“Then I don’t know what you want from me. I have no hope of paying you back, and you know it. Not only that, you don’t want me to earn money the only way I know how. I don’t know if I’ll even get back to school. You tell me to stay, and then tell me to go. You push everyone out of your life: your mother, father, that woman you were with. I don’t have any footing here. I don’t know where to step. If I go the wrong way, do I get shut out? Does Cai?”
“Whatever else happens, Peter, I won’t turn my back on you. You have a place to stay until you get on your feet. I’m not finished,” I remarked when he opened his mouth to interrupt. “No strings attached.” Which meant he was free to make money however he saw fit. Not a situation I was happy with. “Unless you want strings.”
“You don’t see how insane that is?” His eyes were so wide and glassy I could see my reflection cast in their blue depths.
Our dynamic was shifting. For whatever reasons, Peter and I were done being coy. It was time I laid it all out there. “Goes hand in hand with being crazy about you, doesn’t it?” I smiled ruefully and stood there letting the room try to breathe out our tension. My exhale was a tangle of shaking stutters, letting him know how difficult those words were to say.
“You’re such an ass,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you just fucking say that in the first place?” My eyes had closed again as he approached, winding his arms around my neck and pressing our foreheads together. The scent of toothpaste and my shampoo hovered around us. Our labored breaths filled the silence.
“What kind of idiot thinks I do this for just anyone?” I gripped the sides of his t-shirt and pulled him in.
My eyes opened as he lifted my chin. “How did a privileged boy like you get to be such a fucked up man?”
“I think you were introduced to the reason yesterday.”
“Your dad was…decent to me and Darryl.” He scowled, then bit his lip. When he released it, I refrained, just barely, from pushing him backward onto the bed and doing obscene things to that lip.
“He should be. I’m paying him enough.” Pulling away just in time for the phone to ring again, I answered it tersely and told Luis we were on our way. Again.
The tension in the room had all but disappeared. Only my irritation at a discussion about Desmond Glass remained. “Let’s go.” The subject about my father was hopefully dropped for good.
Speaking of parents, I hadn’t yet asked Peter about his conversation with his mother. I wondered if he’d be receptive to questions about her. Now that we were on better footing, would he open up to me? I was listing the various ways to broach the conversation as we stepped into the living room and found yet more obstacles to our leaving.
Two of the FBI agents I’d seen surveilling the house that morning were in the living room. One was on the sofa and the other leaning against the mantle. They looked casually menacing in a way only men in semi-cheap suits could be.
People Should Be What They Look Like, Dammit!
From the kitchen, Rosa pounded something into oblivion while glaring at the living room. Cai, curled up in the arm chair, was doing some staring of his own, but with less of a glare than an interested gleam at the younger agent sitting on the sofa. I guessed younger, by the broad stretch of shoulders and the rich chestnut colored hair which stood in stark contrast to his aging counterpart across from him. They were the FBI version of Luis and me.
“Detective Glass,” the older one nodded. “I’m agent—”
Peter brushed past me and headed for Cai, pulling him out of the seat and speaking in tongues—or probably just Russian. Same difference.
The younger agent turned around and stood up.
“I haven’t said anything, Rabbit,” Cai protested, playing keep away with his arm. “And I don’t want to go to my room.” The scene would have been humorous if I hadn’t felt the sharp edges of an approaching headache.
“Agent one and Agent two. That’s all I need to know right now. Whatever you’re here for, it’ll have to wait until I get back from the station. And I’m taking him.” I jerked a thumb at Peter.
“They are here for me,” Rosa said.
“Good. Then you can find a place for them to sleep, if they’re staying. But hear this—I’ve given up my living room, guest room, job, career, heterosexuality and my stance on no pets in the house, but I’m not giving up my room. I’m drawing a line.” Testosterone flowing, I grabbed Peter’s wrist and yanked him out the door, aiming us both toward the back of the courtyard. He didn’t make so much as a token resistance.