Page 4 of Jace's Secret
He’d rejected treatment. That’s the sort of guy Garrett Locke is. He doesn’t want to waste anyone’s time. Wants the focus to stay on the victims, the crime scene, and puts himself last whenever he can. He’s tall and broad shouldered, familiar enough with severe expressions that there’s a line between his brows even when his face is slack with lust.
Jace only learned that from being close enough to kiss.
He watches Garrett pass by and thinks he can see the strain around his jaw and his eyes. Because he saves people for a living. Jace can’t even imagine how many people he must have saved over the long course of his career. Hundreds?
And he looks exhausted from it—worn out and worn down. Jace is so filled up with pure worshipful devotion for the man and how good he is that Jace wants to weep for him.
Who is going to save him? Jace wonders for the thousandth time. He wants to help, give to him, offer his body and heart so Garrett can have a place to rest.
Garrett Locke is a good man. Maybe the best man. Okay, yes, Jace is biased, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. Garrett is strong and capable. Handsome and alone.
Always alone.
Jace follows him. He waits long enough to give Garrett enough distance that he won’t realize he’s being followed and then steps out of his shadowy corner in pursuit. Garrett is at the traffic light, only a few hundred feet away.
Shit.
Fuck.
Garrett turns back around, gaze unerringly finding Jace. As if he knew he was being followed. Maybe he can feel the desperate desire Jace struggles with every single day. He doesn’t look Jace up and down, which is what most of the men do, but stares full-on. Gazes locking. The way a lion might look at a tourist on safari.
After a few moments, Garrett walks closer. Jace tries to memorize every detail of the man he’s been desperately in love with for most of his life. He’s so strong from years of carrying people and heavy equipment, from working out. His hair is thick and black. His eyes are Irish green.
“Jack. What are you doing here?” Garrett says, gaze finally flicking over Jace.
The name rankles, but it’s his own fault for lying. “You remember.”
“Of course I do.” It’s so dark he isn’t sure if the man is blushing or not, but he might be.
“You should come home with me,” Jace blurts out.
“That’s… that’s not a good idea,” he says, roughly, head turning away.
Jace moves into his space, wanting to get closer. But he doesn’t touch. That’s too forward. Jace isn’t that brave, but he’s close enough to smell soot and sweat and even blood. It shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. Primal. It’s the smell of life and death. If God had a scent, would it be like that?
“P-Please?”
Garrett chuckles. He isn’t happy. “Today is not the day, kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Why are you here?” Garrett asks but doesn’t sound as surprised as he should. Is it shock, or does he suspect Jace has been following him?
“Come home with me,” Jace pleads, looking up at him. He licks his lips. He has lip gloss on. Anything to be appealing, to maybe have Garrett Locke look at him and think of sex like he did before.
Garrett stares at his lips for a long moment and then the rest of his face, cataloging every feature. He’s blank and cold.
Jace stares back, willing to let him see he’ll do anything, be anything, just to have him for a little while. He swallows.
Garrett flinches. He looks around them and shakes his head dismissively. “You’re too young.”
“I’m not.”
“You bolted like you were worried your parents were going to walk in.”
Jace’s parents are long dead and while usually a comment like that wouldn’t affect him, it’s different coming from this man. “I had to work. And I was… embarrassed.”
That gets Garrett’s attention. He’s at least a head taller than Jace, and the scrutiny is intimidating. But Jace has wanted no one like he wants Garrett Locke, so fuck it.
