Page 90 of His Boys to Protect

Chapter 33

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SKYLAR

SKYLAR STARED blankly at the floorboard as Ward navigated the city, heading towards his apartment.

Was this really happening? Had he really just walked away from Uncle Zeke? From his job? And was he really about to walk away from his apartment? His life? Everything? Skylar had been dreaming about this moment for over ten years. Planning for it. Desperately waiting for it.

There was no way it could finally be real.

It was too soon. Skylar knew that. He trembled in the seat, pressing his hands between his knees. A part of him was panicking, on the verge of telling Ward that he'd changed his mind. That he needed to go back. It was only three more months. What were three mere months after ten long years?

But when he imagined walking into Uncle Zeke's apartment or meeting up with another client, his stomach revolted.

Skylar pressed a hand over his mouth.

“Sky?” Ward murmured.

Skylar breathed slowly through his nose while he waited for his stomach to calm down. “Huh?” he managed to get out.

“I think we're here.”

Skylar looked up, realizing the truck had stopped. He glanced at Ward, and his heart started beating erratically for a very different reason.Oh fuck. Ward was clearly trying to hide it, but there was disgust and wariness written all over the man's face as he surveyed the neighborhood.

It would be worse once they got upstairs.

Then Ward looked at him, and everything on the man's face vanished, replaced by nothing but concern and fierce protectiveness. “Sky? It's okay. I'm right here. And we're gonna get you out of here, okay? Where are your keys?”

Skylar's breath caught. “Oh no. Shit.” He frantically patted his pockets. Had he left his keys in the car? He'd been agitated and confused after the car wouldn't start, not knowing what to do. He felt a bulge in his pocket and gasped with relief. “Right here,” he said, pulling them out.

“Good. Come on. Let's go get your things.”

Skylar cringed, but he followed Ward out of the truck all the same. One way or another, he had to get this over with.

He led the way into the building. Across the filthy and cracked linoleum floor. Up the narrow, creaking stairs. Past apartments with occupants shouting or cursing or playing their televisions too loud, even at that early hour. Finally, they reached his door. Skylar hesitated there, fiddling with his keys, both desperate to get inside and dreading Ward's reaction.

“Sky,” Ward murmured, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. “It's okay, baby. It's almost over.”

Skylar swallowed hard and nodded. He shoved the key into the lock, twisted it, and rushed inside, barely waiting for Ward to follow before he whirled around and locked the door behind them again.

He didn't look at Ward. Didn't want to see the man's face. Skylar immediately flew into action. He went straight to the closet, flung open the door, and grabbed his duffel bag.

Skylar tossed the bag onto the floor by the bare mattress, then started digging out his clothes. He shoved aside everything he'd used for work—the dresses, the skirts, even the suits—and snatched down everything else. There wasn't much. A handful of worn t-shirts. A few pairs of frayed jeans and shorts. Some socks and underwear. All of it worn out and several years old. All of it faded, threadbare, and coming apart at the seams. Skylar dumped it all in a pile on the bed, then kicked off his sneakers and stripped out of the clothes he was wearing. Even though they were his own and had nothing to do with work, they made him feel suddenly filthy after Uncle Zeke had barely touched him.

And he wanted to feel clean.

Skylar dumped the clothes on the floor inside the closet, grabbed a clean shirt and pants from the pile on the bed, and got dressed again. Once his shoes were back on, he grabbed Charlie's old hoodie and pulled that on as well. It would be way too hot outside to wear it, but Skylar wasn't leaving it behind or risking it getting lost. Not for the world.

Then he went for his money.

Skylar started in the kitchen, yanking open a cabinet and pulling down a box of cereal. He plunged a hand inside, dug around, and snatched out the wad of cash wrapped up in a plastic sandwich bag. Skylar shoved the box aside and went for the next hiding spot: an open box of baking soda sitting all by itself in the freezer. He held the box over the sink and ripped it apart, scattering white powder everywhere. Skylar shook off the plastic bag and stuffed it into the crook of his arm with the other one as he continued on.

He had eleven hiding spots in total, each containing one thousand dollars. One was an empty stick of deodorant. Another was an empty shampoo bottle. He'd skipped places like the inside of the toilet tank, considering how often that one showedup in television shows. Skylar gathered up all the little bags of cash—half of his life savings—and dumped them into his duffel bag before stuffing his clothes in on top of it all.

Throughout the process, he felt Ward silently watching him. Skylar couldn't bear to look at the man. What must he be thinking?

Skylar shook his head and yanked the zipper shut on his bag.

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