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“My what to your what?” Ben asks, jerking around to look at Gavin like he’s lost his mind—and I think maybe he has.
“The Cash to your Tango? Old Sylvester Stallone and Kurt Russell movie? Oh my God, please tell me you’ve seen that movie. You should have your badge removed just on fucking principle,” Gavin complains.
“I’ve seen it,” Ben says. “It’s just clearly you’re Tango.”
“I’m Tango?” Gavin asks in disbelief.
“Definitely.”
“The hell I am. I mean I could totally be Stallone in say, Rambo. He was fucking cool. But Tango? No way, man. He wore suits and read financial papers. I’m clearly Cash.”
“Nope. Tango. You wore suits all the time when you worked for the FBI.”
“Yeah, but that’s a job requirement when—”
“And clearly you have the hot sister that I’m sleeping with. You’re Tango, while I’m the hot guy who packs a bigger gun that your sister wants to hold.”
“God, just when I thought I liked you, Kingston. Now, I’m just going to have to kill you on principle.”
“He’s not wrong, Gavin. I do want to hold his big gun,” I tease, and Ben throws his head back in laughter, while Gavin yells.
“Fuck, Junie. Why in the hell do you have to join in? I don’t have to take this abuse. I’m out of here and just for that, next family barbecue, Kingston, you’re bringing all the booze. The good stuff. Don’t try to be cheap,” he says leaving the room—but not before giving me a wink. I know Gavin was just trying to make me laugh and smile. He definitely did that… he did that and more.
“Always going to have your back, Baby.”
He did and a lot more.
Ben
In the two weeks since the fire at Junie’s bar, she’s been withdrawn. She’s had nightmares, bad ones. She mumbles in her sleep, but I can’t make anything out. I sure know when she wakes up screaming though. She tells me it’s nothing, and the more I press her, it feels like the farther apart we get.
The most worrisome thing is that this week, she’s not even started the ball rolling on fixing the bar back up. She’s depressed and seems defeated. I don’t like it, but she’s not talking to me. If she doesn’t, there’s not a lot I can do.
“Ben, where’s my spare house key?”
“Under the vase on the table.”
“I told you to keep it outside. I have that fake rock thingy for a reason,” she mutters, walking by me to get to the kitchen.
“And I told you that it’s too dangerous to have a key out there like that,” I respond, trying my best to tap down my anger. I follow her in there frowning, because this is another change. She’s on edge, snapping about every little thing. Junie and I argue, and we make up. That’s who we are together it seems, and it’s damn good for the most part. I love it, and it’s better than anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m pretty damn sure it’s what I want for the rest of my life. But lately, who we are is not our normal, because it’s never been like this. There’s a tension in her now, almost as if she’s afraid, and I don’t fucking like it. I’ve tried giving her space, but that doesn’t seem to be working, and I’m at the end of my rope.
“It’s called a hide-a-way key for a reason, Ben. It’s disguised as a rock.”
I roll my eyes heavenward, and I should probably be glad her back is turned to me. If she saw me, she’d probably kick me in the balls. My Junie has a temper. Or at least the Junie she was did. This new Junie is just grouchy as hell.
“Baby, you bought it from a fucking infomercial. You realize everyone and their grandmother probably own two or three of these and they all lookexactlythe same,” I explain, aiming for sounding patient, but totally missing the mark.
Junie turns around to look at me, her face tight with anger. “A spare key does me absolutely no good on the kitchen table in the house I need inside of. Hence the rock thingy!” she growls through clenched teeth.
“You have a house key, Junie,” I point out the obvious.
“I can’t. I can’t do this. It’s my damn house, it’s my damn key, and I want it in the rock thingyoutside.”
She snatches the key and stomps out of the room. I follow her, because I’m at the point that we are going to have this out. We can’t go on like this and I refuse to lose her—no matter how hard she tries to push me away. I follow her all the way out on the porch. The hide-a-way rock is on the porch swing, and I know that’s exactly where she’s headed. I move around her and grab it first.
“Give that to me,” she huffs, her face flushed with anger, her breath coming so roughly her breasts move with each exhale. Her eyes are shooting fire at me. She’s mad as hell, but she better just hold on because she’s about to get a lot madder.
“That key you’re holding is not going back in this damn thing,” I warn her.
