That wasn't why I was staring. I was watching only to see if she needed me to run interference.
She liked Damien and was trying to be nice, but I could tell he was making her uncomfortable.
Damien was one of our closer friends, and one of the few that knew Bianca and me weren't together. Sometimes I wished he'd never caught on. Bianca was never going to care about him the way he wanted. She just didn't feel that way about him, and if she could have used me as an excuse to keep him at bay, I knew she would have.
"I don't know why you put up with that shit, Stephan," one of the pilots said loudly. His name was Allen, I was pretty sure.
I glanced at him with a raised brow. He was an overweight guy, in his early thirties, I guessed. A first officer, I recalled, and one that had a reputation for being difficult to work with. I barely knew the guy, but he sounded like he had a very strong opinion about my life. Of course, he wasn't exactly sober at the moment.
"Excuse me?" I asked, hoping to politely deflect him.
He was red in the face, his brown hair messy and falling in his eyes. He waved a hand toward Bianca and Damien. "He's after your girl. Everyone knows it. And he's supposed to be your friend? It's none of my business, but I don't know why you put up with it."
I gave him a bland smile. "You're right. It is none of your business."
"You need to put a ring on that one," he said, tone snide, "before Captain Dimples snatches her on up."
He was getting on my nerves in a major way, but I still made a mental note to harass Damien about that nickname as soon as I could.
"I'm not worried about it, so I don't know why you are," I told him pointedly. Though I did know. I recalled there was some kind of beef between him and Damien, something involving a woman that preferred Damien more, though I didn't know all the details.
Apparently he thought that could be solved by egging me into fighting him.
"What kind of a guy isn't worried about someone else hitting on his girl?" Allen asked, tone snide.
I gave him another bland smile, though this one was harder to fake. "Listen, it's Allen, right?"
He nodded.
I continued, "I know you and Damien have some beef between you, but don't drag me into it. I'm guessing you've heard that I can handle myself in a fight, you probably heard the rumor that I used to be a cage fighter by the way you're acting, but listen carefully to this part: Nothing you can say is going to get me to go over there and do your dirty work for you, and we all know if you tried to kick his ass yourself, he'd clobber you."
He tried to respond, looking angry, but I spoke over him. "Now you, you aren't a close friend of mine, and you're starting to piss me off, so you I could be convinced to fight, but not him, and not by you. So move along before you find out firsthand if I did really used to fight pro."
That had its desired effect, and he left with a few grumbling complaints about me being a prick.
That was fine with me. I was smiling when he left, thinking I'd defused the situation well enough.
A look at Javier's face told me otherwise.
I sighed. I didn't know what, but something about that exchange had deeply bothered him.
He'd been playful and engaged before that, enjoying the crowd we were hanging with. He became withdrawn and stiff after.
There was no good way to get it out of him there, no subtle way to get him alone that wouldn't look suspicious, so it wasn't until later, post-party, that I got him to talk.
"What's bothering you?"
We were getting ready for bed, brushing our teeth side by side in the mirror. I saw his mouth tighten.
He set his toothbrush down and met my eyes. "You really don't know?" he asked quietly, but something in his tone was very loud, so loud it was screaming at me, trying to tell me something that I wasn't ready to hear.
I shook my head. "I know you got upset after I threatened Allen. You don't think the way I handled that was appropriate?"
He grunted. That was it. Just grunted and went to bed.
I followed him, a kernel of annoyance moving through me. I was plainspoken, and sometimes I really wished that he were too.
"I don't speak fluent grunt," I told him as I got into bed. "Want to tell me what yours meant?"
He didn't even crack a smile. "I think it bothers me the most that you don't even understand how screwed up that all was."
I sighed. I hated arguments like this, so full of riddles and land mines. "I guess I don't. Explain, please."
"You were so willing, happy even, to get into a real fight over a fake relationship. You weren't bluffing. You would have followed through, kicked Allen's ass if he kept it up."
"The guy was being a jerk, talking that way about Bianca, trying to stir shit up with me and Damien. And he never would have fought me, so it was a bluff. I'm twice that guy's size."
He grunted again, and this time I could interpret it into a noise of utter frustration. "You don't get it!"
"Explain it to me then," I muttered sullenly, wanting nothing more than to get off this subject.
He was in my face suddenly, eyes wide, passionate. "You're so scared to show the world who you are that you would cripple your life for it! Why?! What are you so scared of? The world is not your sick dad. Half the guys we work with are gay. Do you see the straight ones stringing any of them up? This isn't the fifties. We don't have to hide anymore!"
My jaw clenched, and I just stared at him, refusing to talk about this.
He cupped my face in his hands, eyes imploring. "There's nothing wrong with you, Stephan. Nothing at all. You are who you are, and even if you wanted to, you couldn't change it. No matter how you hide it, you can't run from yourself, and you shouldn't want to, because there's nothing wrong with you."
I didn't cave one single inch, staring him down with cold eyes, letting him talk, giving him nothing.
One sad tear ran down his face. "You're perfect, Stephan. Perfect. I love you. I'm in love with you, but what are you even doing? How long can you live with this farce? How long do I have to pretend to be your bro, your bud, in public, lovers only in private?"
Nothing. I gave him nothing. No part of me was willing to cave to this. I would not do it, not even for him.
He was getting more desperate by the second, eyes wild, lips trembling. "You know what terrifies me? That you're so willing to risk us, to risk this, just to keep up the front."
Nothing. I gave him nothing but cold, resolute eyes.
He got the message, shaking his head back and forth as he looked into them with sad eyes. "It's not even a dilemma for you, is it? If I made you choose, go public or lose me, you wouldn't even hesitate, would you?"
My breath caught. That one got to me. "Don't," I said quietly, a plea in my voice.
He backed away, his jaw hardening. "No. I need to know. If you care about me, you'll choose me. Choose me, Stephan. Please."
"Don't do this. It's not fair. It is manipulative. I have a right to be a private person. You shouldn't want to force me to live other than how I choose to."
"Tell me one thing, do you think you need more time, or will it ever be an option? Do you plan to spend your whole life living a lie?"
"Stop. Just stop. This went too far."
"I notice you didn't answer, and I'm not surprised. I can't do that, can't live a lie, Stephan. Tell me which you choose. The lie or me. Which one is more important to you?"
I was suddenly furious, so angry at him, at his impatience, his inability to see my side of it, that I wanted him gone. Wanted it enough to say, my tone glacial, "I choose to be me, and I refuse to be manipulated by you into living my life as you see fit. We don't all have to march in the Gay Pride Parade, Javier. That's never going to be who I am. So if you're looking for an excuse to leave, there's the fucking door." I waved my arm at it.
He gasped, face going slack, like I'd slapped him. "This isn't about gay pride, but do you even realize, even comprehend, how ashamed you are of being gay?"
I didn't like that. It definitely hit me in a place I wasn't comfortable exploring. I made him sorry he'd said it. "We're done here. Get off your soapbox and leave. Now."
His face crumpled.
I'd been mean to him, when I was never mean. I was on a roll, though, and I wasn't done. "I mean it. Done. This thing has run its course anyway."
I was numb for a while after he'd left, but the numbness didn't last long.
When the pain hit me, I crawled into bed with Bianca, moving like a wounded animal.
She welcomed me with open arms, and it helped, as it always did.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HOT BUTTON
Javier didn't budge, and neither did I.
Unlike me, though, he wasn't interested in or willing to be civil. If I entered a room, he left it. If he was assigned to work one of my flights, he called out sick.
It was an awful breakup, and we'd only been together for a month.
Maybe it was for the best that it'd ended so abruptly, no matter how senseless that ending might have felt, because I couldn't imagine how much worse it could have gotten, the breakup, if we'd been together a substantial amount of time.
It was a while before he even said one word to me, and I quickly found I preferred the frigid silence.
We were at a Valentine's party. Murphy was throwing it, so even though I wasn't really in the mood to celebrate Valentine's Day, we wound up going.
Javier was there, I saw right away, hanging out in the backyard with some of his friends.
I really hadn't wanted to see him today of all days.
I preempted his usual snub and just avoided him. Or tried to.
It was a few hours in, and I myself was about three drinks deep.
Javier was at least six. Not good.
I was in the kitchen, hanging out with Murphy and a group of pilots, distractedly trying to follow their conversation, which was about building a proper beer pong table.
Javier came walking in unsteadily, drink in hand, bitter eyes all for me.
Oh Lord, I thought resignedly.
"How's your Valentine's Day, Stephan?" he drawled, moving to stand in front of me.
I saw where this was going, and I shifted away from the group, ushering Javier to a quiet corner in the dining room.
It didn't matter. Javier was in no mood to be quiet, wherever the setting.
"I asked you how your Valentine's Day is," he said insolently.
I stared at his angry face, the tense set of his features, and all I wanted to do was touch him.
Why did it have to be like this? Was there any way that I could fix it? Would he ever see my side of it?
My mind awhirl with questions, I answered his, "It's not great, Javier. How about yours?"
His lip curled up, his eyes filling.
I had to look away.
"How is your Valentine? Have you proposed to her yet?" His voice was loud and mocking.
I sent him a warning look. "You leave her out of it. I mean it."
"Or what?" he hissed, more quietly at least. "You'll dump me, and go back to her, go back to your comfortable lie of a life?"
He swayed on his feet, and without thinking, I reached out and caught his shoulders, holding him steady.
With a cry, he launched himself into my chest.
I caught him there for one brief moment before I remembered where we were, that we had no privacy, and I stepped back, thrusting him away from me like he was on fire. Like he was unwanted, despite the fact that I wanted him badly.
That, of course, didn't make anything better.
He cussed me out, loudly, calling me just about every name in the book, but not outing me.
I took it in silence, watching him, hating myself.
Bianca showed up in the middle of it, looking ready to do battle, and so I knew it was time to end it.
"Enough," I told him quietly.
He had one last salvo to throw at me as a parting shot. It was a good one.
He leaned in close, his sorrowful eyes just killing me, and whispered, "You were the only guy I've loved who ever made me feel like I was worth anything. Anything at all. I guess the joke was on me, huh?"
Boy did that get to me. Feeling worthless was my own personal hot button.
"I'm sorry," I mouthed, having no reassurances for him. I couldn't even reassure myself. I could never be what he wanted.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TO PROTECT HER
PRESENT
STEPHAN
James came to see me on his own one afternoon. He looked at me solemnly for the longest time before he spoke, "Thank you."
I started shaking my head. "You don't have to thank me. She's my family."
"She's my family too, now. And you saved her. Thank you."
I nodded solemnly, studying him.
"You were the one that stopped him. The shot that killed him. Did you know that?"
"Yeah," I said, wondering if I was supposed to feel something other than relief that the monster was finally dead. "I remember."
He shifted uncomfortably in the chair beside my bed. "Let me know if you need any sort of counseling for that. I don't know from personal experience, but I understand that it can take a toll on you, no matter how justified."
"I'll be fine." I took a deep breath. "This wasn't the first time I've killed for her. To protect her. It happened once before."
His eyes went wide, his body still. I'd managed to shock him.
I grimaced. "The first time we met, the man that was attacking her. I caved his skull in. I felt it. That took some time to cope with. I didn't know him, didn't know what drove him. What if he was just crazy? What if the right meds would have fixed him? Looking back at it now, I'm adjusted to it, but it was hard at the time, because I was a kid."
I'm not sure why I felt the need to tell him, but it had always been easy to pour my heart out to him. Too easy to talk to him, even when it had felt like a conflict of loyalties.
"You did nothing wrong."
I just nodded. "What I'm trying to say is, back then, I could have used some perspective, some counseling, to deal with what I'd done, but not this time. This time, I only wish I'd done it the first time I had the chance."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE MONSTER
PAST
STEPHAN
Bianca and I had been doing quite well for a while. Longer than usual in the system without any problems. In foster care, both going to the same public school. We'd managed to stay together, which was the important part. We had a roof over our heads and food.
We were staying with a couple that owned a small restaurant, and we both worked there after school. They weren't supposed to make us work, we were too young, but they were keeping us together, so we didn't mind. I bussed tables, did dishes, and Bianca served food.
Neither of us had a problem with the arrangement, usually. Both of us had had to endure so much worse, in the past.
I was a little annoyed with the situation today, though. I'd had to stay after school for a project and wanted Bianca to stay with me.
We didn't like to be apart. Not ever.
But our foster caregivers had needed her to work right after school, so she'd left without me.
It made me antsy, for more reasons than I could name, one of which being that it just felt wrong.
I got out of there as fast as I could manage, hurrying to the restaurant. I went my normal route, using an alley, and cutting directly to the back entrance.
I heard before I saw.
All the times I'd ever fought, all the reasons I'd done it for, I'd never experienced the blind, all-consuming rage I did when I realized what was going on. Not even close.
And it was a fact I had a horrible temper.
I heard some grunts of noise up ahead, folded around a corner, out of sight.
They sounded off. I didn't like them right away. They came from him, I'd piece together later.
If it'd come from her, I would have known instant
ly, and acted accordingly.
Another noise I didn't like followed quickly, the sound of something punching flesh, a hard hit on a soft target.
I winced. Someone was fighting, and I wondered if I'd have to become involved. It would really just depend on the situation, I mused.
A growl came next, and then a curse from a low, hard, accented voice.
I quickened my step. Something I'd heard had jarred the edge of a memory, enough so that I was starting to react before I processed. To panic before I knew.
And then I heard it, just before I turned the corner. Heard her. Her cry. Her cry of pain.
I broke into a run, making my way around the bend with a few quick strides.
And saw them. Bianca on the ground, her hair trailing into her face as she curled into a ball to protect herself from the next vicious kick. A brute of a blond man standing over her. A monster. The monster. I'd heard enough of a description and saw enough of a resemblance to know it right away.
Her father, come to hurt her.
He never landed that kick
I roared like a maniac and charged.
I hit him in the midsection and took him down. Hard. We fell away from Bianca, clearing her of harm, which had been the point.
I reared back to punch, but his fist met my face first.
He wasn't going to take this lying down, and he was a huge motherfucker.
I wasn't daunted. Hatred fueled me, and hate was impervious to intimidation.
He'd put hands on her. I couldn't stand the thought. All I knew for sure was I'd make him pay. I'd make him hurt. I'd make him regret it.
I tucked my head down and started punching, fast vicious jabs to his gut that were designed to do the most damage. I'd tenderize his insides until he pissed blood for a month.
A meaty fist caught the side of my head, but I just kept hitting and hitting, curses spewing from me. He was huge, and strong, but not fast. I was all of those things and feeling no pain at the moment, to boot.
I'd demolish him, or die trying, I swore then and there.
His next hit caught me in the temple, and I saw stars, but it didn't slow me down. Instead, it set me off.