Chapter Three
Drew had heard the phrase ‘ships in the night’ before, but it had never had relevance to his life until Sam. They kept encountering each other for brief moments, at odd hours, never spending more than a few minutes in each other’s company. Sam worked a lot, that much was clear. And Drew snagged his first job only two days after he arrived, cleaning tables at a diner near Justice Park, so named because of its proximity to the city’s old courthouse. They’d moved the courthouse elsewhere and the old building was now a tourist attraction. He kept meaning to visit but never quite made it.
The work was simple, for minimum wage plus tips. But he’d never had that easy charm needed in service jobs to get the kind of tips that made a real difference to the salary. Which was why he got his second job a few days later, evening work in a bar. They were pretty well staffed already but one of their full-time employees was going to night college four evenings a week and they brought Drew in to fill those hours. There was just enough time between the end of one job and the start of the other, to grab food and change his clothes.
The work was boring, but it was work. It kept him busy, didn’t give him too much time to think, and he was tired enough by the time he got back to Sam’s apartment that falling asleep was easy. It was the days he didn’t work that caused him trouble. His thoughts would slide backward, into what-hads and what-ifs. He was lying low, but he wasn’t out of danger.
Those days, he kept on his feet, kept moving. There was plenty to see around the city, but while he passed by, and slowed to look, he didn’t stop. Like a shark, he feared inactivity would be fatal, if not to the body, then to the mind.
There was one exception, a handful of places that always drew his eyes, his mind lighting up at the sight of them, attracting him like a bee to a flower. It was why he avoided libraries and internet cafes where he could. The lure of a keyboard beneath his fingers was too much. It would solve lots of problems, his money one in particular, but it would be the thing that brought him crashing back to earth. He could have his old career back in an instant, but for that, he’d need to use his name, his prior experience. Russell would have people watching out for that. Any suggestion that he’d surfaced would lead Russell right to him. He’d settle for minimum wage, mind-numbing work any day over that eventuality.
He stacked the last of the clean glasses, then wiped down the shelf, glancing at the clock as he did. Nine-thirty, time to head home.
“See you tomorrow, Drew,” his boss, Alan, called. Drew liked Alan, he was a no-nonsense, do-things-by-the-book kind of guy. He reminded him of Logan. And wasn’t that a sure way to take the smile from his face? He hadn’t made contact with Logan since he arrived in the city but he knew from one of his micro-conversations with Sam that the other man had. He doubted his brother wanted to hear from him and there were only so many apologies a person could make before the words lost all value.
As he left the bar, a cold gust of wind hit him. He wrapped his jacket tighter, flicking up his collar to give some protection from the chill.
The first sense he had of being followed was voices behind him, just a little too loud for the quiet street. It was still early, most of the bars and clubs had hours left until closing.
As he turned off into the alleyway that led behind the bar, his most direct route home, he was surprised to find that the voices followed him. Glancing back over his shoulder, he found three guys ambling along behind him, seeming in no hurry. Drew faced forward, keeping his pace even, trying to make out their words as they spoke to one another. He wasn’t sure why their presence was setting him on edge, but it was.
“Andy,” one of them called a second later. “Oh, Andy.”
He wanted to run but his body did the opposite, freezing in place. The footsteps neared and too late he broke from the spell and moved. The end of the alleyway led on to a busy street; shops, restaurants, places of safety he could run to. He only had to get there.
As he ran, his feet slamming into the pavement, he could hear the men behind him, gaining on him. “Andy,” one of the called again before a body slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.
He fumbled for the key in his pocket as he reached the door to the apartment. Stepping inside, he was relieved to find it empty. He doubted Sam would look too highly on him bringing any sort of trouble back with him. At least he still had his key. Tomorrow he’d go back and see if he could find his wallet, they’d probably tossed it once they took the cash.
Leaning against the wall with a groan, he mentally revised tomorrow to the day after. The next few days weren’t going to be pretty.
Making a beeline for the bathroom, he shut the door and switched on the light, taking a long look in the mirror to see firsthand the damage done. One eye was swollen nearly shut, his other cheek red and cut, and a dark bruise was forming on his jaw. His lip was split and puffy, a trail of blood dripping down his chin.
Gingerly, he lifted his shirt with bruised knuckles to see the red marks where new bruises were going to come up over the older ones that hadn’t yet faded. There was a cut too, bleeding freely, from where they’d thrown him against the dumpster, jagged metal catching him and tearing cloth and skin alike.
There was no rhyme or reason to what had happened, just the obvious and the paranoid. The men might have seen him working at the bar, leaving other evenings, and knew he was cash in hand. That might be enough to provoke a mugging. They could easily have overheard his name, too, or seen his name badge if they’d been by the diner. The two establishments were on the same street, only a hundred feet from each other. They’d have seen his name badge and Andy was a common nickname for Andrew. Thinking Russell had anything to do with it, that’s where the paranoia came into play. So what if it seemed too much of a coincidence that he’d been mugged his first week in the city? So what if they’d called him Russell’s nickname for him? That didn’t mean anything. He was here, and Russell was on the other side of the country.
He turned on the tap and splashed water on his chin, rubbing gently to remove the blood. Taking a look around the bathroom, he hesitated to use the towels on the rail. They weren’t his and chances were the blood wasn’t going to wash out.
Instead, he slipped awkwardly out of his jacket and pulled his T-shirt off over his head, gasping at the fiery pain the movement ignited. He balled up his T-shirt, wetting it with water and wiping gingerly at his face before pressing it hard against the gash on his side.
Bracing himself against the sink, he waited for the worst of the pain to pass, keeping as much pressure on the wound as he could bear.
He heard the apartment door open and inwardly cursed. It would be just his luck that his roommate would come home early on the one evening Drew really needed him not to. There was a pause, then footsteps, then a knock on the bathroom door.
“Be out in a minute,” he called, trying to work out how to get to his room without being seen.
He pulled his T-shirt away from the cut but it began to bleed again almost immediately. Groaning, he pressed it back against the wound.
There was a second knock on the door. “Just another minute,” he called again, turning the tap on. He heard the handle turn and realized in that moment that he hadn’t locked the door.
It swung open and he turned to see Sam standing in the doorway, brown eyes alert and wary, taking in everything in one sweep.
“What happened?”
“Got mugged,” he replied, turning back to the sink. His eyes widened when he saw through the mirror that Sam’s gun was in his hand.
Sam caught what he was looking at. “There’s blood on the apartment door and it was unlocked.”
Damn.
“Sorry, I guess I was a bit distracted.” He was willing the other man to leave but Sam merely tucked his gun away and took a step closer.
“I can see that. Did you report it?”
Drew blinked at him in confusion. “Report what?”
“The mugging. What did they take?”
He shrugged, avoiding the other man’s piercing gaze. “Just some cash. Not much point reporting it.”
“They gave you quite the beat down over some cash. You must have put up a fight.” As Sam spoke, he grabbed the towels off the rail, brushing past Drew as he reached for the tap and wet the soft material of one towel, handing it to Drew.
“You need to put more pressure on that wound,” he said, indicating the gash on Drew’s side and the blood still seeping through his shirt.
“Do you mind if I—” Sam held up the second towel. Knowing he wasn’t going to get rid of Sam while he was still bleeding all over his bathroom floor, he nodded once, letting his hand fall, bloody shirt still clasped tightly in his fist.
Sam took another step towards him, then reached out, clamping the folded towel over the wound with one hand while the other settled on Drew’s waist, holding him steady.
He closed his eyes, the better not to see Sam’s expression as much as to avoid seeing the mess his body was in. The pressure hurt and he hissed under his breath, one hand clinging tightly to the countertop until his knuckles turned white.
“Did you take any blows to your head?”
He shook his head at that, wishing the ground might swallow him up.
“Drew, open your eyes.” He responded instinctively to Sam’s commanding tone, looking up at the other man, meeting his sharp gaze.
“Did they hit your head?” Sam asked again, slowly, his tone telling Drew he wanted an actual answer.
“Just my face. They were more interested in kicking me in the stomach.”
“But you don’t want to report them?”
He looked down at the floor. It would be hard to hide his emotions from Sam, who he was sure was more than adept at telling truth from lies. Not that he was lying exactly, just not telling the whole truth.
“I hadn’t seen them before, I didn’t really get a good look, given I was trying to protect my head the whole time. They didn’t get much.” He willed Sam to hear him and not ask more questions.
“It’s not what they took, Drew. It’s what they did. They really worked you over.” As Sam spoke, his hand left Drew’s waist, fingers ghosting across his jaw.
“Was it really a mugging or was it something else?”
Drew looked up to see Sam eyeing him skeptically. “Were you gambling? Maybe lost more than you had? Rubbed some people up the wrong way?”
Drew closed his eyes, unable to keep a sad sigh from slipping out. That was one reputation he clearly wasn’t going to live down.
“No, that’s all in the past now. Like I said, just a mugging. Some guys who were drunk and maybe a little high.”
“How many?”
Drew debated lying but given how closely Sam was watching his responses, he knew he’d get caught out. “Three.”
Sam whistled. “Three on one. Those are some odds. And you’re not reporting this assault because…” He paused, waiting for an answer.
‘Because I’m an idiot’ Drew thought to himself. The truth was, he was scared. Maybe he was just unlucky and he’d caught their attention somehow. But they’d called him by name. His nickname for Drew. So maybe this wasn’t some random mugging, maybe it was planned, calculated. A move designed to scare him into running back into Russell’s arms, because at least one against one was better odds.
“Don’t see the point,” he said finally.
“How about I make you a deal?”
That had Drew instantly wary. What kind of deal could Sam possibly have in mind? The other man read the emotion on his face and seemed puzzled by it, raising his free hand slowly, palm out. The universal sign for no harm.
“We get you cleaned up a bit, go to the hospital and have you checked over, then I take you down to the local precinct and fast track you through giving a statement. How’s that sound?”
It sounded like the worst possible plan. A hospital would need money and he had no insurance, not enough cash, and no credit to cover the inevitable bill. A statement meant records, meant his name in the system, meant an ID check. Systems like that were searchable, breachable, even if you hadn’t done anything wrong.
When Drew hesitated, Sam added, “Unless there’s something you want to tell me?”
Taking a deep breath, cut short by a stab of pain in his side, he spoke quietly. “You were right the first time. It was a poker game, I lost more than I had. They were understandably pissed.”
A finger hooked under his chin, tugging his head up to meet Sam’s eyes.
“Your brother said you were trouble. Fine, if you don’t want to report it, then we’ll chalk it up to a hard learned lesson. Not one anyone should have to learn so brutally. But with these injuries, you do need a hospital.”
He was shaking his head before Sam finished. “No, I don’t have insurance or the kind of money a visit to the emergency department would cost.” All he’d been able to take when he ran was the maximum on his ATM card withdrawal limit. At eight hundred dollars a day, it wasn’t much. Wasn’t enough.
“We’ll work something out.”
He was already indebted to Sam for giving him a place to stay. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, extort more from him.
“No. It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse.”
He cursed inwardly as soon as the words had left his mouth. There was no good way for Sam to have taken that statement. Any minute now and he’d be out on his ear.
Sam was still holding his chin up, forcing Drew to meet his gaze.
“Alright, I won’t drag you there against your will. I have another idea. Here, keep this pressed against your side while I make a phone call.” He let go of Drew’s chin as Drew put his hand over the towel, holding it tightly in place.
Sam left the room, leaving Drew to wonder and worry about who he was calling. He hoped to God it wasn’t Logan, because when his brother heard all this, he was going to be pissed.