Train’s bike pulling beside my car pulls me away from my thoughts. I get out and lock up my RAV4. I love this vehicle mostly because I bought it and paid for it completely on my own. I never needed the all-wheel-drive option in Texas, really, but I have a feeling if I stay in North Carolina, I definitely will. I wrap my arms around myself, thinking I should have worn more than a sweater. I don’t really have a lot of winter clothes. I should probably find time to go shopping. Who knows? Maybe me moving around town more will draw Lenny out of hiding.
“You know, Train, it’s against the law to stalk,” I snap as he slides off his bike, looking too damn good for my sanity.
“Good to know. You need to dump this shit apartment, Drew. It doesn’t suit you,” he announces as he follows me up the metal fire escape—which the owner of the building uses for sole access to the apartment because he’s cheap. We stand at the landing while I look through my keys to find the one to the door. Train must get tired of waiting for me, because he takes them out of my hand and somehow finds the one needed too damn easily. I let out an annoyed breath in protest—which doesn’t make me feel one bit better.
“Your deadbolt is new. Ghost do that?” he asks, and I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck as I go inside.
“Yeah. He put double locks on the windows of this dump, too,” I respond without thinking.
I turn to face him and notice he’s not making a move to come inside, which is weird.
“You leaving?” I ask, feeling a little bit let down about that but knowing it’s for the best.
“Nope.”
“It would be better for everyone involved if you do, Train,” I tell him honestly, feeling really tired all of the sudden.
“I don’t think so. In fact, I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened to Ghost, Drew, and I doubt I’ll leave even then.”
“So, what’s your plan? You just going to sit out here on my landing?” I ask, confused.
“I’m going to stay here and watch over you and this shit place until I figure out what’s going on and why you’re in danger,” he says, his milk-chocolate eyes boring into me.
“What makes you think I am?” I try to bluff.
“Ghost wouldn’t have put a deadbolt on your door or locks on your windows if he felt you weren’t under threat, Drew. That means whatever is going on, you’re in the dead center of it. So, I’m here, and right here is where I’ll remain.”
“And freeze to death. It’s winter, Train.”
“Worried about me, baby?” he asks, those lips of his upturning into a smile and causing a little dimple to form. Damn it.
“Shut up before I regret this and come inside,” I snap, walking away—but leaving the door open because I’m insane.
It doesn’t shock me when he does. He takes his boots off when he sees me doing the same, and that does surprise me, but I don’t say anything. I flip on a lamp—because this place doesn’t have overhead lighting anywhere except the kitchen and bathroom.
“Looks better than the outside,” he says, but he doesn’t really sound impressed. Not that he should, really, but it’s annoying. I look around the place trying to see it through his eyes. The walls are a dingy beige that I actually think used to be white at one time. I’ve cleaned the place from top to bottom, but most of the furniture was here when I got here. I haven’t had the time or the inclination to do much. My time was pretty much sucked up with finding Lenny, or worrying about G. I did manage to put some brown seat covers over the old sofa. G moved a television in here and hooked it to cable. I don’t watch it, but he refused to stay without it—probably because I tortured him with Stephen King books. For a badass MC guy, Ghost doesn’t have a taste for the gory horror. There’s really not much to look at in the apartment. The only personal touches are what I’ve put on the built-in bookshelf on the right side of the wall. There are books because, hey, I’m a reader. There are also photos in frames. Pictures of Ghost and I from a few years back and one that’s a selfie that I snapped the day before he was shot. I look at it often, and until recently, I don’t think I realized how sad his eyes look—despite the smile on his face.
“Why have you started calling me Drew all of the sudden?” I ask, wondering why I miss his silly nickname.
“It fits you. Much better than Cilla, by the way. How the hell did you ever come up with that?” He turns around to face me still holding the picture of me and G. I go to stand beside him taking the picture out of his hands. I put it back on the shelf ignoring the way my fingers tingle as they brush his in the process.