Page 176 of Tangled Like Us

I take hers.

Clearheaded.

Focused.

There is hell outside. Which we have to push through.

37

THATCHER MORETTI

“Does it hurt badly?”Jane asks me after we’ve returned to the townhouse from the bingo hall.

We sit on a weight bench in the quiet garage. Pressed up against the brick wall and facing her parked Volkswagen.

I watch her eyes trace the deep, long cut along my bicep. Clean and stitched just moments ago. My bloodied flannel and T-shirt are balled up and trashed in a bin next to a red toolkit.

Jane turns more towards me. “I can see if we have stronger pain medication or ice, perhaps?”

I rest my shoulders on the brick. My gaze not leaving Jane, watching her concern travel across my body. “I’m good, honey.” Farrow numbed the cut well. He just went back into the townhouse with his trauma bag. Maximoff beside him.

Calm after the storm.

The crowds were aggressive for no good reason. Something I’ve encountered countless times as a bodyguard, and I like the rush of it. The impending nature of this hellfire, the sudden blast and challenge as we confront it and try to diverge from it. How my senses snap into focus, and the stakes are always high.

We escorted Jane and Maximoff safely to their vehicles. They protested because they saw us being dragged back and tried to help. But I literally picked Jane up, and I’ve never seen Farrow shove Maximoff that hard into the car.

Their lives come first.

I prefer that chaos a thousand leagues over my confrontation with Tony. I failed there. Lost my temper for a split-second, and that’s all it takes.

One second and a bad night becomes the worst of your life.

Jane lifts her eyes up to me. “I can’t believe you both got hurt.”

I’m not that affected by it. “It’s not bad. Minor injuries to security are normal.”

She’s only just now seeing them because she’s gotten closer to the team.To me.It’s impossible not to get knocked around on this job.

Especially when hostile crowds start breaking bottles. Some leather-jacket-wearing fuckbag tried to smash a beer bottle over Farrow’s head, and I blocked the blow with my arm and restrained the threat.

Farrow got cut on the knee with glass. He was able to bandage his own wound in the car.

Jane gives her whole attention to me. “Do you feel like you’re being targeted more, in terms of crowds? Now that you and Farrow are more publicly recognizable?”

I unclip my radio off my waistband. “It’s hard to say.” Hecklers will sometimes pick fights with security to get to the client. So I can’t tell if they’re coming at me because I’m publicly Jane’s boyfriend or because I’m just the man in their way.

I describe this to Jane, and she nods in understanding. “Are you going off-duty?” She sees me taking out my earpiece.

“I am.” I twist the cord around the radio. “Unless you want to go out—”

“No,” she says quickly. “No, I’m staying in for the rest of the night.” Her eyes light up in realization. “I forgot I have a bottle of Dalmore stashed away somewhere in here—though, don’t feel pressured to drink whiskey with me.” She raises her hands. “I was only thinking that, possibly, with your…cut, it’d help take the edge off.” She clears her throat, soaking up my hard gaze.

I study her shallow breath, and I almost reach out and touch her hand that lies flat on the weight bench. Near mine. Heat washes over my chest. Like we’re in a steaming sauna somewhere remote and alone.

We’re in a fucking garage.

Where one door leads to security’s townhouse, the other to hers. And Akara, Quinn, Sulli, and Luna are already home tonight.