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As I sink into his warmth, the thought of going away with Gavin, leaving behind the stress and the media and Grant Halifax, sounds like heaven.
I pull back before I let him distract me with his talented mouth. “Sure. Whatever you want, Gavin. Let’s just catch this guy first.”
As I’m contemplating pressing Gavin down on the couch and ripping off his clothes, my phone rings.
I flip it open, my heart racing when I see the I.D. “Hale.”
“He’s on the move. We’ve been following and have a possible location,” Van Zandt informs me. “I’ll call you when we know more, but we’re in a not so nice area of Anaheim.”
The call ends without pleasantries.
“What?” Gavin is staring at me, his handsome face filled with concern.
“You dad left the house. Van Zandt and Halifax are following him. Looks like we were right about him knowing the stalker or at least being involved. He’s headed for a seedy neighborhood in Anaheim.”
Gavin looks distraught. “He really did it. I can’t believe it. He actually hired someone to threaten me.”
I pull him in close, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It might be something else.”
Gavin jerks free, his face and neck turning red. “Don’t placate me, Mitch. You said it yourself. We’re right. My own father hates me so much that he would rather see me dead than admit that his son is a faggot!”
I hold my hands up in defeat. “Hey, I’m on your side, Gav. I agree with you. You’re dad is a bastard and I’m so sorry he’s done this to you. If they confirm his involvement, we better pray I never see him again. I’ll probably go to jail for beating the shit out of that pathetic, homophobic asshole.”
Gavin slumps back on the couch, the fight drained out of him already. “I’m sorry for lashing out, Mitch. I just don’t get it, why he hates me so much.”
Pulling him closer, I brush a kiss across his tempting mouth. “Sometimes there is no reason, love. People just hate for no reason.”
He huddles against me, putting his head on my chest. Sadness grabs my heart as Gavin comes to terms with such loathing from someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally. It’s a tough pill to swallow and the pain that he’s feeling brings out my primal need to protect and defend.
But there’s nothing I can do to make this better. No words, no actions, no platitudes. Gavin will suffer until he can accept that there doesn’t have to be a reason for his father’s hatred. It just is what it is.
“It took me almost dying for my father to be okay with me,” I murmur into his hair, inhaling his scent and letting it calm down my inner beast.
“I did almost die, Mitch. When I was seventeen and I…” he chokes up. “You saw the report, I’m sure.”
My soul cracks for him, for his suffering. “I’d rather hear it from you.”
Gavin shifts in my arms, producing something from his pocket. He holds it out for me to take. “What is this?” I palm the small, heart-shaped rock, turning it over.
“Hawke gave it to me when I was institutionalized,” he admits.
I try not to show the shock I feel at finding out Hawke was a patient with Gavin, but Gavin can sense it. “You didn’t find him on your search, did you.” He chuckles. “No one ever does. His real name is Harold and his family was powerful. I’m sure his uncle made his records disappear.”
“Was?” I ask, unsure if Gavin should be telling me Hawke’s story.
He shrugs. “It’s not my place to tell his story. This rock though?” Gavin points at the stone. “Hawke had it with him in the hospital. He gave it to me when I needed it and I’ve carried it ever since.”
“And all this time I thought you had your hand in your pocket to adjust your cock,” I joke.
Gavin’s eyes go wide for a second before he bursts out laughing. “Fuck off.” He shoves me playfully. Then my phone rings again and our moment of levity is over.
***
“Son of a bitch!” Gavin shouts, kicking over a poor, defenseless potted plant on the back deck.
“Gavin, this is good news.” Van Zandt just called to let us know that whomever Gavin’s father went to see wasn’t home. “We have a name, baby. That’s unbelievable. After all this time we know who it is.”
Troy Wolski. Even the name sounds like it belongs to a psycho.
