Chapter 32 #2
The drive felt endless, an agonizing crawl, every red light an affront to urgency, every driver going the speed limit an accomplice to delay.
My mind wouldn’t stop serving up horrific reels I didn’t ask for: Oliver in a hospital bed hooked up to machines I couldn’t name; his pale blue eyes, lifeless, looking up at me from a pool of blood; his body lying at a gross angle on concrete; the silence of a dead heartbeat under my palm.
I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the “oh shit” handle tighter.
“Can’t you go any faster?” I snapped at Shawn.
Shawn’s gaze flicked to me in the rearview, but before he could answer, Brent turned in the passenger seat. “Back off,” he growled. “He’s already doing ten over. Any faster and we risk getting pulled over, wasting the time you’re worried about losing.”
Under any other circumstance, the way Brent leapt to Shawn’s defense would’ve been prime entertainment.
The man had his head shoved so far up his own repression he couldn’t see the damn sunrise of his feelings.
But right now, humor couldn’t reach me through the endless scenarios of horror running through my mind
Shawn reached over, squeezing Brent’s shoulder. “Your knight-in-shining-armor routine is hot, but I can handle myself.” His eyes shifted back to mine. “I’m going as fast as the law and my guardian angel permit, Luke. We’ll get there.”
“It’s not fast enough. This can’t end up like Carrie. I can’t . . .” My voice faltered. “Do you know what it’s like? To see someone you love as a corpse? If that happens to Oliver, I’ll—” I stopped. Even saying it felt like inviting it into existence, and I refused to give that nightmare oxygen.
The SUV went still. Woods-after-an-epic-snowfall still.
Sarah slid her hand into mine and squeezed.
“Luke,” Brent said, turning in his seat, all gruff edge in his voice gone. “Nobody should have to go through what you did, and I know it’s not something that ever leaves you, but Oliver’s not going to be another ghost you have to carry. We’re gonna get there.”
“And if he’s had you in his corner this whole time,” Dean added. “I’m betting he can hold his own until the cavalry arrives.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, you’re right. Oliver’s tough. I’m just not able to keep my cool right now.”
“We know,” Sarah said, squeezing my hand again.
“I got an idea. Why don’t you tell us about him?” Shawn said.
I recognized the tactic. Classic Emotional Lifeline 101.
I’d used the same move on clients who were spiraling.
Shawn meant to divert my focus and give me something else to hold onto.
I didn’t want to talk, but panicking wasn’t going to teleport us there faster or change anything happening in real time. So I humored him.
Despite the dread of the situation, once I started, I found myself sharing everything about Oliver: how we met, minus the trauma details, just the parts that were mine to share; how we became friends; how it became something more.
And then I started sharing all the small things about Oliver that made him him.
“One day, I walked past his office and heard him talking. I thought he was on a call, but then I realized he was talking to this potted plant he keeps on his desk.” The memory forced a smile out of me.
“Full pep-talk mode, telling it he was proud it had grown a new leaf. Hyping it up. Cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
That’s who Oliver is. Soft, and sweet, and gentle with the world, even when the world hasn’t been gentle with him. ”
“You love him,” Dean said.
“Yeah, I do. And I know it sounds cheesy as hell, but he’s everything I didn’t know I was missing.”
“Aww, my sweet gay heart can’t handle this.
I cannot wait to meet this man properly, tonight does not count,” Shawn said.
“I need a real introduction. Preferably with cocktails, charcuterie, and a fully sanctioned gossip exchange. A man who turns our Luke into a Disney leading man? I’m already obsessed.
And selfishly, can I also say I’m thrilled to no longer be the lone rainbow beacon on this team.
Representation looked stunning draped across these shoulders, but even diamonds crack under pressure.
Thankfully, the LGBTQ luminosity of this squad has officially doubled, praise be. ”
I huffed out a weak laugh.
“There we go, that’s the Luke we all know and love. It’s going to be alright,” Shawn said.
Finally, the community center came into view and Shawn swung into a parking space.
Not waiting for the engine to turn off, I shoved the door open and bolted toward the entrance.
Sarah called after me, but I didn’t slow down.
Any professional objectivity I might have had if this were a client’s case had flown out the window the second the situation involved Oliver.
Inside, I followed the posted signs until I reached the meeting room doorway. My eyes swept the space. No Oliver.
A lone man stacked chairs at the far side of the room. I crossed to him. “Hi, are you the facilitator who runs the DV group that just wrapped up?”
The man straightened, friendly curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Hi, yes, I’m Elijah.”
“I’m Luke. One of the attendees of this group, Oliver, is my . . .” Boyfriend is what I wanted to say, but I didn’t know if Oliver had shared that part of his life in this space and I didn’t want to share something that was his to reveal. “Housemate,” I finished instead.
“Oh, yes, Oliver brings you up in group almost every time he shares. It’s evident you’re important to him. And you also work for Stone Protective Services?” he asked, gesturing to my work polo that had the firm’s logo and name embroidered across it.
“Yes, that’s right,” Sarah’s voice answered. I turned to find all four of them standing beside me.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Elijah continued.
“If you’re here for Oliver, I’m afraid he left a little bit ago with the new attorney our group partnered with.
Which, I believe, we were able to obtain through one of your firm’s outreach connections, so thank you.
You just missed them. Is everything okay? ”
“No. Vincent is Oliver’s—” I stopped myself again before I shared more than I had a right to. I went with something stripped of detail but pointed enough to land. “He’s the reason Oliver attends this group.”
Elijah’s brow furrowed. “So he’s not helping Oliver with a case about his father?”
“What? No? Is that what Vincent said?”
“Yes, he said he and Oliver had an appointment after this meeting in fact.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Dean stepped forward. “How long ago?”
“Maybe five minutes,” Elijah said, pointing toward a side hallway. “They left through that exit, to the back parking lot.”
“Thank you,” I said rushing out the way he directed.
We burst through the metal push-bar door, the night air slapping against my face. My eyes scanned the lot. At the furthest end, a sleek luxury vehicle gleamed beneath the halo of a streetlight, and beside it stood two figures. I didn’t need to be closer to identify them as Vincent and Oliver.
I ran. Sprinting toward them, the scene sharpened with every stride: Vincent had his arms cinched around Oliver’s torso, hauling him toward the open passenger door.
Oliver struggled, but panic had him reverting to every instinct I’d warned him against during training—pulling, twisting, giving Vincent control instead of breaking it.
They hadn’t noticed me yet. My hand flew to my holster, thumb brushing the snap, but I didn’t draw.
It hadn’t crossed the line for lethal force, and if Oliver could reclaim his power here, I wanted him to have that win.
“Oliver!” I yelled. “Remember your center of gravity, take back control.”
His head snapped up, turning toward me. As if my voice, my presence, split the ice that had him frozen, his body moved with sudden intent. Every lesson I’d drilled into him in our defense sessions came alive in the space of a heartbeat.
He dropped his weight into a squat. His inside leg slid behind Vincent’s as he landed a merciless strike to the groin with his fist. Vincent’s breath left him in a grunt, his grip loosening.
Oliver pivoted, leveraged the shift, and took Vincent’s legs out, flipping him onto the pavement with a brutal thud.
He delivered a swift kick to his midsection to keep him down, then sprinted toward me without looking back.
I met him partway, my arms already outstretched, bracing for the impact as he ran into me with a force born of equal parts relief and fear. I wrapped him in my arms, sealing him against me. “You’re safe now, angel,” I murmured into his hair. “I’ve got you.”
“Did you see? I did it. I did what you taught me.”
“Damn right you did. Textbook.” I kissed his head. “You were brilliant.”
He eased back and I caught the bloom of a bruise high on his cheekbone, the skin already darkening. My thumb brushed the edge of it, careful not to press.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“He laid his hands on you. That’s bad by definition.”
A groan on asphalt snapped my attention toward Vincent as he tried to push himself upright. The others closed in.
“Stay down,” Brent said, his voice granite-hard.
Sarah spoke on the phone. “Yes, back lot. Assault caught in progress, perpetrator restrained. We need units now.”
I exhaled. My team was here as backup and Oliver was safe. Alive. In my arms. Right where he belonged.
Shawn jogged up, phone in hand. “Got the whole thing. Continuous recording from when we exited the building. You can actually hear the impact when Oliver flips him.” His business tone slipped as he turned to Oliver, eyes sparkling.
“Which, yes, queen, chef’s kiss. Ten out of ten for form and devastating follow-through.
I haven’t felt that level of cathartic empowerment since Beyoncé dropped Lemonade.
Oliver looked up at me. “I can’t take credit. Luke taught me that.”
I kissed his temple. “Take the credit, angel. You earned that one.”
“I’m living for the Hallmark energy between you two,” Shawn said.
“And yes, our Luke is a stellar teacher, but he’s right, teaching only gets you so far.
The execution was all you.” He angled his phone toward Oliver.
“Feast your eyes on this freeze-frame where you yeet him like last season’s Prada. ”
Oliver wrinkled his nose. “Okay, let’s not slander Prada. I would never be caught throwing around Italian luxury fashion. Let’s call it what it is. I took out the trash. Straight into the dumpster where it belonged.”
Shawn cracked up, clutching his chest. “Oh, I like you.” Then he pivoted to me, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper that remained plenty loud.
“And you, my beloved slab of protective muscle. First, congratulations on securing the prettiest man these eyes have ever seen. Luke, when you commit, you commit. The aesthetic? The dynamic? Exquisite. Himbo protector meets gorgeous twink? You are a fanfic trope come to life. Second, holy hello, the way you launched across that asphalt? Full apex predator defending his mate energy. Feral. Hot. I need hydration just thinking about it.” He thrust his phone toward Oliver.
“Oliver, darling, drop your number so I can send you the footage. Trust me, queer man to queer man, you will thank me later.”
“Shawn,” Brent said, half a warning, half an exhale of exasperation.
“Relax, Daddy Discipline,” Shawn said with a shooing gesture. “We’ve got the bad guy on the ground, the lovebirds are united, safe in each other’s arms, and the cops are en route. I’m simply restoring balance to the emotional ecosystem with levity.”
“Luke . . .” Oliver said, his voice coming out reedy.
My attention snapped away from Shawn and Brent and zeroed in on him.
“Easy,” I murmured, tightening my hold as his weight sagged into me. I looked up at the others. “Sorry, can you . . .”
“We’ve got it covered,” Dean said. “Go. Take care of him.”
I guided Oliver away from the commotion, toward a small strip of grass near the lot’s edge, lowering us both to the ground so he could lean against me.
That’s the thing about adrenaline, it’s a cruel, two-faced savior.
It carries you through the moment, lending impossible strength, sharpening reflexes, and holding you upright when you should collapse, only to abandon you once the danger passes, leaving your body to deal with the debt it racked up. Oliver’s system cashed that check now.
His skin, warm moments ago, had cooled beneath my touch, leaving a faint dampness. Goosebumps formed on his arms and the tremor in his limbs had graduated into a full-bodied shiver.
“I . . . I feel weird. Lightheaded,” he said.
“I think your body is starting to go through the aftereffects of the adrenaline spike. The fight-or-flight response is shutting off now the immediate threat is gone. It can throw you for a bit of a loopty loop, but you’re okay.”
He looked down at his trembling form. “This is normal?”
“Your body’s experiencing a massive physical and chemical change, so yeah. Your brain is trying to readjust, and the best it can do is tremble its way through it.”
“Doesn’t feel normal,” he muttered.
“I know, angel. It’ll pass, though, I promise.”
He took a long breath and exhaled, closing his eyes as he did.
“There you go, just relax, we’ll get you home soon.”
The distant warble of sirens bled into the still night, rising in pitch until the red-and-blue flash washed over the lot. The sirens cut off abruptly as the cruisers rolled to a stop.
Dean, Shawn, and Sarah moved to intercept the officers, while Brent kept Vincent detained. I kept my focus locked on Oliver, until one of the responding officers approached. With an inspirational calm, Oliver recounted the moments leading up to our arrival.
By the time his account ended, the officers had Vincent in cuffs and were hauling him to his feet, but he twisted mid-step, his gaze snapping toward us. “You’re going to regret this, Oliver,” he spat. “You think you’ve got anything over me? I’ll be out by tomorrow.”
Oliver flinched against my side. My arm tightened around him, drawing him into the shield of my chest as I turned my glare on Vincent.
“You’re more delusional than I gave you credit for.
As an attorney, I would think you’d be aware an arrest like this could see you disbarred.
You’re never going to set foot in another courtroom here again, pal, not unless it’s for your own trial. ”
The officers pushed Vincent into the cruiser, the door shut, and the car pulled away, taillights receding into the dark.
Kissing the top of Oliver’s head, I murmured, “Let’s get you home.”