“Yeah,” Bo grinned, reflex at that point. “My heart for that hellscape. Anyway, can you keep it from Aunt Jan? Just for the day while I figure out what’s going on.”
A heavy, dramatic sigh echoed through the line. Robin, once again, the put-upon twenty-something making like he didn’t have enough abandonment issues tosingle-handedly staff the Dad Went Out for Cigarettes annual conference. It almost drowned out a rustle from somewhere ahead of Bo, a play of shadows that made him tense.
Fuck. Nimai?
“You know I don’t–” Robin started, just as the rustle turned to a loud cough. Bo, already chin-deep in paranoia, jumped with a sharp, indrawn breath. “What? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yes, fuck, I’m good.” ‘Good,’ but Bo remained still anyway. “I’ll call you back, okay?”
“If you die–”
“Not going to die.” Yet. Probably. “Love you.”
A disgusted “ugh”from Robin cut to silence as soon as Bo finished talking. The little shit had hung up on him. Par the fucking course. Bo turned on his phone’s recorder and pocketed it before he veered toward the path, squinting through the trees.
A guy roughly Bo’s height stood on the path, jacked to all hell under his shirt, unless the trees added fifty pounds of muscle. Dark-haired, with stubble bordering on beard territory. Tattoos showed on his hands, peeking out from the collar of his long-sleeved shirt. All that would be fine if not for the fact he was scanning the trees, obviously waiting for someone.
“Can I help you?” Bo asked, stepping out of the tree line. Like it was his fucking property to offer help on. Fuck’s sake.
The guy turned to face him, only a few yards away. The trees did not, in fact, add fifty pounds of muscle. He even lifted his hands, that automatic ‘I’m unarmed’ gesture that somehow didn’t put Bo at ease.
“Uh. Hi,” Bo tried again. “Can I help you?”
“Hey. Bo, right? I know you from the internet.” The stranger dragged his hand through his hair, wincing. “Shit, this isn’t how it sounds. I’m not going to hug you or ask you to sign my tits.”
Oh.
Oh, this was fucking awkward.
It’d been awkward from the start; three years old and recognized on the street. It continued to be just as fucking awkward thirty years later, tromping out of trees with branches in his hair to find a brick shithouse of a man talking about knowing him from the goddamn internet. The dude being obviously on edge didn’t help, either.
Bo stared at him, eyebrows arched high. And yeah, maybe he grinned a little with the option of tit signing off the table. Blame an amazing sense of humor and terrible survival instincts.
“Look,” the guy continued into Bo’s silence. “I know I’m crossing a line. But it’s important.”
“You’re– Okay, I’ll give you points for being self-aware enough to realize you’re crossing a line.” One corner of Bo’s mouth kicked up in something not quite a smile. “A pretty big line. I mean, props for figuring it out so fast, but this is rule number one of ‘don’t follow the Reeler,’ my guy.”
The man shoved his hands in his pockets with a shake of his head. “This isn’t about clout or fangirling. I swear.”
Bo hesitated, glancing back at the house, then at the man. Fuck it.
“Important. Alright. I’m down to listen while we walk to your car,” Bo tipped his chin towards the road. “So you cannotblast on social media about where I am before you drive off. Or after.”
“Not looking to brag about this online,” the man promised, turning back towards the road. “Not even gonna ask for a selfie.”
“Line crossing means selfie privileges are temporarily revoked.” Joking, because this was fine. Just an additional human at a place where murder fae were supposed to be later. A dude clever enough to figure out where he was after a half-selfie in an airport and a couple short sentences. “Though you’re not a thirteen-year-old trying to be my assistant while I’m checking out a structurally unsound building, so thanks for that, guy who knows my name but hasn’t introduced himself.”
“Antonio.” Antonio looked back and, seeing Bo a few steps behind him, slowed until Bo caught up.
“Right, so, Antonio,” Bo grinned again and shoved some hair from his face. Talking helped tamp down the nerves. “Not looking for a selfie or an artistic chest piece. What’s so important it brought you down to Skyler looking for me?”
Antonio glanced at him sidelong, watching Bo with a small, forced smile as they walked.
“This house,” he admitted. “Look, man, I know you don’t believe in ghosts and shit. Know that’s why you’re here. But Iknowthat house. It’s not abandoned. And it’s not safe.”
Well, fuck. Of fucking course.
Antonio wasn’t the first to deliver that line. Talking about what Bo did or didn’t believe in. Wasn’t like it was a secret; too many people had heardsomethingabout Bo and his loving parents.
