Page 66 of Cold Mercy

I’ve never had friends, not real ones. I've had contacts, informants, and brothers-in-arms. But James and Elizabeth…they treat me like I belong, like I’m one of them. It's a strange feeling, this casual acceptance. Another one of Sophia's unintended side effects, I suppose.

Of course, Elizabeth’s comments at the club still need to be addressed. She wasn't entirely wrong. I did react like a jealous fiancé dragging his girl out of trouble, and I fucking liked it, more than I should have. I'm convinced she ‘accidentally’ texted me on purpose that night, knowing I’d drop everything. And the unsettling part is, I’m grateful she did. I would never have forgiven myself if Sophia had left that club with that guy. It seems my two ‘civilian assets’ know me better than I know myself.

I park in front of their house, and James opens the door, greeting me with that usual idiotic grin of his that I see almost every day. Elizabeth, on the other hand, I haven’t seen since the night she yelled at me to ‘take your woman home’ and assured me my secrets were safe with her.

I step inside and smirk.

“Good evening, Ms. Unhinged.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widen with pure horror, and she immediately starts rambling.

“Thomas, oh my God, I’m so sorry, it was the tequila. I shouldn’t have said any of that. If you want, I’ll talk to Sophia and tell her I made it all up. I didn’t mean–”

Hell no. Absolutely not. That woman saying anything to Sophia is the last thing I need.

“I’m kidding,” I interrupt, taking pity on her. “It’s fine. Just maybe be a little more careful with tequila next time.”

As we sit at the table, I launch into a conversation about business with James, mainly because Elizabeth looks so mortified she might actually evaporate out of shame.

She barely touches her food, and every time I glance at her, she has the look of someone who wants to apologize all over again.

“Has Sophia reached out to you? Or… is she done with you forever?” she gathers courage to ask.

What exactly do I say? That every morning when I run past Sophia’s house, I leave her a note with two new ‘facts about me’ like some pathetic, lovesick idiot? Thanks to that, she actually texts me back now, pretty much every day?

Yeah. I’m definitely not sharing any of that.

I swallow calmly and lie through clenched teeth.

“We text occasionally. Not that often, just… here and there. Nothing crazy.”

I sound like a twelve-year-old hiding his first crush. James immediately picks up on it, his mouth curling into that annoying grin of his.

“Soooo… are you two dating or what?”

Dating. What a soft, civilian word for what's happening between us. We aren't dating. We're circling each other like two predators sizing each other up. It's a game of control, of pushing and pulling, of seeing who breaks first, and I'm starting to think I don't want to win. I just want her. So yeah, James, in my own fucked up way, I guess I wish we were.

“What? No, absolutely not. We’re… acquaintances. At best.”

Elizabeth collects the plates and disappears into the kitchen. James scoots closer, lowering his voice like a gossiping aunt on a mission.

“You can tell me, man.”

I should've learned by now: trying to keep a secret around James Callaway is like trying to carry water in a sieve, his mouth runs faster than his brain.

I let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Dude, what are you talking about? She and I are...barely friends, don't make it weird.”

He deflates, disappointed.

“Right…well. I still know what I saw.”

Nothing about what’s happening between us fits into any box he thinks he’s figured out.

“Will you come to Christmas dinner with us?” Elizabeth asks when I finally gather myself to leave.

I tell her I’ll let them know, but the truth is… I haven’t celebrated Christmas since my father died. My brother spiraled so deep I barely recognize the person he became. And my mother lost two sons along with her husband that day. I don’t even know if she celebrates anymore, or if she just survives the season like I do. No decorations, no gifts, no traditions. Just silence, which I’ve gotten too good at choosing.

CHAPTER 13