Page 6

6

KAI

M ason gaped at me like a fish, mouth opening and closing, and I couldn’t help it—I laughed again. If he was serious, this might be the funniest thing that had happened to me in weeks.

But he did seem serious. He took a step back, his expression stunned, mouth still working silently. It was satisfying to see him flustered for once, though I could’ve done without the literal backpedaling. Did he think being gay was contagious?

Finally, he stammered, “No, you’re not—you didn’t—I mean, you don’t seem…”

I arched an eyebrow. “You sure you want to finish that sentence?”

He took another step back, like I might lunge at him, and that only made me want to press my advantage. I walked forward slowly, Bella padding beside me, backing Mason into the house until he bumped into the dining room table.

“What’s a gay person supposed to seem like?” I asked, folding my arms as his hands landed on the table behind him, steadying himself.

“No, I didn’t mean—” he broke off, sliding sideways, retreating to the kitchen like I was a grenade with the pin pulled. “I’m sorry, I just—I’m surprised, is all.”

“Did you really not know?” I tilted my head, watching him stumble away.

It seemed impossible. I’d been a walking stereotype in high school—best friends with girls, theater nerd, absolute dogshit at any and all sports. I once tripped over my own feet during a game of freeze tag.

“I really, really didn’t,” he said. His voice was a little breathless, like I’d actually scared him.

“Then why the hell were you such a dick to me?”

He hit the kitchen island, looked over his shoulder, then whipped his head back at me like I might have materialized right in front of him. When he saw I was still halfway across the room, he glanced towards the front door, clearly gauging his escape route.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was loose tonight, falling in a messy halo of blond around his face. It was annoying that even freaked out and a little homophobic, Mason was still hot. His face was scruffy too, and my fingers itched to trace the stubble on his jaw.

It was all extremely unfair. If you’re going to have a panic about the gays, could you at least have the decency to do it while looking like a house centipede, and not Mr. Nordic November?

“I already told you, I don’t remember that,” he said, and the look he gave me—lost, helpless—actually made me feel bad for a second. Only a second, though.

“Were you out at school?” he asked.

“Not officially. I got bullied enough as it was. No need to confirm everyone’s suspicions and make it worse. But I thought it was obvious. Ava knew.”

“Well, she never told me. So how was I supposed to know?”

I stared at him, trying to make sense of it. The man in front of me, and the boy he used to be. What the hell was his problem with me if it wasn’t that I was gay? Had he known anyway, and was just pretending now that he hadn’t?

I narrowed my eyes, watching his face closely. He didn’t look like he was lying. But how could he have forgotten everything he and his friends had done to me? Maybe it didn’t matter. Even if he hadn’t been homophobic back then, he definitely was now, with the way he was reacting.

“I have her number,” I said to needle him. “Want to talk to her now?”

Ava was married. It was a mocking offer, but it jolted Mason out of whatever daze he’d been in.

“No, I don’t.” His voice was firmer now. “What I do want is to know why you need a bodyguard. Stop sidetracking the discussion.”

“I’m not sidetracking anything,” I said. “That discussion is over.”

“No.” He folded his arms, shoulders going tight. “It’s not.”

His arms were ridiculous. Big, firm, confident arms. It was a shame they were attached to a jackass.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me. I don’t even care if you sue me or Dana. I’m not letting you bully me out of this house without knowing how much danger you’re in.”

“ I’m bullying you ?” I repeated, stunned. “That’s rich.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Are you sure you want to stay here? A minute ago, you looked ready to run. What if I get my gay on you?”

I stepped into his space, one foot, then another, until we were practically chest to chest. I expected him to recoil, flinch, slide away again. He didn’t move.

Up close, his eyes were impossibly blue under the kitchen light. I tried to look threatening, but it was hard when I barely came up to his chin. Mason loomed naturally.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice calm. “You need to tell me.”

I glared up at him, trying to focus, despite the way my body lit up by being this close. Warmth radiated off him, and my pulse picked up. Fuck, he was hot. I hated how much I noticed.

“I don’t need to do anything.”

“You do if you want me to leave your house.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll call the cops.”

“Go ahead. I’ve been wanting to talk to them about last night anyway.”

We stared each other down, tension between us snapping like a live wire. I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t think straight when he was this close.

“Fine,” I said, spinning around and stalking into the dining room. “If it’ll get you to leave, I’ll tell you.”

He didn’t make a snarky comment, which annoyed me more than if he had. I’d been ready for another round.

Hypocritical much ? said a little voice in the back of my mind. You get mad when he fights you, then mad when he doesn’t ?

I shoved the thought aside. Bella had sat down between the kitchen and dining room, her head swiveling like she was watching a tennis match.

“It started a few weeks ago,” I said. “I’m building a shelter and support center for queer youth. I mean, I’m helping to fund it. It’s not mine personally. But it’s important. There are so many LGBTQ+ teens who’ve been kicked out of their families’ homes, who drop out of school, never get their degrees, and fall through the cracks. Some of them leave home voluntarily, knowing they’d face abuse if they stayed. But it’s a precarious existence, couch-surfing. It’s easy for things to spiral—addiction rates go up, suicide rates go up, so does petty crime. Graduation rates plummet. Kids end up in the system because they didn’t have a stable home. Because their families didn’t love them for who they were.”

My voice had gotten sharp. Strident. I realized I sounded like I was preaching, but I couldn’t help it. I cared about this.

“I was incredibly lucky to have supportive parents when I came out. Not everyone has that. If I could give every one of those kids a family who loved them, I would. But I can’t. So the Butterfly Center is the next best thing. It’s not just a shelter. It’ll provide wrap-around support. Counseling. Tutoring. Meals. Clothing. Everything those kids need to reach their potential and shine. There’ll be drop-in services too—support groups, extracurriculars, social activities. It opens in a month, and it’s going to be amazing.”

I was breathing hard when I finished, ready for Mason to smirk or roll his eyes or call it naive.

Instead, he nodded. “It sounds like it. I’m sure it’ll make a big difference in a lot of kids’ lives. But I don’t understand how this relates to needing a bodyguard.”

“Because somebody doesn’t want me to build it,” I said. “Three weeks ago, I got a weird note on my doorstep. It said to stop building the shelter or else.”

“That’s…odd.”

“Yeah. You could say that. I mean, who even writes anonymous letters anymore? This isn’t a 1940s noir film.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing at first. I figured it was a prank. Something a kid thought was funny.”

“You didn’t think it was weird they knew where you lived?”

“I’m probably not that hard to look up.” I shrugged.

He frowned. “What happened next?”

“Nothing, for about a week. Then I got a second note. Same message, more direct. Said if I didn’t stop construction, I’d ‘ pay the price .’”

“Interesting.” Mason tapped his chin. “They’re using vague language. Covering their tracks. ‘ Pay the price ’ could be argued as a metaphor in court. Was the note hand-written?”

I studied him. I hadn’t expected this level of analysis. He was taking the threat more seriously than I’d thought.

“It was typed,” I said. “And they didn’t stick to vague threats. The day after the second note, someone tried to push me onto the Metro tracks.”

“Jesus. That’s more than a vague threat, alright. What did the cops say?”

“I didn’t go to them yet,” I admitted. “I thought maybe I was being paranoid. That someone had just bumped into me.”

“Kai.” Mason gave me a look that clearly translated to, ‘ Are you fucking stupid ?’

“What?” I snapped.

“I can’t believe—I mean, even if you thought that, don’t you have like, people? You’re clearly doing well for yourself. How do you not already have a security team? Or at least a fucking PA to tell you you’re being dumb and to talk to the police?”

“I have a PA,” I said. “But she doesn’t commute with me. And I’ve spent my life trying to stay out of the spotlight. A security team would only draw more attention to me.”

“You still should have gone to the police.”

“I didn’t exactly relish them telling me I was overreacting.”

“But you weren’t. You had proof.” He narrowed his eyes. “You saved the notes, right?”

“I’m not a complete idiot,” I said, a little sharper than intended.

“I’m not saying you are. But people panic. They forget to do obvious things.”

I studied him again. He wasn’t acting like a concerned bystander. He was talking like someone who’d seen threats like this before. What the hell had Mason been up to since high school?

“Well, I saved them. And I started taking a hired car to work in the mornings instead of the Metro. It was fine for a few days, until…”

“What happened?” he asked, his voice tight.

“I was leaving my office, and someone shoved me in front of an oncoming UPS truck.”

“What the fuck?” Mason pushed away from the kitchen island like he expected the truck to crash through the wall. His whole body went tense.

I could still feel it—the screech of brakes, the adrenaline surge. I’d rolled into the gutter just in time. Bella came over to Mason, ears pricked and body alert, like she could sense the shift in the room.

“Tell me you went to the cops after that,” Mason said.

“I did,” I said, suddenly exhausted. “I showed them the notes, told them everything. They wrote it all down, kept the notes. But I could tell they thought I was being melodramatic.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“To be fair, they didn’t see either incident. And on their own, the notes don’t prove anything. But then—”

I broke off. Even now, I didn’t like thinking about what I’d found that night.

“Five nights ago, I came home from work. There was another note on my doorstep. And it was stuck—” I swallowed. “It was stuck to a fetal pig. With a knife.”

“What the fuck?”

“It said, ‘ Stop construction on the shelter, or you’ll squeal like him .’”

“Christ, Kai.” Mason’s eyes were wide. “The cops have to take that seriously.”

“They did,” I said, crossing my arms. I still felt cold just thinking about it. “They said they’d check CCTV in the neighborhood, ask if any neighbors had cameras pointed at my house. But they didn’t find anything. And they told me they didn’t have the resources to assign someone to follow me around. Not when they’ve got active murder cases going on.”

“So they’re just going to wait until you become an active murder investigation too?” Mason asked, his voice low and disgusted.

I shivered. I’d been trying so hard not to let this get under my skin. Telling myself it was some weirdo who wouldn’t follow through. But hearing Mason say it like that…

“They’re the ones who suggested I look into a bodyguard,” I told him. “But I keep thinking maybe I was making too big a deal out of this. I mean, I’m nobody. I’m not famous. It doesn’t make sense that someone would target me. So getting a bodyguard felt a little…you know.”

“I don’t know,” Mason replied, giving me a long look. “It sounds like exactly what you need.”

I fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. “That’s why I called you guys. I told Amir what the cops had said, and he suggested that if I wasn’t sure about hiring a bodyguard, I could give you a try. No real security service was going to take me seriously. Like, ‘ Hi, someone’s threatening me with pork-based metaphors, please help ?’ They’d laugh me out of their office.”

“And you were more afraid of getting laughed at than getting killed?”

“When you put it like that…”

“They’re not going to laugh if you have money. Fuck, Kai, we live in DC. Do you know how many diplomats and billionaires come through here? You really didn’t think you could find a professional, discreet agency to help you?”

I shifted uncomfortably and said nothing.

“I don’t suppose you’ve considered putting a halt on construction of the center?”

“I’m not giving in,” I said, more defensively than I meant to.

“Not forever. Just until you’ve caught whoever’s behind this.”

“How am I supposed to do that if they fade into the woodwork again? Besides, I’m not letting them win. Whoever this is, they’re clearly a bigot. And I’m not going to let them harm queer youth like this.”

“Okay, okay. I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t,” I said. “Because it’s not an option. It’s not even entirely my call anyway. I’m the biggest donor to the center, but I’m not the only one. The Board of Directors would have to make that decision.”

“Sounds like it could be your decision if you stopped signing checks,” Mason said. “But okay, I’m not trying to argue that point.” His brow furrowed. “Did you tell the police about what happened last night?”

A hot flicker of embarrassment crawled up my chest. “They’re not going to say anything different. Last night was just like the other two times. It was crowded and busy and whoever did it got away without being seen. The cops won’t be able to do anything.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. I bet the theater has cameras in the lobby. We might get lucky. They might’ve captured something. And even if they didn’t, you need to tell them everything that might be relevant to the case.”

“Why do you care?” I burst out. “Honestly, Mason, why? You don’t owe me anything. You barely even know me. Why are you so invested in a problem that’s definitely not yours?”

“Because I’m not an asshole,” he yelled.

His words echoed in the space between us. I realized then that his hands were clenched into fists, like he was bracing for a fight. I didn’t respond. I just stared at him, still trying to understand what he was doing in my house. In my life. Twenty-four hours ago, we hadn’t seen each other in over a decade. But that felt like a lifetime ago now.

“At least, I’m trying not to be,” he added, his voice heavy as he flexed his fingers. “And whether you want me involved or not, I am. I’m not going to walk away while you’re still in danger. It’s not right.”

Which is how I wound up sitting in another goddamn interview room at the Second District Police Station on Idaho Avenue NW. I was recounting the previous night’s events to Detective Myers and Officer Branscombe—again. Myers was in his late fifties, built like a linebacker with a face that had seen too much. Branscombe was younger and still had that new-cop glint in her eyes. Her whole demeanor screamed idealism .

Myers asked the questions while Branscombe jotted down notes. Mason sat beside me, a looming figure crammed into a chair that looked like it might collapse under his weight. He hadn’t stopped frowning since we arrived.

“Anyway,” I said, winding down, “that’s about it. It wasn’t a deep cut. And like I said, it could have been an accident—”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Mason broke in, speaking for the first time. He reached across the table and picked up my tuxedo jacket. It was folded there between us, and he turned it over to show the tear. “This is what a knife does to fabric. If he’d fallen on something sharp, there’d be a puncture or fraying. This was clean. Intentional.”

“We’re aware of that,” Myers said evenly. “Just like we’re aware that your DNA is now all over the jacket. Not to mention any fingerprints you may have smudged by handling it.”

“Kai wore that in a crowded theater,” Mason said, unbothered. “It probably has thirty different people’s DNA on it. And I doubt there were any fingerprints in the first place. You didn’t find any on the notes, did you?”

“That doesn’t mean our guy couldn’t have gotten careless,” Myers replied.

“Mason was just trying to help,” I said. I surprised even myself with how fast I jumped to defend him. He didn’t need me to, but I still did it.

“So he said. And he was with you last night,” Myers continued, eyeing the both of us. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship?”

I flinched. I doubted Myers thought of himself as homophobic—he probably had less of a problem with my sexuality than Mason did. But would he have used that same tone if Mason were a woman? I doubted it.

I opened my mouth to say Mason was the bodyguard I’d hired, but he beat me to it.

“We’re friends,” he said. “We knew each other in high school.”

I stared at him. Why the hell was he lying? And why wasn’t he falling all over himself to clarify that there was nothing personal between us?

Myers caught the look on my face and laughed—not unkindly, but definitely amused. He’d misread the situation, but I didn’t bother correcting him.

“Alright,” he said, leaning back. “We appreciate you coming in again, Mr. Jacinto. Officer Branscombe will contact the theater about their CCTV. If we get any further information, we’ll let you know.”

“That’s it?” Mason said. “You just take his statement and let him go? Someone tried to kill him last night.”

“Mason…” I put a hand on his arm, but he shrugged me off.

“I’m serious,” he said. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his glare locked on both officers. “Why aren’t you doing more?”

“We’re doing everything we can,” Branscombe began, but Myers waved her off before she could finish.

“No, no, it’s alright, Amy,” he said. “They have a right to ask. And if someone’s gonna yell, it should be at me.” He looked from Mason to me and spread his hands. “You’re right to be frustrated. It is frustrating. Believe me, I get it. There are so many cases where I wish people had come to us sooner—where I think we could’ve stopped it. And here you are, doing everything right, and we’re telling you we can’t help you. I get it. It sucks.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t object.

“The truth is,” Myers went on, “unless Mr. Jacinto can point us in the direction of someone who might have a grudge, it’s hard to catch a person before they’ve committed a crime.”

“Stalking and harassing someone is a crime,” Mason pointed out.

“Sure. But you know what I mean. The net we’d have to cast? A needle in a haystack would be easier.”

Mason turned to me. “You really can’t think of anyone who might be behind this?”

I spread my hands helplessly. “I can’t. I don’t go around trying to make enemies, you know.”

“You can still look into hate groups in the city, can’t you?” Mason asked Myers. “See what people are saying online? Maybe it’s not someone who knows Kai personally. Maybe they’re fixated on him because he’s providing the most financial support for the center.”

“And what, they think he should be spending his charitable donations somewhere else?” Myers said. “It’s some random nutjob who hates GLBQ people? I’m not sure how likely that is.”

“LGBTQIA2S,” I corrected him automatically. “Or at least say LGBTQ+.”

Yeah, it was a mouthful, but it mattered. Especially with Mason sitting next to me. Especially since the Butterfly Center had grown out of Wardrobes for the Win. I wasn’t going to throw trans people under the bus. Also, if we were being honest, GLBQ sounded like barbecue, and now I wanted ribs.

Myers nodded, but I had the sense he wanted to roll his eyes. “Okay. It’s still more likely it’s someone you know, though. But you can rest assured, Officer Branscombe is checking those groups online. We’re doing everything in our power to keep this situation from getting worse.”

Five minutes later, Mason and I were standing outside the station under the glow of a streetlamp. The boxy gray building loomed behind us. The air was warm, and the scent of pizza drifted from around the corner. It reminded me I hadn’t eaten in what felt like days. For a second, I almost asked Mason if he wanted to grab a slice, but the mental image of him recoiling from me earlier flashed through my head. He’d probably explode if I suggested sharing a table.

Still, I couldn’t help asking, “Why didn’t you tell them I’d hired you as a bodyguard?”

“You seemed embarrassed about it,” Mason said with a shrug. “Plus, sometimes cops get weird about other people stepping on their turf. I didn’t want them stonewalling us because they thought I was trying to show them up.”

I wrinkled my nose. “How do you know so much about cops?”

“I don’t really. It’s just a personality type you see a lot in—” He cut himself off. “Doesn’t matter. But you should have a bodyguard. You weren’t stupid for wanting one in the first place. I don’t care if it’s not me, but you should get someone.”

He was glaring at me again, like sheer force of will might be enough to make me agree with him.

“Yeah, yeah.” I pulled out my phone. Bella would be waiting at home. “I will.”

“Kai, I mean it.” Mason touched my shoulder, and I glanced up, startled. “You need someone. This is serious.”

“I know,” I said, a little too vehemently. “Trust me, you don’t have to convince me.”

“Then why do I feel like I do? Why do I feel like you’re going to go home and shrug this off and try to go back to normal?”

Because that’s exactly what I’d planned on doing?

I didn’t say it, of course. I didn’t want to get into how exhausting it was to live every day like someone might be waiting to finish what they’d started. I could call another bodyguard tomorrow. Tonight, I just wanted to go home.

I turned towards my car.

“Here, give me that,” Mason said, and before I could react, he plucked my phone out of my hand.

“What the fuck?” I said, but he was already typing.

He opened my messaging app and started a new thread, entering a phone number I didn’t recognize. Then he typed, ‘ Hi ,’ and hit send before handing the phone back to me. Our fingers brushed, and I swore I felt a jolt of electricity run through my hand.

“There,” he said. “That’s my number. I can’t make you take this seriously, but at least you have it. Just in case.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I said, still acutely aware of where he’d touched me. “I’m gonna go.”

I crossed the street to where my car was parked and slid into the driver’s seat. As I reached for the door, Mason called out, “Kai!”

I looked back over at him. “Yeah?”

“Call anytime,” he said. “And be safe.”

I nodded and shut the door. Be safe. Sure. I’d get right on that.