The Walls Of Troy Part 6

I cleared my throat. "I guess we should get going."

"Yeah. Let's roll." He patted Talos once more, and we headed out.

On the road, he'd fallen quiet again, tapping his black-painted nails on the console and humming along with a Lady Antebellum song on the radio. As I drove, I debated pushing his seemingly good mood. Did I dare risk shifting that to an irritated one? Or take advantage of it to see if I could get some more answers out of him?

I waited until the song was over-because nothing was worse than someone interrupting a song-and switched it off during a commercial. I pulled in a breath and stared straight ahead. "I need to ask you about a few things."

"Okay..."

"I'm aware of the notes on your car." I eased the car to a stop at a red light. "I've seen them."

Troy fidgeted, eyes locked on something straight ahead.

"And I was briefed on the hara.s.sment. But...has anything else happened?"

"Like what?"

"You tell me."

At that, he turned toward me, black-ringed eyes narrow. "Don't play games. What do you want me to say?"

"I'm not playing games, Troy. I need to know."

He held my gaze for a long moment, then faced forward again. "Light's green."

Gritting my teeth, I accelerated and waved an apology at the car behind me. "You still haven't answered my question."

"What do you want to know? Do I need to rehash everything anyone has ever said to me?"

"Well, no. I guess I'm just trying to get a better handle on what's going on."

"What is there to get a handle on? You know what's happened in the past. You said yourself you've seen the notes."

"Yeah, and the first ten minutes we were on campus, I saw like three posters for LGBT groups and events. I-"

"So? The university has LGBT groups, so that means none of us get hara.s.sed?"

I bit back a groan. "No. Of course not. But it's not exactly striking me as the kind of queer-hostile place that warrants an armed bodyguard." Or triggers panics and flashbacks like that...

Troy exhaled sharply and looked out the window. "I know it's hard to believe in this day and age, but yes, some of us still get f.u.c.king hara.s.sed."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"Oh, I'm sure you are. Let me guess, you were briefed about it? So you're an expert on what queer kids deal with on a daily basis?"

I glared at him. "Be careful with your a.s.sumptions, kid. You know nothing about me."

Troy blinked, drawing back a little.

I faced the road again. "I'm not asking questions because I doubt what you've gone through, all right? I'm asking because the more I know, the more I can do my f.u.c.king job."

"Is that right?"

"Isn't it?"

"Sounds more to me like you and Fowler are the same." He shifted beside me. "You think this is all a game for my dad to look important because his kid needs round-the-clock protection. Is that why my father needs armed security too?"

I glanced at him. "Does he?"

"No! That's my point. He's never had security at home or a.s.signed to either of us until now."

"And it's because of the notes?"

He didn't answer. I fully expected him to roll his eyes and sigh with exasperation, but he didn't make a sound. I glanced at him. His lips were taut, and he swallowed.

"Troy, I need to know," I said quietly. "If the answer is no, then it's no. But just tell me straight out-has something happened besides what I've been told?"

"Why would I keep it from you if it had?"

"You tell me."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Why the f.u.c.k do you keep insisting there's more to this? I'm a gay student at a university in the South. What more do you want?"

"I want whatever I can get to make sure I'm keeping you safe." I gnawed my lip and drummed the wheel with my thumbs. "Listen, you don't seem like the really jumpy type. But the other day in the hallway, and yesterday at the festival, you-"

"Oh Christ. Let that go."

"I..." I glanced at him. "Look, I'm just covering all my bases, all right? I'm supposed to protect you."

He smirked. "Well, if someone drops their books in the hallway again, you have my permission to shoot them."

I probably should have laughed, but I couldn't find the humor in it.

Troy sighed. "You think my dad lied to you, didn't you?" He scoffed and shook his head. "Let me guess. You think he's abusing resources just like all the other guys do?"

"No, it's not that at all. I'm trying to protect you."

"Then protect me and quit asking questions."

"I need answers so I know what I'm protecting you from."

"If I knew, do you think I'd be keeping it from you?"

I glanced at him, ready to snap back, but when I met his eyes, his expression wasn't one of irritation. Facing the road again, I couldn't ignore the knot tightening beneath my ribs as my own irritation faded in favor of confusion. I really did need to stop asking questions about this whole thing, because the more I asked, the less I seemed to know. Much more of this, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night, never mind watch Troy's back and protect him from...anything.

Definitely time to stop asking questions before I drove myself insane.

A few awkward, silent minutes later, I pulled into the university parking lot. Naturally, it took for-f.u.c.king-ever to find an empty s.p.a.ce this time, which meant dragging this out even longer.

Thanks, universe. You're a real peach, you know that?

Finally, though, I found one. I killed the engine and started to get out.

"Wait."

I stopped and met Troy's eyes. "What?"

He lowered his gaze. I pulled the car door shut.

Troy held my gaze for a moment. "Let's say, hypothetically, you decide you don't believe me. You think I'm crazy or I'm just...whatever the latest theory around the security office is."

"Okay..."

His Adam's apple bobbed, and even the black eyeliner and piercings couldn't hide the childlike desperation in his eyes. "Will you still..."

My stomach turned. The guys could come up with any theory they wanted about Troy and his situation, but the bone-deep terror looking back at me wasn't fake. It couldn't be.

I moistened my lips. "It's not my place to decide whether or not you need me. I'm a.s.signed to protect you, and that's what I'll do until I'm told to do otherwise."

He exhaled slowly, tension visibly leaving his neck and shoulders. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I watched him for a moment. "I swear I'm only trying to help, Troy. Not judge."

He studied me as if he wasn't sure if he should believe me. "Look, I know you don't like doing this. Being with me all the time. And I know it sounds like bulls.h.i.t to you, but..." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked at me again. "But I need you."

I swallowed. "I'm not going anywhere."

We locked eyes for a long moment. Then he murmured something that sounded like another "thank you," and got out of the car.

I spun my key ring on my finger. This just kept getting weirder and weirder. My first impression of him had obviously been miles off the mark. This wasn't some punk kid flaunting a bad att.i.tude. There was more truth in those occasional moments of uncertainty than there was in the piercings and perma-scowl.

I stepped out of the car and popped the trunk. We collected our things, and walked toward cla.s.s in our usual silence, but I couldn't have carried a conversation if I'd wanted to. Not with my brain running a million miles an hour.

It wasn't just my training and cop's intuition that had me second-guessing everything. Something about Troy didn't just confuse the s.h.i.t out of me, it brought out a fierce sense of protectiveness I'd never experienced before. Because now that I saw past the metal-and-makeup shield he'd put up, I saw him in a completely different light, and it scared me.

He couldn't hide the PTSD. Not from someone like me who'd seen it in too many people and knew the signs this well.

But he also hated when the PTSD surfaced, forcing him to tip his hand and reveal that he wasn't as invincible as he wanted the world to believe. Troy was scared and vulnerable, and he wasn't someone who dealt well with being scared and vulnerable. He didn't want to be protected. He wanted to be safe. Not guarded, not hidden behind walls-physical ones or those of his own creation. He wanted to stand on his own two feet, face the world head-on and not have to bring along outside protection.

The fact that someone like that had looked me in the eye and all but begged me to stay with him even if I thought he was crazy? That scared the s.h.i.t out of me.

What's happened to you, Troy?

And how do I protect you?

Our history professor wasn't kidding about making us take some serious notes. Forty minutes into cla.s.s, all the hand writers were shaking out some writer's cramp while those using laptops were flexing tired fingers and wrists. By the time we made it to our afternoon biology cla.s.s, Troy and I were both bleary-eyed and mentally exhausted. Thank G.o.d for Red Bull.

At the end of a tiring but mercifully uneventful day, I dropped Troy off at home, downloaded my weapon, and headed back to my apartment in Norfolk.

And of course, now that I was alone, my thoughts drifted away from the Industrial Revolution and mitosis to...him. I couldn't relax. I should've been thinking about things like stocking my woefully empty refrigerator and typing up my handwritten notes, and whether or not I had enough gas to make it back to the Dalton house in the morning, or if I should stop tonight.

But I was lucky I could concentrate on the road, because my thoughts kept going back to Troy. This morning's conversation had been there in the back of my mind all d.a.m.ned day, buzzing in my ear like a relentless mosquito while I'd tried to focus on my professor's long, droning lecture about steam engines and the cotton gin.

"But I need you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Nothing added up.

Maybe Troy did need a therapist. Maybe he was itching for attention from his father. But I couldn't convince myself he wasn't genuinely scared or that he didn't need protection. Question was, scared of what? And protection from what?

I needed an outside opinion, because n.o.body living or working in the Dalton household seemed willing to show many cards. Fortunately, I had a few of my own cards up my sleeve.

I parked below my s.h.i.tty little three-story apartment building. I entered the code for the security door, went up to the second floor, and keyed myself into my apartment.

After I'd tossed my keys on the counter and draped my jacket over a box I hadn't gotten around to unpacking, I took out my phone. I pulled up my contacts and scrolled to Senior Chief Jason Bowman. Without a second thought, I hit Send.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Hey, Senior. It's MA1 Ayhan."

"Iskander! Long time no talk. How's it going, man?"

"Not bad, not bad."

"How's the new a.s.signment?"

"Um, actually that's why I'm calling. I need to ask you about something I'm working on right now."

"Yeah? What's up? Where are you now, anyway?"

"Norfolk. I was a.s.signed to guard an admiral's kid."

"Oh dear G.o.d." He groaned. "Who did you p.i.s.s off?"

I laughed halfheartedly. "Better than shopping detail."

"Hmm. Yeah. Good point. So what's going on?"

"Well, my a.s.signment is to accompany him as a plainclothes guard. I'm posing as a student, going to cla.s.ses with him, s.h.i.t like that. I'm told he's been getting hara.s.sed for being gay."

"Is he?"

"Maybe? But the school seems pretty LGBT friendly, so I'm not seeing it. I mean, they've got all kinds of LGBT groups and events. So, it's not an outright h.o.m.ophobic environment, you know?"

"Anything on a smaller level? Even in an environment like that, there could still be a group giving him s.h.i.t."

"That's what I've wondered, but to tell you the truth, I don't see anything."