“Go!” Eli ordered strongly from somewhere inside the room. “I want a nap and can’t do that with you hovering.”
It wasn’t quite that simple, there was a bit of feet dragging, but Eli won and kicked them out. We headed out, me driving as I had the address, Booker riding shotgun with me.
“Thanks for this,” Booker said in his soft tenor voice. “We need to stay physically fit, but it’s hard with all the cases and weird hours.”
“Tell me about it. Even while training, we’d get called out sometimes to support someone else. Working out every day is a real challenge.” I enjoyed the simplicity of lifting weights, running. It gave me a nice break to just breathe. I also had the sense Mack wanted a little alone time too. It was one of those things I appreciated about him. He wasn’t one of those people who believed a couple had to do absolutely everything together. Mack respected that there were things I liked doing—like working out for a few hours—and didn’t insist I stop because he didn’t enjoy it. I’d broken up with someone once because they’d wanted to control what I did to match their own interests.
We didn’t really talk much on the way in, which was fine. I could tell they were still pretty tense. When we reached the gym, we basically headed to our own preferred stations first. I stretched, as I was feeling pretty locked up, and then hit the treadmill for a while. After five miles, I got off, then headed for weights. It wasn’t until I got to the benches that Quinn caught my eye.
“Spot me?” he requested.
“Sure.” I eyed the weights he already had on the bar and whistled soundlessly. Two hundred and forty pounds, huh? Damn, that was impressive.
Quinn hefted it up and started doing his reps. It was clear from the way he was lifting this wasn’t his max. It wasn’t often I met a man who could lift as much as I could.
“Brandon.”
“Yeah?”
He didn’t look at me, arms still moving steadily. “It made us all really happy, you know. The way you and Mack reacted to us. You just blinked and accepted it. We don’t get that very often.”
There were times I really wanted to punch people. My reaction shouldn’t have been so remarkable that he’d thank me for it. “I figured out I was bisexual not too long ago, and the people around me weren’t too accepting of it. It’s why I left SWAT. I’m not going to do that to someone else, man. If you and Booker and Eli are happy as you are, cool. I’m all for there being more love in the world.”
Quinn racked up the bar, I helped to situate it, then he sat up before giving me a wide smile. It crinkled up the corners of his eyes and emphasized the laugh lines in his face. “I like that attitude. But really, you left SWAT because of that?”
“Eh, and the FBI came by to recruit me. I felt like it was time for a change. And I love everything spooky, so when they hinted I could possibly go into this division? I jumped at the chance. Mack was an extra bonus I didn’t see coming.”
“How exactly did you two meet, anyway? We only got that a ghost was involved.”
I obligingly told him the story as we swapped places, him spotting me. Booker wandered over at some point, listening in and lifting barbells. He really was a quiet sort of man.
Since I was telling the story, I felt like it was a good opening to get more information about them too. “Booker, you seem a natural fit into the division, but I’ve never heard of a ghost hunter coming on board before.”
Booker shrugged, still lifting. “I’ve got a degree in Parapsychology. After graduating college, I worked with three different groups, trying to prove things, but it wasn’t working. I didn’t have the sight, and they didn’t have the right training or equipment to make things feasible. What with our different schedules, we couldn’t always meet and work, either. It was frustrating in the extreme. I approached the FBI just to see if they’d let me tag along on their investigations as a consultant.”
“That was about the same time Eli fell out with her work partner. And lost her arm.” Quinn’s face darkened, hands clenching at his sides. “She never has told us the full story. But the FBI promptly kicked him out, and he was blamed for the whole shitfest. If you ask her what happened, she’ll say something like she was in a bar fight gone wrong.”
I snorted.
“My personal favorite is that she was in New York when the Chituari landed.” Booker snickered. “And she doesn’t mind the arm as much, now.”
“Well, sure, not after you built her that steampunk thing that has all those pockets and stuff.” To me, Quinn explained, “The arm can hold three vials of holy water, salt packets, chalk, and a mini flashlight. She’s literally ‘armed’ with that thing. She can grasp and release objects, too.”
“I had wondered about it. It looked like it had compartments to open.” I found it interesting Booker had made it for her. The man was just full of surprises, wasn’t he? “So Booker, you met her first?”
“Yeah. Not by long. Maybe eight months or so? We’d gotten more or less settled with each other, were talking about bonding, when Quinn came along.” Booker shot his husband a sweet smile, a small upcurving of the lips. “Our missing piece.”
Quinn shared the smile. “It was a little alarming, I’ll be honest. These two don’t have a lot of patience when someone interests them, and there I was getting it on both sides. But I felt more at home with them than anywhere else, and I was sure of those feelings. Sure of them. It made the fight to stay together easier to weather.”
“Also helped that Sylvia was totally on board,” Booker pitched in, smile turning fond. “I think she accepted us at first because Eli clearly loved us both, and she supported her sister being happy. But when she really got to know us, she liked and trusted us, and that was important all around. We’re really glad you have Sylvia as your super. She’s good at taking care of her people.”
“I got that sense from the first time I spoke to her. I’m glad, too. A bad supervisor is the worst thing to have. Do you have a good one?”
“Ours is good, too. I think most of the supers in the PAD are good.”
I grimaced at the acronym. Sure, Paranormal Activity Division sounds good all spelled out, but really? The acronym sucked monkey balls.
Booker noticed my expression. “What?”
“I hate the acronym,” I admitted. “Sounds lame. Can’t we be called the Boogeymen or something?”
Quinn didn’t even hesitate. He threw his hand up in the air like someone calling for a vote. “Boogeymen, seconded!”
The man didn’t laugh externally, but Booker snickered on some level. “Thirded. I admit it does sound better.”
“Right? Maybe if we use it often enough, it’ll spread.” I sure as hell hoped so.
We switched up weights and did more reps. Booker finished first but stayed by, stretching and cooling down. I was feeling pretty loose and good with the workout but remained on task so Quinn could finish up. Not having a spotter was one of the stupider things you could do while lifting this much weight.
As Booker leaned over his leg, hand on his arch, he asked, “Brandon, did I understand it right that Mack can exorcise?”