Trevor lifted up the center console’s compartment lid to deposit his handgun in the space below. Once it was out of sight, Brendan relaxed. It seemed Brendan was more uncomfortable with the gun than he was with Trevor’s power.
Trevor had pulled Brendan’s address from his RealIdent chip during the intake at the hospital, and he plugged the information into the computer. Brendan’s apartment was in a mid-zone of the megacity, a working-class residential neighborhood that had escaped damage during the attack in the spring.
The drive was made mostly in silence, and they were nearly there when the comfortable quiet between them was interrupted by a call. Trevor glanced at the computer screen embedded in the car’s dash and winced as he saw it was his mother calling.
“>” he answered in Spanish, restricting the call to his personal comms.
“Mijo,” was his mother’s immediate response. “>”
“>”
His mother let out a heavy sigh. Paula Sanchez was the rock of Trevor’s family, a hard-hitting district attorney for a suburb outside the Dallas, Texas megacity. His father, Frank Sanchez, was retired from the Army after having served twenty years and was currently enjoying life as a babysitter to Trevor’s nieces and nephews.
When he’d first been turned into a metahuman, his parents and older sisters had acted as if he’d truly died. It had taken a long time for his family to come to terms with his changed status. Trevor doubted they would ever stop worrying about him, even when he was no longer in the field.
“>” she pressed.
“>”
“>”
“>”
“>”
“>”
The call cut out and Trevor sighed.
“Was that your mom?” Brendan asked.
Trevor glanced at him. “Yeah. She saw the news.”
Brendan pressed his fingers over his left forearm, the embedded bioware there lighting up beneath his skin. Trevor caught a glimpse of multiple message notifications before he refocused on the road.
“Need to call your family?” Trevor asked.
Brendan sighed. “Pretty sure they already know.”
“Are any going to meet you at your apartment?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to them. My supervisor would have. Besides, the police who responded first probably informed my parents.”
“If they’re going to the hospital expecting you to be there and you’re not, that might make them worry. You should call them.”
Brendan wavered, but then the pull of family won out. Trevor only half-listened to the conversations Brendan had with his parents and one of his brothers, intent on getting him home. By the time they arrived at the apartment building, Brendan had finished his calls, but didn’t seem at ease. Trevor parked in the passenger pickup and drop-off area in front of the main entrance and turned off the engine.
“Let me walk you up,” he said.
Brendan turned his head to look at Trevor, nervously biting his lip. “Could you stay with me? Just until my brother gets here?”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he looked embarrassed about the request.
“Never mind,” Brendan said hastily, fumbling at the door to open it. “I’m sure you have some MDF stuff to take care of. Thanks for—”
“I don’t mind staying,” Trevor interrupted as he got out of the car.
Brendan met him on the sidewalk and led the way to the entrance after Trevor code-locked the car.
