No Broken Bond Page 9

  “Listen,” I began again. “I’m not going to deny the thing with Sasha is probably going to haunt you for a while…”

  “Us,” Fletcher countered. “It’s going to haunt us, man.” He brought his other leg back up, using the motion to mask how excruciatingly he measured his next words. “And there’s the rub, Newland. You and Tolly don’t deserve that bullshit. None of it. Me? I’ve grown a Teflon hide against it—but you two…”

  “What?” I fired solidly into his telling pause. “You think we can’t?” I stomped to the rail. Gripped it with a fist matching the iron it was made of. “Were you listening to a word she said tonight? Do you really need to be reminded about what she went through last year with her family? That woman of ours…she’s a warrior, man. We may enjoy treating her like a delicate little bird, but Talia Perizkova is a fucking condor, talons and all. I wouldn’t put anything past her.” With my free hand, I stabbed a finger his way. “Don’t insult her by selling her short.”

  Fletch’s head reared back as if my finger had shot lightning bolts. “Condor or not, that still doesn’t make what went down at my parents’ right.”

  “Maybe not. Probably not. But it is what it is. Now, we deal with it. Together. End of story.”

  He leaned forward, straddling the bench now. His newly lifted gaze was a study in blue flames. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” I whipped back.

  “Oversimplify everything.”

  I twisted my grip harder to the rail. Ground my teeth together. No composure-saving trick was working—because now he was really pissing me off. “What would you rather I do, Fletch? Sit around and have a drunken pity party for myself, like you’re doing? Is that a better plan?”

  “Fuck you.” His voice drifted off as he gazed out into the city lights. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “Really?” I fired. “Because that’s exactly what it looks like from here. And what are you showing Talia? That this is what she can expect from the guys who want to be her husbands? That every time something goes wrong, you hit the booze and emo eyeliner music in a dark corner?”

  His head snapped up, unshed tears making his eyes gleam in the mix of moonlight and city lights. “Why the hell not, Drake? Why the fucking hell not? At least I can listen to this ‘eyeliner music’ and know what it’s talking about. At least I can connect myself emotionally from A to Z.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I snarled.

  “Do you care?” he flung. “Wait. Hold on. I remember now. The answer doesn’t matter, as long as you get to sweep in and save the day. Get the white hat out—here comes Drake and his mile-long cavalry.”

  I let the rail go. Jammed both arms across my chest, telling myself he didn’t really mean any of that. He was hurt. Defensive. And drunk.

  “Don’t lash out at me.” I was stunned by the diplomacy beneath it. I really longed to back it up with five, perhaps ten, knuckles. “This is unnecessary, Fletch.”

  “Right.” He shook his head. “Of course it is, Mr. Newland. Whatever you say, lord god on high.”

  “Can you stop being such a dick for one second?” I spread my arms. A few inches higher from their forty-five degree angles and I really would look like his lord and savior—which wasn’t off the table yet. “I’m trying to help you look at this shit storm a different way. You see that, right? You’re too smart for all this crap”—I emphatically pointed at the glass he still clutched—“and she doesn’t need to see you like this.”

  “But she does need to see the crap I pulled in the bedroom tonight?” he retorted. “You see that, right?” He surged to his feet. Swayed for a second, then fell back onto the chaise in a clumsy heap. “Jesus. I’m a damn basket case, Drake. And now, with my disgusting excuse of a family messing shit up…” He dragged in more whiskey. How the guy could chug good Macallan like ball park beer, I couldn’t—and didn’t—want to understand. “Maybe I should go away. Neither of you need me around, fucking things up.”

  “Christ and the fucking angels.” I couldn’t remember speaking to him with such venom in my tone. Ever. “I can’t get through to you, can I?” Only when cold pain shot through my fist did I realize I’d driven it down onto the railing. “Tell you what, asshole,” I muttered. “I’ll just go get the bottle for you. Sit out here and get shitfaced all night if you want. Have fun with the hypothermia you’ll have by morning, too. Just see how that will ‘fuck her up’, Fletcher.” I took two steps, fully intending to cut him off there, but fury stopped me short right before the doorway. “You’re not a basket case, Fletch. You’re a selfish prick. If you can’t see that yourself, I’m sure as hell not going to get through that pretty-boy skull of yours, either.”

  With that, I pivoted and went back inside. Though I was tempted to ram the slider closed, I forced myself to push the glass door with gentleness. The asshole’s bender was sure as fuck not going to ruin our lady’s rest.

  I made my way back to the bedroom.

  I slid back under the covers and pulled Talia into my arms. Her sleep-soft body instinctively curled into my side. Sleep would be a long time coming for me, if at all, but I was content to feel her curves against me and listen to her soft breathing.

  Finally, thank fuck, Fletcher came back in, too. He crawled in then scooted over, wrapping arms around Talia from behind. With a long but shaky breath, he buried his face into her dark hair. Within minutes, he was asleep, too, more than a little aided by his whiskey chug-fest.

  Sleep was definitely not coming now.

  Or so I’d thought.

  When the alarm went off at six, I was roused from dreamless darkness, though felt like I hadn’t slept at all. When something was off between the three of us, the balance of the universe was affected. Ridiculous? Maybe. But true? Hell, yeah. Our rhythms were so synched to each other, our lives so intertwined, that we literally fed off one another’s energy. But the day was new and the slate was blank. I chose to face it with confidence that we’d get shit back on track. Then, tonight, we could screw our sweet girl back into another great night’s sleep—and this time, join her for it.

  Talia met my eyes in the bathroom mirror while we stood side by side, brushing our teeth. She didn’t say a single word, nor did she have to. The questions and pleas in her stare spoke volumes.

  “All right,” I finally told her after a quick rinse and spit. “I’ll talk with him tonight, if I can’t connect with him today.” The first option felt more doable than the second, as I explained, “I think he’s already gone.”

  Sure enough, the bastard had snuck out without saying goodbye to either of us. Beholding the empty space on the foyer credenza where his wallet and sunglasses usually were, I made a promise not to let this bullshit go on until tonight. I’d be the man’s worst texting nightmare until he agreed to meet me for lunch. His wrecking ball had to be stopped before gaining any more destructive momentum.

  I dropped Talia off at Stone Global Corporation, making sure our goodbye kiss was one to remember, then headed farther into the city to my own office. The streets were a nightmare, worse than usual even for a Monday morning. Traffic alerts on my Rover’s nav unit screamed about a two-car accident ahead, near Wacker.

  Just excellent.

  I dialed the office on my cell since State Street had become a parking lot, letting them know I was stuck in traffic. I had a meeting in fifteen minutes that would need to be rescheduled. I thought about texting Fletch, since I literally had the car in Park by now, but decided he likely needed a little more space. Or maybe I did. His disappearing act from this morning was like a kick in the god damned balls. That shit was going on the household no-fly list as soon as possible.

  Traffic funneled into one slow-moving lane, ensuring everyone got a nice gawk at the accident’s leftover debris of the accident. The cars, or what was left of them, were being loaded onto a flatbed truck on the opposite side of the lanes.

  My stomach lurched.

  One of the vehicles was a BMW Alpina B6.r />
  The same size and custom paint as Fletcher’s—with the same dual sport exhausts.

  I shook my head rapidly. That didn’t mean a damn thing, despite the chill invading my spine. Plenty of rich idiots in Chicago were just like him, insisting on fast black cars with tons of custom shit despite the city’s insane winters.

  This means nothing. This means nothing.

  Nevertheless, everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours came screaming back to mind—giving me a crazy case of paranoia as I rolled slowly past the wreckage.

  This means nothing. This means nothing.

  Besides, FF Engineering was at least three miles away, on the other side of town. Why the hell would Fletch have any reason to even be in this neighborhood, especially at the early hour he must have departed the condo?

  Not particularly a believer, I sent up a quick prayer, anyway. Judging by the damage done to those cars, the humans involved would be lucky to be alive, if not badly injured. Glancing at the B6 once more, I vowed to call Fletch the minute I was parked at the office. Now that traffic had picked up past the accident scene, I would be there in less than thirty minutes.

  When I finally settled in behind my desk, I hit Fletcher’s number on my desk phone’s Speed Dial.

  One ring. Two.

  A third. A fourth.

  Voicemail.

  Again.

  “Shit,” I muttered. Where the hell was he? I had also sent a text and an invitation to FaceTime. He never blew me off for that, even if he was sulking.

  A meeting. Yeah, he was probably already into the thick of things. That would explain the ice-out, which really wasn’t an ice-out—as I kept reminding myself.

  I launched the chat client on my computer then clicked on his profile.

  His message still was set to its weekend auto-greeting.

  “Shit.” It spewed from me more forcefully this time. Had he even made it to the office?

  Fuck.

  My mind flashed back. That car, on the flatbed…had there been a license plate on it? I couldn’t remember. All I thought about was the mangled steel—and the thought that nobody in that machine could have really survived what it had been through.

  “Shut up,” I snarled at myself, next dialing his assistant.

  “Fletcher Ford’s office.”

  “Meagan.” I force fed composure to my tone. Told myself that in under a minute, I’d be listening to the asshat’s tired grumble, then verbally reaming him a new one for leaving without goodbyes this morning. “Good morning. This is Drake Newland.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Newland,” the woman greeted smoothly in return. “You must have ESP.”

  “Why?”

  “I was just going to call you.”

  I straightened in my chair. “Why?”

  “Well, I’m having a hard time tracking Mr. Ford down this morning. Do you know what his personal schedule is today? He didn’t show up to his first appointment, and he’s not answering his phone. Errr…Mr. Newland?”

  Her voice faded beneath the stunned buzz in my brain. The static of it shot to the base of my skull, making every hair on the back of my neck shoot to attention. As my senses spun harder, the painful prickles darted down my spine, becoming a web of dread throughout my body.

  Something was off.

  I knew it now.

  Way the fuck off.

  “He…uhhh…” I rubbed my forehead, ordering myself to form words. “He left the house this morning before we had a chance to talk.” There. That was a full sentence. I could do this shit. “So…I’m not really sure where he was headed.”

  “Okay.” Meagan’s reply sounded hollow and far away. “I’m sure he’ll turn up, then,” she continued from the same strange tube. “Probably stopped to get a coffee or something, and got delayed. Would you please tell him to check in with me if you hear from him before I do?”

  “I-I will. And please—do the same. I have something important to discuss with him.”

  “Will do. Bye now.”

  As soon as she disconnected the call, my phone slipped from my numb fingers. It clattered to the desk, the screen taunting and dark—but only for a few seconds. When it rang again, I whipped it to my ear and growled, “Are you trying to give us all a heart attack, you bastard?”

  “Uhhhh. No. Drake?”

  “Shit,” I muttered. “Tolly. Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t look at the caller ID.” And because of it, would now make her worry, too. “I thought you were that shithead partner of ours.”

  “It’s—it’s okay.”

  As soon as I registered the wobble in her voice, all the ice in my body turned to raging fire. Nothing, and no one, put that shiver into my woman’s voice without regretting it. “It’s not okay.” Not a request. Not a question. I slammed it out as the fact it clearly was. “What is it? Talk to me, baby.” Tell me whose face I need to bash in for you. Because punching anything sounded like a good idea right now.

  “S-something’s wrong,” she finally whispered. “I know it sounds crazy, but, Drake, I know it. I just do. I can’t put my finger on it, but…you know how he and I are. Something’s wrong.” She stopped, pulling in a quivering breath. “I-I can’t feel him anymore. That little hum I always have in my head, because of him. It’s…stopped.”

  Her choked back sob stabbed the center of my chest. I hated hearing her upset. Hated. It.

  Before I could wrap my mind around the right words to reply to her, she already had more for me. “Why did you answer your phone that way just now?” she questioned. “Drake? What’s going on? Do you know something you aren’t telling me?”

  Too smart, this one. The blessing and curse Fletch and I had signed on for with her.

  “No.” I pushed it out with suspicious speed but added just as fast, “You remember what I promised you, right? That I wouldn’t hold anything back from you ever again?” Last summer, when I’d let her father sway my mind so badly that I’d left her and Fletch in the name of their domestic bliss, the three of us had endured a nightmare of separation. From that point forward, we’d made a three-way promise. We’d never play ‘I have a secret’ again.

  “Yes. You did.” She exhaled just as shakily. “But I can hear something in your voice. You’re worried about him too, aren’t you?”

  “I won’t deny that.” I rose, feeling restless…explosive. Wasn’t there anything in my chrome and glass office that wouldn’t break if I threw it? “His behavior this morning…” Maybe verbalizing my shit would help. “Well, it was unusual, even for a drama king like him.” After she gave a watery laugh at my jab, I went on, “I’ve tried calling him a few times this morning and he’s not picking up. I finally got through to Meagan, who asked if I knew his schedule for the morning. He didn’t show for his first appointment.”

  I hated being the one to break that all to her, but no secrets meant no secrets. I listened, chest aching, as the line scuffled at her end. She was probably pacing, too. “That’s not like him.”

  “At all,” I concurred.

  “What can we do?”

  “Nothing. He’ll turn up. He’ll turn up, baby. I know it.” By now, I stood facing the wide window of my office. The morning sun was crisp and brilliant over the skyline, bouncing off all the iconic structures—Chicago Place, Olympia Center, Park Tower, John Hancock—a view that normally inspired the hell out of me. Today, the kniving angles and sharp light were intrusive, abusive, infuriating. “Listen…he was in a bad funk last night after you went to sleep.”

  From her end, utter stillness.

  “Talia?”

  “A funk?” she rasped at last. “A…bad one?”

  No. Secrets.

  “Yeah. Pretty bad.”

  “How? Why?”

  “He started blaming himself for everything from what happened at the party, to how he behaved with you afterward, to the color of the sky not being the perfect shade of blue.”

  “That’s just silly.”

  “I know, and told him as much.
” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “We fought. A little. I’m sorry.” I rushed out the apology. “We were both tired and edgy.”

  Again, a weird quiet from her end. “Then this morning, his hum is gone in my head.”

  “It probably doesn’t mean anything.” I held back on adding that the reason she didn’t ‘feel’ him was likely due to the fucker’s monstrosity of a hangover. “Let’s not get all worked up. We just have to wait until he calls one of us back. Why don’t you leave him a message? Or text him? He may still be giving me the electronic middle finger, but you he’ll answer.”

  Her shivering breath vibrated over the line. It sounded small but ghostly, making me shiver though I stood in a patch of sunlight. “I did, Drake,” she said. “That’s what made me start freaking out.”

  “Don’t freak out.” Damn, I craved a teleportation machine. I’d beam myself to her this very fucking second. I couldn’t turn my voice into a comforting embrace, a reassuring kiss. “Baby—”

  “He never leaves me hanging when I reach out to him. And if I can’t feel the bond…” Her voice broke. “Our bond, Drake. Our head thing. It’s gone. Why is it gone?”

  “Baby, calm down.” Again, with yearning for the teleporter. I’d grab her now, forcing her to look at me by bracing hands to both her shoulders. “It’s probably just because you’re nervous now. Let’s not jump to any conclusions, okay?”

  “Okay.” Her hesitant nod bled through in her voice. “I’ll try. I will. But I think I’m going to be a complete basket case until we hear from him.”

  “Do you want me to come get you?” I’d hopscotch over the buildings to get to her faster, if that was what she needed.

  “No, no.” She hurried the words, as if flustered with her burst of weakness. “I have a meeting in ten min—whoa, it’s actually in two minutes.” Her breath puffed through the line, indicating her rush to grab materials for her appointment. “I need to hang up. Please call me if you hear anything. I love you.”

  “I will. And I love you, too.”

  After ensuring she was really gone, I slumped back into my chair. I was still nervous as hell so I pushed back, letting the chair’s castors carry me until I bumped the bookcase behind me.