by AJ Sherwood
“Ah, come out and take a left.”
“Okay.” I put the car into gear, carefully backing up.
“Thanks for this, Brandon. Really. I almost caused an accident on the way here. I wasn’t really looking forward to driving back to the house.”
I cast him a glance, a little alarmed. “Why didn’t you have someone drive you?”
“I don’t really have someone to call,” he explained with an uneasy shrug. “I’m not from here. I’m from Opelousas, Louisiana. I only came up here for training, and I’m staying with my mentor and his anchor—Beau and Hannah. They’re great to me, don’t get me wrong, but I feel bad about asking them to drive me everywhere. They’ve already done a lot for me. And I know how to drive; it’s not like I can’t.”
He sure as hell shouldn’t when he couldn’t tell flesh from spirit. I bit that back because I didn’t really have the right to say so. He was doing the best he could with what he had. “So that’s where that accent is from. I’ve been trying to place it.”
“Can’t get much more Southern,” he drawled, deliberately deepening his accent. “Born on the Bayou. You, I can’t figure out. You don’t really have a discernable accent.”
I shrugged. That was true. “I was born in California. We spent a good chunk out there, then we moved to Tennessee while I was a freshman in high school. Worked for the most part in Colorado as an adult. But I’m multi-lingual, and that kind of erases an accent, I’ve discovered.”
“Multi-lingual?” he asked in interest. “I know Creole French. That’s what my family mostly uses. What do you speak?”
“Tongan, some Tagalog, enough Spanish to start a gang fight and buy stuff.”
“Tongan? Are you Tongan?”
“Mostly. We were raised in the culture, so I consider myself to be, yeah. But we’re firmly American, too, since all of my siblings were born here. Mom and Dad were actually born in Hawaii, so I guess third generation American.” I wasn’t sure exactly how we’d gotten on this topic, but I liked the interest he showed in me. “What is Creole French, anyway?”
“Bastardized French, basically. Only really spoken in Louisiana and Mississippi, to my knowledge. A true French person would shudder in horror to hear it, but it’s how my family speaks to each other.” Mack abruptly flinched, his hands flinging out to grasp the oh-shit handle above the window, his feet stomping on an invisible brake.
There was absolutely nothing on the road ahead of us, but I could guess at what he was instinctively reacting to. “Not a person, Mack.”
He shuddered. “God, I’m glad you were driving. He looked so solid, he fooled me completely.”
I was suddenly fiercely glad I was driving, too. The road ahead of us was clear, sure, but Jon and Donovan were right behind us. That Humvee was built to do damage. And even if it wasn’t them, it could have been someone else.
Mack turned and stared at me, a flash of understanding crossing his face.
“What?” I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.
“So this is what it’s like, having an anchor? I mean, I’ve seen Hannah in action, but…for some reason it’s suddenly more real when I’m the one being protected. Huh.” His voice turned wistful. “It’s really nice.”
That last sentence hit me right in the feels. Can’t pull over and kiss him, can’t pull over and kiss him…okay, repeat that eight more times. He wasn’t really trying to turn my protective instincts into overdrive, I was sure. He was just naturally hitting the sweet spot. A flash of genius darted through my brain, and I didn’t even think it over. I just said it. “Mack, let’s do this. For the next few days, let me play anchor for you.”
“Brandon, that would be amazing, but—you sure?”
He didn’t sound as if he were trying to dissuade me. Rather the opposite. “Well, I’m training to be an anchor, right? It’s good practice for me.”
“Take the next right at the light,” he directed. “I’d like the chance to practice, too. How to work with an anchor, I mean. There’s only so much I can learn from observing Beau and Hannah.”
“Ditto for me with Jon and Donovan.”
“Are you sure you can, though? I mean, you’re supposed to help Jon on the ghost hunting tour.”
“I think I can keep him from frying things and keep an eye on you at the same time. No biggie.”
“The grey Victorian there on the right, that’s the house.” Mack pointed to the one in question. It looked very stately, not unlike a Painted Lady, what with all the shades of grey.
I pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, automatically handing him the keys. He took them slowly, our fingers almost tangling together for a moment. A soft, almost shy smile graced his face as he looked at me, and the way our hands brushed left my skin tingling. “I’d love to have you as an anchor.”
My mouth went dry. Please tell me he’s flirting, oh please, oh please. “Done deal. Then, see you in the morning?”
“Yeah. Call me; we’ll work out our schedule. Maybe do breakfast?”
“Sure.” That sounded suspiciously like a date, but I wasn’t stupid enough to question it. Nope, no siree. I would take this ball and run with it. “Sure, breakfast sounds great. I’ll call you after eight, okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Merci, Brandon.”
Okay, time to go. I reluctantly opened the car door and slid out. Jon idled at the curb, and I gave Mack one last smile and wave before I opened the backdoor and slid in. I tracked him all the way through his front door, but that was just a security thing. I wanted to make sure he got in alright.
Jon twisted in the driver’s seat and got a good look at me, eyebrows waggling. “Oh really, now?”
I gave him an exasperated look in return. How was it that the more time I spent around this man, the more he became the irritating little brother? The one you love but still want to throttle sometimes.
“Just what is going on?” Donovan asked, also turned around in his seat to look at me. “I swear, you were almost flirting with Mack the whole afternoon. And this one keeps smirking and making cryptic comments about me talking to you.”
Jon snickered evilly and got the car into drive, pulling away from the house.
Thanks a lot, Jon. I felt like I should have alcohol for this conversation but gamely dove in anyway. “So, um, bro. I kind of realized a few months back that I’m not really straight.”
It was a good thing Donovan was sitting down. I think he’d have hit the floor, otherwise. As it was, his jaw dropped so fast it probably dented the car. “Seriously?!”
“Yeah. I, uh, think I’m bisexual. Well, actually, Jon confirmed for me that I’m bisexual. It’s just I’m a really, really skewed bisexual. Most guys don’t do it for me.”
Donovan stared at me hard for a long moment. “You know that’s going to be okay for everyone in the family.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Way to state the obvious.”
“If it was that obvious, why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Because I was trying to wrap my head around it. It was just the one guy, before. I thought maybe it was a fluke or something.”
“Before. Meaning you’ve since encountered another man you’re attracted to.” Donovan was slowly overcoming his shock and settling into his default mode with me: teasing. “A certain brunet twink medium, by chance?”
“Can you blame me? He’s damn cute,” I defended myself. “A little short, which is how I like them.”
“Uh, now wait a minute,” Jon objected. “Mack’s about my height. That’s average height for a man. Nothing short about that.”
“He only comes up to my armpit,” I said.
“Oh, well, if we’re comparing him to a giant,” Jon retorted.
Okay, maybe he had a point there. “Anyway. Yeah, I’m attracted. I like what I’ve seen from him so far, too. I volunteered to play anchor for him while we’re here. He really, really needs an anchor, and I figured it would be good practice for me.”
Do
novan, for some reason, looked at his partner and said deadpan, “Mack switched on his protective instincts, didn’t he?”
“Oh yeah,” Jon confirmed in the same dry tone.
I snorted. “Like you have a leg to stand on, Don. I remember very well what you told me when you first met this one.”
“I’m just saying.” Donovan put an exaggerated hand over his heart. “Glad you finally told me, Brandon. Seriously. The whole family sensed something was up with you, but we weren’t sure how serious it was. Jon said not to worry about it, that you were just working something out.”
I really did owe Jon. “I’ve only recently really come to terms with it. I’ll call Mom and Dad and talk to them about it tonight so they understand. But uh…damn, this is kinda awkward to ask, but…”
Donovan made an encouraging noise in the back of his throat.
“I, uh, really don’t know how to flirt with my own gender. I mean, how do you even…?”
“Ah.” The proverbial light flicked on in Donovan’s head. “Yeah, it’s a little different. Not very, I mean, dating people is dating people. But there are some subtle differences. I can give you some tips. You seem to be doing okay with Mack, though.”
That was good to hear.
“Wait.” Jon took advantage of a red stoplight to give us both a look of forced patience. “Brandon has known Mack a day. Are you seriously going to start pursuing him after a day’s acquaintance?”
I didn’t really understand what he meant by that. “I already know I’m attracted to him and he’s got a good personality. We have at least two common interests. That’s all green lights. What am I supposed to do, drag my feet until the opportunity slips past me?”
“You Havilis. You really don’t waste any time.” Jon shook his head and kept driving.
“You knew me for all of five minutes and wanted to date me,” Donovan argued, amused by the objection as well.
“That’s different. I saw all I needed to with you.”
“And is there something about Mack Brandon needs to know about? Some reason for them not to date?”
“Well, no.” Jon made a tossing gesture. “Okay, fine, you win. Date to your heart’s content, Brandon.”
I settled into the seat, feeling smug. “I plan to.”
6
I walked into the house a little dazed. The force of Brandon’s smile was still sending me through a loop of hormones, and the offer of being my anchor for the next few days rang through my ears. It was accompanied by “The Hallelujah Chorus” for some reason, too. It seemed that lagniappe had finally kicked in. I was finally going to get a little extra from the universe, and it apparently came in the form of Brandon Havili.
Hannah, of course, was in the living room reading as I came in. Her timing was always impeccable when it came to catching me off-stride. She looked up over her reading glasses and gave me a once over that seemed to tell her volumes. “My, my. Dinner with colleagues, was it?”
At her arch tone, I flushed. “It was a dinner with colleagues.”
“Pull the other one, kid, it’s got bells.”
“No, it was. It’s just that one of my colleagues is hotter than sin and offered to be my anchor for the next few days. And he drove me home so I didn’t get into a car accident. And I want to climb him like a tree and lick him.”
Hannah immediately put the book aside and pointed me to the nearest chair. “I need more details than that, Mack. How hot is hot?”
“On a scale of one to ten, he’s a twenty. His brother is good looking too, although rather intimidating.” I wasn’t sure why. Maybe the scars? I couldn’t see much of them past the coat and sweater Donovan had worn, just traces of them along the back of his neck. Something about the man told my survival instincts that if we met in a dark alley, I had better run like hell, as I had no chance. But I also knew from watching him that he had a soft, protective streak a mile wide. His eyes were basically heart-shaped when he looked at Jon.
I took a seat next to Hannah and tried to put my jumbled-up thoughts into words. “Brandon Havili is his name. You’ll likely get to meet him tomorrow. We’ve promised to meet up for breakfast. Have you ever met someone who is just automatically thoughtful of the people around him? That’s Brandon. He’s all smiles, too. A naturally happy person.”
She listened to me like she always did. “And why did he offer to be your anchor for while he’s here?”
“I didn’t even suggest it. He just did the math, put it together that it’s not really a great idea for me to drive, and volunteered. His argument was that he’s in training to be an anchor anyway and this was good practice, but…” I leaned in and confided, trying not to chortle, “Jon, the psychic? He hinted to me that I should flirt. That Brandon would be receptive to it. I tried my hand at a bit of flirting on the way here and Brandon basically leapt on it.”
“So he’s interested.” Hannah put a thoughtful finger to her chin, eyes narrowed as she ruminated. “How did he become a candidate for an FBI anchor?”
“Ah, I don’t have the full story on that, but Jon told me he’s part of the reason. He recommended Brandon for it. Another FBI agent had apparently met Brandon already—Marc? Does that ring any bells?”
“Only FBI psychic I know of by that name is Marc Gonzalez. He’s a firecracker, that one; a good man.”
“Huh. Well, Marc knew Brandon somehow as well. So when Jon said Brandon was a good fit for the role, Marc felt validated, I guess, and went immediately and recruited him. I’m not sure what Brandon was doing before that, though.” An oversight on my part that I hadn’t asked. Maybe I could work it into the conversation somehow over breakfast.
“What is Jon’s specialty?” Hannah sounded like a teacher waiting for a student to supply her with information he should have already handed over.
“Ah, he’s a reader. Scarily good, too. His eyes are no joke. I think he can read a person’s full history in one sweep of the eyes.” He’d basically done that to me.
“So a reader told you that you needed to flirt with Brandon, who’s already in training to be an anchor, and you didn’t think anything of that?”
Realization dawned. Oh shit. Holy fucking shit.
“I love you, kid, but you are sometimes so slow on the uptake.” Hannah gave me a pitying look.
I felt like I should maybe put my head between my knees until I got my lungs working again. It took three tries to get my jaw back in alignment before I could croak out, “Can psychics even see things like compatibility?”
“Readers, generally not. But they can see a person’s interest, sexual orientation, and overall personality. I bet they can make an educated guess on whether two people are a good fit for each other.”
Yeah, okay, I needed alcohol for this conversation. I didn’t know that before, but I knew it now.
Hannah’s expression grew hopeful. “If you took his advice, then you’re not going to argue with us anymore about having an anchor?”
My budding euphoria got a cold bucket of water right in the face. “Hannah, it’s not that I don’t want one, it’s just….”
She sighed impatiently. “I could wring your mother’s neck, I really could. Why she waited so long to get you tested when all the signs were there, I do not understand. You shouldn’t have been alone your entire childhood, battling this out yourself. If she’d given you to us as a teenager, like she should have, then you wouldn’t have these stupid conceptions of being a burden lodged in your brain.”
I winced. That more or less hit the nail on the head. I’d heard complaints most of my life. Mack was weird. You couldn’t take Mack out in public; you didn’t know how he’d react. Mack was probably on drugs. That was why he was hallucinating like that. I was an embarrassment to be around, and everyone in my family aside from my mother made sure I knew it well.
It was hard—stupidly hard—overcoming that childhood conditioning. Intellectually, I understood they were wrong to treat me that way. But the habit was still there to avoid going out
in public with anyone else to save them the embarrassment. To take care of my own needs. To not rely on anyone else because there wasn’t anyone else to rely on.
Hannah rephrased her question. “If you accepted Brandon’s offer, have you changed your mind?”
“I do want an anchor, I just didn’t think it was all that feasible.” I felt I had to explain that first. “And it’s not that I’ve really changed my mind about that, but Brandon seems to be the exception to the rule. He likes ghosts, for one; he’s eager to see some. And he volunteered to spend more time with me, despite knowing exactly what I do. What I am. It’s a golden opportunity. Besides, like I said, the man’s sex on legs. If I turn down the opportunity to spend time with him, I should be certified insane.”
“I didn’t think you were a total idiot.” Hannah nodded, satisfied. “You treating him to breakfast or cooking for him?”
“Cooking, of course. That’ll get me more brownie points.” Not to mention eating out was difficult.
“What are you going to cook the man for breakfast?”
Being a man myself, I knew the adage was one hundred percent true: the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Seeing how Brandon could pack it away told me that whatever I made needed an emphasis on quantity. “I thought maybe a traditional Southern breakfast? Biscuits, sausage gravy, easy over eggs, some fruit. What do we have to work with?”
“Well, we’ve got the ingredients for all of that, but there are still dishes in the sink to be done.”
Yeah, no, he was not walking into a messy kitchen. I had a good impression to make. I hopped up immediately. “Let me just check on ingredients and clean the kitchen before I go to bed.”
“You should have dates more often if it means my house gets cleaned!” Hannah called after me, chuckling evilly.
I thought about telling her it wasn’t a date. But tomorrow’s breakfast would be a date if I had anything to say about it. And I had, in fact, quite a bit of say.
