Page 11 of Watcher
The door flew open, and Tracker stormed in. “You broke my—” He stopped dead. “Oh, babe. What’s wrong?”
Despite his mood, Atticus smiled. Tracker was one of a kind. He couldn’t get angry enough to hold on to the rage needed for more than ten minutes. “Oh, you know.” Atticus straightened in his seat. He was doing it again. Tracker had obviously come here to ream Atticus out. Atticus had been ready to immediately make everything about himself. He forced his pain down, the way he always did. “I’m fine. What’s wrong? It’s okay to tear into me. Fair warning, though. I might be just as in the dark as you are.”
Tracker sat. With the desk between them, Tracker’s gaze moved over Atticus as if he saw everything.
Atticus wasn’t good at these types of things. He focused on something he could handle. Seth hovered in the doorway, looking like he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t supposed to let anyone inside Atticus’ office. Atticus imagined Seth had never dealt with anyone like the hard-headed Agafonov brothers… except for Atticus, of course. He dealt with that shit daily.
“It’s fine, Seth. He’s my friend.”
“Oh.”
Atticus almost laughed. That “oh” said so much. Seth wasn’t surprised to learn Atticus’ one and only friend was as psychotic as Atticus was.
He shut the office door without another word, leaving Atticus to deal with Tracker’s wrath.
Tracker looked unsure of himself now that he sat with Atticus. That didn’t stop him from jumping right in. “What happened between Foster and you? Yesterday, he was excited to see you, then boom. Gone with no explanation. I’ve never seen him run so fast from anything in his life, and he’s a runner.”
Atticus drew a steadying breath. He could do this. “Nothing. He came over last night. It took him all of five minutes to see what it is about me that makes everyone loathe me, and then he was out. I’m pretty sure I said fewer than a dozen words. But I appreciate that you automatically knew I was the problem.” He took a drink of his coffee to wash down the bitterness.
Tracker deflated. “Atty, I didn’t mean to—”
Atticus made a dismissive gesture, cutting him off. “Don’t feel guilty. I’m sure it was my fault somehow. Apparently, I am not what he’s looking for. I don’t know why that sent him running off to Hawaii, though.”
Tracker’s eyebrows snapped together. “I never said that.”
Atticus held his stare without blinking. “Who are you talking to right now?”
Tracker’s body melted into the chair, as if all his muscles gave out at the same time. “Fuck. This is all my fault.”
It was Atticus’ turn to get snappy. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not the one who isn’t enough and won’t be who he needsor whatever fucking nonsense he spouted at me. I can’t even remember. It’s been a rough week.”
Tracker didn’t take the out Atticus offered. “You don’t understand. Zeus and Ridge wanted to know if they were twins, since they look so much alike. The next thing I knew, we were creating this database and getting hyped at the idea of finding out the truth of everyone’s parentage. We had all the guys roped in, except Foster didn’t really want to have the test done. We decided as a family, if one person didn’t want to know, then we wouldn’t take the test. Ridge and Zeus had been adamant. They were pretty desperate to know if they were brothers. I know Foster didn’t want to do it and only caved for them. But if I hadn’t offered to help them find out, we wouldn’t be here.”
Atticus didn’t understand the issue. “Isn’t he your brother? Why would he hold any resentment over that?”
Tracker winced. “Out of all of us, Foster has only really let himself get close with the cleanup crew, since it was his job to stay glued to Tidy and Crisp. In his heart, those were his brothers. Then the test showed Crisp and Tidy are the only ones not blood-related to any of us.” Tracker made a helpless gesture. “I guess it solidified their feelings about not really being part of the family. I wish like hell I had noticed that before handing out those results. They were so brokenhearted. Every time I think about it, I feel like shit. Anyhow, all this happened while we were at Beau’s place in Hawaii. They chose to stay behind, and Foster has never really forgiven me for it. Of course, he’d never say that. That would be confessing he feels anything. He’d never let that happen.”
Tracker’s story made Foster’s phone call make a lot more sense. A sad smile pulled at the corners of Atticus’ lips. “Sorry. Still not on you. It seems I said the right combination of words to make him realize he had wasted his time with me. I’m what he couldn’t get away from fast enough.” The admission had a sharp pain blooming in his chest. He swore the air got too thick to draw into his lungs. Two breaths of no oxygen had Atticus doing something he never did: panic.
Tracker shot to his feet. “Seth!”
Atticus heard Tracker yelling Seth’s name at the top of his lungs, but the shout sounded like it came from a distance. Everything was muffled. He heard the way he struggled for breath, and everything was slightly blurry. His brain had gone fuzzy without the air he couldn’t get. He stared at Tracker hovering over him. Other muffled shouts went on around him. He couldn’t think. As the room darkened, Atticus’ mind was at its clearest. He was dying, and all he felt was relief.
Three days by the pool, chilling in the sun, had helped his mood slightly. Talking to Crisp also lightened the weight crushing him,but for some reason, Crisp went missing every day for hours at a time. He got weird about it anytime Foster asked what was up, so he dropped it. Maybe Mercury was in the microwave, or whatever people said, getting everyone in their feelings.
“Tracker’s here.”
At Scout’s shout, Foster held his arm out and waved to let Scout know he had heard him. It hadn’t even been a week since he saw Tracker. Foster doubted the guy expected him to jump to greet him. The entire family would be here by the end of next week. He had suspected they would trickle in a little at a time, incapable of the patience needed to wait.
Foster got back to relaxing. He closed his eyes and cleared his head of all thought. A few more days of this and all would be forgotten. He would hit a club not too far away. Maybe he would let someone take him home. Foster hadn’t done that in a long time.
A shadow fell over him, blocking the sun. Foster’s eyes shot open. His irritation spiked at having his peace cut short. He was already braced to pretend he was happy to see someone. Crisp filled the chair next to him, soothing Foster’s hackles.
“Are you done hiding for the day?”
A cute smile flashed his way. Between the blond curls, perfect smile, and the deep parentheses around Crisp’s mouth, he looked exactly like a young surfer who spent his life on the beach. He could be in the movie business. That was exactlywhere Russia had intended to launch him. Foster thought that said everything anyone needed to know about their training. Crisp would rather clean up guts than live as a Hollywood star. A prison was still a prison no matter how appealing it looked.
Crisp shrugged. “We’ll see. The day is still young. I might slink away again.”
