Page 97 of The Loves We Lost

“Any more?” King asks.

When there’s a shake of heads, he takes a deep breath. “Let’s vote then on whether we break into digital crime and take their money. Those in favor?”

The decision is made in a heartbeat.

“Vex, go do your thing then come back and tell us when it’s done.”

When he leaves the room, there’s a strained quiet. Minds are ticking over on the size of what we are about to do.

“We should build a new custom clubhouse,” Wrinkle says.

Halo huffs. “Because nothing says ‘I just came into eleven million dollars’ like suddenly splashing the cash around. They know where we are, where we live. If we start doing anything out of the ordinary, they’re going to know it was us.”

Saint nods. “We’re going to have to have to think about how we launder the money when we bring it back in as well. Random amounts, random intervals, spreading it out over a period of time. Can’t have all our businesses suddenly having a fifty percent increase across the board without triggering something at the IRS or ATF or FBI or whatever.”

“This feels like a lottery conversation,” Spark says. “Like when you buy a ticket three days in advance and the next seventy-two hours are full of thought figuring out how you’re going to spend it before you check the ticket and find out you lost. We should wait until Vex confirms he’s pulled it off. We need to wait.”

“How poor are they that have not patience,” Niro says suddenly. “‘What wound did ever heal but by degrees?’ Shakespeare.”

“Fuck me,” King says. “Not you too. You’ve been spending too much time around Rae.”

I’m kinda relieved he has. Because her advice is making a difference. Niro’ll never becured... not that curing is required. He’ll always be neurodivergent. But Rae’s tools are certainly helping him function better.

Niro shrugs. “Patience is the theme for our July sessions, but I can’t wait for it to be fucking over.”

Halo is the first to chuckle, then Saint and Switch. Finally, everyone is laughing.

“What the fuck did I say?” Niro asks with frustration.

“You’re discussing patience ... and now you’re impatient because you don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Niro thinks for a second, then grins. “Okay. Fair. Laugh your little socks off.”

And as we do, Vex pops his head through the door.

“It’s in motion,” he says.

And as everyone cheers, there’s a warning deep in my gut that says it can’t be that easy.

32

VIOLA

Iwake up in the morning to Miles’s hands stroking my body through the T-shirt of his I slept in last night. He’s been quiet the past few days, but the driver of it has been his focus. His mind has been preoccupied. You can see it in the way Avery chatters away at the dinner table, while he misses chunks of what she’s saying.

Or the way he responds right away to every ping of his phone.

When I challenged him about it, he told me if I really needed to know to trust him, because he’d share a little more, but that he would never tell me club business. He also added that it was best I didn’t know, because if I was ever asked anything by the police, I could look them in the eye and say I didn’t know a thing.

The fact he was willing to discuss it with me was enough. It was the changed behavior I was looking for. Before, when he was young and I was needy, I would have badgered him, and he would have furiously dug his heels in.

Now it feels more like we’re in it together.

It was the same concern when a vote at the club the other day held him back from getting home on time to take Avery to the shore to swim. At first, I was frustrated, feeling as thoughhe’d let Avery and me down by putting the club first. But then he explained how I need to see the club as his day job, his employer, and sometimes he has to do what his employer needs of him. What he said made sense. Plus, he took action afterward. Made it up to Avery by taking her to a donut shop he likes. Then he made dinner and delivered it to me at my desk, where I was finally getting a grip on my next story.

After a glass or two of wine with Briar one evening, I decided to write my sergeant-at-arms as an undercover Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives agent who falls for the president’s daughter. It meant throwing away the words I’d already written. But now that I understand the conflict, it’s flowing like a dream.

Plus, I’m not copying Saint and Briar’s story but writing something uniquely my own.