Page 3 of Get A Fix

Things had not always been like that. There had been a time, a year and a half ago now, when I thought I’d found the one. But it turned out I was a horrific judge of character and had not just been wrong, but horribly so. I’d fallen hard, and the man in question had kept me hidden, not telling a soul about me. I had no idea he was in the closet; I thought he was just busy. He was a corporate lawyer, after all. Of course he had to be on a call with Hong Kong when I wanted him to meet my friends, go to the movies, the ballet, or just have dinner at a new place I wanted to try. I finally understood precisely where I stood when I was introduced to his work colleagues as a friend and his wingman and nothing more. I never even noticed the closet door closing behind me. I’d had no idea I was his dirty little secret.

Everything made sense after that: His reticence to move in with me, his hatred of even the smallest PDA, his inability to be with me for the holidays, my birthday, or anything else. There would be other people there, my family, my friends, and he couldn’t meet them because then they would know him and greet him in public. He couldn’t have that.

It was easy to end us since, it turned out, our lives were in no way commingled. I had nothing at his place, and he had nothing at mine. Our relationship was basically a series of one-night stands where we went back to our own lives until it was time to hook up again. I was a booty call, plain and simple. I’d been floating around on a cloud of delusion, and he was going about his life, having his needs met, giving nothing, staking no claim, and when it was over, he left without a backward glance.

Love was stupid, and though I hadn’t sworn off it forever—I was a romantic at heart and a believer in the true and forever kind, for which I blamed my sisters with their romance novels and the rom-coms I was dragged to as a child—I was definitely not in the market for finding the one anytime soon. While I didn’t despair of there ever being someone out there for me, I had my parents as a glowing example of soulmates. Plus, the idea of growing old and living with one of my sisters—they all wanted me to help take care of their kids—really didn’t sound all that bad. Already, I found myself slowly slipping into my curmudgeon phase, even if I did go on the occasional date.

“Are you gonna get that?” Owen asked me, bringing me from my thoughts to the phone ringing in the breast pocket of my suit.

“Oh, look who it is,” I grumbled, pulling my cell and turning it so Owen could see that it was his intended—the wedding would be in June—my boss, Jared Colter.

“That’s a terrible picture,” Owen groused. “I have much better ones,” he suddenly grinned. “Of course, most of those are of him naked.”

“Gross,” I muttered, passing my phone to Owen. “Here, take it.”

His smile lit his face. “Hello there,” he answered in a sultry voice I’d never heard from him before.

I’d let Owen take the call because for one, it was easier than saying later, Oh, Owen’s here, and having to explain the whole thing when Owen could just tell him now. Second, ever since the announcement came about my boss and our tech guy getting married, both of them were different, more open, and I liked the new reality.

It was funny to look back at what I—and everyone else—thought about them before we were all told the story of what happened to Owen’s parents.

All of us, current and former fixers, thought Owen was young, around twenty-four at most, but he was actually a worldly thirty-two. For guys who were supposed to be observant, we all sucked at noticing things that were right in front of us.

Locryn Barnes, another fixer who’d left, thought Owen had blue eyes when they were very clearly green, and Barnes used to be a cop. I’d found that unless you really looked at people, something like eye color wasn’t something anyone retained. Like Benji. I had no idea what color his eyes were. If someone had a gun in my face and threatened to kill me unless I told them, I’d be dead. It was why, when I used to take witness statements at crime scenes back in the day, it had always been hit or miss. People saw what they conjured in their minds, not what actually occurred in front of them. That had been my whole problem with my last relationship. I’d only seen what I wanted to.

My boss, badass Army Intelligence supersoldier, was no better. Jared Colter had seen nothing at all past friendship with Owen until Owen was kidnapped and Jared had to save him. Somewhere during their adventure, my boss’s eyes had been opened to what was right under his nose, and I couldn’t be happier for them. Watching Owen smile as he talked into my phone gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. Just because love wasn’t currently in the cards for me didn’t mean seeing it in full bloom wasn’t nice.

“Here you go,” Owen said with such forced cheerfulness that I couldn’t miss it, giving me a look of sympathy like I was going to the guillotine.

I groaned. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, using a creepy happy tone, his smile more of a grimace.

“You’re a terrible liar,” I assured him.

“What?” So much over-the-top mock surprise, I rolled my eyes at him.

Clearly, whatever my boss was about to say was going to be a horror. “Hello,” I greeted him briskly, girding for bad news.

“Are Owen and Benji really injury-free?” my boss asked first. Owen was the love of his life and Benji worked for him, so I understood his concern.

“Yeah. They’re good. I promise.”

Quick breath. “Okay, then listen. I’m sorry for the late call, but I need you in Maine tomorrow, so you should probably get home and pack.”

It took me a moment to process his words.

“Davis? Are you there?” he said, using my last name. I was pretty sure it was a habit picked up from the military that he saw no reason to break.

I had to reboot. “I’m sorry, did you say Maine?”

“I did.”

There were questions. So many questions. But my boss didn’t like those. And all I could think was, Maine? In early March? Was it raining? Was it cold? Colder than Chicago? And why on earth did I need to go there?

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking, but it won’t take long. It’s a few days. Five in all. There’s a wedding, and I think a small amount of time after that or before, I’m not sure. The timeline is a bit up in the air.”

A wedding? Oh dear God. And what the hell did “a bit up in the air” mean?