“You didn’t push me, Mitch. I was more than ready. Besides, I am capable of saying no. Even to you.”
He smirks. “Yeah, you are.” The smile vanishes. “Anyway, I planned on coming out after high school, you know? When I got to college I figured it would be easier. Being in an environment where no one knows you. It sounded safer.”
I nod in agreement. “Of course. Makes sense.” And it does. “I hadn’t planned on my dad figuring it out about me. Somehow he did.”
Mitch reaches over and brushes my unruly hair back off my forehead, pressing a small kiss on the exposed skin.
“So did you come out in college?” I ask, already guessing the answer and not wanting him to ask about my dad.
“No.” His mouth twists into a grimace. “I went to college in the D.C. area, moving out of my parents’ house to live on campus with every intention of living my life as me. The real me. No more fake girlfriends, no more having to get drunk just to be able to fuck them in order to have some sort of human contact.”
I cringe at the thought of a young Mitch forcing himself to have sex with women to stave off loneliness.
“That’s something I’ve never done,” I admit.
“What? Been with a woman?” He looks genuinely surprised.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I am gay, you know.”
Mitch grins. “I know, and I couldn’t be happier about it.”
“Ha!” I smile back, glad for this moment of levity.
“The city can be dangerous,” Mitch continues with his story. “There’s a lot of crime in D.C. despite all the wealth and the posturing of politicians and the huge number of FBI and other law enforcement agents living in the area.” He inhales deeply. “There was a kid in the news. A gay kid. He was attacked, snatched off the street, beaten, raped, killed…” Mitch’s breath hitches in his chest. “Then another, and another.”
My blood goes cold, the icy feeling sending goose bumps on my skin. “A serial killer,” I whisper.
Mitch closes his eyes and nods. “Yeah.” His voice is raspy, a near sob. “Five young gay men in total before they caught the bastard.”
The pieces all click into place. “That’s why you joined the FBI. That’s why you track serial killers.”
Mitch doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. I pull him against my chest, holding him tight. His arms snake around my waist and he lets me comfort him. How long has he kept this inside?
“Did you ever tell anyone why you joined the FBI?” I murmur into his thick, dark hair. I inhale, filling my nostrils with his scent, wishing I could crawl inside him and take the pain away.
Mitch pulls back. “No. No one even knew I was gay. Only one person found out and it ended up being why I quit the bureau.”
Mitch
I feel Gavin tense up at my words. I’m torn. I want to tell him, to tell someone, to rip down the last barrier separating me from happiness.
Gavin sits quietly, waiting patiently for me to decide. His eyes are kind, accepting, but pained. For me. Not pity, but empathy reflecting in the blue depths.
“My partner,” I whisper. “Grant.” My heart is racing and my palms feel sweaty. I stand up and pull on briefs and T-shirt. “I need a drink for this story. You want one?”
“Sure.” Gavin follows me to the common area, grabbing his own briefs on the way. “Sit,” he commands from the stocked bar.
I drop onto the nearest couch and he hands me a glass with ice and clear liquid. “What is this?”
“Gin and tonic.”
The cold liquid hits my tongue, burning a path down my throat. Gavin waits for me to finish it before taking my glass. “More?”
I shake my head. “No. I still have to work tonight at the event.”
He looks as if he bit a lemon. “Right.” Gavin places the glass on the table. “Grant?” he prods.
My stomach twists and turns, the nausea intense as my nerves light up like a Christmas tree.