Page 10 of Cruz

And thinking about what my next steps are after that.

Whatever I said in the heat of the moment, I can’t imagine selling this place and leaving Hart.

Mrs. Jenkins digs in a purse the size of a suitcase and scrawls something onto the back of an ancient looking piece of paper.

She gathers up her book, waves goodbye to me, and ambles off. I watch her get into her boat of a car. It’s from the seventies, but it still looks immaculate as the day it was made. Liam likes watching these barn finds shows, and I feel like this could be one of them. It probably has five thousand original miles on it.

I don’t look down at the paper she handed me until she’s already gone. There, like she’s a smitten teenager herself, is her number with a heart drawn around it.

Since the shop is empty, I don’t even bother holding in my laughter. Or my tears. What a strange day. If tomorrow isn’t better, I’m going to start questioning my whole philosophy about how the universe works. Not that I really have a good working one, but whatever I have will need to be scrapped entirely.

Chapter 5

Cruz

Liam’s been snoring for an hour since I went and stood in the corner of the living room facing the only door in his and Sloane’s small apartment above the coffee shop. I could stand sentinel all night and probably not even blink, if that’s what my orders were, but Sloane clearly has other ideas.

She appears from the darkened hall. The apartment layout is quite simple. The door to downstairs opens into a small living room and kitchen that flow into each other without walls to separate it. A narrow hall leads to three rooms. Liam’s, Sloane’s, and a tiny closet of a room that’s being used for an office, complete with a desk and a futon behind that.

Sloane spots me standing by the door and frowns at me. “You’re really staying the night then?”

I nod. She already knows that I am. She had some heated words and refusals for Liam a few hours ago, but in the end, she relented and disappeared into her room

She fists her hands at her hips. “I made up the guestroom for you.” If there ever was a reluctant statement, it’s that. “Err, the office, I guess. Liam was supposed to tell you. The futon folds down and there’s a blanket and pillow in there.”

I know all of that. Sloane had dinner waiting for us in the fridge for after we got back from the clubhouse. She made herself scarce, but Liam went back to talk to her while I scarfed down the best spaghetti and meatballs that I’d ever tasted. Liam told me Sloane was doing paperwork in her room, so the office was free for my use, and then we spent hours installing cameras on the interior and exterior of the building. I checked in with Wizard a few hours ago and he let me know that everything was online on his end. It was all working on my phone too, so I gave Liam my approval to call it a night. Sloane hovered in the background, cleaning up and talking with Liam, but most of the time she wasn’t around.

It’s after midnight. I knew Sloane was still awake, because the glow of her light came from under her door, but also because I’m sort of a freak and it’s also my job to keep her safe. I could hear her soft movements inside the room when I listened from the living room before I went to keep guard at the door.

“Are you expecting monsters to burst through there at any second?” Sloane tries to sass me, but she casts the door a worried look. “You’re weirding me out. I can’t sleep if you’re just going to stand there like a big brick wall all night. Isn’t that why you installed cameras? So that you don’t have to click on that robotic sentinel mode?”

I shrug.

She sighs. Her frustration with all of this is palpable all the way across the room. It’s not the only low-grade sensation that I have going on. My body is hot all over. I haven’t been able to shake it.

Sloane shoots me another death glare like the ones she threw downstairs earlier, but then she seems to draw herself up and curl into herself. I don’t like the shadows on her face, or in her pretty green eyes. “I’m doing this for Liam,” she says. “Agreeing to it.”

My head bobs again.

Her left eye twitches. “Do you have a background in security? Private or otherwise? Isn’t it some kind of security code that you have to be ex-SEALs, or ex-military, or ex-whatever? Maybe ex-con too?”

I shake my head and then shrug. I’m not sure about security. I never considered it. I didn’t want to guard some old rich asshole all day and night, even if the pay is good, and doing events seems like a shitshow that I never wanted to get into.

“Does the strong, silent thing never get old for you?” She holds up a hand “Actually, never mind. Don’t answer that. What I really want to know is how I get my normal life back. How do I get that back for Liam? How do I rewind time to make it so that he never witnessed a murder and is never haunted by that or chased by demons and gang members?” That clearly doesn’t have an answer, and she’s not nearly done getting out what she needs to. Her eyes are still burning. There’s no relief in them, and she needs that. Most people feel better after talking, not worse. I’m the odd exception. “Is that why he joined your club? For protection or revenge?”

She stalks across the living room. It’s very tidy, with a leather couch and a loveseat, a coffee table, and a TV stand with a flatscreen on the far wall. It’s all very token, with the typical homey accents of framed photos of her and Liam throughout the years, and a splash of vintage paintings smattered across the walls. I guess the paintings aren’t so token. They aren’t from any big box store.

She stops at the couch and bends down. Reaching behind it, she tugs out a colorful fabric cylinder. A yoga mat. Most people probably wouldn’t think that I know what that is, but I’ve done my fair share of yoga, Pilates, and tai chi over the years. I still incorporate a lot of those elements into my own personal training, and the instruction that I give.

A bright yellow yoga mat slips out of the cover and Sloane unfurls it onto the floor beside the coffee table. She shoves the table a few inches across the vinyl floor and reaches for the remote. She must have a favorites list, because after only a few clicks, she has something cued up.

“The best of the worst is still terrible,” she mutters. She’s talking about the club. About Liam. “That’s all I can think about.” She sits down on the mat and crosses her legs. “I’m not going to be able to sleep. I need to do something with all this energy. I’d rather that you not watch me, but if that’s non-negotiable like all the rest of this, I guess I’ll just deal.”

“Hmm.”

Her head snaps up. “My god, that was almost an actual word.”

Her sarcastic smile fades. She looks so sad and lost that anger flares in the pit of my stomach. I wish I could fix this for her, but there are some things that you can’t dismantle and put back together with your bare hands. Even if you have the right tools, it often takes time to repair any sort of real damage.