Safe.
I’m not even sure what it means anymore. I feel like it’s something everyone says to you before something bad happens.
I jerk away from him, then stumble, slumping down onto the floor in front of the fire. “I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have let you put yourself at risk. If the FBI even thinks you’re involved for a second… You need to get out of here, River. I’ll be fine. But you can’t be here when they get here. This isn’t your fight. It isn’t?—”
“Hey,” he says, dropping down next to me. “I’m here by choice.”
“And I’m telling you to go. It’s not fair that you get implicated in?—”
“Wren. We’ve had this conversation. I’m not going anywhere.”
His answer doesn’t help. “What if Chase is already tracking us? What if he has a trace algorithm running through the FBI? What if all the fake IP bounces I’ve set up fail? What if he finds you here? You aren’t thinking clearly.”
“Wren, shut up. I know you’re just trying to protect me again, but we’re here together, so you’re just gonna have to get over it.”
When I look up at his eyes, there’s the kind and honest sincerity I’ve seen in them since the first day I met him. My own sting with tears.
“You’re going to get into trouble. Grudge isn’t going to be happy.”
I guess my tears spilled over, because Catfish brushes them away with his thumbs. “Probably not. But I’m assuming you can make all this right with one quiet word with King.”
“Maybe. Sometimes King doesn’t listen to anyone.”
There’s another crack outside. Louder this time. Catfish stands. “I’m gonna go get the rest of the weapons out of the truck and do whatever you need me to do with the jammer. I’ll be back.”
I show him what to do, and while he’s gone, I sit on the rug, back against the sofa, and stare into the fire. There’s a dense and sticky blanket of shame that crawls over my skin after anxiety and panic have crept in.
I’m only human, and it feels like those kinds of emotions belong more accurately with someone fragile. Especially tears when I get overwhelmed.
It feels wrong. Because I’m more than capable of bringing skills and perspective to help in tense situations, and then, these unhelpful and heavy-to-carry emotions emerge, swamping me until I can’t move.
When he comes back in, it’s with a metal case that likely contains some kind of hunting rifle. He also places two smaller handguns on the table while he removes his jacket.
I guess it’s getting warmer in here, but I haven’t noticed. Meticulously, he walks around the room, placing the guns around the place.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Evening the odds. I doubt anyone will find us, but I want a weapon within arm’s reach if someone does. So, I’m just spreading them out.” He looks out the dirty window, wincing as he tries to see through the darkness. “What did you do for King that he’s so loyal to you?”
I think back to Vex and Calista’s introduction of me to the club and what happened. “Someone tried to hurt his wife, Rae, his Duchess. I found her…before Vex could.”
“Duchess? I wonder how she ended up with that name.”
My heart rate settles as I smile. “I know the answer to that. King kidnapped Rae to punish Saint because Rae’s his sister. He tried to call her a princess to be patronizing. And so, Rae told him that if he wanted to reach for a stick-up-her-ass title, he should at least call herduchess, because she thought theywere older, smarter, and were…what was the word she used…oh, right, caustic with their wit.”
Catfish steps over to me and sits down on the floor, his back against the sofa like mine. “For real?”
I nod. “Yeah. But I really like her. She’s a psychologist. I had some…helpful…talks with her. About the anxiety attacks. About gender dysphoria.”
I don’t know what makes me tell him about that now, but somehow, despite all the disappointments I’ve had, I feel confident trusting him.
“What has the journey to accepting who you are looked like?” Catfish asks, sliding his arm over my shoulders. In the quiet crackle of the fireplace, I focus on lowering my heart rate.
Catfish nudges me to settle my head into the crook of his shoulder. “It’s big growth, and then a period of acceptance. It wasn’t like a switch flipped. Like, when I was young, I always felt like I was playing a part. I wore the clothes and smiled when people called me pretty. It felt like a costume. Not even my birth name felt like it was mine. None of it ever felt right or quite fit.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“I was confused by what definitions fit me. Because I didn’t really feel like a boy either. I mean, on a sliding scale, I was always more like the boys than the girls in my class. They spoke my language. Were blunter. Had less of a need to people please. I had more of a need to protect than be protected. I considered if I was a trans man, but I guess I wasn’t trying to cross over into another box either. I just wanted to step out of the whole gender game entirely. All the stereotypes made me itch. Wasn’t sure if that meant I was gay or straight. Knowing you’re not cisgender or heterosexual is the first step.”
