On The Rocks (Love After Midnight Book 3) Page 3

  I heard the creak of the floorboard, the soft exclamation of “crap,” but I didn’t startle.

  I was already awake, camped out on Brooke’s couch.

  Time zones were the reason for my insomnia. My sister’s sleeplessness was a regular and common occurrence. She’d always been a night owl, but more so after she’d become a published author and had moved in with a bartender who worked until last call.

  How did I know this?

  I’d tapped her phone.

  It was the same way I knew that her ex, a fucking scumbag of a human being, had been denied parole at his last hearing two months ago. And how I’d known that she’d moved to the Bay Area, that she’d hit bestseller lists, that she’d recently reunited with Brent.

  She would be furious when she found out.

  As would Brent.

  I hadn’t been able to do anything but watch and I’d needed to make keeping those tabs enough.

  But . . . it hadn’t been nearly enough.

  I knew that as much as I knew anything in my bones, and as much as I’d known that I hadn’t wanted to leave them . . . well, I’d thought that it had been my only choice. They’d needed me at KTS. I was the best fit for the job, and the sacrifice on my end was for the greater good.

  Of course, that had been ego talking.

  Because there were plenty of people with my skills.

  And KTS hadn’t been the utopian organization, always fighting for that greater good that I’d hoped it would be.

  Reality.

  Fuck, it stung sometimes.

  Luckily, a few of the lifers at KTS had smoothed my exit, after having discovered that the way I’d been recruited didn’t exactly align with their principles, especially as they were trying to clean up the group, to truly fight for those innocents who needed them.

  Apparently, even the good guys had a few bad apples scattered within.

  The paramilitary organization was currently undergoing some major housecleaning, rooting out those bad apples, and when I’d heard about my commander, Daniel’s, being at the center of it all, I’d been able to reach out to the right people to ensure I got my walking papers. And to ensure I wouldn’t be drawn back in.

  I was done done.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help people. I did, wouldn’t have gotten into the military if I hadn’t. I just . . . wanted it to be on my own terms.

  Not exactly following the chain of command, now was I?

  But fuck, I at least preferred to not be coerced into putting my life on the line. Of course, I’d prefer to go into it eyes wide open, the decision of my own making, rather than being manipulated. I’d also certainly prefer that the man who’d convinced me to join in the first place had not been a total fucking scumbug.

  A thunk.

  Another muffled curse. Then rapid-fire clicking.

  I sat up.

  Brooke’s face was illuminated by the computer screen, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “Just need to get this down,” she whispered to herself, and I could see the tip of her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth.

  Fucking hell, my sister had been adorable when we were growing up—my partner in crime, mischievous and sweet, her long red hair usually pulled up into pigtails—and she was beyond adorable now with her hair askew, mismatched pajamas on, and that same look of concentration on her face that I’d seen from the moment she’d first tried to make us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  My little—by only ten minutes as she liked to remind me—sister. But still my baby sister, still someone I was supposed to protect, especially after our parents died.

  My heart clenched. Hard. Painfully. Because . . . fuck, I’d hurt her.

  The worst part was I could never make up for that.

  After a final few clicks, Brooke spun, a gasp escaping when she saw me sitting up on the couch. “Hayden,” she said, hand coming up to her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  I pushed up from the cushions, crossed over to her. “No, I couldn’t sleep.”

  Green eyes that looked almost emerald when illuminated by the dim light of the computer screen softened, and she took my hand. “Come on.”

  She led me into the kitchen, flicking on a set of under cabinet lights as we went, filling the space with a dim golden glow. I didn’t protest that she should go back to sleep, that she should leave me to my dark thoughts and get back to the man who clearly adored her—even if I hadn’t seen that within ten seconds of interacting with Kace, I’d witnessed it many times over the last year.

  Photos from the man I had on Brooke’s protection detail showing how Kace looked at her. That being, right and with utter adoration in his eyes. Texts I’d read putting that adoration into words to be read. Tapes of calls that I’d needed to cut off because I was both mentally scarred and wanted to kill the man for having had sex, much less for having discussed anything to do with sex with my sister. She was happy. They loved each other.

  So, I knew I should let her go back to bed.

  But I couldn’t.

  I’d missed her.

  “Sit,” she ordered, nudging me toward a barstool before reaching into a cabinet she could only reach on her tippy toes.

  “Brookie—” I began.

  A stern gaze tossed over one shoulder. “Sit.”

  Sighing, I quietly tugged out the stool and sat down on it. I’d never been able to deny her anything.

  Says the man who pretended to be dead for a decade.

  My shoulders stiffened at the thought, said in the quiet rasp of the woman I’d met that evening. I’d seen her in a few pictures, but I’d discounted her importance, hadn’t expected to see her tonight.

  Brown skin with undertones of gold, small and curvy, lips that appeared as soft as pillows—and if they were pillows, I definitely wanted to rest certain body parts there.

  No surprise, it wasn’t my head.

  Or at least not that one.

  “Fucking hell,” I muttered, pitching the curse low enough to not be overheard. I was in the room with my sister. My single living family member, who I’d hurt, possibly beyond all hope of reconciliation.

  And I was thinking of fucking.

  With my sister humming six feet away, clad in penguin pajama bottoms and a gnome-patterned baseball tee.

  Cool.

  I deliberately pushed thoughts of Anabelle away, knowing that while my attraction to her was two-fold (she was beautiful and she had fire—both were my kryptonite), it wasn’t something I was in a position to explore. Not when I was trying to figure out how to put my life back together, and certainly not when she was close to my sister. I’d done enough. The last thing I needed to do was seduce my sister’s friend.

  Inner chastising complete, I focused on what Brooke was doing and felt my heart clench, my stomach twist itself into knots.

  Hot chocolate.

  She glanced up from where she’d pulled two mugs of milk out of the microwave. “I’m okay, Hay,” she whispered. “It was . . . a shock to say the least, but”—a sniff—“I’m not m-mad. R-really. I’m so glad you’re okay, so glad I get another chance to tell you how much I love you.”

  I pushed to my feet and hurried over to her, pulling her against my chest and hugging her tight. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Brookie,” I whispered against the soft red silk of her hair. “I didn’t want to. I swear.”

  “I know.”

  Her fingers clenched onto my T-shirt. “I love you, big bro.”

  Another spasm in my heart. After the last decade I would have sworn the organ had dried up, had withered to so much dust. But I’d simply forgotten the power of Brooke.

  “I love you, too.”

  She sniffed, slipped out of my hold, and turned back to the mugs. One hand reached out to open a unicorn-shaped cookie jar on the counter, and I grinned when I saw her extract two paper and foil packets.

  “Powdered hot cocoa mix? How beneath you,” I teased, tugging a strand of her hair.

  She tosse
d a grin in my direction. “I know it’s very third grade, but it’s how you always used to make it when Mom and Dad were sleeping, and it was just the two of us.” A shrug. “I never grew out of it, even after I was on my own.”

  I hadn’t known that.

  Even though I’d been in her life after we were grown, I’d also been deployed more than I’d been home. I’d missed this quirk that touched my not-withered heart.

  Her cheeks flushed and she dropped her head, concentrating on opening the packages and pouring one into each mug of milk. It was as she was stirring the powder into the liquid that I managed to find my voice. “I thought for sure you’d have outgrown it.”

  Another shrug. “I know there are better and fancier ways to make hot chocolate, but they never taste right.”

  Fuck, my eyes actually burned, but I forced my tone to be light as I slung an arm—albeit carefully—around my sister’s shoulders. “It’s the preservatives,” I told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before I swooped down and stole a mug.

  “Wait!” She batted my chest, snagged the mug back. “You’re missing my secret ingredient.”

  “I don’t recall a secret ingredient when I used to make this for you.”

  A grin. “That’s because you’re not as brilliant as me.”

  “Well,” I said, “we’ve both always known that.” I snatched the mug and took a sip, one that was punctuated by her annoyed sigh before I set it back down on the counter. “Ah. The taste of powder on my tongue. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

  She smacked me again. “Shut it, you. Now, go.” A shove back toward the barstool. “I don’t share my secret ingredient with just anyone.”

  I tickled her, just beneath her ribs and she squealed before clamping a hand over her mouth. “Stop!” she said, the plea muffled as she danced away from me. Dropping her hands, she glared, though her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “You’re lucky Kace is a heavy sleeper,” she scolded.

  Not heavy enough, I thought, noticing him on the edges of my periphery. He was sleep-rumpled and shirtless, and when I turned my head to meet his gaze, he held my stare for several long moments. “About that . . .” I began.

  But then Brooke giggled. His face softened, the rest of my words were lost, and I focused on my sister. She could fucking light up the room.

  I glanced back when I saw the shadows shift. Kace stayed just long enough to nod.

  Then he was gone, and I was forced to begrudgingly think the man was a good one to give me and my sister the space to talk, to not interfere or interject. Of course, his expression had also said he’d gut me six ways to Sunday if I hurt Brooke again, but I couldn’t resent that.

  I had hurt her.

  She needed protecting.

  And God, how much would she love to hear me thinking that.

  Grinning, I headed for the stool. “What’s the secret ingredient?”

  “Not gonna happen, Hay,” she said, going back to the mugs and deliberately blocking my vision from what she was doing. I heard a drawer open, some plastic rustling, but before I could get too curious, she was heading toward me.

  The mug plunked down in front of me.

  She plunked down next to me.

  And I felt my lips tug up further when I saw what was inside, Brooke’s so-called secret ingredient.

  A giant marshmallow.

  “Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But it’s mint flavored and amazing and makes this taste like the really expensive peppermint hot chocolate you can only get this time of year.”

  I didn’t give two shits about expensive hot chocolate or mint or the fact that there was special Christmas hot chocolate.

  I only cared that I was here.

  With Brooke.

  And somehow, she didn’t hate me.

  Still, she was looking at me so expectantly that I picked up the mug, took a huge sip, prepared to hide my wince because mint was so not my favorite.

  To my surprise, it was fucking delicious.

  I slurped back more, looked up to see Brooke had her hands wrapped around her mug, a pleased expression on her face. “Good, right?” she asked between sips.

  I nodded. “The best.”

  I didn’t mean the hot chocolate. She knew that. I could see it in her eyes, her expression, her gentle voice when she asked, “You can’t really tell me about it, can you?”

  “I want to,” I said, guilt slicing my insides. I owed her an explanation, I knew I did. Except, there wasn’t much I could tell her that would be safe.

  I had signed the NDA of all NDAs in order to get out and—

  Fingers on my arm. “It’s okay.”

  “Brookie—” I shook my head and pushed my mug away, the hot chocolate now sitting like a brick in my stomach. “It’s not. I know that,” I said. “I—I guess this is like the start of a Hollywood action flick. Only I’m done with the action part. I just want to be home, to start fresh and build a life with you.”

  Her eyes dropped.

  “What?” I asked.

  Silence. Long enough that I was itching to push her into answering, itching to demand. Before everything had happened, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Now? There was a lot of un-hashed history.

  So, I stayed silent.

  And she answered me anyway.

  “I’m just wondering how long it will be that you’ll stick around building this life,” she said quietly. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, but you’ve never had staying power. You were always flitting off on some adventure or another.”

  That drive for adventure, for the next challenge that would send my adrenaline soaring was part of why I’d gotten mixed up with KTS in the first place.

  But I was done with adrenaline.

  I was done with adventures.

  I was done doing things just to solely feed my ego.

  I wanted normal and safe and family and familiar. I wanted to hang out with my sister and drive her crazy. I wanted to make sure this Kace treated her right and threaten to cut off his balls if he made the tiniest frown appear on her face.

  “I mean it, Brookie,” I told her. “I’m out for good.”

  “Yeah.” A pause that was long enough to tell me she didn’t believe me. Then, she played her fingers over the handle of her mug and asked, “Did you at least get the bad guys?”

  My gut clenched.

  The answer to that was complicated.

  I’d gotten some of the bad guys. The problem was that so many others were running free. I might as well have stuck my finger in the proverbial dam for all the good I’d done over the last decade. Take out one disgusting human trafficker, and five more popped up. Bust one drug ring that was destroying the local economy, hurting innocents, poisoning people, and another quickly took its place. Destroy thousands of servers with child pornography, and other pictures appeared almost instantly on the Dark Web.

  It was doing good . . .

  And it was doing nothing at all.

  Brooke looked up at me with a soft expression, her fingers drifting to my arm again. “It’s not your job to save the world.”

  Except that was exactly what I’d signed up for.

  Five

  Anabelle

  I glanced down at my cell, saw that it was almost last call, and sighed in relief.

  Two days since Christmas, the first night Bobby’s was open, and people must have felt the need to cut loose after so much family time.

  The place had been slammed from the moment I’d started my shift, and it had stayed slammed. Standing room only at the bar, all the tables full. Hell, I’d poured so many drinks that I’d had to send Kace into the storeroom to get more liquor. And through it all, Brooke stayed ruthlessly focused on her laptop, slurping down one Diet Coke after the next, until thirty minutes ago when she’d smiled dazedly up at Kace, who’d brought her one of those sodas laced with rum.

  Rum and notes.

  Heh.

  Smirking to myself, I finished pouring the last of my orders then began
to close out my station. Stacking the dirty glasses in the plastic racks, shoving those one by one into the dishwasher that had been installed under the counter. It ran on a quick cycle, and it didn’t take long to catch up on the dirties. Of course, there would be plenty more to do once this crowd finished up their final drinks.

  Thus was the torture of a bartender.

  On my feet. Lots of dishes. Having to shut up and take orders in order to make a living.

  Oh, if my mom could see me now.

  She used to try to get me to help in the kitchen, to stand next to her and learn all the recipes that had been passed down from her grandmother to her mother to her and finally to my sister.

  But that was where the line of succession had ended.

  I’d not seen the value in learning to cook, in memorizing those recipes. I hadn’t cared to know how much water to add to rice or what it had to do with knuckles. I certainly hadn’t wanted to waste time in the kitchen when I’d had so many more important things to do.

  Essays to write. Tests to ace. Extracurriculars to lock down.

  Plus, if I made enough money, I could just order takeout, right?

  Oh, how naïve I’d been at eighteen. Thinking I knew everything. Convinced each and every decision I made was the right one.

  What I wouldn’t give to have some of that confidence again.

  “Nothing you can do to change the fucking past,” I muttered, shoving in a tray and jabbing at the start button on the dishwasher.

  “No, you can’t.”

  The only reason I didn’t jump was because I’d felt him. Felt Hayden.

  Shoring myself against the impact of him, I looked up.

  Shoring didn’t make one fucking lick of difference.

  I was surprised my eyes didn’t sizzle out of my head, burned to ash by the pure pretty standing across from me. Then the fucker had to add in a sexy smile, a slice of badass, and . . . kryp-to-nite.

  As in, he was exactly the type of man who was mine.

  “Your sister’s over there,” I said, jerking my head to Brooke’s corner, to the barstool that was saved for her in perpetuity.

  “And if I said I wasn’t here to see Brooke?”

  Long, slow, and hot, and I could easily imagine that same long, slow, and hot in other places aside from my eardrums.