Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)

I freeze at the sound of a car pulling up the drive. The front door slams and the car engine revs. I’m on my feet and running through the house when I hear the tires squeal on the asphalt. By the time I get to the front step, it’s long gone.

Shit!

My hand goes to my pocket to call Marcus at the front gate and tell him not to let the car leave, only to find it empty.

No! No, no, no, no!

I scramble back into the house and dash up the stairs, gracelessly stumbling into Gavin’s room. The bed is still unmade, the scent of sex heavy in the air. I check the bathroom, the guest rooms, and the entire house before I accept that Gavin is gone.

“Son of a bitch!” I shout. To who? I have no idea. No one is listening.

Furious, I snatch my phone from the duffel bag I dumped on the kitchen floor and dial Gavin. Straight to voicemail. Of course. It takes me three tries to stop shaking in anger long enough to pound out a text.

Don’t do this. It’s not safe. Call me.

When I don’t get a response, I call Marcus and tell him to come back to the house then throw the phone onto the nearby couch and sink down onto it.

Could I have possibly blown this job in a more spectacular manner? Shame quickly overtakes my anger. It’s not Gavin’s fault everything went to shit. It’s mine. I can’t be mad at him. I’m the one who is here to do a job, not screw my client. I’m the one who crossed the line by kissing him the other night. I’m the one who took off for a few days because I couldn’t face the truth about myself.

Jesus, I’m a walking cliché. Not just the part about hooking up with a client, but being so far in the closet I didn’t even realize there was one.

My phone rings from under the couch cushion and I bolt upright to find it. Please let it be Gavin. It takes a few seconds of looking, but I finally get it in my hand and glance at the display.

Ross Evans.

Shit. Time to face the music.

I answer in my normal clipped tone. “Hale.”

“What in the holy fuck is going on?” I inhale to respond, but he continues his rant. “Hawke just called to tell me that he’s with Gavin and they’re taking off for a few days and not to try and find them. Was this your idea?”

“No. Gavin left without telling me.”

Cringing, I wait for the verbal lashing I’m due to receive for losing track of my client. Instead, I get a much more rational Ross Evans than I expected.

“Well, it’s probably good that he’s lying low.”

“What?” I nearly shout.

“After that stunt you two pulled at the release party, then Gavin’s little foray on the beach.” He pauses and a flood of jealousy has me seeing read at the thought of Gavin with that cute twink. “Hawke promised to have them both back in time to start the tour, so it’ll give the media time to cool off.”

“The boyfriend thing was all for show, Ross.” I figure I may as well straighten things out with Ross. There’s no sense telling him about the hook up this morning since I can’t let it happen again.

“Alright.”

I ignore Ross’ short response. “Whe

n does the tour start?” I ask, still seething, only not just from the twink. Now I’m furious that Gavin is somewhere without me, and I don’t know when I’ll see him next.

“Ten days,” Ross answers. “And you shouldn’t have posed as his boyfriend without clearing it with the label.” Thankfully, he says his piece and lets it drop, so I don’t bother arguing with him that it’s Gavin’s choice who he dates, not the label’s. “Ten days should give you time to take care of personal business and do some legwork before we go on the road. The record label deposited a check in your account to cover the damage to your townhouse.”

I ignore the part about the break-in, choosing to clarify the more important detail. “Wait…you want me to go on tour with you?”

He can’t mean that, can he?

Ross huffs out an impatient sound. “Mitch, ninety percent of the notes and gifts have happened on tour. Of course you have to come. It’s when this sicko usually makes contact.”

He’s right to be annoyed. I’m the expert. I should have come to the obvious conclusion. My head is all twisted around with this case—two stalkers, my house being destroyed, my involvement with Gavin. Maybe ten days reprieve will do me good, help me remember that I’m not here to get laid.