Page 164 of Studs Up
“Why not?”
“Mr. Monroe,” Johnson interrupted. “We’d like to talk to you if you’re up for it.”
“About what?” I asked.
“Were you aware Mr. James Anderson was blackmailing other players and staff?”
“Who the fuck is James Anderson?” I asked.
“That’s Marcel’s real name,” Johnson answered bluntly.
“You have to be fucking joking,” I said.
“Did you know?” Johnson asked again.
“No,” I said. Holden’s expression of shock and concern had me tightening my hold. He didn’t need this. Not now. I needed to put him together enough to perform in the final, and the federal government was fucking with my plans.
My hand was gently rubbing up and down Holden’s back. I wanted nothing more than to feed, hydrate, make love, and put him back to bed. But the FBI was on my doorstep, so it must be important. I reached deep for some grace.
“The blackmail has gone on for years and across multiple states. That kicks the investigation up to us,” Agent Ellison said while he looked into our home.
“We’d like to ask you some questions,” Johnson said.
I looked down at Holden, and he nodded.
“Let’s get this over with. I’ll make you some coffee,” I murmured, took his hand, and led him to the kitchen. I didn’t invite them in, but I didn’t slam the door in their faces either.
Watching them cross the threshold into a place I never wanted anyone in was painful. It was still up for debate if I would invite Ma.
I didn’t want them here at all, and when he stiffened, I knew he felt the same.
Depositing Holden at the table, I started with a power drink, and then coffee, decaf because I was absolutely putting him back to bed as soon as they were gone.
“Nice place,” Johnson said.
“It’ll be nicer when you leave,” I muttered.
“Nolan,” Holden chided softly.
“You know,” Ellison said as he invited himself to sit at our table. “We’ve talked to a lot of people in the last three days, and they all say that the strangest part about this is seeing Nolan Reed being a loving partner.”
“Good, wouldn’t want to give people the wrong idea.”
“Nolan,” Holden said with a stronger voice and a smile.
“He’s a big softie,” Holden told them.
“How dare you betray me as I make your toast,” I deadpanned. That earned me a snort. The color returned to him, and he looked lighter each time he woke up. The weight of years of fear was lifting.
“Our records show you bought this place,” Johnson said.
“Overpaid for it, too,” Ellison said.
“Worth every fucking penny,” I said. The coffee started to hiss and percolate. Holden blushed. Even strung out and exhausted, he was beautiful. He needed a shower, and his hair desperately needed a comb, and I was pretty sure his skin care regimen missed him, but still, he was beautiful.
I made him toast and poured two mugs of coffee. When I put the mugs down in front of us, the three of them looked at the mugs, then me, and then back to the mugs.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I asked through my teeth.
