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“And you?” he asks quietly. Archer is my husband. My lover. He’s my everything. But Tim takes care of family, and chances are, he’s not here to see his brother at all. He’s here to see me. To make sure someone is caring for the carer while Archer is unable. “How are you doing?”
“I bounce back from trauma at an impressively unhealthy speed.” Grinning, I meet his eyes for a moment and note the way his jaw hardens with frustration.
“I’m fine, and I’m generally very skilled at letting crazy stuff roll off my back. It rarely sticks. So I’m coping, Archer’s getting better, Aubree’s processing. And you?” I drop a kiss to Archer’s lips and smile when, even while his eyes flutter closed from fatigue, his hands grow tighter on my hips. “How are you?”
“Pissed.” Remaining in place on my kitchen counter, Tim slumps so his too-long hair dangles forward to shield his eyes. “I’m fed up. I’m worried about you and Aubree. I’m sad she knows what I am now. I’m even sadder she hates me.” Taking a breath, he peeks up through the curtain of his hair. “I was never gonna date her, Mayet. But I sure as fuck liked having her in my life. Now she avoids me like her life depends on it.” Then he scoffs. “Which is the right thing to do, considering Felix calls me every fucking day to let me know Dad is dying and it’s time for me to decide.”
“You mean the decision to take your father’s place as a mafia don?”
He looks across and pins me with a stare. Not angry, but exasperated. “You make it sound like you’re narrating a no-budget movie with no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
“Idon’tknow what I’m talking about!” Laughing, I squirm on Archer’s lap when his thumb sneaks perilously close to my clit.
We’re hidden by the back of the couch, and he plays the part of exhausted patient. But I know who he is. I know what he is.
“Forgive me,” I say dryly, slapping Archer’s hand away, “for not knowing the street terms formafia.” I wrinkle my nose and challenge Tim with a glare. “I’m new to the family.”
“You think you’re funny.” He slides off the counter and moves to my leather satchel at the front door.
I’ve never in my life invited him to look inside that bag. I’ve never even spoken to him about its contents. But he opens the flap anyway and takes out my factor pack.
“Medication,” he mumbles. “Tourniquet. Needle.” He wanders closer to the couch and sets my things down. “It’s infusion night. And until Arch is all better, it’s my job to make sure you got all this shit under control.”
Moving back to the kitchen and flipping on the tap, he goes to work lathering the soap and washing his hands. “I won’t be here forever, Mayet. But I’ll be here long enough to get you both back on your feet.”
“Wait.” My heart kicks in my chest. “Where the hell are you going?” Then I look across the apartment to the clock on the wall, noting the time and knowing it’s happy hour all across the country. “And who’s running the bar right now?”
“I hired someone to help me out.” Shutting off the taps, he grabs a clean towel and dries his hands. “And I don’t know yet. But staying here and ignoring things isn’t working, is it?”
“So, what?” I argue. “You’re going to New York to accept your throne?”
He only rolls his eyes and wanders closer. “I’m embarrassed for you, kid. What kinda badass steps in front of a gun but doesn’t even know what a family hierarchy looks like?”
He stops by my supplies and hands me the dressing for Archer. “Here’s a hint: there are no thrones where we come from. There’s just turf wars and bullies and bullshit.” He perches on the arm of the couch and winks. “Plus, a filthy mess to clean up. But there’s nothing royal about it. Now finish with him so you can take care of yourself. I can only leave the bar for an hour while Daisy’s new.”
“Daisy?” My body rejects her name. My heart jerks at the possibilities she presents. “You hired a chick namedDaisyto help at the bar?”
“Gotta do what I gotta do.” He shrugs. “Someone needs to run it.”
He has a deathwish, I think to myself.And a chronic inability to see things from Aubree’s point of view.
ARCHER
“Aw, hell.”
Detective Charlie Fletcher is my best friend. He’s as much a brother to me as Tim is. And the fact my best friend is also my partner on the job, the guy who watches my back when we walk through a door, only makes going to work every day that much better.
Well… every day I don’t have a busted shoulder.
“It’s like I’m seeing a ghost.” Dropping his feet off his desk and pushing up to stand, Fletch comes around and tugs me in for a hug that sends bolts of electricity pulsing through my shoulder. He squeezes, and when that’s not enough, he claps my back and holds on just a second longer. “I like seeing you on your feet, Arch.” Pulling back, he peers into my eyes so I see myself in the reflection of his honeycomb stare. “Shit, it’s been a long week without you.”
“I saw you yesterday.” Stepping out of his hold and moving to my desk—which just so happens to be pushed up against his—I gingerly sit down and take care not to bump my strapped arm. “I saw you the day before that, too.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you inhere.” Leaning against his desk, he extends his arms to indicate our surroundings. “I haven’t worked a case with you in so long, I almost forgot what your face even looks like.”
The fact his middle name isn’tDramahas always been a mystery to me. Thankfully, I long ago developed the skills to ignore his bullshit. Instead, I peek across our desks and stop on mine, disturbingly messed up with files, considering the fact I’ve been away. “What’s happening here? Why have you dumped all your shit on my side?”
He picks up a half-full mug, boasting the logo of the Copeland Condors basketball team, and brings it up to sip as I lean forward and select a file.
