Ford
"THE FUCK YOU DOING, BRODY?"
"I'm watching a movie."
"Looks like it."
"I've got a bunch of other movies lined up after this one."
"Sure. Looks like you're watching The Notebook right now, though."
"You're correct," I say. "Almost finished it."
Jax pauses. "Why the fuck are you ruining your Netflix suggestions with a bunch of shitty romance movies?"
"I'm not. I'm ruining yours."
Groaning, Jax mutters under his breath. "You're fucking with me."
"Maybe."
"Ford, it's fucking pissing down out there," Jax points out, incredulousness hefty in his words, though I haven't once glanced back at him from over my shoulder as he loiters in the threshold of the lounge. "And it's not even nine in the morning. Don't tell me you're planning on spending all day in the lounge watching romance movies."
"My laptop screen isn't as big as this TV."
Currently in the movie, Allie and Noah have just embraced at remembering their past love story, but now she's quickly forgetting about him again and is being sedated to be sent to a dementia ward in the hospital. I know the logistics of the movie, but the characters' portrayal of love is not what I've been interested in before. Even Jax is captivated by the movie as I haven't heard any receding footsteps. He's still lingering in the threshold, presumably leaning against the doorframe.
"What movie's next, Casanova?" Jax asks once the movie finishes, both Noah and Allie discovered dead by a nurse.
"I've already watched Dear John and The Longest Ride. Apparently, Nicholas Sparks, the author of the books the movies are based on, is supposed to be a romance king." Jax scoffs from behind me. "I was thinking either 10 Things I Hate About You next or Friends with Benefits."
"It's nine in the fucking morning, Ford," Jax reminds me, still in disbelief. "How have you watched three movies?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"If this is what you do when you lose a boxing fight, then God help us all."
Glancing over my shoulder, I shoot him my best disarming smirk and wink. "Wanna join me?"
Jax shakes his head, disappointed. "I had high hopes for you, Brody."
Without another word, he struts in front of me and into the kitchen, presumably to grab breakfast, given how shit he looks from the hangover I know he must be nursing. His T-shirt is smothered in old stains and his shorts are wrinkled to hell.
I was still awake when the guys rolled up last night at two in the morning, and in total, I only managed roughly two hours of sleep, despite the crashing from the intense adrenaline bout my body drowned in last night. From both the fight and the forest shooting.
Just before I started watching The Notebook, I called Detective Barrera who was mercifully awake. I rehashed Genevieve's theory of the riddle to him and he promised to check it out before confirming he's still in the process of validating Red Alert's involvement in Carson's past that's making our legacy a target now. He's only garnered scraps and nothing concrete, hesitant to announce that it may take upwards of a few weeks to conclude this aspect of the investigation by conducting it in his off-duty hours.
Thinking of last night, all I can concentrate on is Genevieve and how much her emotions spilled into her eyes and expression. She didn't hate me last night. Far from it, from what I could surmise. She was all too aware of our closeness with her arm draped over my thigh as I tended to her burn, but I was respectful. I made sure she wasn't going to impulsively do something she would regret because it's too premature.
