Chapter Ten #19
Pottery class. He was going to take pottery. It felt almost suspiciously normal. His life lately had become so unhinged. A clay bowl and a check mark on his social calendar sounded like spiritual healing.
The bell over the door jingled again.
Flynn looked up and found himself smiling automatically. “Morning..”
The carrier stepped inside with a neat stack tucked under one arm, his blue shirt crisp.
His expression was easy and familiar. Same as always.
Same route. Same face Flynn saw nearly every day, and somehow still could never remember the guy’s name.
Flynn felt kinds bad, but was always too embarrassed to ask.
Probably would’ve forgotten it again even if Flynn had asked.
“Morning, Flynn.” He held up a few envelopes. “Got your usual.”
Sunlight caught in the glass door behind him, making the whole front of the shop brighter. Flynn took the mail and sorted through it without much interest. Utility bill. Flyer. Something trying to sell him internet service he already had and couldn’t afford.
“Any beach trips for me?” he asked.
“Nothing fun today.” The man’s smile stayed in place.
“Sounds about right.”
Flynn started to set the stack down, but felt the man’s gaze settle on his throat.
A tiny prickle ran over Flynn’s skin.
Usually, the guy chatted and moved on. Weather, local gossip, some random joke about junk mail. Normal interactions. Today he stood there staring, making Flynn very uncomfortable.
When Flynn glanced up, the guy was still looking at the mark on his neck.
The shop suddenly felt warmer, the space shrinking a little.
Flynn cleared his throat. “So. Busy route today?”
The man’s eyes lifted to his face. “You let him touch you.”
The hell? A chill slid through Flynn.
The words had barely registered, but Flynn had caught them, and the way he grounded his teeth.
Flynn forced a laugh that came out sounding too high-pitched. “Okay. Weird customer service note.”
The mailman stepped closer to the counter. “I saw it right away.”
Flynn’s fingers tightened around the edge of the wood.
Through the front window, Zavier still stood outside with the phone to his ear, too far to hear anything.
The back of the store stayed silent. Adele was still in the restroom.
The old air conditioner kicked on overhead with a tired groan, stirring warm dust and the faint smell of sun on glass.
Play it cool. Breathe like nothing’s wrong.
Slowly, carefully, Flynn said, “I’m going to assume you mean the hickey and we’re all going to agree this is already too much.”
Not to Flynn. He loved being marked by Zavier, and was proud of it. Everyone else needed to mind their own business.
A smile touched the man’s mouth, but nothing about it felt friendly. “You weren’t supposed to move on that fast.”
Holy shit.
No. No way. The mailman was nice. He brought Flynn’s personal mail, laughed at his dumb jokes, and come on. He wore sensible shoes.
The carrier had also known exactly where to leave things.
The thought struck so cleanly it made Flynn’s stomach dip.
He looked at the guy’s face and suddenly everything clicked. They’d been members at the same gym, though they’d never worked out together. He had access to delivery packages inside the building. Delivered the notice when the library book Flynn had requested come in.
Access. Timing. Familiarity. A person who came and went without notice. A person Flynn had trusted because uniforms and routine made people look safer than they were.
His mouth went dry.
Oh god. Over a month ago he’d said his key to access the building kept jamming. Without a second thought Flynn had loaned his, knowing he would see the next day. Not just the one fir building but the entire ring.
The guy had made a copy before returning them.
Flynn was going to be sick.
“You,” he said, barely above a whisper.
The man’s smile sharpened. “There you go.”
A pulse thudded hard in Flynn’s ears.
For one stupid moment, he wanted to be wrong. He wanted this to be some bizarre misunderstanding, a joke taken too far, maybe a concussion Flynn had somehow acquired between orgasms and opening the store.
Instead, the mailman leaned his forearms on the counter like they were two guys catching up and not a predator closing in on its prey.
“I always knew when you were home,” he said softly. “I knew what days you stayed late. I knew when you changed brands of coffee. You cut your hair once and nobody even mentioned it. I did.”
A sick twist moved through Flynn. He remembered that. He remembered some offhand comment weeks ago that had felt almost flattering at the time.
Jesus Christ.
“You’re the one leaving the notes.” Hearing it out loud made Flynn’s skin crawl.
“Yes.”
The smugness in that single word ignited a fire in Flynn’s stomach. He wanted to punch it off the bastard’s face.
At the rear of the shop, something creaked. Flynn flicked a glance toward the cookbook aisle, hoping Adele would stay exactly where she was and never come out again.
When he looked back, the man’s expression had changed. Hurt and anger warred in his eyes.
A little burst of hysteria nearly escaped Flynn.
“Oh my god. This is fucking unreal. How is my life this extreme when I don’t even have one?
Work. Home. Work. Home.” Flynn made a chopping motion with his hands.
“That’s the extent of it. If I could combine the two, I’d never have to leave my house.
I would finally become the shut-in I feared I would become,” Flynn said, voice his filled with hopelessness.
“The ultimate rejection. Turning my back on humanity, because what the fuck have they done for me?
“Now you know how I feel,” His tone softened, like they’d found common ground. “At least I know you’re goddamn name.”
Or not.
Out of everything happening, that was what he latched onto?
The homicidal mailman standing in his bookstore looked genuinely furious that Flynn had never stored his first name in the collapsing cabinet of his brain.
Speaking of, where was Flynn’s bodyguard?
How long did one phone call take? Zavier should’ve returned by now.
“You smiled at me every day.”
Flynn snorted. “I smile at everyone. I work retail. It’s a hostage skill.”
Which clearly needed worked.
The guy took a slow step forward. “You never paid attention. After everything I’ve done for you.”
Flynn was thrown back in time, a small boy again, trembling as his drunken mother ranted at him.
Flynn never understood why everything made her so angry.
Especially when she aimed her fury at her own mother.
Nana never backed down, even when he’d wish she would.
Then his mom would turn her fury on him once they were back home.
Don’t you ever take her side again. After everything I’ve done for you, I deserve more respect! ”
“What’s. My. Name?”
Flynn was sucked back to the present, but the fear and anger had followed.
“It’s Mr. Mailman.”
For one psychotic heartbeat, pure disbelief crossed the guy’s face. Then color flooded it.
“That’s a fucking job title,” he snarled. “My name is Melvin.”
Flynn tried to dispel the ugly worthlessness the memory had set free, but it clung to him, wrapping its oily fingers around him in a hug that burned his skin. Never once had he disrespected her. She was his mom. He loved her.
But Flynn was no longer that little boy. That phrase didn’t make him tremble. It triggered an avalanche of everything he’d buried.
“You delivered my mail. That’s literally you’re fucking job! You’re even paid to do it, Melvin the mailman.”
The burst of hysterical laughter that escaped sounded demented, but Flynn had a lifetime of pain to purge.
Since Melvin had started this… “You are nothing but an NPC player. Background, where every service worker lives. That’s not being cruel.
It’s a simple fact. Paid to make sure everything runs smoothly.
Like mail delivery. What gives you the goddamn right to try and take that choice from me! ”
“You were supposed to notice me.”
“Welcome to reality, where every is desperate to be seen while refusing to open their own eyes!”
Flynn had been just as desperate. His entire life he’d buried the pain, smiled when all he’d wanted to do was bawl his eyes out, and be important to at least one goddamn person.
Zavier had shown up in more ways than one.
Flynn wasn’t suddenly fixed, but he was no longer alone.
Zavier had given touch to someone who had been deprived of the basic human need for far too long.
He didn’t just accept that Flynn operated like a caffeinated squirrel, Zavier adored it. Adored everything about Flynn.
And this asshole was trying to rip that away.
“I should thank you.” Flynn glared at him.
Melvin’s jaw twitched. “About damn time.”
Flynn had never wanted so badly to slap the spit of someone, but Melvin the mailman made his palm itch. Flynn needed that wine. And his mate.
“But I’m curious as to why you want to thank me.”
That smug smile pushed Flynn over the finish line. “If you hadn’t been a delusional asshole, stalking someone instead of having the balls to make your interests known to their face, I wouldn’t have needed a bodyguard.”
Melvin grabbed for Flynn’s shirt, fingers catching in the fabric near his throat, and tried to yank him forward. Flynn drove his knee up on pure instinct. It connected somewhere useful because Melvin grunted and doubled just enough for Flynn to claw at his face.
Adele screamed.
The sound ripped through the store.
Books toppled from a display when Melvin slammed Flynn backward. Flynn hit a shelf shoulder-first, pain jolting down his arm. Before Melvin could pin him, Flynn snatched the nearest hardback and swung.
The book cracked against Melvin’s temple with a deeply satisfying thud.
Flynn gasped, scrambling back. He didn’t regret a single word he’d said, just wished he’d done with muscly backup. In the store, not on the phone somewhere.
Melvin snarled and came at him harder.
This time the hit drove Flynn to the floor. His elbow banged wood. Breath shot from his lungs. Melvin’s weight crashed down half over him, fingers going for Flynn’s throat.
Then the weight vanished.
One blink ago, Melvin had been on him. The next, he was ripped off so fast Flynn only caught a blur of motion and the ugly crack of a body hitting wood. A shelf shuddered. Hardcovers spilled in a clattering avalanche.
Melvin swung wildly, but Zavier caught the arm and drove him into the endcap hard enough to rattle the entire display. A framed sign dropped and shattered somewhere behind the counter. Adele cried out again from the back hall, a frightened, muffled sound that made everything feel even more unreal.
Jesus Christ. This was happening.
Melvin tried to scramble free. Zavier hit him again.
There was nothing messy or panicked about it. Zavier moved with terrifying efficiency, each strike quick and brutal. Melvin got one hand up, got half a step, and then Zavier slammed him across the counter edge so hard the register rattled and a cup of pens went skittering to the floor.
Flynn’s stomach lurched.
“Zavier—” The name came out rough and useless.
Another blow. Melvin sagged.
Then Zavier drove him to the floor and pinned him there with a forearm across his throat while the other hand twisted his wrist back at an angle that made Flynn’s own shoulder ache in sympathy. Melvin thrashed once, twice, then started choking on a wet, ugly sound.
For one terrible beat, Flynn thought Zavier might kill him.
The sight froze Flynn where he knelt among fallen books and dust and pain.
“Zavier.” This time Flynn’s voice cracked. “Stop.”
The store went tight and strange around the edges. The air conditioner hummed overhead. Adele was still somewhere in the back, silent now. Outside, a truck rolled past and the ordinary sound of it felt obscene.
At last, Zavier let go.
Melvin hit the floor flat and didn’t get back up.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Flynn looked at Zavier again.
Flynn’s whole body vibrated with leftover shock, but beneath that was something simpler.
Need.
He crossed the space between them. His legs nearly failed him halfway there, but then Zavier was in front of him and Flynn threw himself into his mate’s muscly arms.
Launched, honestly.
It was not Flynn’s most graceful moment. He almost kneed Zavier in the thigh on the way in. Romance remained alive despite his knee nearly ruining it.
Zavier caught him anyway, one strong arm circling his back, the other bracing him tight. Heat closed around Flynn at once. Familiar. Safe. Real.
The smell of his mate cut through everything else.
For one breath, Flynn just held on. He pressed his face into Zavier’s shoulder and let himself shake. Flynn was done pretending he could keep all of it locked up and still function like a normal person.
Quietly, Zavier said, “I’ve got you, kitten.”
That nearly undid Flynn. “Yeah. You really, really do.”
THE END