Axel
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
But he had no idea what the hell Lincoln was doing with that emotionally blocked police officer. His eyes were sad, his aura angry, his mind confused.
If anyone can heal a heart that caged, it’s Linc.
He cringed at the sand grinding between his toes.
Axel would just have to endure. He’d promised his friend, Clarence, he’d show him his full ensemble. He also had an extra blanket for him, since the temperature was supposed to drop tomorrow night.
He reflected on how much fun he’d had tonight.
He liked the two new gentlemen coming since it was safe to say Casey would be leaving soon.
He’d been like a sweet baby brother to him in the short time he’d waited for his perfect Dom.
Axel would miss him, but he was also beyond-the-stars happy for him.
Not everyone was that fortunate.
His boots sank into the softer sand after he’d cleared the manicured stretch of land around Thorn’s property. It was like crossing into another world.
The appearance of this stretch of beach was treacherous.
The hum of oceanfront nightlife faded, replaced by the groan of the rusted boardwalk signs fighting against the winter wind, muffled arguments, drug deals, and bursts of manic laughter.
The receding waves polluted the shallow waters with filthy debris and spit back twice as much onto the surf in a never-ending cycle.
The air smelled of a pungent cocktail of sea brine, urine, sour beer, and the tang of burned metal and paper from trash-can fires. The scent mixture coated the back of his throat.
Stuttering neon signs buzzed like nocturnal insects. Once bustling storefronts were now boarded up with warped plywood and decorated with graffiti.
Axel adjusted the bag of warm food and the thick blanket tucked tight under his arm as he wove deeper into the labyrinth of the barely surviving. Makeshift tents constructed of tarps, milk crates, and rusted umbrella poles sagged with depression.
He slowed his stride, scanning the faces as he passed: men with their eyes cast down, huddled in blankets too thin for the cold, women guarding their few belongings with suspicion, young runaways curled under cardboard.
Every step farther in was a reminder of the cliff edge Thorn had pulled him back from.
Despite how much it hurt his heart, Axel kept going, kept carrying on. Because no matter how bleak it looked, there were still people here who needed someone to remember their names.
He made it to Clarence’s four-person SunDome tent—that he’d bought him last Christmas—and called out his nickname.
“Hey, old-timer! Prepare for shock and awe.” Axel popped inside the tent with a flourish and set his things to the side.
The dim battery-operated lantern flickered in the corner, and nothing was out of place, but something felt off.
His energy was pulsing, responding to something strong and powerful nearby.
Axel blinked at the still lump under the thinning blankets. Clarence was never asleep at this hour. The man was a night owl through and through.
“Hey,” Axel called out.
He knew his friend wasn’t drunk or high—he never touched that stuff—and got worried. He crawled across the confined space and nudged Clarence with his hand. When there was still no sound, Axel’s heart skipped a beat.
“Clarence!” He shook the shit out of the buried mound before he started to yank away the layers.
“What the—” a deep voice barked.
A younger man—very much not Clarence—jerked upright, causing Axel to fall back on his ass.
Freakin’ heck!
Axel crab-walked as far backward as the tent would allow.
“Who are you?” they both hollered.
The stranger kicked his jeans-clad legs free of the blankets as if preparing to fight or flee.
Axel cocked his head to the side, getting a better look at the scruffy man with unkempt red hair and haunted mint-green eyes. His features were prominent enough to shine even in the darkness.
How does someone this luminous end up here?
Axel’s gaze traveled over what he could see: toned legs stretching the threadbare material of his jeans, and his broad chest was hard to miss even under the layers of outerwear.
He immediately found himself wondering what a strong, healthy-ish man in his late thirties, maybe early forties, was doing out here. Axel was never one to judge or assume, but he shivered at the chills under his skin, knowing he was missing something right in front of him.
His fingertips tingled with the pushed energy from this stranger. Axel’s empathic pull was so sharp it winded him. Those eyes, that aura—so alive—they shook Axel to his core.
“What are you staring at? What are you doing in here?” The man’s panicked gaze scanned the tiny space before he pulled his ragged duffel closer to his chest. “I got no money and no drugs. Leave now, or I’ll yell, I swear it.”
“ It is the gentle rain that grows flowers…not thunder ,” Axel whispered, his gaze locked and lost.
Thick cinnamon-colored brows dipped into an angry scowl. “Get. Out.”
Axel hadn’t noticed the guy had a flathead screwdriver aimed in his direction.
He chuckled at the man’s clear dislike and gestured at the small tool. “You gonna screw me?”
Those striking eyes widened before the stranger doubled down on his threat, shaking the screwdriver harder.
“Look, Mr. Fancy Pants, you’re in the wrong tent if you’re looking to score. Try about six rows over and to the right.”
Axel blinked down at his tux, wondering what this guy saw in him. Oh crap! He remembered his mask and yanked it off his face.
The man’s eyes got even wider, his mouth agape, his breathing uneven.
“Do I look like a drug addict to you?” Axel smiled as warmly as he could, squinting when the man recoiled.
“I’ve seen plenty of rich dicks come to the slums to cop your shit to ensure your snobbish friends don’t see you.”
Hmmm . Axel wasn’t offended or taken aback. He didn’t know what he wanted to accomplish right then, but his spirit was telling him not to leave… yet .
“You can put your weapon down now. I won’t hurt you.” Axel got to his knees, keeping his hands visible. “If that was the plan, I’d have already tried. Not to mention, I can’t even bring myself to step on a cockroach, much less hurt another person, so trust me, you’re safe.”
The man began to lower his tool, but his frown and skepticism stayed rooted in place.
“I’m Axel, a friend of Clarence. Do you know where he is?”
“Why?”
Axel crawled over and unzipped his duffel, showing the stranger the contents.
“Clarence was expecting me. I’m here like twice a week.” Axel pointed to his left. “You can ask Ms. Rhonda next door. She knows me.”
The guy looked him up and down, his intense gaze lingering on his clothes. “Then why have I never seen you?”
“Because you weren’t looking for me,” Axel retorted with all seriousness. “Yet here I am.”
Silence.
“Was Clarence picked up for panhandling again? Probably so,” Axel muttered, continuing to unpack his bag. “Well, if you’re watching his stuff for him, I appreciate it. He’s been robbed more times than I want to remember.”
Silence.
Axel stopped his busy work and stared right back at the stranger who was eyeing him as a gazelle would a lioness. Quiet and still.
“What’s your name? Like I said, I’m Axel. I live a few blocks past Ninth Street.”
The guy scoffed, his top lip curling so high with disgust it got lost in his overgrown mustache.
The terms “Ninth Street” and “wealthy living” were synonymous, and that was where he’d lost his stranger.
No one who lived on Skid Row wanted company from anyone who lived in the lap of luxury.
“Well. I won’t bother you anymore since you’re no longer in the talking mood.”
Axel paused to see if the mysterious tent-sitter would offer up anything.
Nothing? Okay.
Axel wanted to hear that raspy, hesitant voice one last time, or perhaps it was just rusty from lack of use.
Sometimes, Axel wished he had Lincoln’s whip-sharp wit. A gentleman who couldn’t be shaken and had a comeback for whatever was thrown his way.
“If Clarence was picked up again, I’ll go downtown and put some money on his books.”
Axel took the thick Sherpa blanket and extended it in the man’s direction, but the redhead didn’t reach for it.
Last, he stacked the bottles of water and Gatorade in the corner where Clarence stored his rations.
“I’m gonna get going,” he stalled.
He didn’t know why the universe was urging him to stay.
“Speaking of…I’ve never seen you around either. Do you, um…?” Axel didn’t want to ask if the guy had a tent out here or if he stayed elsewhere.
His sad stranger pulled his bags closer to his body.
The man was too cautious, and no matter what Axel said or did, he wasn’t dropping his guard. He had no choice but to ease off or cause irreversible damage. This encounter had been too unexpected, too unique. Axel needed to return later when he had a clearer mind.
“There was a party at my house tonight, and I promised Clarence I’d bring him a plate.
” Axel shrugged. “You’re welcome to it. It’d be pointless to throw it out.
You’ll wanna be sure to eat that yellow-fin sushi tonight because, y’know, it’ll go bad.
I also put a lot of foie gras paté…Clarence loved it last time. You can spread it on the—”
Silent Guy was staring at him as if he had horns, making him clamp his mouth shut to stop the rambling.
“I’ll be seeing you. Uh, have a good night…”
Axel wanted to slap his own mouth. That was dumb to say. What was good out there?
Axel lifted the flap to the tent and stood to his full height. His feet felt weighed down with bricks when he walked back the way he’d come.
He buttoned his suit jacket to protect himself from the chill and prayed his stubborn stranger ate the food and used the heavy blanket.
Axel scanned his mind, his heart, and his soul, trying to analyze how that man had reached so deep inside him with a mere look. Axel was breathing hard, remembering how he felt gazing at the most luminous red-violet aura he’d ever seen.
My gods, he’d almost been too beautiful to look at.
Through the apparent stress and downtrodden life of this young man, his energy radiated strength and will. It reminded Axel of a popular ballad about good energy.
Every time I witness a strong man, I want to know…what darkness did you conquer?