Chapter 12: Lauren

Chapter Twelve

LAUREN

G riff sets up in the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling out pans and utensils like he owns the place. Mick watches it all with sullen dislike.

"What did you do today?"

He remains silent.

"Having a hard time finding a job, huh?" Griff says as he heats up the frying pan.

"What do you know?" Mick juts his chin out.

"I know that hiring managers will overlook an assault charge easier than a theft one because if you're stealing from someone else, you'll be stealing from them. Doesn't matter if you're applying for a job to deliver a ten dollar meal or selling securities. Actually I take that back. The higher the value of the item you're selling, the more they'd be willing to overlook your crimes."

"So I just need to get to Wall Street trader level and all's good."

"Yep, but getting there is the problem. In order to sit for the Series E license, you have to have a clean record. In other words, you have to start your life of crime after you're on the trading floor, not before." Griff dumps the steaks onto the hot pan. Mick drifts closer.

"So what now? My life is over? You sending me to boot camp or something?"

"Do I look like a guy who'd send you to military school?"

"Yes," both Mick and I say.

"You too?" Griff shoots me a wounded, accusatory look.

"Yes."

He shrugs. "Okay, you got me. I did think that four years at the Citadel would straighten you out. Or maybe just twelve weeks at boot camp, but your sister probably would scoop my balls out with a dull spoon if I even suggested it. As you're probably aware, I'm sweet on your sister, so I'm trying to avoid her being pissed off at me."

"You're losing that battle," Mick smirks. He's practically standing at Griff's elbow now, not acting as if Griff's his mortal enemy.

I don't know whether to be relieved or betrayed.

"Why do you even like her?"

Oh, it's betrayed. I throw a slipper at his head, which he easily ducks. It hits Griff in the back, though. Mick laughs like a hyena.

"Because she's the kind of girl to throw a slipper at your head when she feels like it."

"Bro, there are other girls out there. Nice ones. Ones that are prettier, have more money."

"Getting turned down a lot?" Griff replies. "Probably because you're jobless."

"I'm nineteen. I'm supposed to be jobless."

Griff stays silent at that even though there's an easy comeback. He stays busy breaking herbs over the steaks. I pour three glasses of water and leave two of them to the guys before taking the last one with me to the living room. My apartment is small enough that I can pretend to read a book and still hear everything going on in the kitchen.

"No snarky response like ‘I was working three jobs when I was nineteen.'" Mick tries to deepen his voice to match Griff's.

"I was in the military at nineteen. It was either that or prison."

I nearly drop my book. Mick responds the same only with words. "The fuck?"

"Language," Griff chides.

"No, the fuck is really the right response," I call.

Mick gives me a thumbs-up of solidarity, which I return. The Murphy siblings standing together.

"My dad liked beating on me. He didn't hit my mom but operated heavily on the ‘spare the rod, spoil the child' saying. I admit I was a handful and didn't always listen, but I got tired of getting whipped or punched or burned, so when I was eighteen, I decided I'd had enough. Only I didn't realize how strong I was and ended up breaking his jaw. When he got out of the hospital, he pressed charges, and I had the choice of military or prison. I opted for the military, and it ended up being good for me."

My heart turns over hearing this. I never once gave a thought to Griff's past, too worried about my present.

"What do you do now?"

"I'm into security. That's how I met your sister."

My breath catches. Is he going to tell Mick I tried robbing the Academy?

"I was running a security gig at a friend's and your sister happened to run by. We got to talking, and now I'm here." He ends the greatly edited story with a small shrug.

"How'd you get into security?"

"The military."

"Oh."

"I don't want him to go to the military," I pipe up so that Mick doesn't feel alone. "I'd fight for him to not go, in fact."

"I get not wanting to sign up. War sucks. Too many of my friends suffer from bad PTSD, and there's not enough help out there for them. If you want to get into security, though, you need to have training on how to fight, how to handle weapons, how to look for threats. You can learn all of that through schools, but it requires a lot of dedication."

"And money." Mick drops back. His disappointment is palpable.

Griff pops the whole pan in the oven and then holds out his hand. "Give me your phone."

"Why?" Mick eyes the other man with suspicion.

Griff allows his hand to drop. "Then don't."

"No, wait. I'll get it." My brother hurriedly digs into his jeans and hands over his phone, unlocked and ready.

Griff does something and then hands the device back. "That's the number for a gym I own. You've got a month pass. If you use it every day for at least two hours, I'll comp you another month. The day you can take me to the mat, I'll send you to a surveillance school."

"Old man, I could take you now," Mick crows.

I wince because I know what's coming. In two seconds, Griff has Mick against the wall with his forearm against Mick's windpipe. Mick gasps, bug-eyed.

"Griff," I say with warning.

Griff backs off. "Sorry, just reflex."

Mick rubs his throat. Griff grabs the glass of water I'd poured earlier and thrusts it into Mick's hand. "You want sour cream on your potatoes, Lauren?"

"Yes, please," I reply meekly.