Walking Wounded

by Lauren Gilley

  He looks his fill, eyes tracking from the damp hair at Hal’s temples, to the strong, elegant line of his throat, to the thick pads of his pecs, shirt clinging to his sweaty chest. He’s beautiful, Greek god gorgeous, and he loves Luke, and Luke can’t believe this is actually happening. He pinches his own thigh under the table, just to be sure.

  Hal catches him looking, and his returning smile flashes warm, and a little shy.

  Sandy says, without looking up from her plate, “So you two finally got things sorted.”

  “Honey,” Matt says, smile threatening. “Don’t bother them.”

  “I’m not.” She shoots Luke the kind of smile that makes him want to slither under the table and die of his own bashfulness.

  “Oh, these two?” Will asks, grunting as he twists to look at first Hal, and then Luke. Hal’s cheeks pink up the color of the grapefruit on their plates, and Luke feels his own face doing something similar. “Good. ‘Bout damn time.” Will nods as if to say well now that’s taken care of.

  “This whole thing was just some sort of elaborate matchmakings scheme, wasn’t it?” Luke says.

  Sandy gives him an innocent look. “Of course not, sweetie.”

  Heaven help the senate if Matt Maddox’s wife were the one holding office.

  ~*~

  When they were seventeen, Hal worked at Blockbuster – back in the days of video rental. He had to wear a blue store polo and khakis, and he only complained a little about nobody ever rewinding the tapes. Luke would stop by on his way home from class, hands smudged with ink, glasses sliding down his nose; buy a box of Sno-Caps and lean against the register, making fun of customers in whispers while Hal tried not to laugh and told him to shut up with a smile on his face.

  That was the last time Luke actually saw Hal in action at work, considering he hadn’t followed his best friend into the deserts of Afghanistan. So he has no reference for Adult Hal the Security Specialist. But he realizes, the moment Hal reappears in the Maddox kitchen in his suit and sunglasses, that his friend doesn’t take his job lightly. This is a US Senator with political enemies, and Hal looks ready to tackle anyone who so much as breathes too loudly in Matt’s direction.

  “Ready?” he asks Luke, still with a smile, still close and warm and in love with him, but now one-hundred percent focused and lethal.

  It’s intense.

  It’s also hot as hell.

  “Yeah.” Luke ducks into the strap of his messenger bag. “I’m ready.”

  The three of them troop down the steps to the finished basement and underground garage that opens out onto the street in front of the house. Luke is surprised to find evidence of a workshop: wooden tables, tool chests, hand saws and hammers hung up on pegboard. A small stack of fresh lumber rests against the wall. There’s also a Mercedes E350 and a Tahoe.

  Matt walks to the rear door of the Tahoe and Hal makes a move for the driver’s side.

  “Dude.” Luke leans into Hal’s side and stage whispers, “You didn’t tell me you were just a chauffeur.”

  Hal rolls his eyes.

  Matt laughs and says, “Believe me, it took some getting used to. I’ve driven an old truck my whole life, and suddenly I’ve got this” – he gestures to the SUV – “and Hal taking me back and forth.” His voice gets soft. “I know it makes Sandy feel better, though.”

  Right. Because Matt’s had death threats.

  Hal touches him, briefly, a hand at the small of his back. “Come on, you can ride up front with me.”

  “Meanwhile, I’ll sit back here and do my best Kim K impression,” Matt deadpans.

  ~*~

  “Is it always like this?” Luke asks, quietly.

  In back, Matt conducts his third phone call of the trip so far. It isn’t even nine a.m.

  “Yeah,” Hal says, slowing to take the next right. “He turns the phone off when he gets home, but during working hours, it’s crazy.”

  In the back, Matt says, “And I appreciate that, Brian, I do, but the people of Virginia don’t want me to vote ‘yes’ on that amendment…Well, because it amends the constitution…I do hear your point. I hear it quite well, but…”

  “Senator Maxwell,” Hal explains quietly. “He’s being a serious pain in the ass.”

  The next time Luke wants to complain about his job, he thinks he’ll hold his tongue.

  Matt ends the phone call with a sigh. “Don’t ever run for public office,” he advises.

  Luke isn’t planning on it.

  Traffic worsens the closer they get to their destination, both vehicular and foot. The crowd of pedestrians are less hipster more professional, suits and wool coats and lanyards with shining ID badges swinging from them.

  Luke feels another nervous thrill ripple through his stomach. He doesn’t follow politics, doesn’t want anything to do with all the mud-slinging and congress-bribing, to be honest, but he’s as excited as a schoolboy on a field trip right now.

  A massive white building appears through a break in the trees and traffic lights.

  “There she is,” Matt says, leaning forward in the backseat. “Home away from home.”

  ~*~

  Matt leads them through the rotunda of the Russell Senate Office Building, already smiling, just so he can see Luke’s reaction. And Luke, for all that he knows he’s jaded, can’t help the actual jaw-drop that occurs.

  It’s a soaring feat of marble, so much marble, pearly and glinting in the morning sun that pours in through all the high windows. Footsteps and voices echo and get caught up against the high ceiling, magnified into a strange white noise that sounds like rushing water.

  “Holy shit,” he mutters, because what else is there to say?

  Matt laughs. “That’s exactly what I said.”

  “Come on.” Hal puts a hand on Luke’s shoulder and steers him forward, gets him walking next to Matt so he can follow along behind them. A sheepdog with his flock.

  They pass senators and aides and a whole assortment of men and women, little knots of people discussing things in low tones as they walk. They take an elevator up to the second floor, and the hall is narrower, the ceiling lower.

  Matt’s office reminds Luke of the library at the townhouse. The door leads straight into a small sitting area with leather sofas and chairs, a rug, coffee table and bookshelves. A water cooler sits in the corner; there’s a Keurig on a folding table beside it, and a carousel of K-Cups. The desk sits in the window, flanked by a US flag on one side, and the Virginia flag on the other. It’s all functional and handsome, but not glamorous.

  “Poor Hal just ends up sitting around,” Matt says as he goes to the desk and pulls the chair out.

  “Sometimes I do crosswords,” Hal says. He unbuttons his jacket and sits on one of the sofas, perched rather than relaxed.

  “I keep saying he doesn’t need to be in the office with me,” Matt says. “Not that I don’t appreciate your company, Hal. It just…” He shrugs and sighs. “It starts to make a guy feel helpless.” And Matt, with his big shoulders and square jaw, isn’t a man used to feeling that way.

  “Hey, I get paid to be here,” Hal says, smiling, “so I’m gonna be here. I look at it as my patriotic duty: I’m not smart enough to make the country a better place, but I look after one of the guys who is.”

  Matt ducks his head, clearly embarrassed. He drags a spare chair up to his desk and settles into his own. “Come on, Luke, and I’ll show you a day in the life.”

  ~*~

  A Day in the Life is one part progress, three parts bullshit, from what Luke surmises. So many emails, so many phone calls, so many people poking their heads in for a word. Luke tries to shrink down into his chair and not be a bother, but Matt introduces him every time. “My dad’s biographer,” he says, almost proudly, and it makes Luke a little proud, too.

  Hal goes and gets them lunch at one point, deli sandwiches loaded with mustard and vinegar, cold Cokes in cans carried beneath his arm so his shirt is wet when he sets them down.

  It’s a
boring day. A quiet day. A good day.

  A sharp rap sounds against the door at three, and it startles all of them. Luke jerks in his chair and sees Hal and Matt do the same.

  Hal recovers first, hand going to his waistband where Luke can’t see anything, but where a gun undoubtedly waits.

  “Shit,” Matt says, before the door opens.

  The man who enters wears an expensive suit that, though tailored, fails to fit him perfectly. Luke thinks it has something to do with his narrow shoulders and broad waist. His gray hair is tidy, his face distinguished. He looks exactly like a politician is supposed to look, to Luke’s Hollywood-biased eyes.

  “Maddox,” the man says, heaving a deep sigh and shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks up to the desk. His expression projects annoyance. “Did you get my email?”

  “Afternoon, Brian, how are you?” Matt says. Then: “Luke, this is Senator Maxwell. Brian, this is Luke, Dad’s–”

  “Did you get it or not?” the man snaps.

  Matt’s face is all patience, his hands folded one atop the other on his desk. He looks, in that moment, like a photo Luke saw of Reagan in a textbook once. “Along with three hundred others, yes, I got it.”

  A hand comes out of the man’s pocket, and he jabs a wavering finger through the air at Matt. “I don’t know what the hell kind of game–” he starts.

  “Senator Maxwell, can I make you a cup of coffee?” Hal says, getting to his feet.

  Maxwell tosses a glance over his shoulder, and does a double take when he sees the way Hal’s standing, breadth of shoulders on display, face blank, jaw set. When he turns back to face Matt, his face is starting to darken with anger. He opens his mouth to speak, and Matt cuts him off.

  “Luke, Senator Maxwell here,” Matt says, “has been cooking up some omnibus legislation that hides an obscene amount of taxes inside a bill that protects voting rights. In his mind, I get what I want, and the other side gets what they want, and we all win.” He smiles, and for all that it’s steely, it isn’t threatening, not the way Maxwell’s glare is. “The only problem with that is, I ran on a platform of lower federal taxes; the people of my state – of this country – have been taxed to death. And doubling the estate tax helps no one but the Washington elite looking to line their pockets.”

  Maxwell’s face is purple. “Were you out sick the day they taught getting along in preschool? You just enjoy being a pain in everyone’s–” He catches himself and says, “Side. Don’t you? I think you get off on it.”

  “I don’t get off on anything. I made a commitment to the men and women who elected me to office. I won’t go back on that just for the sake of ‘getting along.’” He says the words as if they leave a foul taste in his mouth. “I thought you knew me better than that by now.”

  “This bill is important,” Maxwell hisses, leaning over the desk, eyes wild with aggression. “It’s taken two years to craft, and you’re going to fuck that all up. For what? Voters? The voters don’t know shit; they wouldn’t know what was good for them if it bit them in the ass.”

  Matt sighs. “This is how you get along, huh? Cursing at me.”

  “Get onboard, you stupid little shit.” Maxwell vibrates with fury; a vein stands out in his forehead, throbbing like it might burst. “Get on board, or your days in Washington are numbered.”

  Luke wets his lips and says, quietly, “That sounds an awful lot like a threat to me.”

  The senator’s head snaps around, glare swinging to Luke’s face. “What did you just say?”

  “He said you were just on your way out, right?” Hal appears behind him, takes his upper arm in one large hand. Luke sees his suit coat wrinkle as Hal squeezes tighter than is polite.

  Silent, fuming, Maxwell rips from Hal’s grip and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

  Luke lets out a long, shaky exhale. “Jesus. I see what you mean about high school.”

  “That?” Matt snorts. “That was nothing. That was polite.”

  ~*~

  It’s dusk when they pack up and leave. “Some nights I stay ‘til ten, eleven,” Matt admits as they walk down the marble hallways, footfalls echoing. “Sandy doesn’t like that so much.”

  Luke has a sore neck from sitting, and a notebook full of observations and notes. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he’s still a little rattled from Senator Maxwell. Not because he’s never been around an asshole before – and he can dish it back out with the best of them – it’s just that he can’t imagine someone attacking one of his own like that. Can’t imagine that anyone would feel such hatred toward a man who was trying to live up to his campaign promises. Isn’t government supposed to be representative? Isn’t it supposed to reflect the will of the majority? Of the people? He guesses it doesn’t, these days. He gusses it hasn’t for a while. They’re a long way from Washington and Jefferson, that’s for damn sure.

  As they walk, Hal leans in close, lips hovering beside Luke’s ear, and Luke shivers in pleasant anticipation. “You okay?” His hand ghosts at the small of Luke’s back a moment, fingertip rubbing under the hem of his jacket and dragging against the wool of his sweater.

  “I’m awesome,” Luke assures, and decides not to turn his head and kiss his boyfriend’s cheek, them being in the damn Senate Building, and all.

  Hal makes a pleased sound and pulls back.

  He changes, though, the second they exit and step out into the rapidly-darkening evening. From sweet, dopey Hal to razor-sharp security detail. Head on a swivel, positioned right at Matt’s back, eyes missing nothing.

  Luke shouldn’t be surprised to see a handful of media waiting on the sidewalk, but for some reason is. They hold microphones, their cameramen lurking behind them with handhelds. Luke spots the glowing screens of a few iPhones held above the heads of the others.

  “If they ask you anything, just say ‘no comment,’” Matt advises.

  “Senator Maddox!” they start to shout over one another. “Senator Maddox, a word?”

  “Can we ask–”

  “Our viewers want to know–”

  “Senator, is it true–”

  Someone shoves a mic in Luke’s face, almost clipping his nose with it. “Can you tell me what your relationship is with the senator?” a woman with too much mascara asks, her face right in Luke’s; he can smell coffee on her breath.

  “I…no comment.” He takes a step back, knees loose and weak, stressed in a way he hasn’t ever been before.

  Hal’s hand settles on his shoulder and his voice lifts above the din of questions. “That’s enough for now – the senator isn’t answering any questions tonight,” he tells the throng, and steers Luke and Matt away from them.

  Luke is grateful to walk away, all the accusatory, disgruntled faces flashing past as he turns his head…

  But there’s one face. It sticks out. The sight of it trips a warning alarm inside his body.

  The reporters all look annoyed and huffy because they’ve been denied an interview. But this man – he’s young, he’s standing just behind a cameraman, and he holds something tightly in both hands, tucked in low against his stomach – looks scared. Luke sees the whites of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils. This man looks petrified.

  “Wait–” Luke starts to say, shoes dragging on the sidewalk.

  And then the man moves. He shoulders past the cameraman and leaps onto the sidewalk, directly into their path.

  Several things happen all at once.

  The man shoves whatever he’s carrying into Matt’s hands.

  Hal grabs hold of Matt’s jacket and throws him to the ground.

  The man takes off running.

  The thing rolls across the sidewalk. It’s a package, wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a brick.

  “Bomb!” one of the reporters screams. “It’s a bomb!”

  And then everyone’s screaming.

  The bomb lies over a crack in the sidewalk. Beside a dollop of bird shit. It looks so innocuous, like a postal delivery
.

  “Luke!” Hal shouts behind him. “Get down!”

  He turns to look over his shoulder and sees that Hal has Matt face-down on the concrete, using his body as a shield, covering the senator. Protecting his client. Protecting his country. Doing the job he takes so seriously.

  Luke remembers the way Hal looked when he came home from war, battered and burned.

  He looks at the desperate panic on Hal’s face, the way he’s breathing through his mouth and reaching toward him with one hand.

  “Luke, please!”

  No, Luke thinks. Hal’s not getting blown up again. Not on his watch.

  He steps forward, scoops up the package, and takes two running steps down the sidewalk. It’s heavy in his hand, dense in a way he isn’t expecting. He feels the contents shift.

  He’s never been an athlete – that was always Hal – but he can throw. He cocks his arm back and hurls the bomb out into the middle of the empty street. Away from Hal, from Matt, from the reporters. Away.

  It explodes in a great burst of white and phosphorescent orange, a firecracker unfurling across the road.

  And then everything is black.

  14

  The phone call came at noon on a Wednesday in the middle of a dreary November week, all the colors of the city long-since bled into a rain-soaked gray. One look at the number flashing on the screen, and Luke knew it was an international call. And he knew only one person currently out of the country.

  He fumbled the phone twice getting it to his ear. “Hello? Hal?”

  A pause. A deep, trembling breath. “Yeah, hey.” Hal’s familiar voice was cracked and heavy as old sidewalk cement. “It’s me.”

  Luke’s pulse skittered and jumped. He felt it swell in his throat until he didn’t think he could swallow. Something was wrong. Something was so, so wrong; he could feel it coming down the phone line. “Where are you?”