Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

Once out of earshot, I fill Jack in on what I learned about Donnelly.

“Shit,” Jack breathes. “All of his money?”

“I’m more worried about what happens if Scottie starts asking for more.” I swallow hard. It might happen, and Donnelly doesn’t have more to give, but he’s found creative ways to earn cash before. Some ways worse than others.

It’s a mess. Especially because he won’t ask for help. He’ll reject it no matter how many times it’s offered.

Darkness blankets over the carnival, colorful lights flashing brighter and the upbeat music growing louder. I quickly study Jack’s face. He’s quieter than normal, and I wonder if it has anything to do with his shoot with Luna. He usually gets like this after an emotional exchange—like he’s working through his head what he heard.

He carries a lot of other people’s secrets. I never pressure him for them, but there have been times he’s volunteered some up just to me. Sometimes that makes him feel better. Other times, I think it’s easier for him to keep them to himself, and seeing as how I’ve protected plenty of Charlie’s secrets, I can understand and respect that.

“Your brother is doing a good job tonight, Highland. If you need a second before you start working—”

“Yeah,” he says into a slow nod. “Yeah, I might need that.”

I reach down and take his hand, squeezing tight. My attention trains back to Charlie, but my client is now on the move. I see him leave the carousel, and Gabe is about half a minute late on comms.

“Gabe to Oscar, Charlie’s headed towards the teacups.”

Fuck, another spin ride. I’d think Charlie was doing this on purpose, but 90% of the rides look like I’d hurl on them.

I click my mic. “Copy. I’m on my way.” I step one foot in that direction, before I stop cold.

Quinn—my brother—he’s charging towards me with long, determined strides. Luna is nowhere near him, and I think the worst. Something happened to her.

Jack squeezes my hand now.

“Quinn—” I start.

My brother must see the concern flash across my face. Quickly, he tells me, “Before you fucking blow your shit, Luna has a temp on her detail.” He cringes in guilt when a young boy passes us, who heard him curse. His eyes fix back on me. “Akara’s letting me take tonight off.” He stuffs his hands in his pants pockets, thumbs out. “Can we talk?”

On instinct, my vigilant eyes dart to my client. Charlie’s halfway to the teacups.

Quinn lets out a strained noise. “Fuck, bro. I’m asking for ten minutes of your time. Spare me that.”

His words, his pained voice sends a shockwave of anguish through me. Quickly, I whisper in comms that I’m taking a break for the night. Prying the earpiece from my ear, I unclip my radio, hurriedly winding the cord around the device.

Quinn frowns. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going off-duty,” I say. “If you want to talk, I don’t want to put a time limit on it. You’ve got me for the night, Quinn.” I don’t know why he’s chosen tonight, but I don’t risk asking.

Jack shifts a camera to his left hand, then motions towards the teacups. “I’ll let you guys catch up. I’m going to go film Char—”

“Wait,” Quinn says swiftly. “Can you…I think…it’d just be best if you were around for this.”

Same.

The likelihood of Quinn and I throwing fists at some part of this conversation is too high. We need a mediator, and I’m seconding the Jack Highland nomination.

Jack looks between us, sensing the tension. And he hikes the camera bag’s strap higher up his shoulder. “Let’s go somewhere quieter, then.”

We end up on the plot of grass between a strongman game and the Gravitron, a domed ride where people line up and disappear inside. Our spot is out of the brighter lights, and for how busy the carnival fundraiser is tonight, this is as close to private as we’ll find.

Quinn puts his hands on his head, elbows out like he just finished a 5K. His broken gaze drills into me. “I hate you, you know. Like I really hate you.”

Those words slice me up worse than his fists ever have. I nod slowly. “Yeah, I’ve felt that,” I tell him.

He grinds down on his teeth. His wavy hair blows in the wind. Jack unhooks his camera bag from his broad shoulder, dropping the thing to the grass. I meet understanding in his gaze, and he gives me a strong nod, shooting strength through my veins.

God, if I had to do this without him…I can’t think it. Don’t want to even imagine it. I realize it doesn’t matter what he’s here as—my boyfriend or some limited edition husband. It makes no difference. His support is still the same spellbinding force that carries me tonight.

I take a breath and turn to my brother.