Protective Secrets (The Protective Series, Book 3)

Chapter Thirteen

[Asko's P.O.V]

My head was swimming with lightness.

As I stood at the front of the stage ramp, internally begging my eyes to stay open, it dawned on me that I had compromised my friendship with Jarmo in the worst possible way.

It must've been eight or so years since we were on friendly talking terms, and I managed to blow it overnight.

Yeah, my subconscious sneered at me. And that's not the only thing you blew.

I groaned exasperatedly to myself, shaking off the paranoia gnawing at the back of my mind.

Everything would be fine. These things always worked out in the end.

But then again, the current situation could always drastically take a turn for the worst.

I strummed the top string of my custom Musicman Petrucci, idly gazing out across the endless rows of empty seats as the G note hummed through the venue. For the fifth or so time that afternoon, my mind wandered back to thoughts of Jed.

Our last conversation hadn't gone all that swimmingly. I considered calling him back up, but knowing he would most likely press the ignore button again was enough to shatter all my hopes and dreams of us talking regularly into a thousand tiny pieces.

Maybe I just had to face the fact that things would never be the same again, as much as I wished they would be. Gradually, I felt him slipping further and further away from me. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and grasp his hand to save him from becoming lost all over again, but how could I, when he was already falling off the edge of the cliff?

"Don't stare at that guitar too hard," Jarmo's mischievous voice taunted, echoing off the stadium walls. "You might break it."

I turned around to face him, sliding my hand up the neck of my guitar. I felt the thought bubble above my head burst into nothingness, reverting my attention to the present. "What are you doing here? You and Mark are meant to be out on patrol."

He shrugged his shoulders, not bothering to feign the apathy present in his demeanour as he glanced down at his weapons belt. "I was."

"And?" I cocked an eyebrow, hoping he would elaborate more.

"He's such a bore!" Jarmo groaned, sluggishly dragging his feet along the wooden stage over to me. "Can we please get rid of him already?"

I sighed, squeezing the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. He was making things more difficult than they needed to be. "That's just outright mean. He hasn't done anything wrong."

"Well sor-ry," he raised his voice, looking away from me abruptly. "I'm just getting sick of listening to his crap all day. I don't really care about the farm he grew up on, or that he can bowl a perfect game." He paused during his tirade, unenthusiastically picking up his electric guitar from its stand at the back of the stage. "We're meant to be focusing on our job, not taking a trip down bloody memory lane."

I felt like pointing out to him that he should be more open to other peoples' feelings, but closed the lid tight on that can of worms. It would only aggravate the tension already between us, which was a catastrophe I had to avoid. There was no getting through to him when he was being this obstreperous, but that didn't mean I couldn't at least give it a try.

"Part of working alongside your team mates is learning personal things about them," I explained in the best way I could think of, keeping my voice calm. "You wouldn't be complaining if Jed was here."

"Well he isn't!" Jarmo yelled, his irritation visibly building by the second. "I wish he was, but he isn't. And I wish you would quit moping about him already, Asko! He's gone! He's never coming back!"