Heart in Wire: A by a Thread Companion Novel (4 page)

Fuck. This is going to be great; he’s on his way to tell his new roommate that her fiancé died. This isn’t what he’d signed up for when he’d started training young ATF agents. Fucking Jamie had agreed to go undercover without even talking to him about it. Having her as Patrick’s roommate complicated things, now he’d have to live this lie every day.

Opening the door to the house, he was met with a wet nose on his crotch. A lab-golden mix dog that was at least three feet tall was circling Patrick’s feet, the dog’s tail going a mile a minute. He smiled to himself and patted the dog on his head. As he went further into the house he was met with the smell of something fantastic. He sniffed the air—it was oregano and thyme; it reminded him of his mother’s homemade spaghetti.

Rounding the corner of the kitchen, he
almost collid
ed with a fresh-faced girl, her wet hair, braided down her back, making her shirt stick to her body. She smelled tropical. Her smile lit up the room and reached her eyes. Her green eyes glimmered with something…

“Hi!” She beamed and stuck out her hand. “You must be Patrick.”

Patrick blinked. He’d seen pictures of her, but she was...stunning. “Stella?”

When she saw his expression, the smile melted off her face. “Are you okay?” she asked sincerely, her hand warm in his palm. He didn’t remember even putting his hand out.

“Um, I don’t know how to tell you this…” he began. He looked away from her innocent face.

“Tell me what?” she asked.

“There was an accident,” he started, and looked back into her eyes, which were now clouding over.

She blinked. She was blinding him. He couldn’t concentrate.

“Okay...” she coaxed.

“Jamie.” Jamie’s name felt foreign on his tongue; this wasn’t going the way he’d frantically planned on his way home from the bar.

Her face disintegrated before him. He didn’t have to say anything else. She knew. She crumpled at his feet. Shocked for a moment, he just stood there, staring at the wet spot on her blue shirt under her braid. Getting his wits about him, he pulled her up and braced her body against his before he was able to carry her down to her room. She sobbed into his chest and he kept talking to her; he didn’t know what else to do.

“He was in an accident. A tractor trailer hit him. He didn’t survive.” These were the exact words he was supposed to say to her. He was supposed to tell her that her fiancé died. He wasn’t supposed to say anything else.

The front of his black ATF shirt was soaked in her tears. His heart ached for this girl he didn’t know. She didn’t deserve this. Hell, no one deserved this.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said as he laid her down on the bed. “I’ll arrange everything and we’ll head down to the service tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.” He turned to go back upstairs, he really needed a drink, but he felt a wet, warm hand on his wrist.

“Please stay with me.”

He sat and patted her head and shoulder and told her it’d be okay until she passed out from exhaustion. He walked upstairs and her dog followed him. He poured himself a whiskey. “Please stay with me,” she’d begged him. Fuck. The dinner that smelled like heaven was currently burning in the oven. He turned off the oven and pulled out a salvageable casserole of some sort. He sighed and left it on the counter, his appetite gone.

Billy texted to make sure everything was okay.

You good?

Patrick read the text and then looked down the stairs toward the girl whose heart he’d just decimated.

Fucking great

Billy responded quickly.

You told her?

Patrick nodded. Then remembered he needed to text.

Yep

He sighed heavily and took a gulp of his whiskey, not even wincing as it sloshed down his throat.

Sorry dude. That’s harsh.

Patrick actually laughed out loud at Billy’s response. “That’s a bit of an understatement,” he said to no one, then took his phone and whiskey into his room and dialed the number of Stella’s parents that Jamie had given him. Someone would have to tell them as well. He didn’t think Stella would be doing anything but crying for a while.

He was pulled back to the present by his phone ringing. “Hey, babe,” he answered.

“Take me on a date tonight,” Millie demanded.

“Of course,” he chuckled, “anywhere in particular I should take you?”

“Take me to Sequoia, wine me and dine me…you know what that leads to.”

“My favorite number,” he said with a laugh. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the grocery store; we need everything.”

Patrick loved the fact that since Millie had moved in, the only time he had to go to the store was to get more beer. “Whatever you want, babe. Thanks.”

When El lived with them, she didn’t do shit most of the time. They took turns going to the store. Millie was damn near perfect. He willed himself to love her. Every fucking day, he willed himself to love her. Some days he convinced himself he did, others he knew that they lacked something. He couldn’t understand it…she had everything he wanted.

Patrick lounged on the couch, drunk. Billy and El had gone to bed over an hour ago and he and Millie stayed up talking. He laughed as Millie recounted stories about El in law school. He never got to see that side of his roommate, the smart, serious side. Around him, she was either drunk, surly, or laughing. Sometimes all three at the same time. He blinked; he needed to go to sleep. George had just dumped El, so they’d been drinking since three o’clock this afternoon and it was catching up to him. He sighed and clapped his hand on Millie’s leg.

“I’m going to hit the bed. You going to sleep downstairs with El? I’d be careful, she sleeps naked.”

Millie laughed and batted her doe eyes at him. “Do you have room for me in your bed?”

“Um, yeah.” His eyes widened—that was unexpected. “I mean, sure.” He pulled her off the couch by the hand and kept hold of it as he walked back to his room.

Her hand was soft and fragile. This was a really bad idea. He felt her other hand graze his back as they entered his room. He turned around to face her and she pulled the door shut. Millie pushed him until the backs of his legs brushed up against the bed and he sat, gazing up at her. She leaned over, her white shirt gaping and
showing her cleavage,
and put her hands on his knees.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she slurred. “I’m going to take my clothes off and you’re going to fuck me. Then if we like it, we can do it again tomorrow.” With that, she took off her top and kissed him, forcing him against the bed.

This was an awesomely bad idea.

Millie clumsily pulled at his shirt. He leaned up and reached behind him, pulling his shirt up and throwing it on the floor. Millie was already working on his zipper. He blew out a long breath when her hands found what they were looking for.

Such a horrific, wonderful idea.

Chapter Three

LET ME ENTERTAIN YOU

Billy was watching the news in the den and Millie was cooking dinner. Patrick was sitting at the kitchen table, reading through Jamie’s file again, trying to figure out if there was something he was missing. He wanted to find him before Jamie made his appearance known.

“Holy shit!” Billy called from den.

“What?” Millie yelled.

“Come and look at this fucking shit,” Billy guffawed in spurts.

Millie and Patrick both moved to the den and looked at the TV screen that showed a very coiffed, very put together, styled El in front of about ten microphones talking about the latest scandal.

“Oh, she looks good,” Millie said. “She told me she was going to start doing this. That new firm she’s been with for a few months is using her as a lawyer, but mostly a PR distraction.”

“She looks…” Patrick started to comment, and then stopped. She didn’t look anything like herself, the El he knew. She was someone else.

“I can’t believe they let her on TV representing the firm and their clients.” Billy laughed. “She’s a walking disaster.”

“Billy, no one knows what a jackass she is. And what better way is there to deal with new scandal than to put the biggest scandal of last year in front of the camera? She’s exposed in a way, but the media wants more. It’s brilliant, really.” Millie stood in the den looking at their friend on the enormous flat screen TV.

“When you put it that way, yeah, I guess it is.” Billy nodded and looked back to the screen.

El was talking about a Senator that was sending out pictures of his dick to his staff. Patrick was impressed she was able to keep a straight face, this is the kind of thing they would laugh at on a regular basis.

“What a fucking dumbass! Who sends pictures of his dick to people? I mean, I just don’t get it,” Billy commented as he continued watching the press conference, fascinated by El’s performance. It was like she was a totally different person than who they saw every day—this El was poised and confident, not a surly pain in the ass.

“Well, something has happened to people since smartphones with cameras and the internet. Could you imagine being able to send naked photos of yourself to your girlfriend when you were in high school?” Millie asked. “I just used to show my boyfriend my boobs, not send him a picture.”

Billy and Patrick chuckled.

“Well, I never thought about trying to take a picture of my dick in high school or any time,” Billy admitted. “You’d have to put a camera on a table or something and hope you got a shot, and you’d want it to be a little excited too, you know. A limp dick isn’t something I want anyone to see, if you know what I mean. And, back in our day,” he drawled with an exaggerated wink, “you’d have to drive your ass to the one hour photo place for them to develop your dick picture and then either mail it or actually hand it to the person you wanted to see a picture of your dick.” He flung a hand at the TV dismissively. “These assholes have it too fucking easy.”

Millie and Patrick were red-faced and in hysterics.

“My dick, limp or not, would be fine for anyone to see,” Patrick commented.

Millie turned up her laughter, sitting down and bending over.

“What?” Patrick asked her, feigning outrage.

“Oh, it is, babe,” Millie said through her laughter.

“I’m sure it is,” Billy chuckled.

Patrick’s phone rang and he walked over to the table and grabbed it.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, baby boy.” Her voice was stressed, as usual.

“You okay?”

She sighed in the phone. “Things are okay. Trevor isn’t doing well. Can you come home for his birthday next month?”

“My May is pretty quiet, I think. You want a particular weekend?” Trevor’s birthday was on the 21st of May, but it was a Wednesday. He was going to turn 32 this year; he was four years older than Patrick.

“The weekend before will be fine.”

“Mom, is there anything I can do for you? Mother’s Day is coming up, do you need anything?”

“Sleep, baby boy,” she answered honestly. “I need sleep.”

“Well, I’ll stay for a few days and you can sleep. Okay?” Patrick didn’t do enough for his family, he knew. He sent money monthly, but he’d moved to DC to get away from all their needs. He was a selfish asshole, but he couldn’t be around Trevor like he was. He wanted to remember the strong eighteen year old with a baseball scholarship to Georgia Southern, the one that was funny, had multiple girlfriends, and taught him about everything.

“That sounds great, baby boy. We miss you.” There was a voice in the room with his mom, he couldn’t make it out. “I have to go, Patrick. Let me know when you’ll get in and I’ll send Katrina to pick you up from the airport.”

“Okay, Mom. I love you,” Patrick said quietly.