Rebel (Renegades #2)(49)
Author: Skye Jordan

“She grew up with her father leaving her at the drop of a hat.” Lexi’s words from the other night filled his head, and his chest vibrated with guilt.

He darted a look at Rachel and saw that she was on the phone.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he told Rubi softly. “I just found out in the last ten minutes.”

She returned her gaze to the rig, all the openness and lightness in her expression now tight and dark. “Well then…” She turned, rig in hand, and started toward the door. “I’d better get going on this.”

Fourteen

Rubi paced her living room, arms crossed, the long skirt matching her bikini brushing her calves. The conference call with NSA droned in her ear through the headset, but her mind was on the rig lying on her coffee table. A cord snaked between her computer and the motherboard she’d added to the unit.

Restless, she wandered around the back of the sofa and glanced at the screen. Still downloading. Once all the data she’d collected loaded, she could test the program.

She’d been angsty since Wes told her the filming schedule with Renegades had changed and that he was going to head home now instead of in a few weeks. He was leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow. And, damn, didn’t that just put a chink in her plans to try to build something with him? The fact that he was up and leaving after she’d taken that jump just…really tweaked her psyche.

Her fears weren’t rational, she knew. He traveled all the time. Or at least he had before they’d nailed this Bond contract. But that wouldn’t last forever. If she wanted to be with him, she was going to have to get used to him traveling, schedule changes, upheavals in schedules. She knew it happened with Jax. Even with the Bond film, the Renegades jumped between jobs all over the freaking globe. The only reason Wes was grounded in LA right now was because of the scenes he was working with Bolton.

She hadn’t even realized it would be a problem until he’d sprung it on her this morning, and a familiar dark current of fear coursed through her chest. The same one she’d had too often throughout her childhood.

Double-checking the call—and the exhilarating project-budget discussion—was on mute, she reminded herself, “This isn’t the same. It’s no big deal.”

But the jumping in her chest wasn’t helping her convince herself of that. Deeply buried fears she hadn’t fully learned to manage urged her to pull back. Warned her to shield herself from the hurt of having him walk out of her life, never sure when he’d come back. Or if he’d come back.

“He’s not your father.” She repeated the words, but they weren’t sinking in. Probably because they didn’t make any sense. “Goddammit, get your shit together, Rubi.”

She’d been realigning her brain all damn day, and like a rubber band, it just kept snapping back to old patterns of fear.

Glancing toward the kitchen, she could just make out Rodie’s tail peeking out from behind the island, where he lay on the floor at the glass sliding doors. Another pinch of worry tightened her chest. He’d been there all day, head on his paws, staring out the door, instead of curled on the sofa beside her. If this malaise lasted until morning, she’d have to take him to the vet.

Her cell, sitting on the coffee table next to the rig, vibrated. She picked it up, tapped out of the call screen—wishing she could tap out of the call altogether—and found a text from Wes.

WES: I’ve got a big, tasty piece of meat grilling for you.

A small laugh popped out of her throat. Big and tasty was right. She would not let this sudden trip ruffle her. I will not.

RUBI: I could go for leftovers. Brunch was a-maz-ing.

WES: Girl, you’re making me hard again.

RUBI: Just the way I like you. I’m stuck on an NSA conference call.

She glanced at the clock on her computer screen. It was way too freaking late for business. Damned overseas contractors.

She told herself that was where her annoyance stemmed from, but she was irritated by several things aside from the circling, repetitive statements in her ear. She had knots in her neck from working on the rig’s programming for eight straight freaking hours. She’d spent a sleepless night reliving her encounter with Wes, her thoughts flipping between “right” and “wrong.” And now this trip…

WES: I didn’t know our government actually worked.

RUBI: They don’t. They spend all their time talking about working.

WES: You’re bringing Rodie, right? I picked up a Frisbee for him today.

Her mouth quirked.

RUBI: Nice. Thank you. But, no, I’m not bringing him. He doesn’t play well with other people. Never warmed up to Lexi or Jax.

WES: He’s just got to get out more, interact. He’s as sweet as his mama.

Rubi sighed and closed her eyes. A gooey sensation spread through her chest, followed quickly by a flash of uncomfortable heat.

“Learned behavior,” she told herself. “You can break this pattern.”

She wandered into the kitchen to stand by Rodie and stare out at the ocean. The repetitive roll of waves layered her stress with a blanket of relief. Consistent. Ever present. Powerful. Protective. The ocean seemed to wrap her in a certainty of forever, helping with her jumpy nerves.

She glanced down at Rodie for the hundredth time today. His eyes were open, scanning every movement on the beach. She crouched beside him and stroked him, head to tail. “How are you doing, baby?”

He lifted his head, wagged his tail, and licked her face. But then immediately resumed his sad position. This just wasn’t like him. He was an impossibly happy dog. Maybe she should call the vet. Then she thought of Wes and his experience with animals.

RUBI: I’m worried he might be sick. Do you know how to tell?

WES: I’m already halfway to your place, coming to check up on you. I’ll take a look at him.

Her heart tripped at the news that he was close. An immediate bite of irritation followed. She didn’t want these unsettling feelings. These little unexpected zings of electricity every time she thought of him were beyond annoying.

She smoothed her hand over Rodie’s head. “Wes is coming to see you, baby.”

At Wes’s name, Rodie’s head came off the floor. He pushed into a sitting position and his ears tilted forward. His eyes sparked with an alertness Rubi hadn’t seen all day.

“Rubi, how’s it going on your end?” The voice in her ear redirected her attention.

She pressed her Mute button and replied to the woman overseeing the project. “Great,” she lied. She’d been skimming time from the NSA project to program the apps for Renegades—because the apps were fun and the NSA project was mind-numbingly boring. After forgoing them both to work on Wes’s project, she was going to be sleeping very little over the next week. “Everything’s on target.”