Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

REED

Even knowing that people were Chris's thing didn't make it easier to accept when the man threw an impromptu welcome party in the clearing outside the caretaker cabin where we were supposed to be hiding out.

To be fair, the party hadn't entirely been his doing.

He'd created an epic charcuterie spread for Dolores, Bob, and the two of us, as promised, but when Watt Bartlett and his friend Oliver had wandered over from next door just as we'd started to eat—probably to fanboy over John Ruffian with my husband—I knew Chris would never have been rude enough to send them away. And when Hen Lattimer had pulled up in a car driven by his grandson and grandson-in-law and had hobbled over on his cane to "see for himself" that Chris was okay after hearing he'd been spotted in town earlier, I knew it just made sense—in Chris's mind, at least—for him to offer them chairs, on account of Hen's leg, and then offer to light the fire pit so Hen wouldn't get a chill when the sun set.

And who in the world could evvvver have predicted, living in one of the most close-knit, gossip-loving towns in the known universe—having spent my formative years in the Hollow, I could say this with accuracy—that once you had three Coppertians and a few O'Learians in your yard, they'd proliferate like rabbits?

I mean, I could have predicted it.

In fact, I had when Hen had gotten out his phone—one of the ones with extra-large buttons so you couldn't misdial—and started making calls. Because when Hen had tried to call Micah, the florist, to come see some of the paint colors Chris had chosen for the cabin renovations and get inspiration for fixing up his husband's office, Hen had called Jamie from the Bar and Grill by accident. An easy mistake anyone could have made since those two names were so very, very similar. And naturally, Hen had felt the need to tell Jamie where he was and what he was doing, and Jamie and his boyfriend, Parker, who claimed they lived in a state of "perpetual renovation" at their own house, had wanted to swing by.

After that, it hadn't really been much of a surprise to anyone—except my sweet protectee—when Jamie had told one of the bakers, and Parker had texted his pal Gideon, and they had told their spouses, friends, dentists, weird cousins, and preschool playmates about the "party."

Literally thirty minutes later, four dozen people had packed up their pets and children, pillaged a couple of grocery stores, stolen every cupcake in Fanaille, and possibly hijacked a couple of DoorDashers before congregating on our lawn.

By which I meant—and this bore repeating—the lawn of the cabin where we were supposed to be hiding out .

Still, watching Chris swan around the yard, eyeglasses glinting in the firelight as he refilled his guests' drinks, cheeks blushing as they praised the food he'd prepared, smile glowing with newfound confidence as he explained his renovation plans, it was hard to be too upset.

Especially since I knew his happiness wouldn't last.

Janissey had finally come through a couple of hours ago. I had the proof Chris had asked for and more. Dante's unsigned plea agreement, detailing his many crimes, was waiting on my phone, weighing down my pocket. And I knew Chris deserved to know the truth, deserved better than for me to protect him at the expense of letting him live. But I also knew it was going to hurt him, badly. And at some point in the past ten days, that had become completely unacceptable to me.

As I stood against the caretaker cabin, keeping a watch over the clearing, Watt caught my eye and broke away from the people he'd been chatting with. He strolled toward me, pausing only to grab a couple of beers from one of the coolers someone had brought.

"Sunday." He handed me a drink, then took up a spot beside me, propping his back against the cabin wall to look over the assembly just as I did. "Nice of you to have us over."

Without moving my head, I side-eyed him up and down. He wore an insulated vest over a thick Henley and work-worn jeans, his booted feet braced slightly apart. In some ways, he gave off the same steady, tree vibes that my older brother Webb had—as though Watt, too, had grown out of the land he tended and would stay planted here until he died. But Watt didn't feel quite as settled as my brother. His eyes traveled around the group over and over again like he was searching for something or someone. Possibly for my husband.

My fake husband.

My …

My Chris .

"I had nothing to do with this gathering," I told Watt honestly, confirming what he had to have already guessed. "I just set up the folding tables and stayed out of the way."

Watt grinned and brought his beer to his lips. "Still. I doubt this was what you expected your honeymoon to look like." His eyes slid toward me. "Strange choice you two made, coming here."

"Oh my God , Gideon, try this fig compote!" Parker cried, drawing our attention. He grabbed a muscular guy by the arm and stabbed a finger toward one of the dishes Chris had set out. "It's the best thing I've ever had in my mouth!"

"You wanna tell Jamie that, or should I?" the other man—Gideon—said wryly.

Around the fire pit, laughter broke out as an O'Learian wrapped up a story I figured everyone had heard a dozen times, and folks sat back in their folding chairs—chairs they'd brought themselves , mind you, since people around here were apparently prepared to crash a charcuterie spread at a moment's notice—with contented smiles.

Further away from the fire, a gaggle of children ranging in age from toddlers to maybe twelve-year-olds sat in a circle, laughed and shouted as they played keep-away with Cupcake the dog, while Vega, Derry, and Zach—who seemed to have undergone some kind of personality transplant in the last few days and had actually dragged himself over here yesterday to help Chris clean up the cabin he'd graffitied—watched over them.

Dolores, Chris's new camper, chatted animatedly with Parker's boyfriend, Jamie, and Cal, the other baker, probably comparing notes about what it was like to be a redhead in a world that both loved and feared them. Meanwhile, her henpecked husband, who'd barely said a word all evening, sat in an Adirondack chair and watched his wife with a little smile on his face, like he hadn't a care in the world now that he'd parked his RV and his wife was enjoying herself.

I understood that feeling acutely.

"I suppose it was a strange choice," I said in answer to Watt's earlier question. "But Chris is happy."

"Seems like it." Watt picked at the gold label on his bottle. "You know, Oak never said how long you and Chris had been married."

He sounded faintly suspicious, and I fought not to show any reaction as I shrugged. "A while now. Sometimes, it feels like forever." Other times, it felt like the nine craziest days and nights of my life.

"Uh-huh. He also didn't mention where you guys are from. Or how you came to be on a honeymoon of indefinite length. Or what either of you do for work. Why do you suppose that is?"

I turned to face him, eyes narrowed. "I guess it's because I told Oak we wanted privacy…. not to share our business with a whole nosy town."

Watt didn't take exception to my cranky tone. In fact, he nodded like this was exactly the sort of reply he'd expected. "You know, I had my doubts about you and Chris, at first."

"Doubts? What doubts?"

"About who you really were." His eyes met mine. "I love my cousin, but the man doesn't have a normal friend. They're all famous rock stars, or Hollywood actresses, or foreign royals, or private bodyguards, or government agents."

I locked down my expression. "Is that so?"

"Yep. So when he messaged to say his friend was dying to renovate my neighbor's campground and he was bringing his new husband, I sort of wondered which kind of friend you were." He regarded me thoughtfully. "You and Chris definitely didn't seem married that first day?—"

"Pfft. Not married? That's ridiculous." I scowled. "Sounds like wishful thinking to me."

"But then I saw the two of you together more over the last few days," Watt went on, unbothered and unhurried. "I saw the way you look at each other. I saw the way you take care of each other. Like, when you ran around doing errands for him the day after his accident at the lake. Or when he refused my invite for the two of you to come over and watch John Ruffian yesterday. Dead giveaway that he was trying to protect your dignity?—"

"Protect my— No. No way. Chris declined because he's still recovering from his virulent and highly contagious lung pestilence."

"He seems to have made a miraculous recovery," he noted, watching Chris now. "And by my calculations, you two were probably ready to watch the creepy doll factory episode." Watt's voice held equal parts pity and amusement. "So I'm thinking Chris gave up the comfort of a big-screen TV and a living room that's more than six feet wide just so Ollie and I wouldn't see you scream."

"I didn't scream . Jesus Christ. I had a small but very justifiable fear for the dog's safety, okay?"

"It's the eyes," he said knowingly. "Gets me every time."

"Did you have a reason for coming over here? Or was it entirely to piss me off?" I demanded.

Watt's lips twitched. "I just wanted to tell you I'm happy for you two. That man's head over heels for you—" He tilted the neck of his bottle toward Chris.

Chris looked up from a conversation with Dolores at precisely that moment and gave me a delighted grin that said, Can you believe this turn of events?

And I couldn't. I really couldn't.

"And you…" Watt snorted. "You're fucking gone for the guy. Big-time in love. It's kind of disgusting, frankly."

"I… I'm…" I opened and shut my mouth like a fish, not sure where I'd been going with that statement.

Instinctively, I wanted to deny it.

I didn't love Chris. I was attracted to him. Very. And I liked him. Liked him a lot. An aggressive amount.

And, yes, because I liked him so aggressively, I wanted to spend every waking moment kissing him, watching him cook, listening to him babble, sucking him off, snuggling him while he enjoyed low-quality television, working beside him, letting him remind me of who I really was, protecting him from every real and imagined threat up to and including paper cuts, and fantasizing about sinking into his delectable ass.

But that wasn't love .

I wasn't in love with my protectee.

Jesus. I couldn't even imagine what a clusterfuck that would be.

Because if I was in love, how would that even work? I might have been starting to cautiously consider my life outside of the Division, but that didn't mean I was ready to make a move. Not now. Not yet. And I'd seen what happened to people who fell in love and then decided they weren't happy, which was why I'd never wanted it for myself.

So Watt was wrong. Very wrong.

I wasn't in love.

I was just… really fond of charcuterie.

I couldn't say any of that out loud, though, obviously. Not to Watt. Not when he'd believed our well-acted cover story.

So I cleared my throat and managed to croak out, "I… am." Then, I let out a long breath because it felt good to say it even if it wasn't—couldn't be—accurate. "Yup. I definitely am."

"Good." He knocked his shoulder into mine. "Chris is a sweetheart. The breath of fresh air we needed around here. I appreciate his friendship. Yours too."

I took another sip of my beer. "Wasn't aware you and I were friends."

"Well, that's only because we don't know each other yet," he said reasonably. "Do you like fantasy football?"

I snorted. "Not really."

"Same! Do you like… car restoration?"

"Yeah, I… Wait." I turned to look at him. "Did Chris tell you I was into cars?"

"Nope. Are you? 'Cause I have a couple I'm working on right now. I've got this sweet sunshine-yellow?—"

"Chevy Corvette!" we finished together.

"Holy shit. I saw that car in town. That was yours?" I demanded.

"Yep. I'll bring it by sometime so you can see what I'm doing with the interior." He smirked. "See how much we have in common? Tell me you like hockey and I'll make us friendship bracelets right now."

Against my will, I laughed. "I grew up in Vermont. Yes, I like hockey." I ran my tongue over my teeth. "How do you feel about The Cutting Edge ?"

He stared at me blankly. "The… the old skating movie? I don't think I've ever seen it. Should I?"

I remembered Chris's words from a few days ago. It's a really good movie. The kind of movie where if you like it, I'll probably like you , you know?

I relaxed back against the wall, watching Chris float around the party like the world's prettiest, sexiest, most confident butterfly. Some new and rare kind of Copper that could only be found right here in this tiny town.

I wasn't in love with him. No. But I couldn't deny that watching him emerge from his chrysalis this week was a rare gift.

One I was damn sure going to miss.

One I wanted to hold on to and keep for myself as long as I could.

"Definitely not," I told Watt.

The next morning, Chris was still buzzing, despite the party not breaking up until after midnight and me keeping him awake until after two. When he woke up, it was with a grin on his face, and his good-morning kiss was fucking effervescent.

"I'm so tired, but yesterday was such a good day, and last night was so much fun." He nestled back against my chest as rays of golden morning sunlight filtered through the window. "And I'm very happy you and Watt are best friends now."

"We're not best friends." My hands tightened on Chris's waist. "We might have been friends, one day. We were heading toward a civil relationship. Until…"

"Until he made you recite the friendship pledge in front of everyone and pretended it was a Copper County tradition? Because I thought it was adorable. I solemnly swear that I will be friends with Watt Bartlett ? — "

"It was not adorable." I dug my fingertips into Chris's ribs in punishment, which had the added benefit of making him laugh and squirm against me.

"Did I say adorable? I meant… hot !" he protested. "Adorably hot . And sexy!"

I bit his earlobe as he chuckled, and his chuckle turned into a sigh. "I don't know why you pretend to dislike him, Reed."

"No?" I grumbled. "Maybe because he's always making moony eyes at my man—I mean, the man he thinks is my man," I corrected.

"He does not make moony eyes! He's friendly and respectful. If I didn't know better, I'd—" Chris snapped his mouth shut.

"What?" I demanded, propping up on an elbow so I could see his face better.

"N-nothing." He shifted onto his back. "Just… if I didn't know better, I'd think you were… jealous." He laughed lightly. "Which obviously you're not, but I'm just saying?—"

"Uh. Obviously, I am . Because, once again, since you seem to have missed it, he thinks you're my husband." I scowled. "So he needs to keep his moony eyes to himself."

Chris blinked up at me, an expression of slow-dawning wonder on his face. "You're jealous? Really?"

"That's not the point," I muttered. I squinted at him. "What's that expression on your face about? What's going on in your head, Chris Sunday?"

"I was just thinking of something Amber said once about jealousy making a man… uh. Never mind." His expression turned thoughtful. "Do you think she and Knuckles are okay?"

"The biker dude? Yes." I threw myself flat on the bed beside him. "I doubt that was Knuckles's first… what did you call it? Low-key tussle?"

"No, I mean relationship-wise , do you think they're okay?" Chris sat up and scooted back against the pillows. "I hope they mended fences and he realized the error of his ways. I hope she forgave him. I mean, he did rush to protect her when the chairs were flying. And nothing says I want to be committed to you like getting hit in the face with a chair for the person you love, right?"

I shook my head. "You're terrifying."

"Am I? I've never been called terrifying before. I kinda like it." He grinned brightly as he threw back the covers, grabbed his glasses, and slid out of bed. "Let's get up! I have big plans for us to work on Cabin 13 today. Some people say it's an unlucky number, but not me." He pulled on his underwear. "I had to tear out huge sections of drywall Monday so I could replace the wiring, and by the time I got the old wires all un-stapled from the studs, I'd run out of steam. Today, it's finally time for that old ceiling fan to come down?—"

I sat up and grabbed his hand before he could move out of the room. "Actually, why don't you sit down with me for a minute first?"

"Why?" When I tugged his hand, Chris crawled back onto the bed obediently and sat facing me. His brown hair was messy above his worried face. "What's going on?"

I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles once, twice, three times. "Janissey sent me an email yesterday, just as Hen arrived. I couldn't show you last night while everyone was here, but I promised you?—"

His eyes widened. "Oh. You got… you got proof?" He swallowed. "About Danny?"

"Yes. I'm sorry it took so long. If I hadn't been trying to protect you, I would have forced things along sooner. I just…" I brushed his hair back, combing my fingers through the silky strands, unable to stop touching him. "I need you to know it's not because I thought you couldn't handle it. Jesus, look at how much you've handled this week alone. I just hate seeing you hurt." I set a hand on his thigh and rubbed my thumb under the hem of his boxers. "Not your weakness. Mine. Okay?"

Chris bit his lip and nodded. "Yes. Very okay."

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and blew out a breath. I was tempted to keep touching him. To kiss him. To make him forget all about his uncle for a little while. I knew I could do it. I knew he'd let me.

But I wouldn't.

I unlocked my phone, opened the email, and handed the phone to him.

"I'd like to sit here while you read it." I adjusted his glasses. "Answer any questions you might have."

"Yeah," Chris agreed. He scooted closer so we were hip-to-hip on the bed and both staring down at the screen. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder…

And I felt the shudder move through him as he began to read.

"United States of America v. Dante Mario Andrea Fromadgio," he whispered. "So… official, you know? Double middle-named him and everything. And it makes it sound like he's got the whole c-country against him."

I nodded but said nothing.

"Parties and Charges…" Chris skimmed the first section of the plea. "Illegal imports. Bribery. Money laundering. Tax evasion—" He looked up at me. "See, that's just crazy talk. He filed his taxes every year! His accountant is Mrs. Ro se's nephew?—"

"But did he file them on what he actually earned," I corrected gently. "Including any income from illegal business dealings. That's probably what they're talking about there."

"Oh." His eyes clouded. "I… I don't…"

"I know, baby. Keep reading," I urged.

Both of us sat perfectly still except for Chris's scrolling thumb. I wasn't sure if he was even breathing.

"This says…" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "The Defendant admits to knowingly conducting financial transactions designed to conceal the proceeds of… of illegal activity. When they say admits, they mean he… he confessed? He agreed that he—?" He broke off, shaking his head. "I know that's what admits means, I just don't understand…"

"I know," I agreed. "It's a lot."

He leaned into me further and continued swiping. A moment later, he uttered a broken noise and glanced up at me, eyes shiny. "This… this says Defendant agrees to forfeit assets obtained through illegal activities, including the Cellar. He didn't sell the business because he retired; he's going to have to give it to the government?"

"That's what it says." I squeezed his shoulder tightly. Eleven days ago, when I'd been frustrated as fuck at Chris's escape attempt, I'd have given a metric shit-ton of money to be able to shove this document in his face and show him who his uncle really was.

Now, I'd pay that same amount of money to have Dante Fromadgio actually be in the remote Alaskan village where Chris had expected him to be. "I'm so sorry, Chris."

"It says he's waiving the right to a trial and he can't appeal. He's going to testify against someone named…" He consulted the phone again .

"Robert Evanovich," I supplied. "Yeah."

"That's the danger?" he whispered. "Like maybe this guy—o-or his people, I guess—would want to prevent Danny from testifying?"

"Maybe. Actually…" I ran my hand down his arm. "Yesterday, Janissey told me the Evanovich organization has no feud with your uncle. They've washed their hands of this Robert—" I nodded at the screen. "—and they supposedly don't care if Dante testifies and puts him in jail. On the surface, it doesn't look like they have any reason to move against you."

Chris huffed out a laugh that was a little high-pitched and a little wrong. "So… so I was right? There's never been a threat? We… we came to Copper County for nothing?"

"No," I said firmly. "I'm telling you that the Evanovich family isn't officially taking action, but for all we know, Robert might still have loyal lieutenants out there. And Dante named names and pointed the finger at plenty of other people. Any one of them could be more angry than we realize. My instincts have been telling me there's a threat since the very beginning, and that's not overprotection," I added quickly. "That's real talk. And we can't forget what happened in Springfield at the flamingo house. Something's not adding up, but I can't put my finger on it."

Chris jumped up and began pacing the three feet of empty space between the bed and the door. When he passed the hand-knit sweater lying exactly where it had landed when I'd stripped it off him yesterday—just before laying him down, kissing the smile off his face, and sucking him down my throat until he screamed my name—he gave the garment a vicious kick. Then he stopped, picked it up, shook it out, and put it on, pulling the sleeves down his hands.

It felt like watching someone put on armor.

"Chris." I jumped out of bed and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Talk to me. Please."

"I just keep thinking there's been a mistake. I… I thought when I saw that list—" He nodded at my phone on the bed. "—I would be able to say, ‘Aha, Reed! This is where you went wrong.' But…" He shook his head, and a tear tracked down his cheek.

"Baby." I brushed my thumb over his cheek, catching the wetness and rubbing it away.

"I already knew he… he wasn't telling the truth about Alaska," Chris said in a whisper. "I'm not sure why this is hitting me so hard. I mean… I mean… it's still possible there's a mistake, right? Or that Danny's covering for… someone?" He caught his breath with a little sob.

I opened my mouth to agree with him. To say, "Yeah, baby, that's totally possible," even though it wasn't, just to see him smile again. But wouldn't that just be another kind of false protection? If I could burn the world to fix this for him, I would. Since that wasn't an option, I'd give him truth.

"Chris." I pulled him into a hug. "You remember me telling you before what I knew about Dante, right? This investigation has been going on for a long time. Your uncle knew they had evidence on him, and that's why he turned himself in. He made this plea deal to avoid prison time. I wish, I wish , there was another explanation that made sense. But I won't lie to you, I can't think of one."

He rubbed his cheek into my chest, leaving tearstains over my heart. "I know," he whispered.

"You didn't read the whole document, so you might not have gotten to the part where it says he's not going to prison," I offered. "Once he testifies and forfeits the property as agreed, he'll have paid his debt to society."

"That's good." Chris sniffed. "But you said there are other people angry at him. He's going to be in witness protection after he testifies, isn't he?"

"That's usually how it goes, yeah." I ran a hand up and down his spine.

"So, um…" He glanced up. "What will happen to me?" he asked in a small voice.

"You…" My hands tensed involuntarily on his skin. "You have options. Danny could request that you go into protection with him. He's going to be looking over his shoulder for a while, so that might not be the smartest option, but it exists." I brushed his hair back from his face so I could see his eyes. The bleakness there killed me. "The other option is… you don't go into protection. The threat against you was so you could be used as leverage against Danny testifying. Once he testifies, you should be safe."

"Right." He closed his eyes. "Safe."

"You can do anything you want. Go anywhere you want. Back to New Jersey or… or to the Hollow. I'll take you myself."

"A round-trip abduction." Chris forced a smile that was only half as bright as it usually was. "And you'll, um… you'll be on to the next person who needs protecting, right?"

I felt like I was choking. "Yeah. Janissey's already talking about my next assignment, but I…"

But what, Reed? What are you gonna offer?

I wanted to tell him he didn't need to be alone. That I wanted to be with him.

But all the things I'd thought about when talking to Watt still held true. My job was incompatible with a relationship, which was why I'd chosen not to have one. Chris deserved someone to listen to his stories every day, to hold him while he fell asleep each night, to wake with his sweet kisses every morning.

I didn't know how to be that person.

"…but I'm here with you until the trial," I finished. "Four weeks, at least."

Chris nodded, then bit his lip, seeming to come to a decision. This time when his smile came, it was nearly bright enough I could pretend not to see the shadows haunting his eyes. "Then I think we need to use our time wisely while we're here," he said firmly. "Do the things we… we really want to do."

I tried to ignore the sinking in my stomach, the feeling that we'd engaged a timer that was slowly ticking down the seconds we had left together. "Cabin 13?"

"No." He closed the short distance between us, pressing himself against me fully, arms wrapped around my neck. "I want you, Reed."

"Chris." I shook my head, trying to clear it. "But…"

"I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me so, so badly."

My head was a mass of confusion, but his proximity made my heart beat frantically in my chest, and my cock, which was always primed when Chris was in the room, had zero hesitation.

Just imagining being inside of him made my head empty until it was nothing but a bobbing vessel filled with scattered images of what it would be like to feel the hot clench of Chris's body around me.

I leaned down and closed my mouth over his, reveling in the familiarity of his kiss. No matter how many times I kissed him, it was exciting and new. I had a vague thought about work—about the meeting Janissey had scheduled for tomorrow to go over my next assignment—but it didn't stand a chance of remaining in my head when my thoughts and senses were so full of Chris.

"Lie down, sweetheart," I murmured, guiding him onto the bed.

Chris's eyes followed me as I carefully stripped off his clothes and leaned over periodically to press a kiss to a particularly tempting spot as it was revealed. There was no hesitation or fear on his face. His tear-bright eyes warmed under the attention, and by the time he was fully naked, every trace of his earlier upset seemed to be gone.

This was something I could do. I could not fix things for him, but I could distract him from the horrible discoveries about his uncle, from the revelation that his life would no longer be the one he'd imagined, that within weeks, he might be more alone in this world than ever before.

A deep, growling sound came out of me at the thought. It was unacceptable for this effervescent soul, this beautiful, sweet, generous human to ever be alone.

I yanked off my clothes as quickly as possible so I could lie with him, press my body against every inch of him, and show him exactly how not alone he was.

"Reed?" His big brown eyes blinked up at me.

"Yes, baby?"

His hand reached out to caress the side of my face, his fingertips light as a hummingbird wing on my cheek and chin.

"Thank you."

His words were like a spear gun straight to the chest. They were spoken with a tone that made it seem like he didn't feel worthy, like I was doing charity work by having sex with him. The very idea pissed me off. "What the hell are you thanking me for?"

My response came out gruffer than I'd intended. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice.

"Thank you for making me feel love—l-love ly ." Pink blotches colored his cheeks and began to streak down his neck.

I lurched forward and kissed every inch of those revealing blushes until Chris began babbling incoherent nonsense and I lost myself in his tight, welcoming body.

If anyone was going to make Chris Winowski feel love ly , it was going to be me.

If I couldn't stay with him forever, I was for damn sure going to do my best to set the bar too high for any other man to reach.

Because this man deserved all of it. And more.