“I trust you with my life, Graham. That’s the point. Family doesn’t keep secrets. Not with what we do out there.” Passing me the bottle, she pulls off her bandana and tosses that to me as well. “Clean yourself up before you get back in your car. Otherwise you’ll be smelling that shit for a week.”
She gives me a look that could melt a glacier, but there’s warmth in her tone. Concern.
“Thanks. Give me some time?” As much as I don’t want to admit my shame toanyone, I can’t keep secrets from the team. From my family. And now that Inara knows this particular one can turn me into a shaking ball of fear in the middle of a Seattle sidewalk, she’s right to press me on it.
Turning on her heel to head back down the hill, she stops, then looks back at me. “When you’re ready, you know we’ll listen. All of us. Any of us. It’s when you keep everything shoved down so deep it can’t escape that you’re in trouble. Because it will. Every time. In the worst way possible.” With one last meaningful glance, she finally takes off. “See you at tomorrow’s workout, ” she calls over her shoulder.
By the time I make it to my red Smart Car, my hands are actively throbbing. I must have missed a spot cleaning off my leg—even with the water bottle and bandana—because the smell’s so bad, the only way I can make it back to my condo without throwing up is to roll all the windows down. In thirty degree weather.
An hour later, I pull on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and crawl into bed. Logically, I know my extra-long shower where I rubbed my knee raw took care of the stench. But the one in my memories? That one’s back, stronger than ever. It was all over me. My hands, my knees, in my ear. Mixed with blood and drying cum. All because a group of men decided I wasn’t fit to call myself a member of the United States Coast Guard because I kissed a guy outside a bar on New Year’s Eve. I didn’t find out until a few months later that the four of them had been eyeing me for a couple of hours after I politely—but very firmly—told one of their female friends I batted for the other team. Seeing that kiss I shared with the bouncer? That set them off all over again, and they followed me to that alley to beat the shit out of me and “teach me a lesson.”
I can’t get warm, so I curl into a ball and bury my face in my pillow. Most days, I don’t think about the attack anymore. Which makes the times I do pack even more of a punch.
Where I am now in my life? Everyone accepts me. Hell, Ryker, my boss at Hidden Agenda, a K&R firm he started after he left the Special Forces, didn’t even blink when I told him I was gay.
Seattle’s a great place for just about any lifestyle, and I’ve dated from time to time. Found a couple of guys where things lasted long enough to get to the fucking stage, and I’m good as long as no one asks me to bottom.
But when the memories come, there’s not much I can do besides take my anxiety meds and hide away from the world. And wonder if I’ll ever feel something other than broken.
Chapter Five
Graham
Friday nightsbehind the bar at the Unicorn always leave my ears ringing. But when I’m not training or on mission, this gig is a good diversion. And if there’s a party going on, I can make a solid five hundred in tips for a single night’s work.
A little slice of normal in my world that’s anything but. No one at the bar knows my history. My damage.
Plus, no one tries to kill me. Usually. There was that one bar fight last year… My shoulder still aches from time to time—especially when it rains.
A little after 2:00 a.m., the streets in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle are bustling. Tourists, local revelers, a handful of drunks… No one sleeps along the Pike/Pine corridor, the blocks full of bars, restaurants, and music venues are packed to the gills all weekend long.
After almost eight hours slinging drinks, all I want is a little peace and quiet, so I duck down a side street to avoid the crowds hanging out at Nectar Lounge. Weaving in and out of the throngs of people? I’m too tired for that, and Ry wants me at the warehouse at nine tomorrow. Or…today.
Two blocks off the main drag, it’s almost quiet, and I pass by a darkened row of townhomes. An empty parking lot across the street is fenced off with construction signs announcing plans for a multi-story condo complex.
One of the reasons I love Seattle? A five minute walk can bring me from the heart of the city to a neighborhood that’s almost suburbia. Deserted, all the residents either out partying or asleep. No traffic. No incessant bass beat. No sirens—for the moment. It’s so peaceful, the rasp of a lock is louder than I expect. Tensing, I spin to face the center townhome, fists raised, ready to fight.
“Wait,” a soft, male voice says from the darkness of the doorway. “Please…stop. I need help.”
I stagger back. Memories I can’t handle—not tonight, maybe not ever—try to push their way to the surface. Another dark space. My own plea for help—one that fell on uncaring ears. “Call 911 if it’s an emergency, dude.”
“It’s not. To them.” Desperation floods his tone, taking a hammer to the box I keep my emotions in. “There’s a bag. In the yard. I can’t get it.”
Narrowing my gaze, I scan the little fenced-in area. Flat stones with unkempt grass between them form a haphazard path to the front porch where two short steps are covered by a thick piece of plywood to form a ramp.
The contents of a green canvas grocery bag spill out onto the stones. A carton of ice cream with the lid smashed, mint chip melting everywhere, a box of cereal, a tube of shaving cream...
“It’s three feet from your door, man. You expect me to believe you can’t reach it?”
“No.” A hint of resignation mixes with shame. “But, I can’t.” After a pause, he sighs. “Please. This isn’t a trick or a prank.” My eyes have adjusted so I can make out his shadow in the small crack of the doorway. “I’ll lock up. Four separate locks. You should be able to hear each one. I swear—on my life—you’re not in any danger from me. I won’t hurt you. I couldn’t…even if I wanted to. Just pick up the bag, set it on the porch, and go.”
The door closes, followed by four distinctthunks.
Well, fuck. He sounds so sincere—and desperate—that I can’t walk away.
“We help people. Anyone who can’t help themselves. You understand me? We never leave a man behind.”Ryker’s words play on a loop in my head. The ones he said the day he hired me.
Opening the gate, I move slowly, scanning the yard for any threats. No trees. No shrubs. Nothing but dry grass and weeds. And inside, a man who needs help.
