Chapter 15

Brynley

I want to do it.

I want to stand in front of a bunch of college kids and give them hope for their future.

I want to give a "lets fly into battle and die together" speech that would not only make my inner Captain Kirk proud but that I was never given by any of my professors or guest lecturers.

I want them to have something different than I did.

And I want to be a part of it.

Now, I just have to discuss this with the overly paranoid man I married.

I don't need his permission to do shit, especially when it comes to my career, but I do want his support.

And I don't want to do it if it's going to create a hassle for Wy or interfere with his scheduling.

I swear to Spock that kid has an even busier social calendar than we do.

How does one school have so many fucking events?!

"Good evening, Mrs. Wilcox," greets Silas Bhett, warm beige face lighting up significantly at my arrival.

" Bryn, " I sweetly correct while adjusting my work bag on my shoulder.

" Bryn, " he beams back prior to politely nodding at my security detail, "Hurst."

"Bhett."

Silas reminds me a lot of Clark.

He's cordial yet polished.

Personable yet professional.

Treats the tenants in the building like extended family – knowing birthdays and schedules and social habits – and behaves as though each individual who takes up residence here is the boss he must appease by maintaining a dust free lobby, complimentary umbrellas on rainy days, vehicles pulled around without needing a request, mints, water, leashes, lint brushes, and just about anything else you could think of needing a concierge for.

Many people think he's just a doorman.

I know he's more like a magician.

Part of me wonders if he delivers the same attention to detail to the girlfriend, I think I recall him having.

"You're home off schedule." He folds his glove covered hands behind his back. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah! Work ran a little later than expected and then I went to have a drink with an old colleague who was in town that I haven't seen in like forever."

"You don't have to refer to Mr. Connelly as an old colleague, Bryn," Silas cheekily chastises. "I am aware of your non-professional relationship with him."

"Still struggling to remember who knows what," I giggle on a shake of the head. "So, yeah. I totally went and got a drink with Calen after work. But just one. It wasn't an overnight visit, unfortunately."

"How is Mr. Connelly? His lovely wife?"

"Pregnant!" gleeful squeals can't be contained. "And I can't wait to buy them cute, obnoxious, loud toys no baby needs that every parent hates."

He doesn't bother hiding his snicker. "How thoughtful."

"I plan to do the same shit to J.T. and Janae when they finally take the plunge."

"I feel the Reeses will be less receptive to such gifts."

"Absolutely. They bitch about the noisy ones I send with their nephew." My theatrical wink causes both men in my presence to chuckle. "In fact, I think I'll buy a new, extra loud one while they've got him for the weekend. Like a surprise, keep this at your place gift when we pick him up."

His head tilts confusedly to one side. "They do not have him this weekend."

" They should. "

"Little Mr. Wyland is upstairs with Mr. Wilcox – I was here for their later than usual arrival – and Mr. Reese – who arrived home before them – is currently enjoying an evening alone given that he ordered Coq au vin from Petit Roi something that only occurs when Mrs. Reese is occupied for the evening."

"That because she doesn't like French food."

"I'm…" he once more fights the urge to grin, " aware. "

"I don't like French food, either," Lurch murmurs under his breath. "Everything has fucking mushrooms."

Confusion about why there was a change of plans – a change no one informed me of – leads to me unhappily humming to myself.

Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like the night ahead?

"Is there anything I can have delivered or sent up to your penthouse for you, Bryn?" Silas inquires as the actual doorman opens it for a couple in the building. "Or you, Mr. Hurst? I do believe you are on security duty for the night."

He cranes his face forward at the same time he snips, " I wasn't. "

"My mistake," Silas nervously mutters, curly haired head leaning backward. "Although, it was what Mr. Park informed me of during his exiting. He wanted building security to be extra cautious of their surroundings."

Displeased grunts leave Lurch prompting me to suggest, "Why don't we get to the Wilcox ward and figure out what the fuck is happening?"

My guard nods dismissingly to Silas who politely does the same to us both.

One short ride up to our floor later reveals to us Hill and Franken No Fun standing outside our penthouse door sporting equally exhausted and frustrated expressions.

"This does not look like my type of party, boys," I light heartedly poke.

"Wait ‘til you get inside," Hill murmurs prior to tapping his key to grant me access into my home.

Leaving Lurch with the others isn't difficult unlike making it past the entry way due to Wyland's school bag, go bag, and overnight bags haphazardly spilled in my path.

Yeah, I don't need Chekov to state the obvious.

We definitely have a problem.

" No. Want. Muggets!" shouts my son from where's he's bobbing and weaving around the kitchen table.

"They're shark shaped!"

" Pwezza! "

"We're not having pizza!"

Wy frowns hard and stomps the one foot that is currently housing a sock. " Pwezza! "

"No!" Wes points a stern finger at the clearly untouched dish. "Now, sit! And eat!"

" No! "

My husband darts towards him prompting our son to effortlessly dodge away and me to contemplate on a scale of Amanda Grayson – Spock's Mom – to Talia Al Ghul – who stole Batman's sperm to knock herself up – how awful would I be if I just…left?

Went back to the office?

"Worked late" until whatever this is blew over?

" Wyland Wayne… " the out of breath man I married warns. " Enough! "

" You nuff! "

I drop my bag near the front door, cross the living room space for the kitchen, and announce, "That's enough for both of you."

Both Wilcoxes snap their heads in my direction bearing adorably similar expressions.

Ugh.

It's wild how much they look alike.

" Mommmmm ," my son shouts, rushing towards me. " Mom home! "

"Mom is home, Little Fins."

" Late, " grumbles his father under his breath.

"And surprised to see you." One swooping motion gets him situated in my hold. "You were supposed to be with Uncle J.T. this weekend."

"Pwezza might and Star Twek !"

I smile at how familiar that combination feels in spite of not actually being able to remember it.

He glares unhappily at Wes. " Not. Muggets. "

"Why is he here?" Another adjustment to Wy on my hip is made. "Why isn't he having pizza and Star Trek night? Why is this not something you called or texted me about before I came home to Battle of the Binary Stars?"

Rather than answering any of my questions, he folds his arms disapprovingly over his white dress shirt, "Explain to me why you're late."

" Ask me and I fucking might."

" Language ," Wes poorly reprimands prompting his son to sass him for me.

"F bomb, only mom."

"I don't love that phrase," complains my husband.

"I don't love being interrogated."

"I no wuv not pwezza might!"

Realizing whatever adult conversation needs to happen won't be with him in the mix, I announce, "We'll do pizza and Star Trek here at home tonight, okay?"

" Yayyyyy! "

"You don't think you should consult with me first?" Wes snaps without hesitation.

"Did you think to consult with me first when you changed plans for the night?"

"I didn't change plans. J.T. changed plans."

"Why?" Guilt immediately grows in his expression pushing me to step forward and prod. " What. Did. You. Do? "

"We are not discussing this in front of Wyland," he uncomfortably claims at the same time he reaches for the untouched meal he made.

"Let's put on the movie, get you some blocks, and order dinner," I announce on a spin in the opposite direction. "And then mom and dad are gonna have a grown-up talk until the pizza arrives, okay?"

"Otay!"

The process of getting our son settled and engrossed in his own activities in the living room isn't hard.

In fact, whenever sharks or superheroes or Star Trek are involved, it's never hard.

It's whenever those things can't be woven in that he tends to put up a bit of a battle.

What can I say?

He really, really takes after us.

Post helping him stack blocks to build "Spock's House", I slip away back to the kitchen where I find the unexpected site of an empty whiskey glass and Wes attempting to flick his sobriety chip into it.

The instant it bounces off the rim, I tease, "So sexy yet so athletically challenged."

Against his own volition he shoots me a smirk. "Quarters is not a sport."

"It's one of the only college sports that matter."

"You mean that you excelled at."

"That's what I said."

Small snickers are followed by him grabbing the object to give it another go. "I'm better at this than beer pong."

"You will never be on my team for doubles."

"We can't play, anyway. I can't drink."

"You can chug root beer."

He rolls his eyes, leans back against the counter space closest to the stove, and flicks the small object towards its goal, only to miss once more. " Fuck. "

"Yeah," my figure crosses the area to retrieve the item, "I soooooo call dibs on Puppet Boy being on my team." After the chip is in my possession, I casually segue, "Puppet Boy who to my recollection loves his pizza night with his nephew." Maneuvering myself to match Wes's position is swift. "Why did he cancel?"

Wes doesn't respond.

He merely drops his attention to his bare feet.

"Okay." I balance the round piece on my bent fingers. "Let's come at this from a different direction." Flipping my thumb sends the object soaring to the other side. "Why are there two security guards on duty outside our penthouse door?"

"There was an incident today at Wy's academy."

Faint clinking is barely heard due to my squawking, "What?!" There's no reluctance to leaving the item in the glass. "What type of incident?! And when did it happen?! And why didn't the school fucking call me ?! Why didn't you fucking call me?!"

"It's in their files not to."

"What?!"

"Given your… condition- "

"I'm not dying of some mysterious space disease, Wes! I'm not an invalid! I'm not incapable of dealing with other people whether that's our publicist or our concierge or the owner of our son's fucking school!"

"I didn't want anything to exacerbate your… condition. "

"You're not one of my fucking doctors! You don't get to make that call!"

"I am your husband ! I absolutely get to make that fucking call!"

"My husband, not my fucking dictator!" Frustration compels my fingers to curl yet rather than do it around his neck, I snatch up the chip to give them something else to do. "I try so fucking hard to discuss shit with you and all you seem to do is decide for me like we're living in some shitty remake of The Beautician and The Beast ." My backside slams into the counterspace beside his and flicks the object for a second time. "I am tired of having no say or a less than say because I'm still dealing with gaps in my memory. Gaps in my memory doesn't mean I cannot make rational decisions about my fucking future and if you cannot get that into your memory, we will not have a future together." The coin landing in the cup on a victorious clink precedes me snapping my stare to his. "Am I making myself who sits in the captain's chair clear, Mr. Wilcox or do I need to continue?"

Our eyes lock and stay locked as a long and painful lull oscillates between us.

I get it.

I get we have gone through a lot, are going through a lot, will most likely have to go through a lot more; however, I refuse to be held captive in the brig in my own goddamn marriage.

I'd rather be divorced and on a different ship.

" Understood, " Wes whispers out, voice sad and shaky.

"Good." Folding my arms firmly across my chest, I push, "What happened at Wy's academy?"

"An unidentified woman – that our team is currently in the process of trying to identify – attempted to abduct him from school."

" Ohmygod! " my hands are instantly thrown up into the air. " That's the type of shit you call me about! " I leave no opportunity for him to rebut or make excuses. "What did the school do?!"

"Their protocols kept him safe. Protected. Wy has no idea that it even happened."

One palm lands on my chest in relief.

"However, I believe it'll be in his best interest to be removed from their premises until we have this situation completely handled."

"No."

Bewilderment immediately bursts across his face. " No? "

"You're not uprooting our son's entire existence, so you feel better about his safety. It's bad enough you're doing it to me. I won't let you do it to him."

"I am simply trying to keep you both safe."

"You are simply trying to control an uncontrollable situation."

Dark grumbles that would be sexy in another situation leave him as he retreats to snatch up his chip. " I want people to stop saying that. "

"Then stop giving us a reason to."

His eyes meet mine after he has the small item back in his possession.

"We can't, and we shouldn't, be scared to live our lives, Weston. I shouldn't have to avoid work. Wyland shouldn't have to avoid school. Us not living allows for whoever is attacking us to win. Am I saying we shouldn't proceed with caution?"

"That's what it sounds like."

" That's not what it is. " I move to rest my frame again against the surface. "Proceeding with caution is accepting heightened security measures not never leaving the estate. It's allowing an extra guard at the door not a small military. It's understanding that when I go to South Haven to give a speech to inspire some Clover Rose students as well as check on Steven and have dinner with Calen in a couple weeks means I won't be glued to my phone, and you won't be receiving on the hour every hour updates from me personally."

He hesitates to flick the chip. "You don't think we should discuss you leaving the city for work?"

"No."

His jaw doesn't hesitate to drop.

"Initially, I considered it, but that was before I realized you still need a few lessons in having to give up control."

To my surprise, he lifts his hands in defeat, takes his flicking position, and launches the object through the air, once more missing the glass completely. " I hate this game. "

"And this game clearly hates you," I tease on a hand gesture.

"I think our best friend might as well."

This time I go retrieve the item in tandem with asking, "What happened?"

"He went with me to check on Wy when the school called-"

"Oh, the uncle gets to go but not the mom?"

Another remorseful look precedes him continuing, "And then when he calmly expressed a similar sentiment to the one you just did regarding our son, I...may have…told him…he had no say…and wouldn't understand…because…he's…not…a…parent."

" Wes! "

"I knew it was fucked up the minute it came out of my mouth."

"Then why did you say it?!"

"I was pissed! And frustrated! And scared about Wy!"

There's no stopping my shoulders from sinking or my body from swaying closer. " Weston. "

"I feel like shit about it." He lovingly tangles himself around me. "And I feel like shit I didn't call you when it's clear now that I should've. That you should've been a part of the academy discussion. That you should know what's happening with our son…with this whole abduction situation as it unfolds not after the fact." Wes's face falls a little closer to mine. "And you will. The instant Park has any leads regarding the woman we'll both know."

"Where are we in the process of that?"

"Legal is doing their best to expedite the process of retrieving the surveillance footage; however, Park is having cyber pull all the surrounding areas security and public feeds to potentially piece together her movements, perhaps tracing her whereabouts ultimately discovering a hideout or at the very least where she put on what was clearly a disguise."

"Sounds like it's going to be a long night." I fold my hands together at the small of his back. "And like pizza for everyone is indeed a brilliant idea."

"Shark bites was not a bad idea."

"No, it was just the wrong idea for a child who has OCD tendencies he clearly inherited from his father."

"Untrue."

"Is that so avocado toast on Wednesdays?"

An impish glare is attached to a small spank to my ass.

"Uh-huh," arrogantly seeps free between giggles. "Little Fins is definitely your mini."

" Dis Captain Pike, we mirrored for makeoff! " Our son enthusiastically shouts from the other room, needlessly interjecting into our conversation.

Wes doesn't skip his chance to return the expression. "You were saying?"

"I was saying…" my figure wiggles out of his hold, "that you need to invite Spock over to apologize and that I'll arrange dinner for security while waiting for our dinner to get here." One effortless flick sends the chip into the glass during my room retreating. "And that you really suck at quarters, Mr. Wilcox."

"I will show you what I don't suck at once Little Hero has gone to bed, Mrs. Wilcox."

One flirty bite of my bottom lip is taken prior to turning away to prevent us being horny, irresponsible parents instead.

Making up is good.

Making up in the kitchen where your small, impressionable son can just wander in at anytime is not so good.

I don't need that mom fail badge pinned to my chest.

I'll have plenty of others.

Afterall, piloting the parent ship – just like the marriage one – is never ending.