Sacha
At first, Sacha ignored the buzzing coming from his pocket. After years of reacting to every phone call, that had been the easiest thing to let go of when he left the Marshals. Unfortunately, the buzz persisted. Sighing, he put the sledgehammer down and tugged his phone out to see who wanted him now. Now that Seth, Joey, and Adam all had his number, he didn’t expect the buzzing to be a series of texts regarding Parker.
Why he was surprised was anyone’s guess; he needed more than ten fingers to count how much trouble he’d bailed Parker out of over the years. One of the reasons he’d distanced himself once he became a Marshal had been that Parker got in enough trouble on his own. He didn’t need to be around the kind of trouble Sacha found himself in on a regular basis.
The most recent text read, “He’s coming,” with an airline abbreviation and ETA. Sacha scrolled back to read the first texts. They were from Mae-Lin, of course, expletive-laden commentaries on both Sacha’s and Parker’s life choices. She was very tired of the nonsense. Ha. Sacha wondered who else had pissed her off recently. People always thought he was kidding when he told them he was the nice one.
The flight was late in the evening; there would be time to plan before his arrival. Parker wouldn’t wander around Skagit looking for him. Or, for fuck’s sake, show up unannounced at the Warrick, although how he could know about that, Sacha couldn’t fathom. Parker had an uncanny way of finding out things normal people and criminals preferred to be left hidden.
Realization hit him. Groaning, Sacha thumped his head against the door frame in frustration. In his post-orgasmic state he hadn’t put all the pieces together. Where the hell was he going to stash Parker? Not here amongst the construction debris and dust.
The Warrick felt quiet. Where had Seth had disappeared to? Maybe he would have an idea. It wasn’t like Sacha could go rent a house in an afternoon, and a hotel was out of the question since he had no idea how long Parker would be staying… or why he was coming.
Abandoning the sledgehammer, he headed to the ground floor. Seth sat cross-legged in a corner, sifting through the boxes Sacha’d found stashed in the walls. Sacha clomped down the stairs, but Seth was so engrossed he didn’t hear him approach. Sunlight struggled in through the filthy windows, soaking Seth’s sun-kissed skin, highlighting the curves and dips of his form.
It gave Sacha pause, watching Seth unawares. It was private. The too-large T-shirt hung from his lightly muscled body; the cargo shorts and practical hiking boots did not detract from his natural presence. Nothing about him was fancy or impractical, or soft—he was very much male, and he carried himself with an acceptance Sacha envied.
“What’s in the boxes?”
Seth startled, turning to glare at him. “Fuck, do you not make noise? You are practically a mountain!”
Smiling, he shrugged. He hadn’t intentionally snuck up on Seth. Not really, but he’d gotten caught up watching him. Not only was being light on your feet a good characteristic for US Marshals, it got truant, quasi-criminal kids away from the scene of the crime before the cops arrived. Most of the time.
“I walk like a normal person.”
“I beg to differ.” Seth waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Check it out, this box is full of cool old books and stuff.”
Not wanting to loom, Sacha crouched down next to Seth and peered into the boxes. Two were stuffed with tools, unidentifiable pieces of metal, a couple tin cups, and other construction paraphernalia from the past. The third was currently empty, the books and other items Seth had pulled out of it in a pile on the floor.
“Why would anyone stash this behind a wall?” Seth wondered.
“Probably trying to clean up fast, didn’t feel like moving it.” Sacha picked up one of the battered books, flipping the cover open. The title page was inscribed:
To my dear Owen, may these words find you. TG
Sacha stared at the spidery words for a long while, wondering what TG meant, who TG was. A sister, brother, lover? Along with Seth, he was curious how such a well-loved little book ended up behind the walls of an old bank building.
Flipping to the copyright page, he noted the volume: Another Time, poetry by W. H. Auden, published in 1940. He placed it gently back in the box. Seth was scanning through a small stack of postcards and letters.
Sacha’s attention was captured by the late-afternoon light accentuating Seth’s profile. His features were sharp and intelligent, yet he was a gentle soul, curious, naturally happy. Things Sacha was not, but found himself drawn to.
The sun shifted, sliding closer to the horizon. Even with the open windows, there was no breeze, and the building was stifling after another day of unrelenting heat. Sacha suddenly needed to get out for a while.
He reached out to touch Seth’s shoulder, enjoying the feel of him through his T-shirt. “Any chance you’d let me treat for dinner tonight?” What was he doing? Inviting trouble was what he was doing. Changing a lifetime of hiding who he presented to the world was fucking exhausting.
“If by dinner you mean barbeque and a couple beers in my backyard, yes. I’m not going out anywhere. Can I bring this box?”
Sacha had a feeling his answer to Seth would always be “yes.” That however this whole thing played out, Sacha would be saying “yes,” and he looked forward to it.