The Bodyguard (38)

I mean, the whole situation was charming.

Except, maybe, for Jack.

I followed him through a long living room, with three sofas arranged around a giant stucco fireplace, and then into a hallway that led to the bedrooms.

The hallway was covered—absolutely wallpapered—with framed family photos. And half of them, at least, were of three boys, smiling big and goofy into camera after camera.

Jack and I both stopped at the sight.

Like neither of us had ever seen it before.

I touched a photo of a young Jack up on a young Hank’s shoulders—while Hank held their youngest brother upside down by his ankles. “This is you and your brothers?” I asked.

Jack nodded, his eyes traveling around the wall.

“Looks like you had a lot of fun.”

Jack nodded again.

Then he said, so quiet I could barely hear, “I haven’t been here since the funeral.”

Jack kept his eyes on the photos, so I did, too.

Most of them were snapshots. The boys as toddlers running in a field of bluebonnets. Down at the beach in the waves. Eating puffs of cotton candy bigger than their heads. Then, older: Tall and skinny in football uniforms. Doing matching handstands. Dangling fish at the ends of poles. On horseback. At the top of a ski slope. Playing cards. Shooting baskets. Dressed up for prom. Hamming it up.

Totally ordinary.

And so heartbreaking.

Just as I found myself thinking I could admire those photos all afternoon, Jack pulled in a sharp breath, opened the door to his bedroom, and charged away, like he couldn’t take it one more second.

I followed him inside.

Jack’s room was the same as the rest of the house—same ceramic-tile floor and stucco walls, same French doors overlooking bright pink flowers, same arched doorways. But his room felt more manly, somehow. Leatherier. It smelled like iron, and had an old saddle in the corner, and an Eames chair by the window.

“This is your room?” I asked, to be sure.

“Our room,” Jack said.

Of course. We’d be sharing a room. We were adults, after all. Adults in a fake relationship.

“You can have the dresser,” Jack said, dropping his suitcase on the floor beside the saddle.

“We can share,” I said.

But Jack shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

Next, I looked at the bed. “Is that a double bed?”

Jack frowned, and it was clear he’d never thought about it. “Maybe.”

“Do you fit in that bed?”

The tiniest flicker of a smile. “I have to hang my feet off the end.”

It had occurred to me that there was a good chance this room would have only one bed.

But here we were.

“I’ll take the floor,” I said.

Jack tilted his head like it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone might take the floor. “You can sleep in the bed,” he said, and, at first, I thought he was letting me have it—before he added, “I’ll share.”

I gave him a look. “It’s fine.”

“You realize that’s a ceramic-tile floor?”

“I’ll make it work.” It was certainly better than my closet.

“I get it if you’re uncomfortable, but I promise I won’t touch you.”

I didn’t want to admit I was uncomfortable. That was need-to-know information.

I gestured at him, like Look at yourself. “We wouldn’t both even fit in that bed, dude.”

Now an actual, wry smile, and I felt glad to have led us to a less painful topic. “I’ve squeezed girls into it before,” Jack said.

“I prefer the floor,” I said, to settle it.

“There’s no way I’m making you sleep on the floor.”

“There’s no way I’m sleeping in your bed.”

“Let’s not be fussy.”

“I think I’m being remarkably unfussy, actually.”

He thought about that. “Yes. You are. Thank you.”

I hadn’t expected to be thanked.

“But,” he went on, “you still get the bed.”

“I really don’t want it,” I said.

“Neither do I.”

“Fine. We’ll both sleep on the floor.”

Jack studied me like I was odd. “Are you saying that even if I sleep on the floor, you’ll also sleep on the floor?”

This might be my only area of autonomy for a month. “Yes,” I said. “I’ll be on the floor no matter what.”

“You’d rather sleep on cold, hard, ceramic tile than sleep next to me?”

“I bet you don’t get that a lot.”

Jack smiled like he was impressed. “Absolutely never.”

“It’s probably good for you,” I said.

Jack shrugged, like Maybe so. Then—and it’s possible a gentleman would have fought me a little harder—Jack said, “Suit yourself.”

That settled, I looked around.

I honestly had no idea what this assignment was going to mean for me. Almost all my normal responsibilities had been shifted over to the remote team, which had secured an off-site rental house just across the farm road as an operations base. They were handling video surveillance, monitoring the perimeter of the property, watching social media, and doing all the things I’d normally do.