8. Brody

Icould kill him. I could rip Senator Levinson's head off his shoulders with my bare hands. The second I saw the footage, I knew Scotty would need me. I might not be any closer to working out the issues surrounding my sexuality, but right now, those issues don't matter. The only thing that matters is keeping his heart safe. Encasing a wall around him so that I can keep the rest of the world out. Scotty's face is being broadcast across the nation right now, and he looks like a fucking predator in the footage. I don't even know how the fuck Levinson got it, but it really isn't a surprise he did. The man hired me to kill his son; I wouldn't put anything past him.

Selfishly, I cling to my boy, soaking up his warmth like a sponge. On the drive over, I wasn't sure how he would react to my presence. I've been missing in action for three days. Three horrible days. Days Scotty spent in anguish, judging by his endless voicemails and texts. And what had I done? Ignored him. I rejected call after call after call, and pretended not to see him drive past my house at least fifty times. I mean, yeah, I put a pipe bomb in my neighbor's garbage disposal when I found out she called the cops on my boy, claiming he was stalking me, but he doesn't know that. He thinks I've just abandoned him.

I still don't know if I can be what he wants me to be. I love my wife and I love my job. Taking Scotty on would mean losing all of that. Worse, there would more than likely be a target on my head, too. The senator will stop at nothing to see his son dead, and I don't know if I can protect Scotty on my own. Judging by the vitriol he'd spewed on television this morning, I don't doubt the next hitman will make my boy's ending painful.

As he holds on to me like a lifeline, I'm wrestling with what comes next. The kind thing to do—the merciful thing—would be to give him a painless exit from this world. It would be easy to do. A quick cut to his carotid artery would see him bleed out in seconds. A swift decapitation when he isn't looking would be even faster. I could offer him the kindness of a headshot as he sleeps.

Or I can give him a few more days. I can shower him in love until the day my wife returns, and then I can give him the gift of mercy. Placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, I cradle Scotty's face.

"Scotty," I whisper, but all it does is make him cry even harder. "You gotta stop crying. I can't stand to hear you like this. You're breaking my heart."

He sniffles, sharp and quick. "You've been breaking mine."

Fuck.

I know he's been hurting, but hearing the pain in his voice makes all of this real. It's irrefutable evidence of the hurt storming through his heart. I lean in and kiss him, ignoring the foul taste of sick still clinging to his mouth. I don't give a fuck how he tastes. This will help him. I can help him. I'd chew fucking glass if he asked me to.

I leave him there, planning on getting him a glass of water, but the sight of the dark circles under his eyes tells me he hasn't been sleeping much since I saw him last. I pilfer his medicine cabinet, grabbing a bottle of Tylenol PM and shaking two pills into my hand. When I return to him, he's still in the same spot, his eyes locked on me.

"Why are you here?" he asks, his voice cracked and raw with emotion.

I set the water and pills on his bedside table before taking a seat in front of him, crossing my legs. "I was worried about you," I answer, reaching down to touch his face. He surprises me when he slaps my hand away.

"You don't need to worry about me. I don't deserve it. I . . ." He reaches for the comforter like he's going to hide away from me, but fuck no. Not happening. I take his hand, wanting to hold it, but he just jerks away from me. "You should go."

I shake my head, because I'm not going anywhere. Not after what he's just been through. "I'm staying." He sits up, but in his weakened state, it takes him a second to get upright. I try to help him, but, like before, he just slaps my hand away.

"How can you even look at me? After what I did to you—after what was on the screen. I didn't—I thought we were just playing a game. I thought it was just your way of flirting." He wipes a tear from his cheek, but it should be me doing that for him, pampering him the way he deserves. "I'm sorry, Brody. I forced you to?—"

No.

I'm not going to let him think he forced me to do anything. I refuse to let him believe I was unwilling. Sure, I might not have realized what those confusing feelings were in the beginning, but I've loved every second of what we've done. I have no regrets about any of it.

"You didn't force me to do anything I didn't already want to do, Freakshow. Do you hear me?" I grip his wrist, needing him to believe me. "I didn't understand it at first—and, if I'm being honest, I still don't know if I get it entirely—but I love everything we've done together."

"Then why did you freak out on me? Why did you send me away?"

I want to reach into him and pull all of his pain out and take it into myself, because he's too precious to be anchored in heartbreak. I know this is my chance to lay myself bare before him. To tell him in detail why I've been following him. To explain why this can never be more than a brief romance. But he's aching right now, and I refuse to add to that. I want to let him know love before I have to take that love away from him.

Still, I can give him something. A part of me. One of the many pieces that makes me who I am.

"Before you, I never felt this way for another guy. I didn't realize the way I looked at other men wasn't the way a straight person does. I've always found guys attractive, but I've never felt an emotional bond with them the way I do with women, so it never clicked."

"So, you're bi?"

I shrug, because I'm not entirely sure. I've done a lot of research in his absence, these last few days. It all seemed so much simpler before. Gay, straight, and bisexual. Those were your options. Now, there are all these labels I can't wrap my head around. I've tried, but it's confusing. Pansexual. Demisexual. Queer. It's hard to keep up. The closest I've been able to pinpoint is heteroromantic bisexual, but even that doesn't feel accurate. I love my wife. I love her with all of my heart—even if she doesn't seem to love me all that much anymore—but these last few weeks with Scotty have shaken me to my core. They've taken everything I thought I knew as truth and spun it on its head. I've never looked at anyone the way I look at him. No one has ever made me unhinged with desire like my Freakshow.

"All I know," I continue, cupping his face, "is that I care for you in a way I've never cared for anyone before."

He sniffles, and it's a sound that makes my heart feel like it's shattering in my chest. "Do you love me, Brody?"

I sigh, because I can't answer him yet. I want to tell him I do, because I know it will put him at ease, but I can't bring myself to lie to him—not when I can't even answer the question myself.

"I love being with you," I say honestly. "And I love every second I spend with you. I love the rush I feel when you put a gun to my head or a knife to my throat. The way you barge in like a maniac, telling me you love me and you're moving in without my permission. Freakshow, I love how insane you are, and I don't want you to stop being batshit crazy around me. You push me outside my comfort zone, and you don't give me a say in the matter. I love it." Then I lower my hand to his throat and squeeze tight enough to cut off his airflow. "I love how I don't know if I want to fuck you or kill you. You make me just as goddamn crazy as you, and I don't want it to stop."

Fear and desire flash in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak, managing to choke out the words. "Then kill me, Daddy."

Jesus, fuck.

This man.

"You don't need to come, Scotty. You need to sleep." I trace the circles under his eyes. "You look exhausted."

He sniffles, looking away. "Don't wanna sleep. You won't be here when I wake up. You'll leave again."

"I won't," I insist, needing him to believe it. "I swear, I'm not going anywhere." Handing him the glass, I watch as he pops the pills and swallows them down.

"Please don't leave me, Brody."

"I'll stay here all day. I promise."

He shakes his head. "No. More than that. Don't ever leave me. Please? I don't ask you for much. I won't ask you for anything again, I promise. Just don't ever leave me. I wanna be yours. I want you to be mine." He sighs, and it's like he's already planning on me turning him down. "Please, just don't go."

"Oh, Scotty," I whisper. He looks up, disbelief heavy in his eyes. "Okay." I nod. "Of course. I won't leave you again. I'm by the side for the rest of your life. Promise."

I just can't bear to tell him I'm not sure how much life he has left to live.

I wait until the Tylenol PM claims him before heading into the living room and closing the door behind me. After what we've just shared, I know my Freakshow needs his rest, and I've got a call to make.

The phone rings twice before Fiona answers. On the screen, she and Kincaid seem to be in the throes of passion. She's lying in bed, her hair slick with sweat, clinging to her forehead. She smiles at me and says my name through her moan.

"Someone's having fun," I say as she nods emphatically.

"So fun. So much—oh, fuck—fun."

"You enjoying yourself, Kincaid?"

She turns the camera, and I'm greeted by the sight of a naked Kincaid lying between her thighs, his tongue servicing her like her pleasure is the only thing that matters in the world. He looks up at me with a wet mouth and smiles, panting.

"Hey, buddy." He leans down, licking up her slit as he eyes me through the phone. Fuck. It has no right being as sexy as it is, and a big part of that, surprisingly, is down to my best friend. I kind of wish I'd realized I wasn't entirely straight sooner. Maybe we could have played together.

"Jesus," I moan, trying to ignore the way my cock rises at the sight in front of me. Kincaid must know exactly what he's doing, because he pulls his face out from between our girl's legs and rises to his knees. His cock is on full display, and there's a bead of pre-cum at the tip. It reminds me of the way Scotty leaks at the slightest hint of arousal.

"I see someone's finally on board the bisexual boat."

His words make me blush, and the heat in my cheeks is almost unbearable. "I guess. I'm still not entirely sure what I am, but I know I'm not straight."

Kincaid grabs the phone and shuffles up the bed until he's sitting beside Fee. They're both smiling at me, which makes me a little uncomfortable, but also a little happy. The fact neither of them is judging me for this makes my heart swell.

"Have you had a chance to sow your wild oats yet?" my wife asks, waggling her eyebrows. My cheeks must be burning even more, because her eyes widen and she grabs the phone out of Kincaid's hand. "I knew it! Okay, Mister. Spill. I want all the sordid details."

The biggest rule in our open relationship is open lines of communication and total honesty. Anything the other half wants to know is fair game. No secrets. No lies. But we all know it isn't a rule Fee sticks to, and it seems like I'm right there with her. Spilling the sordid details of what I've shared with Freakshow would feel like a betrayal to him. It isn't until this moment—right now—that I realize it's over. It isn't until I see the confusion on her face that I know I can't give her what she wants. What she deserves. Even worse, I don't think I'd take it back if I could. I hate to see her hurting, but when it comes to Scotty, I regret nothing. How can I regret anything when he"s everything to me?

She's staring at me like I'm a failure. Like I've gone and fucked everything up. And maybe I have. Maybe it's down to Scotty, or maybe it's down to me—either way, it doesn't matter. I've failed her. She's not faultless in all of this either. I can't count the number of times she's broken our rules. Still, I never have. I swore to myself I never would. She has no right to be angry at me right now, but, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame in myself, I allow her to do just that. To aim her anger in my direction like a righteous finger of judgment.

She breathes in slowly as she closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she's looking at me analytically as if she's trying to compartmentalize how I've betrayed her, and at what lengths I've gone to hide it from her.

"Have you broken any of our rules?" she asks, her voice sounding mechanical. There's no hurt or upset in her tone. The way she can shift so suddenly always leaves me amazed. It's what makes her so good at her job. The way she can shut off her emotions in order to get down to business.

I sigh, because she already knows I have. "Yes," I answer, wanting to look away, but unable to move.

She bites her lip and nods, glancing over at Kincaid. "I need to speak with my husband. Would you mind giving us a moment?"

Kincaid flashes me a sympathetic smile. He clearly knows what's in store, and the pity in his expression is more emasculating than anything I've ever experienced. Kincaid would never betray her like this. He wouldn't go behind her back. If I'm being honest, I kind of resent the judgment she's throwing my way. She's broken our rules so many times I've lost count. As bad as I feel about betraying her, I can't ignore the bitterness that's festering beneath the surface.

Once Kincaid's out of the room, she props her phone on the bed and covers her chest with the white, pillowy hotel comforter. "Okay. Walk me through it," she says. I sniffle, but apparently, she's not in the mood for a Brody Frost pity-party. "No. We're not doing that. We're not crying. Just give me the facts. Dry your eyes and tell me. Man up."

I wipe my eyes, and I lay myself bare. She's clearly angry when I refuse to tell her what we've done together sexually, but surprisingly, she doesn't press for details when she sees how uncomfortable I am. I tell her about our game. How he threatens my life, and the way I threaten his. That admission earns me a soft chuckle. I tell her how he's a little bundle of fire and ridiculousness that never seems to fade. I tell her how he's been staying over. Lastly, and most egregiously, I tell her I lied about who she was when he asked me.

She closes her eyes and nods, going silent long enough to make me nervous. Eventually, she opens her eyes, her hardened expression falling, and a tear drips down her cheek. The single teardrop is worse than any words she could have said. The longer it falls, the lower I feel.

"Do you love him?"

I bite my bottom lip, because it's a question I can't answer—not when I don't even know the answer myself. "We've only known each other for a few weeks."

She cocks her head to the side and sighs. "Oh, Brody. Babe, how long were we together before you knew?"

I knew I loved her on our first date. Sure, it was all a cover for an assignment we were handling together, but that's what it felt like to me. A date. A real one. The way she presented herself so surely had been the kicker for me. We were having coffee at a small shop downtown. There was a trans man working the register, and one of the customers had started spewing bigoted talking points at the man. Fee gave me a smile before telling me she'd be right back. As she gave the man the tongue lashing of his life, it happened. Each word—every cleverly crafted insult she hurled his way—made me fall for her. By the time she returned to the table, I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life with her.

And now, I know the forever we'd agreed to is off the table. Forever isn't mine to give when I've just sworn it to Scotty.

Finally, after a long, lonely ten-second pause, she nods to herself. "I think it's time, Brody."

"No! No, Fee, I'm not saying I want to marry the guy or anything. This is just?—"

"It's something that's been weighing us down for a while now," she says, her voice soft. "You're not happy, and neither am I. Brody, I don't want us to grow to resent each other. You're my best friend—I don't want to end up hating you when this is over. If we end it now, we can still keep some semblance of a friendship. Don't you want that?"

"I can be better. I know I can."

Her smile is kind, but it's clear she's forcing it. She's staring at me like a teacher placating an unruly schoolboy. "Then be better for the next one. Who knows? Maybe this guy will end up being the man of your dreams. Just don't ice him out. You have a tendency of going quiet, and you can't do that if you want it to be an equal partnership. You have to share your feelings."

The sad thing is, I know she's right. I don't do touchy-feely, emotional displays. It's not in my nature. But with Scotty, I can already feel the difference. I haven't shared much with him, but I've already shared a lot more with him than I did with Fee while we were dating. I know I'm an impenetrable fortress when it comes to emotions, but maybe she's right. Maybe I need to lay some of those defenses down.

"So, that's it then?" I say bitterly. "Our marriage is over?"

She wipes her eye and looks away. "I think it's been over for a while. We've just been too scared to admit it."

I have to choke back a sob. "I love you. You know I love you, right?"

She nods, her eyes wet. "I know. And I love you, too. I just wish love was enough to get us past this." Ever the professional, the moment her voice cracks, she steels her face and gives me a determined nod. "We can talk about the house when I get home. In the meantime, I think you should keep things going with this guy. Take him somewhere nice and make him feel special. Let yourself fall for him. No shame or worrying about what anyone else will think about it. I want you to be happy, Brody. If this guy can do that for you, then I support it."

I shake my head. "I can't. Even if I wanted to, he's . . ."

She arches an eyebrow at me. "He's what?"

Fuck. I can't tell her this. She can't know the man who's turned my world upside down is my target. I mean, she's going to put two and two together soon enough, once she sees the news footage of his father's campaign announcement. I'm a little surprised she doesn't know already. But I guess they've been too busy in their love cocoon to pay attention to trending news stories.

"He's what, Brody?"

I sigh. Moment of truth. "It's Scott Levinson."

Her eyes widen and her mouth hangs open. "Jesus. Seriously, Brody? Please tell me you haven't fallen in love with the man you're supposed to kill. Please tell me you're not a complete moron." She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "I knew something was going on. You've never had an issue with an assignment before." There's anger in her voice, but more than anything, she looks scared. Terrified, really. Knowing who Scotty is—knowing who placed the hit on him—is enough to know I'm basically a dead man walking. "Fuck. This is bad. This is really bad." She leaves the phone on the bed, and I hear the sound of wooden drawers flinging open. A purple shirt flies through the air, landing on the phone and cloaking me in darkness. All the while, she's chanting, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Fee? What are you doing?"

Her feet slam against the floor, and the shirt is lifted, giving me a glimpse of her blood-red face. "What the fuck do you think I'm doing? I'm cutting my vacation short because my husband is a moron. I'll be home"—she picks up her phone and taps on the screen, probably looking up flight information—"tomorrow. The next flight leaves tonight, and I should be back by noon. Jesus, Brody. If they find out?—"

"I know. You think I don't know what they'll do to me?"

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I can't—We can't . . . There's no future for us. I have to kill him." My voice cracks, and then more tears fall down my cheeks. The thought of snuffing out his beautiful light makes my heart feel like it's cracking in my chest. He doesn't deserve this.

She stares at me through the phone, studying my expression. "Do you need me to handle it for you? If it's too hard?—"

"Don't touch him," I growl, surprised by the heft in my voice.

She startles, her body shaking, if only for a second. "Excuse me?"

Panic. That"s all I feel. It starts as a trickle in my chest that explodes, like a star gone supernova. The thought of her laying a finger on him strikes up a fury in my soul. Then, that fury spreads until all that's left is unfiltered rage.

"No one touches him but me. No one. You could hurt him. I don't want it to hurt. I want it to be quick."

She gives a pensive nod. "Then I suggest you make it quick. They won't just come after you. If they think you've gone off course, they'll come after me and Kincaid. That's not happening. You've got a day to get things sorted. If he's still alive when I get there, I . . . Brody, I'll have to. We don't have any other choice."

I feel it when it happens.

The moment our once-unbreakable tether snaps right down the middle

She's the woman I vowed to love, honor, and cherish, but right now—as I stare into her cold, lifeless eyes—I thank the universe that she's not in front of me. No one touches Scotty. No-fucking-one.

I don't even tell her goodbye. I just end the call and throw my phone against the wall before grabbing a throw-pillow so I can scream into it without waking my boy.

I could have loved Scotty Levinson, and now I have to kill him.