Page 26 of Fire
Chapter 9
Evan
Luca broke me.
Since he left, I haven’t left my bed. I pet Delilah and listen to an endless playlist of Emo music that I suspect Cyrus has come to hate more than Luca detested the jazz I used to play to annoy him.
I haven’t been able to write. All my words come out flat. I could probably pen one of those first-person confessionals:I Fell For My Bodyguard.I could write the shit out of that.
I’m still not sure if I did the right thing by not coming out of my room when Luca tried to say goodbye. I hadn’t wanted him to see how his announcing he was leaving destroyed me.
When I woke up that morning, I’d woken up hopeful for the first time since pretty much ever. The words Luca had said about me—the words he’d made me say about myself—had latched on.
Then he’d walked in and told me he was leaving, and I realized all of it had been a lie.
You are the most perfect thing I’ve ever had in my life, and that’s why I have to leave.
What in the fuck did that mean exactly? I’ve examined the words in my head a hundred times until they’re tattooed on my brain, and if he really meant them, why did he fucking leave.
A knock sounds at my door.
“Yes?” I call out.
The door opens as Cyrus hovers on the threshold.
I study the man in front of me. He’s good-looking, with chocolate brown eyes, shoulder-length, light brown hair, and a scruffy beard. He swears both are leftovers from his last job. Theoretically, I can admit he’s sexy as hell, but I don’t even feel the tiniest buzz of appreciation for the hot man at my bedroom door.
Luca wrecked me.
Besides being sexy, he’s also put up with all my angst and hasn’t run for the door. I think he might be going through his own heartbreak. He keeps going out to the fire escape to talk to his wife, and they seem to be very loud, very angry conversations.
I sit up. “What can I do for you, Cyrus?”
“I’m checking in to see if you are still planning on going to Freedom Fest. You haven’t mentioned it, and we need to go over security protocol if we are to leave in three days.”
Three days? Fuck. How did I let this slip from my mind? Am I in any shape to cover it?
“Let me grab a shower,” I tell Cyrus. “I’ll be right out so we can talk about it.”
It’s not until I’m in the shower that my brain and body surrender to the habit of remembering my night with Luca. It hurts to remember it, but at the same time, my body has become addicted to reliving the pleasure. I let my hand trace the places he guided my hand over and hear his words play back in my head, creating a confusing mix of sadness and desire. I end up coming and crying at the same time.
I can’t do this anymore. I have to take action.
It starts with covering Freedom Fest. I’m a journalist, and I have a job to do. Heartsick or not, the Reivers have harmed a lot of people, and my job is to expose them until those seemingly unaffected take notice. Covering Digger Mcree’s political descent amounts to public service, and I won’t miss it.
There, I’m going to do my best work and help take the Reivers down. Afterward, whether he likes it or not, I will find Luca and come up with the courage to ask him why he really left.
Three days later, I’m in disguise with a fake name and false music magazine credentials, and I'm ready to cover the story of the year.
Normally, I would never cover a story that I know to be partially false or manipulated, but Digger Mcree is an evil man who has conned too many people into believing that he is the return-to-the-basics politician instead of the co-founder of a dangerous syndicate responsible for as much violence as any cartel drug lord. Even worse, his relationship with Patriots Now aligns him with a white supremacist organization that wants to commit domestic terrorism to further its agenda. He can’t be allowed to manipulate and bribe his way into power. I’ll bend my journalistic integrity just this once to ensure good has the winning hand over evil.
“Ready to go?” Cyrus asks me.
I am. I travel light when I work. I just need my phone to take notes and a small camera for the occasional picture or video. I lean over to nuzzle Delilah, who rolls over and offers her belly to me for scratches.
“Now I am,” I tell him as he opens the door and accesses the motel parking lot for any security concerns. I’m impatient to get to the festival, and as much as I think the threat everyone thinks I’m under is overblown, I uncomplainingly wait with only the slightest foot tap to show my impatience.
“All clear,” Cyrus says and radios another security guard he’s worked with before, who will drive us today and act as another security guard.
