Main Bonus #75: Driving Out West (Patreon)

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RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

MUSIC: We listened to "Heartbreak Syndrome" by Judah & The Lion while writing this bonus.  

IN A PARKING DECK with signs for Hertz, Enterprise, Avis and the like, Thatcher loads my luggage into our rental car, and I’m about to capture the camel leather handle to Charlie’s carry-on suitcase. Black with leather details—his luggage is expensive, but it can’t be why he seizes it before I have hold.

“I’m not riding with you,” Charlie says like it’s obvious.

He followed me and Thatcher, my fiancé, out to the parking deck. Oscar waits patiently behind Charlie and texts. Possibly Jack. They’re newlyweds, after all. Telling your significant other you’ve made it safely to a new state is common.

But this with Charlie…it still doesn’t compute. “You didn’t purchase a rental,” I remind him. He walked out here with us. So of course I assumed he’d be riding with Thatcher and me.

Charlie stares at me without responding. He understands that I’ll figure this out in a few seconds. I usually don’t mind the brain teaser, but my plate doesn’t just feel full lately. At times, it feels fissured down the center. Like all the food is in threat of spilling.

I take a breath and think quickly.

Moffy, Farrow, their son and their puppy are inside the rental office. They were behind us in line, and they’re currently signing the paperwork for their car.

Charlie and Oscar would need to hand over their license if they were going to drive, which they haven’t done. So Moffy isn’t getting Charlie a car for him. That leaves only one logical conclusion.

My eyes bug. “You’re riding with Moffy? Does he know that?”

“I asked him when we were deplaning,” Charlie says like it’s not a monumental step in their relationship. Like this is just some everyday occurrence. It’s definitely not.

I begin to smile. 

“Stop.”

“Jamais.” I say never in French and feel excitement magnify.

His lips lift in a tight smile. “It’s not why you think.”

My smile drops, and I cock a brow. “It’s not because you’ve filled the gaping chasm between you and our cousin?”

“We have many cousins, Jane.”

I stand my ground. “You know who I’m talking about.” I zero in on him with another growing smile. “You’ve become friends with Moffy again, haven’t you?”

Charlie is irritated. My grin is humongous. His yellow-green eyes try to pierce me, but they do not puncture my delight. He says, “And this is why I didn’t tell you on the plane.”

We flew to Wisconsin on a private jet. I am positively giddy. “We should celebrate the rebirth of your friendship—”

“No—”

“I’ll buy balloons.”

“Am I four?”

“Would you rather me hire a stripper?” I take out my phone, completely serious. I would do it if he wanted. “Or an escort if that’s more your speed?”

“It’s not, but go ahead for Moffy. Might as well make this trip a little more interesting.”

I pinch my eyes into a warning look. “We’re not ruining marriages on this trip. Most especially my best friend’s.”

“If their marriage can’t withstand that slow-moving curveball, then is it strong enough to begin with?”

Yes.

Maximoff and Farrow haven’t even been married for that long, but I am so dreadfully certain they could withstand anything fast or slow thrown at them. If they were confronted with an escort that me and Charlie hired, all it would do would incinerate our relationship with them.

And I would never put someone I loved in that position.

“They’ve already handled impromptu strippers at Moffy’s bachelor party,” I remind him. “It’s not happening again.”

“I wouldn’t do it,” Charlie says, but I didn’t really believe he would try to destruct Maximoff and Farrow’s relationship. I was more afraid he’d try to self-destruct his rekindled friendship with Moffy in a volatile, chaotic, cruel way.

“So you do want to maintain a friendship with him,” I confirm.

“I’m riding with him. What do you think?”

I remember that Charlie helped oust the heinous CEO of H.M.C. Philanthropies recently. Moffy still hasn’t decided if wants the position again, but Charlie gave him the option. He did that for him.

My lips rise. “I think you’ve let go whatever has been bothering you about Moffy, and it’s easier for you to be around him.”

I also believe that deserves some fanfare, but I worry if I tease my younger brother anymore about it, he will shoot off in the opposite direction and undo the good that’s been done.

Charlie checks his phone, then glances up at me. “That’s not the main reason I’m riding with him.” But he’s not denying that they’re on great terms. That the gaping chasm has closed.

I squint at him. “Then why?”

“Maybe it has to do with you.”

“Me?” I’m more taken aback than offended. I didn’t add myself into this equation, but of course I could’ve been a variable.

“Your fiancé is waiting for you,” Charlie says, but Thatcher isn’t bored or impatient. He’s waiting to close the trunk, to maybe see if Charlie changes his mind.

I can’t press Charlie for a clearer answer. Not when Maximoff and Farrow enter the parking deck. Quickly, my brother wheels his suitcase over to Moffy and leaves me in the dust.

I whirl around to Thatcher. “Did you hear any of that?” I wonder.

He shuts the trunk. Keys in hand. “You offered to buy your brother strippers.”

“In celebration,” I mention.

His shadow of a smile is loving on me. “I heard that too.” I flush even more when he adds, “I love your voice, Jane.”

Translation: Never stop talking.

I smile off his. “I would’ve done it if Charlie said he wanted it, but…” I replay the conversation and get caught on the last concerning part about me.

“He wouldn’t like it?” Thatcher asks while we round the car.

“He said no to an escort, but not to strippers. It could mean anything. He’s not always forthcoming on personal things,” I remind him as we both climb into the rental car. Settled in the passenger seat, I toss my pumpkin-sequined purse into the back. All rational thoughts are overturned with logic. Which has left an irrational conclusion. “Do I smell?”

Thatcher’s brows furrow at me while he adjusts the steering wheel to accommodate his height. “You smell good, honey.”

I smooth my lips together, feeling my smile return. “I’m just trying to determine why Charlie wouldn’t want to ride with me in particular.”

Thatcher narrows his eyes out the windshield.

“He’s not to blame,” I defend.

“Your brother can be an ass.”

“I’m fairly positive Charlie would agree.”

“I don’t like when he’s an ass to you,” Thatcher says, and the warmth of this statement washes over me like I’m descending in the sweetest, most soothing bath.

But there’s a part of me that wants to push against it. That wants to step out of the water. Because if Thatcher wants to protect me from my brother, then it means my brother is hurting me—and it pains me more thinking he is.

“I’m not hurt,” I tell him. “I’m just stumped, and I don’t like that Charlie is stumping me right now.”

I’m losing my edge. I wonder if my slowly cracking full-plate is causing me to be several steps behind Charlie—and he might have a higher IQ, but I’m smart enough to keep up.

Right now, I’m tripping over what should be an easy mystery to solve.

Thatcher assesses me, then nods. His features are all strict, stern lines. I love him for being on-guard, even when he doesn’t need to protect me. It’s just who he is.

And I’m not an afterthought to Thatcher. I’m not priority number fifteen. I’m his number one. Just like he’s mine. These facts pile up at times and squeeze my heart. Being appreciated and loved by him feels terribly good, and I hope he feels it reciprocated tenfold.

He starts the car. “Charlie couldn’t tell you why directly?”

“He’s not blunt and assertive like you are.” I pause, recognizing how wrong that feels. “He is blunt, actually. But I suppose Charlie likes to challenge me.” I see deeper lines etching between his brows and the creases of his eyes. “You don’t like that he does?”

Thatcher fixes the rearview mirror. “Not when you’re overloaded and I can’t help you with those mind games.”

I have an ego that says, I’m not overloaded. I’m perfectly capable to handle everything, but if that were true, this interaction with Charlie wouldn’t be bugging me this much. And Thatcher wouldn’t be able to tell.

It’s been a lot lately.

No one warned me that marrying the love of your life means marrying their family. Maybe I knew this already. I just didn’t realize there’d be an issue. I love the Morettis dearly. I’ve always felt loved back, but they don’t operate like my family.

Planning a wedding with them has been…difficult. It’s not even his mom or grandma. They’re the most helpful. It’s everyone else. His large, large extended family. His legion of uncles by blood and aunts by marriage.

I’m in a heated text thread with his Aunt Lucia over making her daughter (Thatcher’s niece Isabella) a flower girl. It wouldn’t be a problem, except another aunt and a few cousins of his also have daughters around the same age. And they’re expecting them to be flower girls.

There can’t be eight flower girls.

Can there?

One thing at a time, Jane. “Maybe you can help me with this mind game,” I say. “If it’s not because I smell, then why would Charlie ditch us? He’s willingly choosing to ride not just with Moffy and Farrow but also a baby and a drooling puppy.”

“It could be me,” Thatcher says, like he wishes it were him and not me.

“That’s preposterous.” I start to smile. “You most certainly do not smell.”

His mouth twitches upward. He has a hand on the wheel and drives out of the parking deck. I help him with directions for a minute and take a big inhale of his scent, wanting to drown in it.

My siblings gifted Thatcher a bottle of Tom Ford cologne for his birthday, and Thatcher, who has never spent a dime on fragrance before, loved the gift enough to use it daily.

Beneath the oak and spice, I just smell him. A divine, natural musk that’s masculine and too pleasant for words.

Once we’re headed in the right direction and we’ve confirmed that Farrow is following, I tell him, “Charlie said it was me and not you.”

“Maybe he was sparing my feelings.”

I laugh, and Thatcher actually smiles this time and asks, “You think he’d rather run over them?”

“With a tractor trailer. But you’re not being singled out. There are very few feelings he cares to spare. Your name has to be Beckett Cobalt to make the list.”

Thatcher nods. “I understand that about him at least.”

The love of a twin, I conclude.

“Charlie does enjoy your company,” I point out.

He makes a deep noise in his throat. “Only because I don’t talk much.”

“Oui,” I say not denying it, since I’ve heard Charlie compliment Thatcher’s quietly reserved nature.

Thatcher scrapes a hand along his scruffy jaw. “Your brother usually has a bunch of different fucking reasons for what he does. It might not be one thing, Jane.”

That’s true. 

He’s learned a lot about Charlie and the rest of my siblings. He’s spent more and more time inside the Cobalt world, and soon he’ll officially be one of us. The first to be married into the family.

It’s a big role to hoist, but that’s the splendor of Thatcher Moretti. He doesn’t mind carrying the baggage that comes with being the very first addition. He takes the weight willingly, maybe even liking the purpose of it.

He’s beginning to fit so seamlessly into my world that his uncles have already made small comments about Thatcher’s blood turning cobalt blue. Thatcher brushed it off, even if I thought it sounded a little like a dig.

I check the CarPlay on his phone, ensuring the address of the motel is correct. “Only an hour away.”

He gets on the highway. “We’re making good time.”

I mime the tip of a hat. “Thank you to Pilot Luke and our private plane.”

It’s past midnight in Wisconsin, and we’re on a mission to surprise Sulli. She’s been there for me and Moffy during the FanCon tour, and it only seemed right to return the love in kind. She’ll be free-soloing out in Yellowstone—a feat that deserves familial support.

My phone buzzes, and my brows bunch when I see who’s calling me on FaceTime. It’s extraordinarily late in Philly.

I answer on the third ring.

Audrey pops up on the screen. Her hair is braided into a bun high on the top of her head, and she wears a silk pajama set. She’s squinting hard like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve. I wonder if I wore the same expression earlier. “Is that a headrest behind you?” she asks. “You’re in a car?”

“It’s a school night,” I remind her. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“How am I supposed to sleep when you darted off on a secret mission in the middle of the night?”

Merde. “Who told you this?” I ask.

“I overheard Mother and Father discussing it when I went downstairs for a glass of water.” She walks around her room, holding her phone upright as she goes to her closet. “I can pack a bag and meet you—”

“School night,” Thatcher says two words that nearly buckle Audrey’s resolve.

She stops cold. “Is that my future brother-in-law?”

“He’s driving,” I explain and rotate the camera to the incredibly attractive man in the driver’s seat.

His eyes flit to the screen for a fraction of a second before he repeats, “School night, Audrey.”

I face the camera back at me. Audrey gapes like Thatcher has become traitorous, but this is his usual MO with Ben and Audrey. Especially during the days we lived under the same roof together after the townhouse burned down. Thatcher is a stickler for being well-rested for school, and Audrey usually beams when he pays this much attention to her.

She has five big brothers, but she’s said to them, “Thatcher has adopted me as his sister, and he’s the best brother of all.” It was partially to dig under their skin, but they’re too thick-skinned to feel any burn. Only Ben really seemed affected. 

Audrey taps something on her phone. “Yes, it’s a school night. Valuable information. But you know what else today is? Wednesday.”

My gut sinks. “I won’t be there for Wednesday Night Dinner.” We’ve all missed a Wednesday Night Dinner before. Beckett is naturally MIA from most, but I have a feeling Audrey has carried a mental tally of our attendance all these years.

She raises her brows. “And how many will you two be missing?”

At least four.

I try to stay cheery. “We won’t be gone that long.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Four,” I say.

She grabs at her chest like I’ve impaled her heart, then plops on the bed. I’m fairly certain Eliot taught her that dramatic move. “The agony,” she breathes out theatrically—but there’s no heat to her words.

I smile softly. “Eliot, Tom, and Ben are still around, and so is Beckett. I’m sure he’ll make time to come over while Charlie, Thatcher, and I are gone.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound too hopeful. “This is Ben’s senior year, you realize. After he graduates…” She’ll be alone.

“We’ll always come back for you, Audrey,” I remind her.

My sister sits up slowly. “I’d say I’m counting on it, but Charlie tells me to always make room for a healthy amount of cynicism.”

He would. “Optimism isn’t lethal.”

“It feels more poisonous these days,” she combats swiftly. “And you, you’re jetting off for weeks while you have a wedding to plan. Are you mad?”

It’s fine. Doable. I am making do. “I’m handling it.” 

“You are a natural wonder, Jane,” Audrey praises like she hopes to be too, and I try to feel worthy of her admiration. Yes, I am a natural fucking wonder.

I’m not on the verge of fumbling everything.

“Who’s watching the fur babies? I can come over if you need me.”

“That’d be lovely, but they’re all taken care of. Thatcher’s mom has it covered.”

Audrey rises off the bed. “You’re so put together. An exemplary role model to us all.”

I tip my head. “Or I’m masterful at hiding stress.”

She stops in place. “Are you?”

“Master Houdinis never reveal their tricks. Just ask Charlie.”

“So true,” Audrey says with a breathy sigh. “One day, I’ll be a Master Houdini, too.”

“Please don’t be. I hate the idea of my favorite sister being hidden from plain sight.”

“I will appear just for you then.” Her smile brightens, causing mine to appear.

“And me, for you,” I say. “And I promise any hidden stress isn’t too much to bear.”

“If you ever need a hand, I would do anything to help. Anything at all.”

I love her so terribly much.

Stress doesn’t usually come from my siblings or my family but outside forces. Tabloids have been hounding the Morettis, and the media has tried to gain information about the wedding. Thatcher’s family deserves their peace and quiet and not the invasiveness that comes from being in the public eye.

Right now there’s no animosity between the Cobalts and the Morettis, but it’s such a fragile bridge. One that could collapse at the slightest friction. Thatcher has warned me that members of his family have held decades’ long grudges over even smaller things like stolen family recipes.

“I could even help out there,” Audrey says, a cunning look behind her saccharine expression. “It’s a much better use of my time.”

“No,” I say, just as Thatcher adds more sternly, “You can’t come out here.”

She pouts. “And why not? I am perfectly capable of taking make-up quizzes and tests.” She claps her hands. “We can have Wednesday Night Dinner out west!”

This isn’t even up to me and Thatcher. It’d be up to our parents. But she’ll likely just plead with us and have us convince them to let her join.

So I go this route. “And how would Eliot and Tom and Ben and Beckett feel about being left out of Wednesday Night Dinner?” I make an effort to separate each brother to emphasize their importance.

Her shoulders slump. “Valid,” she tells me. “But maybe they should taste the bitterness of being the one on the bottom for once.”

“You’re not on the bottom—” I assure her.

“Oh Jane, I’m the youngest,” she says. “I am literally on the bottom. Charlie told me so.”

“Stop listening to him.”

“It’s so hard when he tells me I’m foolish if I don’t.”

“That’s called manipulation,” I tell her.

“Or he could be right.”

I sigh. There’s no arguing with her because in the next breath, she’ll remind me that he has the highest IQ among the seven of us.

She adjusts the phone, setting it on her vanity. “Are you worried Sulli might fall?”

My stomach knots suddenly. I’ve tried not to think too hard about the risks Sulli is taking by free-soloing. We’ve all grown up watching our uncle climb rock bare-handed. So much so that it feels as if he’s superhuman. When we’ve seen him succeed over and over again, it’s as if there’s no possibility for error. No way he could fall.

Sulli is different.

She climbs, but we’ve grown up watching her swim. The risk feels grander in a way, even if it’s almost comparably the same.

“She won’t climb if she feels like she can’t succeed,” I say, knowing this to be true. She’s not a needless risk-taker.

Audrey nods slowly, and her head veers to the door. “Footsteps,” she whispers to me. “I bid you adieu.”

Thatcher and I say goodbye before she hangs up.

He’s shaking his head. “Do I need to call Sinclair and make sure she doesn’t sneak out?”

“She’s fourteen,” I say. “How would she get here?”

“Ben?” Thatcher asks, but his frown darkens. He knows it’s unlikely. Ben is seventeen, but he hasn’t driven since the car crash. “She might know someone from school who’d drive her.”

I sigh softly, wishing I trusted Audrey more. But ever since she snuck out in Italy with the girl squad, anything is possible.

“Would it be awful?” I ask him. “She called us in confidence, not thinking we’d go behind her back to security.”

“I am security, honey.”

I shouldn’t be smiling, but the way he says honey feels like the warmest of hugs. His arms are so well defined in his T-shirt, and the way he grips the steering wheel at 9 and 3 with strict posture shouldn’t be so enticingly attractive. But here I am, so deeply and utterly consumed by the simplest things about him.

His eyes flit to me, waiting for my go ahead. “Jane.”

I blink out of my stupor. “Sorry, I was just admiring your biceps. Well, your biceps and your posture. Oh and your hands. They clutch the steering wheel quite nicely.” My cheeks heat.

He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. My words…maybe my voice is turning him on just the same.

“I understand you are security,” I say rerouting the topic. “And I know this line between being their brother-in-law and being a lead is a blurry messy thing. So we should default to your opinion on the matter. What do you think?”

“I think she doesn’t have to know,” he says. “I can tell Sinclair to be on standby. He won’t do anything unless she leaves the house.”

My gut twists. It feels like betrayal when I know it shouldn’t.

This is Thatcher’s job.

His role.

And he’d feel eons worse if something happened and he didn’t take precautions. The other option would be to call my parents and tell them Audrey might sneak out—but that is a grander act of disloyalty. We all love our mom and dad, but they also taught the seven of us to be a banded force together. We don’t sell each other out to our parents unless there’s a terrible, life-threatening emergency.

Audrey being Audrey and wishing she were on a road trip with us isn’t exactly cause for calling in the cavalry.

Thatcher keeps glancing over, and I know he can read the worry on my face.

“This is something I’d do before dating you, Jane,” he reminds me. “Something that happens in the background that you’d never see.”

I take a breath. “And I’m only getting the inside look because we’re together, I know.” I tilt my head towards him. “It won’t hurt to alert Sinclair, I suppose. Audrey won’t find out…but aren’t you and Triple Shield on rocky ground?”

He lets out a gruff breath. “That shouldn’t stop us from working together.” He glances to his cellphone in the cupholder.

I pick it up for him and scroll through his contacts. “You’re positive?”

He nods. “Dial it, honey.”

I click Jon Sinclair’s name in the list, and the phone rings through the car speaker.

He groans as soon as he answers. “It’s late, Moretti. If you’re about to feed me a soup sandwich, you can handle it yourself.”

“Not a soup sandwich.”

“I’m listening.” Rustling sounds on the other end like Sinclair might be getting up from bed.

Thatcher explains how Audrey sounded eager to be out here with us. “Keep an eye on the security cams tonight. Make sure she doesn’t sneak out.”

“Got it. I’ll let Greer know too in case she wrangled the ringleader into this.” He’s talking about Winona. “Thanks for the heads up, Moretti.” He seems genuinely appreciative.

Thatcher hangs up, and I give him a look. “Was I supposed to be listening to that call?”

He blinks. “No.” He looks to me. “Don’t tell anyone.”

I smile. “Breaking the rules for me?”

He leans over and slips his hand into mine. Our fingers thread, and my engagement ring sparkles from the soft blue lights on the dashboard.

I catch his eyes, and he says in a low, deep voice, “I only break rules for you.” Except that’s not completely true. I know he’d also break them for his brother.

And I love that even more about him.

 Happy Birthday to Thatcher & Banks + Jenn, our dear friend and the creator of the FB Fizzle Force Group!! Thanks so much for reading this month's main bonus scene! It's such a treat being back in Jane's head! And these two have lots going on with their upcoming wedding, so we can't wait to show more. We hope you all enjoyed this one, and the extra bonus is still to come so keep on the lookout!

xoxo Krista & Becca

  “Driving Out West," Copyright © 2024 by K.B. Ritchie