Heart and Soul by Jackie May (reading list .TXT) 📗

wall, obviously frustrated to hear yet another of my endless poker analogies, or metaphors, or whatever the hell they are. I have to suppress a sigh myself. This is such a perfect moment for me to slug him in the shoulder and call him a jerk, even though on the inside I’m thrilled that Brenner finally feels comfortable enough to be exasperated by my bullshit. It’s such a real boyfriend moment.

“This is high stakes, Jay,” I explain. “Lots of players in the game. We’ve got a seat at the table, but we’re small fry. Everybody else has a way bigger stack of chips than us. We make one mistake, we’re out. So we hold our cards, and we wait.”

Brenner throws his hands up. “Wait?”

“Stay out of the crossfire,” I continue. “Play the table. Let the big stacks knock each other out. They’ll do most of the work for us. Some of those big stacks are on our side. The Agency is working on this.”

“Are they, though? We haven’t heard a thing.”

“A rogue necromancer creating revenant vampires? That’s top of the pile, trust me.”

“We should be working it. I don’t care what they say.”

“I’m not saying we won’t. I want to nail those bastards as much as you do.” I tug on his collar to emphasize my words. It’s such a fine line I have to walk on this issue. We both want the same thing. Our reasons, however, are very different.

Gently, Brenner pulls my hands from his collar. “It’s mine, Shayne.”

I’ve heard this before. On this subject, I know better than to fight him, even if I disagree. “I know.”

His eyes kindle with an iron will. “When we get to it, they’re mine for the killing. It has to be me.”

Well, I might have passed on the opportunity to revel in his real boyfriend moment, but I simply cannot deny myself a real girlfriend moment, so I lay the guilt on real thick when I say, “Right, it has to be you, even if that means getting yourself killed. Because it’s either you or them, right?”

Brenner eyes me cautiously, wary of a trap. “That’s right.”

Too easy. His ass is mine. “Oh, that’s right, huh? It’s you”—I poke him hard in the chest, my voice dripping with contempt—“or it’s them?” I turn my palms up. “Nobody else?”

Brenner exhales, breaking eye contact with me.

Now that the advantage is won, I soften my voice. “I get how important this is. You blame yourself. You think you owe a debt. Here’s the thing. The person you think you owe…I’m sorry she’s gone. But I’m not. I’m right here, Jay. For me, it’s not either you or them.” I pull his chin toward me, so I can look into his eyes. “It has to be you that comes out of this. I don’t care about them.”

The air crackles between us. My heart soars with the intimacy of the moment. At last, after what seems like a lifetime, I’ve finally satisfied a small part of my aching need to make Brenner understand what he means to me.

In response, he says something I’ll never forget. Pulling his face away from my fingers, he says quietly, “But I won’t be me. Not really. Not until they’re gone.”

I feel the bitterness of an odd jealousy. His heart doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the pursuit of those monsters. He just said as much to my face. The butterflies swarm with a vengeance, chittering at me with I told you so, and This will end badly, and Run while you still can!

But I’m fast enough, I vow, mentally stomping my foot. I’m strong enough. And Lady Luck…I want to shake her in desperation. Threaten, beg, put a knife to her throat. You owe me.

“We can’t seem too eager,” I say sullenly. “Give me tomorrow to poke around the office, see what I can find out.”

Pulling me to him, Brenner folds his arms around my shoulders. As I grasp desperately at him, more classic song lyrics come to mind, though not as upbeat this time.

“Give Me Just One More Night.”

“Everytime You Go Away.”

I don’t know much…

I can’t help but finish that one: I don’t know much…but I know I love you.

The nagging butterflies slump in dejection.

It’s still dark when a cryptic text from Nick Gorgeous awakens me, ordering me to get up, get ready, and “await further instructions.”

I roll out of bed. “This is it, Jay. Something’s definitely go—yeee!” The ice-cold floor shocks my feet. I hop from foot to foot. “—definitely going down. That was Nick.” I fall backward on the bed and kick both legs high as I pull jeans over them.

Brenner mumbles, “I’m on it, I’m…some coffee…going…” His sleep breathing resumes.

Outside, a frigid breeze cuts right through my Detroit Tigers jacket. Any normal person would wear half a dozen layers against this arctic freeze, but my inner fox will have none of that. Too much like a cage. What if I suddenly need to shift? So I just have to deal with chattering teeth and numb fingers. It doesn’t help that I’m borrowing an old truck with a heater on its last breath. It will warm up eventually, but only after filling the cab with air that smells like burnt farts.

The ’85 Chevy 4x4—faded blue with a white cab—sits high above large tires. I haul myself in and crank the engine. After three failed starts, she finally turns over with a grumble, as though reminding me that I don’t got to be in no damn hurry. In the cold dark, I talk back to it: “Yeah, I know Nick’s text said to await further instructions, but he knows I don’t ‘await’ shit. I go, and fast.” When I stomp the gas, the truck mocks me with a sputtering crawl.

“You’re a disgrace to your year,” I complain. “Do you have any idea what songs came out in 1985? ‘Rhythm of the Night,’ ‘Freeway of Love.’ Fast songs. ‘Neutron Dance,’ for crying out loud. Oh, here’s