Bullets // Creed

Standing in my duplex, staring at all my stuff, wondering about the next steps, I realize how absolutely f-ed up this situation is.

Am I the problem? Did I implode my life or is everything happening outside of my own actions?

And how freaking existential do I have to get before I understand what's happening. Based on my current line of thinking and the fact I still have no damn clue, pretty freaking existential. I don't think I'm up for the challenge. A guy who barely graduated high school and left his life of anonymity back home to protect the rich and famous...yeah I have no business trying to pick apart philosophical arguments for my circumstances.

ALthough that hasn't stopped my brain from going there.

I've got to pack up my life. I don't even know where to start. I should be pacing and pissed. I should be cursing and fighting against this. But I can't. I'm numb.

And guilty.

A knock on my door pulls me out of the internal doom spiral. Taking a deep breath, I pivot and trudge toward the door, finding Clinton standing on my side of the duplex. I haven't been home in weeks, close to two months, spending all my time at Emily's even when I'm off duty. It's an out-of-body experience opening the door to my home finding my boss standing on the other side. And yet, it's my new reality.

"You look like you got hit by a truck."

I nod. "That's kind of how it feels."

Clinton nods. "Like I said, this is all temporary until Emily's situation is secure. But I can't guarantee how long it will all take."

I don't even know what "it" is or what plan he's cooked up. I doubt he'll clue me in if the sneak attack at the studio is any indication. He won't rely on my acting skills.

"I have a note from Emily," he says, holding a folded paper out to me. "I swung by her house to grab your things, currently in my trunk, and she gave me this."

My last words to her weren't what I would have said if I'd known what we were about to walk in on. What had I even said? I can't remember. Clinton glances around the room, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

"There's a Uhaul outside. A few of the guys are headed over to help you load up."

Why does this feel real?

To the outside world, it is. Clinton, Emily, me–we're the only people who know the truth. Even the other guys on our crew aren't aware that I've been fired on paper only, that this entire thing is a ruse.

"I know you don't want to rely on my acting skills, but I'll have to pull off an Oscar worthy performance if you don't want the guys to figure it out. Especially since you're standing in my place helping out. I don't know if I can fake things well enough."

"Funny," he says, shaking his head. "My entire business started because of a fake relationship. And now here we are, faking more bullshit for the sake of appearances."

"What was fake?"

"Zack and Bree."

"What? When? Those two are head over heels. Zack won't let any bastard look too long at her."

"Oh, trust me. He was always in it for real. And I suspect she was too. But Char put them together as a fake couple so Zack could be by her side as a bodyguard without raising public suspicion. There was an investigation into a stalker which needed to stay under wraps." He brushes the past away like flies. "Doesn't matter. The point being, here we are again."

"Yeah, happy to provide the nostalgia." I scoff.

Clinton presses a hand to my shoulder, a fatherly gesture if I've ever felt one. It's been too long since I had a dad to ask advice or get an encouraging word. I realize, somewhat in horror considering the current circumstances, that Clinton has filled that role. And now I've disappointed him.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For falling for my client." Because that's what I've done, isn't it. Fallen for Emily. It may be foolish, but I've already tumbled down the hill so I might as well call it what it is. I'm hers, hook, line and sinker.

Clinton chuckles. "I'm no stranger to falling for the person you shouldn't. Colleen was the last woman on earth I should have let into my life, but she's also the best thing that could have happened to me. It isn't the tragedy you think it is."

"And yet, here we are. In a mess."

"No, kid. This is the thick of it, not a mess. You'll pull through and get to the other side. And if she's the one, if it's meant to be, you'll pull through together."

"And if she's not?" My stomach twists at the thought. I can't let myself worry about what happens next but I've fallen so far down the hill it's a sobering thought to have to climb my way back out.

"Well, then you'll know. That's half the battle, finding the truth in the muck of your feelings."

"I don't think I need to be fake fired, move all of my shit back to my mom's house and walk away from the girl just to figure out my feelings." I rub a hand over my face. "Speaking of, guess we should get started."

"Guess so. Got any boxes?"

"Nope. Wasn't planning to move today."

"Eh. Garbage bags will do."

"Why do I feel like that's a metaphor for my life?"

"Hmm, maybe because it is."

"Thanks. That's the encouragement I needed."

"A garbage situation is far from a dumpster fire. Don't sweat too much about it."

"I'll try not to."

He pats my back. "Good."

I shove Emily's note in my back pocket and roll up my sleeves. I don't have the strength to read her words yet.

***

I pull up to Mom's house and cut the engine. Then I drop my forehead to the steering wheel and groan.

I've officially hit rock bottom.

No, I wasn't actually fired. And no, Clinton didn't actually kick me out of my side of the duplex. But I was forced to pack my life up as if he had. All of this has been for show because Clinton's fairly positive Anita Brooks has spies watching us.

"Spies" is admittedly a dramatic term, but according to Clinton's most recent surveillance, she has hired some slimeball private investigator to keep tabs on our firm. And that makes me feel like shit. My crew is under scrutiny because I couldn't keep it in my pants.

I shake my head. It's not like that, and I know it. I wasn't looking to bag the starlet. I have real feelings for Emily. But even I can admit I probably should have held back until...

Until what?

Her situation isn't changing any time soon. Her mother wouldn't have backed off just because filming ended, or the current scandal involving her daughter finally hit its shelf life. Emily's mother wants her controlled.

I'm aiming to change that. For Emily's sake.

And if I'm being honest with myself, for mine.

But I'll take the back burner until we correct the situation. I should have taken the back burner from the start but better late than never.

So every damn thing I own got tossed in garbage bags and loaded in a trailer. Which I hitched to the back of my Charger and dragged behind me the entire way. As if I didn't already get shitty gas mileage. This trip bled me dry at the pump. Now I'm here, back in my mother's house like a teenager for an undisclosed length of time.

It had better work. Because I'm about to get my ass handed to me by my siblings. One of which just pulled into the driveway and is currently goosenecking over at me. Hard.

Perfect.

Guess it's time to face my family. Starting with the mouthy one. Marisol.

"Do not tell me you pissed off the movie star." Mari glares at me, arms crossed, as I approach her where she waits for me on the porch. Of course she's already on Emily's side without waiting for details.

"Not exactly." I confess because I might as well.

"You didn't exactly piss her off?" She stresses the word "exactly."

"She's not pissed." I clarify.

Mari nods, looking relieved. She shouldn't be.

"I pissed off her mother."

"What the hell, Javi? Why would you do that?"

I throw my hands up. "It wasn't on purpose. She kind of implied..." I don't finish the sentence. This thing between Em and I hasn't been defined. We haven't made any declarations. Not officially. I told her I wasn't going anywhere. I said I'd hold her forever. I marked her with my claim and let her do the same to me. If that doesn't qualify as a declaration, I don't know what would. But we didn't say the words.

Boyfriend.

Girlfriend.

Relationship.

I don't want to tell Mari that Emily's mother implied I was using her daughter for sex. I can't tell her what Emily and I really are because I need to say the words to Emily first.

"Implied what?" Mari's hands uncross and land on her hips. Guess I used up the rest of her patience.

"Implied I'm sneaking around with her."

"Are you?" Mari's head tilts.

I know my sister. She saw how I looked at Emily when I brought her here. She called me on it back before I could even admit it to myself. She's not blind. She's not clueless.

So I understand her question for what it is.

A condemnation for not stepping up and claiming Emily outright.

And I can't even argue with her because she's right.

Because although we marked each other, it was for us. Not the world. I held back and now I'm worried Emily thinks she's expendable where I'm concerned.

She's not.

"Not anymore," I say in response to Mari's condemnation. There will be no more hiding anything. "I intend to say it like it is as soon as I'm able."

"When will that be?"

"When Clinton gives me the all clear."

"Jeez, Javi!" Mari throws her hands up before spinning away from me and marching into the house. "You'll never learn." She tosses the words over her shoulder, but they hit their mark.

The life Mari has lived so far has taught her to say what you mean without holding back. She has no time in her life for inauthentic people. Guess I just stepped over that line.

"Ouch," I say with a hand over my heart. "You really know how to hit a guy when he's down." I follow my sister, leaving my bags and furniture in the U-Haul because I could care less about getting all moved back home.

Mom expects me. I already talked to her about crashing in my old room for a while. She's happy I'll be around but worried for Emily.

That makes two of us.

Delectable spices waft across the threshold as I enter the house, something already simmering on the stove hours before dinner time. Mom's slow cooking might be considered torture in some countries. Even if I'd just eaten a meal, the aroma of her cooking will cause my stomach to growl. There's no such thing as a starving man in her house. It's literally the only perk about moving back home.

Clinton's declaration that I lay low back in Fallbrook hills rings in the corner of my mind. If I thought he'd listen to me, I would have fought to stay closer to Emily. The last words we spoke were on the way to meet with Clinton, not having any idea what we were about to walk into. I would have snuck over to her house to say goodbye when I packed my stuff, but Clinton wouldn't have it. We needed to keep up appearances that I'd walked away from her entirely. So first I got fake fired, then we fake broke up. And who knew fake situations were Clinton's bread and butter.

Just my luck.

"Where is everyone?" I ask Mari as she stirs the simmering pot of carnitas. The house is too quiet which means no one is home. When mom or Oscar are here, there's constant noise.

Mari shrugs. "I think mom is shopping. Oscar is probably with his girlfriend."

"Whoa. Rewind that statement. Oscar has a what now?"

Mari rolls her eyes. I pull out a chair and take a seat.

"Exactly," she says. "He took her to some dance at school and now they're exclusive."

"He isn't even sixteen." Mom had strict rules about dating when we were younger. No girlfriends or boyfriends until we turned sixteen. Group dates only, no one on one time. And if we brought our significant others over to the house, no spending time alone upstairs. Living room only.

"I guess since he's the baby he gets a pass."

I blow out a deep breath, hoping like hell Mom knows what she's doing with him. It took so damn long for him to get comfortable around us, to open up, I guess Mom doesn't want to hold him back from living. And I get it, but sometimes kids like that also need boundaries. Otherwise he won't know where his limits are.

"Enough about our little bro. What are you going to do now? You can't just sit around Mom's house forever."

Rubbing a hand over my face, I groan. "Hell if I know. Mom will probably hand me a list of things to fix around here." I glance at the walls and the tile floor. Maybe I should offer to freshen up the place, paint the walls a new color. Do some yard work.

"You should check in with the crew. There's some new blood over there."

The crew.

We don't have much blood related family in town, but the bond we have with the crew is stronger than any blood relation could ever be. I haven't spent time with Grinder and Brax in ages.

I may as well pay a visit to the men who were father figures to me long before Clinton ever was. The guys who taught me that protecting the people you loved is a calling higher than any other.

Wrapping it back around to the Blue Bloods tattoo parlor, we're going back home to Fallbrook Hills everyone!! I'm still working on timeline to decide how long it's been since Jackson and Holly's story to see where everyone is in life. But...this is also pushing me to write one more book in that universe. I think Marisol needs a story. I've had one in mind but wasn't sure who the heroine would be or what the story would entail, but I've got it bubbling to the surface now.

I spent the last week in a small fishing town along California's central coast. If you've read Guarded Hope or Waiting for Hope, you'll know this town intimately as the setting for my very first series about Hope and Ethan. (It's the first thing I ever wrote and has not been revised at all so beware the absolute cringe those books are...) But Morro bay is the setting of my heart, the town that inspired me to actually try writing for the first time. So I was super motivated and inspired to let my creative thoughts perk up. Hopefully that will lead to some amazing new stories!

Bullets feels like Javier's mood in this one. But maybe don't watch the video attached. It personally gives me the ick for some reason, haha!

https://youtu.be/oPzhUp8mWgs

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