I’m about halfway home from San Bernardino when my phone rings and the car’s Bluetooth picks up.
I glance at the display to find Trav’s name lighting up the screen. “What’s up, boss?”
“There’s a … situation.”
“What kind of situation?”
“All you need to know is Harley is safe, but he’s asking for you. He’s, umm, a little rattled.”
“What happened?” I growl.
“Just get back to his house as soon as you can. And don’t crash my fucking car.” He ends the call.
I hit the buttons and try to call Harley, but his phone rings out. I try Iris, but his goes right to voicemail.
Fucking fuck, fuck.
I fly down the freeway while remaining cautious enough not to hit anything. Not because of Trav’s precious car but because I need to get to Harley.
The calm, rational voice in the back of my head telling me Trav said Harley’s fine keeps me holding on to the tiny bit of control I have left.
I weave in and out of traffic, and not for the first time, I curse living in LA. I cut across six lanes of traffic to take the exit and get home.
Home.
Shit, that’s an entirely foreign concept to me, but I feel it in my gut.
Somehow, since working for Harley, something inside me has settled. I no longer crave that adrenaline surge. No longer itch to see some action. Experiencing that in my current position means Harley’s life is in danger, and that thought fills me with dread.
It’s not just my duty to protect Harley, it’s my instinct.
I should have been there with him. I should’ve …
No, he should have been with me.
I want him with me all the time. Even if it means showing him a part of my life I don’t let anyone see.
He should know what I do with my time away from him.
Harley deserves that much.
This isn’t like my other teammates where I don’t tell them because I don’t want them to pity me or offer to help when I’m handling it fine on my own.
It’s not a burden I want to put on Harley, but the alternative is keeping it on my shoulders and carrying it alone.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
Harley gives me something I’ve only ever felt once before. With Harley is where I belong. I’ve never had that with another person before. Only the job.
Always the job.
I tease Harley about being a workaholic, but really, he and I have that in common. My life for the past ten years has been serving my country. Whether for the military or through Mike Bravo.
It might be time to focus on something for myself.
I want to give Harley and me a real chance.
Until now, I couldn’t see a future with the pop star because, logically, we don’t make sense.
If the public finds out about me, I’ll become a target of their attention. I won’t be able to protect Harley properly. If my boss or his manager finds out, I’ll be fired, and Harley and Evah could be forced back together.
A future with Harley never seemed like an option to me, which means I haven’t thought about it in depth.
The thing about that is, a solution was never going to land in my lap, and I’d forever think Harley and I would be a fleeting thing.
I want more for him. For us.
I’ve finally found someone I want to call my own, and the fact he came under threat today has me raging.
I pull onto Harley’s street, and there are cop cars everywhere. And …
Holy shit, is that the fucking bomb squad driving away?
The car hits the curb at an angle, and I block Gideon’s Maserati in the driveway, but I don’t care.
I’m out the door and through the courtyard gate without even turning off the engine.
Luckily, I remember to put it in park first.
Trav, Gideon, and Iris are in a huddle talking with some officers while Harley sits in his open doorway with a blanket wrapped around him.
Professional me knows I should go to Trav and Gideon first. The real me—the me that has Harley on my brain and in my heart—goes straight over to him.
I feel a million pairs of eyes on me as I cross the yard.
Harley looks up at me. “Brix?”
I pull him up and into my arms without thinking about if he’s injured or not. That’s when I have the sense to ease up