Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“That’s why you’re such a wonderful man,” she told me. “Your mama loved you from the start, and you know, that never dies.”
I liked hearing that.
But even now, thinking back to falling asleep with blood on my face, having no one question the bruises, split lips, and black eyes when I showed up at school, hearing my father make excuses when bones were broken, like boys will be boys, and that we were horsing around again, and reminding people that of course, his own father had tanned his hide more than once…sometimes, still, the memories clogged my throat. And though I’d schooled myself to never let my eyes fill—that had always brought on a quick, hard strike from a clenched fist—there was nothing to be done about being unable to speak. James McCabe had never minded silence; it was the tears that incensed him. I couldn’t even imagine ever confessing my homosexuality to him. I might not have lived through that exchange.
Others had blessedly let me be when I was suddenly swallowing down my feelings. When I got overwhelmed, friends respected me enough to leave me alone, giving me both space and my dignity.
Lang thought that was cowardly of them.
“They weren’t sure what to do,” he told me the first time I walked away from him only to have him chase me down the sidewalk in the drizzling rain.
I’d stood there, with him in front of me, wanting to both run again and stay where I was. He needed to get under an awning, but I couldn’t even suggest that to him because I didn’t have use of my voice right then.
“If you want to be alone, I’ll respect that,” he told me, his tone gentle, smooth like honey, and so very warm. “I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want.”
I knew that.
“And you know I’m not in the habit of chasing after people who aren’t wanted for breaking the law, but this is the first time you’ve ever run from me, and it was surprising.”
I nodded.
“So for clarity, that’s why I’m standing here getting wetter by the second.”
It wasn’t necessary to say anything, and that was good since I couldn’t.
“It won’t change our friendship if you need time alone,” he promised, his smile slow, allowing me to breathe. “If you need your space, then tell me.”
I didn’t want that. What I needed was someone to be fine with the fact that every now and then, between me and my brain, there was a disconnect.
“I just want to remind you that we’re partners, yeah? You can trust me.”
And I could. I knew I could.
He was studying my face. “So tell me what you want, and we’ll do that. Or if you can’t right now, give me a nod and I’ll go. We’ll discuss this later when you can.”
For once, I let go of my fierce control and allowed another person to see the tears that were quickly washed away in the ever-strengthening shower.
“You’re killing me,” he murmured, opening his arms.
I took a breath and lunged, and he wrapped me up. I couldn’t remember ever being held that tight, and I got lost in that feeling of homecoming. But then suddenly I started thinking the embrace was going on too long—we were on a sidewalk, after all—and maybe he was getting embarrassed. But it was like he read my mind and only clutched me tighter, inhaled deeply, and said that everything was going to be all right.
Amazingly, it was.
And he held on until I let go.
These days, six months in, it hardly happened anymore. Some of it was because Lang had insisted I see someone, and my therapist, Dr. Butler, who it turned out had gone to the same undergrad college as me, was helping. Also, there were things I knew for certain that made me confident in who I was. Like, I was damn good at my job, a better, more loyal friend would be hard to find, and people could count on me to always show up for them. And of course, Lang never missed an opportunity to remind me how lucky I was to have him in my life.
I really didn’t need to be told.
“Do you guys need some time alone?” Vargas asked with a leer in his voice, and I was reminded that I was there, in the present, at work, with a fugitive watching me. It would be wildly inappropriate for anyone to see me and Lang hugging.
Perhaps.
The thing was, life-and-death jobs sometimes produced oddly timed comfort moments, and more importantly, Lang always had a way of making what seemed strange feel perfectly normal. It was one of his many gifts.
“If you value your life,” Lang began icily, “think before you speak.”
Vargas shut up, which was not surprising. At six-two, built powerful and strong, with a glare that made bigger men squirm, Langston Ross was not a man to be tested. Far better to stay on his good side.