“Fine.”
“Because you’ve been holed up in here since the moment we got back from the meeting.”
“I’ve had a lot to think about.”
“Belov or Willow?” he asks.
“It’s hard to tell where one starts and the other one stops.” I push my glass towards him. “Pour me another.”
This time, he gives me only a raised eyebrow.
“What?” I demand.
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“Did I stutter? Pour the fucking drink.”
With a little sigh, Gaiman pours me a stingy bit of whiskey. I snatch the bottle out of his hands, top myself off, then set it back down and take a satisfying sip.
“She’s out in the backyard training right now,” he tells me—a little unnecessarily, since I know where Willow is at all times. “Y’know, it’s only been a year, but the two of you fight like an old married couple.”
I roll my eyes. “I expect that kind of funny, gossipy bullshit from Jax. Not from you.”
“I’m not trying to be funny—”
“Good. Because you’re not.”
He sighs and cracks his neck. “I’m guessing she disagrees with whatever plan of action you’ve come up with?”
“More like the other way around,” I mutter. “She wants to play into that fucker’s hands. She wants to offer herself up and get close enough to him to kill him.”
“Sounds reckless.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell her.”
He nods in agreement, but I can tell from his face that he has something else he wants to say. He’s just looking for the right way into the conversation.
“For fuck’s sake, just spit it out, Gaiman,” I snap.
He exhales. “She’s a mother,” he says quietly. “Her first instinct is going to be to throw herself into the fire to protect her child.”
“I’m not discounting that. But in order to get him back, we need to be on the same page.”
“You mean you need her to be on your page,” he retorts.
I cock my head to the side. “Whose side are you on?”
His face is solemn as he answers, “Are there sides?”
I’m surprised Jax hasn’t come pouncing into the room to toss in his two cents. And then it hits me.
“Who’s outside with her?”
“Jax.” He sees me wince and adds, “It’s a good thing. He’s easy to talk to. Easier than you, at least.”
“Did you two draw straws to see which of you had to come talk to me and who had to talk to Willow?” I grumble.
“Yep. Guess who got the short one?”
I give him the middle finger. “I don’t love my Vors interfering in my marriage, ya know.”
Gaiman ignores that, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his legs. “Maybe you should consider her plan, Leo.”
“Did we not just establish that it’s reckless?”
“Yes, it’s reckless,” he agrees. “But it might work. Willow isn’t Ariel, but they’ll be together on the inside. That has to count for something.”
I clench the glass in my hand so hard I wonder if it will shatter. “You talk about her instincts, but what about mine? Sending her in there goes against every instinct I have. That has to count for something.”
“Of course it does,” Gaiman says with a nod. “You’re the don, and she’s your wife. But she’s also the key to the Mikhailov Bratva. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying this whole time?”
“I’m gonna go outside.” I leave Gaiman before I decide to do something reckless myself. He doesn’t stop me as I walk out the door.
As I pass by the living room window, I stop. Willow is working out next to Jax. He already has his shirt off, the bastard. Simultaneous push-ups. Down, up. Down, up. I watch for a good minute or two. Willow conducts herself capably. I see her arms start to tremble, her shoulders weaken, but she still keeps the pace.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
If there’s a metaphor about us in there somewhere, I choose to ignore it.
At last, Willow’s strength gives way and she collapses into the cold dirt. If there’s a metaphor in that, I ignore it just like the first.
Grinning, Jax offers her a hand up, but she slaps it away and swings her legs around to trap his ankles and bring him crashing to the ground next to her.
I can hear him laugh in surprise. Then they start sparring.