Fix It Up (Torus Intercession 3)

“It’s not that they don’t care,” Cox said defensively. “But Nick is a handful, and his sisters have husbands, children to care for first, as well as work and day-to-day living. It’s not easy to set everything else in your life aside to check in on a sibling. That’s a burden they can’t be expected to bear.”

“That’s bullshit,” I told him, and the disdain in my voice was easy to hear. I’d been careful, trying to be at least somewhat professional, but I was done.

“Loc,” Jared cautioned me.

“Oh, come on,” I replied, making a face, my scoff loud. “This is his family we’re talking about. They need to step up and show him they care.”

“Mr. Barnes, I assure you that—”

“And you, Mr. Cox,” I began snidely, because him defending them sounded a bit guilty to me, like he was making excuses for falling down on the job as well. I leaned forward—it was the cop in me, seeing an opening and needing to get at it—and pinned him with my gaze. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“What?” he barked, caught off guard. “I don’t know what you’re implying with—”

“I’m not implying, I’m stating it straight up. You’re here, needing to get Nick some help because why, you’re done bein’ on cleanup duty yourself?” He opened his mouth to respond, but I had more to say. “I mean, it’s not your fault. You’re his manager, not his father, so why should you hafta keep tabs on him? You’ve got other people to worry about anyway, am I right?”

“You…you have no idea what—”

“Whatever,” I grumbled dismissively, bumping back in my chair, giving him a knowing smirk. “Forget I asked.”

“You—”

He was stuttering now. “And since clearly this is not the gig for me, because no matter how you’re tryin’ to spin it, you big-time need a babysitter, I’m gonna excuse myself,” I informed him, getting up and walking toward the door. “I’ll send in Nash,” I told Jared.

“Is he always that hostile?” Cox asked Jared.

I suspected that Jared had grimaced in answer since he didn’t say anything.

Opening the door, I stepped out.

“Mr. Barnes!”

I looked back over my shoulder and found Mr. Cox standing beside the table, hands pressed onto the wood, fingers splayed. When he spoke, his voice was a harsh rasp. “As you yourself are a single man with no spouse and no children, no responsibilities other than to yourself, I find it quite hypocritical for you to pass judgement on anyone.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed indulgently, giving him the knowing nod, the slight scrunch of my face that conveyed only patronizing arrogance.

I closed the door as he opened his mouth.

Whistling for Nash when I was back in the main area of our office, I motioned for him to go to the conference room. He passed me on the way.

“They didn’t want you, huh, sunshine?” he taunted me.

I smirked at him. “No, but that’s okay since it’s a fuckin’ babysitting gig in California,” I said sarcastically, patting him on the back. “Go get it, buddy.”

His feet were suddenly heavy, and his face fell. “What?”

I cackled and winked at him.

“Babysitting?” he whimpered.

“A rock star or pop star, I wasn’t listening to that part, but hey,” I remarked cheerfully, “he’s fresh outta rehab, like a couple days, so that’s awesome.”

“No,” Nash whined, head back, eyes closed, the picture of dejection.

I laughed at him. “Everybody likes you, Zen Boy,” I told him, grinning crazily. “You’ll fit right in out there in Cali.”

He trudged to the door like he was going to the electric chair, and I went back to my paperwork. Rais went in after Nash, and then Shaw. They all looked horrified over the possibility of being stuck with this job, but as I sat there working on closing out jobs and sending them off to billing, I realized that I didn’t care if Mr. Cox thought I was the wrong fixer to take on Nick Madison. I was solid. Mr. Cox didn’t know me. Didn’t understand how I felt about family, about my grandparents and, of course, my mother.

I talked to my mother at least twice a week, even when I was on a job, and made sure that the few friends I had that were scattered outside of Chicago, I called at least once a month. I was even better at texting. Where I fell down was with romantic entanglements like the one I’d had with Brann Calder.

I had left on a job and not told my fellow fixer, and then not called at all while I was gone. I hadn’t thought much about it, taking for granted that he’d still be there when I returned. But he left on a job the day I got back, and we had never reconnected. And now we weren’t even friends. I needed to be better at communicating with whoever I slept with next, and maybe they would end up hanging around. Not that this was burning a hole in my life, but finding someone to hang out with who didn’t get on my nerves would be welcome. Or maybe I just needed to get laid.