Page 6 of Entwined With You

“True that,” Brax said, his smile genuine as he shot Trevor a nod of thanks. After Brax had emerged from his breakdown in the men’s room earlier that afternoon, he’d noticed Trevor and Mason chatting by the door of the conference room. A moment later, Trevor had come over and announced that he was going to talk Ollie into playing hooky for the rest of the day, and that Brax should join them for the latest action blockbuster.

Brax had almost declined. He’d wanted to tell Trevor and Mason and Ryan and anyone else who’d been paying attention that he didn’t need to be handled. He was fine. Perfectly fine.

Except he hadn’t been fine. Not then.

He’d been a fucking wreck, as every single person in the office could see. Option number two had been to tell Trevor that he was going to pack up and go home early. Get his head in order. But somehow, the words hadn’t come.

Except for those years with Sabrina, Brax had always been a loner. Working with her had changed that. He’d loved the give-and-take. The planning. Loved celebrating when they’d scored and commiserating when they hadn’t. He’d even loved getting close to the marks as they worked a con. Enjoyed it enough, in fact, that he started to feel bad when the con paid off.

Sabrina had felt the same, and they’d shifted their modus operandi. Less grift, more sticky fingers and forgery and online access to things he really shouldn’t have access to. Like, oh, security systems. But oh how the money had rolled in.

He still valued solitude, but at the same time, he genuinely liked working with and around people. As a child, he never would have expected it. People—especially his parents and cousins—weren’t to be trusted. But starting with Brina and continuing later with Ollie at the Academy, he’d come to learn that it wasn’t his innate personality that wanted to pull a Greta Garbo; it was the little boy trapped inside who’d been hurt so badly so many times.

And so he’d said yes to Trevor and the movies, then joined them at this party in celebration of the successful conclusion of a recent kidnapping case. Originally, he’d intended to beg off. Now, he was glad he hadn’t.

“Anybody need a drink?” he asked pushing back from the table.

“I’ll take a whiskey,” Ollie said. “But I can come with you.”

Brax waved the words away. “I’ll get it. Anyone else?”

No one else chimed in, so Brax started to head back in the direction Jamie had come from, his gaze taking in the incredible view of the sun setting over the Pacific as well as the clusters of people scattered around the deck of the infinity pool. Most of the guests were Stark Security Agents and their significant others, but there were also a few friends of the Starks, their live-in nanny, and even a smattering of kids running around.

Damien and his wife, Nikki, a former beauty queen with a smile as wide as her native state of Texas, approached, drinks in hand. “Glad you made it,” Damien said as they passed, and Brax wondered if Ryan had told Damien—who was Ryan’s business partner and best friend—about Brax’s meltdown. Surprisingly, the possibility didn’t piss him off. On the contrary, it made him feel warm and welcome, as if the people around him genuinely cared. For the first time it truly hit him: He’d found a home at Stark Security.

A home.

He’d never had that before. Certainly not with his parents, and not even with Sabrina. She’d been his home, true. Wherever he was with her, was wherever he was supposed to be. But they’d never had a place that was warm and welcoming. Never had a door he looked forward to unlocking. Never had any location to put down roots.

And for the last fifteen years, he hadn’t even had her.

Now, though…

Well, maybe, just maybe, he finally had a place to call home. After all, it was still fucking September 2nd, and he wasn’t at home getting drunk and watching and re-watching Kill Bill, which had been the last movie they’d rented and watched together.

Maybe miracles did happen. Maybe time really did heal all wounds.

Or maybe he’d just become numb.

He paused a few yards from the bar when he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulled it out, then froze when he saw the text on his screen.

I hope this is the right number. I’m looking for Brent Travers. My name is Samantha—I’m Sabrina’s sister.

I know who killed her. And I need your help to nail the bastard.

Brax glanced at his watch before climbing out of his Jeep. He’d parked on the street behind a baby blue VW Bug, rather than bother waiting for the terminally slow gate to the parking structure to open. After all, he was only running into the apartment long enough to change clothes, then heading back out again to meet Samantha at Blacklist, the nearby Venice Beach bar that they’d agreed to in their text messages.

Samantha.

There’d been a wreck on PCH, and it had taken him almost an hour to get home from Damien’s house. Throughout the entire coastal drive his mind had spun with questions. He’d wanted to actually talk with her on the phone—had even suggested as much—but she’d insisted on waiting until they met in person. She’d immediately agreed to his suggestion of Blacklist, and then she’d disappeared, not even acknowledging his text that he’d be there by nine.

It was eight-thirty now, but the bar was only a short walk from his apartment. He’d been living in Venice Beach since he’d moved to LA a few months ago. At the time, he’d promised himself he’d keep his eyes open for a house, but that had been a lie. A house meant putting down roots, and it had been fifteen years since he’d given a fuck about a wife, a house, two-point-five kids, or any of the trappings of normalcy.

He was living legit now, not even a smidgeon on the grift. And that was about as normal as he ever intended to be.

Once upon a time, though…

He sighed as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, his mind spinning as he remembered the plans he and Sabrina used to spin during long nights in various shelters or while they were snuggled together in a sleeping bag. And for those last two years—when they’d actually scored an apartment, well, then they’d truly been playing at domesticity. And it really hadn’t sucked.