Page 78 of Edge of Stars

I hate how good it feels when his answering snort layers over some of the new laughs from the girls. “Who’s your Jack Ryan, bee-otch?”

“You, baby,” I return, though a rote smile breaks through.

“And you’re mine, man,” he replies, reverting me back to discomfort that has nothing to do with my Jared Leto-meets-Obi Wan getup. “You’ve always been my solid. In many ways, my eyes and ears and brains.”

I shake my head. “You have all three, and they work just fine.”

“Not like yours,” he asserts. “Especially not during the times when I didn’t give a shit about them. When I wanted to kiss them all goodbye along with the rest of this ridiculous shell.”

As he gestures up and down his form with a furious hand, I release an audible seethe. “Not acceptable, man. Not ever.”

His hand smacks into his lap. “I know that now. And I believe it too because of the Jack Ryan in my life.” With his other hand, he stabs a finger my way. “Who taught me that no matter what shit looks like, there’s a way to victory. There’s a chance.”

Another minute in which I hate the guy again, though legitimately this time—especially as Kell seems to finish off his pep vent with another giddy shout from above.

“Yesss!”

Nooo.

But this isn’t the moment to be telling the guy that Jack Ryan isn’t always right. That even the world’s most formidable Eagle Scout has to recognize the elephant—or the underworld power brokers—that’ll quash his rally cry into the world’s crappiest breakup ballad.

One day I’ll have to be the guy holding out that violin, but it’s not this day. Not in this moment that already feels too unreal, and not in any of the good ways—except for whatever has my wife and her sister continuing to yell at each other like they’re getting pumped up for a rock concert, not a face-to-face showdown with the most powerful witch goddess in the known realms.

“One more of those cute whoop-dee-doos, and I say we order them down here at once,” Jesse declares.

I answer with a definite nod, almost wanting to take him up on it now, but there’s another subject here that gives me pause.

“In the thirty seconds we have before that, I want to ask you something.”

A frown from my buddy. But he counters with a smooth drawl, “Of course I’ll be happy to look after the signed Stephen Kings too.”

“Asshat.” I narrow my gaze. “You peeked.”

His hands are already up again. “That would be unethical and illegal. But thanks for the confirmation.” And then flashes his most engaging grin. “But I won’t be making room on the bookshelf quite yet. You’re going to get through this, man. We all will.”

I nod again, though his smirk dips. The guy sees through me nearly as clearly as Kara. He senses the perfunctory economy of my move, and I don’t dishonor him with another polite preamble to my curiosity.

“Speaking of peeking habits…”

He breaks in there, his expression already vacillating again. And holy shit, is he blushing? And is this a new thrum in my chest, already dreading the conclusion my instinct has jumped to—because of a place he’s gone to?

“Okay, so you did see what happened on the pier. But I swear, man, Kell initiated things. And it was only the one k—”

“Uh, yeah.” I practically bark it out, ordering him to silence with the force of my new stomp across the room. “But no. The only thing I saw on the pier was whatever happened with your chair.”

It’s agony to turn back around, already seeing that I’ve handed him at least the violin bow for his heartbreak ballad. Or maybe that’s the part he’s already had in hand for nearly twenty years, thanks to me.

Shit, Jesse.

Shit, shit, shit.

“What…was…the deal?” I persist, albeit with a couple of awkward start-stops. “You were floating more than rolling out there.”

“Floating.” He considers the word like it’s about to be another haiku, the edges of his face crinkling with a blend of mirth and contemplation. “Okay. That’s a good way of putting it.”

“But it never surprised you? Or freaked you out?”

“Of course it did.” He resettles in the seat, rolling his shoulders with that same mix of watchful humor and cocky strength. “But times like that are when you go for the inner Jack Ryan, right? And after Poseidon ex…plained…”