Page 78 of The Cartographer

I know that look. Fuck, I had to learn it from somewhere. I want to tell her to take her “is it” and shove it, but I have a great deal of respect for my mother, so I won’t. I’ll merely tell her the clenched-teeth truth. “Nothing would delight me more than him finding someone who can love and value him as much as he deserves.”

There’s only a smidge of self-effacement in stating so blatantly that person isn’t—cannot—be me. The look on my mother’s face when I say that says it all. She reaches across the table to pet my hand that’s not clutching my goblet like a life raft. “Of course not. You always want the best for everyone. I just thought it might be wise to consider that what might be best for him and, you know,youmight to be for you to be together.”

Her blue eyes meet my dark ones, and I can see a piece of myself in her. I could tell her to take a sip of her own medicine. I’ve never known my mother to date, even after I left home. Or if she has, she’s never introduced her partners to me. She’s a grown woman, and in this, I’ll leave her be. That doesn’t mean I’m going to take her intimations lying down.

“Fine. Next time you’re in town, I’ll arrange a double date. Me and my man and you and one of San Francisco’s most eligible bachelors. That work for you?”

She narrows her eyes. “You play dirty.”

I smile and cock an eyebrow, offering her my glass to clink. More true than she knows and I’m not even sorry about it. “I learned from the best.”

There’s the ring of our glasses meeting and a choreographed simultaneous sip, and then with an unspoken agreement, we both move on to discussing her next travel plans. Florence is lovely this time of year.

Chapter Twenty-Four

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Being able tohold a man’s hand while walking down the street is one of my favorite things about living in San Francisco. It’s one of the few places in the world I allow myself the pleasure. Such a small, innocent act so many people are allowed to take for granted. It’s nice to feel like a full citizen, not some second-class freak.

Allie’s hand is relaxed, his thick fingers threaded between mine. He’s lovely to be with. There’s less pedestrian traffic than usual around, the streetlights illuminating mostly empty sidewalks and empty cars. A quiet city, which is nice in some ways, but not so much in others.

One of those ways is heading right for us. Two men in nondescript dark sweatshirts with their hoods already pulled up, though it’s not cold. I don’t like how they look at us, and it’s too soon to say what’s setting my spidey-sense tingling. Homophobes who are going to shout slurs—what the fuck did they think they were going to see walking down the street in San Francisco?—or maybe small-time criminals looking to relieve us of our wallets. No fucking way are they getting my watch. Possibly just some guys with terrible fashion sense, but I’m not going to risk it.

I nudge Allie with my elbow. “Possible trouble, twelve o’clock. Keep walking.”

His chin drops in acknowledgement, and I can sense how his body changes next to mine. His code-switching is quite something. I’ve never seen anyone so adept at transforming himself. One second, he was my relaxed, compliant lover, and the next, he’s become a looming threat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be afraid of him. I do, though, so instead I’m in awe.

The two of them block the sidewalk, and I tug Allie’s sleeve to step into the street and around these morons. But the ringleader steps in front of us, blocking our path, and I hold up my hands. If they’re spoiling for a fight, there’s only so much I can do to stop them from getting it. Which wouldn’t be a problem, because I doubt they’re as highly trained as Allie at hand-to-hand combat—Hart could lay them flat out by himself and I’ve got more than a little training in martial arts—but Allie can’t fight.

If it gets serious and the cops show up and we get arrested… I like to pretend I live in a world where everyone’s equal and life is fair and it’s easy for me to do that. Yes, I read as Latino and the off-person will be a dick about that, just as the occasional idiot will be a bigoted homophobe, but I also swim in privilege. That’s what you get to do when you’re a good-looking, wealthy, connected, educated man and a smooth-talking one at that.

I could walk away from this. One phone call is all it would take to get me out of pretty much anything, but Allie… Fuck. If he ever wants to rejoin the military or have a hope in hell of getting a better job than what he’s been able to since he got out, he can’t have a record. I fucking hate it, but these guys are white and Allie’s black and, as disgusting as it is I have to think that way, I have to.

One of the guys takes something out of his pocket, and it glints in a streetlight. Knife, maybe? I’m not waiting to find out.

“Hart. Get out of here.”

His head whips around. I love the step-to-it-iveness, but there’s no time to admire his response. “I’m not going—”

“Yes, you are. Get out of here now. This is an order. If you don’t run as fast as you can in the opposite direction, as god as my witness I’m never touching your dick again.”

I’m trying to make light.

“I’m not leaving you. There’s two of them and one of you. It’s not that I don’t think you could handle yourself in a fight, but—”

“Listen. They’re stupid. I’m wily like a fox. Plus, I know how to defend myself.”

“Rey.” His voice is a plea. He’s stuck between a wall of would-be muggers and betraying his loyalties. I don’t envy him that.

“Get out of here now. Don’t worry about me.”

He will, though. I know he will. The anguish lining his smooth features is impossible to see without wanting to soothe it.Help him.

“I swear to you, Allie, they literally cannot hurt me. But if you get arrested and charged with assault, you could go to prison. The military would never be an option for you again, and finding a job would get a hell of a lot harder. For any of those things, I would never forgive myself.”

Protest flashes in those dark eyes of his, warring with the voice of reason I know is sounding in the back of his head. How can he help his sister from behind bars?

“Go.” It’s the last word he needs. He turns his back on me and takes off. It’s like watching a leopard. I could watch him run away from me all day. Instead I’ve got to dispatch with these assholes. I strip off my coat, cringing as I drop it to the pavement. It’s more likely Gino can get out dirt stains than blood, though, and this is one of my favorite suits. These fuckers had to pick a fight with me when I’m wearing one of my favorite suits, and that ticks me off even more.

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