by TJ Klune
“Because you called me back the last eight messages I left, right?”
“You know you’re my only girl, Ruth.”
She snorted. “Don’t you try and pull that charmer bullshit with me, Nate. You leave that for your married senators.” She paused, considering. “Or your Marines.”
“He’s not my—”
“I’ll call you back when I got something. But remember, that little girl needs help, you help her. Don’t let anything stop you. Children are the most precious thing in this world. They need someone to fight for them when they can’t fight for themselves. You get me?”
The forest was alive around him. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Her voice softened. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
His eyes burned a little. He missed her greatly. “Thanks, Ruth. You too.”
The phone beeped in his ear.
He sat on the side of the road in his truck for another twenty minutes before he made a decision. He turned the truck around and headed back up the mountain.
chapter seven
He regretted it almost immediately.
Alex was waiting on the porch, watching for the truck.
He had dressed. Jeans and flannel again, which—thank god. Nate didn’t need distractions. Yes, Alex was… attractive. But Nate didn’t want to think that. Especially since so much was unknown. Everything, really. Add in the fact that Alex was more likely to murder him than look at him in any way other than a nuisance. Times, oh they were a-changing, but Nate had been the subject of smear-the-queer a handful of times by guys that looked just like Alex. They’d stand outside the gay bars in DC and shout shit at the queens who blew air kisses at them defiantly. They were aggressive, and everyone knew you couldn’t leave alone. You had a buddy. A system. You carried Mace. You wanted to live your life the way those that had come before had fought for, but you had to be careful. There were people out there who wanted to hurt what they didn’t understand.
He’d never been hit, per se, never been attacked. Not physically. But he’d been in the Pride Parade last year along with thousands of others. He’d been in Freedom Plaza for the street festival. He’d seen the men and women with their Bibles, their faces red, screaming about Sodom and Gomorrah, about how the faggots and the dykes were bringing about the End Times, that God himself found them to be a sin, a blasphemy against nature. He’d seen the cops in their uniforms turning an indifferent eye. He’d seen men in military uniforms looking upon them with disdain, even as some of their brothers and sisters marched, knowing that with the newly passed Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, they could be discharged, even though it was technically supposed to protect them to an extent.
He didn’t know Alex. But he knew the type.
Or maybe he’d be the type that’d fuck to get his rocks off and then still spit on you as you passed him by on the street. Nate knew those types too. They were worse. They were angrier.
It didn’t matter.
Nate wasn’t thinking about this. None of it.
He turned off the truck. He opened the door.
He wouldn’t be intimidated. This was his home.
Alex didn’t speak as Nate made his way toward the cabin. Art was nowhere to be seen. She was probably still inside. Nate didn’t think Alex would let her wander off on her own.
He reached the porch, and before he put his foot on the first step, Alex said, “Where did you go?”
“Away.”
That was apparently the wrong answer. “Where?”
“For a drive, man,” Nate said, keeping his tone even. “You don’t own me. I’m allowed to do what I want.” He wasn’t sure where the bravado was coming from, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to question it.
“You took your phone.”
“Yeah. I did. Because it’s mine.”
“Who did you call?”
He wasn’t dumb. Nate had to keep reminding himself that. “If I even called anyone, I don’t see how it’s your business.”
“You call the cops?”
“No.” That wasn’t a lie.
“Do we need to run?”
That startled Nate. It was so… blunt. “Why would you need to run?”
Alex remained as stoic as ever. He was good. “In case you have someone coming after us.”
Nate laughed a little wildly. “Who the hell would I send after you?”
“You’re a reporter. You probably have contacts.”
“I’m a journalist,” Nate snapped at him, unnerved by just how close Alex was. “And I worked for a paper on the other side of the country. That I was fired from. Do you really think anyone there would be willing to help me?”
“Why were you fired?”
Nate scowled. “I don’t owe you shit. I didn’t call the cops. No one is coming after you. At least not from me. I obviously can’t say the same for you—”
Alex nodded stiffly. “We need to talk.”
That… was surprising. “Are you breaking up with me?” Nate asked before he could stop himself. He winced. “Uh. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“I don’t know if I can now.”
Nate gaped. “Did you just… make a joke?”
“I don’t joke,” Alex said. “If we’re staying here, you need to know a few things.”
“What do you mean, if you’re staying here—don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to—goddammit.”
He sighed before climbing the steps and following Alex into the cabin.
Art wasn’t sitting on the couch. Instead she’d pulled a chair from the kitchen out to the living room. She swung her legs as she sat on it. The sunglasses were gone, as was the towel. Her hair was dry and looked a little fluffy. She grinned when she saw Nate. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Nate said. “Hi.”
“I told you he’d come back,” she said, looking up at Alex as he passed her by.
He grunted at her on his way down the hall.
She rolled her eyes fondly.
Nate wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow. Alex said he wanted to talk, but Nate didn’t feel comfortable being in a bedroom with him. He wanted to be able to run if Alex pulled the gun again.
“He’ll be right back,” Art said. “He’s going to get the scrunchies.”
“The… scrunchies?”
“Yep.”
Once again, Nate didn’t know what to do with that. “He said we had to talk?”
She sighed. “What is he doing, trying to break up with you?”
“That’s what I said!”
“I know. I heard you talking. The door was open.”
“Jesus.”
“You say his name a lot. Did you know he hung out with beggars and whores?” She frowned. “Though, whore isn’t a very nice thing to call someone. Anyway. It’s weird, right? He had all these friends who weren’t what someone like him was supposed to have, but he did anyway. But most people don’t talk about that when they pray to him. They’re all so focused on his death. That’s just morbid.”
He felt like everything was upside-down. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She waved a hand at him. “It doesn’t matter. I just think it’s important sometimes to be remembered what you lived for rather than what you died for.”
The floor creaked as Alex appeared in the hallway again. Nate realized he had to duck his head just a little to keep from hitting the lintel. Even his shoulders seemed in danger of brushing the walls on either side of him.
Nate groaned inwardly. Not the time. Not the time. Not the—
“Did you bring the scrunchies?” Art demanded.
“Yes,” Alex said. And he had. In his hand was a baggie filled with brightly colored bands. Some were thin—like rubber bands—and others were larger and covered in polka dots. She made grabby hands at the baggie, and Alex handed them over.
She hummed a little song under her breath as she dug through the baggie before eventu
ally setting aside a couple of the small bands. They were teal.
“One or two,” Alex asked her, standing behind the chair.
“Two please.” Then, “Ha! Pigtails. Because bacon makes everything better. I get that now.”
Nate wondered yet again if he was caught in a dream.
Alex nodded and then did the most remarkable thing.
He reached those big hands down, the skin callused, the fingers thick, and began brushing them through her hair with purpose, separating it right down the middle. Art continued to sing quietly as he did so.
Nate watched, helpless to do anything else. He couldn’t look away.
Alex, massively intimidating and scary Alex, began to braid the little girl’s hair.
“I’m keeping her safe,” he said, not looking up at Nate.
Nate struggled to find his voice, entranced by the sight in front of him. “I—that’s what she said.”
“I can’t tell you everything,” he continued, fingers moving deftly. “Not because I don’t trust you, but—”
“You don’t. Trust me, that is.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “I can’t. I don’t know you. She’s—if there’s a chance, even the smallest one, that something will slip, that you’ll say something to someone without meaning to, it could end… badly.”
“For who?”
He shrugged. “Us. You. You could be brutally murdered or—”
Art coughed pointedly.
He jerked her hair a little harder than necessary.
She tilted her head back slowly, glaring up at him.
Alex sighed before pushing her head forward again. “You’ve been… nice.”
“Wow,” Nate said. “That sounded like it hurt for you to say. Congratulations for being able to get that all out on your own.”
“It did,” Art said. “Showing feelings hurts him all the time.”
“I’m not showing feelings,” Alex said. “You told me I had to say this.”
“Well, yeah. But I didn’t say to tell him he’s been nice.” She looked at Nate. “I told you to say you’ve been hospitable. There’s a difference. You haven’t been nice. Not really.”
“Thank… you?”
She beamed at him. “You’re welcome.” She tried to look back at Alex again. “See how easy that was?”
He pushed her head forward. “It’s a synonym.”
“Well, that’s just a lazy excuse. Do better.”
His mouth thinned. “You have been hospitable. And you didn’t have to be.”
“You pointed a gun at me,” Nate reminded him. “Multiple times. I don’t think I had a choice. Forced hospitality isn’t hospitality. It’s a hostage situation.”
“You left,” Art said. “You could have stayed gone. But you came back.”
Which—yes. That was true. He had no idea why. “I did.”
She started humming again.
“She’s my responsibility,” Alex said, halfway done with the left braid. “And I take that very seriously.”
“You’re not her father. Are you?”
He looked up, eyes boring into Nate. He kept still, waiting for Alex to find whatever he was looking for. Finally, he gave a small shake of his head. “I’m her bodyguard.”
“My protector,” she said, snapping a scrunchie against her fingers. “My big, brave Alex.”
“What are you guarding her from?”
Alex finished one braid and snapped his fingers near her ear. She handed him a teal rubber band over her shoulder. He snapped it around the bottom of the braid with a practiced twist of his fingers. “She’s important.”
It was like pulling teeth. “To?”
“Me. Others.”
“Appropriately vague. How expected.”
Alex wasn’t amused. “I told you that I couldn’t tell you everything.”
“You’re not telling me anything I couldn’t figure out on my own—”
“You said Mafia earlier,” Art said. “That wasn’t right at all.”
“It was a guess.”
“A terrible guess. Maybe I’m a space princess.”
Nate groaned. “Star Wars.”
Her smile was luminous. “I do love those movies.”
“Then why are you Artemis Darth Vader and not Princess Leia?”
“Eh. That’s a little on the nose—ow. You didn’t have to pull so hard!”
Alex was scowling down at her. “Maybe you should stop talking.”
“Maybe you should—oh. Right. Copy that. Let’s get on down this old dusty trail, then, partner. You’re starting to mosey a bit.”
“Look,” Alex said. “All you need to know is that I am doing all I can to protect her from people who want to hurt her, and that’s final. I haven’t kidnapped her, I’m not abusing her—”
“I never said—”
Alex looked up sharply. “You thought it. I know you did.”
Nate couldn’t deny that.
“And I don’t blame you for that,” Alex continued. “I know how this looks. I know what… you must be thinking. A guy like me. Her… the way she is. But you have to understand. You have to believe me when I say I would rather die than see anything happen to her. I’m doing everything I can to help her. Everything.”
“You’re not going to die,” Art said, a frown on her face. “I don’t like it when you talk like that. Don’t say it again.”
“How long?” Nate asked him.
“How long what?”
“How long have you known her?”
“A long time,” Alex said, the second braid almost finished. “Longer than it seems.”
“And her parents?”
The skin under his eye twitched. “That’s… who we’re trying to find. Who we’re trying to get her back to.”
A thought struck Nate. A terrible thought. “You didn’t kidnap her. She was already taken.”
“Yes.” Alex looked relieved. “That. Exactly that.”
Nate’s mind was already moving, connecting bits and pieces. “Was it—” Oh shit, that was an awful thing. “A… ring? Like… slavery?”
Alex looked confused for a split second before it hit him. His eyes went wide. “No, no. Not like… that. Nothing like that. It was—”
Art rolled her eyes. “I know what you’re talking about. No, Nate. I wasn’t being trafficked.”
He stared at her. “How old are you?”
“Ten,” she said. “Thereabouts.”
“And you’re on the run. Hiding out. Here. In my cabin.”
“It was the farthest one away,” Alex mumbled. “It didn’t look like it’d been used in a long time.” He snapped again, and she handed him the other scrunchie.
“It’s almost like fate,” Art said seriously. “Do you believe in fate, Nate?” Her nose wrinkled. “That rhymed. I don’t like rhymes very much.”
“I don’t—no. I don’t. Believe in fate.”
“Kismet? Destiny? Nothing?”
“No.”
“Huh.” She squinted at him. “Then what do you believe in.”
“I don’t know.”
“Ghosts?” She clapped her hands. “I like ghosts. Have you ever seen one?”
“No.”
“I haven’t either,” she said, sounding strangely disappointed.
“Done,” Alex said. He tugged on the ends of each braid. “It’s a little off-center.”
Art reached up and ran her fingers over the top of her head and down the braids. “Still. You’re getting better at it. Remember the first time you tried? You growled at me the whole time, and it ended up looking like I’d been attacked by an owl.”
Nate laughed. It came out sounding slightly hysterical, but he couldn’t stop it. Both Art and Alex looked surprised. “You’re just—how am I supposed to believe any of this? You’re asking me to take you at your word. To trust you. How can I do that when you don’t trust me?”
“We’ll
get there,” Art said, putting the remaining scrunchies back in the baggie. “I know it. It’ll take time, but most things do.”
Alex was staring down at her, an undecipherable look on his face.
“How long are you going to stay here?” Nate asked quietly.
Alex scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It’s… complicated.”
“It’s not time to leave yet,” Art said, hopping down from the chair. Her pigtails bounced behind her head. Nate didn’t know the first thing about how to do such things, but they still looked good. She was achingly pretty. “I’ll know when it’s time.”
“How—”
She walked over to him, stopping with the tips of her sock-covered toes against the tips of his Chucks. She motioned for him to lean down. He looked at Alex. Alex was watching Art, that same odd look on his face.
Nate did the only thing he could.
He crouched down until he was eye level.
She tilted her head at him as she studied him. Her eyes were bright and knowing. He didn’t flinch as she reached up and cupped his face. Her hands were warm. “Sometimes you need to take things on faith,” she said quietly. “Even if you think you have no faith left, I promise you, you do. All of you do. It’s easier, I think, to stay lost. But when you’re found, when you open your eyes, you can finally see the truth for what it is.”
He didn’t understand. She made no sense. But there was a lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to swallow past.
She leaned forward and kissed his nose with a loud smack.
He was stunned.
“I’m glad you found us,” she whispered, her breath on his face. “I think we needed you to.”
And then she smiled.
He was speechless as she let him go. She stepped away, already demanding that Alex get her a mirror so she could see how pretty her braids were. Alex looked at Nate, and there was almost a crack in that stoic mask he wore, something that looked strangely vulnerable, but it was gone only moments later.
Art took him by the hand and led him down the hall to the second bathroom.
He could hear her squeals of delight, telling Alex how much better he was getting at this, that give it another week and he’d be perfect, and did he like how she looked? Was she the prettiest Artemis Darth Vader in all the world?