Fallon shook his head. “Come on, Gunnar. I think we should get you home.” Tersch cursed and swung a fist that Fallon easily ducked. “I don't need a fucking nursemaid.” He stumbled and would have fallen off his barstool if Jules hadn't steadied him.
“Take him home, Fallon. I want to talk to Hayashi.” Since Jules had arrived in his own vehicle after running some errands for Mrs. Sharpe, Kisho had no excuse not to stay.
“Don't wanna go,” Tersch grumbled, and nearby patrons froze. The beast began to surface.
Not good.
Fallon laughed. “You have to. Ava warned me to have you back no later than midnight.” He lowered his voice. “And Olivia promised a treat if I brought you back at least a little sober.” A light sparked in Tersch's eyes.
“Nice one, Fallon,” Kisho projected as loudly as he could. He was never quite sure when Fallon could hear him, because Fallon often shielded himself.
“Poor guy. I hate to see him like this. Olivia will make it better. She'll draw his pain.”
“Think she'll let me have a piece of that ass?” Tersch asked.
“You play the sympathy card, she'll probably blow you,” Fallon murmured. In a louder voice, he added, “I love that woman. Now come on. Time to go home.” Tersch left without protest.
Leaving Kisho alone with Jules. Damn. Here it comes.
Jules sighed. “It's like I can read your mind. You don't want me grilling you, but I'm going to.” After a moment, he continued. “Come on, man. You can't tell me you didn't think I'd want to know what the hell's between you and Morgan. I smelled you all over him.” Jules took a swig from his bottle and paused. “I didn't mean you had to do him for the info.” Jules looked uncomfortable, and Kisho wanted to sink through the floor. This was why he'd never fully come out to the team. He wanted to be a part of them, not some “fag freak.” He'd heard enough negativity growing up, and again in the navy from men who didn't know what he was. Such rampant homophobia had begun to taper off due to the gradual acceptance of gays, but the prejudice was still alive and kicking, in the military especially.
Jules and the others were men's men. Like his father had been. Strong alpha-types that women fell head over heels for. Jules stood a few inches taller than Kisho's six-two, had muscle tone a bodybuilder would envy, and an arresting face with eyes that glittered like diamonds. The total package of male beauty, integrity, and resolve made him a natural leader and friend anyone would be lucky to have.
“Dude, talk to me.” Jules placed a hand over his, stilling the tapping fingers he hadn't realized he was drumming.
Before Kisho could respond, a pair of snickering drunks shoved into Jules. “Oh, look, the boyfriends are talking.”
Making matters worse, the bartender behind them frowned and took a step closer. The brawny guy tending bar had been quiet but observant, and Kisho realized he would be the one to watch. The drunks he could easily handle, but the bartender probably had a bat or gun handy.
Not a big deal, but he could do without the attention.
Thankfully, tonight wasn't all that crowded. The sooner he shut these two up, the sooner he could leave the bar, and hopefully, this discussion, aside.
“Look,” he began.
Jules interrupted by removing his hand from Kisho's. He turned and punched the loudmouth in the face. The guy dropped like a stone, unconscious. “Anything else you pricks wanted to add? I'm all ears.”
The other drunk stammered his apologies and dragged his friend away with the help of another guy.
The bartender approached, and Kisho prepared to take him on.
“Nice punch. Whatever you want, it's on the house. So what can I get you two?” The bartender waited and winked at Kisho.
“Nothing else for me or my friend. Not boyfriend, friend. But thanks.” The bartender withdrew a pen from his pocket and scribbled on a napkin. He pushed it at Kisho. “Call me,” the big guy said before he moved to the other end of the bar.
Beyond humiliated, Kisho walked away as fast as he could manage without making it obvious. He left the place and looked around the parking lot for Jules's truck, his world disintegrating around him. “Not boyfriend, friend,” Jules had said. God forbid anyone mistake Jules for being gay.
Jules swore behind him. “Dammit, hold on a minute.”
Kisho froze when Jules grabbed his arm and swung him around.
“What the hell's wrong with you? First Tersch, now you. I swear, if Fallon freaks on me too, I'm out of here.”
The word “freak” made Kisho cringe, but he cleared his throat and apologized. “Sorry. I just don't know what you want me to say.”
“I don't want you to say anything. I just want you to be okay.” Jules nodded to his truck, and they walked to it together. “I'm not sure what the hell is going on in that mind of yours, Hayashi. But I don't want you to do anything you don't want to with Morgan. I mean, yeah, we need to know as much as we can about Delancey. But you know, there are other ways to get it than screwing the guy. I never meant you had to actually go through with anything.” Jules made it sound distasteful, and a measure of shame flooded Kisho.
“Stop it, right the fuck now.” Jules leaned close, suddenly angry. “Your aura is all over the place. I can't read emotions, but I can read pain. What the hell did Morgan do to you? I'll kill him, I swear it.”
Jules took a step away, and Kisho stopped him. “Wait. It's not what you think. I—” He took a deep breath. “I was with him. I pushed it; he didn't. It's okay.” It wasn't at all, but Kisho didn't like the look in Jules's eyes. He couldn't let his team leader hurt Morgan because he was too afraid to tell the truth. Yeah, Morgan had started it, but Kisho had been far from saying no.
“Ah, okay, then.” They got into the truck and sat in silence. “I'm not telling you what to do.
I mean, I am, but… Fuck, I hate this touchy-feely bullshit. Bottom line is, you're mine. Every damned one of you Circs is under my protection, and I won't let anything happen to you, all right?” Jules's beast growled his affirmation, a rumble of warning, of acceptance.
Kisho stared straight ahead, afraid if he glanced at Jules, Jules would see him fighting to remain in control. Hell, his mother had died when he was two. His father had died just a few years after he'd found him. The only family Kisho had left were his team. They meant everything to him. He couldn't bear the thought of losing any of them. And Mrs. Sharpe wondered why he didn't like to see into the future. A future where everyone that mattered to him turned on him?
Where he died? Where Jules died? Christ.
“All right?” Jules asked again.
“Yeah,” Kisho answered, his voice hoarse.
Jules started the truck. “Good. 'Nuff said. Now let's go home and try to weasel more info out of Mrs. Sharpe. That woman knows more than she's saying.” And Kisho would know more if he stopped being such a pussy and tried to see again. “I'll help, Jules. I'll find out where the bastard is hiding. I promise.” A glance at Jules showed him smiling. “I know you will, Hayashi. You never disappoint.” When Kisho arrived home, he walked into the kitchen to grab a quick snack and saw Ava, Morgan, and the Keisers—Melissa, their cook, and Jack, her husband and handyman—playing cards.
“Hey.” Morgan acknowledged him but didn't look up from his cards.
“Later.” Kisho left the group and went upstairs. He undressed and moved to his bed. And froze.
There, on the pillow, lay a white rose, devoid of thorns.
He flushed in confused pleasure but told himself Ava had left it. Or maybe Olivia. She could sense emotions. Maybe she'd sensed his troubles and sought to provide subtle comfort.