I’d like to imagine this is Ty, retired from the FBI, with nothing to do all day but tear holes in buildings…
Ty sat in the midst of a room full of chaos and disaster. The plywood floors were covered with scraps of wood and plaster dust, which he had been horrified to discover actually had horse hair in it. The walls were nothing but two-by-fours and exposed brick. The ceiling was letting light in through the second- and even third-story windows, and dust motes floated peacefully though the sunbeams.
Ty was cross-legged, forearms resting on his knees, lips pursed in a mixture of disgust and amusement. He’d worked on projects like this all his life, but he’d never had this many things go wrong on him. He’d spent the warm months of the summer and fall working on his Mustang, leaving the interior of the building for the cold of winter. Now, sitting in the freezing cold without heat or insulation on the first day of February, he was regretting a lot of his decisions.
At least he could be positive this building wasn’t bugged.
The front door, made of old, dirty glass covered with peeling and faded stickers, grocery bags, and duct tape, opened with a terrible creak.
“Hey, Bulldog,” Zane said as he stepped over the threshold, a box under one arm. “How’s it going?”
Ty cleared his throat and pointed up at the ceiling. “I put a hole in the house.”
Zane tipped his head back to peer up as he walked toward Ty. “What were you doing?” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
“I was …” Ty cleared his throat, blushing. “I was poking it with a stick.”
Zane propped the box on his hip and raised an eyebrow at Ty.
“It made sense in my head,” Ty insisted. “Did you bail from work early? What’s in the box?”
“I left work early, brought you lunch. Why were you poking the house with a stick?”
“I was looking for wiring,” Ty answered, blushing harder.
Zane set the box down, then carefully went to one knee before thumping to the dusty floor to sit next to Ty. “Wiring? Did you find any bugs?”
“No, so I guess it was a win.”
Zane took Ty’s hand in his and laced their fingers together, and Ty smiled even though he’d had a backbreaking, frustrating day. He squeezed Zane’s hand as he stared at the jagged hole in the second floor.
“We could have built a building from scratch, you know,” Zane said, waving at the inside of the old, three-story brick building on the edge of the harbor in Fell’s Point.
Ty gazed at the room too, seeing the architectural details beneath the years of paint, dust, and misuse. He shook his head and smiled as he cut his gaze to Zane. “Old and broken-down is more my style.”
Zane cast a glance around them, then settled on Ty again, smirking. “Whatever makes you happy, doll.”
~Crash & Burn, by Abigail Roux
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