Perfectly Protected (Addicted To You, Book Three)

JUSTIN

When I opened my eyes, it was morning. Sunlight was streaming in through the bedroom window, and I was instantly aware of her body pressed against mine. I was still holding Lindsay in my arms, and to say that she fit perfectly would have been an understatement.

It’s like she was meant to be there, in just that position, in that moment.

I could smell her hair, her skin, could feel the slight movement as she breathed in and out. I wanted the moment to last, and so I didn’t stir at all.

I allowed myself to imagine that we could actually be together, like any normal couple. I let myself pretend, for just that small moment of time, that Lindsay and I would get up together and go to breakfast, joke and talk over eggs and bacon and coffee.

The scene was so vivid in my mind, that for a brief second, I actually believed it was going to happen.

And then Lindsay woke up. I felt her body stiffen in my arms. “Shit,” she whispered. And then she was sitting up and hurriedly getting out of bed.

“Everything all right?” I asked, pretending I’d just woken up myself.

She looked back at me. “I just realized that I need to get to my class. I’ve got a paper due.”

I watched her, wondering if it was the truth, or if she was just having a case of regret that she’d stayed in my bed last night.

I got up and put my pants on, and out of habit, checked my phone. It said I had a missed call and a voicemail from last night. Lindsay went to the bathroom and I listened to the voicemail.

“JB, it’s me,” croaked the voice on the other end of the phone. It was Gilbert, I realized, and my heart sped up a little bit. “I need to talk…” he trailed off, as if distracted, and then came back. “Yeah, man. I’m not—I’m not doing so good. I need to talk to you, JB. Can you meet me on Essex, over by the pizza place on the corner? I just need to, like, hear someone’s voice. Someone I can trust. Come soon. Please.” And then the line was mostly silent. I heard muffled voices, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Finally, the message ended. Sweat had broken out on my palms and my forehead.

Gilbert had been in trouble and I’d ignored my phone last night, missing his call for help.

What the hell was wrong with me? Was I this hung up on some girl that I couldn’t take five seconds to check my messages, remember to look at my phone—or maybe even answer the damn thing when it rang?

I felt a surge of anger and had the urge to punch the wall, but then I decided that breaking my hand this early in the morning was the last thing I wanted to do.

But I did need to get over to the shelter and find out if Gilbert was there. I needed to talk to him as soon as possible. He’d sounded like he’d been at the end of his rope, like maybe he was on the verge of using again. The call could have been about almost anything, but whatever Gilbert’s reason for needing me to meet him last night, it wasn’t anything good.

And now I’d blown the chance to help my best friend, all because a cute girl was in my bed. A girl I had no business seeing.

Lindsay was just coming out of the bathroom and I’d already opened the door to the apartment.

“Hey,” I said. “I don’t mean to be a dick, but I’ve actually got…something to do.

I’m sort of in a rush, too.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, that’s fine. We should go.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a truly happy smile.

I waited until she’d caught up to me and we headed out the door together.

When we got outside, she was heading the opposite way from me.

“I’ll text you or something?” I said.

She shrugged, gave me another half-smile. “Sure. Yeah, that would be nice.”

I gave her a wave. What I really wanted to do was kiss her.
Really
kiss her. I wanted to tell her she was coming back inside the apartment with me, that we’d spend the next week in bed, having sex and ordering in all our food. We’d block out the world.

Neither of us would go to class or the gym or do anything but be together.

Of course, I didn’t actually kiss her. Instead, I turned around and walked away.

***

The first place I went was the shelter where Gilbert had been staying. When I got there, an older African American man with a salt-and-pepper mustache met me at the door. “Help you?” he asked jovially.

“Yeah. I’m looking for Gilbert.”

He had on glasses with thick black frames, and he took them off, looked at me.

“You a friend of his?”

“I’m his best friend.”

“I’m James Rivera, I’m the manager of this shelter.” He reached his hand out and I shook it.

“Is he around?”

James Rivera licked his lips and looked down. “He’s not here, I’m afraid. We had to turn him away last night. He tried to get in, but he was clearly high on something.”

“So you turned him away?” I asked, shocked. “Isn’t that when he needs to be here the most?”

“Actually, no. We have a policy against people coming to the shelter who are intoxicated. They become a disturbance to the other residents.”

I grit my teeth. “That’s a great policy. So where did he go? Did anybody even try and help him?”

“I don’t know where he went. I’m really sorry. Unfortunately, this is a common occurrence in this population, and so -- ”

“I don’t care about the
population.
Gil is my friend, he’s like a brother to me.

And for all I know, he’s dead somewhere right now because when he needed someone last night…” I trailed off, realizing that I wasn’t actually angry with the people at the shelter.

I was really only angry with myself.

“I am truly sorry. I know Gilbert well, and he’s a sweet man. He just needs more help than we’re capable of giving.”

“I know that.” I turned and walked off, the tears momentarily blinding me as I got away from that desperate, grim place as fast as I could. Wiping my tears away, I decided to spend less time whining and crying, and more time trying to figure out where Gil might be.

A few blocks away, I found a bar that was open and popped my head inside, asking if they’d seen him. Nobody had—they didn’t even know who I was talking about.

After that, I headed to Gilbert’s ex-girlfriend’s apartment. It was across town, but I figured it was worth a shot. They had been on-again off-again for the last few years and she was a junkie like him.

I buzzed and she answered. “Who is it?”

“Is Gil in there?” I yelled into the intercom.

“Gil? Who’s asking?”

“It’s Justin.”

“Fuck off, JB. I ain’t seen that asshole in like six fucking months. And if you see him, tell that bitch he owes me fifty dollars.”

I decided she was probably telling the truth. And it didn’t seem like she’d have any leads on where he’d gone.

From there, I wandered over to McDonald’s, where I ordered a small coffee and an egg sandwich. Sitting in a booth, I ate, wishing Lindsay was still there with me. I imagined us talking about the best places to look for Gilbert. I pictured her being concerned, but assuring me that we’d find him and he’d be okay.

I knew those daydreams were silly. Lindsay wouldn’t have any interest in helping me track down my drug addict friend. She’d wonder if I was into drugs myself.

And she’d be right to question me. The truth was, I had plenty of problems and plenty of history, and she didn’t deserve to be dragged into any of it—not even in my daydreams.

But it was hard to get her out of my head. My mind went back to last night, in the ocean. The look in her eyes, the way her skin felt against mine. And then when we were in bed, her body pressing firmly into me, my arms encircling her, protecting her from anything and everything.

I was done with my sandwich and drinking the last of my coffee when it hit me that there was still another place I might find Gilbert. I hurried out of McDonalds and found the nearest T station, took it over to Beacon Street and walked down to the park near the Hatch Shell, an area where there were often free concerts and stuff like that.

There was a small bridge that Gilbert had been known to sleep under when he was using and didn’t have any place to sleep at night. Maybe when he wasn’t able to contact me last night, Gil had finally given up and gone to the bridge. I became convinced, as I got closer, that I’d find him under there, still asleep.

Maybe he’d just gotten drunk or something. He didn’t necessarily have to have done heroin or anything. Hell, maybe he’d just smoked a bunch of weed.

Part of me knew better, because I’d known Gil way too long to fool myself. And yet, somehow, I still had hope.

When I got to the bridge, there was a steep hill to walk down to get under it and see if he was hiding down there, curled up, maybe in a sleeping bag or something. So I started walking, already craning my head to see if I could spot any movement from under the bridge. I didn’t pay enough attention to my foot placement, however, and suddenly I was falling, hitting the ground hard and rolling down the hill.

I ripped my jeans and scraped my hands before I finally came to a stop at the bottom. I had dirt all over my clothes and hands but I wasn’t hurt.

Worst of all, there was nothing beneath the bridge but some empty beer cans, cigarette butts, and an old newspaper. It smelled faintly of piss.

I got up, cursing and brushing at the dirt on my pants.

And then, as if on cue, my cell rang. Part of me hoped it would be Gilbert, but the other part was hoping it was Lindsay. It was neither.

I looked at the caller ID and saw COACH.

“Shit.” I knew Coach Jansen would still be mad as hell, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with him right then. But I had no choice. I answered the phone.

“Hey, Coach.”

“You need to get down to the gym right now. How long will it take you?”

“Right now?”

“Yes. How long?”

I sighed, thinking. “I don’t know—maybe twenty minutes.”

“Fine. Hurry the hell up. Drew Ellis from the UFF is here and he’s looking for you.”

I was speechless. But it didn’t matter, because Coach Jansen had already hung up on me.

***

When I got to the gym, it was crazy busy. Maybe word had gotten around that Drew Ellis was there, because there normally weren’t this many guys working out at this time of day.

But whatever the reason, the place was packed. Guys sparring, people grappling on the blue mats, a few others hitting the heavy bag.

Meanwhile, from the corner of the room, Drew Ellis and Coach Jansen stood watching the action. They saw me come in, and Drew Ellis nodded with a pleased grin on his face.

I started towards them.

When I got there, Drew looked me over and started chuckling. “You look like you just fell off a fucking turnip truck, Brown. Christ.”

He glanced at Jansen, and Coach Jansen just rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me, I have no idea what he’s been up to.”

“Let me guess—mud wrestling,” Drew said, glancing at my pants and laughing.

“I fell on my way over here,” I said.

“Uh huh,” he replied, chuckling some more.

I’d never even met Drew Ellis before, but I felt like I knew him. The outspoken CEO of the UFF was all over the media -- he was the face and voice of the organization.

He was short and stocky, but built like a drill sergeant, with a thick neck and a round head that sported a military cut. Despite the fact that he’d never met me, I wasn’t surprised that he was busting my balls. He was known for that sort of thing.

“I got here as quickly as I could,” I said. “If I’d known there was a dress code, I would have made sure to grab my tux.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t own a tux. I’m willing to bet you don’t even own a goddamn tie,” Drew said.

“Anyway, nice to meet you.” I held out my hand and he shook it.

“So what’s going on, Brown? Are you ready to make a run at greatness or what?”

“Completely ready.”

He looked at me, some of the humor leaving his expression as he examined my face. “What happened to your eye?”

“I…I uhhh…got a cut, sparring.”

Jansen made a face and cleared his throat, but said nothing.

“Sparring,” Drew replied. “It looks raw as hell.”

“It’s not a problem. Just a few days to heal and then I’m back in business.”

“I hope so. I want to see you in action next month, and if you take care of business, then you’re going to come work for me. How’s that sound, Brown?”

I grinned. “Sounds like everything I ever wanted.”

“Good.” Drew put a hand on my shoulder. “Now, you just make sure that you shave and shower and put on decent clothes next time I’m in town and we’re all good.”

“Absolutely,” I said. I looked at his t-shirt and jeans. “And maybe next time, you’ll upgrade from those baggy old stonewashed jeans you’re rocking and get a nice dark pair of boot cut Levi’s.”

I’d meant it as a joke, but Drew gave me a glare. “What’s with this clown?” he asked Coach. “Is that the kind of shit you let him get away with here?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “What about that other guy you mentioned the other day on the phone?