But I don’t have a badge. I’m not wearing a gun or body armor.
And I have to protect Jordan.
So, no, in this case, I don’t feel guilty about turning tail and running.
There’s a bar at the far corner of this block. I grab Jordan’s hand again and aim for there, pulling my phone out and calling up a ride-share app as we fast-walk. I keep Jordan on my left, between me and the building, just in case. More sirens are wailing everywhere, police cars running lights and sirens speeding toward the club, and I only now realize I’ve still got my earplugs in. So does Jordan.
I remove mine, then grab his, pocketing them all. “Don’t sayanything,” I tell him before we step inside the bar. I don’t know what kind of place it is, and I don’t want to go from frying pan to fire.
The app refreshes. Available rides disappear before I can even book them. I don’t know if we’ll be able to get a car right now. Police are cordoning off the area, I’m sure, and there’s probably a large crowd of people also trying to book rides.
I switch to a different app, where I find one driver’s only five minutes away, and I book them. I’m doing all this one-handed, while my left arm is slung around Jordan’s shoulders and keeping him pressed against me.
Fortunately, the place looks like it’s okay, average neighborhood hangout.
A guy walks over and sticks his head out the door. “What’s with all the sirens?”
“Don’t know, man,” I say as I clamp down on Jordan’s shoulder with my hand to keep him quiet. “Heard something a few blocks over. Pretty sure it was gunshots. We decided we’re done walking.”
“Fuck, man. Don’t blame you.”
Jordan trembles against me as the events finally begin to filter into his conscious brain for processing. I book the ride and take a moment to look around. Only a couple of people in the bar are looking in our direction, besides the guy who spoke to me. He’s apparently a patron, because now that his curiosity’s satisfied, he returns to a high top where two other men are standing, and he picks up a drink.
We step outside again, because when Jordan has his inevitable meltdown, I want him to have privacy.
And he will melt down about this. I can feel it in him already. He might as well be attached to me at this point. I really don’t have to direct him, because he’s glued to my side and trembling like crazy.
We lean against the wall and I press a kiss to his temple. “Hold it together for me just a little longer, baby,” I softly tell him. “We’ll be in the car in a minute. I promise I’ll take care of you.”
I damn well know it’s not just the cold making him shiver. Shedding my coat, I wrap it around him, leaving me in my blazer. Right now I’m hot, which is, I know, my body’s way of coping with the adrenaline dump I just experienced. I reach up and loosen my tie and unbutton my collar.
The car, which has a lit badge sporting the ride-share company’s logo stuck to the inside of the windshield, pulls up a minute or so later. After I match the driver to his picture in the app, we get in the back seat and I don’t even bother buckling up.
“Man, police are fricking everywhere,” he says. “What happened?”
“Same shit happens in DC all the damn time,” I wearily answer. “People shooting people.”
I pull Jordan over so his head’s in my lap and I find one of his hands, taking it in mine and squeezing. It’s ice-cold.
That’s when he starts crying.
The man glances in the mirror. “Everything all right?”
“He’s not from around here,” I tell the guy. “Sound of the shots freaked him out. That’s why we stopped walking and called for a ride.”
The driver hands back a tissue box between the seats.
“Thanks, man.” He just earned himself a huge fucking tip and five stars.
Jordan sobs in my lap almost all the way to my apartment. Once we’re safely in my lobby, and the door’s shut behind us, I keep my arm around him all the way up the stairs to my floor.
The memory of my coat swaddling him will likely be one I take to my grave. I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of him. Hell, I’ll fucking support him, if he wants to be mine, and he can stay home and do nothing but take care of the apartment.
Which I totally understand is a completely irrational feeling, most likely born from the adrenaline still bouncing through my system.
Except we just escaped a legit brush with death. Not my first by a longshot, but it’s probably Jordan’s first. If it was only me tonight, I would have already shaken it off.
Seeing it from Jordan’s perspective, however, and having him to worry about, is a new one, for me.
