14 hours later

It was dark o’clock in the morning. Will zipped up his bag and looked around his bedroom. His bills were all on autopay, he’d drop off the rent on his way to the airport, and he’d be good to go. No pets, no plants, no problems. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back, and that wasn’t an issue, because there was no one to miss and no one to miss him, so he could just focus on the job and that’s how he liked it. He could drop out of his life for a month, and no one would be bothered. That was cool and independent, not completely pathetic.

He’d been voluntold to report to Boston for a few weeks to work with a task force focused on the more northerly arc of the same human trafficking ring that the Suarez caze was connected to. There was a possibility he’d be doing some undercover work, so he’d been instructed to go dark while he was there. He’d leave his phone and computer at home, and, out of an abundance of caution, while he was in Boston, he wouldn’t be accessing or checking in on any of his online accounts. At least now he didn’t have to worry that he’d cave if he ran into Brent somewhere. Or worse, that he’d be the one who reached out to Brent first. With four hundred miles and job enforced radio silence between them, he could relax. Relax and replay the images and sensations of their afternoon together as much as he wanted, because he couldn’t do a thing about it. Ideal.

The right people at work knew where he’d be. His mom knew how long he’d be unreachable and how to contact him via the department in an emergency. His friends were very used to him dropping off of the map for a few weeks here and there. He’d half expected to see Brent hanging around his office yesterday, but he guessed Brent had taken him seriously after all--Will hadn’t exactly been subtle about not wanting to see him again in a personal capacity. Score one for Brent for being able to follow directions. The annoyance Will felt when he thought of Brent was not because Brent had left before Will was ready for him to leave. It was entirely because Brent had been so persistent about wanting to see him again. Not because today there was a little part of him that wished Brent had been just a little more persistent. Definitely not that. Which reminded him, he should let Gabriel Cooper-Anderson know he’d be out of touch for a while. 

He grabbed his phone off the counter where he was leaving it plugged in to charge and sent a quick text, hoping Gabriel slept with his phone on silent so the text wouldn't disturb him. Then he locked up and went down to the street to wait for his cab.

Gabriel, Maddy to tiny insomniac, was, in fact, already up and nursing Lailah and scrolling through TikTok when the text came through. He read the message and scowled slightly. 

5:19 am:  Will be out of contact for a while– month-ish. If Brent James asks, do not give him my personal cell number, not going to have my phone anyway. Det. Mariam Walker will be in touch if there are any new cases for you, and you can call her if you need anything. I’m sending the contact. I’ll let you know when I’m back.

Hmm. Mysterious. Coupled with Brent’s visit to his office, evidence was mounting that there was an interesting backstory that explained Will’s very particular request for privacy. Gabriel would find out when he got to work. He replied “Sounds good, safe travels,” and then switched Lailah to the other side.

Brent wasn’t in the office when Gabriel arrived, and it wasn’t until after lunch that he caught up with him to investigate. Brent… did not look good. He looked strained and tired and unhappy. Gabriel had been planning to fuss at him, figuring he’d given Will the wham-bam-thank you-man treatment or something, but no. This looked more complicated than that. Brent acted much more like a jilt-ee than a jilt-er. Like a first time jilt-ee, which, all things considered, he probably was.

“Brent, I know it’s none of my business, but I’ve decided not to let that stop me. So, what happened between you and Will? I got a text from him this morning telling me he’ll be incommunicado for a month and asking me not to give you his number.”

Brent did not need to ask what Gabriel meant. “Nothing happened, Gabriel. At his suggestion, we spent some time together a couple of days ago, he made it clear beforehand that it was a one-time thing. We had a good time, or I thought we did, seemed like he did anyway, and I tried–nicely–to persuade him to see me again, but he wasn’t interested. I wasn't a jerk about it, I swear. I had to leave to get to the game on time, so I couldn’t stay as long as I would have liked. I asked for his number, twice. He wouldn’t give it to me because he says he doesn’t date Alphas.” Brent started to pace, and even though his office was a good size, his strides were so long that he had to turn around after every third step.

“My plan was to give it a brief cool-off period– like thirty-six hours, max– and then, to be honest, I was planning to start running into him accidentally at the courthouse or the police department and hoping I might get an opportunity to change his mind at some point. The plan was woo-centric, not stalk-centric, I swear. I got lucky, though-- an actual, valid issue with the Suarez case came up and I tried to call him at work this morning about it, and was told the same thing you’re telling me–that he’ll be unavailable for a month or so and they referred me to his partner, Detective Walker. I went by his place, lights off, locked up, no one home. I guess…he’s, uh, seriously just not here for it when it comes to me. Literally or figuratively. It’s fine, though.”

Oh, man. Brent is definitely the jilt-ee. He did not look or sound "fine" at all. Gabriel had been about to yell at the wrong party. Whoops. “Sounds like it’s a work thing, not something to do with you,” said Gabriel placatingly. “Brent, are you sure you don’t want to talk this through? With anyone? Not necessarily me? It really seems like you have an ‘it’s complicated’ thing going on.” 

“Gabriel, I know it’s not in your nature, but can you not be right about this? Could you not notice the way I’m going to be behaving for the next month? Could you just like… deliberately set out to be clueless and unaware? Just decide that I am a classic, manwhoring Alpha who leaves a trail of broken hearts in his wake and that Will is just another of my many conquests and that you are washing your hands of the whole situation? It would make it slightly easier for me if you could do that.”

Gabriel made a face that indicated that ordinarily, he would have loved to help, but, regretfully, he just couldn't. “I was just wrong on the night of the fundraiser, actually, although I was right immediately afterwards. I might have been a little wrong about you today, too. So, anyway, that was my contractual bimonthly error and an unprecedented second error, so I’m not sure I physically can be wrong again so soon, but I’ll try. I probably have some rollovers stored up.”

“Is that a twice-a-month bimonthly error or an every-other-month bimonthly error?" Brent asked drily.

“The latter, of course. Brent, whatever happened with Will, you should try to fix it when he gets back. He’s great. I’m ‘shipping you two pretty hard. He's kind of prickly on the outside, but I have seen definite evidence of a soft and fluffy center.”

“Yeah, well, the ship has run aground. I swear I didn’t do anything wrong, but I will try to fix it anyway. Should Will ever come back to Baltimore and ever speak to me again, that is. Not sure he's going to let me get close enough to hunt for his soft and fluffy bits.”

“That’s the spirit. Where there's life, there's hope. Of course he'll come back--he lives here-- and I think he's going to speak to you again, and, as we've established, I'm very rarely wrong," said Gabriel bracingly. "See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Brent?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t look so bleak. If you weren’t on his mind, he wouldn’t have sent that text to me. Maybe he just…protests too much--I think the job uses up a whole lot of his mental and emotional endurance, thus the cranky, standoffish act. If it’s meant to be, it will work out.”

“That’s what they say. Especially when they are happily married to their soulmate.”

“Touché, but it was not always thus, trust me. It took Alex and me a good while to get our crap together. More than a month, I promise you. Let me know if you change your mind about talking it out.”

“Will do,” replied Brent, and he winced noticeably at the sound of the word “will.”