Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

A third time. A fourth. A fifth.

Every time we promise ourselves it’s the last damn time as we part over breakfasts that turn into lingering kisses and idle conversations, we lie.

Every morning after stretches on a little longer than the last before we go back to trying, yet again, to be office strangers.

I don’t know if it’s a consolation or cause for despair that she’s as hopelessly addicted as I am.

I have to break this off.

Yet, the deeper I get, the harder it is, and the more I know it’ll hurt her when it actually ends.

I need her to understand.

I need her to know, when I finally say never again and mean it.

It’s not that she isn’t good enough.

I’m crazy to protect her because she’s too fucking good. I won’t risk my darkness spilling over into her life like permanent ink.

There’s more at stake here than broken hearts and misunderstandings.

Her career, her life, her family could be ruined if I send the wrong attention her way.

It won’t happen, some inner voice whispers. You can have her if you let go of Haydn.

Tearing him apart won’t make Barrett whole again, and you know it.

Who the fuck are you fooling? Some damage can’t be undone.

That voice isn’t wrong.

Too bad this isn’t just about Barry anymore.

Maybe it hasn’t been for a long time. It’s Callie who made me see this is bigger than my personal vendetta.

This is about stopping a predator before he kills someone—possibly literally.

This is too important.

That’s my train of thought when we’re lounging in bed on a Friday night. I ask her if she has the next day free.

“Yeah, and I’m caught up for once!” she tells me with a bright smile. “What? You want me to yourself both days?”

Goddamn, do I ever.

There’s also an even crazier thought beating in my brain.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” I say slowly, pressing my lips to her brow. “It’s not a long drive from here.”

She smiles, snuggling into the crook of my arm with her eyes closed. “Um, okay. It’s not one of your rich friends with another obscene lake house, is it?”

“No,” I answer, trying to hold on to my smile. “Nothing like that—and since when do you think I have friends, rich or otherwise?”

“Oh, come on, Lex Luthor. There must be a rival you hate but grudgingly admire, and you wouldn’t be complete without pitting yourself against them.”

I can’t help smiling while she giggles mischievously.

“To hell with music blogs. You should be writing fiction,” I say.

I certainly feel like the tortured anti-hero she probably gets off on when she’s not getting off with me as the next day begins.

There’s no taking the offer back. It’s too late.

Callie slips out in the morning to head home, only to return in the afternoon as planned, all dolled up in pretty pink-and-white checkers. She’s fresh-faced and ready to go.

I sense her curiosity as I call Dominick to pick us up. I’ve never been more grateful for his unwavering discretion with my biggest secret—and now with this woman he shuttles around with me.

In the back seat, Callie hesitates. She glances at me repeatedly before scooting over to snuggle against my side.

Don’t overthink it.

I try not to dwell on the fact that this might be the last time I’ll ever hold her this way.

We’re silently comfortable as we make the drive to the house.

Barrett’s outside on the porch with two of the nurses today, playing a board game. Probably one of the many games his therapists use to test his mental acuity and encourage a recovery that always stalls.

Sometimes it goes as well as it can.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes he builds on previous exercises.

And sometimes he loses everything, and he has to start over from the beginning without even realizing he’s lost enough to get upset.

I’m wondering what he’ll be like today as I exit the Rolls, offering a hand to escort Callie out.

Her eyes are guarded silvery shields.

She’s obviously confused as she looks around at the lovely little house and the woods around it.

“Roland?”

“I’ll explain soon,” I say. My throat tightens as I lead her to the steps with our fingers twined.

Barrett’s head jerks up, his eyes igniting when he sees me.

“Rollie!” he cries with pure joy.

Before the nurses can stop him, he barrels down the front steps and launches himself at me with all the enthusiasm of an excited little boy trapped inside a grown man’s bulk.

He slams into me like a cannonball, but I’ll be damned if I care.

It’s always a miracle to see my brother happy.

My hand rips away from Callie’s as Barry wraps his arms around my neck, almost strangling me in his bear hug.

“You came!” he crows. “We make songs today?”

Damn.

I’m stunned, frozen, my heart turning to crystal and then nearly shattering.

He remembers.

It wasn’t just a lucky guess or some flash memory, here for a second and then gone.