Chapter Fifteen
Wesley stared at his phone. His hand trembled so badly, he could barely re-read the message. But he didn’t have to. The words were seared into his brain.
Hand over the thumb drive or the whole world learns about Mr. Hennessey’s secret life.
If you say a word to him, the secret comes out.
Wesley texted back his agreement. What else could he do? He still had no idea what thumb drive they were talking about, but it didn’t matter. He’d worry about that when he got home. Thank God Nate was at his appointment with the team.
Wesley shoved his phone into his back pocket and tore through the condo, collecting his things.
His school materials were hastily packed back into their original bags and boxes.
Everything else—clothes, toiletries, loose items—went into a couple of garbage bags.
He hated just disappearing after everything Nate had done for him—had told him.
The thought of walking away without a word shredded his heart, but the text had been clear.
He made one last hurried pass through each room and hauled every bag, box, and case to the elevator and then shoved it all in the stainless-steel car.
In the parking garage, he dragged it all back out into a haphazard pile on the concrete.
He jogged to his car and pulled it up alongside the jumbled mound.
Thank God he’d parked on the visitor level. If Nate arrived home, he’d enter through the resident gate which would put him on the second level. Wesley had no idea how he would have explained this frantic evacuation.
Once the car was loaded, he sat for a few minutes to catch his breath and cool off. He blasted the AC on his face and neck. This would have to happen on the hottest day of the year. He took long deep breaths to settle his heart rate a bit before hitting the road.
Wesley stopped at a nearby ATM for cash. His heart pounded. He needed a plan and fast. Even if he’d had whatever thumb drive “they” were talking about, turning it over was no guarantee that Nate’s secrets would stay that way. He had to protect Nate. He had to protect himself. But how?
A quick stop at a gas station for a prepaid phone—and gas while he was there—then a secluded spot in the parking lot of a nearby fast-food joint. With trembling fingers, he dialed Nate’s agent.
Thank God he’d thought to ask about Nate’s emergency contact. The fact that it was his agent seemed strange at the time, but now, the agent was the perfect person to call.
The other end rang once, twice—
“Wade Latham here.”
Wesley breathed a small sigh of relief. “Mr. Latham, I’m a friend of Nate Hennessey’s. Nate’s secret is being threaten—”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I don’t have much time, sir. My name is Wesley Byerly, known to you probably as Ashton Morgan…
” He gave him the TL;DR version of how he ended up in Nate’s life, finishing with the care Nate had given him over the last week and the latest threat via text.
“My attackers have threatened to out Nate if I don’t hand over some thumb drive.
So I’ve left the condo to keep him safe.
You need to protect Nate’s secret. I’m on a burner phone right now.
Verify my identity with Nate, but please don’t let him get involved.
I don’t want to bring any more trouble down on him. ”
Wesley squirmed through the muttering and keyboard clacking on the other end of the line. “That’s a pretty big coincidence. The only unlocked car in the whole parking lot belonged to Nate?”
“Well, just the first unlocked one I found. I don’t know how or why—I don’t have time to think about it right now. Mr. Latham, promise me you’ll protect Nate.”
“Of course, I will. That’s my job. But what about you?”
“I’ll be fine. I gotta go.”
Wesley stepped out of his car, dropped the phone to the ground, and stomped it with his heel, the plastic crunching under his shoe. He scooped up the pieces and dumped them in a nearby dumpster. Then he got into his car and headed home.
He’d never been religious, but for the entire drive to Plattsmouth, he said every prayer he could think of for Nate’s protection; he prayed even harder that some guardian angel was close enough to hear them.
* * * * *
“Wesley!” Nate burst in the front door. “Holy shit, you’ll never guess what happened.”
Silence.
The refrigerator buzzed steadily. The AC unit whirred.
Then the lack of scent registered. No food, no laundry.
Every day that Wesley had been here, he’d cooked or washed clothes.
Nate had come to anticipate the scent of a meal or the lingering smell of laundry detergent or fabric softener when he walked in the door.
Nate ventured further into the condo. His stomach churned.
His bones grew heavy, his feet leaden as he trudged through the space.
The stacks of laminated cutouts that had sat on the far end of the dining room table were no longer there.
The old afghan Wesley had dragged from home and had draped over one piece of furniture or another, and had snuggled under when they watched television was nowhere to be seen.
Nate halted in the doorway to Wesley’s room. His heart sank. His neck and arms turned cold.
The room was empty. Wesley’s clothes. His school stuff. The bed wasn’t made either. Another thing Nate had liked seeing every day—the way Wesley had tidied up after himself.
Wesley was gone.
Someone must have pulled his lungs from Nate’s chest and wrung them like a dishrag because gasping for air wasn’t working.
They’d both known it had to end. Wesley had school; Nate had hockey. Life had to return to normal.
But what the hell? Why now?
Why hadn’t Wesley waited, said goodbye?
After everything Nate had done. After everything they’d shared?
Not that he expected or even wanted repayment. But a goodbye wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
He’d thought they could remain friends at least. Nate had no illusions about utilizing Wesley at the club any longer, not after the sex they’d had here.
But here he was. Abandoned yet again.
Why?
There must truly be something wrong with me.
Even a closeted gay school teacher didn’t want anything to do with him after a mere few weeks of knowing him.
Well, if his mom or his dad didn’t want him, what made him think anyone else would?
Fine.
Nate had made it this far on his own, right?
He didn’t need anyone.
Nate stood in the doorway to Wesley’s room and swallowed against the boulder in his throat. The space was now void of the avalanche of clothes Wesley had brought.
A splash of turquoise caught Nate’s eye. He pulled the soft cotton that was Wesley’s favorite shirt—a blouse actually—from under the far corner of the bed.
Nate buried his face in it. The faint scent of Wesley’s deodorant and body wash, his essence, seeped into his soul and he couldn’t breathe it in deeply enough. The shirt wasn’t Nate’s to keep.
Tears slid down his cheeks and he swiped them away. Took a shuddering breath.
What the fuck was so wrong with him that no one wanted to stick around?
First Mom, then Dad. The Lumberjacks had just booted him halfway across the country.
But Wesley had come along and had embraced him with open arms. First as a stranger, then as friends, then as lovers.
Just when Nate thought he’d been handed the golden ticket—turns it was counterfeit.
God, he’d thought they’d had something. He was obviously wrong if Wesley could just pack up his stuff and leave without so much as a note. Without a thank you. Without a fuck you.
Something.
Anything.
But there was nothing. Just silence, cold and heavy, pressing in on him. The kind of silence that said he didn’t matter enough for words. Not even worth the effort of goodbye. It hollowed him out in a way shouting never could.
Nate’s chest cinched tight, his throat burning as if he’d swallowed glass. His gaze dropped to the turquoise bunched in his hands. He clenched his fists, ready to rend the garment in two.
No. Wait.
That blouse was one of Wesley’s favorites. He wouldn’t have left it behind if he’d planned to leave with or without a word.
Wesley would have methodically packed his stuff.
And—the Wesley Nate had come to know wouldn’t take the coward’s way out.
Wesley would have said goodbye unless there was a good reason not to.
Or a reason why he couldn’t.
Nate had no idea what either of those reasons might be, but he’d bet his next day with the Cup that they weren’t good.
Fuck. His sudden departure probably had to do with the break in. Maybe the guys who attacked him…or that damned thumb drive.
Shit. He had to find Wesley.
Nate patted himself down for his phone, keys, and wallet.
At the vibration against his ass, Nate pulled his phone from his back pocket. Why the fuck was Wade calling him? He was half tempted to not answer, but Wade rarely called, so he should probably answer. He swiped to accept the call and headed for the door. “Wade, what’s up?”
“You’ve got a problem.”
He came to a halt, hand on the doorknob. As if skate laces were tied too tight around his heart, Nate’s breathing shallowed. “How’s that?”
“Can you verify that Ashton is Wesley?”
“Fuck. Yeah. Why?” A lump lodged in his windpipe.
“I got a call from him a short time ago saying your secret was being threatened. Said something about a parking lot and a thumb drive. You have any idea what that’s about?”
Nate’s knees nearly buckled. “Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yeah. Kinda.” He pulled the door open, slammed it shut behind him, and took off for the elevator. He gave Wade a quick recap of the night of Wesley’s assault, the burglary, and everything that had happened since.
“Did he call the police about the break-in?” Wade asked.
“We did.” Nate punched the down button for the elevator, half tempted to take the stairs.
“How would these other people know about you?”
“I don’t know. God, I don’t know.” Nate’s brain whirled with possibilities. “I mean, I always try to be careful. I musta messed up somehow. Fuck. Wait— What about Wesley?”
“He said he was fine.”
“No, no, no.” Nate wasn’t convinced. Especially after his hasty exit. “He wouldn’t admit if he wasn’t. He’s protecting me. He must be if he called you. Plus, he left here without saying goodbye. Shit. He’s in trouble.”
“Nate— If you do this, it may go public. It’s one thing to come out as an ally. Because of Jacob, you can defend that position. But we can’t know what’s going to get leaked to the press. What about management? After what happened in Portland—”
Nate brayed, but it wasn’t a laugh by any stretch. “Yeah, about that. I was gonna call you later. But shit, I have to get to Wesley, he’s in danger. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
“Nate, wai—”
Nate ended the call and jabbed at the elevator button. In the elevator, he rifled through his wallet, pulling out a business card. He dialed as fast as his trembling fingers would allow.
“D’Marcus Bennett.”
“Officer Bennett?”
“Yes. How can I help you?”
“This is Nate Hennessey. You answered a call at Wesley Byerly’s trailer a week or so ago. I was with him.”
“What’s going on, Mr. Hennessey?” His tone switched to all business and Nate was grateful.
“I’m not sure, to be honest, but I think Wesley’s in danger by the same guys who trashed his place.” The elevator dinged and the door whooshed open. “I’m twenty-five, thirty minutes out. Can you—”
“On my way.”
Nate heard keys and a door. “Thank you.”
The call disconnected and Nate didn’t even know if the man was on duty or not. But he guessed it didn’t matter. He gave his business cards out for a reason. To some degree, he was always on duty.
Nate resisted the urge to drive faster than four miles over the limit and checked and re-checked his speed, easing off the gas when his velocity increased too much.
He had to believe that Officer Bennett would get to Wesley and take care of whatever was going on.
His heart thumped hard. Tapping his thumb against the steering wheel and jiggling his left leg all the way down Highway 75 didn’t alleviate an ounce of his anxiety.
Once he’d exited, he tried to remember the way to Wesley’s, having forgotten all the street names on the only trip he’d made here. He was going on visual memory and hope.
Left on the second street past the Shell station, go straight through a couple of stop signs.
So far, so good, and then Nate turned onto the street that led to the trailer park Wesley called home with a sigh of relief.
As Nate approached the end of the street, he noted a cluster of vehicles, two personal vehicles and two cop cars.
In front of a mobile home with a storm door hanging askew.
Wesley’s place.
Nate opted to park a few trailers down, walking the rest of the way.
His whole body felt as if he’d just skated a five-minute shift—rubbery legs, pounding heart, shallow breathing.
Neighbors congregated in knots of looky-loo humanity, their nosiness making Nate itch.
Any one of them could recognize him. He took a breath.
Fuck it. Only Wesley mattered here. If this made the news, he’d deal with it.