Gathering Storm

by Alexa Land

  “I interviewed a few applicants.”

  “And none of them were good enough?”

  “None of them were gay enough,” I said with a little grin. “That line of work tends to draw a lot of hetero alpha douchebags. If I’m going to be stuck with someone 24/7, I need to be able to stand them.”

  “Is that really the issue?”

  “Well, no. Actually, I’ve been thinking about it, and I decided a bodyguard is overkill. I know those letters are pretty unnerving, but this person hasn’t actually done anything.”

  “He’s threatened your life, Hunter.”

  “But that’s all it is, a threat. He probably won’t ever act on anything in his letters.”

  Christopher looked like he had a lot more to say on the subject, but I was spared a lecture by his buzzing phone. He pulled it out of his pocket as I sat up a little, tucking my legs under me. The worry line between his brows got a little deeper as he read his screen. “What’s wrong?” I asked as he got up.

  “It’s Kieran, he hurt his back trying to fix that plumbing problem. He asked me to take a cab over to the house, so I can drive him home in his car. It must be pretty serious if he thinks he can’t drive.”

  I jumped up too. “I’ll come with you,” I said. “If it’s that bad, you might need my help to get him to a hospital.”

  Maybe fifteen minutes later, our cab pulled to the curb on a quiet street in Noe Valley. It was the first time I’d seen the compact Victorian that Kieran and his brother inherited a few months ago, after their dad died. Two people were on the little front porch, one in a wheelchair, the other flat on his back. After we paid the cab driver, Christopher ran up to the prone figure and I trailed after him, eyeing Brian suspiciously as I turned up my collar against the heavy rain.

  Like his brother, Brian was a big guy with broad shoulders. He was dressed in a grubby t-shirt with a bandana tied around his head, arms crossed over his chest. A thick beard and long, brown hair kind of made him look like a Hell’s Angels wanna-be. And he was a double amputee, both legs ending somewhere below the knee, but this was obscured by his baggy sweatpants. From everything I’d heard about this guy, he was a homophobic asshole, and most definitely on my shit list.

  “Kier, are you okay?” Christopher asked as he dropped to his knees and rested a hand on his fiancé’s forehead.

  “I will be, baby,” Kieran said with a little smile.

  “What happened?”

  “Well, turns out I’m not much of a plumber.”

  “Ya think?” Brian muttered.

  I glared at him as I came up the stairs, and said, “Wow, way to instantly live up to your douchey reputation.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Brian asked, raising an eyebrow at me. “Because I don’t remember calling anyone to fix my computer.”

  “Bite me, Duck Dynasty,” I said with a sneer. Then I shot Christopher a look and tapped my thick black glasses with a fingertip. “Told you.”

  “What happened?” Christopher asked Kieran.

  “I dropped the toilet I was trying to replace, and wrenched my back trying to catch it,” he said.

  Brian added, “Don’t forget the part about it falling all the way through to the basement, and rupturing the main sewer line in the process.”

  “Turns out, the toilet had a slow leak, which rotted out the wood beneath the tiles,” Kieran said. “It’s surprising the floor didn’t collapse sooner.”

  “Fucking awesome,” Brian muttered.

  “God, you’re ungrateful,” I told him, hands on my hips. “Your brother was trying to fix things for you.”

  “My brother just caused a crater in our only downstairs bathroom!” Brian exclaimed.

  “He was still trying to help, and he doesn’t deserve your shitty attitude.”

  “Screw you,” Brian said.

  “Wow, clever comeback.”

  “Who the hell are you?” he repeated.

  “I’m your very favorite thing, yet another gay guy. You’re totally outnumbered.”

  “Yeah, because I really needed you to tell me you’re gay,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “And I didn’t need to be told you’re a rude, homophobic dickhead.”

  Christopher interrupted us, asking his fiancé, “Why are you out on the porch?”

  “Well,” Kieran said, “turns out when you rupture a main sewer line, your entire house reeks of raw sewage. It’s uninhabitable in there, and the plumber I called can’t get replacement parts until tomorrow.”

  “Come on,” Christopher said, sliding his arm behind Kieran’s shoulders. “Let me help you up. I’ll drive you to the emergency room.”

  Kieran sat up slowly, wincing with pain. “That might be an idea. I don’t know what I did to my back, but it’s definitely not good.”

  “What’re you going to do with Grizzly Adams over there?” I asked, tilting my head toward Brian.

  “They don’t need to do anything with me,” he snapped.

  “Oh really?” I asked. “Because last I checked, it’s pissing down rain and you’re stuck on the tiny porch of a poop-scented house.” That earned me a hard glare.

  “Brian will need someplace to stay for the next few days, until I can get that bathroom floor rebuilt,” Kieran said, standing very, very slowly.

  My friend chewed his lip as he helped his fiancé to his feet, Kieran’s face contorting with pain. “Well,” Christopher said, “I’d suggest dropping him off at our apartment, but there’s no elevator. The gallery downstairs is accessible, but other than four walls, it doesn’t have much to offer.” Kieran tried to straighten up a bit, but doubled over with a grunt, and Christopher tightened his grip on him and spoke to him soothingly.

  “I’ll make sure Cro-magnon Man gets situated somewhere,” I said. “You just worry about Kieran, he’s not looking so good.” All the color had drained from his face and he’d broken out in a light sweat, breathing quickly and shallowly to try to manage the pain that standing up had caused.

  “That seems like a really bad idea,” my friend said, glancing from Brian to me.

  “It’ll be fine,” I told him. “I’m not going to roll him off the Bay Bridge or anything, no matter how tempting that is. Now go on, get Kieran to the hospital and hooked up with some pain killers, stat.”

  Christopher weighed his options for a few moments, and came up empty. “Well, okay. I’ll check in with you as soon as I can,” he said, and focused on his injured partner. They started down the wheelchair ramp, moving at a snail’s pace, and I tugged off my overcoat and draped it over Kieran’s slumped form to keep the rain off him.

  “Thanks,” he murmured.

  “You’re welcome. Feel better, Kier,” I called as I ducked back under the roof of the porch. When they reached Kieran’s rusty old Ford Mustang, Christopher helped him into the passenger seat before jogging around to the driver’s side. After he started it up, the car kind of lurched away from the curb. I’d never seen my friend drive before, and wondered if he actually had a license.

  “What are you still doing here?” Brian wanted to know. “Aren’t they expecting you back at Geek Squad headquarters?”

  I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t think I won’t bitch slap you, Chewbacca. Now who do you want me to call to come get your sweatpants-wearing ass?”

  “Just go away.”

  “Gladly. As soon as you tell me who to call.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and waved it in the air.

  “I can dial a damn phone, nerdboy. Leave.”

  “Is your phone on you?”

  “No, it’s inside.” He rolled over to the door and tried the handle, then ran a hand over his face.

  “Lock yourself out?” I asked, and he sighed and glared at me. “Here, use mine.” I held the phone out to him, and he looked at it and then looked away.

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’ve alienated all of your friends and family with this angry-at-the-world pity party you’ve had going on for God knows how long, an
d now there’s no one to call. Am I right?”

  “Eat me.”

  “I’m exactly right, aren’t I?”

  That pissed him off, and he yelled, “Just go to hell, you fucking f—”

  I cut him off, getting right in his face and yelling back, “I swear to God, if you say faggot I will force feed you your nasty-ass ZZ Top beard!”

  Surprisingly, he grinned, just a little. Then he said, “I was going to say fucker.”

  “You were going to call me a fucking fucker?”

  “Yeah, I was.” When I shot him a look, he added, “What? It’s not like I rehearsed it.” That tiny grin still lingered.

  “Do I amuse you?” I asked, straightening up and putting my hands on my hips again.

  “You just threatened to force feed me my beard. Was that not supposed to be amusing?”

  “I’m colorful. So sue me.” I waved the phone again and said, “Really? There’s not a single person you want to call?”

  “I was going to call a cab and have it take me to a motel, except that my wallet’s locked inside, too.”

  “Okay. So, I’ll take you to a hotel and check you in, and you can pay me back later.”

  He glanced up at me suspiciously, one eyebrow raised. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I promised Christopher I’d look after you, and he and Kieran have enough to worry about right now. I want to be able to report that you’re safe and sound.”

  “I’m not a child. I don’t need you looking after me.”

  “Like hell you don’t.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Wow, another damn fine comeback. And you know you need my help, Brian. That probably hurts your big, stupid, hetero ego, but I really don’t give a shit.”

  “Stop acting like you know a damn thing about me.”

  “I know plenty,” I said. “For example, I know that a while back, you didn’t like what your brother made you for dinner, so you threw a plate through the living room window.”

  “That wasn’t about dinner. I was having a bad day.”

  “Were you also having a bad day when you met my best friend for the first time and called your own brother a faggot?” I held my hand up and said, “Don’t answer that. I don’t care what kind of day you were having, because that was not okay! That’s your kid brother, you jerk! And here you are, calling him names and acting like a schoolyard bully. How dare you treat Kieran like that? I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I’d assume that would be pretty fucking obvious!”

  I stared at him incredulously. “Are you seriously trying to tell me it’s okay to treat your brother like shit because you lost your legs and ended up in a wheelchair? Are you kidding me?”

  “No, that’s not at all what I’m saying! Shit!” Brian grabbed the metal rims on the wheels of his chair and propelled himself forward, gliding quickly down the ramp.

  “Where are you going?” I called. He didn’t respond, so I ran after him, the rain immediately soaking through my t-shirt. When we reached the sidewalk, I jumped in front of him and acted like a human brake, stopping his momentum with a palm on each armrest of his wheelchair.

  “Move,” he growled.

  “No. I’m serious about not letting anything happen to you, for Christopher and Kieran’s sake.”

  “God, you’re a pain!”

  “Look who’s talking! Just let me get us a cab and get you checked in to a hotel, and then you never have to see me again.”

  He sighed and pushed a strand of wet hair out of his face, glaring up at me for several long moments. Like Christopher earlier, he too was obviously weighing his options and coming up empty. Finally he admitted defeat and muttered, “Fine.”

  I let go of his chair and watched him for a beat to make sure he didn’t take off down the sidewalk. Then I ducked under a tree and dialed a cab company. When I disconnected, I called over to him, “They said ten minutes.” Brian was giving me the silent treatment now, which was a plus, as far as I was concerned.

  When the taxi finally arrived, he rolled up beside it and tugged the back door open, then positioned himself as close to the side of the cab as he could get. He hesitated for a long moment, then glanced up at me. For the first time, I saw a hint of vulnerability in his blue eyes. But then he pulled up his veneer of anger and said, “I don’t really need a fucking audience for this.”

  I half-turned away from him and pulled out my phone, scrolling through a few texts. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Brian struggled out of his chair and into the taxi, awkwardly pulling himself onto the back seat. He then reached out the open door and flipped a couple levers on his chair, collapsing it flat, and tried to pull it into the cab with him. It was never going to fit. I went over to him and took the chair from his hands, called to the driver to pop the trunk, and deposited it in the back for him without discussion.

  When I got in the taxi, I directed the driver to the nearest hotel I could think of. As we pulled away from the curb, Brian muttered, “I didn’t need your help with that chair. I had it.”

  “No, you didn’t. And I can’t believe that anyone would be stubborn enough to refuse basic mobility training. I mean, what the hell, Brian? Not only that, but you’re supposedly an excellent candidate for prostheses, but you refuse to go to the clinic and find out about your options! What are you trying to prove?”

  He stared at me, his eyes blazing with anger as he growled, “I can’t believe my brother’s been blabbing to strangers about my personal business.”

  “He’s not blabbing to strangers. He was talking to his fiancé about it once and I happened to be there, since your future brother-in-law is my best friend. My name’s Hunter, by the way. Not that you asked.”

  “This is none of your damn business, Hunter.”

  “Of course it is, because I care about Christopher. He loves your brother, you make Kieran miserable, and in turn, that makes my best friend unhappy. Oh look! Now it’s my business.”

  “You’re a real piece of work. You know that?”

  We bickered all the way to the hotel, and when the cab pulled up before the big glass doors of the Marriot, I patted my pockets and murmured, “Shit.” My wallet must have been in my overcoat, which I’d lent to Kieran. I pulled a few crumpled bills from the pockets of my jeans and chewed a nail for a moment, thinking through my alternatives. Then I told the cab driver, “Change of plans,” and recited my address.

  As the taxi pulled out of the circular driveway, Brian asked, “What exactly are we doing?”

  After I explained the whereabouts of my wallet, he muttered, “Fucking awesome. So where are you taking me now?”

  “My apartment.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think? No hotel is going to let you check in without a credit card, and neither of us has access to one at the moment,” I told him. “This is the only alternative I can think of, unless you can give me another address to take you to. I know you have a huge family, surely all of them can’t hate you.”

  “I have no idea if they hate me. All I know is, I don’t want to see any of them.”

  “My apartment it is then, just for one night. In the morning, you’re back to being Kieran’s problem. Hopefully by then, he’ll be hopped up on enough painkillers to make you tolerable.”

  He shot me a look, and after a moment said, “Why don’t we go back to my house and break a window? Then you can climb in and get my wallet.”

  “Oh yeah, because I really want to experience the fascinating aroma of raw sewage. Plus, can’t sewer gas blow up?”

  “All the pilot lights were shut off, it’s not going to ignite.”

  “Well, I still don’t want to go in there.”

  “Wimp.”

  “Neanderthal.”

  “Bite me.”

  “You first.”

  After another pause, he suggested, “We could go to the hospital and retrieve your wallet from Kieran.”

  “Let’s just leave your poor b
rother in peace tonight. This’ll be fine. I have a big apartment, you and I will barely see each other. Plus,” I admitted, “I’m not positive my wallet’s in my coat. Now that I think about it, I might have left it at home.”

  He rolled his eyes and fell silent during the remainder of the ride to my place.

  After I retrieved the wheelchair from the trunk and gave the cab driver all the cash I had on me, apologizing profusely for the measly tip, I unlocked the door to the lobby. Brian rolled ahead of me wordlessly to the elevator, and we rode to the top floor.

  Once inside my apartment, I said, “I’ll get you some bedding for the couch, it’s pretty comfortable. I fall asleep on it all the time.” I locked the door behind us, then muttered, “What’s that smell?” Something sharp and chemically hung in the air.

  Brian preceded me into the living room, glancing around. “It’s paint,” he said. “How do you not know that?”

  “I just couldn’t place it for a minute, and I don’t see why it would smell like paint in here. I haven’t been having any work done.” But then I shrugged it off and said, “Maybe it’s coming from one of my neighbors’ apartments. I’ll get you a blanket and pillows.”

  At the door to my bedroom, I stopped short. It took a moment to process exactly what I was seeing, fear trickling like ice water down my spine. Someone had spray-painted a single word in four-foot high red letters on the wall above my bed. It said: Whore.

  Chapter Two

  I hadn’t heard Brian come up behind me, and when he muttered, “What the hell?” I jumped. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Who did that?”

  I was way too stunned to reply. I just kept standing there dumbly, staring at that word, watching the red paint slowly run down the wall. It was almost surreal. All I could hear was my heartbeat thudding in my ears, the smell of spray paint overwhelming my senses.

  “Hunter, who did that?” he repeated, his tone a little more forceful.

  “I…I don’t know. I have a stalker. Maybe…maybe he did this. I don’t know how he’d get in here, though.”

  “Do you own a gun?” I raised my hand and pointed into the room. “In the nightstand?” Brian asked, and I nodded. He quickly rolled over to the little bedside table and yanked open the drawer, then pulled out my Beretta and checked the clip. He stuck his head in the bathroom and looked all around, then said, “Get in the bathroom and lock the door behind you, then dial 911. Do you hear me?”