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Chapter Eight
Maceo
The weekend seemed to fly by. Saturday, my men finished emptying out our rental and moving everything into our new headquarters. When everything was cleaned, and the last box was removed, we all had one last drink at the dump, toasting farewell. After, we went straight to our new home for an epic party—food, booze, a roaring bonfire, loud music, and the woman I love wrapped around me.
Sunday, I awoke to Josephine going down on me—best fucking wake-up call ever. We made love for the better part of the day, only stopping to eat, shower, and sleep.
Monday started with a run for Josephine and I. We ran past Tom running in the opposite direction—he no longer has to follow us when we run, but he needs to keep up appearances in case Paolo surprises him on the trail one day. I nod at him, and he nods back. Since he’s switched sides and started working for us, he walks a little bit taller and breathes a little easier. The kid doesn’t seem half bad.
All is good until we go to Josephine’s scheduled counseling appointment. The mood shifts from relaxed to tense, sitting here in Heather’s office with Josephine throwing off ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes. Heather sits across from Josephine, patiently waiting.
I pull the flash drive out of my pocket and hand it to the therapist. “This contains the notes we want you to upload to Josephine’s files. Enter it like you normally do—Chase will be monitoring from our end for any outside activity breaching the firewall. We’ll bring another flash drive with more fake info when we come to her next scheduled appointment.”
Heather places the flash drive next to her computer. “What’s on it?”
“I have a new compulsion—checking locks on doors and windows to the point I grow anxious if I don’t check. We didn’t want to add too much info to the file. Less is more sometimes,” Josephine says.
Heather eyes her hesitantly. “Jo, I hope you know I’m truly sorry this happened.”
Josephine turns her head toward the door. She’s probably longing to escape. “I don’t blame you, but I’m not happy about any of this shit.”
Heather leans forward. “Jo, I want to encourage you to continue your therapy. If not with me, then with someone else. Please consider it.”
“Not happening,” Josephine says firmly. “I understand the importance of PTSD counseling, but it’s not an option right now. I’ll resume once we’ve apprehended the threat. Please, stop pressuring me.”
Frown lines form between Heather’s eyes. “I’m concerned for your wellbeing.”
“I understand, but this is a special circumstance, and I’m not going to be forced into doing something when I don’t feel safe. Hell, nothing is currently safe. It wouldn’t matter who I saw. This hacker would find any information if it’s entered into a computer,” Josephine says tersely.
Heather refuses to leave it alone. “Surely, there’s some alternative other than halting treatment, regardless of how temporary it may be?”
Josephine’s nostrils flare and she stands. She’s quickly losing her cool. “I’m growing really fucking tired of repeating myself.”
Fuck, Pixie, please, please don’t run.The mission can’t risk Josephine becoming overwhelmed and fleeing.
Heather says nothing. She sits quietly, waiting for Josephine to cool off.
“Am I able to stop taking my meds without any adverse side effects?” Josephine asks abruptly.
“Jo—” I start.
“They make my head feel fuzzy. I want to be alert,” Josephine interrupts me.
With Bianchi posing a danger, I understand why Josephine wants to be focused, but going off her meds and stopping counseling seems like too much change at once.
“Besides, if we want to start a family, it’s better if I’m off this stuff now and have it out of my system,” Josephine continues.
My heart leaps with joy. Hearing her talk about us starting a family is music to my ears. But is it too soon to stop?
“You’re on a mild anti-anxiety med. There are no side effects if you decide to stop taking it, but hold onto it. If you feel yourself becoming overwhelmed and need something to take off the edge, you have something. If you become pregnant and still need something in an emergency, we can discuss options at that time,” Heather answers.
Josephine slowly begins to relax, and I’m able to pull her back on the couch with me. I cradle her against my side, comforting her, but it also serves as another means for securing her from dashing out of the room.
Josephine gives Heather a scrutinizing gaze. She’s barely hanging on by a thread, and any disturbance might fray the thread to nothing.
Heather taps her lips with her finger, contemplating. “What if we continue counseling behind the scenes?”
My eyes scream at Heather to ‘shut the fuck up.’
