Epilogue

Vargas sat in the dining room of the Haven, carefully listening to Tucker describe the results of the background checks he’d run on three new employees for the kitchen staff. The club was currently open, the bar and dining room alive with an energy that Vargas only ever felt sitting amid a crowd of excited, horny gay men on a Friday night. The thump of dance music was on full blast as most of the dinner plates had been cleared and the members in attendance had moved on to more casual, flirtatious festivities.

With all the new members he’d accepted lately, the kitchen and housekeeping staff had become overtaxed. It was long past time to take on new help. He may not be as obsessed and excessive as he once was when it came to security at his club, but he wasn’t about to let up on his regular screening of new employees and members. There were only three people he trusted to help with his overall plans and the detailed background checks: Walter, Tucker, and Carter.

Twice a month, the four of them met to go over the latest security measures. For that one hour, Vargas allowed himself to completely focus on making sure people were safe in the Haven. The rest of the time, he tried not to worry so much.

Tucker shut off the computer tablet he’d been reading from. “So I think we’re good to go with everyone you liked from the interviews last week.”

Vargas gave a nod. “I’ll schedule their second round.” He mentally reviewed the list of items he wanted to cover that night. “I think that’s everything, then.”

“Not yet.” Walter leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. “What are we going to do about him?” He pointed across the club to a young man nursing a beer on a stool in the bar.

Dylan.

He was talking to a man who was seated beside him.

“What about him?” Tucker asked without tearing his gaze off Dylan.

“I used to think he was handling everything that happened better than any of the others, but now…” Walter shook his head. “He’s headed down a destructive path.”

Vargas had seen it coming for months now. “He’s here a lot, hooking up with a different guy every time.” Not that something like that was a bad thing, but the way Dylan went about it with such vehemence didn’t sit right with Vargas. And apparently Walter either.

The older man seated with Dylan gestured to the dance floor, but Dylan shook his head and turned away from him as if that suggestion alone canceled any interest he had in the man. Same as it always went.

Vargas told the group, “He never dances with them, never lets them touch him or kiss him. At least not down here on the first floor.”

Carter offered his take. “I’ve seen the same thing. The other night he walked away from a guy who tried to kiss him. The guy was persistent too. I thought I was going to have to step in, but he finally gave up.”

In the bar, the man tried again to get Dylan onto the dance floor, but Dylan brushed him off. As Carter had described with the other incident, the guy moved on. Dylan swallowed the rest of his beer, then ordered another and downed it in a series of long gulps.

Tucker refocused on the other men at the table. “What can we do?” He nabbed his glass of water and held it in a clenched fist, which only served to emphasize the anxiety and frustration rolling off him.

Carter and Walter looked to Vargas as if they expected what was coming.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Walter nodded. “Good. I’d hate to see anything more happen to him.”

Tucker’s focus was on Dylan again, and Vargas knew he had a solid plan. He thought about putting things into motion right then, but it would be best to wait for another night, approach him before Dylan had anything to drink. Especially with everything that had gone down with Tucker’s ex-wife.

“Let me check into a few things. I’ll fill you guys in later if my idea pans out. But either way, we’ll help him.”

Walter and Carter seemed to be appeased by that, but Tucker didn’t say anything, and he wouldn’t give up on watching Dylan, who was staring into another empty pint.

Reluctantly Vargas let it go for now. Dylan wasn’t in immediate danger. He was just a very unhappy young man. Vargas planned to do whatever he could to change that.

He glanced around the packed first floor, but he wasn’t interested in who was there or who was hooking up with who. He was searching for the same thing he did every Friday night.

The same person.

Movement at the top of the main staircase drew his attention. He stood. “Sorry, gentlemen, but my date is here.” He gave a nod to the men at the table, then sauntered across the dining room.

Standing at the top of the staircase was Seth, wearing slim dark-wash jeans, a pink and purple plaid button-down shirt with stripes of shimmering silver running down the length of the fabric. His dark hair was fluffed up on top, the ends tinted the same bright pink as the shirt.

He’d never looked better.

For the past hour, Seth had been talking with the guards in the security room on the second floor. He liked to get his own reports on how things at the club had gone all week. He said he was merely curious, but Vargas knew Seth wanted to make certain the four men meeting at the table downstairs didn’t go overboard with their security plans. Seth was determined to see the club remain successful.

As Vargas approached, Seth spotted him and smiled. He started down the stairs, and they met at the base.

Vargas held his stare as he said, “You look fantastic.”

Seth’s grin grew. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

The strong beat of dance music from the bar was replaced by a mellower, soulful tune, something a little different for the Haven.

Vargas held out a hand. “Dance with me?”

Seth’s eyes widened. Then he took the offered hand, and together they traveled through the dining room to the bar. Vargas could feel the stares on them. He wasn’t sure when people would stop taking such an interest in his personal life, but he really didn’t care. All that mattered was how much fun Seth had every time they had their date night in the club.

When they reached the dance floor, Vargas turned to Seth. He couldn’t resist that look of confident longing in those bright brown eyes staring up at him. He pulled him close. Seth slid both hands up Vargas’s arms, and together they moved, setting a slow, sensual rhythm that was different than their previous nights in the club. Seth must’ve been thinking along the same lines.

“Did you ask them to play this?”

“You like it?”

“It’s romantic.”

The way Seth moved and swayed was unbridled and erotic, his body repeatedly brushing against Vargas’s.

Vargas wanted to stay locked in that moment, but he was also curious how things had gone that afternoon. “How’s your arm feel?”

“Great. It’s all done. He added the last of the color.” Seth unbuttoned the long-sleeve shirt, revealing a form-fitting purple tank underneath. He slid one sleeve of the outer shirt down his right arm, exposing the tattoo that covered his biceps. The medieval shield had more shading added, making it look even more 3-D, and the image of the unicorn depicted on the shield now had various shades of purple running through its horn and tail. It was a perfect match for one of the statues from his sister’s collection.

The substantial scar that had previously spelled out the word MINE was no longer visible.

The tattoo artist, a guy named Rex who donated his time and equipment to aid people with severe scars, had driven over two hours on multiple occasions specifically to do the elaborate tattoo for Seth. He’d done a wonderful job, and Seth planned to have him add a few more tattoos where the worst of the other scars were still prominent. Vargas would’ve had him do the same for his stomach, but the words Prescott had etched there healed with almost no lasting effect.

Seth ran his thumb below the tattoo. “It turned out pretty good, yeah?”

“Looks just like your drawing.” Vargas traced the same path. “It’s beautiful. A perfect fit for the man underneath.”

Seth slipped his shirt back on. Moving with urgency, he embraced Vargas so they were dancing even closer than a moment before, Seth’s cheek resting against Vargas’s chest. If the number of times Seth settled into that same position was anything to go by, it was his favorite way to touch him, and to be touched, and Vargas didn’t mind one damn bit.

But this time Seth let out an unsteady breath. His shoulders shook.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I am.” Seth pulled back. His eyes were moist, but not with sadness or despair. “I really am.”

For the first time since Vargas had sat beside Seth’s bed in the ICU at Parkview Hospital, a new level of peace washed over him, and in that moment, he knew without a doubt that the importance of seeing Seth that happy and vibrant had nothing to do with guilt or pity or despair. It was the sheer joy of seeing the man he loved find that peace for himself.

“I love you, Seth. Spend the rest of your life with me?”

Seth grinned up at him, his eyes sparkling. “Just try and stop me.”

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Author’s Note

In this work of fiction, the titles of articles and books on PTSD, sexual assault, and related topics are fictional. Any similarity to titles of published works in those fields is accidental. Furthermore, therapies for treatment and suggested actions for aiding survivors are the author’s interpretations based on her research. They are not meant to be used to treat or aid victims or to be used in place of treatment with a qualified therapist or doctor. For information on PTSD and treatment options in the United States, please contact the National Institute of Mental Health or the National Center for PTSD.