Follow Him Home (Alternate Worlds Book 1) Page 7

  Christian grinned and walked to the coat rack. Plucking their coats, he cast a quick glance toward the front again and passed Peter his jacket, interlacing their fingers while tugging the taller man toward the back exit. “We’re leaving out this way?” Peter asked, his brain still struggling to catch up from where his libido had wandered. He let himself be led, past the bathrooms and toward the end of the corridor.

  “Better this way,” Christian said, releasing his hold on Peter once they reached the back door. He motioned to open it. “Some unsavory people just walked in.”

  “Is that really why we’re leaving?”

  Pausing with his hands on a metal bar, Christian remained in that posture for several seconds before glancing back at Peter. “Took a chance bringing you here, love,” he said. “And part of that chance included certain people arriving.”

  “Why did you bring me here then?”

  Peter threaded his arms through the sleeves of his coat, maintaining eye contact with the other man. Christian hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the entrance and, this time, inspiring Peter to pivot and look for himself. A man roughly the same height as Christian wandered further into the bar, flanked by two men and a woman, all peering around as if looking for someone. When Christian reached for his cheek, turning Peter’s head to look at him again, Peter complied.

  “Please,” Christian said, looking up at him. “I’d be lying if I said it was only to show you a glimpse into my world, but I’d also not be telling you the truth if I said it wasn’t. I need your trust for a moment. And then, I promise to answer at least a few of your questions.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Christian turned enough to push on the metal bar. The door opened, and as Christian walked out the back exit, Peter sighed. “Alright,” he said. “Lead the way.”

  Christian took his hand, interlacing their fingers while tugging at Peter again. As the door swung shut behind them, they raced toward a chain-link fence, Christian refusing to let go of Peter as they ran. Peter’s sense of self-preservation told him this might be the point of no return, his next step being the first of many toward the unknown. Something told him he should be asking to go home, with so much of his future still undecided and the very real chance Christian was shadier than he realized. Instead of being repulsed, Peter found himself even more drawn in.

  “So, where are we going?” Peter asked.

  “Home,” Christian said. A mischievous glimmer in his eyes accompanied the emergence of a smirk, as if he knew he’d enraptured Peter for the time being. He freed his hand, using it to gesture at the barrier in front of them. “First, this begs the question, though…

  “Can you climb a fence?”

  Six

  While Peter hadn’t played sports since graduating high school, in that moment, he was grateful to be at least somewhat physically fit. As a doctor, he knew there existed a large gulf between healthy and trim, and as the latter, he could have even lied to himself, claiming that a run through a questionable Philly neighborhood would be well within his limitations. As his cheeks burned and his heart raced, however, he understood how much healthier he could stand to be.

  Christian, on the other hand, sprinted as if he didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘winded’ After scaling their first fence, when they reached subsequent ones, he vaulted over each, and as he landed, the lithe man barely made a sound. The effort of using his injured arm garnered a wince, but otherwise, he never missed a beat. While Peter coughed and struggled for breath, he climbed the same barriers and swore at each one. “Remind me why we’re running,” he said, managing the words between gulps for air.

  “Because, while I think we managed to leave in time, I can’t be completely sure,” he said. Pausing, he extended his hand, fingers wiggling before Peter clutched onto him again. The back alley funneled out to a major thoroughfare and as they emerged, Christian led them westward. The skyline had become visible in the distance, a beacon of skyscrapers, glass, and colored lights in the distance that Peter granted a momentary look before focusing on their flight. “Peter, I don’t know how obvious it is, but I’m not exactly a moral man.”

  “No, I realize that.” While the admission might have been a partial lie – sure, not moral, but how immoral? – he offered it anyway. “But we’re running like they might kill you.”

  “Rough me up, more like. And honestly, my intentions with you don’t involve stitches.” They reached one of the intersecting streets and ran to cross the major road, having the green light. “They’re upset at me for my absence.”

  “Is that what that Roland guy was telling you.”

  “Somewhat. I don’t feel comfortable giving you the details.”

  “Why?”

  Christian made sure to look Peter in the eyes. “The same reason why I don’t want you to repeat Roland’s name, love. That’ll have to suffice for now.”

  Peter grumbled, but ran along with Christian. When they disappeared down the adjoining road, Christian slowed and released his hold on Peter’s hand. Together, they ducked into the shadows, next to a row house and barely out of sight. “There. That should buy us enough time,” Christian said.

  “Enough time for what?”

  Christian smiled and winked. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and flipped through screens until he began typing furiously on the keypad. The question went unanswered and this time, Peter lost his sense of humor for it. Closing the distance between them, he covered the phone display with his hand, prompting Christian to look up at him again.

  “Why were we there, Christian?” Peter asked.

  The other man sighed. Nodding toward his phone, in a manner that suggested he’d like it back, he resumed typing when Peter removed his hand. “I wanted to take you there, but I also wanted to deliver a message to Roland. He warned that I might be discovered.”

  “That sounds like a really reckless thing to do.”

  “I’ve been indulging a few of those things lately.”

  He glanced purposefully at Peter before finishing whatever message he had been working on and pocketing his phone. Starting a more leisurely walk further down the road, he thrust his hands into his coat and took a deep breath. “I invited you out tonight on an impulse,” Christian said. “To be honest, every time I think about slithering into your life, I second guess myself. Something about you keeps drawing me in anyway.”

  Peter furrowed his brow, walking side-by-side with Christian and letting himself forget for a moment that they’d just run away from someone looking to beat Christian up. “So, you knew you needed to come out here tonight and talk to your… what? Boss? And rather than being sane about it, you brought me out on a fake date and told yourself you’d coax me away if certain people showed up? Am I reading that right?”

  “You’re on the right track.”

  Christian drifted closer to Peter again. When the taller man peered down at him, he saw Christian swallowing back something. He couldn’t tell what, though. The expression on Christian’s face looked chagrined, a small part of it registering offense as if he expected he shouldn’t have to explain anything, while being challenged to. “Can…?” Christian began, but he spoke the word with an edge to it. Clearing his throat, he tried for it again. “Can I ask for you to wait before I explain anything further? Please?”

  “Wait until what?” Peter asked.

  “Until I get you home.” Christian glanced at the sign posts indicating what intersection they had stopped at. As his steps slowed, he turned to face Peter, looking both agitated and expectant. “Please.”

  Peter delved into his gaze, seeing that hopeful vulnerability on display again. Tempted to groan, he nodded, not holding back in offering the other man a look that said, ‘I really shouldn’t be playing along with this.’ “Alright. No other questions until we get back to your place.”

  Christian’s lips quirked as if there had been a hidden joke in the statement. “Thank you,” he settled on saying, glancing toward the end of the street a
fter saying the words.

  Within minutes, another driver pulled up to where they stood and accepted the two men into his car. As Christian confirmed their destination, Peter tilted his head, recognizing the neighborhood. “I hadn’t realized you actually lived in Rittenhouse,” he said.

  “Aren’t I full of surprises?” Christian’s smile faded somewhat, in opposition to the humor his words had indicated. Peter recognized the shift, not sure what to make of it, but honoring the promise he’d made not to press the questions for the time being. The trip into Rittenhouse took impossibly long, the journey dotted by long stretches of tense silence and traffic lights that seemed determined to keep them wrapped in awkwardness for as long as possible. When the car pulled up to one of the high-rise buildings, both men emerged from the vehicle, only a block away from the sushi restaurant.

  ‘Now, I almost wish I’d taken the chance to go up to your place,’ Peter thought, scolding himself in the next breath. He couldn’t say he was angry at Christian. He’d run with him and he still wanted nothing more than to peel Christian’s clothing off and forget any other concerns he had. Part of him recognized that he’d devoted himself at least to that night; to uncovering more about the mystery. Perhaps even to the next date he’d be asked on. But, as he walked with Christian toward the building entrance, he would need one hell of an explanation to justify his fledgling feelings for the other man.

  Christian held onto the lack of conversation, carrying it through the front doors. While Peter became enamored with the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the intricate tile on the floor, Christian walked toward the front desk and bypassed it with little more than a salute to the man seated behind it. Peter acknowledged him with a passing glance, getting a nod from the aging security guard, and paused by a set of elevators framed by dark wood.

  “This is gorgeous,” Peter said, struck at first by how odd it sounded for one of them to be talking.

  “Expensive,” Christian countered. “In my opinion, more expensive than it should be, but I suppose this is where the real estate agent argued things such as location.” He reached for the button, chancing a look at Peter while pressing the up arrow. It lit up under his finger. “This much extravagance intimidates me, to be honest.”

  Peter breathed a chuckle. When Christian raised an eyebrow, Peter shook his head. “It’s nothing, it’s just that you’re such a contradiction. You say and do one set of things, then have this whole other side to you and I swear, it’s like getting to know two people.”

  Somehow, this prompted Christian to smile. A bell dinged before the doors to the elevators parted and as they stepped inside, Christian chanced drifting closer to the other man. “You aren’t the first person to say that. It doesn’t seem to deter me.” Reaching forward, he pressed the button indicating the 20th floor. When the elevator started its ascent, he lowered his hand to his side, and when his fingers brushed against Peter, it caused the other man to startle. Christian didn’t move away. And the gentle caress stirred the taller man again, prompting him to brush fingers back.

  “I’m complicated,” Christian murmured.

  “I don’t care about that part,” Peter said. “It’s the secrecy that makes me wonder.”

  “Because this level of complicated might be more than you can tolerate.”

  “You said you were going to show me.” Peter deliberately took hold of Christian’s hand, drawing their palms together. “Then show me. I promise to keep an open mind.”

  “Very well, then.” He nodded while their fingers intertwined. Once more, the bell sounded before the doors parted, depositing them onto the twentieth floor. As they stepped into the lavish corridor, its walls adorned with paintings and dark-wood furnishings interspersed along the long, narrow strip, Peter let himself be taken aback again. Christian released his hand, digging into his pocket for a set of keys he produced in front of the first door they approached.

  “I was raised on a farm, for context,” Peter said. “Granted, my aunt and uncle lived here, in the suburbs, but places like this still strike my sense of awe.”

  “A far cry from the countryside. I can imagine how intimidating this must be for a hayseed.” Christian focused on the door long enough to unlock it and stroll inside. As Peter pushed the door further open, he cleared enough space for him to enter, but paused immediately in the vestibule. The other man pocketed his keys, but Peter remained fixated on what appeared to be a condo, not knowing what to admire first.

  Everything caught his eye, from the hardwood flooring to the rugs arranged on top, both their placement and aesthetic bearing some strategic rhyme and reason. Christian shut the door behind them, and only then did Peter feel comfortable enough to drift further into the room, greeted first by a dining room which opened into a kitchen with a counter island, dark marble reflecting the moonlight streaming in from large, picturesque windows. He bypassed the line of stools arranged along the island, ignoring the corridor which led to what he assumed to be the master bedroom. When he entered the living room, what he saw nearly took his breath away

  A grand piano had been situated near another set of windows, these curtains partially shut. A widescreen television with an integrated sound system had been mounted to the wall in front of a collection of black, leather couches. The entire place looked sterile – barely lived in – and yet, something about the careful arrangement of everything spoke of an owner who had deliberately planned the layout with care.

  Christian walked up beside him, prompting his gaze to lower toward the shorter man. “This place is amazing,” he said.

  “I think that every time I’m here,” Christian said. “Intimidation be damned.” Reaching for Peter’s hand, he used his hold on it to tug the other man along. “Come with me. Please.”

  That it was the second time Christian had spoken those words didn’t resonate as much as his tone when he said them. Peter followed along, thinking about their earlier run, still lost in the observation of how contrary of a man Christian had turned out to be. The fact that he led them closer to a bedroom would’ve screamed presumption if not for how erratic the night had already been. As it was, Peter didn’t read any demands coming from Christian, just an unspoken request for his trust.

  Again, despite his better judgment, Peter agreed.

  Seven

  They walked to the end of the hallway, revealing three shut doors and one which had been left partially ajar. The open one revealed a bathroom and as they passed the one opposite it, Christian whispered, “That is the study. Off-limits, I’m afraid,” before leading them onward. Pausing in front of the door beside it, Christian twisted the knob and switched on the light once they had entered it. Once more, Peter was forced to take inventory of the furnishings before he could allow himself to settle.

  Lowering into one of the chairs – this one placed into the corner of the room – he ignored the bed for now and watched Christian shut the door. As Christian approached an empty desk situated across from Peter, he removed his coat and draped it over the back of an office chair. Perching partially on the ink blotter, he folded his hands on his lap, his gaze lowering to the floor first before lifting to engage Peter.

  “Indulge me for a moment,” Christian said. “This is going to look strange.”

  Peter nodded slowly. Preparing himself for anything from the preternatural to the mundane, he caught his breath when Christian lifted his shirt over his head, offering the bare skin underneath for Peter’s appraisal. It wasn’t that Peter had forgotten what Christian looked like, but without the focus on a bleeding injury, Peter could offer a more lingering look. Two things struck him immediately about the other man.

  The toned muscle underneath took priority. He didn’t know if it was because of the fantasies he’d been entertaining, but something about the light, lithe frame and its definition caught his interest, like he’d need to stare to commit it to memory. Christian tossed the shirt aside – the action a stark contrast to the intricate arrangement of the rest of the hou
se – and while Peter mused that he must not have been the one to decorate it, he dismissed the observation in favor of focusing on the second thing.

  Christian had a bandage over the shoulder wound, shielding it from sight. What Peter could see, however, suggested that hadn’t been the first injury Christian sustained. While the other man carried little evidence of the facial stitches he’d received during his previous visit to the emergency room, scars from other visits to other hospitals cut channels in Christian’s frame, some partly covered by tattoos. “What is all of that?” Peter asked, unable to mask his surprise.

  A laugh preceded the response. “My misadventures,” Christian said, “Though you asking makes me wonder if they’re more ghastly than I’ve been led to believe. I thought they indicated character.”

  “You have to think more than that if you made it a point to show me.” Peter slowly rose to a stand. Stripping his coat, he draped it over Christian’s as the other man moved away from the desk, somehow knowing that Peter wanted to take a closer look. While Peter rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, Christian straightened his posture, and as Peter tugged at the corner of the bandage, he smirked.

  “Trying to make sure I’ve been taking care of myself, doctor?” Christian asked.

  “Something like that.” Peter glanced upward, making eye contact, before looking back at the wound. As he slowly pulled away the dressing, he saw a clean wound, its stitches not yet fully dissolved, but the skin beneath mending. “It looks good,” Peter muttered before affixing the bandage back into place. As he glanced over each of the scars, however, he found himself absent-mindedly tracing them with his finger. “You’ve been stabbed before, haven’t you?”