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Fuming, I take a quick shower and order coffee from room service, becoming more agitated with each passing minute. An hour and two cups of coffee later, I’m feeling much more human, but just as pissed off. Unfortunately, my fury has begun to turn into fright. It just isn’t like Mitch to drop off the face of the earth with no explanation. Even when he left me with Marcus in L.A., Mitch told me why he was going and that he would be back in a few days.
This just feels wrong.
I breakdown and pull my phone out of my pocket, dialing Mitch. It rings several times before going to voicemail. Fuck! Frustrated, I hang up and call Hawke, hoping my best friend can shed some light on the situation.
“What?” Hawke croaks out, obviously having had a much later night than me.
“Can you come to my room?” I pray I don’t sound desperate, but honestly, I am fucking desperate at this point.
“Fuck, Gav. I feel like shit,” he groans.
“I have coffee.” I hold my breath and wait to see if he accepts the carrot I’m dangling.
A long-suffering sigh comes through the phone. “Shit. Fine. See you in five minutes.” It only takes him four. I know because I checked the clock about a hundred times since hanging up.
“So Mitch didn’t come back and didn’t call and now you’re freaking out?” Hawke summarizes, sipping from his mug while I nod up and down like one of those ridiculous bobble head dolls.
“Right.”
“Hell, Gav. He’s a grown ass man. And didn’t you say he went to tell his parents he’s gay?”
More nodding. “Yep.” I rub my thumb over my stone, back and forth, back and forth.
“Maybe they had a lot to talk about,” Hawke muses. “Maybe it required a few drinks so he crashed at their place.”
“Maybe,” I reply, my fingers moving over the stone in circles.
“Can you
fucking relax?” Hawke snaps, scowling at my fidgeting.
“Sorry. I’m just… you know. With the stalker, and… and the finger…” I begin squirming again, jiggling my leg to keep from screaming.
“Hey,” Hawke prods gently, why don’t you try his phone again?”
“Good idea.” I hit redial, fully expecting the voicemail to kick in again. Instead, someone actually answers. A female someone.
“Hello? Hello? It says this is Gavin. Is this Gavin?”
My mouth gapes open and closed a few times before I find my balls and speak. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“Thank god you called,” the woman gushes in relief. “This is Mitch’s friend, Sasha. I couldn’t figure out how to unlock his phone to call you. I was just about to get one of the hackers at the bureau to do it for me.”
My blood runs cold at the flustered sound of her voice. “What’s going on?”
“I think you better come here. I’m at George Washington University Hospital. Mitch has been shot.”
The phone slips out of my hand, clattering to the coffee table. I vaguely register Hawke picking it up and speaking to Sasha, then nudging me out the door and down the elevator. Somehow, I find myself in yet another car, on my way to see Mitch, completely numb from head to toe.
Mitch—my boyfriend, both fake and real—has been shot. When I realize I didn’t ask Sasha what condition he’s in, whether or not he’s going to die, I begin to honest-to-god lose my shit. My breathing becomes rapid and clipped, air struggling to get to my lungs as the reality of the situation hits me.
I’m in love with Mitch Hale and he might not ever get to hear me say it.
Mitch
“Hey, he’s awake! Phillipa! Robert!”
My eyes blink open to dim fluorescent lighting. It takes me a few minutes to focus.
