His Father

“Boss is here,” a woman mutters and they scarper, all but Maddox who greets me with a smile.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” he pours himself a coffee at the machine and offers me one but I decline. “How’d she get on? Did you have a word with Devon?”

“She was fine and yes, I did.”

“What did he say?”

I lick my lip, wondering how to approach the subject without implicating myself. I’m simply testing the waters.

“He seemed to think I was saying it because I want the girl.” I say this as flippantly as possible.

His eyes darken with a scowl. “So he saw her as a challenge?”

He clearly trusts me to not do anything with her or he’d have asked me if it were true. Christ, I’m a fucking cunt.

“Possibly, but he said he’ll leave her be,” I reply. “Unless she makes the first move.”

“She won’t,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.

I blow out a breath. “Why are you concerning yourself with her sex life?”

“She’s my best friend, am I not supposed to?”

“Feels like a more than friendly gesture to me.” Why am I pushing this?

“Dad…”

“I’m just suggesting that maybe you think and feel more for her than you’d care to admit?”

He places his cup angrily on the side. “Don’t go putting shit in my head. She’s family to me. I don’t want to lose her.”

“I just don’t get it, she’s young, adventurous, artistic, calm,” I list off her qualities and wonder when I noticed these things about her. “She’s sexy…”

“She’s my friend, don’t call her sexy, Dad, that’s weird. She’s young enough to be your daughter.”

The look he gives me is a clear warning. Too late for that.

“You’re honestly telling me you don’t feel anything? Women like her don’t just appear around every corner. If I were your age…”

What am I saying?

“Dad,” he groans, rolling his eyes. “We’re friends.”

“I’m just saying,” I reply, holding up my hands defensively. “She’ll move on eventually.”

“Dad, she doesn’t like me like that either. She can move on all she likes.”

I shrug like I don’t care, which I shouldn’t care, but I also do. His feelings are the only feelings I care about.

“So, really, you don’t care if she and Devon…”

He shoots me a look and interrupts, “Are you trying to campaign for your friend? She’s my age, Dad. She’s not like other women. She doesn’t just fuck anybody. I know that because I traveled with her for a year and she never once looked at another guy. She never once looked at me.”

So she was lying when she said that shit to me this morning. I had a feeling she was.

“Leave her alone, both of you. If I find out either of you have done something to make her uncomfortable I will never speak to you again.”

Shit. I let that escalate but at least now I know where I stand with him were he to find out about what happened.

Tempest

The next morning, I creep into Maddox’s room and find him sitting on the rug, cross-legged, looking at an image of a ship and a bunch of papers with numbers and lists on them.

He looks stressed and thoroughly confused.

“Made a mistake?” I ask, sitting on his bed and picking up his phone to play a game.

He shrugs and then stretches his neck. I wonder how long he has been sitting here.

I put his phone down, shift to sitting behind him and start rubbing his neck.

He groans and lets his head fall forwards.

“What’s wrong?”

“I counted an extra crate on the last two freights I released.”

I keep rubbing, digging my fingers into the tight spots on his neck. “That’s not your job is it?”

“No, but you know I like to be thorough.”

“But if it’s not your job, there’s a chance you’re missing something. Have you spoken to the person who runs that department?”

“No,” he grumbles and then sighs heavily, resting back against my knees and dropping his head in my lap so I can massage his forehead and scalp. “That would probably be a good idea wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” I reply, leaning down to kiss his jaw.

He smiles and rolls away. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Then tell your dad.”

“No,” he blurts, gathering the paper. “I want to handle this myself.”

“Show him what you’re made of?”

“Exactly.” He grins, scratching the stubble on his chin. “I’ve got this.”

“I have no doubt you do.”

I watch as he yanks his shirt off over his head and for the first time since we became friends, I start to feel awkward. This is all Sargent’s fault.

“How was your first day?”

“It was incredible. Devon has offered to let me draw him!”

He gives me a scowl when he pulls a clean shirt on, hiding his muscles from my view. Not that I was looking. “I bet he has.”

“What’s that tone for?” I giggle nervously and flop back onto his bed. “It’s all for art.”