Except that was not what was on his mind tonight.
“You okay, son?”
Nate looked up, all ready with an I’m-fine. But the way those eyes were staring at him? What he was selling was not going to be bought—and there was no way he was going to go into the truth. He was so busy denying it to himself, he couldn’t imagine saying the words out loud.
But he did have something to talk about.
“Did you . . .” He cleared his throat. “Ah, did you ask Shuli to protect me?”
Murhder’s brows crashed down over his eyes. “Protect you? Like an ahstrux nohtrum?”
“I’m not sure what that is.”
“It’s a bodyguard with a lifetime contract.” Murhder put his palm out and waved it like he was erasing a bad idea on a whiteboard. “And no offense to your buddy—he’s a perfectly fine young male—but he’s not exactly tip-of-the-spear material, if you know what I mean. I’d pick a good Doberman pinscher over him any night if I was worried about your safety.”
“Oh.” Nate got up and went to the dishwasher with his plate and mug. “Okay.”
“What’s going on, son.”
Not a question. And Nate trusted the male. How could he not? But . . .
“Nothing.” He put his used stuff in with the other dirty dishes. “Shuli was just being weird—”
As Nate straightened and went to turn around, Murhder was right there.
“Talk to me,” the Brother said.
“It was really nothing. We were out at the site, working on the garage—when that bright light thing happened.”
“The meteorite that’s on the news.”
“Yeah. Well, we went to see the hole, and as we were, you know, closing in on the pit thingy, Shuli”—Nate edited out the gun part—“made this comment about how he was supposed to protect me.”
“That shit did not come from us.”
“Guess he was just being—”
“What kind of a weapon did he have on him.” Murhder’s stare was as direct as a baseball bat over the shoulder. “And don’t lie. I can see it in your face.”
“It was nothing.” Three. Two. One . . . “It was a handgun, but he—”
“Jesus Christ,” Murhder snapped. “What the hell is he doing with a piece? Is he properly trained? Of course not. So he’s either going to shoot you in the head or castrate himself—”
“No, no, listen, it’s not a big deal—”
“Any gun in the hands of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing with it is a very big deal.”
“I don’t want him to get in trouble. Look, let’s just forget it—”
“There’s no forgetting this.”
Nate raised his voice. “It’s not your business!”
“When it has to do with your safety, you bet your ass it is!”
At that moment, the shutters started lifting from all the windows, and the cellar door opened wide. Sarah, Murhder’s shellan, Nate’s mom, stuck her head out. She was already in her white coat and scrubs to go work in her lab, her streaky brown hair pulled back, a set of clear plastic eye protectors hanging off a front pocket.
Her tentative expression suggested she was thinking about putting the safety equipment on right then and there. “Everything okay here, boys?”
“Fine.”
“Yes.”
When Nate realized he and his dad had both crossed their arms over their chests, he dropped his hands and headed for the sliding glass door.
“I’m late for work.”
“No,” Murhder muttered. “You’re not. You still have half an hour.”
Nate didn’t dignify that with a response. He just pulled open the slider and slipped out into the night. Even though he was lit, he still managed to dematerialize off the property, and it was a relief to re-form at work, off to the side of the garage.
He didn’t go inside, even though things had already been unlocked and people were moving big lumps of furniture out of a U-Haul truck that was parked right by the front door. Ducking off into the side yard, he hurried away until he was sure no one could see him.
Getting a jump start on the last bit of painting in the garage had never been the point of coming early. Instead, he headed for the fence line, pulling another over and under with its rails and striding off across the field. As he walked, he replayed the confrontation with his father.
And felt like an asshole.
After which he got frustrated with Shuli and all his shoot-’em-up bullshit.
As he approached the tree line of the forest, he breathed in, partially to calm himself and partially because he was a simp looking for a sign. Unlike the night before, there wasn’t even a trace of that burned-metal smell. No steam, either. And no people. Vampires. Whatever.
Ducking under a branch, he pushed another out of the way—and walked into a third with a curse. Then there were ground obstacles to surmount, step over, go around. He felt like Godzilla wrecking a stage set with all the noise he was making.