by Roxie Noir
Tell her, I think. If you’re going to talk her into running away with you, tell her.
I don’t really know how, because all I can think is I should have already told her and I should never have done that. I’m a little afraid of the way she’s going to look at me now.
But this is Ruby, and everything we have is based on me being absolutely fucking truthful with her, even if I don’t want to. Even if I don’t know how to say it.
So I take a deep breath and man up.
“There’s something you should know,” I start, something cold and heavy weighing in my stomach. “About why I’m on leave from the Secret Service.”
She frowns slightly, her hand still circling through my hair, distracted and sleepy.
“Gabriel, what did you do?” she asks, her voice light and teasing.
There’s an iron band around my chest, squeezing.
“I had an affair with a married congresswoman,” I say.
Her hand stops.
“I wish like hell I hadn’t,” I go on. “But I did.”
“Did you know?” she asks, her voice soft, her hand still.
I swallow hard.
“Not at first,” I say, my eyes closed. I’m afraid to look at her right now. “I know I could have found out, I just didn’t. I had a bad habit of thinking with my dick.”
“But you knew later,” she persists.
“I did.”
“And you stopped sleeping with her?”
Here it goes. The worst part.
“No,” I say. “I figured, what was done was done, so I kept it up. Until we got caught by one of her aides one night, and the whole thing blew up.”
She thinks about it, quietly, for a long time. After a while, her fingers start weaving through my hair again, and I relax a little. At least she hasn’t stormed out, hasn’t started crying.
“I thought you got in trouble for sleeping around too much,” she finally says.
My eyes fly open.
“That was the next thing I was gonna tell you,” I say.
“I overheard some of the other security guys talking, and I’m nosy,” she says. “And just… I don’t know.”
I roll over onto my side and take her hand in mine.
“Don’t know what?”
“I don’t know if I care,” she says. “Did you offer to run away with all your other women?”
“For the most part, I didn’t know their last names,” I say. “Ruby, I know there’s no reason you should believe me, but this is different. I’ve never…”
I have no idea how to phrase what I’m going to say.
“I’ve never spent an hour thinking about how to make another girl smile,” I say. I’m not even thinking about it, just talking, because we’re in this pure, raw moment. “I’ve never thought I’d give a testicle to be able to hold someone’s hand in public before, I’ve never wanted to just hang out and drink whiskey and talk for hours to someone before. You don’t have to believe me, but this is…”
I take another deep breath.
“I don’t know what this is,” I say. “This is new.”
She rubs her thumb along the back of my hand.
“Then at least something’s new for both of us,” she says, almost smiling. “And you know something else?”
“What?”
“If you having that affair brought you here, I don’t know how mad I can be.”
I grin and kiss her hand, because she’s got a point.
“Then I don’t completely regret it,” I say. “Only mostly.”
I don’t know what wakes me up, but it’s just barely light outside, the sky outside my blinds just a shade lighter than the darkness inside. I lie in bed, my face half-buried in my pillow for a moment, trying to remember what was it was.
Not a dream, I think. Those have been happening less and less over the past few years, but every time I have one — the blast, the screams, falling to the dusty ground, gasping like I’m trying to breathe through a straw — I’m sweating and thrashing, usually woken up by the sound of my own shouting.
Maybe it was nothing, I think, but I have the distinct feeling that something woke me up, so I push myself up.
To my right is a soft snore, and I freeze. Ruby’s lying there, mouth slightly open, both arms over her head, dead asleep and snoring.
“Shit,” I say out loud.
Her eyes flicker open, and for a long moment she just looks at me, totally uncomprehending, like she’s confused about where she is and how she got here.
Then she gasps, her eyes fly open, and she scrambles out of my bed, totally naked.
“What time is it?” she hisses, grabbing her skirt and pulling it on as she looks at my bedside clock and answers her own question: it’s 5:05am.
Even in the dark, Ruby goes white.
“Go now,” I say, also getting out of bed. I look around the floor and find her bra, tossing it to her. “You’ve got time, you can get back in before anyone’s awake, maybe say you couldn’t sleep so you got up early to practice being a good wife or whatever bullshit they want to—”
“Charleston,” Ruby says.
It takes me a minute to process.
“Fuck,” I say, finding her panties in a ball near the door. “Is the bus here already?”
She peeks through the blinds very, very carefully.
“I don’t think so,” she says, grabbing her panties from me and pulling them on. “Where’s my shirt?”
“Couch?” I say, but she’s already out my bedroom door, practically sprinting down the stairs. Her shirt’s on my coffee table, and she pulls it on, flips her hair out, finds her shoes.
I kiss her quickly, a half-kiss, and grab her hand before she can run out the door.
“You’ve got the plan?” I ask.
She blinks, staring at me blankly for a second, and then grins.
“Right here,” she says, and taps her temple with one finger. “Tonight.”
Then she’s flying out the door, power-walking across the lawn, avoiding the motion sensors. I watch her until she gets around the corner of the house, and I slump back down onto the couch, rubbing my eyes.
I can’t believe I fell asleep, I think. There’s one thing you can’t do, and that’s it.
Though maybe if she gets caught, she’d run away with me.
I get why she keeps saying no. We’ve known each other for a couple of weeks at this point, and Ruby’s anything but stupid; besides, if I were her, I’d be hesitant to depend on anyone but myself, too.
But I want her to. I want her to come away with me, I want her to grab a backpack full of her stuff and we’ll drive away from her father’s house and from Huntsburg in my shitty car and drive somewhere else. Anywhere else.
I’ve got a couple thousand dollars in savings, and even if I’m not going back into the Secret Service I spent eight years in the Marines and three in D.C., so I can get a job somewhere. Ruby could work part-time, go to college, figure out what she wants to do with her life.
We could get a place together, maybe somewhere out in the country. At night, we’d sit outside and drink whiskey while we watched the lightning bugs and in the morning I’d wake up with her in my arms.
“Jesus,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. I’m still half asleep and just daydreaming, but there’s no way I’m going back to sleep, so I make coffee, get dressed, and pray that Ruby doesn’t get caught.
I guess she doesn’t, because I make it through the entire day without getting called on the carpet and fired. An overnight trip with the Senator and his huge entourage is at least three times the insanity of a regular day trip. There are two buses, both overflowing with people and their stuff.
As I watch everyone load up, one eye always on Ruby, I can’t help but think: if I were going to take her, I’d do it now. But no one takes her, of course.
On the bus, I sit behind her and her sister Grace, sharing my row with Steven, her new, second bodyguard. He’s young, twenty-four, and has that fresh-
out-of-the-military twitchiness that I remember so well.
He also won’t stop calling me sir, no matter how many times I tell him not to during the hours-long briefing on the bus ride.
I try to sound professional. I try to say keep her appraised of her situation, not tell her everything, she deserves to know.
I try to say sometimes she forgets she has bodyguards and wanders off, not she’s probably smarter than you and can escape if she wants.
I don’t tell him that she likes peaches better than pears but strawberries better than peaches; I don’t tell him that she thinks funny-looking chickens are exceptionally hilarious; I don’t tell him that if she were a wizard her Patronus animal would be a fox and if she had to put her soul into a horcrux, she’d use her paperback copy of The Hatchet.
Nothing happens at her father’s town hall meeting, or on the bus ride, or at the diner where her father has a dinner-slash-photo-op. Nothing happens when we get to the hotel in charming downtown Charleston where we have two entire floors.
We settle in. Ruby and Grace go to the pool, though they don’t swim, they just watch the kids splash in the kiddie pool while Steven and I sit by. After a while they head back upstairs, Grace to her room, Ruby to the one that she shares with Pearl, and we walk her to her door. It’s ten.
“Will you be going anywhere else tonight?” I ask, hands folded in front of myself.
Steven looks on, face as blank as a stone wall. Ruby smiles, and even though it’s the fake, sweet smile, something in her eyes sparkles.
“I don’t think so,” she says. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to lock the door and call you if I go somewhere.”
“Sleep well, ma’am,” Steven says, twitching his head once. I think it’s a nod.
“Thank you,” she says.
“We’ll be here at seven to escort you to breakfast,” I tell her.
Down the hall, someone opens a door, leaves a room, and knocks on another one. The whole floor is still bustling with activity.
“That sounds lovely,” she says. “Good night!”
She turns away, and at the last second, she winks at me.
It’s everything I can do not to smile.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ruby
I’m lying awake in my bed, listening to Pearl’s breathing. I’ve been lying awake and listening to Pearl’s breathing for the better part of an hour now, not daring to move a muscle myself, watching the numbers on the glowing green clock in the middle of the room as they tick toward eleven-thirty.
For the thousandth time, I go over the plan. The map of the hotel is pretty much burned into my brain, and I think I’ve been over it enough times that I could draw it in my sleep.
Pearl snorts. I freeze, even though I already wasn’t moving, but then she rolls over and I exhale.
Eleven twenty.
Time to roll.
Cautiously, I get out of bed. Pearl doesn’t move, so I grab the tote bag that’s buried in the bottom of my suitcase and take it into the bathroom, pull out the clothes I brought, and put them on.
Skinny jeans. A tank top.
A thong, which I bought years ago when I was married to Lucas, then never wore. Before I pull my jeans up, I check it out in the mirror: black and lacy, a total one-eighty from anything Gabriel’s ever seen me wear before.
The thought makes me nervous, like maybe I’m being too aggressive and forward, but then I roll my eyes at myself.
You show up at his apartment every night and practically jump his bones, I think. Don’t worry about a thong.
I stash the bag back in my suitcase, flicking off the bathroom light. Pearl’s still asleep, her form one long lump in the bed. I take the keycard from the dresser, pocket it, and then say a quick prayer.
God, I’m sorry that I’m about to do some stuff that you may or may not approve of, I’m not really sure any more, I think. But please don’t let me get caught.
Then I’m out the door, power walking down the hall.
Just as I reach the elevators, I hear a door behind me open and my heart leaps into my throat but I sprint the final two steps to the stairwell and shove the door open, pushing it closed myself. The click echoes in the concrete space, and then there’s silence.
I can’t hear anyone walking down the hall. I can’t hear anything.
Before I lose my nerve, I’m racing down three flights the of stairs. I take a deep breath and open the door at the bottom, silently praying that there are no surprises behind it.
There’s a blank hallway. My skin prickles with relief, and I turn right, down the hall and around to the left. I walk past the bar quickly, hoping that there are no security guys getting a late-night beer, and then I’m pushing open the door to the pool, the warm, humid night air embracing me.
It’s technically closed, but there’s one woman in a black bathing suit slowly doing the backstroke, lit from underneath as the water and lights ripple around her. I shove my hands in my pockets and keep walking, so nervous and electrified that I don’t think I can slow down.
I round the corner, and then, there he is, in jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up past the elbows, grinning like he’s just won the lottery.
When I walk up, Gabriel pulls me into a short hallway that leads to the bathrooms. He doesn’t say anything, just takes my face in his hands and kisses me, slow and hard, mouths open. I trail one hand down his chest and he finds the small of my back with his fingers, pressing me into him before he grabs my ass.
“You should wear tight pants more often,” he teases.
“I’ll make a note of that,” I tease right back.
His other hand drifts down and cups my ass as well, squeezing slightly, and I laugh.
“You never did tell me why women can’t wear pants,” he says. “Is this it?”
“I’m sure it’s one of the reasons,” I say. “But it’s not the reason.”
My butt gets one final squeeze, and the Gabriel takes my hand. We leave the hallway and walk out of the pool area, into a small, dark alley. I’d be nervous if it weren’t for him.
“What’s the reason?” he asks.
“Because the seam where the legs meet rubs against the crotch and might excite the passions,” I say.
Gabriel looks down at me, and we walk out onto the sidewalk of downtown Charleston. Even though it’s a little late, it’s still busy.
“No one’s ever said that,” he says, disbelief in his voice, and I just laugh.
“You know why Kyle keeps bringing me daisies?” I ask as we keep walking.
“I assumed they were the cheapest flower he could find at the Gas ’N’ Go, or wherever he buys those things,” Gabriel says.
“They’re one of the few church-approved flowers,” I say. “Since the petals go out and not up. Most other flowers look too much like the feminine parts.”
Gabriel’s quiet for a moment. We pass a bar that’s full of people, spilling out onto the sidewalk, and for once, nobody looks at me weird.
I’d fit in at a bar, I think.
It’s like I’m a normal woman on a normal date with a normal guy. Doing normal stuff.
“I can almost see the point about flowers,” Gabriel muses. “Who’s that famous lesbian painter who painted all those close-ups of — what’s funny?”
I’m laughing softly.
“This is normal,” I say. “We’re just two people on a date. We’re holding hands. No one is gonna tell us about Satan.”
“Probably. We’re still in South Carolina.”
“Probably no one is gonna tell us about Satan,” I say. “It’s just...”
He squeezes my hand.
“I haven’t done this before,” I say, shrugging. “And it’s nice.”
Gabriel brings my hand to his lips and kisses it.
“And I thought I’d feel guiltier,” I admit. “When I kissed a boy for the first time I felt awful for months, and I cried and prayed and everything, but now I... don’t.”
“Well
, it’s good to hear you don’t feel terrible about this,” he says dryly. “For the record, I don’t feel guilty about two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company either.”
“You make it sound so uncomplicated,” I tease. “It’s like you haven’t even factored hellfire into the equation.”
We walk a couple more blocks through downtown Charleston until Gabriel leads me to a bar. From inside I can hear a live band, something thumpy and down-home with a banjo, and there’s a bouncer who checks our IDs.
He barely glances at Gabriel’s, but when I hand over my driver’s license — yes, it’s a miracle, but I really do have one — he frowns at it for a couple of seconds, shining his flashlight on it from a couple different angles, like he’s expecting something to pop out of it.
Then he looks at me, squinting a little.
Do I tell him that’s my real ID? Does that just make me seem suspicious?
I mean, it’s really my ID.
Is he somehow working for my father?
Just as I’m about to really starting panicking, the guy nods and hands my license back. I heave a sigh of relief, and Gabriel leans over my shoulder, looking at it as we walk into the bar.
And he grins.
“How old is that photo?” he asks.
I go to shove it back into my wallet but he reaches over my shoulder and snags it from my fingers, still grinning.
“I don’t know,” I say defensively. “A couple of years? I know it’s not a great picture.”
“I think you were hypnotized into taking it,” he says as we walk toward a small booth along the wall. He’s holding my license just out of my reach, and even though I’m not about to make a big fuss in public, I’d really like it back.
“Okay, now you’re just being mean,” I tease as we slide into a round booth. “Give me that back.”
“You’re cute when you’re hypnotized.”
“I wasn’t hypnotized, just at the DMV!”
“Or maybe you’re on the really good drugs in this picture.”
I make a grab for my license, but he avoids me smoothly, hovering it just out of my reach. Now I’m giggling, and I cross my legs and smooth my shirt down, trying to pretend that we’re not flirting like middle schoolers.