“Sadie! Don’t eat the sand, love!”
Ellie laughs at her husband, Adam, as he hustles over to their fifteen-month old daughter right as she shoves another handful of sand in her mouth.
I grin at her antics. “She’s walking,” I comment from my beach chair next to Ellie.
“She is. Started a month ago. It’s horrible,” Ellie giggles. “It’s exhausting keeping up with her.”
“Adam seems to do okay,” I point out.
“He does,” she agrees. Ellie shades her eyes to watch Adam rinse off their daughter in the low surf. Memories of playing on the beach a few miles from here with Sydney Tannen while our parents watched flick through my brain. I shake my head—that seems like a lifetime ago.
I take a moment to glance at all the familiar faces. After hiding in my house for the past two weeks, Hawke insisted I throw a post-tour beach party. I resisted, but he was a persistent ass who wouldn’t give up.
In retrospect, I’m glad he did. It’s nice to get outside, see my friends having fun, but any joy I feel is fleeting and false. I still feel as if my insides have been removed, shredded, and put back together incorrectly. Everything that used to make me happy does nothing for me now.
Ellie sighs. “It’s not too late, you know.”
“What?” I take a sip of my drink and watch our friends play volleyball. Dax growls after Hawke spikes the ball at Kate, who is four months pregnant and radiant in her lime green bikini.
“To get Mitch back. It’s not too late,” Ellie repeats.
“They still haven’t caught the stalker.” I point my glass at the bodyguards surrounding our party. They’re wearing casual clothing but stick out like a bunch of gorillas in a petting zoo.
“Hmmm,” she hums.
“Don’t do that, El. I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap, slugging back the rest of my cocktail.
The pain is too raw to discuss. I’ve never been in love before. Had I known it would hurt this much, would I still have made the sacrifice?
Yes, I think sadly. I would.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I jerk my head up at the sound of Hawke’s angry snarl.
“I need to see my son.”
No fucking way.
I leap to my feet. “Dad?”
Ellie grabs my hand. “Gavin, this isn’t the time or place. You’re still too broken up and emotional to deal with him.”
Two bodyguards have stopped my dad from entering our section of the beach. Dax and Hawke are hurrying over to help, and probably give a piece of their mind. Adam jogs over and deposits Sadie on Ellie’s lap.
“Do you want him to leave?” Adam asks, the enraged expression on his normally smiling face is shocking.
Stunned, it takes me a minute to respond. My dad looks older. Much older, his blonde hair thinned some, his frame less bulky and more slender, but I guess that’s what ten years will do to a person.
Bitter and angry over breaking up with Mitch and my life in general, I’m volatile. I’ve been dying for a good fight. Maybe this is exactly what I need.
“No. I’ll handle it.” I swallow down my nerves and let the resentment take over. “Tell them to escort Colonel Walker to the house,” I hiss. “I’ll wait inside.”
I head up to the house, taking the back steps two at a time. My blood is pounding through my veins, a flood of adrenaline getting my body primed for whatever might come during a confrontation with my father.
Pacing the kitchen, I shove my hair back with a sweaty palm.
I will not let that bastard get to me.
The back door opens and one of the massive guards enters, my dad following behind.
“Mr. Walker,” he nods. “I’ll be in the next room.”
“You can wait on the deck,” I insist. The big man is about to argue. I hold out a hand. “I’ll be fine.”
He scowls, but steps outside, remaining a few feet from the door.
“What are you doing here?” I maintain a calm façade, not wanting to let my dad know he still gets to me after all these years.
I take a good look at the man who raised me and am taken aback. Where I once felt small and meek compared to him, I now stand an inch or two taller. Flashing blue eyes that used to intimidate me are crinkled with crow’s feet. His powerful frame, once strong enough to frighten me into submission seems insubstantial and ordinary.
The power has flipped, from father to son. Something I don’t think my dad thought about before coming here to spew whatever hate he has to say.
Fisting my hands, I stand up tall, letting my body take up space in the kitchen. I keep my chin up high, showing Dennis Walker that I won’t cow to his demands.
Hesitation flickers behind those stubborn blue eyes, but he’s steadfast in his decision, so he plows forward.
“What’s the meaning of all this in the news?” he spits, his shoulders heaving with anger at whatever crime it is that I’ve perpetrated to disappoint him this time.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, remaining unruffled. On the outside, anyway. Inside, I’m a powder keg waiting for a match.
“Don’t bullshit me, Gavin. All this…” he grimaces, waving his hands around in distaste. “This talk about being gay. You need to fix it and tell them it’s not true!”
The man is completely delusional. I can’t believe I ever let him control me. I can’t believe I let his pathetic opinion drive me to attempt suicide.
“I will not tell them anything of the sort. You have no say in my life. In case the ten year silence was too vague for you, here’s me being clear…” I take a step towards my dad. His eyes flick down to my hands, curled up at my sides, before returning to my face. “I’m gay, dad. A fag. I suck dick and I like it. I’m not ashamed and I don’t give a fuck what you think!”
I’ve slowly moved forward until we’re less than a foot apart. If he thinks he’s so tough, then I welcome him to try taking me down.
My dad’s eyes widen in shock and he sputters. “Y-you have to fix it! People are talking! T-this guy isn’t going to stop. H-he’ll eventually get you, Gavin.”
“What do you care what people say? You’re not associated with me,” I growl. “Haven’t been in years. And since when are you fucking worried about what happens to me?” I take another step and he stumbles back.
Holy shit. My dad is honest to fucking god afraid of me.
“Didn’t think this out, did you dad? Never figured I’d be bigger than you, huh? I’m not seventeen anymore, I’m nearly thirty. You’re just a fucking coward, only brave when bullying a kid. I might like dick, but I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
My dad’s eyes narrow and he assumes a fight stance, fists raised.
I laugh. “Go ahead. I’ll even let you have the first shot.” I unclench my hands and grin.
“Just, tell them it’s not true. You need to keep that shit to yourself, Gavin! It’s not right to announce it everywhere.” He still has his hands up, but his resolve is wavering, I can see it.
“No. Now either hit me or get the fuck out of my house,” I snarl.
Slowly, his fists uncurl and fall to his sides. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he hisses. “You have to stop.”
“I don’t care. I’m not living my life for you or anyone else.” I stride to the back door and open it. “My father is leaving,” I announce to the guard.
“B-but we’re not done here!” my dad stammers. “The stalker—”
“I believe you are done, sir,” the hulking bodyguard says. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
I nod and he takes my dad’s upper arm in his meaty paw, tugging him out the door. Before my dad can speak again, I slam it shut and lean back on the countertop.
Why does he give a shit about me being gay? His response, as fucked up as it was when I was a teenager, at least made some sense to me. I was a disappointment, not manly enough for my Air Force dad, a failure.
But now? I’m a grown adult who has no contact with him
so what the hell does it matter? And he’s honestly trying to convince me he’s worried about the stalker? What the fuck ever.
Something about the conversation nags at the back of my mind, but I push it away. Right now, I feel incredible. I finally stood up to Dennis Walker and won.
I pull out my phone to share my emotional high. The first person I want to call and tell is Mitch. Then I remember I broke up with him. My breath hitches and I stuff the phone back in my pocket, tears burning my eyes.
Emotional high destroyed.
Fuck.
***
“So, we’ve gotten quite a few leads with all of the combined information. The case is moving along smoothly.” Agent Halifax says grinning.
“Good, that’s good.” The man continues staring at me. Jesus, this fucker makes me uncomfortable. “Where’s Agent Van Zandt?”
“He’s following up on an interview. Sometimes we split up to cover more ground.” The man shrugs and gives me another one of his lecherous smiles.
I have to concentrate to keep from flinching in disgust. The weird tension is unbearable. “Drink?” I ask, pulling a couple of glasses out of the cabinet.
“Just water, please.”
I can feel his eyes on me as I turn away to fill the glass. Honestly, I want to smash the glass against the side of his head. The few times I’ve spent around the man included his partner. Alone, he gives off fucked-up vibes. Creepy.
“When do you think you’ll catch this guy?” I plunk the glass down and take a seat across the table from the agent, not wanting to be closer than necessary.
“Hard to say. Some of these cases go on for years.” He folds his hands on top of the paperwork.
“Jesus.” Of course, I already knew this. This guy has been at it for over a year. “And how many people did he kill?”
“Eleven,” Agent Halifax responds. “That we know of. All of them missing their left ring finger.”
The fucker is still looking at me. What an asshole.
My phone rings, breaking the bizarre staring contest we have going on. Grateful for the interruption, I answer. “Hello?”
“Gav! I’m going to Vegas, wanna come?” Hawke is practically shouting with excitement.
“Vegas?” I push back and stand up, walking to the next room for privacy. And to get that creepy fuck’s eyes off of me.
“Yeah! It’s going to be so fucking awesome!” I can hear him talking to someone in the background and a bunch of cheers rise up. He’s invited other people.
“Sounds fun, but I’d have to bring my entourage of yetis,” I remind him.
“Shit,” he grumbles. “I forgot.”
“It wouldn’t be any fun with them tagging along.” Not the way Hawke parties. “You go. I’ll talk to you when you get back.”
“Dude, this sucks. They need to fucking catch this asshole,” Hawke snarls. “It’s vacation time. No album, no tours, no recording we need to worry about.”
“I know. They’re working on it. Catch ya later.”
I hang up, annoyed that once again, my life is ruined by the nameless, faceless asshole that’s terrorizing me.
“Friend or boyfriend?”
I jump, unaware that Agent Halifax was standing right behind me.
“Shit!” I scowl at the man and step back. “What the fuck?”
“Sorry,” he smirks, not looking at all sorry. “Was that a friend or a boyfriend?” the man repeats.
What the—? I’ve had enough of Agent Asshat.
“None of your fucking business,” I snap. This asshole has some nerve. “I’m going out soon, so I’ll need you to leave.”
Agent Halifax acts as if nothing that just occurred was the least bit strange. “No problem. We’ll contact you when we know more.” He brushes his hand through his hair and winks.
My eyes must bulge out of my head. I was put off before, but now I’m fuming from his unprofessional behavior. I’m about to tear him a new ass when he opens the front door and leaves.
What in the ever-loving fuck was that?
Mitch
“Mom, no, I’m fine.”
I roll my eyes and sag onto my new couch, letting my head lay back. It smells like the furniture store. I hate it.
“Mitchell, you’re not fine. I hear it in your voice.”
My mother’s newest goal is to fix my pathetic love life. Specifically, get Gavin and me back together.
“Stop, mom. It’s over. I know you met him at the hospital and bonded or something, but you have to let it go.”
“Sorry, love,” she whispers, properly chastised. “I only want you happy.”
“No,” I sigh. “I’m sorry, mom. I know you mean well. I just…” I swallow thickly. “I can’t talk about him, okay?”
“Okay,” she sniffs. “Don’t be a stranger, Mitchell.”
“I won’t, mom. Love you.”
“Love you, son.”
I hang up the phone and toss it onto the cushion, letting my eyes drift shut. My injuries have kept me from working out and I was only just cleared to begin light exercise, so my energy level has been low. Maybe I should walk on the treadmill for a while.
A loud knocking at my front door wakes me from my dozing. I must have fallen asleep on the couch. I’m not even halfway to the foyer when the pounding starts again.
Jesus! “Hold on!”
I fling open the door to find my former co-worker and current resident in Mitch Hale’s doghouse, Sasha Knight.
“Sasha?” My mouth hangs open, catching flies, as she pushes past me and closes the door.
“Mitch. Why haven’t you answered any of my calls, emails, text messages…?” She counts each item off on her fingers. “I was about to send a damn letter!”
I frown. “How are you Sasha? Me? I’m great! Everything is wonderful! Yeah, I was shot by a lunatic and watched my life unravel from a hospital bed, but thanks for asking!” I retort with an overabundance of sarcasm.
She scowls with her hands on her hips. “Don’t be a jerk, Mitch. I’ve been worried about you.”
My shoulders slump in defeat. “I’m exhausted, Sasha. Can we sit?”
“Of course. Go sit. I’ll get us some water.” She turns me around and pushes me towards the living room. There are only two rooms on this floor and the other is the kitchen, so it wasn’t much of a guess for her to prompt me in the right direction.
A minute later, Sasha gingerly sits next to me and hands me a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” I place it on the end table. “You came all this way because I wouldn’t call you back?” I ask, incredulous.
Sasha pales, biting on her perfectly painted lip.
Uh oh.
“What? What’s going on, Sasha?” My hands tremble and my heart begins to pound. Dread knots in my belly, tightening and unfurling like dark tentacles reaching out to squeeze my internal organs.
“I need you to be honest with me, Mitch. No more dodging questions.” I stare at Sasha’s face. Her brown eyes are serious, not a hint of mischief in them. Her mouth is taut, fine lines pulling at the corners.
“Okay.”
“What happened with Grant?”
Fuck. Bile rises in my throat. “Grant?” I squeak.
“Yes, Grant, your partner. Tell me what happened. Why you quit,” she insists.
“Sasha…” I warn. “I don’t like discussing it.”
“I understand, but it’s important, Mitch.” Her eyes are pleading with me, begging me to open up.
“Shit.” I rake a trembling hand through my unkempt hair.
“When was the last time you had a shower?” She asks, her pert little nose wrinkling up in distaste.
“Bloody hell, Sasha, I don’t have a clue,” I growl.
“Sorry, continue.” Sasha gives me a contrite look.
I reluctantly explain what Grant did to me, the teasing, the flirting, and the eventual betrayal. Her eyes get larger and larger as I divulge my relationship with my ex-partner.
“What a pi
ece of shit!” she exclaims, her pretty mouth curled into a snarl. “I always knew there was something fucked up about him. I could never get him to trip up in front of me.”
I shrug. “It was over a year ago, Sasha. What does it matter?”
“Mitch, you know that finger they found backstage in Gavin’s dressing room?” she asks.
I wrinkle my brow, “Yes. What about it?” My brain is struggling to make any connections that might include Sasha.
“It matched up to the victim of a serial killer the taskforce been tracking.”
I’m stunned into silence. When I finally speak, my tone is hesitant. “That’s Van Zandt’s case.” I don’t know the agent well, but I’m grateful to have someone competent searching for Gavin’s stalker—the man who shot me, the sick, twisted human being who brought us together only to tear us apart with a single bullet. Yet I’m also paralyzed by fear. The stalker isn’t just a stalker. He’s a murderer, and an active one at that.
Faint memories of the case fill my mind. The bodies, stripped naked, their left ring finger snipped off postmortem. All men, some gay, some straight, but all of them similar in appearance—tall, blonde, blue eyed… like Gavin.
“Yes, Mitch. It is Van Zandt’s case, but they assigned him a new partner after you left last year. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you. His partner is Grant.”
Chapter 14
Gavin
It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the waves are glistening, people are walking the beach, dipping their feet in the water and enjoying the weather.
I’m wearing my swim trunks, scowling at nothing in particular. I got up early with the intention of getting some surfing in before the crowds become large. Yet here I am hours later, sitting on the beach next to my board, not having gone anywhere near the water.
Some young men are playing Frisbee nearby, laughing and joking around. Even the sight of their tanned and toned bodies does nothing to lift my dark mood.
A pink Frisbee hits the sand nearby. I could get up and throw it back, but my disposition is too shitty to care. One of the men trots over to retrieve it. Before he can reach the bright disc, a member of the Bigfoot squad intercepts him, trying to keep him away.
Resist: Gavin Page 19