Linc sighed. “Yeah, I know a guy. In the meantime, everybody acts as if the cops are watching.”
Cy nodded. “Alright, then I think that’s enough excitement for a Sunday. We’ll talk later in the week.”
“Cy and I will drop this stuff in the lab before we take off,” Webster said.
Linc nodded grimly as the others began to filter out. Odette stood and walked over to Wyatt, clearly exchanging contact details as they chatted. Javier shook his head. She was something else. But Bowie was lucky to have a friend who was so fiercely loyal. No matter how annoying she was, she got a pass just for that.
When Linc and Wyatt started to leave, Odette floated over to Lawson. “So, your Bowie’s new roommate. I’m his best roommate. Odette,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Nice to finally meet you face to face,” Lawson said, giving her a once over Javier found unnerving. The last thing they needed was those two dating or anything else really. “Can I give you a lift home?”
“Oh, do you drive a pickup truck?” she asked.
Lawson made a shocked face. “Wow, way to stereotype. All guys with an accent must drive a pickup truck.” Odette just stared at him, one brow raised. “Girl, of course, I drive a pickup truck. Wanna drive it?”
Odette clapped her hands excitedly.
“Well, that’s a disaster waiting to happen,” Bowie murmured.
“Them becoming friends?” Javier inquired.
“Odette driving a truck. She can barely handle her Honda.”
“Not our problem, angel. Let’s get you home.” Bowie trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. Javier tugged it free. “What’s wrong?”
"We just go home and pretend everything’s fine? Like, that’s it?” Bowie asked.
“That’s it for now. Yeah.” At Bowie’s worried look, Javier pulled him close. “This is all going to be okay. I got us into this mess and I’ll get us out. It’s just gonna take a little time. For now, we need to just go home. You need your rest. You have to be up at the crack of dawn, which means I need to be up at the crack of dawn. You know how much I hate dawn.”
“Can’t Lawson babysit me in the mornings?”
“Nah, angel. Ain’t nobody guarding this body but me. And I take my job very seriously.”
“Oh, yeah?” Bowie asked suspiciously.
“Oh, most definitely. In fact, I think as soon as we get home, I should strip you down and thoroughly inspect every single inch of your body, just to be sure.”
“Every inch, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” Javier said, echoing Bowie’s earlier words with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He couldn’t have Bowie worrying about him. That wasn’t his job. He’d fix this, but in the meantime, distracting Bowie was the only thing on Javier’s to-do list. Clothing optional. “Let’s go home, angel.”
Bowie was numb. He sat in the passenger seat of the Charger, head resting against the glass, hoping the icy cool air from the a/c vent would somehow turn his heart back on. Or, at least, his sense of self preservation.
Somebody had carved a piece of a dead man’s flesh off their body and turned it into a disgusting cross-stitch and he felt…nothing. Somebody wanted Bowie dead. That should inspire some level of fear, right? But dying seemed a better alternative than being terrorized by the monster who assaulted him. Maybe he was the weird one.
Bowie wanted to be one of those guys who didn’t need somebody to protect them. He’d never really hesitated to defend himself when necessary. He could throw a punch. He could definitely take one…or ten. He’d spent his life defending himself against the small town bullies and homophobes who didn’t want gays or ballet dancers in their town, much less both in one.
But Bowie couldn’t defend himself against this. Or maybe he could but didn’t want to. Either way, he was grateful Javier was there. He was relieved that he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if necessary. Bowie wasn’t sure he could say the same, no matter how big the danger. Throwing a punch and firing a gun were two very different things, and he just didn’t know if he could kill a man.
Did that make Bowie weak? He didn’t care. He wasn’t a killer. But he was in love with one. The thought hit him like a tidal wave, stealing his breath and sucking him down into his feelings. Fuck, he loved Javier. Barely over a month and he was all in. Did Javier feel the same? Was murder his love language? If so, Javier had said it first. Had felt it first. Had shot three people in cold blood just to keep him safe.
Shouldn’t that horrify Bowie? It didn’t. All he’d felt was relieved. Javier did the things others couldn’t. The law had denied Bowie justice, but Javier had given it to him anyway. Bowie loved him for that, not in spite of it. Did that make him a monster, too? Maybe. But there was a level of security in being under Javier’s protection that he refused to apologize for. He needed to feel safe and Javier made him feel safe. Safe and desirable and loved. All things Bowie never thought he would find. At least, not anytime soon.
“You alright, angel?”
Bowie looked at him and smiled. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Javier frowned, gaze darting between Bowie and the road. “You sure? It’s okay if you’re not. This is a lot.”
