The smile falters when I turn to face Parker and see the look on his face.
Gone is the carefree man I spent the afternoon with at sea. He looks almost somber — eyes narrowed, mouth set sternly, jaw clenched. His hands are fisted at his sides.
“I’m sorry about Luca,” I murmur. “I had no idea he was going to show up like that.”
He doesn’t reply.
I take a step toward him and, for once, he’s the one stepping back from me. A pang of something that feels a lot like regret lances through me.
“Parker…” My voice cracks.
His eyes flare. “Don’t.”
I swallow and watch as he crosses over to the desk, pulls open a drawer, and extracts my flash drive. I’d completely forgotten about it — completely forgotten my reason for coming here in the first place. Being in Parker’s presence swept me away entirely, until all thoughts of Luca’s vendettas and memories of a blood-soaked Christmas eve slipped out of my mind. Until it was just him and me, together in the moment.
That, in itself, is the most precious gift I’ve ever received.
It’s so quiet you can hear the faint whoosh of waves against the hull outside as he stops in front of me, leaving a careful distance, and offers me the USB.
“Take it,” he rasps, hand extended. “It’s why you came here, isn’t it? The whole reason you’re with me.”
I don’t move.
“Zoe.” His hand shakes a bit. “Take the damn flash drive.”
“No.”
“No?” His voice goes down an octave. “You’ve been trying to get me to give it to you all fucking day. Now, when I offer it to you, you turn me down. What the fuck kind of logic is that?”
He’s angry. Furious, even.
The emotion startles me; it’s so contrary to everything I’ve seen from him before. As I study the expression on his features, I realize this man is not a volcano, like Luca — dangerous from a distance, a clear threat to everyone in a ten-mile radius.
Parker is a hot spring, a geyser buried beneath a meadow. The kind that erupts through cracks you don’t even see until you’re standing over them, boiling up with the heat of it, too distracted by its beauty to notice its lethality.
“Just let me explain—”
“Explain?” He barks out a laugh. “Fine. Let’s start with the fact that your boyfriend is Blaze Fucking Buchanan, the best underground fighter in the city, and then we can discuss whatever the fuck he meant when he said he thought you were done with my family after last spring.” His jaw ticks. “Pretty weird, considering I was under the impression we didn’t know each other until the Lancaster party.”
I’m surprised to hear Luca’s nickname come out of his mouth — Blaze, inspired by his deep auburn hair and the all-consuming way he fights, like wildfire — but I shouldn’t be. Nearly every man in the northeastern United States knows who he is, watches his fights, follows his career.
“You knew who he was and you were still going to fight him?” I ask, my voice incredulous. Only a mad man would fight Luca willingly.
Tired of holding out the drive, Parker sets it on the table beside me and averts his eyes. “Does it matter?”
Yes, I think. Yes, it matters that you knew you’d get the shit kicked out of you, but you were ready to defend my honor anyway.
I take a breath, trying to stay calm. He glances back at me and, for a split second, I see the hurt in his eyes. It’s gone in a flash, buried back behind a hazel shield of frustration.
“You know, it’s funny…” His arms cross over his chest. “I don’t hear you explaining.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” My voice is soft. “He’s more like… my brother.”
Parker shakes his head, as if he doesn’t believe me. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“Zoe, that man is in love with you.” Parker runs a hand through his hair. “He may not like it, hell, he may not even know it — but he’s in love with you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Fine. Whatever.” He shakes his head. “But the other shit? You care to share how you know me? Because I’m pretty sure I asked you, point blank, if we’d ever met before, and you lied to my face.”
“I didn’t lie.” My chest feels tight. “I just… left some things out.”
“Such as?”
I could tell him — about Phoebe, about the mob, about the dank basement I found her in and how she sprinted beside me in her damn stilettos as we fled under the cover of darkness. How she’d called me her fairy godmother, nicknamed me Tinkerbell, and thanked me for saving her life when I left her alone on a strange street corner, with nothing but a burner phone.
Heroic? Not exactly.
I’m no hero.
At my core, I’m just a shitty person with some computer skills.