My Killer Vacation

“I can’t hear the recap again,” Myles rumbles, taking out his phone and striding toward the front of the house. “I’ll be outside.”

Jude stares after him. “I should probably go apologize.”

“No,” I say, watching the bounty hunter duck beneath the doorframe. “I don’t think he requires one. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Yeah, it is,” Jude agrees after a second. “If anything, I think he was proud of me.”

“Isn’t that lovely?”

“You already said that, T.”

“Did I?” A notch forms in my throat while watching Myles pace on the porch, phone pressed to his ear. “Must be this head injury.”

I detail the attack to my brother with as little emotion as possible. There is no sense in upsetting him. Yet somehow he still seems to be on the verge of tossing his cookies by the time I’m finished. “I’m fine, really. It could have been worse.”

“I shouldn’t have let you get wrapped up in this,” Jude says, gathering his hair in a fist and holding it there on the top of his head. “You’re always looking out for me and this was my chance to return the favor and where was I? Sleeping on the beach.”

“That’s good! It’s your vacation.”

“It’s our vacation, Tay—”

A car screeches to a stop outside of the house. Followed by several more cars braking, engines cutting out. A lot of talking and shouting ensues. As though a portal has opened and a crowd has been shaken out from another dimension.

One deep voice stands out from the others.

“Oh no.” Jude’s eyes slide shut. “Oh God, he actually came.”

“What?” I split a look between the front door and my brother. “Who?”

“Dante.”

“Dante is here?”

“Yup.”

Arms linked, we slowly edge toward the front window, but most of my view is blocked by one very muscular back belonging to Myles. “What the fuck is all this?” he’s shouting.

“Myles,” Jude says, tapping the bounty hunter’s back through the window screen. “It’s okay. He’s not a threat.” My brother’s voice rises to a shout. “He’s just stubborn!”

“You’re the one refusing to see me for no good reason,” calls back Dante—and I can’t help it—warmth spreads in my chest like melted chocolate. “I’m coming in there.”

“I beg to differ,” Myles drawls, though there is a steel edge to his tone. “Taylor?”

“Yes?”

“Why is the kid from the Phantom Five movie on your porch?”

I massage his tense shoulders through the screen, but they remain as hard as concrete. “We know him. He grew up with Jude. They’re best friends.”

“Are we?” comes Dante’s disembodied voice. “Pretty sure my best friend isn’t supposed to avoid me. To the point where I have to see him on the news to find out he’s vacationing where a murderer is at large.”

“On the news?” Myles repeats, throwing us a dark look over his shoulder. “What is he talking about?”

Dante clears his throat. “Can we do this inside? I was followed by a few paps.”

“Let him in, Myles,” I say. “He’s safe.”

“There are a lot of people out here, Taylor,” Myles answers. “Get away from the window.”

Jude and I take several giant steps backward, leaving us between the living room and the kitchen. “Done.”

The front door opens and there is Dante. But he’s not the slightly awkward, quietly handsome kid I remember. No, he’s a taller, thicker, stronger version with soulful brown eyes, midnight hair and a five o’clock shadow on his square, movie star jaw. I should have expected the transformation. After all, I’ve seen both Phantom Five movies in theaters. I’ve watched him jump off a skyscraper and land on the wing of an airplane, fight a twenty-foot robot and…make love. My face heats a little when I remember that scene from the second movie. The one where he has hate sex with the beautiful villain played by one of my favorite actresses. I bite my tongue before I can ask Dante what she’s like in real life. Because it’s not my moment. Not my reunion. It most definitely belongs to Dante and my brother and it’s not what I’m expecting.

I expect Dante to call Jude a flake. I expect Jude to give some witty retort and toss his hair and all of it to culminate in a back-slapping hug. Instead, Dante stops just inside the door and scowls at Jude.

“Holy shit, you’re alive,” Dante deadpans. “Good to know.”

Jude rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Dante. Save some drama for the movies.”

“We could have easily done this over the phone.”

My brother unlinks our arms and hobbles toward the fridge. “Could you please settle down and have a beer—”

“Why are you limping?” Dante’s golden brown skin loses some color. He turns to Myles who has just entered the house behind him. “How did Jude get hurt? Aren’t you supposed to be their bodyguard?”

Myles kicks the door shut to a flurry of camera flashes. “The hell I am.” He spears me with a warning look. “When were you two on the news?”