It was just a fucking dream.
The phone rang over and over again, and every second that passed sent my fear higher and higher.
“Pick up,” I demanded. “Pick up!”
Just when I was certain it was going to go to voicemail, I heard a sleepy voice say, “Hello?”
“Bennett?” I whispered, even as the relief began to flood my system all at once.
“Aid?” Bennett said. There was a shuffling sound, and I heard another voice in the background.
Xander— Bennett’s boyfriend. “It’s Aiden,” Bennett said. To me, my friend groused, “Dude, it’s the middle of the night.”
I glanced at the clock and saw it was just after three in the morning. Fuck, I hadn’t even thought about what time it was. All I’d cared about was knowing my friend was okay… that it really had been a fucked-up dream.
“What’s wrong?” Bennett asked. “Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said as I scrambled to think of something to explain the call. “I… I…”
“Jesus, Aid, tell me you’re not drunk dialing me again. Who’s the guy?”
“No one,” I quickly said. “Just that bouncer from Club Red,” I lied. “He is a screamer like we thought,” I added.
I could practically see Bennett rolling his eyes at me. “You think you can save the Who Did Aiden Fuck Last Night show for another time?”
My chest felt tight as I nodded and murmured, “You bet. Tell Ranger Rick to fuck you back into oblivion.”
“Ass,” Bennett muttered, but I heard the humor in his voice.
“Night, Bennett.”
“Hey, Aid?”
“Yeah?”
“You sure you’re okay?”
I felt the backs of my eyes stinging, but I managed to stem the tears. Tears were for the weak. “My ears are still ringing but the screamer can suck cock—”
Bennett hung up on me before I could finish my sentence. My phone buzzed a second later with a text.
Ass. Night. Talk to you tomorrow.
I smiled and put the phone down before climbing out of bed. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to get back to sleep, so I took a shower and changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. I grabbed my running shoes, phone, and earbuds and left the building, nodding at my doorman as I went. I spent the next two hours running through Central Park.
Once I got back to my apartment, I worked out for another hour in the building’s gym, and only then felt settled enough to try to get on with my day. I took my time showering and getting dressed before going to my computer to pull up the file on the potential client I was meeting with this morning. The guy was an up-and-coming star quarterback for the New York Jets, and signing him would be a coup for the PR firm I ran with my younger brother, Chase. While we were doing relatively well, considering our business was technically still in its infancy, signing a client like Bomber Flynn would put us in a whole new stratosphere, and the potential new business we could garner would be astronomical.
I spent the next hour studying the detailed file I’d put together on the man, and then grabbed my laptop and phone and jammed them into my bag. It took about thirty minutes to navigate the commuter-laden sidewalks on the way to my favorite coffee shop. The little specialty cafe was out of my way on my commute to work, but it was worth the extra twenty minutes it took in order to get the perfect cup from a friendly face.
The place was a zoo when I arrived, but that wasn’t unusual. As I entered the door, a man bumped my shoulder coming out. He mumbled a soft apology, but before I could respond, he hurried down the sidewalk, and all I saw was a head of dark hair and hunched frame as he dug his hands in his pockets.
Once inside the small space, I got in line and waited until I’d caught the eye of the regular barista working the espresso machine. She sent me a bright smile and nodded her head. Although I couldn’t cut the line, I knew Emily would have my drink waiting at the register by the time I got up there. I scanned the shop briefly as I began searching my bag for my phone. My eyes fell on one of the few empty tables near the line. A red leather journal was sitting on one of them. As the line slowly moved forward, I waited for the owner to show up to claim it, but when no one did, I reached for it as I passed the table, intending to hand it over to the cashier.
My eyes skimmed over the well-worn journal, catching on the raised initials in the lower right-hand corner.
A.V.
My initials.
The oddity intrigued me, and I opened the journal up to skim it for a full name. There was nothing in the front cover, so I began flipping to the back cover. I stopped when my eyes caught on a rough sketch. A chill went through my body at the sight of the drawing.