Maximoff believes in him.
Farrow doesn’t. I don’t, and I feel like 9 out of 10 outcomes involve Jane using drugs in this room. If we repeated this ten times, I only see Beckett choosing his sister and brother once.
Is this that one time?
I doubt it.
Charlie went a darker route when we planned this, and he said, “We might need to call in Moffy to join us.”
“No,” Farrow and Jane said.
But the reality is that Maximoff is sober. He has the family history of addiction, and Charlie thinks that forcing Maximoff to use drugs could push Beckett to quit more than them.
Maximoff agreed.
He’s waiting in the hall.
If Charlie gives me a signal, I’m supposed to radio Farrow, who’ll tell Maximoff to come inside. But I can’t put Farrow in the position I’m in.
I can’t put Maximoff in the position Jane is in.
Beckett has to choose his sister.
He stares past me and out the many windows. Confliction tearing up his face—and I just tell him, “Choose her.”
His eyes redden.
It’s the easiest call in the book. “Choose her. She’s right there.” I point at his sister, knelt in front of his vice. “Choose your twin brother.”
Charlie meets Beckett’s eyes, both the same yellow-green.
He slowly, almost involuntarily, shakes his head. He faces the door. “Let me out.”
“No.” Acid drips down my throat.
I’ve never been addicted to anything in my life—not like my twin brother who’s been trying to kick his own habits for years. I understand it can’t be that simple for him. Something in his head is telling him it’s the hardest call of his life.
So difficult he’s standing here wrestling with himself.
Jane frowns, then asks Charlie, “So how do I do this?”
Beckett is turned towards me. Only me. And when he hears that, his face begins to crack, a fissure running through his features.
Charlie instructs, “Press your finger to one nostril—”
“Stop,” Beckett says in a whisper that I can only hear.
Charlie keeps talking, and I nod Beckett towards his siblings.
“No.” He battles emotion. “You have to stop her. If my parents hear that you let her do this, they’ll never accept you. Do you want that?”
I narrow my eyes on him. All I’ve wanted is for her family to fully accept me. Beckett knows that, and I realize what has to be done.
I click my mic on my collar. “Banks to Farrow, barricade the door. Don’t let Beckett out.”
“Done,” Farrow responds.
I leave my post with a determined, assured stride, and I lower next to Jane on the floor. “Make me a line,” I tell Charlie.
He frowns for a millisecond before smiling.
I finally look to Jane.
Her lips are parted, eyes wide. “Thatcher?”
“We do this together,” I say. “You and me.”
Tears gather in her eyes. I brush them away.
“People do stupid things when they’re in love,” Charlie says, but it’s not in disdain. It’s warm, heartfelt and he looks at me like he’s acknowledging that I am stupid-in-love with his sister. And fuck it, that’s the best outcome there is.
Three lines streak the table. I’ve never done cocaine, but I can’t think of a better reason to. My mind is right. That’s all that matters.
“You ready?” Jane asks.
“I’m good to go.”
She smiles.
I hold her hand, and we dip our heads down to the table with Charlie.
“Stop!” Beckett shouts. “Wait, just stop!” He storms over and places a hardback book on top of the cocaine lines. “Don’t ever.” He’s speaking to his sister and brother. “Not for me.”
Jane tenses. “Only if—”
“Yes, okay. Yes. I’m going to stop. I won’t use anymore. Not for performances or rehearsals.”
“Or anything,” Charlie says.
“Or anything,” he promises.
“Because if you do, I’ll be your roommate,” Jane reminds him. “Thatcher, Charlie, and I will be using every single day—”
“I know. The threat still stands, I heard you,” Beckett nods. “I know, sis.”
We all are on our feet.
“It’s not just a threat,” Charlie says. “It’s an oath.”
Beckett surprisingly nods. “Okay. Let’s spit on it.”
“No.” Jane begins to smile. “This one has to be done with blood.” She turns to me, and I unsheathe my knife, the kind every bodyguard here is armed with, instead of guns.
The four of us make a blood pact in the tower room. Jane glances at me while Charlie cuts his palm, and we share an acknowledgement that Beckett’s promise could be temporary. The only thing stopping him from using isn’t a pact. It’s not Jane. Or me. Or Charlie.
It’s himself.
And the moment he decides this isn’t worth it, he’ll start again. But for now, we all settle with taking his word. Hopefully it means something.
37
THATCHER MORETTI
20 Days Snowed-In
Akara has called an emergency security meeting, Epsilon bodyguards included—and no one is throwing jabs or backhanded horseshit. We gather around the circular breakfast table in the cold kitchen and carry complete focus and intensity. Committed to the same purpose, the same reason we’re here.
Our clients.
These families come first.
We’ve sworn to put them before our feuds, before our personal problems, before our hunger and aches and pains and needs.
Akara unzips his wet jacket, the sat-phone on the table. “Here’s the deal, guys. The village’s inn is a ten-hour hike on foot, and the owner said she has enough provisions to house six people if we can make it there.”
“Scots are dope,” Donnelly says.
Residents here have been more than friendly. Over a few days ago, a Scottish local trekked here to check up on us. Just in time too. He helped us fix another burst pipe. Without the generosity and kindness of the Scottish residents, we couldn’t stay here long in these conditions.
“We have two problems,” Akara announces. “1. We can’t leave until the winds die down—and from what she said, it didn’t sound like anytime soon, and 2. Only six people can go.” The change of scenery, getting out of this house—it’ll be like a life raft for some.
The priority list is unspoken.
Six clients are in Scotland: Jane, Maximoff, Charlie, Beckett, Sullivan, and Luna. They come first. Along with the little sister of two bodyguards. We take care of our own.
Joana Oliveira is high-priority.
Which makes seven. But we all know Maximoff will volunteer to stay behind.
“You only want six people to go on the ten-hour hike?” Oscar asks for clarification.
Akara nods. “Just six.”
Quinn frowns. “Why not send bodyguards as escorts? We can go with the clients, drop them off, then hike back here.”
“We can’t risk it,” Akara explains. “If the weather changes, you won’t be able to return to Mackintosh House, and we have to respect the fact that they’re letting six stay. It needs to be a group of two bodyguards and four clients.”