The General (Professionals 4)

“Jennifer, my dear,” Bertram made a show of rushing up to offer me support, grabbing both my elbows like I might be weak of knee, leaning in to kiss my cheek, then linking his arm through mine – two devastated family members supporting each other.

People milled in, each paying respect since there had been no wake. When everyone took their seats on the white fold up chairs that were wet from the falling snow, prompting scowls from the women as though anyone had any control over the weather.

Bertram’s grip on my arm went from comforting to borderline punishing as the priest stepped in front of the casket to begin the service. I reached upward with a ducked head, looking like I was swiping tears. They were snowflakes, but it was the appearances that mattered. And then I reached for my sunglasses as though trying to maintain some dignity while I mourned.

A chill worked its way through my system, settling deep inside my bones, making me curl forward to try to hold in some warmth. But there was no stopping it as the snow wet through my hair. My body started trembling almost violently, something Bertram noticed immediately.

“Hold it together, Jennifer. No need to make a scene. You can cry at home,” he told me as he dropped my arm to reach up, pretending to swat a nonexistent tear.

I was sure I was going to get frostbite by the time the priest called for everyone to start putting the white roses on the casket. Bertram moved ahead of me, still annoyed by my display. It wasn’t until I felt an arm link through mine that I thought I could even force my frozen legs toward the casket.

“You’re frozen solid,” Maren’s voice said at my side as she actively pulled me up toward the casket, forcing a rose into my hand before taking one herself, very much playing the part Smith said she could for me. Speaking of, he was nowhere to be seen. It was Lincoln who followed us across the lawn now completely white with about an inch of snow. “I parked a couple cars down from you,” Maren went on, rubbing my arm like she was trying to get some life back in it. Her jacket was thicker, longer. She’d had the good sense to wear gloves and a scarf. She didn’t seem bothered at all by the weather.

“Thanks, Maren.”

“Didn’t think you’d make it up there without help. You warm up. I will see you at the service.”

With that, she gave my arm squeeze before walking away.

“Come on, Jenny,” Smith’s voice said before his fingers closed around my elbow, guiding me inside a car that was already humming with life, the inside so warm that it immediately made my entire body prickle.

That was why he had gone away. He’d went to warm the car. Because even from a couple dozen feet away, he knew I was shaking from cold, not emotion.

Lincoln came out of nowhere, sliding into the front seat even as Smith moved in beside me in the back, pulling my body close to his, his hands reaching for my legs, chafing some life back into them.

And I was so cold that I didn’t even notice if it felt good or not. It was just helping to warm me up.

“Not to be indelicate,” Lincoln said as we pulled away from the curb, “But I think my balls are going to need to be surgically extracted from wherever they have burrowed inside.”

And that was just the perfect kind of ridiculous and inappropriate to penetrate through my misery, making a hysterical little laugh bubble up and burst out, something that made a smile tug at Smith’s lips as well.

“What’s the matter with your arm?” Smith asked, making me realize I had been absentmindedly rubbing it.

“It’s nothing,” I said, dropping my hand.

But Smith wasn’t having it. He grabbed the sleeve of my jacket, yanking it upward, showing the faint blue finger bruise outlines on my skin.

“That bastard…”

“He was… trying to make me keep it together. He thought I was hysterical, not cold.”

“I don’t give a fuck what he thought,” Smith shot back. “No one should be putting their hands on you hard enough to leave bruises, sweetheart.”

“I bruise easily,” I insisted, not wanting it to become a whole big thing.

Smith opened his mouth to say something, but I could have sworn Lincoln murmured from the seat right in front of him Don’t.

I was never so thankful for Lincoln than I was in that moment.

“I am just hitting up the drive-through for coffee,” Lincoln explained when he took a turn that didn’t lead to the club. “Warm up your insides too,” he added, pulling up to queue up behind four other cars.

“Take a breath,” Smith said, feeling me tense. “They will all just assume you needed a few minutes to pull it together. If you didn’t know better, it did look like you were falling apart up there,” he added, giving my arm a little squeeze before pulling my sleeve back down.