10. Levi
Thoughts of Dover lingered in my mind and kept me awake for most of the night, making it nearly impossible to get any restful sleep.
Despite this, I have managed to get through the morning without feeling too exhausted, thanks in large part to the two large cups of coffee I have already consumed today.
The caffeine has helped to clear my head and sharpen my focus, so I actually feel reasonably alert.
In fact, I have come up with a plan to address the situation Dover now finds himself in.
The first thing I need to do is check whether Gemma is in her office.
If she is, I intend to speak with her and ask her about Fletcher, hoping she might have some insight or information that could help.
However, I’m conflicted about bringing up the trouble Dover is currently experiencing.
Gemma is such a genuinely kind person, and I know that if I tell her what’s going on she will blame herself.
Meanwhile, Dover has been subjected to harsh criticism and relentless scrutiny on various social media platforms throughout the night.
The volume of retweets and reposts related to the situation has increased at an alarming and exponential rate, which is a significant source of concern.
The sheer speed and scale of the online response make it difficult to manage or contain the narrative.
However, if I am honest with myself, I have noticed that there is actually more support than negativity in the comments and posts, which makes me question whether I should be as worried as I am.
Still, my primary responsibility while I am on rotation here from Ellison Security is to ensure the safety and well-being of the team.
But Dover is not just another assignment to me. Over time, it has become clear that he is much more than a job. It’s about time I accept the importance of Dover in my life.
A gentle knock on my already open office door draws my attention, and I look up to see Wyatt Peters, the owner and general manager of the Vikings, casually leaning against the doorjamb.
His posture is relaxed, but there’s a hint of purpose in his stance.
“Got a minute?” he asks, his tone friendly but carrying the weight of someone who rarely has time to waste.
I nod in acknowledgment, setting aside the paperwork I’d been reviewing.
“Always,” I reply, gesturing toward the chair positioned in front of my desk, inviting him to sit and make himself comfortable. “What brings you to my door?” I inquire, curious about the reason for his visit, since it’s not every day that he personally drops by.
He steps inside, his expression thoughtful. “Two things,” he begins, holding up two fingers for emphasis. “First of all, I wanted to check in and see how your first week back is going.”
I offer a small smile, shrugging slightly. “Not much going on, so it was a pretty slow day,” I answer, implying that the transition back into work has been uneventful so far.
Wyatt shakes his head, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as if amused by my response.
“I meant, health-wise,” he clarifies, his gaze steady and concerned.
“No issues?” he asks, making it clear that his primary concern is my well-being rather than the workload, which is why I reply honestly.
“A few twinges here and there, but I’m good to go,” I say, trying to sound reassuring even as I feel a faint ache in my side.
I offer a wry smile, hoping to lighten the mood and show that I’m not taking my recovery lightly.
“Don’t worry,” I add, my tone earnest, “I have no intention of putting myself out of action again, so I’ll be careful. ”
“Good,” he replies, his voice clipped and firm, but he doesn’t elaborate further.
The silence stretches between us, growing heavier with each passing second. When it becomes clear that he isn’t going to continue, I gently prompt him, trying to nudge the conversation forward. “You said two things,” I remind him, my curiosity piqued.
“That I did,” he acknowledges, his voice tinged with reluctance.
He runs a hand through his hair, his fingers catching briefly in the tangled, disheveled strands as if searching for comfort or clarity.
After a moment, he lets out a loud, frustrated sigh that seems to echo off the bare walls around us, filling the room with tension.
His eyes flicker restlessly, darting around the room as he searches for the right words to express what’s on his mind.
“Rosie is already aware of what I’m about to tell you,” he finally says, his voice quieter now, almost conspiratorial.
“In fact, she’s the only one who knows besides me.
” The weight of his words hangs in the air, signaling that what he’s about to reveal is both important and secretive.
I nod, trying to brace myself for whatever is coming. “I understand,” I reply, though my voice is quieter than I intended.
He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing how best to break the news. “Someone is gunning for Dover.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “Explain?” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
He draws in a long, deliberate breath. When he finally speaks, his tone is unwavering and calm, yet there is a distinct weight behind each word, an undercurrent of seriousness that instantly puts me on edge and makes my shoulders stiffen with anticipation.
“Early this morning, a letter—fan mail, to be specific—was intercepted and was subsequently handed over to me,” he explains, his gaze unwavering.
“I have reason to believe that this message is a direct consequence of the recent photographs that have been circulating widely and rapidly across various social media platforms, causing quite a stir and attracting a great deal of public attention.”
“Someone is threatening Dover?” A cold, uneasy sensation twists in my stomach, anxiety tightening its grip.
“The world is now aware that Dover is gay. As a gay man myself, I don't give a shit about anyone’s sexual preference. This threat could be dangerous, which is why I went to Rosie first. I wanted to make sure you have recovered enough to handle this. She informed me that you wouldn’t let anyone else. So, here I am.”
Wyatt’s tone is sharp, edged with frustration as he begins to pace the length of the room.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Dover’s life is in serious danger right now—he’s being threatened because of his sexuality.
I’m guessing it’s a fan who’s taken things way too far, but honestly, I can’t be sure.
Regardless, I believe it’s a real threat.
That’s why I want you to move in with Nash and Dover.
I need someone on the inside, someone I trust, to keep an eye on things from within their home.
I realize you’re not ready to be out in the field handling active threats yet, so Weston will be responsible for protecting Dover whenever he’s traveling with the team.
Your job will be to watch over him while he’s at home, to notice anything out of the ordinary, and to keep me updated. ”
A dull ache throbs behind my eyes as the weight of Wyatt’s words settles in my chest. I had more or less decided to stop being a jerk and go after what I want, or rather whom I want. So, what’s the problem? Dammit, I can’t be involved with Dover if I have to protect him. I’d be distracted.
“Have you asked Dover about it? He might have some idea where it’s coming from.”
“Not yet,” Wyatt admits, glancing down at his watch as if calculating the time in his head.
“He’s currently at practice. Or rather,” he corrected himself, “he will be in about an hour. I’ve already told Ethan to send him up to my office as soon as he arrives.
I want you there as well, so we can discuss this together. ”
Sitting forward in my chair, I let out a slow breath and wipe a hand down my face, bracing myself for what is to come. “I’ll be there,” I say, my voice steady, even as my thoughts race ahead to the meeting that awaits me.
Wyatt grimaces, his expression tightening with concern and frustration.
“I'll see you in my office in an hour,” he says, his voice clipped and serious.
Rising from his seat, he pulls a single sheet of paper from a folder and places it deliberately on the desk between us.
“This is a copy,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for doubt about the gravity of the situation.
He meets my eyes, his gaze steady. “I think this is serious, Dodge.”
Without another word, Wyatt turns and leaves the office, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
I sit in silence for a moment, feeling the weight of his words settle over me.
Slowly, I reach out and pick up the piece of paper, my hands trembling slightly.
I unfold it carefully, my eyes immediately drawn to the jagged, hurried handwriting that sprawls across the page.
You think you can get away with coming out as gay? I don't think so. There are consequences for sick people like you. Don't get too comfortable because I'm coming for you.
My breath catches in my throat as I read the threat, my eyes tracing the hateful words again and again. No matter how many times I read the message, the meaning remains the same—cold, menacing, and deeply personal. The threat is unmistakable, and the fear it stirs in me is immediate and visceral.