Reporter- “Why bring in an expert? You said that Mr. Hale used to track criminals for the FBI.”
GW- “He did. The notes began escalating and were accompanied by offensive items. That’s when we decided to hire someone to investigate.”
Reporter- “So you and Mr. Hale weren’t ever an item?”
GW- “No. He was always just an employee.”
Reporter- “But you are in fact gay. Is that correct?”
GW- “I am.”
Reporter- “So where is Mr. Hale today? Have you caught the criminal that’s been harassing you?”
GW- “We haven’t, but something came up that Mr. Hale needed to take care of. We’ll be handing over the investigation to the authorities from this point on. I do wish him well on his future endeavors.”
I let the phone slide onto the rumpled sheets. My chest hurts more now than it did earlier, and not because of the bullet wound.
Gavin broke up with me in an interview. And left me a way to stay in the closet if I decided I was too much of a coward to face reality. Sasha says he cares. Fuck him, if he cared, he’d be here holding my hand, making the pain in my chest recede instead of letting go of my heart and letting it splatter all over the floor.
I push the button for the nurse, desperate for a hit of painkillers, hoping that enough of them will make everything better. As I slide off into oblivion I realize too late that no, nothing will ever be better again.
Chapter 13
Gavin
My house feels cold, stark after being gone for over eight weeks.
Admit it, it’s dumping Mitch that’s leaving you shivering, not the house.
I drop my bag on the floor and trudge into the kitchen. As bright and sunny as it is today, it may as well be dark and raining with the heavy cloud that’s hanging over my head. I know I did the right thing, getting the stalker’s focus off of Mitch by publically letting everyone think that our relationship was bullshit, but it feels crappy to deny the reality of what we had together.
Even my surfboards don’t bring the same sense of longing. Used to be I could just look at them and feel peaceful and content. Not anymore. Now I feel completely adrift. Set out to sea without an anchor to keep me stable.
Fuck me. Johnny Utah was my anchor.
Despite the early hour, I grab a six-pack out of the fridge, jam a hat on my head and open the back door.
“Mr. Walker.”
“Fuck!” I clutch at my chest, nearly dropping the beer. “Christ, give a man a head’s up.” I scowl way up at who must be one of my new babysitters. Jesus, the man has got to be almost seven feet tall and three hundred pounds. He’s fucking enormous. “Is your job to hide out here all the time?”
“One of us will monitor the back and front of the house at all times, yes,” he replies with about as much personality as a rock.
“Of course,” I mutter.
After the severed human finger was found backstage, the label upped my security detail and decided to let me stay at my own house. Funny how none of the extra security kept Mitch from being attacked. If I had insisted on going with him to his parents house, the bodyguards would have been with us and maybe he wouldn’t have been shot.
Sighing, I pull out a beer and uncap it, taking a long swallow. Playing Monday morning quarterback won’t change what happened, so I force myself to think of something else.
“Well, I’m going to sit on the beach and drink all of these beers,” I announce to Bigfoot as I unlock the back fence. “You coming with me?”
“I’ll be wherever you are, Mr. Walker.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
Lucky me to get stuck with enormous Agent Uptight. Thank god I’m going to be drunk very, very soon. God I’m itching for a fight. I glance back over at Bigfoot and decide it’s probably not a good idea.
Three beers in, with a gentle buzz beginning to wash over me, and my phone rings. As much as I want to ignore it so I can continue drinking, it could be news about Mitch. Sasha didn’t agree with me leaving the hospital how I did, but she did promise to keep me up to date on Mitch’s condition.