Akara scrutinizes the top title and groans again. “Jack.”
“What?” He tenses.
Akara reaches for the book quickly and then flings it across the room. I barely have time to glance at the cover, but I’m sure I saw Kingly’s face.
Jack smiles into a laugh. “There’s not many books to choose from here, you know.”
“I have to see that guy every day. I’m not staring at him during this effing interview.”
I swig coffee. Fuck. It scalds my tongue.
The door opens, and Jesse Highland parades in, carrying three different potted plants. “This is all I could find from the lobby.”
Jack walks over to his eighteen-year-old brother. “It’ll work. Thanks, Kuya.”
Leaning over, I whisper to Akara, “You’re positive this isn’t a bad idea?”
He massages his palms. “Better now than later. I don’t want to rehash this in two months.”
“I don’t want to rehash this shit at all.”
“You said yourself that talking is good. Even if it’s painful.”
That was in relation to my dead brother. “Yeah, and I haven’t heard you talk about your dad in a while.”
Akara shuts down. His gaze dropping. He goes eerily still. “You got me on that one.”
“We got each other.”
He lets out a weak laugh. “We’re good at that.”
Understanding each other.
Yeah.
Comms sound off in my ear. “Thatcher to SFO, I’ll be at the hotel for the rest of the night with Jane.”
“Copy,” Akara responds.
I’ve been listening for any signs that Sulli is on the move.
Five temps are guarding her tonight, my dad also enlisted his services, and last intel I heard, she’s still hanging out with Beckett Cobalt in his room. Trying to relax before tomorrow’s big swim.
Safe.
She’s safe. Since all the famous families are staying at this resort hotel, security is everywhere. But the attack at the neighboring hotel still unsettles the fuck out of me.
I ran into my dad earlier, and he reminded me, “You and Akara did the right thing. He made the right call to help you. She’s okay.”
I didn’t have much to say.
Just nodded.
All bodyguards are now required to wear covert ballistic vests under our shirts. Indefinitely. But the guys who’ll return to just peeling emotional preteens off their clients won’t need them after a while.
For Akara and me—this could be our new normal. Sulli might be a high-risk client for the rest of her life.
There is no question about can we handle it?
We all know we have to. We chose this together.
And I’ve known a short-life lived full is better than a long-life lived empty. But I’ll try my damndest to make sure we’re all living long and full.
Once Jack and Jesse get the equipment squared away, Jesse posts up behind the camera. Jack sinks into a chair next to the tripod like he’s a middle-aged dad about to have “the talk” with his teenage sons.
I don’t know why I think that.
Sons.
The talk.
I wonder who’ll give our kids the sex talk. Sulli if it’s a girl. But if it’s a boy…
Heat wafts over me. I don’t know how any of this works. Me and Akara being dads to the same kid. Me being a dad at all.
Sweat builds underneath my ballistic vest and I miss Jack’s first question.
“I’ll survive. It’s part of the job,” Akara says, elbows casually on the armrests. “Sulli didn’t get hurt. That’s what I care about more.”
Jack looks more relaxed. “You have a lot of friends who care about you too.”
“I’m flattered, really,” Akara says flatly.
I laugh. “He’s not used to being Mr. Popular,” I tell Jack. “Just Mr. Gets Shit Done.”
“What he said.” Akara jabs a thumb to me, then takes a big swig from his coffee.
Jack glances between us. “Are you ready to talk about your relationship with Sulli?”
We’ve already mentioned Sulli in past interviews.
This must be deeper than that.
I ask, “You mean do we want to talk about her being pregnant?” Sulli gave Oscar the okay to spill the news to Jack. So I know he knows.
“Wait, Sulli’s pregnant?” Jesse stands up straighter, and I can see him more clearly now. His jaw falls open. Eyes wide.
Fuck.
Fuck.
We don’t need to worry about Oscar spilling shit—‘cause here I am, Banks Roscoe Moretti, doing that all on my goddamn own.
My big fuckin’ mouth.
How did I forget Jesse is in the room?
He’s been ducked down behind the camera.
Jack runs a tensed hand through his hair. “Yeah, Sulli is pregnant.”
No reprimand from Akara—which means he doesn’t give a shit that Jesse knows. He just nods to Jesse. “Let’s keep this in the secret circle.” He motions with his hands, indicating that the circle is here.
Jesse’s shaggy hair sways as he nods. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Does, uh, Winona know?” He waits for the answer with bated breath. Before we can answer, he’s speaking fast. “We’re sort of friends—I don’t know what you’d call it, actually.”
Akara frowns. “Why?”
“She gave me her number this week. But I don’t know how much she actually trusts me…” Jesse shrugs. “So she doesn’t know? Or she does?”
“She doesn’t,” Akara says stiffly. “A select few people know, and we’d like to keep it that way during the Olympics. So again, secret circle.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Jesse promises, eyeing me and Akara back and forth. “Who’s the dad?”
Jack lets out a breath. “Kuya—”
“Sorry.” Jesse raises his hands. “Yeah, I know, not cool. Forget what I said.”
“We don’t know who the dad is,” Akara says candidly. “We don’t want to know until the birth.”
We’re just putting it all out there.
Alright. I try to relax back.
Take the wheel, Kitsuwon.
Jesse bobs his head. “Cool. Cool. You three are like the sickest triad I know.”
Jack smiles. “They’re the only triad you know.”
“Yeah, and all my friends back in Long Beach love them. Now you guys are having a baby together. Domestic shit and all that. It’s like giving a finger to all the haters. What sweet revenge, right?”
More like, what sweet, sweet pressure.
The world will probably be eyeing us keenly. Seeing if we make a misstep as parents. Seeing if we fail. Then they’ll say having a family as a triad can’t work. Look at Akara, Banks, and Sulli—they nuked it.
Gotta be the best dads.
Gotta be the best mom.
Hell, I don’t even know how to be a decent dad right now.
If I could tear off my ballistic vest, I’d do it—I’d go buck-ass naked right now. A gallon of sweat is pooling underneath the thick fabric.
Jack sees me. “We don’t have to talk about the pregnancy.”
“Good.” I shift again. “Let’s just stick to the Olympics.”