When I was little, I used to be afraid of monsters. Before bedtime, Id make my parents check both of my closets, and under my bed, and even behind my drapes. I was okay if the lights were on, but once they were off, it was as if I could sense movement in the dark, as if something sinister were slowly crawling toward me.

I tried to be brave. If Disney had taught me anything, it was that men were brave.

I was twelve when I encountered the most terrifying monster of all. Id heard of Marco Castellano, of course. Everyone had. He was the legendary, untouchable godfather of the West Coast Mafia. We used to tell stories about him at slumber parties to scare each other. We imagined that his eyes glowed red when he was angry, and that he could shoot fireballs out of his palms.

In truth, Castellanos eyes were a light brown, and his hands were unremarkable, save for a few liver spots. He had white hair and a thick belly, and looked like someones grandfather. I didnt even realize it was him at first, when he took out his gun and pressed the butt against a kneeling mans head.

Marco Castellano, with his placid eyes and his steady hands, would become the creature who haunted my nightmares. He was a phantom who could find me anywhere. I could never relax, not even in sleep. It was a waiting game, to see when and where he would finally catch me.

We take turns driving. Scott would, no doubt, prefer to be the one behind the wheel at all times, with me hiding in the trunk or something, but he accedes that well make better time if we split the drive. So every four hours or so, we pull over, switch places, and then get back on the road. We push 90 miles per hour for most of the drive. It makes me nervous until we pass several police cars without incident, and I realize Scott must have special plates on this car.

Im not used to taking road trips without singing along with a bunch of mix CDs, or my iPod, or at least the radio. Scott insists on silence, though, so that he can keep an eye on the cars around us for any suspicious activity. He makes a series of calls on his cell phone, and manages to call in enough favors to get me a meeting with Marco Castellano.

Im grateful, but at the same time, Im completely terrified. I know now that Castellanos eyes dont glow red, and I know his palms dont shoot fireballs. But the reality is somehow even worse.

Just outside of St. Louis, when Im driving in the left lane and rehearsing what Ill say to Castellano when we meet, Scotts cell phone rings.

"Its Morris," he says to me, after glancing at the screen, then answers it. "Yeah, this is Ward... What? ... He what?"

"Is it Kurt?" I ask, my heart rate picking up. "Is he okay?"

Scott has one hand pressed firmly against his mouth. At first I think hes upset. Then I realize hes trying to stifle his laughter. "Hold on, Morris, Im going to put you on speakerphone." He pushes a button, and then–

"Yep, so Im being held up," comes Morris calm voice. "Im the hostage of a crazed lunatic right now."

I look at Scott in terror, until we hear a shrill voice shout:

"This is not a joke! I am not afraid to use this!"

"Is that Kurt?" I ask, and Scott nods.

"Apparently hes wielding a ballpoint pen like a weapon and demanding to be taken to you right away."

"Oh, god." My heart sinks. "Let me pull over so I can talk to him." I take the next exit off Route 64, pulling into a gas station since were running low on gasoline anyway. Scott and I switch places, and he goes inside to pay the gas station attendant and buy supplies while I get on the phone. "Morris?"

"Yup."

"Can I talk to him, please?"

"I dont know, Perfecto, Im afraid to get too close to him," Morris says drily. "He might get ink on my shirt."

"Is that Blaine?" Kurt asks shrilly. "Let me speak with him!" Theres a brief pause, and then: "Hello? Blaine?"

"Hi, Kurt," I sigh.

"Are you all right?" he asks anxiously.

"Im fine, Im with Scott, and we–"

"How could you do this?" Now that hes assured that Im okay, hes in full Kurt Hummel Fury Mode. "How could you just leave me, without even a word? How could you, Blaine?"

"Baby, I–"

"Dont you baby me. Dont you dare. Im a grown man, and Im your husband, and this is supposed to be a partnership. A partnership, Blaine."

"I know, I–"

"I didnt give up my family and my friends and my job and my home, just so I could sit in a safehouse with a complete stranger while you go gallivanting off on some dangerous adventure and get yourself killed–"

"Im sorry," I tell him helplessly. "I didnt want to risk your safety–"

"Oh, but risking yours is just fine?" he seethes. "Were a team, Blaine. Were supposed to be in this together. Til death do us part, remember? If you risk your safety, then youre risking mine as well. Because if you die..."

He doesnt say anything for a long time, and I realize hes crying. "Oh sweetheart, please dont cry. Ill be careful, I swear."

"Youd better. Because if you die, Ill freaking kill you."

I smile fondly. "Its a deal."

He sniffles daintily. "So tell me where it is that youre going."

"I cant do that."

"Partnership, Blaine!" he shrieks again.

"I dont want to worry you. And if I tell you, youll worry."

"Oh, yes, and telling me that just eases all my concerns, thank you."

"I will be under full Marshal protection the entire time. And the place were going is under even tighter security than your safehouse is."

"You promise?" he asks weakly.

"I promise. Kurt, the only reason Im doing this is so that you and I can be together, and that we can be safe. Us and our families." I look up to see Scott returning to the car, his arms laden with large coffees and bags of food. "Sweetheart, Ive got to go. Were getting back on the road. I love you."

"I love you too. Let me talk to Scott for a second. Off speakerphone."

Scott gets into the drivers seat, looking at me quizzically as I hold out the cell phone. "Kurt wants to talk to you," I tell him. He sets the two cups of coffee into the cupholders, then hands me the bags before taking the phone from me.

"Hi, Kurt," he says. "Whats up?" As he listens, his eyes slowly widen. Kurt speaks for a good minute or so, before Scott chokes out, "I understand." Then he hangs up.

"Whatd he say?" I ask.

He starts the engine, looking shellshocked and a tiny bit impressed. "Holy crap. We could save ourselves the trip and just put Kurt and Marco Castellano in a room together. Kurt would scare the shit out of him."

We stop to sleep only once, at a motel outside of Topeka. Its not the worst place weve ever stayed; the beds look clean and the carpet doesnt smell. The complimentary toiletry kit comes in handy, too, since all I thought to bring was a change of clothes.

"You know, its a good thing Im not gay," Scott says, falling face-down onto one of the beds and not moving. "Or Kurt would be totally worried right now."

"No he wouldnt." Im tired too, but unlike Scott, Im taking the time to brush my teeth.

He flips over to look at me. "Sure he would. Im hot."

"And Im very happily married, and I have no interest in fooling around with anyone else. Kurt knows that." I pull out the floss and get to work, leaning over to look in the mirror as he narrows his eyes appraisingly at me.

"I wonder, though," he says.

"Wonder what?"

"If your meeting with Castellano goes as you hope, and you get him to call off the hit, will you stay with Kurt?"

I straighten up in shock, and Im sure I look ridiculous with a long string of floss hanging from between my two back molars, but Im too indignant to care. "Why on earth would you ask me that?"

"Well, think about it. Youll finally be free. You wont have to worry about always looking over your shoulder... having someone keep all your secrets... You could go for someone a little hotter this time."

I grab both ends of the floss, digging hard into my gums to keep from going over and hitting him. "What is your problem with Kurt? Youve never liked him."

"I dont dislike him." At my humph of annoyance, he adds, "No, its an important distinction. Its not like I hate him. He seems like a nice enough boy. I just dont get why you were so fixated on being with him–"

"Because Im in love with him, idiot!"

"If you hadnt gone to New York to find him, your cover probably wouldnt have been blown. And Kurt would be going along his merry little life, not shut up in some safehouse. Was it really worth it?" He raises an eyebrow. "Its not like he didnt date while you two were separated. Did you about know that?"

"Of course I did."

"Really," he says dubiously, and I throw my floss away angrily.

"He went out with a guy from one of his fashion classes at NYU, and a soccer teammate of his roommate Eddies, and a guy he met at an audition. One date with each of them. And nothing happened, not even a kiss."

"And you believe that."

"Yeah, I do. Because he would have told me if something had happened, especially since he knows I wouldnt have objected if it had. I left him, remember? What was he supposed to do, pine over me forever?"

"No, that was your job."

I stalk over to the other bed, pulling down the covers and getting in. "Look, I get it. You dont believe in young love, or soulmates, or whatever. Youve made that perfectly clear over the years. But lay off the criticisms of Kurt. Weve made a lifelong commitment to each other, and thats based on our contract, not the mob contract thats out on my head." I yank the covers up hard, adding, "Besides, even if I were single and you were gay, I still wouldnt touch your scruffy ass with a ten-foot pole."

He laughs to himself as I close my eyes and try to calm down.

Scott may be my protector, but sometimes I forget what an asshole he is.

The further we get west, the more sarcastic and snide he gets. Im fiddling with the GPS, looking at the map to plot out the rest of the trip, when I realize the reason. Feeling a little snide myself, I give Scott a sidelong glance. "Were not far from Denver, you know. Isnt that where you and your family live?"

He keeps his eyes on the road, grunting in reply.

"I could drop you off there, if you wanted. You could spend some time with your wife, and Will..."

"Im not leaving you without protection, Perfecto."

"Sure, no problem. Ill wait at your house for someone to come and relieve you."

Scott gives me an annoyed glance. "There arent any Marshals stationed around here for a hundred miles."

"I can wait."

"Just... just mind your own business, Perfecto. I dont want to stop in Denver."

"I heard you Skyping with your wife every night when we were at the hotel. It didnt sound like you two are having any marital problems."

"We arent," he says defensively.

"And your son sounds like a great kid."

"He is–"

"Then why dont you want to be with them?"

"I–" he bites back a reply, shaking his head. "You wouldnt understand."

"My dad and I have been separated for almost a third of my life," I point out. "I know what its like to grow up without a father around."

"Its not that simple–"

"Why would you choose to do that to your own kid? He needs you."

"I cant protect him!" Scott bursts out. "You dont know whats out there, Perfecto. You think you do, but you have no idea. There are mobsters, sure, but there are also pedophiles, and serial killers, and child traffickers, and theyre all out there, just waiting to pounce."

"So you leave him? How does that make any sense?"

"When Im at home, I cant be with him all the time. And every time he leaves the house to go to school, or ride his bike, or play ball with a friend, I wonder if thats the time when he wont be coming home." He squeezes the steering wheel tight. "You wouldnt understand."

I nod, slowly. "How old is Will?"

"Dont." He grits his teeth. "Dont try to psychoanalyze me."

"I just find it interesting that you chose to leave him when he was three and a half, when the trial started."

"I said dont."

"Isnt that the age Billy Rice was when you met–"

Scott swings the car hard off the highway and onto the shoulder, where he shoves the gearstick into park and turns to me, his eyes blazing with anger. "When I say stop, you stop."

"What did you think, when you named your son after him?" I persist. "Did you think itd bring Billy back? Undo your mistakes?"

"No, of course not–"

"So what, then, youre worried that you cursed him by giving him that name? Once Will turns eleven, once hes older than Billy ever got to be, are you absolved of your guilt? Is that how it works?"

"Fuck you, Perfecto. Its so easy for you, isnt it. Witness a crime, testify in court, and then let all of the rest of us pick up the pieces. Demand that we break protocol so you can go chase after some boy, demand that we break it again so that your precious boy can call his father, and again when you want to go make a deal with a death row inmate... its your world, isnt it? The rest of us just live in it."

"Just drive," I snap, and he pulls back on the road angrily. "Lets go right past your house, for all I care."

"Go to hell."

"And stop calling Kurt a boy," I add. "Hes more of a man than youll ever be."

We dont speak for the rest of the drive, not even when San Quentin State Prison comes into view.