Had Ángel been himself, he would have relished the opportunity, looked forward to the adventure of striking out on his own without knowing where the road would lead him. Now, he just felt lost and afraid.
His eyes fell on an unfamiliar SUV parked at the curb, and he frowned when he recognized Charles sitting on the hood, engrossed in his phone. Charles chose that moment to look up, meeting Ángel’s gaze.
As Ángel slowly walked down the steps, Charles hopped off the car, moving to stand on the curb. Ángel stopped a few feet away.
“You’re not working?” he asked. Ángel had gone straight to and from Campos’s office without stopping by the team’s cluster, exhausted by even the thought of talking to anyone. He figured he was allowed to be a little selfish today.
“I took the day off,” said Charles. “I’ve got a concussion, you know.”
A smile tugged at Ángel’s lips. He and Charles watched each other across the concrete expanse of the sidewalk. Bruises were blossoming on Charles’s cheekbone and forehead where Jesenia had struck him, and while they weren’t as glaring on his dark skin as they might have been on a man with a fairer complexion, they were still brutal.
“Why’d you come after me?” Ángel finally said.
“Because I love you,” Charles said steadily, “and I made you a promise.”
Ángel rocked back on his heels. While Eva helped him change his bandages that morning, she’d filled him in on last night’s events, sharing the details he’d been too devastated to ask for then. The last time Ángel saw Charles before his abduction, he’d confessed two agonizing secrets, and Charles had given him nothing in return.
Then Charles had gone to extraordinary lengths to find him, hunted him down against overwhelming odds, risked his own life to protect Ángel’s, and stayed with him for every horrible moment afterward. His actions spoke the truth, but Ángel hadn’t expected to hear him say the actual words.
“Let me take you away,” Charles said, before Ángel could respond to his declaration.
Ángel tilted his head, not understanding. “What do you mean, like for dinner?”
“No, I mean away.” Charles stepped closer. “Let’s get out of here, Ángel. Just me and you, anywhere you want to go. I know you took a leave of absence, and I’ve accumulated a shit-ton of paid time off. We could get away from all this, go somewhere quiet where we can be alone and you can . . .”
“Recover?” Ángel said, arching an eyebrow when Charles hesitated.
Folding his arms, Charles said, “Are you going to tell me that’s not what you need?”
Ángel sighed. Of course that was what he needed. The true question was whether it would be better or worse with Charles by his side.
“We can do whatever you want,” Charles said. His expression was open and honest, with a hint of anxiety that twisted Ángel’s heart. “Talk about whatever you want. I’m not going to fuck up with you again. I won’t let you down.”
“Charles,” he said. “You didn’t let me down. You saved my life.”
“I’m not just talking about yesterday.”
“I know.” The more Ángel thought about it, the more appealing it sounded to just fuck off out of San Diego, hole up somewhere private with Charles, lay all their cards on the table, and just . . . let whatever happened happen.
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and slipped his arms around Charles’s waist. Charles returned the hug, resting his uninjured cheek against Ángel’s.
“Yeah,” Ángel said, “let’s get the hell out of here.”
They ended up heading about four hours north along the coast, past Santa Barbara, to a rustic beach town that was long past its prime. Charles checked them into a shabby hotel right on the beach, where the incredible views of the water more than compensated for the scratchy sheets and fading wallpaper.
Ángel didn’t speak for two days.
He stayed in bed for most of that time, in fact, only occasionally venturing out onto their balcony. Charles didn’t push. He was content to bring food back to the room as necessary, to sit and read or people-watch in silence, to lie beside Ángel and rub his back when he woke up gasping.
On their third night, Ángel turned to Charles long after they’d turned out the lights and started kissing his face and neck, one hand sliding into Charles’s boxers to stroke his cock. Charles let Ángel climb on top of him and hold him down while they fucked hard, then held him afterward in the dark and listened to his halting, disjointed story about what had happened in the hours he’d been alone with Jesenia.
After that, it was as if a dam had broken. They talked and fought and fucked each other’s brains out, then fought some more. The fights they had in that hotel room were the most vicious they’d ever had, but unlike their previous confrontations, which had left Charles sick and self-loathing, this lanced infected wounds and let the corruption bleed out. These injuries would heal clean and leave them stronger; each time they reached a new accord, Charles’s understanding of Ángel deepened, their connection reinforced. They were getting to know each other all over again.
At night, Charles thrust into Ángel and panted, “I love you, I love you,” against his skin while Ángel shuddered beneath him and cried out his name.
Charles took three weeks off work—it was all he could afford, though Ed Campos had apparently hinted that he was willing to arrange for more. Ángel knew he wouldn’t take it; Charles couldn’t be away from the action that long. That he’d been willing to spend these past few weeks hidden away with Ángel spoke volumes.
Their last night in the hotel, Ángel stood alone on the balcony, watching the sun set over the ocean. He turned his hands palm up on the railing and grazed one thumb over the jagged lines slashing his skin. The stitches had come out a while ago at a nearby urgent care, but there would be scarring.
“Here you go,” Charles said, stepping out onto the balcony and handing him an open bottle of beer.
“Thanks.” Ángel hesitated for only a moment before he took a sip. He didn’t know if he’d ever be willing to accept a drink from most people again, but Charles was the exception.
Charles joined him at the railing, propping his elbows on the rusted metal, his own bottle dangling from his fingers. “Are you coming back with me tomorrow?” he asked after a while.
Ángel had been dreading this question all day. “No,” he said.
Charles nodded, as if he’d been expecting that. He rolled his beer between his palms and opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again without saying anything.
“What?” Ángel said.
“I want to ask you to stay,” Charles said, “but I don’t want you to stay because I asked you to. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” Ángel said with a rueful twist to his lips. He understood Charles’s conflict, particularly given their history.
Pushing himself upright, Charles said, “If you want to leave because you honestly believe that’s what’s best for you, I’d never try to talk you out of it. But if you want to leave because you think things would be like before if you came back with me—that’s not something I could live with.”
He took Ángel’s beer and set both bottles on the floor, then put his hands on Ángel’s hips. Ángel hooked his own fingers in Charles’s belt loops.
“Even if Jesenia hadn’t outed me, I’d want things to be different now,” Charles said, his voice soft. “My life is better with you in it, and I don’t want to lose you again. I think we could have something great if we give this a real, honest shot. But I’m still not sure if you want the kind of commitment I do.”
Ángel was quiet for a moment. “When we fought the day . . . the day she took me . . . you said that nothing in my life has ever been long-term.”
“I—”
“You were right,” Ángel said. His fingers tightened where he held on to Charles. “I don’t have any real family. I’ve never had any friendships that lasted longer than it took for me to move from place to place, and I’
ve never lived anywhere for more than a couple of years. I’ve never made a serious commitment to anything except my job.”
He had to stop to work up the nerve to say what came next. Charles waited for him without interrupting.
“She was counting on that.” Even three weeks later, Ángel couldn’t bring himself to say Jesenia’s name aloud. “She said it herself—if you hadn’t been on my extraction team, I wouldn’t have had anyone but her to turn to when I came out of the cartel. It would have been so easy for her to take me.”
“Nobody else would have noticed you were gone for days.”
Shaking off the ghost of Jesenia’s words, Ángel said, “I spent two years of my life pretending to be another person, and when I finally got out, when I could finally be myself again, I didn’t have anything to go back to.”
Charles rested his forehead against Ángel’s, offering silent support. Ángel closed his eyes and breathed out.
“I don’t want to ever feel like that again,” he said. “I want to put down roots; I want to be around people who won’t let me go without a fight. I want somewhere I can call home.” Opening his eyes, he met Charles’s gaze. “I want all those things with you.”
“So do I,” said Charles.
Ángel sighed. “But if I go back with you tomorrow, I’ll never know if I only want it because you helped me escape the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. If we’re going to have a real future together, that can’t be the way it starts. I need more time to be sure—time by myself, away from you.”
“I understand.” Charles kissed Ángel’s lips. “I’ll wait for you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll wait for you,” Charles said firmly.
Ángel wrapped his arms around Charles’s waist and kissed him, turning them sideways to shove Charles up against the balcony railing and get a thigh between his legs. Charles groaned, sinking his fingers into Ángel’s hair.
“Let’s go to bed,” Ángel said against Charles’s mouth, even though the sun hadn’t finished setting. He intended to make the most of tonight.
Charles waited with Ángel outside the hotel the next morning, quiet and subdued, though not in a sulky way. Ángel came so close to reversing his decision that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stay silent.
He heard the bike long before it entered the parking lot, the purr of the engine bringing a smile to his face. Sakura parked Ángel’s motorcycle close by, jumped off, and removed the helmet, combing her fingers through her spiky hair as she walked up.
“Thanks for driving her all the way up here,” Ángel said, taking the helmet with one hand and shaking Sakura’s hand with the other.
“My pleasure,” said Sakura. “My mom begged me to get rid of my own bike years ago. It was awesome to get back out on the road.”
Ángel picked up his bags and moved to strap them to the bike, letting Charles and Sakura speak privately. Once he’d gotten everything squared away, he returned to the sidewalk.
“All set?” Charles asked.
“Yeah.” Ángel bounced on the balls of his feet, itching to get going while at the same time reluctant to leave Charles, not knowing when or if they’d see each other again.
He didn’t know what kind of good-bye Charles would be comfortable with in front of Sakura, either. Did they shake hands, did they hug, did they—
Charles stepped forward, cupped Ángel’s face with both hands, and kissed him full on the mouth. There was no tongue, but the kiss lingered, and Ángel’s resolve was weaker than ever when Charles pulled away.
“You can call me if you need anything,” Charles said.
Ángel grabbed Charles’s hand and squeezed hard, just once. “Bye,” he said, smiled at Sakura, and headed for his bike.
He swung himself into the saddle, zipped up his jacket, and pulled on his helmet and gloves. The bike jumped to life beneath him as he started her up, and Ángel gave her some gas, driving out of the parking lot without looking back.
Two Months Later
“Explain to me again why you didn’t pay for delivery,” Eva said, straining under one side of the heavy table they were carrying into Charles’s new apartment.
“The delivery charge was almost half what I paid for the furniture itself.” Charles readjusted his grip on his end of the table and said, “Hey, watch your step.”
“Shit.” Eva, who was walking backward, caught herself before she tripped over the threshold and stepped up carefully instead.
The two of them lugged the table into the kitchen and settled it in place. They were followed by Shane and Sakura, each carting heavy boxes that they dumped on the counters. Jade, meanwhile, sat on the edge of the kitchen island, eating a doughnut and texting one-handed.
“Are you planning to help at all?” Sakura said to her.
“I’m taking a break.”
“From what? You’ve been on your phone all morning.”
Jade slid her phone into the pocket of her hoodie. “From appreciating this view,” she said and grinned at Charles.
Charles rolled his eyes and lifted the hem of his tank top to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I could use a break too, actually.”
He’d stocked the fridge in advance with a case of water, and he cracked it open now, passing bottles out and keeping one for himself. After taking a few deep chugs, he looked around the apartment with a pleased eye.
When his lease expired, Charles had decided to downsize to a smaller, one-bedroom apartment in the same complex, enlisting his team to help him move. It was a first-floor unit with the same basic layout, but it felt warmer somehow, more welcoming. Charles had waited until the move to buy himself new furniture, figuring it made more sense to only transport the stuff once. The apartment was still a little bare, but at least he had a pair of armchairs to complement the couch, a coffee table, and a kitchen table with a full set of chairs. Sunlight streamed through the open blinds on the sliding glass door to brighten the room.
“All right, break’s over,” Charles said once he’d drained his water bottle. He pinched Jade’s side, prompting her to squeak and jump off the island. “Come on, you.”
It took another hour for them to finish moving everything. Afterward, as his exhausted team flopped out around his living room and kitchen, Charles ordered a few pizzas for delivery as thanks.
“Hey, Shane,” he said, hanging up his phone, “do you want to—”
He cut himself off midsentence at the rumble of a nearby motorcycle engine, his shoulders tensing. For the most part, the others pretended not to notice, though Eva and Sakura exchanged a quick glance.
Charles hadn’t heard from Ángel since they’d parted ways at the hotel. He’d respected Ángel’s request for space, never texting or calling him, and he had no idea where Ángel was now—but that didn’t stop his heart from giving a hopeful bound every time he heard a motorcycle.
Clearing his throat, Charles picked up his thought where it had left off. “Want to come with me on a beer run?”
“Sure,” Shane said, rising to his feet.
Everyone in the room paused as the sound of the motorcycle grew louder, clearly heading in their direction. Nobody living in this complex owned a motorcycle; Charles would have noticed.
Sitting in one of the new armchairs, Jade chewed her thumbnail and avoided eye contact, her foot tapping against the floor.
“Jade,” Charles said, “who were you talking to earlier?”
Jade sighed. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” she said. “I told him he’d be better off taking a cab—”
Charles spun around and all but ran out the door, stopping on the edge of the sidewalk as that familiar red bike glided into one of the visitors’ parking spaces. He watched dumbly while Ángel got off, set down his helmet, and shook out his hair, smiling at Charles across the lot.
Ángel looked good—not the blithe, happy-go-lucky man Charles had once known, but the hollowed-out devastation in his eyes had faded, replaced with a qu
iet alertness. He held himself comfortably, his shoulders straight under his leather jacket, and his steps were confident when he started walking.
Charles strode forward to meet him halfway, ignoring his friends as they spilled out of the apartment behind him. He opened his mouth, searching for something to say, anything that could encompass the desperate, yearning hope Ángel’s return had kindled within him.
“Are you sure?” Charles asked.
Ángel’s smile widened, lighting up his face. “I’m sure,” he said, under a sun that suddenly shone a little more brightly.
Dear Reader,
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