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I hear group therapy. Not excited, but I try not to show it. “Only if there’s muffins.”
Quinn sighs, pushing up his sleeves in a heated huff. I spot a bruise on his forearm, and my gut drops. Looks like fingerprint marks.
“What’s that?” I ask, but as soon as I catch him, he quickly tugs down the sleeve.
“What’s what?” Oscar’s attention veers over to his little brother.
“A bruise,” Quinn says. “I ran into a fucking door. You want me to take a picture and sign it for you?”
“You want some ice to cool the fuck off, bro?” Oscar says, eyeing him skeptically.
“I’m fine,” Quinn retorts.
I tell him, “No one said you weren’t.”
“You two have that face.”
“I’ve got the face of an angel,” I say easily, trying to get him off the defense. “I don’t think I look anything like your big bro.”
Oscar is still trying to solve this Quinn equation, and it’s making him appear too intense and constipated.
“You know what, leave me the fuck alone,” Quinn states.
“Whoa, how’d we go from zero to two-hundred?” Oscar questions, hands up in surrender. “No one is coming at you, Quinn—Quinn!” He’s already distancing himself from everyone, taking a seat near the fireplace and stewing alone.
“What’d I do?” Oscar asks me, concerned.
Nothing. I have this uneasy feeling Nessa, Quinn’s girlfriend, is to blame for the bruise. If her gerbil died, maybe she blamed Quinn and physically took her anger out on him.
But it could just be all in my head. I’ve been trudging up my childhood, the past with my mom, and that’s making me a paranoid fucker. The bruise might not even be a handprint. I saw it for a split second.
Didn’t get that good of a look.
I glance to Oscar. “I think he just wants us to stay out of his shit.”
“I see that,” Oscar mutters, upset because he finally mended the rift with his brother and he hasn’t wanted to create another one.
The door opens. In walks Farrow and Thatcher, only Thatch has a sleeping Baby Maeve cradled in his arms. Says something about how it’s Jane’s turn to nap, so he’s clocking in father time.
“Sorry, we’re late,” Akara tells us, coming in last and pushing back his black hair. “Banks lost his wedding ring.”
“Fuckin’ found it in the garbage disposal,” Banks mutters, shutting the door behind him.
“The string ring?” Oscar questions.
“Yep, it’s destroyed,” Akara says like that’s the story of our lives. Banks isn’t happy, but Akara assures him they’ll figure out a solution.
Oscar tries not to laugh. “Who would’ve thought braided twine wouldn’t last forever? Did you, Donnelly?”
“Thought that shit was like titanium,” I banter. “Should’ve used spit to seal the knot instead of glue.”
Banks grumbles something about the “fucking Yale boys” and maybe this is the wrong time, wrong place to crack a joke, but no one is a bigger Kitsulletti supporter than me, myself, and I.
Except maybe Beckett.
Trying to figure out a bridge between me and him. Maybe one day we can have a longer conversation about everything. It feels like we’ve only reached the surface with the one talk about cocaine and me being transferred off his detail. And I dunno if I want to sweep it under the rug and act like him doing drugs never existed.
In the penthouse library, Akara gestures for everyone to congregate. “Let’s get down to business.” Thankfully everyone pushes in closer to the bookshelves, so I stay seated on the ladder. Farrow is at my left, resting a foot on the bottom rung below me.
My pulse picks up speed, thinking I’m about to make a speech or plea or something of the like.
Then Akara says, “I’ll open the floor to Donnelly at the end.”
Fuck. I gotta wait until the end of the meeting? Yeah, my patience has been sledgehammered.
I just nod.
Akara snaps his fingers to his palm. “Okay, so we’ve all been through a lot recently, and I’m still trying to be on an even playing field with Price and Triple Shield. This means, what he does for his firm, we need to do the same, and I want to preface that I agree with most of his decisions. Like psych evals.”
I try not to react, but my stomach tosses.
“For the whole team?” Oscar asks.
“For everyone,” Akara confirms. “Even me. I know it’s not fun, but we need to make sure we’re all mentally prepared to protect these families, and your health is a priority, not an afterthought.”
What if we don’t pass the test? I will. I have to, so I’m not even asking about the worst-case scenario.
Quinn is. “What if we fail it?”
Frog shifts her weight, then asks him, “Are you looking at me?”
“I wasn’t looking at you,” Quinn says more softly.
Akara answers, “Then you’ll be suspended until you’re cleared to be on-duty. I’ll be setting up appointments that work into your schedules. I would also appreciate if everyone completed their daily logs. I’ve slacked on making you fill those out since I started Kitsuwon Securities—especially since you’ve all had your hands full training temp guards.”
