Chapter 8

8

QUILLON

I had never wanted to slap someone more than York's parents, especially his mother. Contrary to what people seemed to think of those choosing a career in the military, I was not a violent man. Yes, I was a trained Marine who had killed in the line of duty and wouldn't hesitate to do it again to protect others or myself, but that didn't mean I liked it. I much preferred to de-escalate conflicts and prevent weapons from being needed.

But the day after that whole debacle, I was still stewing over the way York's parents treated him. As if he was and always would be less than his brother. As if he didn't matter. As if he was invisible.

I understood grief probably better than most people. Not only had I lost several brothers in arms, but my baby sister, Charlotte, had died when she was only seven years old. She'd had a brain tumor and had only lived six months past the diagnosis. I'd been fifteen, old enough to understand, and when she passed away, the entire family had been devastated. She'd been our Miss Sunshine, this darting happy little bee, and her death had left a huge void.

My parents had grieved deeply, and it had taken a few months before my mom had smiled again. But she had, and over time, a sense of normalcy had returned. They would always miss Charlotte, as would I, but losing her hadn't consumed them like it had York's parents losing their oldest son. What had caused that difference? What had made them so stuck in their grief, unable to move on?

And, most importantly, was that the reason York disliked his brother? Because Essex had always been their parents' favorite? It seemed like a plausible explanation, yet I felt like I was missing something. I had so many questions, but I didn't ask them. York had made it clear the subject wasn't up for discussion, and I respected that.

At least he had a wonderful friend in Fir Everett, who was warm and understanding. I'd made myself scarce for a bit in case York wanted to talk to his friend about what had happened. I wasn't sure if he had, but when we left, he'd seemed a little less sad, so spending time with Fir had helped.

Our meeting with Sheriff Frant had been productive. After talking to him, I'd been in awe of his competence and had asked if he could figure out a way to get two FBI agents into town to help me protect York. He'd suggested letting them pose as federal employees doing a research project on the effectiveness of a local sheriff. That way, they could stay for a few weeks, and it wouldn't raise suspicion to see them around town or tagging along with Auden. I liked that suggestion, and when I told Coulson, he'd also been on board.

Auden had found them a place to stay with an older man who lived alone in a big house, and considering the FBI would pay him rent, it was a win-win for everyone. The house was two blocks from us, so it was all working out. We kept in touch through cell phones and had agreed that in public, we'd pretend we didn't know each other.

I watched York as he ran a test on the security system he had installed. He'd set up sensors on every door and window, downstairs and upstairs, that would alert us if they were opened. We had cameras at the front and back of the house, plus two aimed at the driveway, one of which he'd hidden in a tree. The house was now a fortress.

York was muttering as he punched in codes. He was in the zone again, not noticing my presence. It was becoming clear that he wouldn't spot danger until it was too late, too lost in his head, too absorbed in whatever he was doing. So it would have to be up to me and the two FBI agents to be vigilant. Good thing I excelled at my job, although I would've preferred a bigger team.

"Done." York lowered his phone. "I still think it's inferior to what I designed, but it'll do the job."

I grinned. "Of course it's inferior. While top of the line, this is a commercial, mass-produced product, not a custom design like yours."

"True. Oh well, it'll have to do. I don't have the time to adapt the one I designed to this house."

"Thanks for installing it."

"I'm surprised you couldn't do it yourself, considering you work for a security company."

"I never said I couldn't. You offered to do it."

"Because you implied you weren't able to, saying Julius would have to do it."

I shrugged. "It's not my job, and besides, would you rather have a system installed by an amateur or a pro?"

"Good point. Either way, it's up and running, and all tests indicate it's functioning as it should."

"Awesome. Thank you."

"You already thanked me."

"I can't do it twice?"

"It wasn't that big a deal."

"I think if someone says thank you, you say ‘you're welcome.' Unless they're not welcome, in which case you come up with a neutral alternative."

He cocked his head as if seriously considering my words. "You're welcome," he said, and funnily enough, it felt like a victory.

"What were you planning for dinner for tonight?" I asked. "Takeout?"

We'd tried some of Brianna's pastries for breakfast, and York hadn't exaggerated. They'd been delicious. We'd also brought home sandwiches for lunch, but now my stomach was growling, signaling it was time for our next meal. And the cupboards in Tomás's house were all but empty.

He sighed. "Takeout in Forestville is limited to calling in an order to Eddie's Drive-In and picking it up, which means having heartburn the rest of the evening. Or getting something from the Double F, which is slightly better food but has a limited menu. Collins sells rotisserie chicken and slices of pizza and on the weekends, lasagna and one rotating menu choice. That's it. If you live here, you either cook or eat microwave meals."

I blinked. "Right. Cooking it is. I can make something."

"You're my bodyguard, not my personal chef."

"Considering we both have to eat, and I don't plan on eating burgers, pizza, and microwave junk for the next few weeks, I'm sure I can be both."

"We'd have to do groceries."

"Can we have them delivered?"

York shook his head, chuckling. "Instacart hasn't arrived here yet. Probably won't get here for the next, oh, ten years."

"Is there a grocery store?"

"Collins Family Grocer is on Main Street. They have a limited assortment and aren't cheap, but it's good quality. The nearest big store is Walmart, a twenty-minute drive."

"Let's head to Collins. We can plan the rest of our meals tomorrow and go shopping at Walmart."

"You don't mind us leaving the house again? I wasn't sure of the rules."

I shook my head. "We can't stay cooped up here. We'd both go crazy. So yeah, I'm fine with going out for groceries, providing you drive and carry the bags. I have to have my hands free at all times. And I'll have to let Miller and LaFontaine know. The two FBI agents."

"Fair enough, though I will warn you I don't lift weights like you, so I can't carry much."

"Who says I lift weights?"

He snorted. "Please, you spend more time in a gym in a week than I do in a whole year. Your eyes lit up when you saw the gym Tomás has set up in the basement."

He wasn't wrong. "I do like to work out, though I focus on endurance training over strength."

"The best training is actually a mix of both. Weight training helps develop your big muscles, which increases your metabolism and makes you burn more fat, while endurance training strengthens your heart and lungs. Though several studies show evidence that overdoing it isn't always healthy, like running ultra marathons."

Did he realize how adorable he was when he got serious like that? I was fascinated by his mind, which seemed to store all kinds of random information. "For someone who hates working out, you know a lot about it."

He looked away, his cheeks coloring. "I read a lot, and I like to know how things work, even when I'll never use that knowledge for myself."

"It wasn't a criticism."

"I've been accused of showing off. I know not everyone enjoys being lectured."

"That wasn't lecturing me or showing off. That was you sharing relevant information pertaining to a topic we were discussing."

"Oh."

"I enjoy learning new things, so feel free to keep sharing those bits of information and knowledge with me."

The shy smile he sent me was a reward in itself.

I let the two agents know about our plans and gave them five minutes to get ahead of us. As soon as we stepped outside, I took York's hand, and he only hesitated for a moment before accepting it. When our fingers laced, he blew out a long breath as if releasing something he'd been holding for a long time.

"What kind of food are you in the mood for?" I asked.

"Whatever you want."

"Is that you being polite, or do you mean it?"

"I can guarantee you that being polite for the sake of it is not something I engage in often. Quite the opposite, in fact. In case the conversation with Shannon didn't clue you in, I have a bit of a reputation in the office. Of being difficult, I mean."

"I noticed that. Why?"

He shot me a quick look sideways. "Why? Isn't that obvious?"

I shrugged. "Maybe, but I prefer clarity, so why don't you explain it to me?"

"I don't like people and have no patience for office politics, particularly not what's colloquially referred to as watercooler gossip. Why would I want to know that Mary has issues with her neighbor, that Clark is seeing a new woman, or that Peter bought a new car? I don't care about the trivial details occupying their minds, so they labeled me anti-social and uncooperative. For the last ten years, my performance interview has mentioned I need to improve my team-player skills, whatever that means."

"Pretty sure that means engaging in said gossip or maybe showing up for birthday celebrations and such, plus keeping your coworkers informed of what you do and working together where necessary."

"I attend birthday celebrations if they have cake, especially if Martha from sales has baked it. No clue what she puts in her lemon-frosted cheesecake, but it's divine."

I chuckled. How funny to hear the serious York rave about cheesecake. No matter how brilliant he was, he also enjoyed the simple things in life. "Have you ever asked her for the recipe?"

"Why would I do that? It's not like I could bake it, even if I had it."

"You could learn."

"Learn how to bake? Why? Between Martha and Brianna, I have all my sugary needs met."

I'd never met a man who argued based on merits the way York did. He could've easily agreed with me that he could learn to get me off his back, but instead, he took his time to build his case. "Good point," I said and let it go.

In Collins, York returned people's greetings almost absentmindedly and with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it a gazillion times. If he noticed the curious glances people shot me, he didn't comment on it. The two agents were shopping as well, never looking in our direction. I hadn't introduced them to York on purpose, so he had no idea what they looked like and couldn't reveal that he knew them.

"York!" a voice called.

I spun around and smiled when I spotted the waving teenager. I didn't have to ask who he was. With his red hair and freckled skin, he was a mini version of his father.

"Gabe…" York hugged him, much to my surprise. Teenagers weren't usually huggers, and I hadn't pegged York for one either, but he was clearly close with Fir's son.

"Dad said you'll be staying in town for a while," Gabe said.

York nodded. "Couple of weeks at least."

"Everything okay?" York hesitated long enough for Gabe to raise his hands. "Never mind. You can't talk about it."

"No, I can't. Your dad said you needed to be beaten at chess. Wanna set up a game this week?"

I loved how he framed that, and judging by his big grin, so did Gabe. "I've been watching a lot of YouTube videos, and I'm getting better every time. Won't be long until you'll taste the bitterness of defeat."

"Keep dreaming, kid. But I'm happy to show you that you're not at my level yet."

"Friday evening work?"

"Yeah, that should work. I'll come by for dinner too."

"Yay, that means Dad will make pasta because it's your favorite."

York blinked. "How does he…? Never mind. Sounds good, kid. See you then."

"You didn't know Fir made your favorite food for you?" I asked when Gabe was out of earshot.

"I didn't know I had a favorite food. Like I said, I eat pretty much everything. But I will admit his pasta sauce is delicious, and so is his garlic bread."

"You do realize I'll have to come too, right?"

York stopped and faced me. "No, I didn't think of that, but of course. Fir will know, and he'll tell the boys."

"I think Gabe already suspects there's more to you staying here than meets the eye."

"Probably. He's smart and sees a lot, like his dad."

"You're close with him."

Another look of surprise. "I guess I am. He's a great kid. Teenager."

"I hadn't expected you to like kids."

"Oh, I don't like kids. I like teenagers. They're unflinchingly honest, and I can appreciate that. They haven't mastered the art of pretending yet, and what you see is what you get. Makes it so much easier."

While we walked around, I gathered various products while York grabbed a twelve-pack of Coke and a bar of milk-hazelnut chocolate. Low maintenance indeed. "I'm making risotto tonight," I said.

"Isn't that super hard to make?"

"Not at all, but you do have to keep an eye on it. And it's totally worth the effort."

"Okay. If you want to cook, I'm not gonna say no. It beats the hell out of ready-to-eat meals."

I shuddered. "Those are so unhealthy, if only for the enormous amounts of sodium."

York looked guilty. "That's what Fir keeps telling me. But I don't have much choice when I'm here. It's not like I can eat at Fir's every night."

He didn't mention his parents as an option, and I couldn't blame him after what I'd witnessed. I lowered my voice. "As long as we're here, I'll cook. I don't mind."

"You're sure? ‘Cause you don't get paid to cook for me, just to protect me."

"We'll say I protect your health as well." I bumped his shoulder.

York's mouth curled up in a smile, and my heart skipped a few beats. Making him smile was rapidly becoming a major goal.

I was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.