King Me (Forever Wilde 7)

When we returned to the house, Mouse jumped out of the van and raced over to a pair of scraggly bushes at the edge of the driveway before promptly evacuating his stomach.

“What the hell?” I asked, jogging over to see if he was okay.

He held up a hand. “I’m okay, just stay back.”

I glanced over at Ziv in time to see him shrug.

“Go get a wet towel and some water,” I called out. I approached slowly and gently reached out for Mouse’s back. He wore a white button-down with an embroidered logo on the front indicating a local florist company. Falcon and Linney had gone out earlier to pick up the arrangement we’d preordered while Ziv had done some voodoo magic with an embroidery machine they’d packed in their gear.

When Ziv had hooked his computer up to the machine, I’d stared at him in shock.

“You’d be surprised how much we use this,” he’d said.

“No I wouldn’t. I have the upgraded version of the same thing,” I’d admitted. “I just didn’t picture a ‘world-renowned hacker’ using it,” I’d teased with the usual finger quotes.

But now the embroidered shirt was a wrinkled sweaty mess. I rubbed my hand in circles on Mouse’s back.

“Ziv’s getting you some water,” I said gently. “Take your time.”

I could feel the trembling of his entire body through the shirt. Had he run into trouble and neglected to tell us? Or did he handle all op stress like this?

Instead of Ziv returning with a wet cloth, it was Falcon. He came storming out with so much anger on his face, I thought for a minute he was mad at me for some reason, but when he spoke, I realized he was mad at himself.

“I knew it was too soon. I tried to tell you that, Joshua.” He elbowed me out of the way and put his hand on Mouse’s back, reaching around to wipe the young man’s face with the cool towel. “You can’t be expected to—”

“I’m fine,” Mouse said, standing up and grabbing the towel out of Falcon’s hand. “I told you I’m fine, and I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting them to try and force me into the house.”

“They did what?” I asked in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell us when we got into the van?”

Mouse rolled his eyes and wiped at his mouth. “First of all, it was like Dumb and Dumber back there with all the bro talk. Secondly, I was concentrating on getting all of us out of there before the goons radioed the patrol vehicle to turn around.”

He took the bottle of water Falcon handed him. I could tell the senior agent was still concerned for poor Mouse’s nerves, and it made me wonder what the story was there. Clearly they’d had some kind of close call or difficult op in the recent past. Or Mouse had, anyway.

But it wasn’t any of my business.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Mouse before glancing up at Falcon over Mouse’s head. “What can I do to help?”

“Go download your video footage onto the computer and make notes while your memory is still fresh. There’s soup heating up on the stove, and if Mouse is still up for it, we’ll have some fresh bread to go with it in a little bit.”

Mouse had spent his lunch break putting together some dough and raving about the easy recipe he’d learned from his mom. Linney had told me later that baking was one of Mouse’s coping techniques. I wasn’t ever going to complain about that, and now I saw just how much the younger man had needed to do something repetitive and comforting.

“I’ll go get ready so I can help if you need it,” I told them before turning back to the house. “Great job on the op, Mouse,” I called over my shoulder.

I heard the soft sounds of Falcon’s murmured concerns as I made my way to the front door. It was a completely different side of the guy I’d been trying so hard not to notice up till now. It was much easier to think of him as the uptight asshole gunning for my capture and conviction than to see him tutting over a younger team member in need of reassurance. It reminded me of a night in middle school when I’d been caught sneaking out and my mother had raised the roof with her anger. She’d bitched me out for what felt like hours and then threw the book at me with all kinds of punishments and lost privileges.

But when I’d snuck out of my room an hour later to get a glass of water from the hall bathroom, I’d heard her crying behind the closed door of my parents’ bedroom. It had taken me a long time to realize she’d been crying over me.

I’d thought her an absolute shrew at the time, someone who deserved whatever had caused her to cry. But when I’d finally realized how stupid I’d been, I’d felt terrible. She hadn’t been yelling at me out of anger, she’d been yelling at me out of fear.