Page 1 of Aaron

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Cheri

I swear I only closed my eyes two minutes ago when Count on Me by Bruno Mars pouring from my phone pulls me from dreams of the perfect Daddy. The room is dark, except for the fairy lights strung along my headboard. Blackout curtains are the best thing ever since I end up writing way too late most nights.

It doesn’t mean I want to wake up. For half a second, I consider ignoring the call, but it’s Jaclyn’s ringtone. Instead, I squish them closed while I stretch my hand over to the nightstand to find my phone. If she’s calling this early, she needs me.

Finally, after almost knocking it to the floor, I grab the elusive bugger and answer. “What’s wrong?” My voice is scratchy with sleep and muffled by a yawn. When I open my eyes and see the time, I sigh. It’s not nearly as early as I thought. Damn. One hundred percent my fault for staying up all night writing my newest book. Or I guess I could blame my characters. They wouldn’t stop talking. The words were flowing like I was paddling over wild water rapids. Paddling is what I would have deserved too if I’d stopped writing when that happened. This new series is going to be epic. I just know it.

Jaclyn’s breathless voice pulls me back to reality. “Fuck. I should never have called you this early. Go back to bed, Cheri. I’ll call you later.” She speaks so fast that the words run together, and it takes me a minute for my brain to catch up.

Something happened—something bad.

“Like fuck you will, Jac. Ride or die, remember? Do I need to hop on a plane and rescue you? You know I will, just say the word.”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, then stand and push the hair out of my face, working my fingers through the tangled tresses Momma urges me to cut every time she sees me now, but having a Daddy to do my hair is a fantasy I’m not willing to give up on yet.

“Are you sure? I bet you were up all night writing that new series. Right?”

Not bothering to answer, I plod toward the kitchen while stifling another yawn. The golden oak floor is cold under my bare feet. Damn, that’s what I get for not putting on a pair of fuzzy socks before I went to bed.

As I enter the kitchen, I flip the switch for the overhead light and make a beeline for my baby. The first large purchase I made with my initial royalty payment was the Breville Barista Touch espresso machine. Yes, I’m a coffee princess, one of my many charms, if you ask me.

“I’m awake, starting coffee, tell me what’s going on. Are you in trouble? Should I call my family? They’re closer and can get there in a few hours, probably.” Even as I offer, I cringe. My brothers will overreact and probably charge in with guns blazing. As I step away from the machine, I start the bean grinder and wait for her to answer.

“No, at least I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? They’d drag your ass out of there faster than those Gallant men could process the invasion.”

“Fuck. That’s the last thing I need. It would make this so much worse. But shit, I don’t know where to start. It’s a clusterfuck of epic proportions. I’m surprised you didn’t feel the ground shake in San Jose.”

The longer she talks, the more breathless she becomes. Shit. “Are you having a panic attack?”

Jaclyn huffs, somewhere between a moan and a chuckle. I don’t like this one bit, and my instincts clamor for me to pack a bag and go to wherever the fuck she is. On autopilot, I add the beans to the portafilter and start the process to make my coffee.

“Sometimes it’s annoying how well you know me, Cheri. I’m okay, mostly over it now. But. Fuck… I’m twisted up in knots and freaking out. I admit it. There’s so much—too much. Andrew. David. The feds…” Her voice hitches like she’s fighting back tears.

“What about Andrew and David? Wait, did you say the feds? How the hell are they involved? Oh my God, girl, are you safe to talk? Sorry for all the questions.”

My heart pounds so hard and fast that I’m light-headed. She’s the one who has panic attacks, not me. The stupid organ isn’t getting the memo, though. Jaclyn isn’t just my bestie. She’s my sister from another mister. Nothing can happen to her. Fuck. Thank God I didn’t call my family for help. If they showed up guns blazing, we’d all be in a world of hurt. My father would kill me, for sure. Yeah, I might tell everyone my family is mafia-adjacent, but it’s a huge fib even if I wish it were true.

“It’s okay. I ran out of the house after Andrew talked to me. I’m all alone near the gardens. No one can sneak up on me or hear me out here.” Jaclyn’s voice is barely above a murmur.

Does she realize she’s whispering? Probably not. Jaclyn is so out of her element right now, and I should be there to protect her. That’s what I do. Protect my girl, because she has no one else. “Okay, spill the tea while I finish brewing coffee. I’m glad I made a double espresso. I’m going to need it, aren’t I?” I ask as I push the brew button.

“Better make it a quad,” she snorts. At least she doesn’t sound like she’s going to burst into tears.

“Cazzo! I’m imagining next-level horror-movie shit, Jac. You know how my brain works. Spill it before I reach through the phone and shake you.” I’m only half kidding, and I’m impatiently pacing in front of the counter for my coffee to finish or Jaclyn to say something, whichever comes first.

“There’s so much. Holy hell, Cheri. If it wasn’t happening to me, you could definitely use this as a plot.” There are birds chirping in the background, then the squeak of metal—a gate, maybe?

After sucking in a breath, I slowly blow it out so I don’t snap at her. “You’re saying that, but you’re not sharing any tea.”

“Sorry. Sorry. My brain is having trouble making sense of everything. You know about the email I sent. Well, it triggered Andrew to do some investigating, too, I guess. Yesterday, they practically accused me of trying to take down JNG.”

“What? They’re assholes. You need to get out of there,” I demand. The steam curling from the espresso machine is nothing compared to what’s coming out of my ears.

“I can’t. Oh, you might think this is funny. They thought I was a guy.”