Page 22 of Tangled Like Us

Good.

Good.

He sweeps the other end of the aisle. “About what you asked me…” His stern eyes return to my face. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else, not Maximoff or your brothers or sister.”

Moffy is the hardest to keep a secret from. After coming home from Greece, I gushed to him about Thatcher’s oath with me. I felt immensely better when Thatcher confessed that he told Banks about the oath too.

Out of everyone in my family, I’m closest to Moffy. Thinking of losing him, thinking of life without him by my side clenches my stomach and wells my eyes—because him and me, it’s all I’ve known. Moffy is a part of me. We’ve shared so many experiences together. We grew older together. Only one-month apart in age.

But what Thatcher is willing to share now has nothing to do with me. It’s personal and private information regarding himself, so it’ll be easier to hold this secret hostage from Maximoff.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise. “Do you want to spit on it?”

Light almost reaches his eyes, but his seriousness never fissures. He shakes his head once. “I trust you.” He takes a long pause and brushes his hand over his mouth. “You’re going to need to tell me how you think I came into security.”

He wants to see what I know first, I assume. I think back. “I heard that another bodyguard referred you and Banks to the Tri-Force, but I’m unsure who you knew from security. Ninety percent of bodyguards are hired off referrals, aren’t they?”

“Most are,” Thatcher says, voice deep.

“I’ve only just started learning more about the team this past year,” I admit. “Not because I haven’t been interested.” I ramble on. “Security has been a fundamental part of my life since birth, but Moffy and I were always told not to worry about the details. Our parents didn’t want us to stress about who’s coming in and out. They’d rather we just trust in the team—and we do,” I say quickly. “I still do. That hasn’t changed.”

Thatcher’s palm pauses over his mouth. Letting very little emotion pass through his stoic features.

I’m much older now and some of the bodyguards around our age have become as close as friends. Farrow is about to become family now that he’s newly-engaged to Moffy.

It’s natural that I’d want to understand their world in security as much as they understand the famous parts of mine.

I keep talking. “Most bodyguards have martial arts backgrounds, from what I’ve seen.” I motion to his chest. “Like how you’re trained in boxing, and then you all met bodyguards at Akara’s gym who then referred you to security.”

Studio 9 Boxing & MMA Gym has even become a sort of headquarters for the security team.

Thatcher lowers his hand from his mouth. “That’s only the recent wave of bodyguards.”

The recent wave.“How recent?” I prop my elbow on a fabric roll, enthralled in the clearer picture. “How many waves are there?” I’m not even sure whoreferredhim yet, and I already have a million more inquiries.

I wonder if he can tell how badly I want to explore all of him.

Thatcher touches his earpiece. “It’s—sorry.” He expels a rougher breath, apologizing for having to deal with malfunctioning comms. While he fiddles with the radio, he continues talking. “Guys come in and out if it’s not the right fit, but I’d say there’ve only been about three waves. First, when you and your siblings and cousins were born.” His eyes flit up to me. “Hold on.”

I watch him click his mic.

“Thatcher to SFO, am I coming in clear?” He pauses for a full two seconds. “Is no one rogering up on the fucking comms?” Another pause. He spies movement down the aisle and turns his head an inch.

A stocky gray-haired man peeks sheepishly at us and then drifts toward the register.

With my elbow perched on a fabric roll, I rest my chin on my knuckles. “I’m guessing the second wave of bodyguards were the ones who spent my preteen and teenage years with me?”

Thatcher nods. “Back then, all the new hires were military, so the background of security became nearly one-hundred percentmilitary.”

My lips part. “No martial arts at all?” I thought there’d besomeat least. It seems like most bodyguards are martial arts now.

“Not until Akara.” Thatcher studies our surroundings before eyeing me. “The makeup of security today is about half military, half martial arts.” He messes with a knob on his radio but keeps sight of everything, even me. “Akara drew in the most recent wave of men. Boxers, MMA fighters. You’ve been around a lot of them just on SFO. There’s the Oliveira brothers, Farrow, Donnelly.”

“You?” I question because he hasn’t lumped himself in that category.

He’s quiet.

“I’m confused.” I tilt my head and frown. “I thought Akara joined the security team before you and Banks. So he’d have to usher you two in like the other boxers. I assume…”I’m wrong.I can see clearly that I’m wrong.