“Nothing,” I mutter.
“In a pissy mood because you don’t have your girl by your side?” he presses.
I snap my head up with a glare. “Why don’t you just play your game and mind your own business? Or better yet, don’t you have some new mission to get ready for?”
When Saint grins, I return to my computer screen, trying to orient myself back to the task of completing this summary of events. I’m working on our time together at the island. While I need to report significant things like my daily perimeter checks and equipment monitoring, all I can think about are the precious moments I had with Barrett.
Watching over her while she had her nose pressed against her laptop screen or in bed with her at night, fighting crazy attraction and lustful dreams. Cooking meals for her and worrying over her.
Taking her out on the boat, watching her fight against relaxation because she just wasn’t sure how to do it, but once she got it… she’d been so beautiful and free.
“Seriously… what’s going on with you?” Saint says as he sits his ass on the corner on my desk. He’s wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt, something that looks completely weird on the guy because if he’s not in our working utilityuniform, then he’s wearing three-piece suits.
I want to shove him off my desk and tell him to fuck off, but I don’t.
I don’t because the guy has become a good friend to me over a short period of time. He never hesitated in following me into Munford’s house, not knowing if he’d face a hail of bullets or not. He was as committed to saving Barrett as anyone at Jameson.
Sighing, I scrub my hands through my hair and lean back in my chair, which rolls slightly away from the desk. Hands clamped to the armrests, I look up. “I don’t know what to do about Barrett.”
“What are the choices?” he asks.
“Well, I’m here and she’s there,” I reply sarcastically. “Not exactly conducive to being together.”
“I see your dilemma,” he replies, tapping his fingers on my desk. “The heart is a fragile thing. If it’s not fed routinely, it forgets how to care. Distance prevents meals, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re a real romantic,” I mutter.
Saint tips his head back, giving a boisterous laugh. When he faces me again, he’s still chuckling and shaking his head. “Me? Romantic? The farthest thing from it. I just know facts. Personally, women are devious creatures and aren’t to be trusted as far as you can throw them.”
Now that has my attention. I blink in surprise. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” he says, casually picking at some nonexistent lint on his jeans. He lifts his head up. “But that’s just my personal belief. Don’t let it influence your path.”
“I won’t,” I murmur, but he does have me intrigued. “So what did she do to you?”
His smile stays in place, but something flashes in his eyes that says I hit the mark. “What makes you think anyone did anything to me?”
“That level of distaste for women either means you’ve had your heart broken or you had an abusive mother,” I point out. Simply psychiatry.
Saint’s expression turns hard. “My mother was an angel. The best woman I’ll ever know.”
I incline my head in acknowledgment, smirking. “Then a woman broke your heart.”
“She betrayed me,” Saint murmurs, then pushes off my desk. “Simple as that.”
“Barrett’s not like that. Not all women are like that.”
Shrugging, Saint returns to his desk. He sits in his chair, then spins it slightly toward me. “Probably not. But if you think that way, it makes it easier to stay removed from it. Less dangerous and all.”
I lift my chin, understanding what he means. If someone has been burned once, they tend to be shy around the flammable sources. I get it.
My dilemma with Barrett is different, though. I’m not afraid in the slightest that my heart could be at risk with her. In fact, I want it to be so.
But Barrett’s life is so radically different from mine. She’s a world-famous scientist who will probably end up getting a Nobel prize or some shit for her work. She’ll be off traveling the world while I’ll still be doing missions for Jameson.
What I do for a living and what she does isn’t exactly conducive for a solid relationship.
I study Saint, but his interest is back on his game. He may be jaded and not much help in the romance department, but he did say something that’s sticking with me.
Distance can be a killer to a relationship, no matter how hard both parties try. In the two days I’ve been back in Pittsburgh, Barret and I have kept in close contact. Texts throughout the day and long conversations on the phone that go late into the night. It’s reassuring to have that contact.
It’s not enough, though.
Not for the long term.
Pushing up from my chair, I make my way through the maze of desks and head to the floating staircase. I take the steps to the gym on the fourth floor two at a time. I’d seen Kynan a little while ago, and he’d said he was on his way there to work out.
Since my return to Jameson two days ago, Kynan has been fairly hands off with me. Basically, he’d reiterated he was glad things had worked out—meaning my absolution of murder charges from as high up as the president—and that Barrett was safe. He’d said he was glad to have me back. That if it hadn’t been for my idea to push Scavino into contacting Munford, we most likely would not have found Barrett in time.
It had helped to hear that. Helped to alleviate my guilt over letting her get captured in the first place.
He’d done something that had surprised the shit out of me then.
Clapping a hand on my shoulder, he’d leaned in and said, “Cruce… if you want to stay here at Jameson, you’ve got to do something for me.”
“What’s that?” I’d asked.
“You need to admit—and truly mean it—that you know Barrett’s kidnapping wasn’t your fault.”
He’d stunned me so much I’d actually jerked away from him, but he clamped down hard on my shoulder to hold me in place. “Barrett’s kidnapping was the kidnapper’s fault. In part, Barrett was even at fault. She sent emails out when she’d been specifically told not to. Once they had her location, there was no way you could have withstood that type of strike, even if you’d known it was coming. You did nothing wrong.”
I’d just stared.
“Barrett was at fault,” Kynan repeated. “And Lord knows… that woman paid tenfold for it. No one deserves what she had done to her, but you don’t deserve to have the weight of that on you either. So I’m telling you… if you want to work for me, you better absolve yourself of that shit and do it fast.”
Yeah… his words had given me pause. I’m still unsure if I should give them full credence. The depth of my feelings for Barrett won’t seem to let me pawn this off on her. I’m the man. I’m the strong one. I should take the blame for her and myself.
Regardless, it’s not what I want to talk to Kynan about right now.
In the gym, I find him at the squat rack, loading plates on the barbell. He hears me come in, spares me a glance, and says, “What’s up?”