Chapter 11 #2
Tobias followed Jake closely out the door, keeping all his attention on the hunter behind them. If Miller made a move, whether to go for his gun or a knife, Tobias would put him down before Jake could, but then they would have to get the hell out, and fast.
Henry Miller stayed at the bar, only the hatred on his face a sign that he was still a threat.
Outside, Tobias headed toward the Eldorado, but Jake stopped by the wall about fifteen feet from the door and turned around, his hands settling on his hips.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tobias demanded, voice rising now that they’d made it outdoors, a solid wall between them and the hunter-threat.
“I told him we’d be waiting outside,” Jake said. “I’m seeing if he’s stupid enough to take me up on it.”
Tobias gritted his teeth to stop from growling.
All he wanted was to get in the Eldorado, drive to a hotel somewhere far away from that asshole, and curl up with Jake so he could drive the last shivers of adrenaline and old fear away.
He wheeled around, grabbed Jake by the shoulders, and shoved him into the wall.
“You’re being a fucking idiot.” And then, because Jake’s mouth was so close, his eyes wide, lips half-parted, Tobias kissed him, hard.
Jake’s lips opened for him, his hips shifted against Tobias’s, and his shoulders relaxed under Tobias’s grip.
Tobias broke it off after a few seconds, not wanting to be distracted if Miller was stupid enough to follow, but he smiled to see that Jake looked dazed and shaken, the blank rage gone from his face.
“You took that asshole really personally,” Tobias said. “More than usual, I mean.”
Jake reached up and kneaded the back of Tobias’s neck while his other arm tightened around Tobias’s waist. He took a couple deep breaths.
“Miller. He gave me the idea, so fucking long ago. I didn’t know that I could get someone out of FREACS, but he was doing it and I thought, Maybe I can get Toby out.
So maybe I should go back in and thank the bastard, but I just want to punch him in the face.
You are not my fucking monster, Toby. You are not a fucking monster. ”
“I know that, but you can’t go off the handle and almost get us killed. Even if you did look very sexy doing it.” Despite himself, Tobias kissed him again, enjoying the clean heat of Jake’s skin driving all the old pain and new worry away.
Then he pulled away, dragging Jake by the arm toward the Eldorado. “C’mon, drive us home.”
* * *
They didn’t go home right away. The cursed object (which they did eliminate, no thanks to Henry Fucking Miller) led to a Bigfoot sighting with possible aggression.
They didn’t find Bigfoot, but they stumbled on someone producing hex bags for a small fee.
From there they made their way digging, salting, burning, and stabbing across the supernatural population within a three-county radius of their original job, and Jake for one was really glad to finally drop his duffle just inside the door of their condo in Boulder and stretch the kink out of his neck.
He dropped onto their battered couch with a groan and dumped their bag of mail onto the coffee table. He loved his baby, but it was good to be out of the Eldorado for once, with no plans to leave anytime soon.
Tobias locked the door behind him and went into their tiny kitchen, opening cupboards to check on the state of their supplies, putting away the food that had survived the last leg of their trip—a bag of M the reality of their apartment receding, Jake standing with wide eyes, the key gripped in Tobias’s hand.
The only thing sharp and hard in the entire room, except for the frantic beating of Tobias’s heart, was the Director looking down at that crumpled boy on the screen.
“He’s . . . not really here.” Something was wrong with Tobias’s breathing. He wasn’t sure he was taking in air anymore. “He’s not really here?”
“Toby. Toby! Shit.” Jake fumbled with the buttons of the remote before swearing and yanking the plug out of the wall. Then in two strides, he stood before Tobias.
It felt strange to be touched, to be pulled down onto the couch and have Jake push his head between his knees.
Tobias went, because he couldn’t seem to control his breathing, or his standing, or anything else.
Instead all he could do was breathe, badly, because every sharp, unsatisfying breath blew out again with the words “He’s not .
. . he’s not . . . he’s not . . .” That was all Tobias had in his head, all he had to offer.
“Toby, you can see—”