Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

“Yes,” I say. “I do. Because that’s the kind of person you are. The kind of person who’s taught me the kind of man I should be.”

“Roland...” She blushes so prettily—she always does—and leans into me, her hand curled against my arm. “You were always that man. You just needed to believe it.”

Old me would’ve given her crap for how cheesy that sounds.

New me feels something raw and hefty in my chest, and it’s got nothing to do with the licking I’ve taken tonight.

“It took loving you to show me,” I say.

Her breath catches, and she lifts her head, searching my face.

“Say that again.”

“Say what? That I can see it—”

The EMT punches my arm. “Say what the girl wants to hear, or I’ll make this hurt a lot more.”

I chuckle, trailing into a smile. I can’t look away from Callie for anything.

“I love you, Callie Landry.”

“Then it’s a good thing I love you too, Roland Osprey, or I’d be next in line to punch you.” With a joyful laugh, she slides her arms around my neck and stretches up to kiss my cheek.

I’m more content than I’ve ever been in my life.

We settle in and wait while the EMT finishes bandaging me up, double-checking to make sure my knuckles really aren’t broken. I glance over my shoulder, where Barrett lies on a stretcher on the ambulance, sleeping quietly, his breathing steady and even.

“He’ll really be okay?” I ask softly.

“He will,” the EMT promises. “We’ll take him in for observation, but if he never lost consciousness, it’s unlikely he experienced enough oxygen deprivation for any major concerns. It looks like he’s only suffered some esophageal bruising, plus skin abrasions. He’s been given a mild sedative for comfort, but I’m confident your brother will be just fine, sir. Would you like to ride along?” She leans around me and offers Callie a smile. “You too. I’ll make an exception for a non-relative this once after hearing what happened here tonight...”

Callie nods quickly. “If Roland wants to go, count me in.”

“I do.”

Right now, I can’t stand to let either of them out of my sight.

Not when I’m haunted by how damn close I came to losing them both.

The EMT pats my arm. “C’mon. Let me wrap up and we’ll get this thing moving. Get inside and get settled.”

While she bustles away, I nod, then hoist Callie up into the ambulance. I join her on the little padded seat bolted to the side a second later.

Together, we lean on each other.

Weary, battered, and yet somehow still comfortable.

There’s such love, such peace, such calm.

We try to rest and watch Barrett’s sleeping face.

“So what now?” Callie asks, laying her head on my shoulder.

“Now, we take care of Barry. We go home. We testify in attempted murder charges against Vance Haydn, and then we forget he ever fucking existed.” I take her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. Soon they’re as intertwined as I want. As I need our lives to be.

“And then?” she ventures, sensing I’m not done.

I smile. “Then we decide what our future looks like, woman. It’s already so bright I think I see stars.”

27

Something Blue (Callie)

I’m not sure how Roland got even more handsome with a crooked nose.

It’s his own fault.

He kept messing with it over the weeks it took to heal, then having to get it reset, making his recovery time even longer.

By the time it was fully healed, it took twice as long as usual. Nearly two whole months.

The funny part is, it’s never set quite right, leaving his formerly straight, commanding nose slightly crooked. He’s become the poster boy for 'perfect imperfections.'

Also, I’m in love with his new look.

The brutal nose job adds a rakish charm and lighthearted wickedness to his pristine face.

A pristinely handsome face that’s currently hiding behind a tablet. Roland pointedly ignores me over breakfast in our suite at Mom’s New Orleans hotel.

All I can see is the edge of his jaw and unruly tufts of dark, bed-ruffled hair rising past the top of the device.

Grinning, I prop my chin in my hand, twirling my fork in my eggs.

“Roland.”

“Hngh.”

My grin widens. “Ro-land.”

“Quit staring, Snoopy.”

I burst into laughter and reach across the table to pull his tablet down.

“You’re so vain. Stop hiding.”

He fusses a moment, then lets the tablet drop to shoot me a sulky look. Grumbling, he touches the bridge of his nose and the new bump there. “Yep. Still crooked. Surprise.”

“Still adorable,” I correct.

“That’s the problem,” he huffs. “How the hell am I supposed to instill fear, respect, and loathing if I’m adorable?”

“You’re a talented man. You’ll manage. Besides.” I lift my brows innocently. “It didn’t fall off, so you’re still not a hundred percent YA villain.”

His eyes narrow.

“When did my little mouse turn into a spoiled kitten?”

God help me, I giggle again—only to trail off as I glimpse what’s on his screen.