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“Maybe.”
“You said filet mignon and a massage, right?”
Gabriel nodded his head, lips tipping up into a smile that revealed a dimple. I grabbed the suitcase and broke out into a run, exaggerating my movements so that I was sure I looked like a cartoon character: flailing arms and legs as the suitcase rolled precariously alongside me.
I could hear Gabriel laughing all the way to the car. It was a sound I quickly found myself not only getting accustomed to but addicted to. I wanted to hear more of it. Even through the chaos and horror that tonight brought, I was able to find a light shining from the man by my side.
This is going to be interesting.
6
GABRIEL FERNANDEZ
Tonight had been a worst-case scenario.My job was to keep people safe, and yet everyone’s life was at risk. Thankfully, it was just some twisted mind games the Midnight Chemist decided to play, but next time, it might not just be old surveillance footage, and I had to be ready.
But first, I had to get Tristan out of his house and do it in a way that assured we weren’t being followed. I made sure to take a winding route through the Atlanta suburbs on my way to the first Airbnb I had rented. It was a two-story home in a quiet and tree-lined community, everyone tucked away in their beds reading a book or watching TV. I parked the car and told Tristan to grab his bag.
“When we go in, just keep walking straight ahead. We’re going to go through the yard and out onto the other side of the street. A car’s waiting there to take us to where we’re really staying.”
Tristan cocked his head. I could tell there was fear and anxiety roiling up inside him, clear in his downturned lips and furrowed brow. “How did you plan all this out so quick?”
“I’m not part of Stonewall InvestigationsElitefor nothing.” I gave him a wink, and he returned it with a smile.
“Thank you, Gabriel. Seriously.”
“Call me Gabe. And no thanks needed.”
His smile grew, the wrinkles between his thick brows slowly disappearing. He had two tiny diamond stud earrings that glittered under the car lights. “Okay, Gabe, I take the thank-you back, then.”
“Well, you don’t have to do all that.”
He laughed, a sound that filled the car and made my chest vibrate. I had to admit, Tristan was the kind of guy I’d hang out with even if I wasn’t getting paid to do it. He had charm galore, humor that kept me in stitches, an interesting outlook on life, and looks that put aGQcover model to shame.
Most of all, though, he was talented. I hadn’t told him yet, but I read his books and was floored by how quickly they sucked me in and didn’t let me go. I’d never been a big reader, besides a comic book–binging phase I went through in college. Books never called to me. I was always bothered by sitting down in one spot for too long. Audiobooks had helped with that, but still, I hadn’t found a story that really pulled me in.
Not until I read Tristan’s work. From the first page, I was hooked. He had a way with words that wrapped me up. And his perspective as a gay Black man shone through the pages; even though the work was fiction, I could tell his life experiences had helped bring an authenticity to his characters that I hadn’t found anywhere else.
“Ready?” he asked, a hand on the door handle, another holding the small suitcase between his legs.
“Let me go in first,” I said.
He nodded, his smile flickering like a dying flame. It was the exact opposite of what I wanted to happen. I wanted to stoke that smile so that it burned from cheek to cheek, lighting the entire world on fire with its brilliance.
“Hey, Tristan—”
“You can call me Trist.”
My turn to crack a smile. “Trist,” I said, the name feeling familiar and new on my tongue. “You’re going to be alright. I’ve got you. I’m not letting anything happen to you, okay? That fucker may have gotten close before, but I wasn’t around for that. That isnothappening again. I swear it.”
He chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes looking for something in mine. I held his gaze, the space between us taking on a life of its own. Like invisible sparks suddenly ignited between us, popping against my nose, my face, my lips.
“I believe you,” he said. “And I’m really grateful you’re here.”
“I am, too,” I answered honestly as we got out of the car. I looked around the empty street, not seeing any suspicious cars or prying eyes. Crickets chirped from a bush on the pebbled path leading up to the front door, our shoes crunching over the rocks.
“What did you do before this? Before being a bodyguard-detective hybrid?”
I tapped the password into the keypad before answering, wanting to get indoors as quickly as possible. “I was in the Marines. On my way to becoming an officer until I got a really bad knee injury. It took me out. I could barely walk for months. Still gets locked up every now and then.”
