“My uncles have known me my whole life and some still call me Banks on accident.” I reassure him. “It happens, kid. It doesn’t mean they don’t care.” If I let that shit hurt me or affect me, I’d be in pain every week.
But when people see me—truly see me and not just the twin that I am—it’s a rush. Like drinking the coldest ice water on a scorching summer day, and I feel that every moment I’m with Jane.
I almost glance back at the shut door.
I miss her.
And I’ve only been on-duty for an hour. She’s busy handling the logistics of maneuvering too many people to Scotland. Plus scheduling meetings with local wedding vendors while we’re there.
I’m good at multi-tasking, but that girl could surpass the hell out of me every time. I linger on that thought and almost smile.
Together we could juggle the world.
While I focus solely on Xander, I wear seriousness. He’s processing what I said. And he’s wincing.
“I’m your bodyguard,” I remind him. “You’ve known me for years. It makes sense that you can tell us apart better than your parents can.”
Xander bites his thumbnail, catches himself, and rubs his hand against his jeans. “Yeah you’re right.” He backs up and lowers to the edge of his bed. After a gulp of soda, he asks, “So how many people know about the twin switch anyway?”
“You want the whole list?”
He snorts out soda in surprise, then wipes his nose. “There’s a list?”
I go ahead and rattle off names.
All of SFO, Jack Highland (an exec producer of the docuseries), and the older famous ones: Jane, Maximoff, Charlie, Beckett, Sullivan, and Luna.
Mainly everyone who joined the FanCon tour.
Xander blinks. “Uh, that’s not a secret if that many people know. It’s information.” He crunches the can in his hand. “As the great Varys would say.”
He’s referencing Game of Thrones. Honestly, I wish I could go back in time and tell my stone-cold-serious teenage self how much I’d know about George R.R. Martin and Tolkien and trolls. I’d probably smile more than I ever did.
I fix my eyes on my client. “Then it’s information you need to keep secret.”
He licks soda off his lips. “I can do that.”
I nod strongly, confident in this kid, and I watch his features lighten.
Comms crackle. “Donnelly to Thatcher, coming in hot with lunch.”
I press the mic. “Copy.” To Xander, I say, “Donnelly’s on his way up with food.”
“Awesome.” Xander stands on the skateboard and rolls to the window.
I leave the door and grab my water bottle off his desk.
He pries down a single blind, just enough to peer out of the slat. “Do you think Donnelly is bored? Being on my detail, I mean.”
My brows knit, caught off guard. “Why would you even think that?”
Xander releases the blind and glances back at me. “Because he used to be Beckett’s bodyguard. And before that, Tom’s. So he’s used to hanging around ballerinas and musicians rather than just sitting inside all day and staring at a wall.” Xander shrugs. “And like I don’t even go to Dalton Academy, so there’s no high school drama he can soak up. I’m just boring, so by process of fucking deduction he’s probably bored.”
I squint because he’s seeing something I don’t see. Something I can’t see.
He’s the son of billionaires, a teen spectacle that fans fawn over and media stokes into a worldwide phenomenon—his life is way out of range from slow and average and ordinary.
I shake my head. “I’m not bored, and you’re not boring.” That’s it. End of story. I’m about to twist open my water, but his chest collapses.
I plant 120% of my concentration on him.
“You have to say that. You’re my…you’re my bodyguard.” He runs a hand through his hair.
I go still.
He can barely meet my eyes. What I feel for Xander…it’s as deep as blood, but I’m not his brother. I’m not permanent to his life in that sense, and I’ve tried…
I’ve tried fucking hard to make sure he understands this.
I’m replaceable.
Banks is replaceable. We should just be nameless bodyguards on a team to Xander, and one day another bodyguard will stand here and take our post. He shouldn’t bat an eye or even notice a real difference. His life should continue at the same rate without misstep or back shuffle.
Being on his detail again—I’m blowing a fuse that I already struggled to tear out of a bomb. Confusing him and me.
Swiftly, I act on instinct and scrounge up professional facts. “It shouldn’t even matter what Donnelly or I think. We aren’t here to be entertained by you. We’re here to protect you.”
Xander opens his arms wide. “Exactly. 99% of the time, you’re protecting me inside my own damn room. And we both know that the threats are mostly just me.”
I unscrew my water, muscles stiff as we ride down this road.
I’ve seen Xander at some of the lowest points. I’ve tried to pull him up. I remember him at eleven. How he couldn’t get out of bed one morning. He was crying, sobbing, and could barely breathe as he said, “I don’t want to be here.”
I had to call his parents. I stayed with him. I held his hand.
It’s true that most clients don’t ask for their bodyguards to be in their room with them all day.
Every day.
But Xander Hale has different demons that he needs us to fight off. It’s why I’m here. What I’m made to do.
When he stays inside the Hale mansion, his security detail is often posted in his room with him. Mostly for his peace of mind…and so that he’s not alone.
The times when he’s not doing well, we’ll split shifts so he has a bodyguard around-the-clock, even when he sleeps. It’s one reason why he’s usually assigned two men and not just one.
Right now I don’t want Donnelly to interrupt this conversation, so I whisper quickly into my mic, “Thatcher to Donnelly, standby for five before coming upstairs.”
The line crackles. “Copy that, Thatch.”
Thatch.
Heaviness pounds my chest, but I force myself not to correct Donnelly this time. I’m more concerned about the kid in front of me.
Xander continues, not noticing that I radioed anyone. “I don’t know; maybe if I went out more, it’d be more interesting for Donnelly.” He hangs his head, then swallows the last of his soda.
“Are you trying to impress him?” I take a swig of water.
“No.” He wipes his mouth with the heel of his palm. “I just don’t want anyone else to leave.”
I breathe out through my nose. That hits me hard since Banks and I were the first to really leave him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Fucking A, Thatcher.
The words leave before I can stop them, and I fucking hate that I just made a promise we both know I can’t keep.
I’m going to go where Jane goes. I want to. I need to.
I have to. Everything in my soul wrenches me in that direction. Hell, it’s been wrenching me for a while. Before I was even her bodyguard.
Xander huffs. “You can’t say that. If they let you back on Jane’s detail, you’ll take it. And I get it. You should.” He inhales a sharper breath. “I just…you know I thought if you were going to be a part of the family, you’d be a Hale.” He shrugs. “Marry Luna or something.”