Page 34 of Fighting Fate (Monsters of London #4)

Vince

Despite my declaration to Dax that I want us to make a go of things, I hardly see him aside from in classes for the next week. Nick’s working overtime on some big project, so he’s at the office almost constantly, which means I have to cancel one of the vampire classes and shift the wolf ones around.

It’s all beginning to wear on Jamie, too. There’s been no sign of Tim since he came around shouting, but I’m still leery of leaving him alone.

I run my usual human-only self-defence class on Wednesday, and when I get home, Nick’s already there. He gives me a tight smile from the kitchen. I grimace. Jamie’s in a shit mood, then.

He’s stewing on the sofa when I enter the living room. Some reality show is playing, but I don’t think he’s even watching it. He’s staring out the window into the backyard, nibbling on his lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Jamie says, voice clipped. He doesn’t look at me.

He’s not looking at anything in particular out there, from what I can tell. “Did you—”

“Fuck’s sake, Vince,” he snaps, and I take a surprised step back. “I’m fine! And I don’t need babysitting!”

“We’re not babysitting you,” Nick says smoothly.

No, not smoothly. There’s an undertone of exasperation, like he’s been saying this all day.

“Tim’s not come back. He’s not coming back. It’s fine.”

“I’m sure it is,” I say, aiming for reassuring and missing—if the scowl Jamie shoots me is anything to go by—by a mile.

Truth is, I’ve felt uneasy all week. I haven’t seen anyone out of place or anything like that, but I just feel like someone’s out there watching us.

I’ve been half-tempted to ask Sam to come over to put up those wards. Or at least see if he can sense anything, though I don’t know if he can do that, and I’d feel silly asking.

“Look,” I say, perching on the arm of the chair. I’m far enough away from Jamie that I can make a quick escape if need be. “I know you don’t want to go to the police. I know that. But what if there’s another way to deal with him?”

Nick is noticeably silent across the room. Jamie peers up at me, then shakes his head. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, no. We’re not getting into shit because of one riled-up dickhead.”

“Is he still texting you?”

“I don’t know.” Jamie shrugs. “I blocked his number.”

“And at work? Has anyone seen him there?” Nick asks.

“No. I told security what he looks like, and my supervisor. He’s not getting in. I want this done with too, you know.”

“We know,” I say. “It’s not about that. We just want you safe.”

Jamie throws his hands up in exasperation. “I am!” He storms out of the room, and I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face.

Nick whirls on me as soon as Jamie’s door slams shut upstairs. “What the fuck are you into?”

I jerk my head up, surprised at the venom in his tone. “What are you talking about?”

“That! The stuff about Tim. Another way to deal with him? What the fuck does that even mean?”

Fuck. I didn’t think this through. “Nothing. Nothing, really, I just… Kieran knows some people, and Jamie doesn’t want to go to the police, so I thought—”

“You know threatening him won’t work. It’ll just make him angrier.”

“I know.” I do. Threatening wasn’t the thought that had crossed my mind, and I doubt it crossed Kieran’s or Sam’s when I first went to them about this.

“If I thought that would work, I’d have already done it,” Nick says, glaring down at the floor.

“I know,” I repeat. He looks at me and sighs, all the fight going out of him.

“Just… don’t do something you can’t take back.”

“I’m not planning on doing anything without talking to Jamie first,” I say. I mean it. Unless the fucker attacks him or something.

Nick heads upstairs, too, and I go out into the back garden. It’s still light out, and I perch on the picnic table we liberated when we first moved in, taking my phone out of my pocket.

Should I call Dax? Maybe I shouldn’t bother him with everything he has going on.

But we’re dating, right? Going out? This is the kind of thing partners talk to each other about.

He answers on the fourth ring, just as I realise he’s working at the pub tonight and that he’s probably already on shift.

“Sorry!” I say. “I know you’re working. I didn’t mean to—”

“Vince,” Dax interrupts, and the deep, calm tone of his voice instantly eases some of the tension from my shoulders. I rub my hand over the back of my neck and rest my elbows on my knees. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I can call back later, though, when you’re done.”

“I took my break. Believe me, I’m glad I had a reason to. The arseholes are in again.”

“Arseholes?” I scowl again, anger quickly heating my blood.

Dax laughs faintly. “Just some customers,” he says, and then more quietly, pointedly, “human customers. They’re dicks, but they’re not my problem for the next half an hour. Now, what’s going on?”

“I’m just—I’m sorry about this week.” I blink in surprise as I say it, then shake my head and plough forward. “I thought we’d actually get to spend some time together.”

“It’s okay. We’ll have a chance to go out again at some point. You need to take care of Jamie.”

I glance up at the house. “He doesn’t want taking care of.” With a sigh, I climb off the picnic table and start to pace around the garden. A broken piece of fence catches my eye, and I shake my head.

“I’m sure he appreciates it deep down. You’re all just on top of each other right now.”

“And not in the fun way.”

Dax huffs a laugh. I get it; not my best joke.

“No,” I add. “I know what you mean.” A football is hidden in the weeds at the bottom of the garden, and I fish it out before I chuck it over the fence. Next door’s kids—they probably broke the fence, as well. “It’s just been a trying week for them too, I think. Nick’s stressed at work. He doesn’t need this at home. And Jamie… He says he thinks Tim’s given up, but I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to come over? I finish here at eleven.”

Heat pools in my belly, even as I know that’s why I need to say no. I do want Dax here and not just to fuck. I want to complain about all this in person and be unfair because he’s the person who’ll listen to me when I am.

But I’ve said I want to go slowly, and I do. If I have Dax in my room—on my bed …

Well, there’ll be nothing slow about that.

“I want you to,” I say, making sure each word is clear so he knows I mean it. “But I don’t think it’s the best idea.”

Dax chuckles. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay. Can I call you, then, when I get in?”

“Of course.” I sit back on the picnic table again and this time, I lean back, staring up at the sky. “So we’ve got another… what, twenty minutes? How’s Millie doing? How are the kids?”

Dax laughs at the change of subject. “She’s fine. They all are.”

“You planning to go visit again soon?”

The rest of his break seems to pass so quickly, and my stomach twists when he tells me he’s got to go.

“I’ll call you later, Vince,” he says. “I promise.”

“I know you will. Don’t let those dickheads get to you.”

“You sound like Patch.” Dax’s voice is fond, and it warms me up from the inside out.

“Is he there?”

“He always is on a Wednesday. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know.” I take a deep breath and force the next words out. “Doesn’t hurt to know I care, though, does it?”

It’s more a question than the confident statement I want it to be. Dax hears it. He’s silent for a second too long, and just when I’m beginning to panic, he chuckles.

“No, it doesn’t.”

I smile widely, even though he can’t see me, and we say our quiet goodbyes. Once he hangs up, I lie back on the picnic table, my head hanging over the other side.

Oh, I’m so gone over this guy.