it requires that.” He points at the tabloids.
I frown, confused as all hell.
Donnelly grins. “You’re making a collage?”
“Yeah.” Xander cringes. “I know, it’s dumb—”
“It’s dope, man.” Donnelly rises with me. “Farrow will love this shit.” He laughs.
“Oh…right. Awesome.” Xander starts to smile.
I stack the magazines back on his desk. “Why not just use personal photos?”
“Luna said we should branch out or whatever.” He shrugs. “My sisters just think it’ll be cool to use pictures they probably haven’t seen.”
They shoot the shit for a second, and I zero in on the cover of Celebrity Crush.
A tagline: read inside to find out which other Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts are dating their bodyguards!
Fuck.
My jaw tenses, and I flip to page twelve. I’m not aware of what the leads know anymore because Akara is sharing jack shit with me. I can only hope they’re on top of rumors.
Quickly, I read the article.
HOLY SECRETS, BATMAN!
Security Force Omega is a total sham. We’ve learned from a reliable source that the bodyguard hotties, hired to protect the famous families, are nothing more than a front hiding their real purpose.
Two bodyguards have already come clean, and we’re waiting for the rest—but it’s clear to Celebrity Crush and our source that every bodyguard is actually the boyfriend to who they protect.
The couples:
Sullivan Meadows & Akara Kitsuwon
Charlie Cobalt & Oscar Oliveira
Beckett Cobalt & Paul Donnelly
Luna Hale & Quinn Oliveira
They’ve forgotten about Banks, and I have to grab hold to this useless fucking fact or else I’ll burst a blood vessel in my neck.
This isn’t good.
This is bad.
Really bad. We’d been speculating fan theories to come to light if I stayed with Jane past October, but not this theory about SFO as a whole. The media believes we’re pretending to be bodyguards.
For fuck’s sake.
I read more.
Clearly these couples are trying to hide their tracks! Thatcher is no longer protecting Jane just to throw us off, and Paul is no longer protecting Beckett. But our source says they’re all still together.
I hang onto that last line.
We’re still together. Jane and me.
I breathe out, not realizing how good it’d feel to hear the media change their position on my relationship. Even if the rest isn’t true.
I decide to text Akara rather than use comms.
Did you see the “holy secrets” article? I press send.
A minute later, I get a reply.
But instead of answering me by text, he responds to everyone. “Akara to Omega, if you see the article in Celebrity Crush about SFO, ignore it. Protect your client and keep your heads up. Prove that this means nothing.”
Roger that.
14
JANE COBALT
I’m afraid.
I’m so very afraid that I’ll be too soft on my brother. I’m afraid that Maximoff will have to be the strong-hand and it’ll create unnecessary tension between him and Beckett when that should be my burden to bear.
I’m afraid that I won’t be enough to help him.
That I will fail in epic glory, as I always seem to do in the end.
Fears commandeer my mind and rattle my core. We’ve packed our bags and left them in the Range Rover outside the Hell’s Kitchen apartment complex, the world quiet and still at 3:30 a.m.—our flight for Scotland departs today.
And we’ve come to gather a passenger.
The ritzy elevator feels compact and ominous as we ascend the floors to my brothers’ bachelor pad, and I know my apprehension is apparent. Concern spills out of Thatcher, Farrow, and Moffy. I sense them looking at me as the numbers tick and we rise.
At least I was able to convince Tony to take another elevator. Most likely because Banks stayed behind with him. Before we leave Hell’s Kitchen, the Moretti brothers plan to swap clothes in a restroom, and when they come out, Thatcher will pretend to be Banks and Banks will be Thatcher.
Igniting the twin switch.
But right now, only the four of us are in the elevator, and Thatcher is still entirely himself.
I blow out a controlled breath. Hot beneath my cheetah-fur coat and pastel jeans.
“We’re right here with you, Janie.” Maximoff has squared shoulders and these tough green eyes that say, we can power through anything. And with Farrow at total ease next to him, that resilience doubles.
; Thatcher is behind me, his sculpted arm protectively wrapped around my collarbones while I lean back against his chest. I look up, and he looks down.
His narrowed gaze carries unadulterated confidence that washes over me. Like we’re standing beneath a steaming shower in a faraway land, alone together. Like we’re naked.
Bare.
Vulnerable, and I’m syphoning his assurance and composure. My chin rises, my shoulders lifting. I’m a leech, I realize.
I’m leeching his strength, and I don’t want to rely solely on him. Or anyone for that matter.
Not my parents, not Maximoff and Farrow, not bodyguards, siblings, cousins, or strangers—I need to offer something and be of use and value. Yet, I can’t move.
I can’t push Thatcher away. It hurts even thinking about stepping out of this embrace. I inhale and reach behind me, gripping his waist.
Eyes still fixed together, his lips lower and meet mine. In an upside-down kiss, brief and explosive. Detonating an emotional meteor in my heart, my body swells, and I breathe and breathe.
We break, and I look ahead.
Eyes wide in the same thought.
I’m a leech.
