Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“Frank?” Jag yelled from afar and it made Frank want to throttle him even though it wasn’t Jag’s fault that he was in a mood for murder.
“Fuck off!” he yelled back, putting the cigarette out on the bench.
“No, Frank, this is important!” Jag said, emerging from the other side of the small clearing Frank used for training. In the yellow light, Jag looked like a caveman who’d found the artefacts of an advanced civilization and decided to wear them.
Frank put his face in his hands. “Is this about the dogs? I don’t wanna hear it! You and Dane can deal with them just fine.”
He usually had far more patience for Jag. On good days, he found the guy kinda adorable in his simple ways, honesty, and the love he had for his boyfriend. Right now though, he wanted to be left alone, and this was exactly why he didn’t agree to housesit four puppies.
“No, Dane is safe with the pups in Shane’s home. There’s—”
Frank put his hands up. “Is this really not something you can deal with on your own?”
Jag shook the spear he’d made out of pipe and adorned with feathers. “There’s an intruder!”
That did rip Frank out of his sulking. “Where? Cops?”
Police coming over to investigate his junkyard was, and would always be, a little background worry, even if he had good connections with enough corrupt badges to sleep soundly.
Jag shifted his weight from side to side. “No… well… maybe not an intruder. A visitor. At the gate.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “It’s eight o’clock. Just tell them to go to hell.”
Jag huffed. “I informed him about the operating hours of the junkyard, but he insists he needs to speak to you. I don’t recognize this individual.”
Something cold curled in the pit of Frank’s stomach. “Did he give you a name?”
“Ezra.”
A cold sensation spread into Frank’s chest like an oil spill, paralyzing all logic. While Frank had never explicitly named his place of work, it would have been easy enough to figure out for anyone with some basic internet sleuthing skills. But why would Ezra come here unannounced? If he wanted to say his goodbyes in person for some misguided reason, he should have called. He’d been nothing but discreet and careful about respecting Frank’s boundaries, so his sudden presence made very little sense.
Frank huffed, but his instinct told him to move even though he was filthy and sweaty in a way Ezra wouldn’t appreciate.
“You know this person?” Jag asked, tailing Frank as soon as he started walking.
“Yeah.”
Jag shook his head. “Frank, how am I supposed to efficiently guard the perimeter if I don’t—”
“Just go to Dane,” Frank snarled at him in frustration. Something was wrong, and he didn’t have the energy for Jag’s complaints.
“I’m not leaving you. There could be danger.”
“Was he alone?”
“Yes.”
Frank sped up. “Then there is no danger!”
At least he hoped so.
A spark of hope lit in Frank’s dark heart. Maybe Ezra breaking the professional boundaries meant he didn’t want a professional relationship anymore. That he couldn’t part from Frank after all and his arrival was a grand gesture, which, while inappropriate, would have been very sweet.
Frank hated that his mind was playing such dirty tricks with him.
Unwilling to make Ezra wait any longer than necessary, he jogged toward the gate despite his muscles complaining after the earlier training. It took him five minutes to reach the main entrance into the scrapyard, but as he left behind the last bend on the way and moved toward the fence, he recognized that a vehicle was indeed waiting on the other side of the gate.
Maybe he should have dipped into the house and hosed himself down in the shower after all? He was sticky with grime and sweat and wouldn’t normally want to be seen like this. But if Ezra really was here because he’d changed his mind, maybe seeing Frank’s true form would have been the complete disillusionment he needed to move on? They would have never worked out.
Frank shook off all the doubts and approached, squinting in an effort to see the driver. But as he got close enough, the door of the black vehicle opened, releasing a figure so familiar Frank forgot to breathe for a moment too long. Ezra wore a sandy trench coat from some big-name fashion brand he’d once excitedly told Frank about, and was elegant as ever, but instead of playing it cool, he approached the gate and held on to the steel mesh, as if he was a prisoner hoping for freedom.
“Frank?”
Jag’s nearby presence was barbed wire preventing Frank from touching Ezra right away.
“Hey. What are you doing here?” he asked, already typing in the code that made the gate open. Between Jag and Ezra, he couldn’t have felt more self-conscious, but as soon as the steel door moved aside, Ezra slid past it to approach Frank.