2. Lucas
Lucas
2
The cool vinyl cushion of the bench underneath me grounds me as I push through another set of presses. Some early 2000s bubble gum pop buzzes in my earbuds, giving me an easy beat to count to. I never understood how people can work out to hard or angry music. My gym playlists need to be perky, upbeat, and most of all happy.
Usually, I try to have a workout buddy, but he’s out on a date he didn’t want to admit is a date. That’s okay though. One afternoon to myself probably won’t kill me. I’m still going to give him shit though. Also, there’s always someone working out in the Alden gym. I haven’t met everyone personally yet, but they’ve all been friendly so far.
I finish up my last set, hit the shower, and check my phone. Jason and the boys should be getting to Charlie’s Grill any minute. I can get there on time. I throw on a clean shirt and I’m good to go. I only got discharged a few months ago, and I’m still buzzing my hair short out of habit, so I don’t have to think about it much. I hop in my car and drive the short distance to the bar.
A little while later I sink into the slightly sticky booth beside Jason. Fort Collins has a lot of amazing places to eat. I’m still not sure how this one became the favorite, but the food is good.
“Late as usual,” Our friend Jay rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry we put an order in for you. One dark ale and a cowboy burger.”
“You know me so well.” I put a hand to my heart.
“Should hope so at this point. Helps that you literally always get the same thing. Everywhere. I’m not entirely sure you know you can eat food other than burgers.”
“Do I know? Yes. Do I care? Absolutely not,” I took a bite, letting out an obnoxious sound of pleasure.
There truly was nothing like a well-made burger.
Jason rolls his eyes. “We both know it isn’t that good.”
“I disagree.”
“Drop the burger, get a boyfriend.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“You could try going somewhere to meet someone.”
I smile. “It’ll happen when the time is right.”
“That’s what single people say so they don’t feel bad about being single. Come on, you’d clean up if you tried online dating, or even just let me introduce you to a few people.”
I shake my head. “There’s no rush. Do I want to meet someone? Sure, but I just got discharged and I’m still settling back into civilian life. I’m going to give it a little bit of time at least.”
“Six months, then you let me set you up with someone.”
I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, Jason. How’s Linda anyway?” Jason’s girlfriend gives me weird vibes, but she’s never done anything to back them up as far as I know, and Jason seems happy. I give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Still great. I’ve been thinking about proposing.”
I smack the table. “That’s great! I can’t wait for the wedding.”
“She’s still got to say yes, but thanks. Now we just need to make sure you have a plus one for the wedding.”
We spend the night catching up and head home about 11. A lot earlier than when we were in our early twenties, but we’re old and responsible now. In the parking lot, we vow to do it again next week then go our separate ways. Jason is the main reason I ended up living and working in Fort Collins for Alden Security. We enlisted together, but he got out four years before me. I missed him. We’ve been best friends since we met in foster care, and locating near him when I got out just made sense.
My one-bedroom apartment is dark when I get in. I try to make sure I’m never home before dark. I toss my keys on a box that doubles as a nightstand, then fall into my unmade bed. Calling it unmade may be a bit generous. It’s just a mattress covered with a blanket, a comforter, and pillows piled on top. The best part is this means I can wrap myself up completely without having to tug all the corners from under the mattress. Safely burritoed in my blankets, I stare up into the darkness. The plain white ceiling stares back at me. Rest doesn’t come easy in the empty shoe box I’m supposed to call home.
Even with the sounds of the streets filling it, it feels so quiet that it’s oppressive. I feel like nothing more than a forgotten ghost. I don’t so much sleep as lay in stasis until the moment I can reasonably stop.
The second the sun is up, so am I, pulling on my running shoes and flying out the door. My feet pound over the sidewalk in time with the playlist thumping in my ears. I drink in the rising sun, savoring the sights and sounds of the world beginning to wake. Teenagers waiting for the bus, people walking their dogs or grabbing a morning coffee. Even a few others out on runs of their own.
I’m halfway through my third mile when my phone rings. Pulling it free of my pocket, I glance around to make sure I won't get in anyone’s way before I slow to a stop, wiping at my forehead.
“Hello?” I asked while still catching my breath.
“Lucas,” Marie’s voice calls over the soft clicking of her keyboard. “We’ve got something for you.”
“Is it a job?” I shook my head. “Don’t answer that. Of course, it's a job. Silly question. Where do you need me?”
“At the airport. The job is in LA. I have a ticket for you departing at 9. Do you think you can make it or should I push it to a later flight?”
I glance at my watch. 7:16. “I should be able to do that. What do they need?”
“Just basic bodyguard detail. The client’s ex decided to make an appearance and he seems pretty rattled.”
“Good to know. Busy schedule or anything I need to know about?”
“He’s a screenwriter pitching a script, so he’s got more meetings than you can count, but it doesn’t look like he does more than one per day.”
“Got it. I’ll go shower and head to the airport.”
“Sounds good. I sent the file to your email.”
We hang up and I open my email. Right at the top with the subject line Ezrah McKallas, I found it. There was his address, plane and rental car reservations, a copy of his schedule, some basic background information, and some information about the ex, Allen. Marie is frighteningly efficient.
I cue it up using the text-to-voice app while I run home and throw my things in a bag. I Uber to the airport so I don’t have to leave my car, and board without issue. Checking my gun is always a bit of a pain, but it’s not the first time I’ve flown for Alden, so it’s fairly quick and smooth. Getting the rental car on the other end is easy too. Marie has a thing for reserving us “unique” cars, so I’m a little sad to see a non-descript dark blue SUV waiting for me. I was hoping for a bright pink Jeep or something.
After several wrong turns and three traffic jams, I roll into the client’s driveway just after noon LA time. The house isn’t huge, but it looks expensive. The yard and hedges are professionally maintained and the car out front must have cost three times what mine did. It doesn’t seem like the kind of place someone would trespass just to bug an old flame.
Something doesn’t feel right.
Frowning, I check the address one more time. I have the right place. I hop out of the car and walk the short distance to knock on the dark wood door.
Almost instantly, it swings open, revealing a short man with red-brown hair who narrows clear hazel eyes at me in suspicion.
“Good morning,” I stick my hand out and use my best professional tone. “I’m Lucas. I’m here with Alden Security. Are you Ezrah McKallas?”
“You’re late,” he turns away from the door.
He doesn’t invite me in, but he also doesn’t close the door behind him, so I take it as an invitation.
“Sorry, you know how LA traffic can be.”
He grunts. “You might as well make yourself comfortable. I’ll be ready to go in about twenty minutes.”
I chuckle. “And yet you complain about me being slightly late.”
Then that glare was back on me. There was something about the way his forehead crinkled that was oddly cute.
“Yes, but I don’t need to be anywhere for another few hours. You on the other hand were supposed to be here at a scheduled time.”
I roll my eyes and flop on the leather couch. It’s really firm, almost felt like it was more for show than actual sitting. “I think I did okay, considering I flew in this morning,” I tell him as I take a look around. The walls have a tasteful amount of art, but there are no personal photos or mementos anywhere.
All in all, it gives the impression of a very expensive home goods catalog.
My thoughts are interrupted by an aggressive meow.
I beam at the sight of an older, long-haired calico cat giving me a mistrustful look. “You have a cat!”
“Beatrice doesn’t really like peo-”
His words die on his lips as he steps inside the room to find her curled up on my lap, purring.
“Guess she likes me,” I say as I scratch her chin.
His jaw drops, wide eyes locked on the small gremlin-like creature nuzzling against me. “You traitor!”
She lets out a huff and turns away from him to bury her face against my stomach.
“If you have a second, we should sit down. I’d like to ask you a few questions and get a better read on the situation” I say, biting back a smile.
He crosses his arms. “I already told the woman on the phone everything. Not much else to say.”
“I’m sure you did, but I like to hear things from the clients themselves, and the more I know, the better job I can do.”
“Got an ex back in town. He wants to see me. I don’t want to see him. That’s it,” he shrugs dismissively.
My brow knits reflexively in confusion. “You hired a private security firm to avoid an ex?”
“So what if I did? I’ve got the money for it. Besides, what does it matter? You get paid either way don’t you?”
“Yes, but-”
He pushes away from the wall and starts to walk away. “Now that your questions have been answered, we can go. Some of us do like to be on time for our appointments after all.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, we can talk more on the drive.”
We do not, in fact, talk more on the drive.
Ezrah seems to make a point to keep the music just loud enough that conversation is almost impossible. Eventually, I have little choice but to give up, slumping against the window, waiting until we get wherever we are going. I glance at the itinerary but don’t see anything on the books for today.
“Where are we going?” I try to call over the music.
I should have known better than to expect an answer.
We end up at a coffee shop. It’s a fancy place filled with artsy types. There’s a sleek patio out front with a few people sitting at tables, avoiding eye contact and bent over laptops, a low table of dark wood, a glass case filled with pastries, and a chalkboard with the menu handwritten on it.
“What do you want?” he asks without looking at me.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked. Pick something.”
I sigh. “Fine.” I study the menu. I don’t usually bother with coffee and I wasn’t about to start because a client told me to. “I guess I’ll take the guava peach iced green tea.”
He actually turns to look at me, a confused frown painted on his face. “It's early. You don’t want coffee?”
“I don’t like coffee.”
“But it's still early!” he says as though that explains everything.
I glance at my watch. “It's almost two?”
He scoffs. “Whatever. Just go get us a table. Somewhere in the corner. I don’t want people to talk to me.”
“Then why sit in a coffee shop?” I grumble, flopping into an orange chair in a darker corner, one of a pair flanking a small wooden table. Admittedly, it’s far more comfortable than his sofa. Honestly, though, that’s more of a criticism of the couch than it is a complement to the chair.
Ezrah sinks into the opposite seat a few moments later, sliding a concerningly large plastic cup of pinkish-green liquid and a muffin towards me with a look of mild disgust. “Here’s your not coffee. Now, no talking. I’m here to work. If you need a refill or anything, I told Dani you can order whatever you need and charge my card”
I frown as he pulls out a laptop and starts clacking away at the keyboard without another word. As though that explained anything.
“Why aren’t we doing that at your house?”
He shrugs. “I think better here. I come here almost every day.”
“Whatever works for you I guess.”
Ezrah puts his headphones on and begins typing at an inhuman speed.
I spend the next few hours staring at the wall, playing on my phone, and glancing around for suspicious figures. Mostly I just spend too much money on micro-transactions in my favorite dress-up game.
At one point, Ezrah gets to his feet and I think we’re done, but he turns to me and says, "I'm going to grab another drink, maybe a snack. You want anything?"
I can only shake my head, hopes dashed.
Still, when he comes back, a small chocolate and strawberry pastry materializes in front of me.
"Thanks."
"Yeah well, pretty sure your boss would be upset if I let you starve." He takes his seat and goes back to work.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ezrah puts away his laptop and gets to his feet. “Alright, let’s grab some lunch then we can go home. Do you like Thai food?”
“Never had it.”
He blinks in shock, almost horror. “Well, you’re about to. Give me your number. I’ll send you a menu and you can tell me what you want.”
“Just get me whatever you usually get.”
“You sure?”
I shrug. “I like a little surprise.”
“Alright, but if you have any deadly allergies I don’t know about it's not my fault.”
"Do you really think I'd let you feed me whatever if I had a potentially deadly allergy?"
"I don't know. Could be a game to you. Like Russian roulette but with shellfish or peanuts."
I chuckle. "Naw I've got enough danger in my life without allergy roulette."
"Fine, but I'm just ordering you what I get."
I grin at his petulant pout. "Sounds perfect. I'm sure I'll love it.” I’m getting a little kick out of surprising him with my choices.
The drive to pick up the food and back to Ezrah’s place is actually pleasant. There’s still music, mostly earthy indie music I'd never heard before, but it isn't so loud we can't talk if we want to.
"So tell me about your writing," I prompt as we drive.
He frowns. "What about it?"
"Whatever you want. What you're working on, dream projects, why you write, how you got started. Whatever."
"Why do you care?"
I blink in shock at the bluntness. "Because I'm trying to get to know you and I'm pretty sure your writing is a big part of that."
"Getting to know me? Is that part of the job description?"
"No, just part of being human."
He falls silent, and for a long time, I think that will be the end of it.
But then he speaks in a voice I can barely hear over the quiet guitar on the radio. "I've always told stories. Even before I started writing it was how I made sense of the world."
I smile. I feel an outsized sense of relief that he’s answered. I’ve had clients that haven’t shared with me before, but he seems more important somehow. “Yeah? What kind of stories?"
"True ones. People think fiction is just lies, but some truths can only be told with stories."
"That's a really beautiful way of thinking of it."
He flushes. "Whatever. It's just work," he grumbles.
It’s a lie. We both know it’s a lie, but for the moment we let it hang in the air as a truth. Silence envelopes us again, the only sound the radio and the gears turning in Ezrah’s head. I turn my attention to the window, watching the last rays of the sun slip behind the tree-filled horizon.
At last, we pull into his driveway. Halfway up the walk I frown, noticing the thick white envelope taped to the door and illuminated by the porch light.
“What’s that?”
“This?” Ezrah bulldozes past me, snatching it off the door and crumpling it in his hand. “It's nothing. Come on. I’m hungry.”
We both pretend not to notice the way his hand and voice shake. I want to give him time to decide what he wants to tell me on his own. As the seconds tick by, he grows increasingly twitchy, setting the containers down so hard they almost spill.
Ezrah sits down as far from me as the table will allow. I nibble at my food while he aggressively shovels food into his mouth like a starving dog.
“It's good,” I offer.
He grunts.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“What kind of question is that?”
I sigh. “Nothing, never mind.”
There are several more minutes of tense silence before I finally break. “Is it from him?” I try to keep my voice soft, but he still jumps at the sound.
His silence as I try to meet his gaze tells me everything I need to know. I give him a moment, watching him push his food around before I speak again.
“Ezrah, I’m not upset, but I need you to talk to me.”
Still nothing.
“You didn’t seem surprised to see it. This isn’t the first time he’s done this, is it? What happened? Why did you really call us?”
“I-'' Ezrah sighs, cutting himself off. He takes a deep breath, then tries again. His voice comes out detached, almost dead. “No, it's not. The first one came yesterday.”
“How many others were there?”
“Just that one. This is only the second. That I know of at least.”
“Thank you for telling me that. I know this must be hard. Can I ask why you didn't say anything when you called us?”
He still won’t look at me. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want to. If I did that would make it too real. I thought maybe it was just a one-time thing, that he wouldn’t do it again. I hoped he wouldn’t at least.”
“Have you opened it yet?” I don’t know when he would have, we’d been in the same room since we got here, but I have to make sure.
Ezrah lets out a long breath. “I read the first one right before I called, but not the one from today. I just- I couldn’t. I haven’t even opened it yet.”
I move to sit closer to him. “Why don’t we open it together? Then I might be able to help better with whatever the next step is.”
He still seems hesitant, but for the first time since we got back to the house, he looks at me. What I see in his eyes breaks my heart. He looks so vulnerable, eyes wet and fearful. He chews at his lip.
I know this is the time to push. I try to keep my tone light, almost joking. “Come on. This is literally what you’re paying me for. No judgment.”
A series of complicated emotions rush across his face, but I guess I’ve done something right because he begins digging in his pocket. “Fine. Fine, just, here.” He thrusts the envelope at me, arms crossing defensively the second I take it. “And before you ask, you can’t read the first one. It’s- it’s gone. I destroyed it.”
“That’s alright. Thank you for trusting me.”
“Whatever. I’m paying you for it, I might as well get my money’s worth. It's literally your job isn’t it?” Ezrah grumbles, eyes back on his plate. It seems like he’s reassuring himself more than telling me.
I keep my thoughts to myself and peel open the letter.
The photos on top put me instantly on alert. The first one is of me going into Ezrah’s house this morning. The second is from the coffee shop of us leaning close together while I told him my order.
I school my expression and flip past them to the letter.
MY sweetest one (though I’m starting to worry you may be turning sour)
Do you think it's fair to use someone else in these stupid little games of yours just to make me jealous?
Have you told him you’re mine or are you letting him think he has a chance with you? Either way, you’re far crueler than I realized. Because whatever you’ve said, he’s a part of this now, and you know I can’t let someone else touch my things.
Besides, I think we both know your little arm candy can’t treat you the way you need. I doubt he has the stomach for it.
I’m a patient man, but not this patient.
I don’t want to see you sullying yourself with him again, or you’ll both have consequences to suffer.
And I will be watching. I’ll know if you let him stay in our home. I’ll know if you try and go somewhere with him.
Don’t betray me again.
I’m coming for you.
Your only true love
Allen
“Wow,” I fold it back up, eyes moving to where Ezrah was oscillating between looking at me and looking anywhere but me. “If the first letter was anything like this one, this must be a lot for you to deal with. I’m sorry you went through it on your own yesterday. Do you want to read it or do you just want me to tell you about it?”
He hesitates and then shakes his head. “I- I want to read it.”
I hand it to Ezrah, and for a moment our fingers brush. I can feel him shaking as I hand the letter over. “Hey.”
He meets my eyes and lets out a shaky, panicked breath.
“It's going to be alright. We can handle this.”
“Can we?” He means it to sound confrontational, but it just sounds scared.
“We can, I promise. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
For a moment, something shines in his eyes, a spark so small and fragile that a part of me longs to reach for, but as quick as I see it, it’s snuffed out. He nods and then starts reading. I watch as the fear and horror creep in, despite his best efforts to hide them.
When he finally sets it down, I give him a minute to process everything. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me. His hands shake violently. I can see tears threatening to fall, but he fights them back valiantly. Part of me wishes he’d just let it out here, with me, where he’s safe.
I’m a little worried he’s going to have a panic attack.
“Ezrah,” I press a hand on his shoulder. “Can you breathe with me?”
His eyes are empty, and he’s looking right through me.
He doesn’t respond, but I bring his hand to my chest, hoping to synchronize our breathing. Slowly his begins to even out.
I give it another few seconds, then I speak. “Ezrah, things are more serious than I realized. This isn’t just an unwanted ex who will back off if you’re walking with someone while you’re in public. He’s stalking and actively threatening your safety. You need to upgrade your security to an around-the-clock escort.”
“What?”
"I also don’t think you should stay here. You’re not safe. We can get a hotel tonight, and move to a safe house first thing in the morning-”
“Absolutely not!” his hands shake almost as hard as his eyes blaze.
“Ezrah, he knows where you live. This could be dangerous," I reach out for him, but he shoots to his feet, stomping across the room.
“I said no. I will not let him chase me from my home again. He's not going to take what I built here. I worked too hard on it. We’re staying right here. Besides," he meets my eyes, "you’re all the security I need.”
I can’t help the way my face gets warm. I shake my head, pushing it down. He’s just my client. Besides, he doesn’t mean it like that. I take a step towards him “I’m serious, Ez, this guy seems dangerous-”
He rockets away until his back is inches from the wall. “Don’t ‘Ez’ me! I’ve dealt with Allen before. I know exactly what he’s capable of. You on the other hand, I met less than twelve hours ago, so fuck off.” Aggressive tone or not, I can see the way his hands shake and his eyes dart between the windows and doors. Whatever he says, he’s terrified.
"Strange that you'd tell me to fuck off if I'm the only security you need."
I intend it as a joke, to lighten things, but when I see a new fear flash in his eyes I freeze. I don't even know what he’s afraid of. That I would leave? That I would force his hand? That I would hurt him?
“Alright,” I hold up my hands. “I'm sorry. I’m not trying to fight. I’m just concerned. I don't want to see you get hurt and I'm worried I won't be enough to stop him alone." I let out a long breath, forcing some of the tension from my body, and dropping my hands to my sides. "Look, I know I can’t make you up your security package, and I'm not trying to force you to do something you're uncomfortable with, but I don’t want to leave you alone with this.”
He opens his mouth to argue as his face turns red, but I continue.
“It doesn’t need to be permanent. We can talk more in the morning, and come up with a plan you can live with. I feel like right now emotions are running high and we could both use some rest. Is there a spare room or something I can stay in?”
“Spare-” I watch his anger deflate until he seems like a scared kid. “Yeah, sure I’ll- I’ll show you to the guest room," he looks just as surprised by his agreement as I am, but neither of us risks commenting on it.
We walk down the hall, half-eaten meal forgotten on the table, to a door that opens to a room that looks like it hasn’t been visited in some time. There’s a twin bed made up in one corner with blue blankets, a nightstand, and a dresser with no ornaments or decorations on top. A simple lamp stands in the corner. There’s a small dresser but that’s it. It feels a little bit like a motel room that’s never been used.
“The cleaner comes in once a week to keep the place from getting stale, but it hasn’t seen much use. I don't entertain much, especially at home, so if you need anything, let me know,” Ezrah hangs in the doorway like a man who’s never once had a friend stay the night.
I give him as genuine a smile as I can. “Thanks, I should be alright. I’ve got my things in my car. I’ll go grab those then get settled in.” I hesitate and study his closed-off demeanor. I want to tell him everything is going to be okay. To make him feel better, but I need to be careful not to overstep. I’m kind of emotionally all over the place, and I’m not sure why. “Do you want company or should I give you space?”
His eyes flick to me for a second then snap to the wall. “Space I think.”
He doesn't seem convinced, but if we’re going to trust each other, I need to start taking him at his word. So I don't push. I just smile and say. "Alright if you change your mind you know where to find me. Otherwise, see you in the morning. Sleep well Ezrah."
He blinks at me like that isn’t at all the response he was expecting. He turns and all but runs from the room. I gather my bag from my SUV, check all the window and door locks, and settle in for a long night of staring at a different white ceiling.