Chapter 14
“That’s not necessary.” Peter paced his small kitchen, phone to his ear as he argued with his boss. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Glad to hear it. You’re still taking the next two days off and working half days the rest of the week,” Andre said. “You can argue about it and waste both our time, or you can just accept my decision and enjoy your short vacation.”
“Holiday,” he muttered.
“I don’t care what you call it.” Andre sounded amused by his uncharacteristic correction. “What I do care about is that you don’t show up for work until Thursday evening. We’ve got things covered, so rest, enjoy yourself, and stop trying to pretend you don’t still have a headache.”
He almost disputed that last point, but Andre wasn’t wrong. “Fine. I’ll be in Thursday. If you need me before then, just call.”
“We won’t. Take care of yourself.” Andre ended the call.
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. The whole thing was rubbish.
They didn’t have the manpower to cover extra overnight shifts without majorly inconveniencing someone, but he understood his boss’s reasoning.
With the amount of screen time his job required, it probably wasn’t wise to jump right into the cycle of ten-hour shifts after only a few days of concussion recovery.
However, he could have at least worked half shifts throughout the week to lighten the burden on the other guys.
But Andre had made up his mind. Nothing Peter could do about it.
So now what was he supposed to do with an extra couple of days off?
He’d been looking forward to the weekend to recuperate from his extra hours, but he’d already had enough of that.
By tomorrow, he’d be going stir-crazy. He turned in a slow circle and surveyed the kitchen.
His bungalow was rented, so home-improvement projects were limited.
Weeding and watering his small garden would take all of twenty or thirty minutes a day, tops.
Hailey was supposed to pick him up after she got off work and take him to get his car.
At least then he wouldn’t be stuck at home.
Perhaps he could visit his grandparents tomorrow or Wednesday and make up for missing Sunday dinner.
While he was in Cincinnati, he could take the chance to visit a local international market.
Finding bits and bobs that reminded him of home was always a treat.
That’d take care of one extra day anyhow.
One day. He hadn’t bothered to take a true holiday in .
. . had it been years? He wasn’t sure he even knew how to relax for more than a weekend.
Of course, he’d been forced to take extended time off after the car crash two years ago, but that was anything but restful.
And, yeah, he’d visited Southampton just prior to that, but again, it hadn’t been for relaxation.
This was going to be painful.
Resigning himself to several more hours of twiddling his thumbs, he brewed a strong cup of tea, doctored it up, and tried to settle in with the autobiography he’d been reading when Andre called.
If he were being honest, staring at a page for too long still made his vision go a bit wonky, but he wasn’t going to admit that to anyone but himself.
Besides, he only had a chapter or so left, and the book was due back to the library tomorrow.
If he went ahead and finished before Hailey arrived, he could turn it in and pick up a replacement this evening.
That would give him a little something to do in his unexpected downtime.
He’d just turned to the final page when his phone rang.
A glance at the screen revealed it was one of his old colleagues.
He groaned. Was it that time already? Miguel phoned him every month to shoot the breeze—which he didn’t mind—and to ask when he planned to rejoin the bodyguard agency—which he had no answer for.
He let the phone go for a few more seconds, but he knew if he didn’t pick up, Miguel would simply leave a message and call back later this evening. Might as well get it over with. Stifling a sigh, he accepted the call.
“Pedro, my man! How’s it going?”
Despite his reticence to answer, Peter’s lip twitched at the familiar moniker. No one but Miguel ever called him anything but Peter or Lewis. The variation was even more humorous due to the fact that Miguel, despite his Colombian heritage, spoke less Spanish than Peter did—and that wasn’t much.
“Miguel, buenas tardes.” He flicked his gaze to the clock to reconfirm that it was indeed afternoon. If night shift hadn’t already ruined his sense of time, this past weekend would have. But, yes, it was almost four o’clock already.
“I wanted to share some good news with you now that it’s official.”
“What’s that?”
“I bought the agency.”
“You bought the—How?”
“Dave decided it was high time to retire. Gave it to me for a good price.”
“Well, congratulations. I bet you’re chuffed.”
“It’s a dream come true.” He paused ever so slightly, then, “So when are you coming back? We’ve been tagged to offer extra security at a couple concerts this summer, and we could really use you, especially since my time will be split with admin now.”
There it was. He sucked in a breath. “I’m super excited for you. Unfortunately, nothing’s changed on my end since the last time we talked.”
“I hate to hear that.”
No more than Peter did. “Not sure what you want me to say.”
“I want you to say you’re coming back tomorrow. You’re one of the best personal protection agents I’ve ever worked with. You were made for this job. I don’t know how the monotony of regular building security isn’t driving you up the wall.”
He clamped his lips shut before he admitted how close to accurate Miguel’s assessment was.
Some nights it was all he could do to convince himself not to turn in his resignation.
It wasn’t that he absolutely hated the quiet or the loneliness.
He’d spent plenty of shifts standing guard alone while his clients slept, hoping there would be no disturbance requiring his intervention.
But he’d also known his vigil had real purpose, that he was protecting lives.
He didn’t have that at his current job. In the grand scheme of things, what did protecting an unoccupied building really matter?
Okay, it did matter, but the impact he specifically made was minimal.
Even if he messed up royally, people would go on with their lives.
They’d be inconvenienced, yes, but they’d still be alive.
And that was the point.
Peter cleared his throat. “I’m not ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.” He might not have meant to say that last part, but it was true.
“You will. I’m not giving up, Pedro. One day you’ll be back to doing what you were meant to do. I’m praying and believing for it.”
“Appreciate it.” And now he needed to lighten things up. “You know, my security gig isn’t all boring though. I got a nice bop on the head the other night when I went to check on a prowler. ’Bout near knocked some sense into me.”
“That’ll be the day. Everything okay though? No injuries?”
“I’m slightly concussed. Nothing to worry about.”
“With your hard head? I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about the other guy’s hand.”
He chuckled, glad his friend had picked up on his need for a bit of humor. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” To his relief, Miguel allowed the conversation to shift, and soon they were discussing an upcoming baseball game the man had tickets for—a far more enjoyable topic.
When the call ended, he stared at his phone. Miguel had somehow managed to talk him into accepting one of his extra tickets and joining the guys for the game in a few weeks. But he hadn’t brought up rejoining the agency again. That was a first.
Maybe Peter should have led with news of his concussion and derailed the recruitment call before it got to that point.
But he knew that was only part of the equation.
For all his badgering ways, Miguel knew when to push and when to back off.
And he really did care. There was no doubt about that.
He’d make a great boss . . . if Peter ever made it back to the agency.