Bodyguard on Base (Hearts on Base #1)

Chapter 1 Sage

SAGE

The kitchen timer goes off, and I smile to myself, knowing my morning cup of coffee is just a few moments away from being done.

Pushing down the plunger on my French press, I watch the coarsely ground coffee gather in the bottom of the glass container, leaving a rich, dark brown liquid and the perfect amount of caramel-colored crema on top.

I pour my morning cup of coffee, appreciating the picturesque swirls of steam as the mug fills up. Taking a deep breath, I inhale the earthy, citrusy, comforting scent of my favorite Ethiopian beans before enjoying the first sip of the day.

My morning routine consists of three things: French press coffee, toast with peanut butter and honey, and scrolling through cute cat videos until it’s time to work.

It may seem like a small, lonely life to some, but I’ve worked really hard for this little slice of peace.

Never knowing when my life would be uprooted has made me appreciate calm.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t lonely with only my dad for company. Even then, I haven’t seen him very often since I moved to my own apartment a few years ago.

I look at the clock on the microwave and frown to myself, not realizing how late in the morning it had become.

I guess I’ll have to wait till later to scroll through cat videos.

As a freelance graphic designer and website designer, I don’t exactly have regular office hours.

However, I find that sticking to a schedule helps me be more productive.

Plus, it’s not like I have any friends or anywhere to go anyway.

I get settled on the couch with my lap desk and laptop, placing my half-full cup of coffee on the table next to me.

As with most jobs, my workday often starts with checking my email.

Usually, my clients are pretty reasonable.

But every once in a while, like right now, I have a very particular client who can only describe things they don’t like about a design, and only after I’ve done them.

As expected, I have a very lengthy email from Mr. Daniels.

Yesterday, he liked the sand-colored background of his website, but today, it’s far too bland, and he wants to try light blue – a color I had suggested weeks ago.

I roll my eyes, but at least it’s an easy fix.

I even have the hex codes saved in my client notes.

The next email is a request for business cards, which I’ll reply to this afternoon with an estimate.

The third email in my inbox gives me pause.

There’s no subject line, and the sender’s email address is a random string of numbers and letters.

I should probably delete it. It’s likely spam or a scam of some kind.

Then I notice the preview text before I even click into the email.

“Tell your father…“ I don’t hesitate to open the email, knowing my father is into some shady things.

The rest of the message is just as chilling as the first part.

“Tell your father we know how to find you.”

That’s it. That’s all it says. That’s all it needs to say to send a shiver down my spine. What has he gotten himself into now?

I close my eyes and tilt my head up, taking a deep cleansing breath. This isn’t the first time I’ve been caught up in one of my father‘s many schemes, but it’s the first time anyone has threatened me.

I close the browser tab and open up a new one, logging into my Adobe Cloud account so I can start work for the day.

Five minutes pass, then ten, fifteen, and twenty minutes go by.

All I’ve done is stare at the screen. I try shoving all of my worries aside so I can concentrate on finishing up this project.

But those nine simple words in the strange email have completely derailed me.

It’s nearly ten in the morning, and I figure my father is probably up by now. That is, if he didn’t go on a bender last night. Grabbing my phone, I scroll over to the contacts and hit my dad‘s number, taking a shaky breath as I lift the phone to my ear.

After three rings, I think he’s not going to pick up. But then I hear his familiar, scratchy morning voice.

“Sage? Is that you?” He sounds rough, but at least his words aren’t slurred.

“Yeah, Dad. Listen…” I hesitate slightly, doubting this whole thing. Maybe it was a hoax after all, and I’m waking up my dad midmorning for nothing.

“Out with it, what do you need?”

“I got a weird email this morning.”

“And? What’s that got to do with me?”

I bite the side of my cheek to hold back my response. There’s no use in arguing with my father, especially when he’s in one of his moods. “It said to tell you that they know how to find me. Who are they? Why are they contacting me?”

I met with silence instead of scolding, which is a red flag.

“Dad? Do you know what this is about?”

“We can’t talk about it over the phone. It’s not safe.”

“Not safe?! Dad, what…“

“Not over the phone! If you want to talk about this, come over in person.”

“If I want to talk about this?” I repeat, trying not to sound too incredulous. “Yes, I’m going to need some answers.”

My dad curses under his breath before hanging up. My stomach churns at the possibilities of what is wrong. In the past, he’s been arrested for petty theft, breaking and entering, and writing bad checks, but none of those things involve me.

I know I’m not going to get any work done while I’m thinking about the email and my dad's strange response to it. So, I hop in my car and drive fifteen minutes to my childhood home. It’s been almost a year since I’ve visited, and as I walk through the front door, I’m reminded of why.

Everything is the same, and yet… Sadder.

Empty beer cans litter the stained carpet, dirty dishes are piled on the coffee table, and there are several more layers of grime on everything, including my dad.

Despite the filth, clutter, and total lack of stability in my childhood, all I feel for my dad is pity.

I never knew my mom, but I was told she died while giving birth to me.

My father didn’t know I existed until someone showed up on his doorstep with an infant.

He was decidedly unprepared to be a parent.

To be honest, for most of my life, Ronnie has been more of a chaotic acquaintance than a paternal figure, weaving in and out of my life, and giving me away to anyone who would take me while he was in prison or otherwise incapacitated.

I grew up knowing I was a burden, which is probably why I’m so content living alone, working alone, and creating my own safe space.

“Sage? Is that you?” my dad calls out from the kitchen. “I’m working on some coffee, do you want any?”

I grimace and scrunch up my nose at the thought of drinking coffee from the rusted, twenty-year-old coffee maker that has probably never been cleaned. “No, thank you, I’ve already had my coffee for the day.”

My father mumbles something, probably about me being ungrateful, but I don’t say anything else. I’ve learned over the years that staying quiet is one of the only things that pleases my father. Besides, I can’t afford a fight when I really need to figure out what’s going on.

I hear dishes clanking, drawers opening, and a few muffled grunts from my father. He’s clearly stalling, which heightens my anxiety even more.

Eventually, my father emerges from the kitchen and makes his way to where I’m sitting in the living room. He set his mug down before lounging in his favorite recliner. My dad sighs heavily and then stands from his seat and begins pacing.

“Tell me what the email said again. Word for word.” His voice is tight with tension, barely hiding the panic just beneath the surface.

“It said, ‘Tell your father we know how to find you.’”

“And you didn’t recognize who sent it?” he snaps.

“No, if I did, I would’ve replied.”

My dad lets out a string of curse words before running his hand through his thinning hair.

Sweat beads on his temples and upper lip, and his hands are shaking.

“I messed up,” he blurts out, frustration and desperation dripping from his words.

“I didn’t think they’d… I covered my tracks…

I mean, they can’t just…“ The large man pats his big beer belly and lets out a little burp before stopping his pacing and turning to face me.

“I’ll pull some strings, talk to a few people, and see if I can get you a bodyguard. “

The look he gives me is one of true, unfiltered fear. I’ve watched my father get arrested more times than I can count, but he’s never looked as afraid as he does now.

Still, the thought of one of his friends or, God forbid, prison buddies following me around day and night doesn’t exactly make me feel safer about the whole situation.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. Really, maybe I can just go…

Stay with a friend.” My father doesn’t know that I don’t have any friends, so I hope he doesn’t ask any further questions.

Luckily, he nods his head slowly, considering my words.

Suddenly, my father straightens up, puffs his chest out, and schools over his face. A new look of determination and certainty paints his features. I'm surprised to see something close to tenderness in his eyes as well.

“I know I haven’t always been… The best father.

” He winces, knowing that’s the understatement of the century.

“I’m shit at talking about my feelings, but I really am proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished.

You have your own life, your own job, and your own apartment.

It’s for the best that you’ve moved on from me. ”

I blink a few times, still registering his words.

My father has never said anything like this to me, and the fact that he’s confessing it now only makes me more worried.

Still, the emotion behind his declaration tugs at a wound in my heart that never healed.

Before I even know what’s happening, I’m standing up and wrapping my arms around my father.

I can’t remember the last time we hugged, but he pulls me in tighter.

He’s squeezing me like this is the last time we’re going to see each other.

“I’m going to go away for a while, and I won’t be able to contact you.” I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “It’s for your own safety.”

“Where are you going? And for how long?” I ask, looking up at him. Green eyes that match mine stare down at me. His gaze is faded and weary, but he lets me see the love he’s always had for me. It figures we’d have a breakthrough in our relationship right before he takes off and never returns.

“I can’t tell you. The less you know, the better. This is for your safety.“

“But…“

“Go on now,” he commands. “I need to start packing. Promise me you’ll be careful. I’ll reach out once this has blown over.”

I hug my dad one last time, and then turn around and walk out the front door before he can see me cry. When I get to my car, I stare at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I don’t have any more answers than when I arrived. If anything, I have more questions and more anxiety.