I signed the receipt, put the cash down, and we left. The sun had yet to set, but the heat of the day had vanished. The leaves of the old oak trees arching over the streets would soon turn orange and crimson with the coming autumn, and I could picture the bright-orange pumpkins at each door and storefront. This town was so pretty, like a storybook.
“Well, look who we got here. A coupla queers.”
I stiffened, but Manny leaned in. “Ignore them. They’ll go away if we don’t respond. The car’ll be here in two minutes.”
“What’s that, sweetheart?” One of the punks strode to him. “You talkin’ to me?” Jaw flexing, Manny stared straight ahead. The guy wasn’t satisfied and knocked Manny’s shoulder. “Answer me.”
For the first time fear slammed through me. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening, out in the open. The four men, all bigger and taller than I recalled, surrounded us. Why the hell I’d thought I could reason with them, I had no idea, but I guess I’d hoped that if they talked longer, there’d be less of a chance they’d get physical, so I said, “Look, we’re attorneys here for a weekend business retreat. We’re not here to make trouble. We just want to leave.”
Beer breath assailed my nostrils as one of the Neanderthals stuck his face into mine. “Lawyers? I don’t like lawyers. Especially queer ones.” He shoved me into one of the huge old trees lining the sidewalk. My head hit the trunk. It hurt, and I grunted in pain.
“Please, stop—”
“Shut up. You think you’re better than us?” Another hard thrust, and my head snapped back hard, sending a white-hot bolt of pain through me. Stars danced in front of my eyes. The others were pushing Manny around as well. Where the fuck was the car?
A fist to my stomach left me gasping for air. Another to my head sent me to my knees. A kick to the ribs had me crying out in pain. They kept kicking me. And then blackness.
Chapter Ten
Weston
Grady lifted his glass. “To the winning team.”
“As predicted.”
The rest of our team laughed along with me, and we toasted each other. To my shock, the second team after us wasn’t Brenner’s but another group. Not that I’d been watching, but I hadn’t seen him or anyone from his group at the bar. Fernando searched the room. “Some of the teams haven’t even returned yet. I don’t see Manny.”
My antenna buzzed. “Oh? Are you two friendly?”
Fernando inclined his head. “We know each other from the Hispanic National Bar Association, and I’ve met him and his husband at events. Manny’s a great guy—smart and friendly and a great lawyer. He helped my wife and me close on our house last year.”
“I’m sure they’ll be back soon. There are still people trickling in.” I tipped my half-empty glass at the door. Here comes their team.” The members of Brenner and Manny’s group walked in, frowning.
Fernando waved to them. “Hey, guys, what’s wrong?”
A heavyset older man spoke up. “We haven’t heard from Manny or Brenner. They texted us after they picked up the T-shirt and said they were off to the bar.”
“Maybe they’re eating and lost track of time.” The excuse I offered was met with shrugs and uncertainty. And knowing Brenner and how…anal he was, for lack of a better word, I couldn’t imagine that occurring. One of his strengths was punctuality. Plus, as foolish as our silly rivalry was, I knew he’d want to come in first. A knot of concern formed in my stomach.
“Maybe,” a woman from his team said, chewing her lip. “But that doesn’t explain their lack of response. We were all in constant contact until about two hours ago, and then nothing.”
“Text them again,” Grady urged.
She picked up her phone, and her fingers flew over the screen. After a moment, she shook her head. “Still unread. Like all my other messages.”
By now it was close to an hour since we’d come in from our trek around town, and everyone else had returned and were telling stories of their afternoon. Fernando’s phone rang.
“It’s Manny. Dude, where are you?” The color drained from his face. “Shit. I’ll be right there. He okay?”
My stomach dropped. He? Brenner? “What happened?” I set my glass on the bar top, and Grady did the same.
Fernando shoved the phone into his pocket. “They’re in the hospital. They got jumped by a bunch of homophobes outside the bar.”
“Let’s go. I’ve got a car.” I sprinted to the garage as the others followed, and we got into the car. I gunned the engine, barely waiting for everyone to close their doors. Anxiety ate at my insides, and none of us spoke on the ten-minute drive. I parked, and we raced into the emergency room.
“Brenner Fleming and Manuel—” I turned to Fernando. “I don’t know his last name.”
“Ortega,” he supplied. “They came in about an hour ago.”
