Page 89 of Love at First Rep

“And BFS stands for…?”

McHugh sighed. “Apparently, The Stick is too boring of a name for some people, so we all voted and decided BFS worked best since it covers our mission as well as everyone’s obnoxious need to be cool.”

Garrett cocked his head, waiting for McHugh to continue.

“Big Fucking Stick.”

“Wait a damn second,” Miguel shouted from his spot across the room. “It doesn’t stand for Best Friends? Some friendship this is.”

The room filled with laughter and McHugh rolled his eyes. Garrett couldn’t help but laugh along with them.

“What actually happened was we asked who would be afraid of a stick?” Rafe said. “A bad guy sees it and probably wants to stick a marshmallow on the end of it. To which the boss argued, ‘It-it’s a big fucking stick!’ and that’s how we got the name.”

Garrett laughed at Rafe’s impression of McHugh until his abs hurt. He didn’t know if it was that funny or if he was losing it after everything that happened in the past week. It felt like a bout of the sleepy hahas, which happened when he was so tired he couldn't help but laugh.

“Wow, Big Fucking Stick,” Garrett said, shaking his head as he deadpanned. “I am officially intimidated.”

McHugh gave a curt nod. “Damn right, you are.” He returned his focus to the monitors.

A snort escaped Garrett, and he peered at Rafe to see him already watching him, a soft smile on his face. Garrett smiled back, and Rafe’s grin grew. If Garrett had to guess, he thought Rafe enjoyed seeing him slip into this group he’d considered family for years. They were important to Rafe, which meant they were all important to Garrett too.

He pulled out his phone to send Rafe a text since he was sitting on the other side of the room, his brother hogging him for a bit.

GARRETT: If I went to McHugh and suggested hiring Stick Stickly from Nickelodeon to be the team’s spokesperson, or spokestick I should say, do you think he’d shoot me?

Rafe covered his face with his hands as he read the text, trying to stifle his laughter.

RAFE: I’ll get Miguel to ask. Safer that way.

Garrett wanted to keep joking around with Rafe, but the real world intruded.

“Package is leaving the delivery truck,” Thea’s voice said over the speaker in Carson’s setup. “Location, Timber Creek Detention Center.”

Carson grabbed a barbecue chip before sliding his wheeled chair to a different monitor, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Timber Creek Detention Center is for juveniles,” Carson said, rattling off information as he worked. “Looks like they’ve been dealing with overcrowding and riots. Loading building plans now and laying them over satellite imaging.”

“The loading zone has a reception area for deliveries,” Thea added over their comms, the view from her drone showing on one of the screens. “The box is currently piled with other deliveries. Visual maintained. M, should we stay on site or return to HQ?”

“You can head back. Once we see its final destination with the tracker, we’ll have a target. It’s not worth trying to intercept them while they’re in a secure building.”

“Awesome, there’s a pint of ice cream with my name on it,” Thea added.

“Have we found anything that shows the driver is involved?” McHugh asked.

“Negativo, capitán,” Carson said, and Garrett’s gaze swung to him. He wasn’t used to this side of his gym friend. “Driver’s so clean you could eat off him.”

Garrett opened his mouth to ask Carson why he’d do that, but closed it again. Carson was in the zone, and it was probably best not to disturb him.

“Hold, package is moving already,” Thea said. “We’ve got a clean shot of a man in a suit holding the package.”

Everyone’s eyes darted to the drone feed to see a middle-aged man squinting into the sun and making small talk with the person who must have organized the deliveries. After another moment, he rushed off down the hall behind him.

“Associate Warden of Operations Mick Schroeder,” Carson read off the screen. “He’s worked at Timber Creek for five years. Thirty years old, single. Nothing out of the ordinary on his resume, and the background check is clean, but his financials show some interesting transactions.” His gaze flicked to the tracker feed. “Mickey is our man. Package stopped moving and is sitting in his office, according to the blueprint. Oh Mickey, you so ain’t fine!”

Carson finished his diatribe with a cackle that made Garrett flinch. So much for the quiet guy from the gym.

“What does he drive?” McHugh asked.