Page 11 of Love Always

“Well. I don’t see him stepping up and I’m here.”

“He can’t step up.”

When he stops twirling the toothpick and clamps down, I know I’ve said too much.

He leans closer to me. “What’s wrong with getting a blood test?”

When I walked into English Comp 101 and he was sitting there, I should have just turned around and left. He was obsessed with me in high school and has always had this weird vendetta when I never reciprocated his “love.” I should have known he would try to make my life misery. Why the hell did I go back to school? It’s been nothing but a six-week-long nightmare.

“You are not the father.” I pause and glance around. A couple just came in with twins.

Kevin hitches up his pants and whispers under his breath, “They had to adopt them. I could go talk to them about how they did that.” He grins again, his eyes cold.

For a moment I am caught up in fear. Real, harsh, like my world was about to be torn away, Cory ripped from me.

Kevin leans in close so he can put his lips near my ear: “My dad could find a lab that would find a match for me and my son.” He pulls away just before he glances at the couple again. They share a quick kiss and Kevin whispers, “Faggots.”

“Get out.”

“What? Oh, do you like that?” he grins again. “Two guys?”

I push him toward the door. “Out. Get out. Cory is my son. Get it? My son. Not yours.”

“Says who?” he says, leaning back, chewing on his toothpick. I open the door and he lingers for a moment, “You? You’re nobody, doll.”

Chapter Four

Mateus

It’s Thursday and I can’t wait until Friday at five. My leg has been sore all week and I’ve been nursing two tender pressure points. I need to get off it. I’m just stepping out of the office, on my way to the parking lot. It’s an hour from sunset and the air is clear, preparing for a star-pricked, crisp autumn sky. The ocean is a deep, luminous blue. The office is so close, the smell of salt water is everywhere, with waves sifting between large pebbly rocks and beach sand onshore. Sophia, our office assistant, is staying behind with Jackson and two forensic accounting experts to go over a target’s tax records. There is also a small contingency of people left to review next week’s airport protocols for baggage security at the Portland Jetport. I still shake my head at the 1950s name.

Bryce left half an hour ago with his usual cursory nod. He still blames himself for my injury, but at least he’s not wearing it on his sleeve anymore. But a piece of that wall is still up and chipping away at it is tricky. It’s not like it was before, when we served together as SEAL medics, but we’ll get there.

Already glad I am not in a parking garage, the solid blip of the car fob releasing the lock has a “honey I’m home,” echo to it that’s oddly comforting. My leg hurts. I ease down into the car and reach for the silicone gel in the glove compartment. I have to remember to take it inside with me when I get back to the apartment. Last night I forgot, and I wasn’t about to invest in the effort to get dressed again and stroll out to the street.

My phone buzzes and it’s Bryce.

“Hey, can you cover for me two hours?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“That kid, Chris Proctor, the one whose mom is the CEO of MaxTech? I’m supposed to detail him this evening, but I’ve got a shit-ton of paperwork to do and Chloe’s made some surprise dinner thing.”

“If it’s such a surprise why do you know about it?”

“No asshole, it’s what she’s making—that’s the surprise.”

Chloe’s a chef and a damn good one. I’ve been lucky enough to sample leftovers. Tomorrow is a party at the Echo Bay Inn and I’m planning to stuff my pockets.

“What am I doing?” I shift in the seat to take pressure off my leg.

“You’re about seven minutes from campus. Chris Proctor gets out of class at six or a little before. Just tail him to his apartment and then photo anyone coming in or out of the building.” He gives me Chris Proctor’s address. “He’s supposed to check-in with his parents before he goes out. If he does go out, you may have to tail him on foot. If you see anything that looks like a drug deal, snap a picture, get a license plate, the usual and unless he’s in imminent danger, do nothing ’til I get there.”

“So we’re keeping him safe from himself.”

“The kid’s been in three treatment facilities already and he’s trying to stay clean. But you know how that goes.”

I do. It struck close to home.