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“I love my job,” Donovan protested, defensiveness welling up in him like lava.
“Zero.” Troy lifted his eyebrows as he answered his own question, then continued, his voice reasonable and even, “That’s quite a ratio for someone who loves the job, and is fighting tooth and nail to get it back. Just sayin’.”
“Just don’t,” Donovan shot back, and immediately regretted it. He couldn’t deny that he’d had the same thoughts himself. In fact, that was probably why his brother’s words stung the way they did. They hit a little bit too close to home.
He took a breath and tried again, his voice conciliatory this time. “Look. I get what you’re saying. But here’s the thing, nobody loves their job one hundred percent. Right? I mean, show me one person that can’t find any aspect of their job that chaps their ass. That doesn’t exist. But this job, man. It’s all I’ve got. I’ve worked years to get here. I’ve overcome obstacles. I’m part of the smallest fraction imaginable of agents who’ve made it as far as I have. I’m on the most elite law enforcement team in existence, guarding the most powerful person in the world. I’m gonna fight for that. Even if I do hate paperwork.”
Troy nodded, then lifted his mug in a mock salute. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, then.”
Donovan nodded and turned his attention back to his phone as Troy stood and walked out of the room. Just as he was poised to dial the next number on his list, though, he heard his brother’s voice from the archway separating the kitchen and living room. “Hey, Donovan?”
Donovan lifted his eyes from his phone screen and turned in his chair to face him. Troy continued, “I do get why your career is so important. I swear to God, I do. I understand how hard you’ve worked, and how good you are, and the sacrifices you’ve made. But there was one part of that little speech you just gave that was dead wrong.”
“What’s that?”
“Your job isn’t all you’ve got, brother. Not by a longshot.”
