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ThreeStrikes

AFarfromHomestory

AnyaRichards

Allrightsreserved.Thisbookoranyportionthereofmaynotbereproducedorusedinany
mannerwhatsoeverwithouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofthepublisherandauthor
exceptfortheuseofbriefquotationsinabookreview.

FormattedandReleasedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica,2014

FirsteRelease,January1,2015

ISBN978-1-63443-005-0

GRUPublishingPOBox280GasportNY14067

www.GRUPublishing.com

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,businesses,places,eventsandincidentsare
eithertheproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorusedinafictitiousmanner.Any
resemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,oractualeventsispurelycoincidental.

Dedication

Forallmyguys—gay,straight,bi,orother—whostruggletofigureouttherightpathin

life.Andformycountryofbirth,whereyou’renotalwaysfreetobewhatyoutrulyare.

Wewillnotbesilenced.

Blurb:

Twolonelymen.Onesecretaffair.Irresistiblepassionthatwillpushthembothtothe

breakingpoint,andbeyond.

Aknifeattackleftex-JamaicanPossememberVincentWilliamsscarredandalsomade
himre-evaluatehislife.He’soutofthegangandalsotheclosetbutlonely,yettomeeta
manwho’sinterestedinmorethanaone-and-done,abriefsexualencounter.

Becauseofhiscareerasapoliceofficer,SergeantKylePictouisafraidofcomingout.
Normallyhedoesn’tgetinvolvedwithanyoneclosetohome,butsomethingabout
Vincentcompelshimtotakeachance.It’sjustsex,afterall.Yet,asdesireevolvesinto
friendshipandseeminglyboundlesspassion,it’sKylewho’sleftwantingmore—though
heknowshecan’thaveit.

ChapterOne

Vincent

VictoriaParkispackedwithpeopleenjoyingthefirstreallywarmafternoonofthe

Ontariospring.EvenafterlivinginCanadaforsixyearsitstillamazesmetoseehow

soontheshortsandsleevelessshirtscomeouteveryyear.It’sonlyinthesixtiesherein

Londonbutyou’dthinkit’ssummerfromsomeoftheskimpyfashionsI’mseeing.But

whoamItojudge?Thesaying,cockroachnobusinessinfowlfight,comestomind.It’s

noneofmybusiness,andifthey’rehappyexposingtheirpastylegstothecoolbreeze,a

nonuttin’.

AndIreallydon’tblamethosebravesouls,consideringthewicked-coldwinterwe

had.It’snicetoseepeoplesmilinginthesunwhilewanderingfromdisplaytodisplayat

theAdoptaPetshow.Notthatthere’smuchlefttosee.Mostofthespecialtypetproducts

havebeenbought,andagoodnumberoftheanimalsbroughtoutbyvarioussheltershave

beenadopted.Itmakesmegladtoknowsomanyofthedogsandcatswillbegoingto

goodhomes,especiallyconsideringwheretheystartedout.Maybeotherpeopledon’t

believeit,butI’msurethoseanimalsunderstandwhat’shappeningandarecompletely

relievedtohavefoundaplacetobelong.

Iknowexactlyhowtheyfeel.

“I’mgoingtostartpackingup.”Patpushesupoutherfoldingchairthenstretches.

“Lotsofpeoplestillaround,butit’llsoonbetimetoleave.”

“Wantmetodoanything?”

Shelooksatthestuffbehindthetableandshakesherhead.“Nah.I’mjustgoing

takesomeoftheemptyboxestothevan.I’llbringbackthetrolleyforthekennels.”Her

gazeslidestothecageI’mstandingbeside,thenshesmilesquicklyandtoobrightlyatme.

“Wedidreallygoodtoday.Fivedogsre-homed,lotsofstuffsold,andwegotsomenice

donationstoo.”

Inod,onlyrealizingI’vestuckmyfingersthroughthewireofthecagewhenIfeela

cold,wetnosetouchthem.“Yeah.Gooddayallround.Wellworththeeffort.”

Patwalksbehindthetableandstartsbreakingdowntheboxeswe’dusedto

transportthedogbeds,blankets,coatsandtreatswe’dbroughttosell,andIlookbackout

atthecrowd.BongoreplacesthecoldnessofhisnosewithwarmlicksandIcan’tpush

backthedesperationrisinginmychest.

Somewhereoutthereisaperson—afamily—forthisdog.IknowitlikethewayI

knowmyownname,myreflection,thesizeofmyshoes.There’ssomethingspecialabout

him,somethinginhiseyesthattellsmehehastobesaved.Thathavinghimbouncing

fromfosterhometofosterhomeorlefttoliveinarescuekennelisunthinkable.AsPat

headstowardtheroadwithanarmfulofboxes,Ibendtolookthroughthemeshofthe

cageandBongolooksbackatmewithround,brown,sparklingeyes.

“Listen,pardy.”IfindmyselftalkingtohimthewayIusedtospeaktomydomino

partnersafterwe’dlostoneofthosecut-throatmatchesdownattheJamaicansocialclub.

“Hearme,man.Wegoingtofindyouahome,youseeit?Thiswasjustonechance,but

nottheonlyone.”

BongotiltshisheadtoonesideandIswearhe’ssmiling,asiftoaskwhatI’mso

worriedabout.Buthedoesn’thaveamirrortoseehisownreflection,doesn’thavethe

abilitytoknowthatinthismaterialistic,shallowworldamuttwithapieceofoneear

missing,withscarsaroundhisneckandonhismuzzleisconsideredun-adoptablebymost

people.Worse,Ireadsomewherethatwhiteandlight-coloredanimalsgetpickedaspets

first,soapparentlybeingblackdoesn’thelpeither.

Hedefinitelyhastwostrikesagainsthim—threeifyoucountwhathewentthrough

togetthosescars—butIknowfrompersonalexperiencethingscanturnaroundatany

time.

“Yeah,you’reright.”Istretchmyfingersinthroughthemesh,andheleansforward

soIcanscratchunderhischin.“Nothingtofretabout.”

YetIcan’thelpstandingupandlookingoutoverthemillingcrowdagain,thinner

nowthatmostoftheboothsarebeingslowlypackedup.Stillhoping,Iguess,fora

miracleforBongo.Jenny,oneoftheAdoptaPetorganizers,buzzesby,givingmeawave

andasmile.Ismileback,seethewayhereyesflickawayfrommyface,butitdoesn’t

bothermethewayitusedto.Iknowwhatshe’sseeinganddon’tblameher.I’dprobably

dothesametoo.

There’sabunchofpeoplearoundtheChampionsofObediencedisplay,nodoubt

listeningtotheownerJohnshootingoffhismouth.EvenIhavetoadmitthe

demonstrationearlierlookedgood,dogsdoingsit-anddown-stays,evensometricksathis

command,butIstillthinkhe’sanasshole.Thetrainerisoneofthefewpeopleinthedog

rescueandtrainingworldI’vecomeacrossthatIdislike,althoughIcan’tputmyfingeron

why.It’slikemygrannyusedtosay,myspiritjustdidn’t‘take’tohim.Ifindmyself

twistingmylipstotheside,makingtheskinaroundmyscartug,andforcemyselftostop.

It’sahabitIreallyshouldhavegottenridof,consideringhowmuchithurts,butcan’t

seemtobreak.

SuddenlythecrowdaroundJohnparts,andamancleavesthroughthetight-packed

bodieslikeablade.InaflashInoticehisheightandwidthofhisshoulders,theshort,

blackhairandthentheinstantlyfamiliarface—asstonyasever,andjustasgood-looking.

Immediatelythehairsonmyarmsrise,goosebumpstravelingupacrossmyshouldersand

downmybackasrecognitionbringsanamefromthepastpoppingintomyhead.

ConstableKylePictou.Bumboclaat.

Theswearwordjustnaturallyfollowsthename,asthoughit’sallonesentence.It’s

prettymuchwhatyou’dhearwhenwewereonthestreetandsawhimcoming,justbefore

wedecidedwhethertostandourgroundortakeoffindifferentdirections,eachofus

hopinghe’dchasesomeoneelse.DependingonthegroupIwaswith,hisnicknameand

theswearwordswouldchange,butonealwaysfollowedtheother.TheJamaicanposse

memberscalledhim‘Screwface’becausenooneeversawhimsmile.Pictou,I’dlearned

backthen,wasfromtheMi’kmaqNation,sothewhiteguyscalledhim‘Chief’ifthey

weretryingtopisshimoff,sincethat’saninsultwhentalkingtoaNativeman.

Butusuallyhewasknownas‘Robocop.’Whenitcametoreadinghisexpressionhe

mayaswellhavebeenwearingahelmet,andheranlikehewasfuckingbionic.Henever

gaveupinafootchase.Nomatterhowfasttherunnerwas,nomatterhowlonghekept

running,ConstablePictoujustkeptcomingafterhim.Therewasevenonenightaguy

jumpedintotherivertotrytoevadehim,andthatwasthenightwediscoveredRobocop

couldswimlikearassclaatfishtoo.

Funny.Igettheurgetorunnow,althoughIhavenoreasonto.Evenfunnier,

consideringhowmuchIowehim.Butstillmytoescurlinmysneakersandmyleg

musclestwitch,readytogo.

IftherewasanywheretohideI’dprobablyalreadybethere,butI’moutintheopen,

thebeachumbrellaoverheadgivingshadebutnosanctuary.AndIknowtheexactmoment

heseesme,despitethewraparounddarkglassesshieldinghiseyes.It’slikehisgazestabs

intome,andIforcemyfaceintoablankexpression,evenasIhavetoswallowagainstthe

suddendrynessinmythroat.

Nothingtofretabout.

Thethoughtmakesmewanttolaugh.

I’mhopinghe’lljustkeepgoingwhereverhe’sgoingandnotbothertoacknowledge

me.Dressedinjeans,apoloshirtandworkboots,he’sobviouslyoff-duty—ifhe’seven

stillwiththePoliceServices—sothere’snoreasonforhimtopaymenomind.

Ofcoursehechangescourseslightly,sohe’sheadingrighttowardme.

Bumboclaat.

Kyle

VincentWilliams.Damn,that’sanameIhaven’theardorthoughtaboutinages—

four,maybefiveyears?—butitcomestomindimmediatelyasInoticehim.Andit’sreal

hardnottonoticehim.TheJamaicanmansticksoutinthisparticularcrowd.Almostthe

loneblackmaninaseaoflightfaces.Makesmewonderifimmigrants,whichwehave

plentyofinthecity,aren’tasintotheirpetsaswhites.Itwouldn’tsurpriseme.Iglance

overatadisplayandmentallysnort.Dogs,inmyestimation,shouldn’tbedresseduplike

childrenorcalled‘fur-babies.’SometimesIthinkthemajorityofthepopulationneeds

somerealproblemstoputstuffintoperspective.Harsh?Yes.True?Probably.

ThatmakesitevenstrangertoseeVincentatapetrescuefestival,andIcan’thelp

wonderingifhe’splayingsomeangle.Wouldn’tsurpriseme.Vincentwasneverbigtime

—morethepettydrug-dealer,purse-snatchingtype—althoughbackinthedayIalways

thoughttherewasrealpotentialthere.Justcouldn’tfigureoutwhetherhe’dendupCEO

ofadrugcarteloraFortune500company.Atleasthedidn’tendupdead,whichhadalso

beenadistinctpossibility,particularlygiventhelasttimeI’dseenhimwasinhospital,his

faceprettymuchonebigbandage.

Iknowhe’sseenmetoo.Readinghisposture,Ihalfexpecttoseehimstarttorun,

likeintheolddays,butinsteadhereachesdownandstickshisfingersintothecagebeside

him,curlingthemasifhangingon.

Takingmyownsweettime,Istrolltowardhim,watchinghimwatchme.Seemshe’s

gottenbetterathidinghisthoughts.Inyearsgonebyhe’dhavebeengivingmethestink-

eye,makingsureIknewhedidn’tgiveashitacopwascominghisway.Nowhe’s

expressionless,notcountingtheslightupwardtwistoftheleftsideofhismouthcausedby

hisscar,whichmakeshimlooklikehe’seithersmilingorsneering.Outofhabit,Itakea

fullinventory.Blackmale,ofmediumcomplexion,approximatelysixfeetinheight,slim

butmuscularbuild.Gonearethecane-rowsheusedtosport,replacedbyashortafro,

slightlylongerontopthanatthesides.Loose-fittingbluet-shirtwithOneMoreChance

Sanctuaryprintedacrossthefront.Neat,genericjeansandblacksneakerswithanorange

stripe.Interestingtonotethedifferencesinhisappearance.It’snotjusthisfaceeither.The

oldVincentwouldn’thavebeenseendeadinsuchordinaryclothes.

Solet’sseeifthechangeismorethanjustsuperficial.

There’sanurgetostepupintohisspace,likeIwouldifIwereroustinghimona

streetcorner,butthosedaysareover.SoIstopacouplefeetawayfromhimandjuststand

thereforacoupleofbeats,waitingtoseeifI’llgetareactionoutofhim.Hestaresbackat

methen,withaslightturningawayofhishead,hesmiles.

“ConstablePictou.”Vincenthasn’tlosthisJamaicanaccent,somynamerollsand

swings,slowandrhythmic,fromhislips—CAN-stiblePick-too—and,beforeIcanreply

headds,“Stillchasingbadboys?”

Iknowwhathemeans,butwhenyou’reasdeepintheclosetasIamanexpression

likethatalwaysmakesmystomachdrop.ButItakehiswordsatfacevalue.There’sno

otherwaytoplayit.“It’ssergeantnow,Vincent.YoustilldoingthingstomakeBabylon

chaseyou?”

Heshakeshishead,hismouthtwistingwrylyatmyuseoftheJamaicanslangfor

thepolice.Themotioncausesthescarrunningdownhischeektopullslightlyatthe

corneroftheeyeonthatside.“Nahsah,Sergeant.Demdaysdonenow.”

WhydoIgettheimpressionhe’smakinghisaccentthicker?Hesoundsthesameas

heusedto,butnowitseemsalmostforced.“Gladtohear.”Iputahintofskepticisminto

myvoice,buthedoesn’treacttoitbeyondaquickupwardtwitchofhiseyebrows.“So

whatyouuptonow?”

“Disanddat.”Thedoginthecagebesidehimsuddenlygivesalowwhine,and

Vincentglancesdown.Iseehislipsquirk,asthoughhe’samused,andheputshishand

flatonthecage.Whenhelooksbackup,hesuddenlyappearsmorerelaxed.“Actually,

SergeantPictou,I’mworkingfulltime,plushelpingattheshelter.There’snotimetoget

introuble.”

Iwasright.TheaccentisstillnoticeablebutnotasbroadandIfindmyselfshifting

myposture,suddenlylesswarytoo.I’mtemptedtoaskhimwhatkindofworkbut,

realistically,Iknowhowpeopleviewcopsaskingquestionslikethat—asifthey’rebeing

interrogated—soIdon’t.InsteadIstoopdowntocheckoutthedoginthecage.Yikes.

Whatabatteredlookingmutt.It’sobviouslybeenthroughthewarsbut,despitethe

evidenceofaveryhardlife,it’swaggingitstailandcomesclosetothefrontofthecage,

checkingmeoutinturn.“Heyfella.”Iputmyhanduptothecagedoorandthedog

doesn’tevenbothertosniffit,juststickshismuzzleuptothemeshandgivesmealick.

“Huh,yougottalearntobemorediscriminating—”

“Bongo,”Vincentinterjectsthename,causingthedog’stailtopickupspeedin

response.“HisnameisBongo,andhe’splentydiscriminating.It’snoteverybodyhetakes

to.”

“Really?”Hardtobelievethismuttrespondstopeoplewithanythingbutaffection,

consideringhe’sleaningagainstthemeshformetoscratchwhereverIcanreach.NowI

canseeit’snotjustitsmuzzlethat’sbeeninjured.There’sastripofbareskinaroundhis

neck,asifhewastiedupandthecordcutthroughhisflesh.Whatthefuckiswrongwith

people?

“Really.Buthedoesn’tsnarlorbite,juststaysaway.Bongoissmart.Makeagreat

petforsomeonewhocanmakesurehegetsenoughexercise.Heevengetsongreatwith

otheranimals.”

IknowasalespitchwhenIhearone,soIholdupmyhand.“Notinthemarket,

Vincent.Atleast,notformyself.I’mlookingforapuppyformynephew,forhisbirthday.

Ididn’tthinkI’dfindanythinghere,butthoughtI’dcheckanyway.”

“No…”Vincentstretchesthewordoutand,forsomereason,thatmakesthedog

lookupathimforasecond.“Therewereonlyafewpuppiesthismorning,andtheywent

first.”Hestopstalkingforabeat,thenIhearhiminhalebeforehecontinues.“Andmost

oftherescuefolkswouldn’tletyouadoptadogtogiveasagift.Toomanyanimalslike

thatendupbackinshelters.”

I’veneverlikedbeinglecturedandthisdefinitelysoundslikethebeginningofone,

soIlookuptogivehimwhatmybrothereloquentlycallsthe“PORC”,akathepissedoff

Rezcop,stare.Vincentdoesn’tevenblink.Ifanythinghesoundsmoredeterminedwhen

hesays,“Peopletakingadogintotheirhomeneedtoknowwhattoexpectandhowmuch

workthey’refacing.Springingapuppyonsomeonesoundslikeanicethingtodo,butit

canbeadisasterwaitingtohappen.”

IhavetoadmitIunderstandwherehe’scomingfrom.It’snotonlyhumanmisery

andtraumacopsseeonpatrol.Irelent,knowinghe’sdoingwhathe’sbeentrainedtodo

andbelievesin.

“It’sokay.Mybrotherandhiswifealreadyhaveacoupleofdogsandtheyknow

I’mgivingDamonapuppy.He’sturningthirteen—beenaskingforadogofhisownfora

whilenow—andhisparentsthinkit’llbegoodforhimtohavetheresponsibility.

WhicheverdogIfind,I’llhavehimandhisparentstakealookfirstbeforeIcommit.”

HisreliefissoswiftVincentdoesn’thavetimetoturnhisheadawaybeforehe

smilesand,forsomeunknownreason,Ican’tlookawayfromhisface.Theknifeattack

fiveyearsagolefthimwithnervedamageandsomefacialmusclesforeshortenedby

surgery,butalthoughsmilingmakeshimsortofgrotesque,thesparkleinhiseyesreminds

meofhowhandsomeheusedtobe.

Howhandsomehestillis,truthbetold.

“Good-good.”Asifrealizinghe’ssmilingatmefull-face,Vincentturnsslightly

awayagain.BongoleavesmeandgoesovertowhereVincentisleaningonthecageand

nudgesattheman’slegwithhisnose.Vincentputshishandbackonthetopofthekennel

andIfindmyselfwatchinghisfingersastheyreachintoruffletheshortblackhairsonthe

dog’shead.No,notwatching,butstaringathishand.Thewaythelongfingersscratch

gentlybutfirmlythroughthefurisstrangelyseductive.

Iforcemygazeawayandgetup,thesuddendragoflustonmystomachmuscles

shockingandunwanted.Sure,it’sbeenalongtimesinceI’vehadalover,butthisis

ridiculous.SupposingIwasinterestedinhookingupwithanyone,whichI’mnot,Vincent

wouldn’tevenbeonthe‘maybe’list.Besidesbeingacriminal,orex-criminalifhe’stobe

believed,Idon’tthinkhe’sgay.Furthermorethere’sthefactIdon’tplayinmyown

backyard.Ican’taffordto.

“Okay.”I’musingmycopvoice,inwardlycursingmyself,wonderingifhe’llnotice

thedifference.Lookingaround,Irealizethecrowdhasthinnedevenmoreandgrabatthe

excuse.“Lookslikethingsarewrappingup,soI’mouttahere.”

“Cool-cool.”VincentglancestowardtheroadandIfollowhisgazetoseeashort,

plumpwomanapproaching.“ButholdonamomentandletmetalktoPat.”Hebrushes

hishandstogetherandIhavetostopmyselffromwatchinghimdoit.Ineedtogetgoing.

Really.Now.Thenhesays,“Werescuedafewdogsfromapuppymill.Oneofthebitches,

aGoldenRetriever,waspregnantandshe’shadherpups.They’llbereadytogoinabout

threeweeks,butit’suptoPatwhetheryoucancometakealookatthemyetornot.”He

looksatmeandraiseshiseyebrows.“Ifyou’dbeinterested,ofcourse.”

OfcourseIam.ThatwasoneofthebreedsI’dbeenthinkingwouldbeperfectfor

Damon.SoalthoughIknowIshouldn’tstay,Ido.AndbeforeIknowexactlyhow,I’ve

agreedtomeetVincentatPat’srescuesanctuarythefollowingmorning.

Havingnoddedgoodbye,Iwalkaway,thepaperwiththedirectionsburningahole

inmypocket,justliketheunwantedstirringsofinterestsmolderinmystomach.

Ishakemyhead.

Ridiculous.

It’sharderthanIwanttoshoveitallasideandremindmyselfit’sjustaboutadog

forDamon,nothingelse.

Nothing.

Else.

ChapterTwo

Vincent

ThedogshearmycarasIpullupinfrontofthebarnPathasconvertedintokennels

andthemorehyperofthemstartbarking.UsuallyIparkandgostraightin,butI’monly

abouttenminutesearlierthanthetimeSergeantPictousaidhe’dmeetmehere,soIsitin

thecartowait.

Yawning,sufferingtheeffectsofabadnight’ssleep,I’mregrettingsuggestinghe

mightbeinterestedinseeingMissy’spuppies.ComingintocontactwithKylePictouhas

broughtbacksomewicked-badmemories,butit’snotthoughtsofmycriminalpastthat

reallyhavemerattled.It’sKylePictouhimself.YesterdayIsuddenlysawhimnotasa

cop,theBabylonIusedtorunfrom,butasaman.

ThelastthingIwantistoseeSergeantPictouthatway.Yet,whenhebentdownto

lookatBongoandthedogwentrighttohim,Icouldn’thelptheshiftinmyperception.Or

theunexpectedandunwantedstabofsexualinterestIgotasIlookeddownathim.Fora

longmomentIstared,takinginthewayhisthickhairlayonhishead,howhisshirt

strainedacrosshisshoulders,thesleevesalmosttootightaroundhisbiceps.Thewayhe

waspositionedletmeseethedeephollowrunningdownhisspine,andthetoneofhis

voiceashespoketothedogwassoftandkind.Inamomentofinsanity,Iwantedtotouch

himeverywhere.Feeltheslightraspofhishairundermypalm,testthehardnessofhis

muscleswithmyhands,exploreeveryinchofhim.AndIwantedtohearhimspeaktome

thewayhe’dspokentoBongo.

Itwaspathetic,andstupid,andIdon’tknowhowhedidn’trealizewhatwasgoing

throughmymind.Ifeltasthoughitwaswrittenacrossmydamn-foolface.

Whichwaswhy,Isuspect,whenIwenttobedthosememoriesI’dbeenignoringfor

yearsstartedplayingbackinmyheadlikeaseriesofhomevideos.Thekindyoukeep

althoughyouknowtheyshouldhavebeenburnedlongago.

Likethenightthen-ConstablePictouandhispatrolpartnercameuptoagroupofus

onourcorner.We’dalreadysoldalltheweedwe’dbeencarrying,sowehadnoreasonto

run.Insteadweallloungedaroundlikenothingwasgoingon,showingthembad-faceas

theycamestridingover.InthemiddleoftheusualquestionsIcaughtPictoustaringatme,

andgavehimmybestglare.

“Wha’yuhalook’pon?”Iasked,tryingtoappearasdangerousasIcould,not

wantinghimtoknowhowintimidatingIfoundhim.

“Iseeyou,VincentWilliams,”washisreply,andthosewordshitmelikea

roundhousekicktothestomach.Thewayhesaidit,inhisdeep,slowvoice,wasn’tthe

waysomeonewouldsay,“Iseeyou’rewearingagreenshirt”oreven,“Irecognizeyou.”

Itwasmorelikehewassayingheknewme—everythingaboutme,allmysecrets—andhe

wasabouttotelltheentireworldallthethingsIwashiding.

Iturnedawaysohewouldn’tseemyreactionandkissedmyteeth,suckingairinto

mymouthtomakethemostdismissive,disrespectfulsoundIpossiblycould.ButI

couldn’tescapetheeffectsofhisstatement,orthebone-deepfear.AtthatmomentIhated

him,cursedhimsilentlyforbeingBabylon,theinterfererandoppressor,evenasapartof

mewantedhimtosaywhateverhehadtosay,getitalloutintheopen—setmefree.

ThentherewasthenightIgotmyfacecutopen…

EvennowIwanttoshyawayfromthememory,butnotoftheactualincident.

Insteadit’srememberingwakingupinthehospital,seeinghimstandingbesidethebed.

Hearinghimsay,“Youhaveanotherstrikeagainstyounow,Vincent.Remember,three

strikesandyou’reout.”

NodoubtinhismindstrikeonewasthechargeI’dhadlaidagainstme,which

hadn’tledtoaconvictionbuthadputmesquarelyinthesightsofthecops,andthis

incidentmadetwo.Butlyingthere,caughtbetweenthepainofmywoundandthe

anticipatedreliefofthejust-administereddrugs,Ithoughthedidn’tknowwhatthe

bumboclaathewastalkingabout.Iwaslongpastthreestrikes.Animmigrantblackman

livinginawhiteman’sworld,unabletoescapewherehecamefromorwhohe’dbecome.

Athiefanddrugdealerinagenerallylaw-abidingsociety,eventhougheverylaw-

breakingactfilledmewithguiltandremorse,which,ironically,wasanotherstrikeinthe

worldIlivedin.

Agaymanafraidtoevenacknowledgetomyself,muchlesstoanyoneelse,thatwas

whatIwas,becausedoingsowouldmeanlosingeverythingandeveryoneIhad.

“Thereareotherpathsyoucanfollow.”Iwasdriftingoffonacloudofpainkillers,

butstillheardhimclearly,asthoughhewerewhisperingintimatelyintomyear.“Find

anotherlife.Youoweyourselfthat.”

StrangehowwitheverythingIwentthroughduringthattime,thepain,surgeries,

andupheavalastheytriedtogetmetotellthemwho’dcutme,itwasKylePictou’swords

thatIcouldrememberclearest.

Thebangofthebarndoorjerksmeoutofthehalf-dozingreverieI’dfallenintoand

IopenmyeyestoseePatcrossingthesmallpavedparkingareatowardmycar,her

cellphonetoherear.BythetimeIgetoutandclosemydoorshe’sfinishedthecallandis

stuffingthephoneintothebackpocketofherjeans.

“StraydogoutbyAylmer.”Shegetsrighttothepoint,asshealwaysdoeswhenit

comestoanythingtodowiththeanimals.“I’mgoingtoheadoutthereandseeifIcan

catchit.Soundsasifitmightbeinjured.”

Notajobsheshouldbegoingonbyherself,andthesenseofreliefwashingthrough

meisfarstrongerthanthesituationwarrants.“SergeantPictoushouldbehereany

momentnow.I’lljustapologize—”

Patcutsmeoffwithawaveofonehand.“Nah.It’sasmalldogandJanine’llmeet

methere.Weshouldbeabletomanage,soyoustayanddealwithhim.Besides,weneed

tofindgoodhomesforthosepups,andIlikethelooksofSergeantPictou.”Witha

suddennessthattakesmecompletelybysurprise,shegrinsandwaggleshereyebrows.

“He’scute.Justtherightkindtoflirtwith.”

Sinceshe’smadlyinlovewithJanineandhasnevershownanyinterestinmen,as

farasI’veseen,there’snomistakinghermeaning.Eventhoughmyheartgivesaweird

kindofdouble-beatwhenshesaysit,Ishakemyhead.

“Comeon.Doeshelookgaytoyou?”AtugofpaintellsmeI’mtwistingmylips

again,andIstopdoingit.“Andevenifhewas…”

There’snowayhecouldn’tbeturnedoffbymyface,makingcomparisonsbetween

thewayitisnowandhowitusedtobe.Patputsahandonmyarmandsqueezes,hard.

“Listen.You’vegottagetoverthatwholescarthing.”Iscoff,butshegivesmyarma

shakeandgoeson.“Realpeopledon’tjudgeeachotherbyshitlikethat.Youdon’tdothat

toothers,soyouneedtostopdoingittoyourself.”

It’snotthefirsttimewe’vehadthisconversationand,likealltheothertimeswe

have,Ireply,“You’reright.”

ButthistimePatseemsdeterminednottoletitgo.“Getoverit,Vincent.”She’snot

smilinganymore.“Unlessyoudo,you’regoingtobealonetherestofyourlife.Isthat

whatyouwant?”

Isit?

No.

IsitwhatI’veresignedmyselfto?

Yes.

ButIdon’tsharethatwithher,knowingshe’djustgooffonanotherlongwinded,if

well-meaninglecture.Instead,Idistracther,prettyskillfullyifImightsaysomyself.

“Janineisgoingtostartwonderingwhereyouare,ifyoudon’tgetgoingsoon.”

There’stheunmistakablesoundofaHemienginecomingalongthecountyroad,andmy

heartdoesthatstupiddouble-tapagain,whileheatradiatesthroughmychestandintomy

face.ThankGodI’mtoodark-skinnedforanyonetorealizeI’mblushing.Keepingmy

voicecalmandeventakesalittleeffort,butIthinkImanageit.“AndIthinkthat’s

probablySergeantPictouarriving.”

Shelookspastmeandnods.“Yep,itis.”Thenshegivesmeaglare.“Butwe’renot

finishedthisconversation.RememberwhatIsaid.”Patnodstowardtheapproaching

vehicle.“Hemaylookliketheepitomeofamachocop,buthe’ssettingoffmygay-dar,so

don’tblowitifhemakesamove.”Thenshesnickers.“Ordoblowit,ifthat’stheway

thingsgo.”

“ChristAlmighty.”Ican’tstopthelaughterthatovertakesme,evenasanotherwave

ofheat—amixtureoflust,shockandsomethinglikehorror—washesthroughme.I’m

prettysureI’vegonefromblacktopurpleorsomething,asmyfaceblazeslikeafurnace.

“Getthehelloutofhere,woman,beforeyougetmeshotorbeatentoapulp.”

Patjustgrinsandsmacksmyass.Withawavetowardthetruckshestridesoff,

leavingmetodealwithSergeantPictou.

AndhowIwanttodojustthat,howeverhewantstobedealtwith…

Ihearhisdoorslamshutandtakeadeepbreath,hopingIdon’tlookasmaniacalasI

feelasIturntofacehim.

Aplaidshirttoday,whichstretchesoverthoseshouldersandthenhangsloosepast

hischest,emphasizingthetrimnessofhisstomachandhips.Butitdoesn’tdisguisethe

solidityofhisthighsandIknow,fromwatchinghimwalkawayyesterday,thathisassis

justasfirm.High,muscularandgorgeous.

Bumboclaat.I’mgettinghard.

Swallowingconvulsively,gladthatmypoloshirtislongenoughtohopefully

disguisethefactthatI’msportingwood,Itrytogetmyselfundercontrol.I’dhatetothink

whatwouldhappenifherealizedIwashotforhim—Pat’sgay-darnotwithstanding.

Justshowhimthepuppies,findoutifhemightwantone,andthatwillbethat.

Right.

Kyle

AsIturnoffthecountyroadontothedriveleadingtothesanctuaryIimmediately

seeVincent,hisbacktome,leaningonthefrontquarterpanelofadark-blueToyota

RAV4andtalkingtotheownerPat.MygazejustzoomsinonhimandIcan’tseemtopull

itaway;tracinghiswirybuild,wonderingifhe’sasstrongandmuscularasIthink.The

wayhestands,anarmupontheroofofthevehicle,pelviscockedtooneside,emphasizes

strongshouldersandyetalsodisplaystheleannessofhiships.Havingneverseenhimin

anythingbutrelativelybaggyclothes,Ihavethedistincturgetoknowexactlywhatlies

underthem.Peelawaythelayerstogettowhatlookslikeultra-smoothdarkskin,runmy

fingersoverit,testthepowerofthemusclesbeneath.Findouthowhe’shung;whether

he’scutorintact.

Swallowing,tryingtogetmysuddenlyraggedbreathingundercontrol,Iforce

myselftostopstaringandtakestockofmysurroundings,whichwouldnormallybethe

firstthingI’ddo.

Straightaheadisasturdybarn,paintedredandmodifiedwithwindowsalongthe

length,frontedbyapavedparkingarea.Therearefieldsofclosecroppedgrassoneither

sideofthestructure,theoneontheleftsurroundedbyasix-foot-highchainlinkfence.

Beyondtheunfencedstretchofgrassthere’sanold,yellowbrickfarmhouse,maybePat’s

home,sincethere’sasignforthesanctuaryoverthebarnanditwouldmakesenseforher

toliveonsite.

Atotallyinnocuoussetting,whichmakestheextra-hardthumpingofmypulse

ridiculous.

PullingupbehindtheRAV4,I’mjustintimetoseeVincentdoubleoverlaughing

and,asIswitchofftheignition,Patreachesaroundandswatshimonthebutt.Mypalms

tingleandmycockstiffensfurther,andI’mleftwonderingifI’mlosingmymind,wishing

itweremewithmyhandsonhim.

Theseimpulses—thesethoughts—can’tbeallowedtogrow.Itisn’tthefirsttime

I’vebeenattractedtoamanIcouldn’thave,andinthepastI’vebeenabletocontrolmy

reactionswithease.

I’mstrongenoughtoignorethis.ForgetaboutthefantasiesI’dhadthenightbefore

—thefactthatI’dhadtojerkmyselfoffbeforeIcouldgotosleep.

NotwantingtogiveVincentevenaninklingofanyproblem,Iexitthetruckand

walktowardhim,seeinghimturntofaceme.We’realone,Patalreadyalmosthalfwayto

thefarmhouse,andVincentisn’tlaughinganymoreasheleansahipagainsttheSUV

again.Heisn’tevensmiling.Insteadthere’sastiffsettohisfaceandIwishhedidn’thave

ondarkglasses,soIcouldseetheexpressioninhiseyes.

“HeySergeant.”

Nothingstrangeabouthisvoiceorwords,butthehaironthebackofmyneckstirs

andashiverrushesdownmyspine.

“Vincent.”Ialmostwince,mytonesoundssoharsh.Itakeabreathandsearchfor

calm,grabbingamodicumofitandhangingonforallI’mworth.“Let’stakealookat

thosepups,eh?”

Forwhatfeelslikeforeverhedoesn’tmoveandIholdmyselfstillaswell,

wonderingwhat’sgoingthroughhishead.WhydoIfeelasthoughhe’ssizingmeupin

someway?

Finallyhepushesawayfromthevehicleandpivotstowardthebarn.“Noproblem.”

Hethrowsthewordsoverhisshoulderatmeashewalksaway.“Thisway.”

He’sagoodsixfeetaheadofmebeforeImovetofollow,andI’monautomatic

pilot.Vincentwalksthewayhetalks,witharollingrhythmandbopbetweensteps,justas

thereisbetweenhiswords.It’sasthoughhisaccenthassomehowtranslateditselfinto

movement,orhistropicalrootscomewithaninbornbeattherestoftheworldcan’thear.

Wouldthatsmooth,flowingmotion,withitssensuousextrabeat,carryoverintothe

bedroom?

Ialmoststumble,asthethoughtsendsanothershotoflustricochetingthroughmy

entiresystem.Ashereachesthebarndoorandstartstoopenit,Itakeanotherdeepbreath

andholdit,cursingmysuddenlyrampaginglibido—andhimforstirringittolife.Butby

thetimehestepsinsideI’mrelativelysurenoneofwhatI’mfeelingshowsonmyface.

“Thewhelpingkennelisjustthatway,”hesays,pointingtotheright.“Goondown.

I’mjustgoingtogetBongo.”

HewalksawaybeforeIcansayanythingandIturninthedirectionheindicated.

Takingoffmydarkglasses,sincethebarnisn’tasbrightasoutside,Ifindmyselfwishing

Icouldkeepthemontohidebehind.Andwhyishegoingtogetthatmutt?Ifhetriesto

pawnitoffonmeagain,theshit’sgoingtohitthefan.

Myinstinctstowardself-preservationareonfullalert.AttheslightestexcuseI’ll

walkawayandnotlookback.

Thewhelpingkennelislargeandsunny,withawindowatthebackbesideastable-

styledoor.OnthefloorisoneofthebiggestwhelpingboxesI’veeverseen,seeminglyfull

ofpuppies.There’snowaytofigureouthowmanythereareinthereastheyjumpup,

tryingtoseeoverthehighsidesofthebox.It’sjustonemassofwriggling,yippinggolden

fuzz,withrandomblacknosesandeyesappearinganddisappearing.There’snosignof

themotherandIwonderifshe’sbeensuffocatedinthemeleebeforeInoticethetipofa

tailandrealizeshe’sclimbedoutandislyingbetweenthewallandthebox.

OverthecacophonyofpuppywhinesandbarkingIcan’thearVincent’sfootsteps

butIknowhe’scomingandturntofacehim.He’slookingdownatBongo,speaking

softly,andtheloose-limbedrhythmofhiswalkcausesanothercrazyjoltofneedtotighten

myabdominalmuscles.Iswitchmyattentiontothedog,hopingthatwillgivemea

chancetoregulatemypulserate.

Itworks.I’veneverseenajauntierwalkonadog.Nopurebredcouldcompete,and

justlookingathimmakesmegiveasnortofsuppressedlaughter.Heain’tprettybuthe’s

damnnearirresistible.StoopingdownIbeckontohimwithacrookofthefingers.

“Comeherefella.”BongolooksupatVincent,whomakesa‘goahead’gesturewith

hishand.Onlythendoesthedogspeeduptoruntome.AsIrubbehindBongo’searsand

havemyforearmsthoroughlywashedinreturn,VincentstepspastmetothekennelandI

glanceuptosay,“Youshouldtakethisdog.Healreadythinksofyouashismaster.”

“Can’t.”I’mhopinghe’llelaboratebutallhesaysis,“ComeBongo.”

BythetimeIgetup,bothVincentandBongoareinsidethekennel,thegatelatched

behindthem.Vincentopensthedooratthebacktorevealagrassyrunbehindthebuilding

andBongogoestowherethebitchislying.AsIwatch,mananddoggentlycoaxMissy

outofherhideawayandeventuallysheslinksoutthedooraheadofBongo,givingme

fearfullookstheentireway.Vincentclosesthebottomhalfofthedoorandstandsfora

momentlookingoutthroughthestill-opentophalf.

“Missy’shadhardlyanyinteractionswithpeopleorotherdogs.”Hesoundsangry

andsadandworried,allatthesametime.“Notsurewe’lleverbeabletogethertoapoint

wherewecanre-homeher.Shedoesn’tknowhowtoplayorevenwhattodowhenshe’s

notinatinykennel.”

Igrunt,notknowingwhattosay.TimeslikethisIwishIwerethetypeofperson

whocouldmouthplatitudes,butI’mnot.Peoplehaveaccusedmeofbeingtight-lipped,

evenheartless,butwhenthetruthwillcauseneedlesspainandthere’snothingIcandoto

alleviateit,I’dratherjustshutthefuckup.

Vincentsighsandturnsabruptly.“Anyway,comeinandtakealookatthepups.”

Bending,heunlatchesoneendofthebox,asIenterthekennelandclosethegatebehind

me.“Thereareelevenofthem,soyouhavelotsofchoice.”

Thepuppiesaregoingnuts,jumpingup,tryingtogetoutoftheboxtoVincent,soI

stoopdown,balancingontheballsofmyfeet,tounlatchtheotherendoftheflapkeeping

thematbay.

“Wait.Don’t…”

BythetimeIrealizewhathe’stryingtotellme,it’stoolate.Theflapdropsand,

beforeIcanmove,atsunamiofgoldenfurcomesoverthetopandheadsstraightforme.

“Crap—”isallIhavetimetosay,asI’mknockedflatonmyass.

ChapterThree

Vincent

SergeantPictouprettymuchdisappearsunderafloodofpuppy-love,andI’dfeel

guiltyifIwasn’tsobusylaughinglikealoon.It’snotonceortwicethepupsattackedme

inthesameway,butatleastIwasprepared.Pictouhadnocluewhatwascoming,sowhen

theyswamphimhegoesoverlikeafelledtree,flatontohisback.AndallIcanthinkis

thatifhedidn’tshowerthismorning,hewon’tneedtoafterthey’vefinishedlickingevery

inchoffleshtheycanreach.

“Fuckyou,Vincent.”He’ssomehowgottenenoughofthemoffhistorsotogoup

ontoanelbow,butthepupsaren’tmakingiteasyforhim.“Stoplaughingandcomehelp

—ergh!”

OneofthepuppieshadclimbeduponhischestandFrenchedhimashespoke.It’s

themostridiculousthingI’veseeninthelongesttime,andhispissedexpressionjust

makesmelaughalltheharder.Helevershimselfupalittlehigher,tryingtopeelthemoff,

butforeachoneortwohegetsoffanotherthreeorfourjumphim.

“Ifyoudon’tcomegetthemoffme,sohelpmeGod,I’llshootyouwhereyou

stand.”

Thatmakesmedoubleover.Big,badBabylon,SergeantPictou,broughtdownbya

packofGoldenRetrieverpuppies.Then,suddenly,IhearsomethingI’veneverheard

before,anditfreezesmewhereIstand.

Laughter.

Deep,rollinglaughter.

FromKylePictou.

I’mprettysureI’veneverevenseenhimsmile.NowIknowI’mstaring,andIcan’t

helpit.He’sagood-lookingmantobeginwithbutwhenlaughing…

Hisheadisthrownback,ashetriestoavoidthepuppiesdeterminedtolickhisface,

andIhavetheperfectpositiontoseehowamusementsoftensandtransformshimfrom

handsometosomethingthatmakesmychestseizeandthebreathgettrappedthere.Ahot,

wildsensationovertakesme,joltingthroughmyveinsandmakingmewantthingsIcan’t

have.

Thoselips.

Thatlaughter.

Theglintofamusementinhiseyes,butaimedatme.

Him.Allofhim.

Theairstuckinmythroateruptsout,andI’mlaughingagain,butnotattheanticsof

thepuppiesorevenPictou’spredicament.I’mlaughingalmosthystericallyatmyself.At

theknowledgeI’monthebrinkofmakingajackassofmyselfoveramanwho’dneverbe

interestedinme.Nomatterwhat.

It’shardtoknowwhattodowiththeemotionsping-ponginginmychest.I’min

troubleandcanonlyhopethatifIcangetthepuppies,andmyself,undercontrolthese

crazyfeelingswillfade.

Theneedtearingatmygutwillgoaway.

Takingdeepbreathshelpsalittle,butI’mstilllaughingasIputthesideofthebox

inplaceandbegingrabbingpupstogetthembackin.

“Goddamn,”hesays,sittingupandwrestlingwiththelastfourpuppies.“You

could’vewarnedme.”

Amusementmakeshisvoicesomehowricher,andgoosebumpsclimbmyspineand

wraparoundtomychest.Igrabtwoofthefourandputthemoutofharm’sway.“Itried,

man,butyoucaughtmebysurprise.”

Anothergustoflaughterovertakesme,andPictoujoinsinwithariffofchuckles.

“Bullshit,”heretorts.“Ithinkyouplannedit.Paybackmaybe?”

Isnort,watchingashereachestoplacethelastofthemiscreantswiththeirsiblings.

“Hell,ifthatwasmygoalI’msureIcouldcomeupwithsomethingbetter.”

Stillsittingontheground,Pictouslidesclosertotheboxthencrosseshislegs.“No

doubt.IwaswarnedalongtimeagoabouthowwilyJamaicansare.”Leaningontheside

ofthebox,hereachesintostartplayingwiththepupsfromasaferdistance.

“Really?”Ihunkerdowntoo,butneartheotherendofthebox,justsoIwon’tbe

temptedtotouchhimaccidentally-on-purpose.“Nowwhowouldgospreadingdisgusting

rumorslikethat?”

It’sasthoughsomethinghascrackedwideopeninhim,lettingoutthesmileshe’d

beensostingywithbefore.He’sgrinning,hisattentionthankfullyonthepuppies,sinceI

can’tstopstaringatthewayhislipscurl,theslashingdimpleinhischeek.Ican’t

remembereverbeingasfascinatedbyamanbefore,notjustinterestedinorwantingto

sleepwithhim,butalmostdesperatelyyearningtogetclose.Itfeelslikestandingonthe

cliffatNegril,legstremblingatthethoughtofjumpingintotheswirlingseasofarbelow,

yetknowingitwastoolatetogoback.

“IwenttoPoliceCollegewithaJamaican,andweallusedtolaughwheneverhe

saidsomethingwedidn’tunderstand.Untiloneofourinstructorspointedoutthatifwe

weresmartwewouldtaketheopportunitytolearnasmuchaswecouldabouthisculture,

sincemanyofuswouldwindupworkingareaswhereJamaicanslived.”

“Yeah.”HeturnstolookatmeandItearmygazeawayfromhisface,afraidhe’ll

realizeI’vebeenstaringathimlikeanidiot.“We’reprettymucheverywhere.”

“Calvin,theJamaicanguy,explainedaboutthecursewords…”There’salittle

pause,thenhegoeson.“What’swithyouguys’obsessionwithbutts?Rass.Bumbo.He

saidthosebothmeanass.”

Christ.Hewouldn’tliketoknowtheobsessionIhaverightnowwithhisass.Idon’t

evenknowwhattosay,orwheretolook,soIreachforoneofthepupsandholditagainst

mychest.Exhaustedfromalltheexcitement,itcurlsupwithitsfaceinmyneck.“Dunno.

Backinpiratedaysbumbousedtobeakindofpunchmadefromrum,waterandnutmeg,

butIdon’tthinkthat’stheoriginofthecurses.AndTrinidadiansuserassthewayyoujust

used‘butt’.”

Hesnorts,asthoughherealizesI’mrambling,andIwatchhishandsastheypetand

ticklethepups.Lordhavemercy.Hislong,thickfingersmakemehotwithlust.Icanonly

tooeasilyimaginewhathecoulddowiththemifheputhismindtoit.

Beforehecantaketheconversationanyfurther,Iquicklyask,“Anyofthepups

strikeyourfancy?”

Pictoushrugs.“They’reallnice,andit’snotreallyuptomewhichonegetspicked,

youknow?I’lldefinitelybringDamonandmybrothertolookatthemthough.I’msure

oneofthemwouldbeperfect.”

“Good-good.”That’sitthen.Jobdone.IshouldfeelrelievedbutIdon’t.“Justgive

Patacallandsetitup.She’sevengoodabouteveningvisits,ifyougivehernotice.”

Rufflingthefurononepup’sheadafinaltime,Pictouthenputshishandsonthe

edgeoftheboxandlevershimselfupright.ThemovetakesmebysurpriseandI’mleft

lookingupathim,feelingatadisadvantage.AfterputtingthepuppyI’mholdingbackinto

thebox,Igetuptooandamsurprisedtorealizehowclosehe’sstanding.

AndIcan’tmove,althoughIknowIshould.

“Okaythen.”I’mtryingnottostammer,holdingmyselfstillsoasnottotaketheone

stepnecessarytobringourbodiestogether.Pat’swords—herassertionthathemightbe

gay—comebacktomeand,rassclaat,Iwanttotestit,takethechancethatitmightbe

true.ButIdon’tdare.EventhoughI’mnowasolidcitizen,Ican’taffordtohaveacop

withavendettaafterme.“I’llgetBongoandMissybackin,andwecango.”

“Sure.”Buthedoesn’tmoveeither,andIseehisgazeflickdown,tomymouthI

think,andmyheartratekicksupanothernotch.Hispostureandtheintentlookonhisface

keepsmerightthere,needandanticipationrisinglikesmokeinmybelly.“Soundslikea

plan.”

Thenhiseyesflickeragain,andIknowhe’slookingatmyscar.Coldwaterwashes

throughmylimbs,butinsteadofmakingmeweak,itgivesmethestrengthIneedtoturn

away.Headingtothestabledoor,Isay,“JustcallPatwhenyouworkitoutwithyour

brother.”Iknowmyvoicesoundsstrange,andit’sbecauseangeratmyselfanda

ridiculoussenseofdisappointmentarecloggingmythroat.Fool-foolman,tothinkthere

wasevenachance…“She’llsetyouup.”

Shebetter,becauseIplannevertohavetoseeSergeantKylePictouagain,aslong

asIlive.

Kyle

Vincenttakesmebysurprisewhenheturnsaway,andhismoveleavesme

flounderingslightly.

Somewhereinthemiddleofitall—watchinghim,seeinghisreactiontoMissy,his

interactionwiththepuppiesandevenBongo—IrealizedmyattractiontoVincentcouldn’t

beignored.Maybeevenshouldn’tbe,althoughtherisksseemtoheavilyoutweighthe

benefits.WhenI’mthinkingwithmybrainratherthanmydickanyway.ButI’mbeing

pulledtohimsostronglyIdon’tthinkIcanresistwithoutbeinghitovertheheadand

draggedaway.WhenIcaughthimwatchingmeacoupleoftimes,inawaythatmademy

pulsegocrazyandmycockrockhard,IknewifIdidn’tmakeamoveI’dregretittherest

ofmylife.Ineededtoknowwhetherthisattractioncouldgofurther.Couldn’twalkaway

withoutfindingout.

Stupid?Completely.Ormaybemoreofacalculatedrisk,Ireassuremyself,hoping

mymathissound.

Now,ashewalkstowardthedoortoletthedogsbackin,I’msureIdidn’timagine

theexpressioninhiseyesasIcrowdedhim,thedesiremakinghispupilshuge,turningthe

dark-brownirisesblack.Andtherewasnowayhecouldn’tseethatIwantedhimtoo.I’d

madenoefforttohideit,needingtoseehisreaction.Didherealizehe’dlickedthecorner

ofhismouthaswestoodstaringateachother?Thatseeingitmademealmostgrabhim

rightthereandthen?

Iwouldhavetoo,ifhehadn’tblownmeoff.

HadIreadthewholesituationwrong?

Squeezingmyeyesshutforamoment,Itrytogobackovereverything,re-evaluate

whatIsaid,whathesaid,theexpressionsonhisface—everything.

“Bumboclaat…”

It’salmostawhisper,butsofullofshockmyeyessnapopen,andI’mmovingto

joinhimatthedoorbeforeIeventhinkaboutit,myhandautomaticallyreachingforthe

sidearmthatisn’tthere.Gettingtothedoor,Ilookout,notsurewhatI’llsee.

Iseethedogs—nothingelse—althoughIscanthedistantlineoftreesandlean

slightlyouttocheckthesidesofthebuilding.

“Whatisit?”Ikeepmyvoicedowntoo,justtobecareful.

“LookatMissy.”

SoIdo,andseeherstandingthere,whileBongocrouchesinfrontofher,hisbuttin

theair,tailwagginglikecrazy.Thensuddenly,sortofstiffly,asthoughshe’snotsurewhat

thehellshe’sdoing,theGoldenRetrievermakesafeintatthemutt,hoppingforwardonce.

ImmediatelyBongospringsback,thenforwardagain,andMissyjumpsbackinturn.But

she’snotscared.Hertailiswaggingtoo.

“She’splaying.”Vincentsaysitasthoughit’sthemostextraordinarythinginthe

world.“Rass,bwoy.It’sadayformiracles.”

Somethinginhistonemakesmelookathisprofileandmovealittleclosertohis

side.Hedoesn’tmoveaway.

“Whatothermiracleshaveyouwitnessedtoday?”

Iseehiminhale,hischestexpandingonthedeepdraughtofair.Thenhelooksatme

outofthecornerofhiseye.“Iheardyoulaugh.”

Whydoesthatmakemeashiver?HowisitI’msuddenlysure—absolutelypositive

—I’mgoingtohavesexwiththisman,ordietrying?

“Andthatwasmiraculous?”

“Yeah.”Ihavemychestupagainsthisshouldernow,leaningintohim,andhestill

hasn’ttriedtoshiftaway.“Itwas.”

“Why?”

Vincentshakeshishead,notreplyingforamoment.Ibreatheinhisscent—soap,a

hintofsweat,andawarmundertoneIknowisjusthim—asIwaitforhimtospeak.My

heart’shammeringathiscloseness,atthethoughtofwhatmightbeabouttohappen.

“WeusedtocallyouRobocop.”

Hesaysitasthoughthatshouldbeexplanationenoughand,strangely,itis.

“That’smystreetpersona,notallIam.”

Butitisabigpartand,forthefirsttime,Iwonderhowmuchit’sbledoverintomy

personallife.Alot,ifI’mhonest.Ilearnedearlyoninthejobnottoshowanyemotion,

notevensimpleamusement,becauseonceIletonethroughtoomanyothersmightfollow.

Itputsdistancebetweenmeandotherpeople—muchneededdistancewhenI’mtryingso

hardnottoletanyoneknowwhoIreallyam.

What’sdifferentaboutthissituation,abouthim,thatmakesmetaketherisk?Idon’t

know,butIcan’tturnback.It’salreadytoolate.SoIputmyarmaroundhisbackandcup

thesideofhisneck.Thetendonsarecordedandhispulsedrums,rapidandheavy,beneath

mypalm.Itgivesmeextraconfidence,eventhoughhestillhasn’tmoved,won’tturnto

lookatme.

“WouldRobocopdothis?”Iwhisperrightintohisear,beforenudgingthelobeaside

andlickingthehollowbehindit.

Heshudders.Thesensationtravelsthroughhimintomylipsandchest,andhe

makesaharsh,rushedsound—partmoan,partlaugh—thatjustmakesthefireinmygut

flarehotter.

“Orthis?”

Ireachwithmyfreehandandcuphiscrotchthroughhisshirtandjeans,andthis

timewebothmoan.He’shard—sohard—andasIsqueezeslightlythere’san

unmistakablepulseatthebase,whichiscradledbymyfingers.

Heinhalesaudibly,thebreathhitchingslightlyasit’sdrawnintohischest.“I…

Sergeant…”

“Shit.”Hearinghimusemyrankannoysme.Ishethinkingofmeasacop,orasa

man?Couldhebethisarousedifitweretheformer,andhewasafraidofthe

consequencesifhetoldmetogetlost?“Ihavemyhandonyourcock.Don’tyouthink

‘Kyle’wouldbemoreappropriate?”

Thecornerofhismouthtwitchesupwardforasecondandheturnshisheadslightly,

justenoughtolookatmethroughthecornerofhiseyeagain.“Yeah.You’reprobably

right.”

That’swhenIrealizewhattheproblemis,whyhe’shesitating.Atleast,IthinkIdo.

Lettinggoofhiscrotch,Ibringthathandupandputitonhischeek,rightoverhis

scar.Vincentflinches,wouldhavepulledawayifIgavehimthechance.ButIdon’t.

Itightenmygripslightly,turninghisheaduntilhehasnochoicebuttofaceme.

He’sexpressionless—carefullyso,Ithink—butthere’salsosomethinginhiseyestelling

menottogiveup.

“Forgetallthereasonsweshouldn’tdothis.”I’musingatoneclosetomycop

voice,justsoIdon’tletmyselfplead.“ForgetI’maBabylon.Forgethowwemet.

Forget…”Irunmyfingerdownhisscar,fromthecornerofhiseyetohismouth,thenlet

itlingerthere.“Forgetthistoo,becauseitdoesn’tmeananythingtome.”Timetoask

outright.Iknowit,buthavetotakeadeepbreathbeforeIcan.“Righthereandnow,

Vincent,whatdoyouwant?”

Amusclejumpsinthesideofhisjawandhisgazesearchesmine.Idon’tknowwhat

hesees,butIcanonlyhopeit’senough.

“Rassclaat,”hecurses,justbeforeheturnsfullytofaceme.

Wemeethalfway,bothinstinctivelymovingintothekissand,asourlipsmeet,I’m

joltedbythesuddenescalationofdesirethatsingesmefromtheinsideout.

MaybeIshouldbegoingslow,testing,seducing,butIcan’t.NotwhenVincent

openshislipsassoonasmytonguetouchesthemandhisarmscomearoundme,pulling

mesoclosewe’repracticallyfusedtogetherfrommouthstohips.

Mybrainstutters,shortcircuitsatthetasteandfeelofhim,theenergycrackling

betweenusandshiveringundermyskin.Theworldcontracts,shrinksdowntojusthim;

thehardbodypressedtomine,thefull,mobilelips,moistheatofhismouth,andtangleof

ourtongues.OverthethunderofbloodthroughmyearsIhearlow,rushedsounds—sexy,

I-want-it-nowmumblesandgrunts—andIcan’ttellwhichofusismakingthem,onlythat

they’returningmeonevenmore.

We’rerockingagainsteachother,cocktocock,legsshiftingaswetrytofindthe

sweetspot,eachmovementjustpushingmedeeperintotheexperience.Suddenlyhis

handsareonmybareback,havingfoundtheirwaybeneathbothmyshirtandthet-shirt

underit,thehot,strongfingersdiggingintomymuscles.Itmakesmewanttogethisshirt

off,getridofthebarriersbetweenus.Makesmedesperatetobeskin-to-skinwithhim,

touchhimallover.

ThenVincentrollshiships,makinghiscockslideandtwistacrossmineinamotion

sosmooth,sointenselylust-filled,Ifreeze,ontheedgeofexplodinglikeakidwatching

hisfirstporno.

Now.Iwanthimnow.

ButIdon’twanttofuckhimonaconcretefloor,inakennel,wherewecouldbe

discoveredatanytime.WithashudderItearmymouthfromhisandtakeahalf-stepback,

becauseifIdon’tI’mnotsureI’llbeabletorestrainmyself.Iforcemyeyesopen,as

Vincent’shandstightenforamomentonmysides,asiftopullmebackin.Thenthey

slideawayandItakeadeepbreath,oursurroundingstrulycomingintofocus.It’sonly

thenIrealizethatatsomepointI’dturnedVincent’sbacktothebarnwall,hadbeen

practicallyholdinghimdown,devouringhim.

Iwantmore.

“Comehomewithme.”

Shit.Itdoesn’tsoundmuchlikeaninvitation.Morelikeademand.ButIdon’tknow

howtosoftenit—don’tknowifIwantto.I’mnotlookingforarelationship,orevena

friends-with-benefitssituation.

I’mlookingforrightnow.Orassoonashumanlypossible.

Vincent’seyesarestillclosed,andhesucksonhislowerlipforasecond.Doeshe

stilltastemethere?Whenhiseyelidsriseit’sonlypartway,soIseejustagleambeneath

them.It’ssexy,hisexpression—theheavyeyesanddampmouth—likehe’shighor

comingdownfromanorgasm.Thenheblinksacoupletimesandlooksaway.

Myvoiceisstillcop-hardwhenIsay,“Ifyouwanttofinishwhatwe’vestarted,

comehomewithme.”

I’mpushinghimand,whenhedoesn’trespond,Iwanttopushmore.ButbeforeI

candecidewhattosay,howtogethimtoagree,hesighsandnods.

“Yeah.”Hismouthtwistsinthathabitualswift,wryway.“Okay.”Andthenheslips

pastme,andI’mleftlookingathisback,ashereachesforthelatchonthestabledoor.

“I’llbringthedogsinandgetthisplacelockedup.Waitformeoutside.”

Hedoesn’tsoundhappy,andIhesitate.Nodoubtthere’ssomethingIshouldsay,but

histoneandmyneedmakeitimpossibletofigureoutwhat.AllIcanconcentrateonisthe

factthathesaid“yes”.SoIturnandwalktowardthegate,followinginstructions,not

willingtorocktheboatevenslightly.I’moutinthecorridor,closingthekennelgate

behindme,whenhecallsmyname.Heartdroppingintomystomach,Ireluctantlylook

back,expectinghimtosayhe’schangedhismind.

Vincenthashisbackturnedtomewhenhesays,“Noexpectations.”

Isitaquestionorastatement?Noclue.AndalthoughIhavethestupidurgetoadd,

But…?Iknowbetter,andjustsay,“Yeah.”

ThenIheadoutside,notgivinghimachancetorespond.

ChapterFour

Vincent

Theremustbetwentytimes,whileI’mdrivingbehindKyle’strucktowardhis

house,thatItellmyselftoturnoffonanotherroad,orgostraightwhenheturns.But

althoughmybrainistellingmethisisareallybadidea,thelittlehead—buckingagainst

myzipperinadesperateattempttogetoutofmypantsandhaveagoodtime—isn’t

lettingreasonspoiltheparty.

I’mnotanimpulsiveperson…notanymore.Havingbeenslappedaroundbylifetoo

manytimestocount,Itrytothinkthingsthroughnowratherthanjustleapfirstandthen

wastetimehavingtoanalyzewhatwentwrong.

Thisfeelstoorushed,toospurofthemoment.Aweirdcombinationofmyusual

hook-ups—negotiatedafteracoupleofdrinks,someflirtingandbasic,yetimportant,

conversation—andsomethingmoresubstantial.Butit’sneitherasemi-anonymoushook-

upnoranencounterIthinkwillleadanywhere.NotthatI’mlookingforanythingmore

thanaone-and-done.Thatwillsuitmefine.No.It’sjustthisfeelingofnotknowing

anythingaboutwhat’sabouttohappen.

Idon’tevenknowwhereI’mgoing.Apparentlyoutintothemiddleofnowhere,if

thefieldsandwoodlotsoneithersideoftheroadareanyindication.We’reprobablyno

morethantenminutesoutsideofthecitybutthereareonlyacoupleofbarnsvisibleinthe

distance.NooneknowswhereIamandIshouldbemoreworriedaboutthat,Iguess,but

can’tseemtomakemyselfcare.

Myhandshaven’tstoppedshaking.

Behindallthesethoughtsandquestionsisthememoryofbeingpressedupagainst

thewall,Kyle’sbodyandkissholdingmeeffortlessly,happilycaptive.Thetasteofhim

seemstolingerinmymouth,makingmethirstyformore.Hisscentistrappedinmyshirt

andrisestotauntmeeachtimeIinhale.ThedoubtsIhave,allthethingsIreallyshouldbe

worryingaboutcan’tgaintractioninmyhead,skiddingawaybecauseofjustonekiss—

therememberingofit.

Atthispoint,allIwantisKyle,someprivacy,andastashofcondoms.

Condoms.

DoIhaveany?

It’snotsomethingIcarryaroundonaday-to-daybasis,usuallyonlystickingafew

inmywalletifI’mgoingoutwiththeintenttogetlucky.Easingupabitonthegas,Idig

mywalletoutofmybackpocket.Usingmykneestosteer,Iopenit.Ahead,Kyleputson

hisindicatorforarightturnandIslowdownevenmore,fumblingtogettheinnerflapof

thewalletoutofitsslot.Ahhhrassclaat.There’sonelonely-lookingpacketinthere.

Mutteringcursesundermybreath,hopingKyle’sbetterpreparedthanIam,Itossthe

walletontothepassengerseatandmaketheturn.Hisleftindicatorisonnowand,beyond

alineoftreesthatrunsalongasplit-railfenceperpendiculartotheroad,Iseewhatlooks

likeanoldyellowbrickfarmhousewithaneatexpanseoflawninfront.Iturnintothe

drivewayandfollowKyle’struckasitgoesdownthenarrowgraveltrackandaroundto

thebackofthehouse.

HeparksupclosetothebuildingandIpullinbesidehisvehicle,takingadeep

breathasIreachdownandturnofftheignition.AsI’mpullingthekeysout,Icansee

Kylegettingoutofhistruck.Hestartstoroundthefront,comingtowardwhereI’m

parked,andIsuddenlyremembermywallet.Rass.WhenIlookoverIseeit’sontheseat

whereI’dflungit,thecondomhalfoutandveryobvious.Droppingmykeysontomylap,

Igrabthewallet,slapitclosedand,asunobtrusivelyaspossible,stuffitbackintomy

pocket.Then,takingadeepbreath,Iopenmydoorandstepout.

Kyle’swaitingatthebottomofashortflightofstairsleadinguptoasmalldeck,his

footonthefirsttread,hishandontherailing.Neitherofussayanythingaswegoupthe

fourstepsthencrossthedecktothedoor.Heseemscool,almostindifferent,hispoker

facefirmlybackinplace,whilemylegsfeellikethey’reabouttogiveoutandI’veshoved

myhandsintomybackpocketssohewon’tseethemshaking.I’mwishingforsomeofhis

calmwhenIseehimfumblehiskeysslightly,havingtomaketwotriestogetthelock

open.

HisuncharacteristicclumsinesssteadiesmeandIfindmyselfsmiling,justalittle,as

Ifollowhiminsideandtakeoffmyshades.

“Goonthrough,”hesays,toeingoffhissneakers.“Makeyourselfathome.”

Iwatchhimlinehisshoesuponarubbermatjustinsidethedoor,andIslipoffmy

loafers.Afterthrowinghiskeysanddarkglassesintoabasketconvenientlylocatedona

tablenearby,Kyledisappearsthroughanopeningtotheright.Puttingmyshoesbesidehis,

Idoasdirectedandheadintothelivingarea,visiblerightahead.

Thehouselooksasthoughit’sbeencompletelyrenovated,wallstakenouttocreate

onebigarea.There’sanarrowstaircasetotheleft,justpastthefoyer,andIdiscover

Kyle’sintheL-shapedkitchen,whichisseparatedfromthelivingareabyanisland.Water

startsrunning,andIglanceovertoseehimwashinghishands,probablytryingtogetoff

thepuppydrool.SinceI’dtakenthetimetostopanddothesamethingbeforeleavingthe

sanctuary,Ikeepgoingintothelivingroom.Toonervoustodomorethanregisterthe

casuallycomfortablesurroundingsandalmostextraordinaryneatness,Iscantheareafor

somethingtoconcentrateon.Theonlythingthatseemsoutofplaceisabookontheside

tablenexttothecouch,andIgravitatetowardit.

“ClassicGuns,”Ireadthetitle,andpickupthebook.“WithaBorchardtC-93onthe

cover.”Iglanceovertowherehe’sstanding,stillontheothersideoftheisland,dryinghis

hands.“Theauthordecidedtoseparatethedabblersfromthetruegunenthusiastsfromthe

get-go,huh?”Itapthepictureonthefrontofthebook.“Iwonderhowmanypeoplewould

evenknowwhatthisis.”

“Youknowyourguns.”

Maybeit’smyimagination,butthereseemstobeahintofaccusationinhistone.I

shrug,butkeepwatchinghimasIreply,“MyfatherwasintheJDF—JamaicaDefence

Force—soI’vebeenaroundguns,hearingaboutthem,shootingthem,sinceIwasreally

young.ItwasoneofthefewinterestsmyfatherandIshared.ForawhileIconsidered

followinginhisfootstepsandjoiningthearmy.”

Kyle’sshouldersrelaxslightly,andhiseyebrowsquirk.“Thinkyouwouldhave

likedit?”

Ican’thelpgivingalittlesnortofamusement.“Iwouldhave,untiltheothersoldiers

realizedIwasgayandbeatmetodeath.Thatwouldn’thavebeenfun.EventhoughIwas

deepintheclosetbackthen,IknewIwaslivingalie.Eventuallythetruthwouldcome

out,nomatterhowIfoughtit.”

Helooksdowntohangthetowelonsomethingbehindthecounter,ashesays,

“Yeah,Icanseethat.”

SuddenlyIdon’twantthisconversationtogoanyfurther.Ididn’tcomehereto

exchangelifestoriesorgetclosetohimemotionally,andsomethingabouthisexpression

setsoffalarmbellsinmyhead.Droppingthebookbackontothetable,Idecidetogofor

thedirectapproach.

“IthoughtyoupromisedtofinishwhatyoustartedbackatOneMoreChance?”My

hoodstandhasgonedownwiththeconversation,butIcupmycrotchandslidemyhandup

anddown,notleavinganydoubtaboutwhatImean.Andit’stheinstantsharpeningofhis

gaze,ratherthantouchingmyself,thatmakesmehardenagain.“Whendoesthathappen?”

Hemovesfast,roundingtheislandandcomingtomysideseeminglyinaninstant.

Whenhishandclosesaroundmybicepawaveofheatfansoutfromhisstronggripand

headsstraighttomycock.

“Now,”hesays.“Rightnow.”

Buthedoesn’ttrytokissmeoranything,onlystartsmarchingmetowardthe

staircasebacknearthedoorweenteredthehousethrough.Beingtowedalonglikethat

makesmechuckle,andKyleshootsmealook.

“What’ssofunny?”

“IfeellikeI’munderarrestandbeingdraggedintothecopshop.”

Hestopsabruptly,somuchsothatItakeanotherstepandalmoststumblewhenhe

letsgomyarm.

“Shit.”Helookshorrified.“I’msorry.Ididn’tmeanto—”

Iliftmyhandandstophimmid-sentence.“Don’tpayitnomind.Itwaskindof

hot.”

Thatfreezeshimforanotherheartbeatandthenhe’smoving,crowdingme,backing

meagainstthewall,andmypulsegoescrazy.Iwasn’tblowingsmokewhenIsaidhaving

himallseriousandtake-chargewasaturn-on,andnow,ashestaresatmewiththosedark,

intenteyes,I’mhavingahardtimebreathing.

“SoyoulikewhenIgoallBabylononyou,huh?”He’srightupinmyface,butnot

touchingme,andIholdstillalthoughIwanttoreachoutandpullhimcloser.Thenhe

nudgesmyinneranklewithhisfoot.“Wantmetosearchyou?Patyoudown?”

Theaircatchesinmythroat,cloggingwhateverwordsImighthavesaid.Insteadof

tryingtoanswer,Iinchmylegsapart.

“Yeah,”hesays,lowandhard.“Spread’em,Vincent.Letmeseewhatyougot.”

Oh,I’llshowhimwhatI’vegotalright…later.But,fornow,Iwanttoseehowfar

he’llgo.SoIassumeapositionIhaven’tbeeninforalongtime—legsalittlemorethan

hipdistanceapart,armsouttothesideandagainstthewallbehindme.

Kylestretcheshisarmsoutsohishandstouchmine.There’snootherpointof

contactbetweenus,buthe’ssocloseIfeelhisbreathacrossmyfaceandseetheheat

sparkinginhiseyes,contrastingtohisstoiccopexpression.

Thenhestartstofriskme,butit’snotlikeanysearchI’veeverhadbefore.His

handsbrushovermypalmsthendowntomywrists.Movingslowly,hishandslightly

gripping,Kyletracesapathalongbothmyarmsuntilhe’sencirclingmyneck.Allthe

timehisgazehasn’tleftmine,butboresintome,tellingmewithoutwordshe’slikingthis

weird,arousingforeplayasmuchasIam.

“Fullsearch,Ithink,foramanlikeyou.”

Ahotshivergoesdownmyspineathiswhisper,andIswallowhardbeforeIanswer,

“Betterbecareful,officer.Youmightfindmorethanyou’relookingfor.”

“Idon’tthinkIwill.”Hisfingersslipbehindmyears,strokinginaseductiveparody

ofasearch,usuallyusedwhenasuspecthaslonghair.“ButI’llbearthewarninginmind.”

BeforeIrealizewhathe’sabouttodo,Kyledipshisheadtoonesideandswirlshis

tonguearoundtheedgeofmyearandthendipsthetipinside.Ishudder,goosebumps

eruptingovermytorsoandtighteningmynipples.

“Nothingthere,”hesays,keepinghismouthrightthere,makingmeshiver.

Thenheswitchessidesanddoesthesamethingtomyotherear.Meantime,almost

withoutmenoticing,hishandshaveslidovermyshouldersandnowrestagainstmyribs.

Hestepsbackslightly,andbrieflycloseshisfistsonmypolobeforelettingitgo.

“Losetheshirt,Williams.Ineedtoseewhatyou’rehidingunderthere.”

Idon’thesitate,justreachbehindmyheadandpullthegarmentoff.Lettingitfall

frommyhandtothefloor,IgobacktothepositionIwasin.Kyle’sgazetakesaslow,

thoroughtouracrossmychestanddowntomystomach—thenlower.IswearIfeelitlike

aburstofsunlightonmycrotch,searingmeinthebestpossiblewayandmakingmy

breathingandheartbeatgointooverdrive.

“Turnaround.”

AlthoughI’dlovetokeepwatchinghim,Iagainfollowhiscommand,pivotingto

facethewall,armsspreadandbracedagainstthesmoothplaster,legsparted.Whenhe

movesupclosebehindmetoputhishandsonmyhipsIliterallystarttosweat,theheat

betweenusissointense.Hereachesintomybackpocket—slowly,lettingmefeelevery

motion—andpullsoutmywallet.Puttinghisarmslooselyaroundmywaist,heopensit,

lookingovermyshouldertoseethecontents.

“Driver’slicense,Williams,VincentJacob.Accesscard.WorkIDforChrome

BusinessSolutions.SINcard.Variouscreditcards,allinthesamename.”Heflicksopen

theinnerflapandwhenhespeaksagainhislipsarerightbesidemyear,sothewords

rumbleandtickleintoit.“Condom.”

“Iwasascout,”Imumble.“Alwaysbeprepared.”

Kyledropsthewalletontothestepbesideus,andbunchesthefrontpocketsofmy

jeansinhishands,tighteningthefabricofmypantsalmostpainfullyovermyachingdick.

“Doyouhaveanythingonyouthatwillstickme,hurtme,causemeharm?”

It’saparaphrasingoftheusualquestionasked,probablyallovertheworld,by

policeofficersbutinthiscontextthere’sonlyoneanswerIcangive.

“Yeah.”

Hisfingerstightenonmealittlemore,andIfeelhiscockbrushagainstmyass.

“Showme.”

Restingmyforeheadagainstthewall,Idropmyhandstomyfly,andthenpause.

“Whataboutthewarningtotakeitoutslowlyandkeepmyhandswhereyoucansee

them?”

Kylemakesasoundsuspiciouslylikeagrowl,andpunctuatesitwithaniponmy

shoulder.“Doyouthinkyou’reinapositiontotease?”

Rockingmyhipsbackbringsourbodiestogetherforjustasecond,butIknowI’ve

mademypointwhenthatsoundrumblesthroughhischestagain.Idon’tbothertosay

anythingmore,juststartunbucklingmybelt.Myearsarerushingwiththesoundofour

breathing,sawinginandoutofourchests,andI’msuddenlysurprisedathowsteadymy

handsare.They’dbeenshakingfromthemomenthe’dfirsttouchedmebackatthe

kennel,butnowIhavenotroublewithbelt,buttonorzipper.

HepusheshishandsintothesidesofmynowsaggingpantsandIgroansilentlyat

thestrong,quickshovethattakesbothtrousersandbriefsdownpastmyhips,theslight

roughnessofhispalmsastheyslideagainstmyskin.I’mnotsureIwon’tlosecontrolif

hetouchesmycock—Iwanthimbad…bad,bad,bad.

ButKylesimplypushesmyclothesdown,runninghispalmsalongmythighsuntil

myjeansdroptopoolaroundmyankles.Whenhestraightens,Ibracemyselfagainstthe

wallonmyforearmsandholdmybreath,waitingtoseewhathe’lldonext.Hisstepping

tothesidebringshimintomylineofsight,andIturnmyheadjustfarenoughtoseehis

expression.I’mintimetowatchhisgazerisefrommycrotchtomyface.

“Thatcouldbeclassifiedasadangerousweapon,Williams.Coulddobodilyharm.”

Idon’tknowifthat’saninvitationorawarning—if,likeme,helikesbeingtopor

bottom,dependingonthesituationormood—butIcan’thelpsmiling.

“I’llbecareful.Wouldn’twanttoaddassaulttomysheet.”

“It’snotassaultifit’sconsensual.Andinthiscaseitwouldbe.”

Hiseyesareblack,hotandalittlewild,andhe’sflushed,sweatgleamingathis

hairlineandabovehisupperlip.Justlikethat,betweenoneshallowbreathandthenext,

theauraoffunandteasingbetweenusfallsaway,andIdon’twanttoplayanymore.I

wanttotouchhim,tastehim,fuckhimandbefuckedsenselessbyhim.Usingmyfeet,I

getmyjeansandunderwearoff,nottakingmygazeawayfromhis,seeinginmy

peripheralvisionthewayhisfingersflex,asthoughanticipatingputtinghishandsonme

again.WhenI’mnaked,Istraightenandturntofacehim,thenlookdownatmyself.Man,

I’mhard.HarderthanIcanrememberbeingforalongtime.Andsorevveduptheheadof

mycockisslickwithpre-cum.Bringingmygazebackuptohis,Iliftmyeyebrows.

“Waantest,SergeantPictou?”Thepatoiscomesoutthickerthanitshould,like

sometimeshappenswhenI’mexcited,andIshakemyhead.ButbeforeIcaninterpretit

forhim—say,‘Youwanttotestthatout?Giveitatry?’—hesmiles,andmybellytightens

atthesight.

“Yeah,Vincent.Cometest.”

ChapterFive

Kyle

IstepasidetoletVincentpass,gesturingforhimtoprecedemeupthestairs,butI

don’ttouchhim.Ican’t,unlessIintendtothrowhimdownonthestaircaseandscrewhim

there.Idon’ttrustmyselfnotto.

Besides,theviewofhimnaked,climbingthestepsaheadofme,istoogoodtomiss.

Iwasrightabouthisbody.It’sleanbutmuscular,thedarkskinmovingandripplingover

thetightmusclesbeneathwitheachstep.Iswallow,realizeI’mliterallysalivatingasI

silentlydevourthesightofhim.Hegoesupthosestepswithacockyswagger,seemingly

unconcernedbyhisnudityorthefactthatwe’reheadingformybedroom—neitherof

thosethingsIcanpretendindifferenceto.BoththingsIcanhardlybelieveandyetam

mentallyprayingarerealandnotsomecrazyfigmentofmyimagination.

Hegetstothelandingatthetopandglancesdowntheotherstaircaseleadingtothe

frontofthehouse,thenatthecorridoraboveandtwostepsfartherupfromwherehe’s

standing.Puttinghishandonthenewelpost,hegivesmeaheavy-liddedlookoverhis

shoulder,eyebrowsraised.

“Whichway?”

“Upandtotheright,”Isay.Well,morelikegrowl,myvoiceissolowandgravelly.

“Lastdoorontheleft.”

I’vealreadyunbuttonedmyshirtandshruggeditoffasIwasclimbingthestairs

and,asIfollowVincentdownthecorridor,IpulledmyT-shirtofftoo.I’mrightbehind

himwhenhestepsintothebedroomandheadstowardthebed.Iwanttofollowhim,but

decidetohalf-closetheblindstocutsomeofthemiddayglarefirst,soImovetothe

window,tossingtheclothesinmyhandontoachairasI’mpassing.WhenIhavethe

blindsadjusted,Iturn,myhandsalreadyworkingthefasteningsonmyfly,expectingto

findhimonthebed.Buthe’srightthere,standingjustafewinchesaway.

“Youtaketoolong,man.”Hebrushesmysuddenlyfrozenhandsawayfrommy

zipperandpullsthetabdown.“I’mnotwaitinganymore.”

“Hangon.Let’s—”

Iwanttotellhimthebedissofterthanthefloorandthere’snoneedtorush,buthis

fingersarealreadyinsidemypants,findingmycockandencirclingit.Andbythetimehe

sinkstohiskneesinfrontofme,mymindisblanktoeverythingbutthesensationofthe

slow,firmpumpofhisfist,theyearningforhismouthonmypulsingflesh.

“Nice,”hemutters,hisvoicethick,andIseehimlickthecornerofhismouth.My

legstremble,andabeadofpre-cumrunsdownfromthetipofmycockontohishand,

makinghisfistslideevensmootheranddrawingagroanfromme.“Yeah.Damn,that’s

realnice.”

Thenhistongueflicksoutandswipesawet,electrifyingpatharoundtheheadofmy

dickandIstopbreathingaltogether,asmyeyesrollbackinmyhead.Whenhishandis

replacedbythehotsuctionofhismouthandthefirm,silkycaressesofhistongue,Igrab

holdofhisheadtosteadymyself,alreadyonthebrinkofcoming.

Hemakesasounddeepinhisthroatthat’ssorifewithpleasureIgroanagain,my

ownenjoymentheightenedbytheknowledgethathe’slikingblowingmeasmuchasI’m

lovinghavinghimdoit.

Vincent’sfingerstugatthesidesofmyjeans,easingthemandmybriefsdownuntil

they’reatmyknees.Onehandcomesbackuptogripmyass,theothercupsmyballs,

fingersrollingandpressing.Itrytowidenmystanceandgivehimbetteraccess,butI’m

trapped.AllIcandoishangonandlethimdowhateverhewants—whichseemsto

includedrivingmeinsane.Overandoverheworksmewithhislipsandtongue,keepinga

varyingdegreeofsuctiongoingwithhismouth,occasionallylettingmyerectionslipfree

sohecanlickfromthetiptotherootandbackup.

Pullingmylengthdeepintohismouth,Vincentpauses,hisonlymovementtheslow,

twistingswipesofhistongueontheundersideofmydick.Heatfiresdownmyspineand

settlesinmygut,churning,makingmyballstingleandeveryhaironmybodystandup.

Whenhepullsbackslightly,Icanfinallytakeabreath,buttheinhalationiscutshortwhen

heimmediatelytakesmeallthewaybackin.

Heswallows,histhroatclosingovertheheadofmydick,histonguepressingthe

shaftupagainsthispalate,hisentiremouthtighteningforasplit-secondaroundmelikea

hot,dampfist.

Iloseit.Completely,utterly.

IthinkImighthavemadesomecrazysound,butIcan’thearitthroughtherushof

bloodinmyears.ThinkI’mbeingtooroughasIthrustintohismouth,butIcan’tstop

myself.I’mcoming.Hard.Toofastformylikingtoo,butIcan’tholditback.

Anditseemstogoonforever.Spurtafterspurtjettingfrommytrembling,spasming

body,causingmylegstolockandmyhipstojerkasifI’vebeenTazered.Myeyesare

clenchedshutsotightwhitestarburstsdancebehindmylids.

Whentheorgasmfinallyfades,leavingmeweakandstunned,Ifindmyself

practicallydoubledover,myhandsonVincent’sshoulders,whileheeffortlesslysupports

mostofmyweight.He’slookingupatmewiththatsexy,heavy-liddedexpression,aslight

smiletippingtheunscarredcornerofhismouth.

“Youalrightthere,man?”

“Shit,”isallIcansay,mybrainstillreeling.“Shit.You’retryingtokillme.”

Helaughssoftly.“Mmm…butwhatawaytogo,eh?”Hereachesdownandtapsmy

rightankle,saying,“Lift.”

IdoasI’mtold,andhepullsmypantsandunderwearofffirstonefootandthenthe

other.Assoonashe’sfinishedItakemyweightoffhim,althoughmylegsstillfeelas

thoughthey’reabouttogiveway,andhestands.Puttingonehandonhisnapeandthe

otheraroundhiswaist,Ipullhimcloseandkisshim—hard.Idon’tknowwhyIfeelthe

needtoputthekindofforceintoitthatIdo,butIdon’tholdback.Yeah,okay,I’mpretty

muchtryingtoeathimwholeishowitfeels,buthedoesn’tseemtomind.WhenIfinally

pullmylipsawayfromhis,hedipshisheadtothesideinthatwayhedoeswhenhe’s

smiling,soIcanonlyseetheunscarredsideofhisface.

“Don’tdothat.”

Ihadn’tmeanttosayanything,butthewordsjustpopout.Vincent’seyebrowsquirk

up.“What?”

Slidingmyhandfromhisnapetohischeek,Iturnhimbacktofacemefully.“Don’t

turnyourheadawaywhenyousmile.Ican’tseeyoureyeswhenyoudo.”

Thoseeyesarestaringatme,questioning,butthenheshrugsslightly.“Mostpeople

findit…unattractive.”Heshrugsagain.“It’sjusteasier.”

Ihavetheurgetotellhimthere’snothingeasyaboutwhat’shappeningbetweenus,

butthat’snotreallytrue.It’sjustsex—althoughifwhatjusthappenedisanyindication,

extremelyhotsex—andnothingmore.SoIjustshrugtoo.“I’macop.I’veseensome

reallyuglythings.Yourscardoesn’tbotherme,butitdoesbothermewhenIcan’tread

youreyes.”

Foralongmomenthedoesn’tsayanything,thenhesmirks.“Whatyouthinkyou

goingtosee,eh?”

Notgoingthere.Mostpeoplehavenoideahowmuchtheireyesgiveawaywhen

someoneknowswhattolookforandhowtocombinewhattheyseewithbodylanguage.

Forinstance,rightnow,althoughhe’ssmirking,Iseehowvulnerablefacingmehead-on

makeshimfeel,andI’malmostsorryIsaidanything.ButIdon’treallyregretit.Forsome

unknownreasonIcan’tstandthethoughtofhimhidingfromme.

Insteadoftellinghimthat,Ipullhimincloserandwhisperinhisear,“I’mgonna

seeyouwantingme.”

Hedoesoneofthoseslowswivelsofhiships,makinghisdickslideacrossmine,

andsays,thelaughterclearinhisvoice,“Canseethatwithoutlookingatmyface.”

Andthatmakesmelaughtooandwanttokisshimagain,soIdo,whilewalkinghim

backwardstothebed.Iowehimfortheblowjobandintendtopayhimback…with

interest.Hejustreducedmetoashaking,mindlesssexmaniacand,asgoodasitwas,I

kindofresentittoo.I’musedtobeingincontrol,evenofsex—whenithappensandhow,

eventheintensity—andsincehejustblewthatoutofthewater,Idon’twanttobetheonly

onedrivennuts.Iwanthimoutofcontroltoo.

Wefallontothebed,hishandsclutchingmyass,mineholdinghishead,whileItake

someofmyweightoffhimbystayinguponmyelbows.HiseyesarestilllaughingwhenI

breakoffthekissandliftmyheadtolookdownathim,buthisbreathingisalloverthe

placeandhishipsaremoving,asbesttheycanwithmeontopofhim,makinghisdick

slideagainstthecreaseofmythigh.I’mnotusedtosexbeingfun,butIsmiledownat

him,likingthetwinkleinhiseyes.

ThenIsetouttofindwhatwillmakehimascrazyasIfeel.

Vincent

Ahh…Rassbwoy.

I’masweating,shaking,moaningwreck,unabletodoanythingbutliehereandtake

thetortureKyleSgt.BumboclaatPictouisdishingout.Iguessthesurpriseblowjobjust

firedhimup,whenwhatI’dreallyintendedwastotaketheedgeoff.I’dexpected

reciprocity,butnotlikethis.

Lyingpartiallyonmyside,partiallyonmystomach,IhaveKylewedgedbetween

mythighs,mytopmostlegbentuptowardmychest.Mycockisinhismouthatthe

moment,andonethickfingerisinmyass,slowlyworkinginandoutwithacorkscrewing

motion.IwanttocomesobadI’malmostinpain,butifwhat’shappenedsofarisany

indication,assoonasIgetclose,he’llpullhismouthawayandhisfingerwillgostilluntil

theurgencypasses.

Ifhe’snotcareful,I’mgoingshootmyloadalloverhisface.Idon’tthink,thistime,

he’llbeabletostopme,theneedisthatacute.

ButIdon’tgettothatpointagainbeforehepullsawayandslidesupthebeduntil

we’reface-to-face.There’salittlecomfortinthefactthathe’sbreathingashardasIam,

hiseyessparkinghotthewayI’vediscoveredtheydowhenhe’sturnedon.Andhe’shard

again.

“Iwanttofuckyou,Vincent.”

Mymouthisdry,andIlickmylowerlipbeforeIcananswer.“Yeah.Doitnow.”I

almostadd“please”butholdbackatthelastmoment,althoughwhyIdoissomethingI’ll

havetothinkaboutlater.

Hekissesme—oneofthosemind-bending,ravenouskisseshe’ssoincrediblygood

atgiving—thensitsuptoreachforoneofthecondomshe’dputonthebedsidetable.I

watchhimtearthepacketopenwithhisteethandthenrollthelatexsheathontohiscock,

wonderingifIshouldmentionit’sbeenawhilesinceIhadsex,maybeaskhimtogoeasy

atfirst.Heisn’textraordinarilylong,buthiscockisprettythick,andIknowthere’sa

betterthanaveragechanceit’llhurtlikehellatfirst.Yet,Idon’twanttosayanything,

preferringtojustletithappenandseehowheflexes.I’velearnedyoucantellalotabouta

manbythewayhefucks;howmuchcarehetakeswhentherearenoparameterssetand

he’slefttohisowndevices.

WhileI’mcontemplatingallthat,he’sfinishedputtingonthecondomandhasa

bottleoflubeinhishand.That’sagoodsignanyway.Herollstowardme,andIsuddenly

realizehe’splanningaface-to-facefuck.Panicfiresdownmyspineand,althoughit’s

obvioushe’scominginforanotherkiss,Irollawayandtuckmykneesupunderme,so

myassisintheairandmyfaceisburiedinapillow.Can’tbeclearerthanthatbut,incase

hehasanydoubtsaboutwhatI’mtellinghim,Iturnmyheadtothesideandsay,“You

mightwanttogivemeatoweltolieon,ifyoudon’twantyourcomfortermessedup.”

Kyledoesn’tanswerrightaway,andIstickmyfacebackintothepillow,waitingto

hearwhathe’llsay,thetensioninmybodynotjustfromsexualneedanymore.

Ahandstrokesoverthebackofmyhead,downtomyshoulder,andhisfingersgive

alittlesqueezebeforetheyfallaway.“Itcanbewashed,”isallhesaysasheshiftsto

behindme,makingthemattressdipandmove.

Ihearhiminhale,justashislegsbrushmine,andIshiver,goosebumpstricklingup

myspineanddownmyarms.Itfeelsasthoughhishandsareshakingslightlyashepalms

myasswithonehand,pullingatthecheektosquirtsomelubeintomycrack,butIcan’t

besure.I’mtremblingtoohardtoknowforsure.

Onefinger,thentwoworktheirwayin,andIforcemyselfnottoclench,tostay

relaxed,evenasmybackarcheswiththepleasurestreakingthroughmybody.Itfeelsasif

hourspass,althoughI’msureit’snotmorethanafewminutes,andI’mabouttostart

tellinghimabouthisrassandinsistinghefuckme,whenhisfingersretreatandIfeelthe

tipofhiscocktouchmyhole.

“Youready?”

Hisvoiceishard,almostferocious,andatrickleoffeartightensmybody.Iforceit

away,forcemyselftokeepbreathing.“Yeah.”Isayitintothepillow,hopinghehearsme,

sinceIcan’tseemtomove.“Yeah.”

Iexpectedthepainasheworkshisthickcockintomyresistantass,butnottherest.

Notthetimehetakestohelpmegetusedtohimstretchingme,thetenderwayhestrokes

onehandupanddownmyspinewhileholdinghimselfstillinsideme,eventhoughnowI

canfeelhimshakingandknowhe’sdesperatetothrust.

“It’sokay,babe.It’sokay.”I’dlaughatbeingcalled‘babe’inthatharsh,roughtone

ifitdidn’tmakemetearuplikeanidiot.NowI’mtriplygladforhavinghiddenmyface.

“I’vegotyou.Ahh…shit.”Ihearhisbreathsortofshudderinandthenout,andhislegs

shiftslightly.Thehandonmyhiptightensalmostpainfully,buthedoesn’tmoveinside

me,onlyrepeats,“I’vegotyou.”

NowIrealizehe’storturinghimself,tryingtomakesureI’mokay.I’dwantedto

knowwhatkindofmanheis,andnowIdo—andsomethinginsidemeisbothhappyand

scaredbytheknowledge.Ican’tsayanything,mythroatcloggedandtight,butIcanlet

himoffthehook,encouragehimtotakeusbothwhereweneedtobe.

Bracingmyarmsagainsttheheadboard,Ipushbackandrollmypelvis,likeI’m

dancingtoaslowcalypsosong.Kylegrabsmyotherhip,sohe’sholdingmetightwith

bothhands,butallhedoesisgroan,apparentlyunabletodoanythingelse.Ikeep

swiveling,doingatightfigure-eightwithmyhips,hopefullylettinghimknow,without

words,thatI’mmorethanready.

“Stop…Ican’t…”

Iturnmyheadandcroak,“Thendon’t.Just—ahhh…”

BeforeIcanfinish,hepullsbackandthenslamsbackin.Yeah.Thisistheotherside

ofKyle,theoneIglimpsedbeforewhenIsuckedhimoffandhelostit,fuckingmymouth

hardandfast.It’sasexcitingtomeashisgentlenessandthesurprisinglyplayfulsidethat

leadhimtofriskme.Ilikeallofhisfacets,butthisistheoneIwantrightnow.

Hethrustsoverandover;powerfulstrokesIfancifullythinkwouldpushmethrough

theheadboardifIwasn’tsecurelybraced.ThenIcan’tthinkanymore,onlydrowninthe

sensationsofbeingthoroughly,intenselyfuckedandtherisingneedtocome,asthe

tensioninmybellycoilsitselftighterandtighter,untilI’mhoveringontheedgeof

exploding.

Mybackarches,asourbodiesslaptogetheronaparticularlyhardthrust,andI

realizeI’mcursing,egginghimon,tellinghimhe’sgoingtomakemecome,thatI’ll

stranglehimifhestops.Partofmeisshocked—I’veneverbeenaloudlover,bawlingout

andtrashtalking—butanotherpartofmefeelsfree,readytofly.IhearKylelaugh,a

rough,surprisedsound,andthatjustmakesitallthesweeter.

Thenhecurlsovermeandgrabsmydick,andjustlikethatI’mcoming,bucking

andtryingtoshout,althoughIdon’tthinkmyvoiceboxworksanybetterthananyother

partofmybody,exceptthepartinhishand.IttakeseverythingIhavenottocollapse,asI

comeandcomeuntilIthinkI’lldiewhilestillholdingmyselfuponmyshakinglegs.

Kylegrunts,slamshomeacoupletimesmore,thenIrealizehe’scomingtoowhen

helosesthathard,controlledrhythmandthrustsdeep,holdingthereforacouplelong,

tremblingmoments,beforeheslumpsovermyback.Whenhishandslipsawayfrommy

cock,Iletmylegsgiveway,andweendupflatonthebedinabreathless,sweaty,tangled

heap.

There’snosoundintheroomexceptforharshbreathing.AllI’mawareofishis

weight,thehardnessofhisbodycoveringmine,theslowdissipationoftheheatwe’d

generated.It’sliketheworldhasstopped,andwe’reallthat’sleftofit.

“Shit,”hemutters,hisfaceinthecrookofmyneck,hislipsmovingagainstmy

skin.“Shit.”

Yeah.

ChapterSix

Kyle

I’vealwaysknownVincenthadthepotentialtoberealtrouble,andnowIknowit’s

true.Buttherewasnowayformetorealize,fiveyearsago,thatthetroublehe’dbring

wouldbeintomypersonallife.

Havingenvisionedjusthavingsexwithhim,notthinkingpastthat,itwasn’tpartof

theplantoinvitehimtostayforalatelunch/earlydinner.SoasIwashvegetablesinthe

sink,lookingacrossandseeinghimsprawledonthecouch,thumbingthroughthegun

book,seemsalittleunreal.Butitdoesn’tmakemeuncomfortable,whichinitselfisweird.

He’stheonlymanI’veeverbroughthomewiththeintenttohavesexwithhim.Thehouse

hasalwaysbeenano-sexzone,notbecauseI’mafraidofnosyneighbors—Idon’thave

anyneighbors,nosyorotherwise—butbecauseIdon’thookupwithmenwholivenearby.

Hell,there’sonlyonemanbesidesVincentIknowofintheentirecitywhocouldsaywith

honestyhe’dhadsexwithme,andhejustchancedtomoveherefromTorontoafterI’d

hookedupwithhimthere.Luckilyforme,he’sevenfartherintheclosetthanIam,soI

don’thavetoworryabouthimsayinganything.

Besideswhich,whenIthinkaboutit,Ican’trememberhavingsexwithanyoneI’d

wantknowingwhereIlive.Howfuckingsadisthat?

Vincentputsdownthebookandstretches,hisshirtridinguptoexposeastripof

dark,smoothskinacrosshisabdomen.Iknowwhatthatfleshfeelslikeundermyfingers,

againstmylips.Iknowwhatittasteslike,andhowheshiveredwhenIlickedacrossthe

smooth,muscularexpanseandshovedmytongueintohisbellybutton.Helowershisarms,

butI’mstilllostinthememoriesoftouchinghim.

“What?”

Thequestioncatchesmebysurprise,butwhenItearmygazeawayfromhisbodyto

lookathisfaceIseethetwinkleinhiseyesandknowI’vebeenbusted.Itrynottosmile

butit’salosingbattle,betweentheimpishquirkofhiseyebrowsandthisinsanesenseof

wellbeingsoothingmyusualrestlessness.

“Nothing.”IrealizeI’mdrowningthelettuceandturnoffthetap.“Just…

woolgathering.”

“Heh.”Vincentgetsupandstrollsovertotheisland.“Wantsomehelp?”Hestartsto

diphishead,thenIseetheeffortittakesforhimtokeeplookingstraightatmewhenhe

smiles.“I’mprettyhandyinthekitchen.”

“Learnedfromyourmother?”

Ithrowthelettuceinwiththerestofthegreensinmyspinner,butdon’tstartdrying

them,waitingforhimtoanswer.Helooksdownatthecounterforamoment,thenIsee

hismouthtwist,eventhoughhe’sstillsmilingslightly.Whenhelooksbackupatme,I

can’treallyreadhisexpressionproperly,butIknowI’mabouthearsomethingimportant.

“Nah.MymotherleftJamaicawhenIwasfive.Neverwentbacktheretolive.I

learnedfromthewomanwholookedafterthehouse—andus—aftersheleft.Her,andan

auntwhotriedtomakesuremeandmybrothershadsomeonetotakecareofus,asfamily,

youknow?”

WhatcanIsaytothat?Sorrytohear?Shithappens?Neitherfeelsright,or

appropriate,soIstartspinningthesalad,buyingtime.Iwanttohearmore,butdon’twant

himtofeelasthoughhe’sbeinginterrogated.Then,itsuddenlystrikesme…Ijustspenta

coupleofhoursinbedwithVincent.I’mnotoperatingasapoliceofficernow,butasa

man—analmost-friend,ifnothingmore.IttakesthatshiftofperceptionformetorealizeI

can’tnotask.

Lettingthespinnerslowdownonitsown,Igrababowlandputitontheisland

betweenus,thentossthedriedgreensintoit.ThenIpushthecuttingboardacrosstohim,

andturntothefridgetogetouttomatoesandsweetpeppers.WhenIputthemonthe

board,Vincentpicksuptheknife.“Doyoulikethemchoppedfine,orinbiggerpieces?”

Ishrug.“Whateveryouprefer.”Hestartscuttingthestemoutofapepper,andIlean

onmysideofthecounter,watching.Noneedtofeelnervous,butIsortofdo.Itakea

breath,andask,“Didyouseeyourmotheratallaftersheleft?”

Withoutlookingupfromwhathe’sdoing,hereplies,“She’dcomebackeverynow

andthen,foraweekorso,thengobacktoToronto.Then,bythetimeIgraduatedfrom

university,she’dfiledpapersforme,whichishowIendeduphere.”

Hehasadegree?Ikickmyselfforbeingsurprised.He’ssmart,well-spokenwhen

he’snotputtingonafront,whywouldn’thehaveone?Istorethatinformationawayfor

latercontemplation.“Soyouseehernow?”

Helooksupthen,andhishandsstill.NowIseeastrangemixtureofamusementand

paininhisexpression.“Notforafewyears.NotsinceIcameout.”Vincentshakeshis

head,awrysmilecontortinghisface.“IwaswelcomeinherhousewhenIwasonthe

wrongsideofthelaw.She’dprayoverme,andsayIshouldchangemyevilways,but

therewasneveratimesheturnedmeaway,untilItoldherIwasgay.Shehasn’tspokento

mesince.”

“You’rekidding.”

“Nah.”Hegoesbacktochoppingthepepper,thekniferockingbackandforthina

smooth,almostprofessionalmotion.“IguessI’mirredeemablenow.Shepreferredtohave

acriminalforasonratherthanalaw-abidingbattyman.”

“Shit.”I’munaccountablyangryonhisbehalf.“Sheshouldbechargedunderthe

StunnedCuntsAct.”

“Thewhat?”

Then,asifthewordshavejustsunkin,hestartstolaugh.Ican’thelpchucklingtoo,

andIshrug.“Iknow.Completelyun-PC,butit’sanoldcopinsiderjoke.That’stheactwe

wishexisted,sowecouldciteitandchargealltheassholes,justforbeingcompletely

stupid.”

“Ilikeit.”He’sstillsnickering,butheshakeshishead.“Thenameistotally

antisocialandmisogynistic,butIkindofwishitexistedtoo.Icanthinkofafewpeople

who’dgetlife.”

“Whataboutyourfather?”SomehowIthinkIknowtheanswertothequestions,but

can’tresistaskinganyway.“Andyourbrothers?”

Heshakeshishead,notlookingupthistime.“Theonlypersoninmyfamilywho

speakstomenowismycousinJenalyza.She’saprofessorofEnglishinWindsor,whichis

whyIendedupstayinghere,tobeclosertoher.”

“I’msorry.”Ihavetosayit,becauseIamsorry.Ican’timaginebeingwithoutmy

family,evenifI’mnotasinvolvedwiththemasIshouldbe,tryingtoohardtohide,even

beingprettysurethey’dacceptme,nomatterwhat.Admittingthattomyselfmakesme

feellikecrap.“Thatmustbehard.”

“Anonuttin’.”Anotherwrytwistofhislipsaccompaniesthepatois.“IknewwhatI

wasfacingwhenIdecidedtocomeout.It’sbetterthiswaythanwhatwashappening

before.”

AndIcantellhemeansit,believesit.

Thenhechangesthesubject,steeringtheconversationintolessheavywater,but

althoughwetalkaboutmostlyinconsequentialthingswhileweeat,whathe’ssaidstays

withme,rollingaroundinmyhead.

Ican’tconvincehimnottohelpwiththedishes,evenwhenIpointouttherearen’ta

lot.Whenthelastofthethingsareputaway,Iofferhimabeer,buthejustgrins.

“Yeah,man.Givemebeertodrink,thenyoucanarrestmeforimpaireddriving

whenIleave.”

DuringthecourseofconversationI’velearnedhe’sasupervisorforcustomercareat

aprettybigsoftwarecompanyand,evenmoreimportantly,thatheisn’tscheduledfora

shiftthenextday.I’mondaytwoofascheduledfouroff.Withthefridgedoorstillopen,I

lookathimoveritstop.“Youcouldjuststaytonight,unlessyouhavesomethingelseto

do.”

Truthis,I’mnotreadyforhimtogo.We’dfallenasleepafterthatintenseboutof

sex,thengotupandagreedwewerebothstarving.Inmybook,wehaveunfinished

business…

Itfeelsasifittakesforeverforhimtoanswer,thenhesays,“Okay.Yeah.”

Andit’sonlywhenIbendintothefridgetograbthebeersthatIrealizeI’dbeen

holdingmybreath.

Vincenttakesthebeerand,aftertwistingoffthecapandtossingitaway,wanders

intothelivingroomtosettlebackdownonthecouch.Ifollowhim,wonderingifIshould

offertoturnoffthemusicI’dputonearlierandsuggestwewatchTVinstead.BeforeI

canask,hetakesaswallowofbeerandlooksupatme.

“You’renotout,areyou?”Iforcemyselfnottoshowanyemotionormissastep,

eventhoughmyheartdropsdownintomystomach,andicestartspumpingthroughmy

veins.BeforeIcananswer,heholdsuphishand.“I’mnot…blamingyou,orjudgingyou

ifyouaren’t.I’veheardthestoriesaboutwhathappenstocopsiftheycomeout.I’mjust

curious.”

Sidelining.Nastylockerroompranks.Gettingshuntedintoobscurepartsofthe

force.Hittingaglassceilingevenifyou’refullyqualifiedtogofurther.Hell,theone

openlygaymanI’veheardofthatwasonourforceresignedafterbeingtransferredto

pettytheft—basicallycollectingbicycles—andlefttheretorotforacoupleofyears.Yeah,

comingoutwhileI’mstillacopisn’tanoptionI’veeverevencontemplated.

“No.”Itakealongsuckfromthebottleinmyhand,tryingtoeasethedrynessinmy

throat.“I’mnotout.”

Henodsslowly,takesanotherdrink.IrealizeI’mstandingbesidethecouch,

probablylookingasifI’mabouttomakearunforit,andforcemyselftositdown.I’m

gladVincentispickingatthelabelonhisbeerandnotlookingatme,sinceitgivesmea

chancetogetmyexpressionandthoughtsundercontrol.

“That’srough.”Henodsslowly,stilllookingatthebottleinhishand.“Realrough.”

He’scommiseratingwithme?Istareathim,wonderingifhe’sjustsayingthatwhile

reallyfeelinglikeI’macowardorsomething.Butwhenhelooksoveratme,Idon’tsee

anyjudgmentorpityinhiseyes,onlyunderstanding.

“Itcanbe.”Iwon’tletanyofthethingsI’mfeeling—nottheregret,thepain,the

shame—comethroughinmyvoiceorcrossmyexpression.Iusemycopvoice,keepingit

firm,sure,unwavering.“ButI’musedtoit.”

Henodsagain,theslowup-and-downmotionshowingcompleteunderstanding.“Do

youknow…”

Hisvoicefades,andheglancesaway,liftinghishandasthoughhe’schangedhis

mindaboutwhathewasgoingtosay.ButIneedtohearit,whateveritis,evenfiguringI

won’tlikeit.“What?”

Adeepbreathmakeshischestrise,thenVincentturnshisgazebacktomineand

somethingtherefreezesmeinplace.“Icameoutbecauseofyou.”Hegiveshisheadan

impatientshake,evenasI’mtryingtofigureoutwhathemeans.Becauseofme?Heknew

Iwasgayevenbackthen?How?BeforeIcanfirethequestionsathim,hecontinues,

“BecauseofwhatyousaidtomewhenIwasinhospital.Thatwiththestrikesagainstme,

Ishouldrealizemyluckwouldrunoutandchangedirectionsbeforeitdid.”

Ivaguelyremembersayingsomethinglikethat.AtthetimeIwasmoreinterestedin

who’dputhiminhospital,butknewhewasinnoconditiontotalk.I’dbeenlayinga

foundationforwhenwewentbacktospeaktohimlater,hopinghe’dthinkabouthow

he’dendedupwherehewasandbewillingtoturnanewleaf.Telluswhatwewantedto

know.Itbringshometomehownoonecantellexactlyhowtheirwordswillaffect

someoneelse’slife—theripplesthatcanspreadfromoneconversation—andIwonderif

heblamesmeinsomewayforthelossofhisfamily.

“ShouldIapologize?”Istarehimdown,daringhimalmost.“Idon’tthinkthatwas

whatIhadinmindwhenIsaidwhateveritwasIsaid.”

Vincentshakeshisheadagain,alittlesmilecomingandgoingacrosshisface.“For

what?Savingmylife?MakingmeseeIwastryingsohardtodenywhoandwhatIwas

thatitwouldgetmekilledeventually?ThatmaybeIwaseventryingtogetmyselfkilled,

ratherthanfacemyself?Believeme,I’mbetteroffandhappiernowthanIwasthen.”He

givesalittlesnortoflaughter,butthere’snobitternessinit.“Maybeapauperin

comparison,butricherineveryotherway.”Heraiseshisbeertowardme.“Ishouldthank

you,butinsteadI’lljustsay,cheers.”

Onautomaticpilot,Iclinkmybottleagainsthisandthentakeaswallowofbeer.

Vincentslumpsbackintothecornerofthecouchandsighs,asifrelievedforsomereason.

Ican’ttakemyeyesoffhim,mireddownbythecrazystewofthoughtsandemotions

bubblinginside.Hetakesapullofhisbeer,lookingatmeoutofthecornerofhiseye,then

leansforwardandputsthebottleonthecoffeetable.

Holdingmygazeagain,heslidesalongthecushionsuntilthesideofhisthigh

pressesagainstmine.Onearmisuponthebackofthecouchandhisotherhandcomesto

restonmyhip.ThiscloseIcanseehowhislashescurluptight,almostabsurdlyso,

framingthosegleaming,half-amused,half-seriouseyes.Hislipsdothatwry,twisting

thing,butwithasmile,soIcan’ttellwhichofushe’slaughingat.

“Yousetmefree,man.”Hishandslidesupundermyshirt,hisfingerstracingthe

ridgesofmystomach.“Free,todothis.”

Hislipstouchmine,justrestingonmymouth,warmandfirm,foramomentbefore

hepullsbackandsmilesagain.WhenheleansbackinIstaywhereIam,lettinghimtake

thelead,contenttolethimdowhateverhewants.Hesaidheshouldthankme,butfor

somereasonIfeelasthoughIowehimthismoment,owehimmycompliance.

Vincentkissesmeagain,alittlefirmernow,anunhurriedmovementofhislipson

mine,exploratoryandsomehowarousingatthesametime.Mylowerlipispulledintohis

mouthandhistonguesweeps,slowandsweetacrossit.Thenhereleasesitanddeepens

thekiss,soourtonguestangletogetherandI’minhalinghisbreatheachtimeheexhales.

Hisfingersbrushmynipple,andit’slikebeingtouchedwithalivewire,asmyentirebody

floodswithashockofneed.Ionlyjusthangontomybeerbottle,andblindlyreachtoput

itdownonthesidetable.

Hekissesmeasifkissingiseverythingthereis,notforeplaybutaseparate,discrete

actcompleteuntoitself,andmybodyreactsinacrazyway.Ifeelmyselfgettingboth

lethargicandarousedatthesametime,relaxingbackagainstthecushions,myhandsand

armslaxatmysides,mylegsstretchingoutinfrontofme,butmynipplestightening,as

myskinbecomessuper-sensitiveandmycockhardens.Hisfingersarejustrestingonmy

belly,notmoving,butthemusclesunderthemjump,asifaffectedjustbythecontact.

Whenhefinallyslideshislipsfrommine,Icanhardlybreathe.I’veneverbeen

seducedbefore,buthaveafunnyfeelingthisiswhatitmeanstobe.Hekissesalinealong

myjaw,thendowntomyneck.Ileanmyheadbackagainstthecouch,shiveringashe

licksandnipsandsucks,findingspotsIneverknewwouldlikebeingtouchedbutnow

knowmakemysanityslipalittlewhentheyare.Histonguecurlsagainstthehollowatthe

baseofmythroat,andImakeasoundIdon’tthinkI’veevermadebefore—something

betweenagroanandasigh.

Reversingcourse,helicksbeneathmyjawbeforegettingbacktomymouth,andI

openforhimbeforeheevensettleshislipsonmineproperly.Aharderkissthistime,not

seducinganymore,butinsistent,takingarousaltothenextstep,makingpromisesofthings

tocome.

Bothhishandsareundermyshirt,pushingatit,andIleanforwardsohecanpullit

up.WebreakthekissjustlongenoughforVincenttogettheshirtoffovermyhead,then

he’skissingmeagain,hishandsonmychest,easingmebackintothecornerofthecouch.

SoonIhaveonelegstretchedoutonthecushions,theotherfootstillonthefloor,and

Vincentcrouchedbetweenmyspreadthighs,leaningoverme.He’snotrushing,hiskisses

deepbutstillslow.Urgencyrisesinme,andIshovemyhandsunderhisshirtinturn,

diggingmyfingersintohismuscles,tryingtopullhimcloser.He’sbracedhishandson

thearmofthesofa,andIcan’tbudgehim.Liftinghishead,hesmiles,buthiseyeshave

thatheavy-liddedlookIrecognize.

“Takeyourtime,”hesays,thensingsinadeep,mellowvoice,“Takeyourtime,take

yourtime,takeyourtime.Noneedtohurry.”

Iwanttoaskhimwhatsongthatis,butwhilehewassinginghe’dshifteddown,so

thelastnotecomesoutrightagainstmyleftnipple.Andnowhe’ssuckingandnibblingat

it,andIcan’tthinkaboutanythingelsebuthismouthonmybody.

Eachnipplegetshisundividedattention.Thenhelicks,withlong,slowswipes,over

myentirestomach,untilIthinkonemoretouchwillmakemespontaneouslycombust.

JustwhenIbelievehe’llfinallymovesouth,givemesomerelief,heslideshisentiretorso

againstmine,untilourfacesarealigned.

“Wanttotakethisupstairs,Sarg,orshouldIgoon,andriskbothofusfallingoffthe

sofa?”

IfIthoughtIhadthestrengthI’dthrowhimovermyshoulderinafireman’scarry

andtakehimuptothebedroommyself,butallIcanmanageistogrowl,“Upstairs.”

Vincentnods,butdoesn’tmove,hesitatingforamoment.Thenheseemstocometo

adecision,hisgazesearchingmineashesays,“Iwantyou…”

Ishiver.Iknowwhathe’ssaying,asking.MostmenassumeI’matop,probably

becauseofmydemeanor,andIusuallyendupbeingjustthat.ButIhavenoproblemwith

thethoughtofVincenttoppingme.Infact,justimaginingitmakesanotherjoltofheatfire

outthroughmyveins.

“YouknowIwon’tsayno.”Howcouldhenotknowthat,whenI’malreadyputtyin

hishands?“Itoldyouthatearlier.Consensual,remember?”

Hissmilemakesmyheartstutter.“Justmakingsure.”

Thenhelevershimselfuprightandoffthecouch,andholdsouthishandtogiveme

aboost.Itakehishandandhetugs.

Whydoesitfeellikehe’spullingmeintosomething,ratherthanjustup?

ChapterSeven

Kyle

Evenupstairs,Vincentisdeterminedtotakehistime—takeiteasy,ashesangtome

downstairs.Itforcesmetosquashmyhabitualimpatience,justletthingsflowatthepace

hewantstogo.It’snewforme,buteverythingaboutthisencounteris,andIrealizeIlike

it,thegivingupofcontroltosomeoneelse.

SomeoneI’mlearningtotrust,who’strustedmewhenmaybeheshouldn’thave.

AndIlikethechangeofpacetoo,onceIaccepthewon’tberushed.He’smaking

loveonislandtime.Therandomthoughtmakesmesmile,butinthenextbreathIgroan,

becausehe’sgotmyshortsoff,finally,andisworkinghistongueinaswirling,lazy

patternupmyinnerthighandI’malreadyimaginingwhereit’llendup.

It’storture,pureandsimple,andIletmyselfsinkintoit,stopfighting.Thesunlight

hasdisappeared,andthelampbesidethebedcastsayellowglowaroundtheroom.Rain

startstocomedownoutside.Thunderrollsinthedistance,andVincentliftshisheadfora

moment,closinghiseyes,asthoughlisteningtothebeatofthedropsonthewindow.Then

hesmilesalittleandhiseyelidsrisesohe’slookingatme.Myheart,alreadyracing,

contractsonastaggeredbeat,andalthoughIthinkIshouldsmilebackathim,Ican’t.

“Pitta-patta,”hesays,thatlittlesmiletippingtheedgeofhismouth.“I’llplaythat

songforyousometime,soyouknowwhytherainmakesthisafternoonperfect.”

“There’sasongabouttherain?”I’meventalkingslower,thehardedgessmoothed

offmyvoice,myvocalchordsapparentlylulledbytheintimacyofhavinghiminmybed,

touchingmeinwaysIdon’tthinkI’veeverbeentouchedbefore.

Hissmilewidens,andhedipshisheadtolickthecreaseatthetopofmythigh,

makingmybreathstopforaninstantandthenshudderfrommylungs.“There’sasong

abouteverything.EspeciallyinJamaica.”

Iwanttoaskwhatsongtheycouldpossiblyhaveaboutwhatwe’redoing,buthe’s

easingmylegsfartherapart,andIdon’treallycarewhatanyoneissinginganywhere.He

skirtsmycock,lickingawarmtraildownthecreaseofonethigh,lightlybrushingmy

ballsashecrossestothecreaseontheotherside,andthenlickinguptotheticklishspot

bymyhipbone.WhenIbuck,tryingtoevadehislips,helaughssoftlyagainstmyskin.

“You’reatease.”Itwassupposedtocomeoutinanaccusatorytone,butdespitethe

arousalsparkingthrougheverynerveending,Ican’tseemtodomuchmorethanmumble,

thebreathlessnessofmyvoicenegatingtheeffectcompletely.

TheonlyreplyIgetisanotherslowlickbackdown,althoughIthinkIhearhim

chucklesoftly.Withfirm,stronghands,hespreadsmythighsevenwiderandmymind

seizesatthefirsthot,moistpressofhistongueonmyballs.Herollsandlicks,takesfirst

onesideandthentheotherintohismouthwithjustenoughsuctiontobringmetotheedge

ofpainwhileratchetingmypleasurehigher.Bythetimehemoveslower,twistinghis

tongueontheskinbelowmysac,headingtowardmypucker,I’mrollingmyhipsup,

anticipationandneedmakingmefeelasifmyheadisabouttoflyoff.

Herimsme,stillgoingslow,thennarrowsthecircleuntilhe’sflickingthetipofhis

tongueagainstmyhole.Whenhepushesin,asensationlikereliefmakesmefistmyhands

inthesheetandbitetheinsideofmycheeksoasnottoreleasethegroanbuildinginmy

chest.Vincentholdsmebehindthekneesandpushesmylegsup,curlingmybodyinon

itselftogivehimselfmoreroom.Iforcemyeyesopenacrack,andthesoundItriedto

holdbackbreaksfrommythroatwhenIseehimlookingbackatmewhileheunhurriedly

tongue-fucksmyass.

Ican’tlookaway,trappedbytheheatanddesireinhiseyes,hisexpressionturning

myarousalintoanelectric,all-consumingyearningthatcracks,likethelightningoutside,

throughmyentiresystem.Mycockpulses,adribbleofpre-cumfallingonmystomach

andrunningdownintomynavel.Hepushesintomeagain,histongueflexingandcurling

forafewlong,pleasuredrenchedseconds,thenitretreats,leavingmybodyfeelingempty

andneedy.

Releasingmylegs,Vincentrollstositontheedgeofthebed,andreachesfora

condom.Hisskingleams,thesheenofperspirationcatchingthelightandmakingthedips

andplainsofhismusclesstandoutinsharprelief.Iwatchhimslidethelatexdownover

hiscock,admiringandwantingthatlong,slightlycurvedlength,wonderinghowlongI’ll

lastwithhimfuckingme.Hopinghewon’tcontinuetheslowtormenthe’sbeeninflicting

onme.

Withoutlookingatme,hegetsupandwalkstowardtheensuitebathroom,leaving

mewonderingwhatthehell…

Hereappearswithabathtowelinhishand,andIrealizewhathe’sdoing.Asparkof

annoyancehasmegoinguponmyelbowsandgivinghimahardlook.

“Doweneedthat?”

“Youalreadyhadtowashyourquilt.”Oneshoulderrisesinashrug.“Noneedto

messupyoursheetstoo.”

He’sstilltryingtohide—doesn’twantmelookingathisfacewhenwehavesex—

anditbugsme.Iwanttowatchhim,watchwhathe’sdoingtome,hopefullywatchhim

losecontrol,ifIcankeepmyselfundercontrolenoughtodoit.I’mtemptedtotrytoforce

him,maybesayit’sface-to-faceornothing,butIknowIdon’thavetherighttodothat.

AndIknowIdon’twanttojeopardizewhatwehavegoing.

SoIjustwatchhimasheleansacrossmeandspreadsoutthetowel,wantingsobad

toaskhimwhatitisaboutmethatwon’tlethimtrustme,whatIneedtodotomakethat

happen.Yetstillwantinghim,willingtoletthisgo,evenasitleavesmeinexplicably

angry.

“You’reglaringatme.”Heglancesatmeoutofthecornerofhiseye,asherunshis

handoverthetowel,smoothingitout.“Ifitwasn’tforthis—”I’mnotpreparedforhimto

suddenlygrabmydickandpumphisfistalongitsstill-hardlengthacoupleoftimes,

makingmytoescurl.“I’dbefrightened.”

Screwit.Ifhewantstoplay,I’mgame.He’snomatchformygrapplingskillsand,

thankGod,he’ssurprisedenoughwhenIgrabhimandhip-checkhimovermybodytolet

gomycock.HelandsonhisbackandIstraddlehispelvis,plantingmyhandsbesidehis

headandleaningdownclose.

“Youshouldbefrightened.”IgivehimmybestPORCstare,kindofmeaningit,

eventhoughI’mjoking.RightnowIthinkweshouldbeveryafraidofeachother.“You

havenoideawhatyou’reupagainst.”

“Ihaveagoodidea,Babylon.”He’slaughingatme.Theamusementisthereinhis

eyes,alongwithsomethingthatlookslikerelief.IrealizeIdidn’treallythinkthisthrough

whenhereachesbetweenusandgrabsmydickagain.“Arealgoodidea.”

WhatcanIdobutkissthesmileoffhisface,andletmyselfsinkbackintotheslow

lovingheoffers?Iwantit—amwillingtodowhateverittakestohaveit—eventhoughI

suspectI’llregretthefeelingschurningtolifeinme,feelingsI’vesteadfastlyavoided

lettingmyselfexperiencewithanyone,especiallyalover.

There’snoresistanceleftinmebythetimeherollsmeontomysideandguidesmy

leguptowardmychest.It’savulnerablefeeling,lyinglikethat,unabletoseewhathe’s

doing,inapositionthatdoesn’tallowforaneasyescape.I’dhavepreferredbeingonmy

knees,butwhenhischestalignswithmyback,andIfeelhisbreath,hotandrushed,on

myshoulder,it’ssuddenlyallright.

“Yeah,”hemurmurs,pushingforward,takinghistime,waitingformetolethimin.

WhenIdo,hesays,“Ohyeah.”

Ilikehowbreathlesshesounds,thewayhisaccentdeepens.Irememberwondering

abouthowhe’dbeinbed,ifhiswalkwasanindicationofwhathe’ddo,andnowIfind

out.Withjusttheheadinside,herollshispelvisinatinymovement,pushinginand,atthe

sametime,sendingashockofpleasurestraighttomyballswiththewaytheextramove

stretchesmefarther.Wrappinghisarmtighteraroundmychest,hedigshisfingersinto

myshoulder,findingpurchase,androllshishipsagain,givingmeanothercoupleof

inches.

Bythetimehepauses,seeminglyallin,I’mpushingbackagainsthim,wanting

moreifhehasittogive.Releasingmyshoulder,hehookshisarmaroundmyup-bent

knee,thechangeofpositionopeningmeevenmore,forcinghiscockdeeper.He’sleaning

onmyback,pressingmealmostoverontomystomach,hisbodybunchedandquivering.

“Yeah,”hegroansagain,tighteninghisholdonme.I’mbracedforhimtostart

pumpinghard,butheslowlywithdraws,thenslidesbackin,hipsflowingwiththat

smooth,rollingbeat.“Ohyeah.That’snice.”

Nice?NotthewordI’duseashestrokesagainstmyprostate,takingmehigherwith

eachleisurely,controlledthrust.Ourbodiesmoveagainsteachother,lubricatedby

perspiration,thesensationsofslickfleshandstrainingmusclesexpandingmypleasure

untilIcanhardlystandit.

ButalthoughVincentbitesmyshoulder,thenstartstalkingdirtyinmyear,hisvoice

roughandhisaccentsothickIcanbarelymakeoutwhathe’ssaying,hedoesn’tspeedup

hismovements.Justkeepsthemlongandslow,lettingthepassionbuildandbuild,piling

ontheheat.

I’msolostintheexperience,Idon’tevenrealizeI’mabouttocomeuntiltheorgasm

joltsthroughme,makingmeshoutinshockatthealmostpainfulintensityofit.Vincent

holdsmeinagriplikesteelbands,notlettingmyjerkingtremorsbuckhimoffand,when

Ifinallyrelaxslightly,hewhispers,“Nice,eh?”

Ahoarsechuckleforcesitswayfrommythroat,andIdesperatelywanttokisshim,

buthewon’tletmemove.“Nottooshabby,”Ianswer,evenwhilestillshakingand

trembling.“Nottooshabbyatall.”

Helaughssoftlyandlickstheedgeofmyear,thenmovestomyneck,hishand

slidingdownfrommyknee,alongtheinsideofmythigh,untilitreachesmysemi-flaccid

cock.Theheadissosensitivethebrushofhisfingersmakesthebreathhissbetweenmy

teeth.

“Easy,”hesays,fistingmylength.“Justrelax.You’resotenserightnowyou’re

abouttosnapmyhoodoff.”

“Shit.”It’slittlemorethanagroan,becauseheatisfloodingmygroin,andIcan’t

believeI’mgettinghardagainsofast.“Whatareyoutryingtodotome?”

“Makeyoufeelgood,”hesays,pickingbackuptheslow,sweetrhythmhe’dset

withhiscock,matchingitwithhishand.“Makeyoufeelrealgood.”

IwonderifI’llsurvivetheexperienceintact,orbeleftacompleteandutterwreck.I

knowhe’sclosetocoming.Ihearitinthewayhisbreathingaccelerates,theextrapower

ofhisthrusts,buthekeepsthepacesteadyforafewmoreminutes,thengroans.

“Sorry.Youfeelsogood…”Heletsgomycockandgrabsmylegagainfor

leverage.“Ican’t—”

Thenhe’sfuckingmehard,hisbodytwistinganddrivinghiscockdeepintomeover

andoveragainwithshort,jerkingmotions,andI’mfuckinglovingit—thesensationof

himlosingcontrol,hearinghimgroanmyname,feelingmyselfspiralintopleasureagain,

butthistimewithhim.

It’sonlylater,whenI’mfacedwiththeunusualtaskofsharingmybed,thatfear

pricklesdownmyspine,counteractingthepleasure.Vincent’sarmisflungacrossmy

stomach,hisdeep,evenbreathingprovidesabackdroptomychaotic,crazythoughts,and

itfeelslikeaneternitybeforeIcanfinallywillmyexhaustedbodytosleep.

ChapterEight

Vincent

Iwakeup,disoriented,wonderingwherethehellIam.Then,whenIremember,I’m

leftwonderingwhereKyleis,sincethebedbesidemeisemptyandcoldandthehouseis

silent.Rollingontomyback,Iblinkattheclockonthebedsidetable.Seven-ten.Still

fairlyearly,butlaterthanIusuallysleep.Mindyou,Idon’tusuallyhavethekindof

workoutIhadyesterday.Myentirebodyaches,butIcan’thelpsmilinganyway.That

crazysexisworththepaininmythighsandshoulders,theacheinmyass.

Pushingmyselftogetup,Ishuffletothesideofthebedandsitontheedge,trying

togetmybearings.Mymorningerectionandthesmellofsexlingeringonthesheetsisn’t

helping,butIknowIneedtoclearmyhead,preparemyselfforwhatevertodaybrings.I

can’tbesidetrackedbythememories,orallowmyselftoforgettherealityofthesituation.

“Noexpectations,”Imutter,rememberingwhatI’dsaidtoKyle.Heprobably

thoughtIwastellinghimhowithadtobe,ormaybeevenaskingaquestion.Really,Iwas

warningmyself,evenbeforehe’dconfirmedhewasinthecloset.ForsolongI’vefilled

mylifewithallkindsofactivitiestotakemymindoffthefactI’mlonely.Buildinganew

lifemeantcuttingmyselfofffromallthepeopleI’dthoughtofasfriends,andithadn’t

beenthathard.AfterbeingcutinthatdisastrousdrugdealI’dmovedtoWindsorfora

while,whereIknewveryfewpeople,andjustkeptmyheaddown.Noonemissedme,

I’msure.There’slittlerealfriendshipwithinagang,unlessyou’redealingwithfamily.It

waseasytofadeoutofthelife,especiallysinceI’dkeptmyselflow-levelandonthe

periphery.

BeingwithKyleremindsmeofwhatismissinginmylife.Ihaveadecentjob,love

myworkwiththedogs,amsavingtobuyahouse.Everythingiscriss-and-curry,except

forwhenIsitathomeatnightbymyself,tryingtofillmytimewiththeroleplayinggame

RingofSteel,TVandmovies.Butthere’snochanceofbuildingontheattractionIfeelfor

Kyle,soitmakesnosensetorturingmyselfoverit.

Scrubbingmyhandsovermyface,Idecidethebestbetistogetupandthenfigure

outwhattodoafterthat.It’salittledepressingtoknowKyledidn’tevenstickarounduntil

I’dwokenup,butitjustreaffirmsI’mdoingtherightthing—gettingreadytoleavebefore

hemaybekicksmeout.Ifhehasn’tjusttakenoff,leavingmetoseemyselfout.

Igrabashowerandputbackonmyclothesbeforeheadingdownstairs.Glancing

throughthebackdoorIseeKyle’struckstillinitsplacebesidemySUVand,comingback

intothekitchen,Inoticeanoteonthecounter.

Makesomecoffeeifyoulike.Bebackinawhile.

Terse,notunlikeKyle’susualpersona,andfartooshortformetoreadanythinginto

it.Ononehand,hemightbesaying,‘don’tleaveuntilIreturn.’Ontheother,hecouldbe

saying,‘Idon’tcarewhetheryoustayorgo.’

Kissingmyteeth,Igointothekitchenandstartpokingaround,findingthecoffeein

acupboardabovethecoffeemakerandthemugsonecupboardover.Notsurprisingly,it

seemsKyle’sorganizedeverythingwithruthlesslogic,buthereallyneedsbettercoffee.If

Igetachance—ifhe’swillingtohookup/hangoutagain—I’llbringhimsomeJamaican

beans.

Leaningonthecounter,Ithinkaboutwhattodowiththerestoftheday.Iusuallygo

downtothesanctuaryonmydaysofforifI’mworkingalatershifttohelpPatcleanthe

placeanddowhateverelseshehasplanned.Iknowshewantedtobathethedogsthis

week,andI’dthoughtaboutworkingsomemorewithBongo,keepinghisobedienceskills

sharpandmaybeteachinghimsomenewtricks.I’mkindofgoingonthepremisethat

evenifheisn’tpretty,hismannersandabilitieswillmorethanmakeupforit.Perhapshis

charmandobediencewouldwinhimahome.

KylehadsaidIshouldtakeBongo,butIcan’tthinkaboutthatanymorethanIcan

thinkabouthavingmorethanonedaywithKyle.Neitherthingispossible,andletting

myselfdreamaboutthemwilljustdepressme.I’mplayingcatchupcareer-wise,andin

lifegenerally.Itmeanslivinginatinystudioapartment,withoutaccesstoabackyard,and

workingalltheshiftsnoneoftheothersupervisorswantsoastomakeandsavemoney.It

wouldbeahorribleexistenceforBongo,beingleftaloneforlongperiodsoftimeand

havingnowheretostretchhislegsexceptforwhenwegoforwalksalongthecitystreets.

Oneday,whenI’msettledandcanaffordanicelittlehousesomewhere,I’llhaveadog,

butnotnow.

Rass,thatmakesmefeelevenworse—empty.

ThecoffeemakerfinishesgurglingandIpourmyselfacup,hopingKylehascream.

Nope.Notevenmilk.Somesoycrapand,atthebackofthecupboard,coffeecreamerthat

lookslikeit’sbeentheresinceMoseswasinshortpants.Atleastithasn’thardenedupand

hehasbrownsugarinajar.Healthnut.Mindyou,it’spaidoffinabodythat’shardinall

therightplaces…well,allover…atleastsomeofthetime.

Itakeadeepbreath,tryingnottoletthememoryofKyle-hard-all-oversinktoofar

intothefrontofmymind.Mymorningwoodiehasgonedown,butI’mriskinganewone

ifIgettothinkingaboutholdingMr.Babylondownonhisbedandfuckinghimlongand

slow,hearinghimmakethosesexysoundsdeepinhischestorcalloutmynameashe

came.

Agulpofcoffeesearsmytongue,palateandthroatbutdoesnothingtoburnaway

thearousalgrowinginmybellyandgivingmeanotherhoodstand.Thebackdoorbangs

open,andIhearKyletakingoffhisshoesalthoughIcan’tseehimyet.Ipullatthefront

ofmyshirt,makingsurethegrowingbulgeinmypantsisatleastdisguised.Whenhe

stepsthroughintothemainpartofthehouseandIseehiminoneofthoseskin-tight

runningoutfits,sweatyandbarefooted,allIcandoistakeanothergulpoftoo-hotcoffee

tostopmyselffromdoingsomethingstupid.Likejumpinghim.

“Hey.”Hegivesmeoneofthosequicklooks,thekindthatmakesmefeelasifhe’s

seeingrightintoandthroughme,thenreachesuptoopenthecupboardwherethecups

are.“You’reup.”

“Yep.”Ieasebacktogivehimsomeroom,unabletoreadhim,wishinghewasa

littlemoreexpressive.“Laterthanusual.”

Kyleshootsmeanotherlook,andIwishI’dkeptmymouthshut.I’mnotfishingfor

achancetobringupwhat’shappenedbetweenus,andIdon’twanthimtothinkIam.He

reachesforthecoffeepot,focusingonitashepours.“Metoo.”

Timetoputsomedistancebetweenus,becausealthoughIcan’tseehisexpression,

somethinginhisvoicemakesmebreakoutingoosebumps.Takingmycup,Igotothe

othersideofthekitchenislandandsitonastool.Nowthere’sanexpanseofcounter

betweenus.Notsurprisingly,hetakeshiscoffeeblack,blowingacrossthesurfaceofthe

liquidbeforetakingasip.Itrynottorememberthesensationofhisbreathshivering

acrossmybody,staringdownatmycupsoasnottowatchhislips.

Thesilencefeelsoppressive,anddepressive,andI’mwonderingifIshouldjust

abandontherestofthedrinkandleavewhenKylesays,“Ithinkyoumighthavea

problem.”

Not,‘wehaveaproblem’or‘there’saproblem’.Apparentlyit’sallmine.Imakemy

expressionblankandlookupathim.“Yeah?”

“Ithinkyoulockedyourkeysinthecar.”

“What?No,they’re…”InstinctivelyIreachdowntofeelmypocketsbutrealizeall

that’sinthemissomechangeI’dfoundlitteredontheflooratthefootofthestepswhen

I’dcomedowntogetmypants.Ididn’tseemykeysthere.DidIputtheminthebasket

whenIcameinsidebehindKyleandsawhimputhisthere?Isearchmymemory.No…

Rass.I’ddroppedthekeysontomylapintherushtograbmywallet,withthe

offendingcondomstickingoutofit,offthepassengerseatafterI’dparkedthecar.DidI

reallyleavethemintheSUVwithoutrealizingit?

“Inoticedsomekeysinthefootwellonthedriver’ssideoftheRAV4whenIwas

comingbackin.”

There’snoaccusationinhisvoice,hardlyanyinflectionatall.BacktoSergeant

KylePictouandthatinscrutableexpression.Yetawaveofembarrassmentmakesheatrise

fromthecollarofmyshirt.DoeshethinkIdiditonpurpose?

“Crap.”Irubmyface,wonderinghowmuchworsethismorningcouldget.It’llcost

abombtotakeataxihomeandback,butIcan’tletthatbeaconsideration.It’stheonly

way.

“Youhaveasparesetathome?”

“What?”Iglanceupathim,thenaway.“Yeah,Ido.Andluckilymyupstairs

neighborhasasparekeytomyapartment.She’sretiredandalwaysathome.I’lljustcalla

cabandgogetthem.”

Hesnorts,andhisstill-fullcupmakesaclackasheputsitdownonthecounter.

“Don’tbestupid.Icantakeyou.”

“Nah,”Istraightenandforcemyselftolookhimintheeye.“Don’twanttoputyou

outthatway.I’llmanage.”

Withcurtshakeofhishead,hepushesawayfromthecounterandheadsforthe

stairs.“I’msureyouhavebetterthingstodowithyourtimeandmoneythancabfrom

hereintotownandback.It’snotabigdeal.”Hepullsattheendofhisshirt,makingit

tightenacrosshiswaistandass.Iblindlyreachformycupandtearmygazeawayfrom

hisbody.“Justletmegetcleanedupandwecango.”

“Thanks.It’llgivemesometimetogetouttothesanctuarybeforePat’sfinished

withthechores.”I’mramblingandpursemylips,makingmyselfstop.Alreadyonthe

firststep,KylepausestolookbackatmeandIknowIprobablyshouldsmile,butcan’t

makemyselftoit.AllIcanmanageistosay,“Iappreciateit.”

Henods,thenseemsabouttosaysomethingmorebutdoesn’t.Insteadhestartsback

upthestairs,takingthemtwoatatime,leavingmetornbetweenembarrassmentandanger

atmyselfforimaginingjoininghimintheshower.

Kyle

Vincentlivesinoneoftheolder,slightlyrun-downareasofthecity,aneighborhood

inhabitedbyamixtureofmiddle-tolower-incomepeopleandcollegestudentsonatight

budget.Anareawithahighfrequencyofpolicepatrols,becauseofthenumberofcalls

thatcomeintothestationfromit.ThisrunsthroughmyheadasIdrivetowardtheaddress

he’sgivenme,butIremindmyselfthatsomeoneseeingmewithamaninmytruckatnine

o’clockonaMondaymorningisn’tgoingtoautomaticallyassumeit’sbecauseI’mgay.

Theycan’ttakeonelookatusandknowwespentthedaybeforescrewingeachother

blind.Can’tlookatmeandknowallIwanttodoistakeVincentbacktomyhouseanddo

italloveragain.

There’sbeenlittleconversationbetweenus,besideshimsayinghedoesn’tmind

listeningtothecountrystationplayingonmyradioandramblingonforafewminutes

abouthowhegrewuphearingcountrymusicasachild.WhenIsaidIdidn’tknow

Jamaicanslikedcountrymusic,hesaidtheyusedto,especiallyintheruralareas,but

reggaehadtakenoversomewherealongtheline.

He’suncomfortableand,althoughIknowit’smyfault,Iwon’tdoanythingtomake

itbetter.Ican’taffordto.Iknewitwasabadideatotakehimhome,andnowIknowwhy.

Alreadythethoughtofmyhouseemptyofhiscompanyfillsmewithadark,low

sensation.WiththeleastbitofencouragementI’llinvitehimtocomeback,andthatwon’t

workfortoomanyreasonstoevencontemplate.

Turningintotheshortdrivewayheindicates,Irealizehelivesinasmallhousethat’s

obviouslybeenconvertedintoatriplex.Drivingaroundtotheback,Icanseewhyhesays

hecan’ttakeBongo.Theentirebackyardhasbeenpavedover,withtheexceptionofa

tiny,patchystripofgrassalongthebackfence,wheretherearetwooldlawnchairsanda

disusedfirepit.Noroomforadogtorunorplay.

AssoonasIputthetruckintopark,he’sreachingforthedoorhandle,eventhough

hecan’tgetoutuntilIunlockit.

“Iwon’tbelong.Justrunin,getthesparekeyandgrabsomeclothes.”

“Okay.”Iflickthelockingmechanismandshiftdownslightlyinmyseat,making

myselfcomfortable.“Takeyourtime.”

Vincentpauseswithhishandonthehandle.“Ireallyappreciatethis,Kyle.”Hislips

twist.“Notsureyourealizehowmuch.”

Thenhe’soutofthetruckandheadingforthehousebeforeIcananswer.Iwatchas

heknocksonagroundfloordoorandspeakstotheelderlyladywhoanswers.He

disappearsintotheapartmentandIleanmyheadagainsttheheadrestandclosemyeyes.

InstantlymymindgoesbacktoVincentandsex.SexwithVincent.ThebestsexI’ve

everhad.ProbablythefirstsexI’vehadwhereI’veactually,genuinelylikedtheperson

I’vebeensleepingwith.Myintimatelifehasbeenanythingbutintimate,andthat’sthe

wayI’velikedit.TheoccasionaltriptoTorontotovisitaclubandhaveaone-nightstand

hasbeenenoughforme.I’vemadeitenough,becauseIdon’tseeanalternative.Ican’t

affordtogetinvolvedwithanyonebecauseitwouldn’tbefair.Supposetheothermangets

attached,wantstobemorethanjustfuck-buddies?Ican’tofferthat,soit’sbetternotto

evenstartsomething.

Besides,it’stoodangerous.Eventuallysomeonewouldfigureitout,andthenthe

secret’sout.

Wouldthey?

Iliveoutinthecountry.Ifwewerediscreetnobodywouldknow.AndifImadeit

clearfromtheget-gowhatIwaslookingfor…Thattherecouldbe,asVincenthimself

said,noexpectations…

Stopit.

Butthethoughtsticksinmyhead,andIimaginebeingabletocallupVincent,ask

himifhewantstocomeover.Imaginehimpullingupoutside,thesoundofhiscardoor

slamming,whileI’minsidewaitingforhim,ravenousforthatlong,sleekbody,knowing

it’llbemineagaininamatterofmoments.Imoanslightly,pressurebuildinginmygroin

asIpicturegrabbinghim,kissinghimsenseless,beingreadyforhim.

“Shit,”Imutter,knowingI’mnotgoingtobeabletojustwalkawaywithout

exploringthisalittlemore,feelinghimout.

Orfeelinghimallover?

Thetruckdoorswingsopen,andVincentclimbsbackin,slightlyoutofbreath,a

smalldufflebaginhishand.

“Youdidn’thavetorush.”

Istraighten,andhegivesmeoneofthosewrylooks.“Don’twanttoholdyouupif

youhavesomewheretobe,man.”

“Idon’t.”WhydidIadmitthat?“Actually,whydon’tIjusttakeyououttoPat’s

place?It’llsaveyouabunchoftime,andIcangiveyouahandtherethentakeyouback

topickupyourvehicle.”Ididn’treallyplantosaythateither.

“Nah.”Heshakeshishead,butIknowhe’sassessingme,tryingtofigureoutwhat

I’mreallysuggesting.“That’sokay.”

“Iwantto.”

I’musingmycopvoiceagain,andhiseyebrowsriseslightly.“Okaythen,”hesays

slowly.“Ifyoureallywantto.Thatwouldwork.”

Idon’tbothertoanswer,juststartthetruckandputitintoreverse,prettysureI’mon

thevergeofmakinganotherhugemistakebutnotabletobringmyselftocare.

ChapterNine

Vincent

Kyleiscoldasiceonthedriveouttothekennels,andIwonderwhyhe’sdoingthis.

Whybotherspendingmoretimewithmewhenit’sobviousit’snotsomethinghewantsto

do?Hedoesn’towemeanything,didn’tevenowemethedrivetogetthekeys,anditkind

ofpissesmeoff.Idon’tneedhimshowingmebad-facefortherestoftheday.

Butit’stoolatetochangemymindnow,soIslidedownslightlyinmyseatand,

lookingoutthewindowatthepassingscenery,starthummingalongwiththeradio.

IgnoringhimasbestIcan.

Yet,oncewegettothesanctuaryheseemstorelax.Gettingoutofthetruckhe

stretches,thenlaceshisfingerstogetherandpretendstocrackhisknuckles.“So,what’son

theagenda?”

Thebumboclaatmanevenhasthenervetosmile.Ijustshrug,notreadytoplaynice

withhimyet.“Pat’lldecide.”ThenIwalkaway,notwaitingtoseeifhefollows.

IhavetoappreciatehowPatpretendsnottobesurprisedwhensheseeshimwithme

and,beforeyoucansay‘who-dat?’thetwoofthemareactingasifthey’veknowneach

otherforever.Idon’tknowwhyitmakesmefeelsosourtoseehimlaughingwithher—

maybeit’sbecausehe’sbeengivingmethesilenttreatmentforthelastcouplehours,

makingmefeellikeacheapfuckandanuisance.Atleasthethankedmeforbuyinghim

breakfast,althoughitwasdoneinsuchanoff-handwayhemightaswellnothave

bothered.

ForthefirstlittlewhileIjustignorethem,cleaningoutcages,Bongofollowingme

whereverIgobutperiodicallyrunningtocheckandseewhatKyleandPatareupto.

Eventually,PatleavesKylehosingoutakennelandcomesovertowhereI’mjust

replacingthebeddinginoneofthedogs’sleepingareas.

“So,what’sthestory?”ShegivesadiscreetnodtowardwhereKyleis,hereyebrows

goingupanddown.It’sclearshe’sdyingwithcuriosity.“Whathappened?Whyareyouso

madathim?”Shefrowns.“Didhedosomething…”

“No.”Iamannoyedwithhim,butthere’snowayI’dgivePatthewrongidea.“He

justmademymonkeystandup.”

“Hewhat?”Itseemsshedoesn’tknowwhethertolaughorplugherears.“Whatthe

helldoesthatmean?”

Ican’thelplaughingatherexpression.“Sorry.It’snotlikeitsounds.Imeanhe

mademeangry.”

Herbrowsknit,andsheglancesbackathimagain.“Ilikehim,Vincent.”Thenshe

givesmeoneofthoselooksthatonlyafriendwhoknowsyouwellcangetawaywith.

Onethatremindsmeofmygranny,justbeforeshetoldmeoffoversomerudeness.“Don’t

writehimoffafteroneday.Anddon’tstartsecondguessingyourself,okay?”

Shedoesn’twanttocomerightoutandsay,“Don’tletthatcrapaboutthescarstand

inyourway,”butIknowthat’swhatshemeans.“Iwon’t,”Imumble,brushingpastherto

movetothenextkennelandstartsweeping.“Promise.”

Patgoesofftodosomethingelse,thankfullyrestrainingherselffromsaying,“Itold

youso”aboutKylebeinggay,andleavingmetomystewing.Myscaristheleastofmy

worriesrightnow.Kyle’smadeitclearitdoesn’tbotherhim,bothbysayingsoandin

wayshedoesn’tevenrealize.HelooksrightatmewhenI’mspeaking,evenwhenI’m

smiling,andhe’sthefirstmanI’vebeenwithsinceIgotcutwhokissesmefullonthe

lips.Ittookmealittlewhiletorealizeit,buteveryothermanI’vekissedconcentratedon

theunscarredsideofmymouth.Oneortwowouldn’tkissmeatall,althoughwhether

that’sjustapersonalpreference—I’veheardafewpeoplesaytheyfeelkissingismore

intimatethanfucking—orbecauseofthescar,Ididn’tbothertoask.Andoneguytoldme

flat-outthathewouldn’tbeabletogetitupifhehadtolookatmyface.Ihadenough

pridetotellhimwherehecouldstickhimself,sinceitwouldn’tbeinme,butthe

experiencehadstayedwithme.So,yeah,I’msensitiveaboutit,buttherearebigger

problemsthanthat.

Kyle’spropensitytoblowhotandcold.Thefactthathe’snotout.ThefeelingsI

havewhenI’mwithhim,whicharefartoointenseforaone-and-done.Mindyou,thelast

partcouldjustbebecausehe’sthebestrassfuckI’veeverhad.Thekindofbrain-

explodingsexwehadwoulddefinitelywarpanyone’sperception.

Takingadeepbreath,IleanonthebroomI’vebeenusingandshakemyheadat

myself.Ihavenothingtocomplainabout.Yesterdaywasincredible,butit’sover.IfKyle’s

goingtobeadickbecausewehadsex,thenit’sbetterwedon’tdoitagain.SinceI’m

prettysurewewon’tbe,it’sallgood,right?

“Right?”IaskBongo,who’slyinginthecorridor,whereit’sdry.Hecockshishead,

thehalf-chewedeartwitchingforward,anddoesthatsmilethingheseemstohave

mastered.“Right.”Irepeat,takinghisattitudeforagreement.Relievedbyworkingitall

out,evenifthethoughtofnotsleepingwithKyleagainleavesmestrangelyhollowinside,

Igobacktowork,determinednottolethimpissmeoffanymore.

Anditturnsouttobeareallyfunafternoon,onceIgetovermysnit.Twoofthe

dogswearrangedtohavere-homedatthefairaregoingtotheirnewhomes—or“forever

homes”asPatcallsthem—thatevening,soKyleandIbathethemandPatgroomsthem.

Whileshe’sfinishingupwiththesecondone,ItakeBongooutsideandKyleleansupon

thesideofthebarnwatchingasIputhimthroughhispaces.Sitsandstays,downandbeg.

Hecanhigh-fiveaswellasshake,andthisafternoonIteachhimthedoublehigh-five,

whichhegetsafterjustacoupleoftries.

“He’sreallygoodatthat,isn’the?”

Kylesoundsimpressed,andIcan’thelpsmilingdownatthedog.“Yes.He’sa

natural,aren’tyouBongo?”

“Didyouteachhimallthosethings?”

“Prettymuch,”Isay.“Heknewtositandshakeapawwhenhecame,butdidn’t

knowhowtowalkonaleashproperly.Weird.”

“Letmetrysomething.”

Kylecomesoverand,afterapause,Ihandhimtheleash.Bongogoeswithhim

withouthesitation.AtleastoneofushassomefaithinKyle.

Takingthedogovertothesideofthebarn,KylehasBongosit,thenheslapsthe

sideofthebarnwithonehandandsays,“Freeze.”

BothBongoandIarelookingathimasthoughhe’slosthismind,havingnoclue

whathe’stryingtoachieve.KylebendsandgentlybringsBongo’sfrontpawsup,until

they’rerestingonthesideofthebuilding,saying“Freeze”againashedoes.Bongolooks

upatKyleexpectantlyand,asthedogstayswhereheis,Kylegiveshimabriskpat-down,

saying,“Whatyougotonyah,boy?”ashedoes.

IlaughsohardIhavetoholdmycheek,andenduponthegrass,bustingagut.

Attractedbythenoise,Bongo—evertheopportunist—breaksawayfromKyleandruns

overtojumpalloverme.BythetimeIgetmyselfandhimundercontrolandlookoverat

Kyle,hisexpressionmakesmyheartstutter.He’sgrinning,butit’sthelookinhiseyesthat

makesmebreakoutalloveringoosebumps.

“Helpmeout,Vincent,”hesays.“It’llbeepic.”

He’stalkingaboutteachingBongohowtofreezeforasearch,butevenasI’m

gettingupandgoingtodoasheasks,Ican’thelpwishinghewasaskingmefor

somethingelse…

Kyle

Bythetimewe’reheadingbacktomyplace,IthinkI’vemadeituptoVincentfor

beingsuchadickearlier.Atleasthe’stalkingtomeagainand,usingsomeofthemore

subtleinterrogationtechniquesIknow,I’vefoundoutalotmoreabouthim.Likethefact

hehasaBachelor’sDegreeinMediastudies,withaminorinmarketing,playsRingof

SteellikeIdo,andgoestovisithiscousininWindsoratleastonceeverycoupleof

months.HewantstoeventuallygobacktoschooltogethisMaster’sbutfornowhe’s

workingtowardbuyingahouse.Vincentacknowledgesthelostyears,whenhewas

runningwiththegang,buthasn’tletthemmirehimdown.Icanadmirethat.

Thecloserwegettothehousethoughthequieterhegets,untilhegoescompletely

silent.Ihatetalkingtomyself,soIgosilenttoobut,glancingathisprofile,Iwonderwhat

he’sthinking,orplanning.

Seeinghimbackatthekennel,spendingthattimewithhim,hasprovenwhatI

suspected—I’mnotreadytoseehimwalkawayyet.Ishouldbroachthesubject,talkit

out,butIreallyhavenoideahowtoevenstart.I’veneverbeenatalker,moreofadoer.

ThetaglineoftheforceIworkforis,“Deeds,notwords,”andtheycouldhavehadmein

mindwhentheycameupwithit.

Sowhenwegetoutofthecaratthehouse,Iwalkovertothesteps.Thenbeforehe

canstartspoutingwhateverspeechhe’sbeenrehearsing,Isay,“Comeinside.”

Vincentfreezes,hiskeyalreadyhalfinthelock.“What?”

Iwalkbacktowardhim,realizingI’llhavetoconvincehim,needtoconvincehim.I

crowdhim,wantingtosmilewhenheholdshisground.WhenIbendtokisshim,he

doesn’tpullaway,althoughasecondortwopassbeforeheopenshislips.Ialmostforget

whatthepurposeofkissinghimwas,asIsliderightbackintothedrivingdesireIfeel

wheneverItouchhim.Finally,whenIrealizewe’repracticallytakingeachother’sclothes

offinmybackyard,Ipullbackfarenoughtosayagain,“Comeinside.”

Hiseyesarehiddenbyhisdarkglasses,buthelicksthecornerofhislip,andIknow

Ihavehim.

Wedon’tmakeitfartherthanthelivingroomcouchbeforewe’renaked,goingat

eachotherasthoughit’sbeenmonths,ratherthanhourssincewehadsex.Idon’tcarethat

Vincentsmellsslightlyofdogshampooandstronglyofsweat.Itactuallymakesme

hornier.Urgencymakesmealittlerough,usingmyteethonhisnipples,jackinghimhard

withmyhand,buthegivesasgoodashegetsandsoonI’mspiralingintoamindlessstate

oflust.

Ipushonhischestuntilhe’slyingonhisback,andheadsouthalonghischestand

belly,desperatetotastehim.

“Wait.”Heholdsontomyhead,fingersclenchedhard,stoppingmydownward

slide.“Turnaround.Givemeyourcock.”HelickshisbottomlipandIshiver.“You

shouldn’thaveallthefun.”

Ihesitate,moreturnedonbythethoughtof69ingwithhimthanIimaginedpossible

butwonderingifIcantrustmyselfnottohurthim.“Yousure?”

Vincentnods,hiseyesgleamingandheavy-lidded.“Man,Iwantit.Needit.”

Whocouldresistthat?Reversingmyposition,Istraddlehischest,hisarmssliding

aroundmylegs,holdingmeinplace,histonguealreadyhotandwetonmyballsbefore

I’mevenproperlyinplace.Groaning,Ibendtotakehiscockintomymouth,justashe

guidesminetohislipsandsucksmedeep.Ijerk,mythighsalreadystrainingwiththe

effortnottothrust.Concentratingonblowinghimhelpstostaveoffmyownneedto

come,buthisrumblingsoundsofpleasure,vibratingintomydick,makeitdifficultto

keepmymindonwhatI’mdoing.

Hepushesmyhipsupslightly,somycockslipsfromhismouth,andItakeadeep,

relievedbreath.Hopefullythis’llgivemealittletimetogetmyselfbackundercontrol.

Ishould’veknownbetter.

Vincentguidesmycockbackintohismouth,justasaslickfingerfindsmypucker

andpushesin.InstinctivelyIpressclosertohisface,forcingmycockdeep,theheatinmy

bellyfiringdownintomyballs,makingthemtightenalmostpainfully.Vincenthums,the

handonmyasstightening,thefingerinmetwistingandthrusting.

Mycontrolslips,andIbarelyhangontoit,stoppingmyselffromshovingmydick

downhisthroatbypullingcompletelyaway,obviouslytakinghimbysurprise.

“What—?”

Ican’tanswer,toobusyjackingmycock.Twostrokesisallittakesformetocome,

mybodyarchedandshudderinglikecrazy.

Whensanityreturns,I’mbracingmyselfonthebackofthecouch,lookingdownat

hiscum-splatteredbelly.

“Why’dyoudothat?”

Vincentsoundsalmostpeevish,anditmakesmewanttolaughbutIdon’thavethe

strength.Icanhardlyanswer,suckinginadeepbreathbeforeI’mabletoreply,“Ididn’t

wanttohurtyou.”

“Youwouldn’thave.”

Hisvoicehasatingeofamusementinitand,forsomereason,itmakesmealittle

angry.“Ididn’t.”That’swhat’simportanttome,evenifitisn’ttohim.

“No.”Hisvoiceissoft,justalittleaboveawhisper.“No,youdidn’t.”

Puttingmyhandonthebackofthecouch,Istarttoswingmylegoverhishead,

planningtogobacktomyoriginalposition,kneelingbetweenhislegs,butVincent

tightenshisholdonme.“Stayhere.”Helickstheinsideofmythigh,thennuzzlesmy

ballslightly.“Please.”

Hidingagain,butit’sonlynowthattheedgeisoffmylustthatIrealizeit.But

there’snothingIcandoaboutitrightnow.Ineedtogetthatsweetcockbackintomy

mouth—suckhimuntilheletsgoofeverythingbutthesensationandcomes.

Eventuallywemakeitupstairsandshareashower.OneofthoseI’ll-wash-your-

back,you-do-mine,businesslikeshowersthatdegeneratesintosomethingcompletelyun-

businesslikefairlyquickly.Vincentlaughs,andsaysthere’snowayhe’srisking“busting

hisparradus,”—whateverthehellthatis—byhavingsexinthebathtub,soweendup,

dampandhornyagain,inmybed.

Hehasawayoflookingatmethat’sbothamusingandarousing,andIknowI’ve

laughedmoreinthelastcoupleofdaysthanIhaveforalongtime.It’sagoodfeeling,

evenifsometimesIknowhe’slaughingatme.Ijustmakehimpaywithpleasure,play

withhimuntilhe’spracticallybegging.Notthatit’saonewaystreet.Vincenthasawayof

turningthetablesonmewhenIleastexpectit,leavingmesurrenderingtothealmostferal

urgeshestirsinme.

Bythetimewefinishhavingsex—again—I’mexhausted,andstrangelyconflicted.

IwantVincenttostay,yetit’sweirdtohavehadsomeonearoundnon-stopfortwodays

running.Helooksatmewiththosedark,knowingeyes,andstretches.

“I’mgoingtoheadhome.I’mworkingateighttomorrowmorning,soIneedmy

sleep.”

Iwanttoaskhimtostaybutdon’t,alittlerelievedhe’svolunteering,sinceI

wouldn’thavebeenabletobringmyselftoaskhimtogo.“Okay,”Isay,asheswingshis

legsoffthebed.“Wantmetogetyourclothesfromdownstairs?”

“Nah.”Heflashesmeasmile,whileheadingtothebathroom.“I’mnotshy.I’ll

dressdownthere.”Hepauseswithhishandonthedoorknob.“Itreallyisagoodthingyou

don’thaveanyneighbors.We’dbeinbigtrouble.”

He’sright,Ithink,picturingwhatwemusthavelookedlike69ingonthecouch.

Enoughforachargeof‘commitindecentact’attheleast.Eventhatthoughtmakesme

chuckle,asIpullonapairofshortsinpreparationofwalkinghimout.

Thenitregistersinmysex-addledbrainthatIneedtosaysomethingtohimabout

maybehookingupagainsometime.Seeingifit’ssomethinghemightbeinterestedinand,

ifitis,discussexactlywhattherelationshipwouldbe.Well,tellhimallI’minterestedin

isafuck-buddyandnothingelse.Myhandsstartsweating,andIwipethemonthefrontof

myshorts.

Vincentcomesoutofthebathroomandgivesmealonglookbeforethrowingmea

grinashecrossestothedoor.“Don’tlooksoworried,Sarg.Anonuttin’”

Okay.I’veheardthatparticularJamaicanismbefore.Searchingmymemory,I

remember.ItwaswhathesaidwhenIsympathizedwithhimabouthismotherandtherest

ofhisfamilynotwantingtohaveanythingtodowithhim.Rememberingthathasme

goingafterhim.

WhenIgetdownstairshe’salreadypullingonhisshortsinthelivingroom,hisshirt

anddarkglassesonthechairbesidehim.Icrosstheroomandgetupinhisface,grabbing

himbytheshoulders,thesurpriseinhiseyestellingmeahellofalotmorethanhe

probablyrealizes.

“Don’tfuckingsay,‘anonuttin’aboutwhathappenedbetweenus.”Ididn’tknow

howangryIwasuntilnow.Hiseyeswiden,andheshakeshishead,hishandscomingup

togripmyforearms.“Don’tlumpmeinwiththepeoplewho’veturnedtheirbackon

you.”

“Kyle…”

Iwon’tlethimfinish.I’mtoorampedup.Andyeah,it’smycopvoice,butheneeds

tohearitthisway.“MaybeIcan’tofferyouanythingpermanent,oranythingpublic,but

I’mnotturningmybackonyou.We’refriendsnow,unlessyouwantitdifferent.”

Heblinks,confusionflickeringinhisgazeforamoment,then,asifblindscome

down,Ican’treadhimanymore.“Appreciateit,Kyle.”Hesmiles,butitdoesn’tringtrue.

“That’s…goodtoknow.”

Ilethimgoandstepback,butmyheartisthundering,adrenalinepumpingthrough

mysystem,makingmewanttoshakehim.Icrossmyarms,myfeetarespread—battle

ready.“So,what’llitbe?”

Vincentshakeshisheadslowly,andreachesforhisshirt.“I—”HepullstheT-shirt

on,thenlooksatmeagain.Hespeaksslowly,asthoughthinkingabouteveryword.“I

don’tknowwhatIwantotherwise,butI’lltakethefriendship.”

It’stheperfectanswer,exactlywhatIshouldwanttohear,andInod,butatthesame

timeitfeelswrong—incomplete—andIcursemyselfsilentlyforbeingsocontrary.

Pickinguphisdarkglasses,Vincentwalksaroundthecountertothefridgeand

writessomethingonthepadIkeepmagneticallystucktothedoor.Puttingthepenbackin

itsclip,hepatshispocketsbeforeturningtofaceme.

“Mynumber.”Hejerkshisthumbtowardthepad.“Callmewhenyouwantsome

company,orlookmeuponRoS.”Hesmiles,butthere’sawrycasttoit,andIknowhe

doesn’tthinkIwill.

Thenhe’sgone,soquicklythere’snotimetosayanythingmore,orevenkisshim

goodbye.

AndwhenIdragmyselfupstairsIenduptossingandturninghalfthenight,my

previouslyperfectlycomfortablebedsuddenlytooempty.Thequietnessofmyroom

suddenlytoocomplete.

ChapterTen

Vincent

Idon’texpecttohearfromKyleagain.Or,ifhedoescall/textorevenDMmeon

RingofSteel,Iexpecthe’lljustbefriendly.Untilhewantstofuckagain.ButIdon’t

know.Hecouldbeoneofthosemenwhocanjustpushsextoonesideandgoabouttheir

businesswithoutitforlongperiodsoftime,soIwon’thearfromhimforawhile.Then

again,thealmostangrywayheinsistedthatwewerenow‘friends’mademethink,despite

mybetterinclinations,thathejustmighthavemeantit.Again,Idon’tknow.FeelslikeI

don’tknowanythingrightnow.

Concentratingatworktakesalotofeffort,andacouplepeoplenoticeI’mdistracted

butIjustshrugoffthequestions.WhatcouldIsay?Metaguy,buthedoesn’treallywant

tobeseenwithme.No,notbecauseofmyscar,butbecausehe’safraidofthe

consequences.

It’snotlikeIcan’trelate.Hell,ifhewantsanexampleofhowthingscangowrong

whenyoucomeoutofthecloset,hedoesn’tneedtolookfurtherthanme.Yet,itmakes

mesadforhim,andalittleangry.Backhome,‘buggery’isstillacrimeandhomophobiais

rife.Thegaymenbraveenoughtocomeoutrisknotjustbeingassaulted,butbeing

arrestedorevenkilled.Comparedtothat,canwhateverhe’sfacingforclaiminghis

freedom,forbeinghonest,evencompare?

Buthe’dsaidtomeallhe’deverwantedwastobeacop.Ifbeingknownasgay

wouldjeopardizethat,IguessIcanseewherehe’scomingfrom.

Again,Ihavenoclue.Ican’tseemtowrapmyheadaroundanything,mybrain

filledwithsex-soaked,sweetmemories,andquestions.Iknowthefogwillfade

eventually,andIhopeit’srassclaatsoon.Thiswhiningandpininglikeanadolescentgirl

isalreadygettingold.

OnbreakItextJenalyza,nottotellherwhat’sgoingon,butbecauseIreallyjust

needcontactwithsomeoneIcareaboutandwhocaresaboutme.Ineverknewhow

preciousthatabilitywas—justtobeabletoreachouttosomeone—untilIonlyhadone

personIcoulddothatwith.

Hey.What’sgoingon?

Shesurprisesmebyreplyingrightaway.Nutthin’much.Onlunch,hangin’inthe

caf,watchingthecray-cray.Whatusaying?

Isnort.ForanEnglishprofessorhertextinggrammarleavesalottobedesired.Not

much.Justonbreak.WantedtoseehowyouandAntonweredoing.

We’regood.Wanttocomedownthisweekend?WecanB-B-Qnowthatit’sfinally

warm.

It’llbegoodtoseethem.JenalyzaandAnton,herFrench-Canadiancontractor

husband,arefun.It’llgivemesomethingtolookforwardtoaswell.Yeah.Iwork

Saturday.Sundayokay?

Yep.Headingintofinals,soI’llbealittlemanicfortherestoftheweek.Sunday

suitsmeperfectly.

Soundsgood.Seeyouthen.

I’mabouttostowmyphonebackinmypocketwhenitvibratesagain.Bringing

anyonewithyou?Followedbyasmileyface.

She’salwaysonmeaboutgettinginvolvedinarelationship—kindoflikePatbut

worse,becauseJenalyza’sknownmeallmylifeandknowsthebuttonstopush—butthis

seemsalmostpsychic.I’mtemptednottoanswer,butthenIknowIhavetotalkto

someone,orgonuts.No.TellyouaboutitwhenIseeyou.

Notsurprisingly,thephonebuzzesagainalmostimmediately.I’mcallingyoulater.

AnddoIhavetokillanyone?

Thatmakesmelaughand,asIreassureherthatmurderwillnotbenecessaryonmy

behalf,Ifeelbetter.

Onceagain,I’mabouttoshovemyphoneinmypocketandgobacktoworkwhenit

buzzes.

“Lawd,Jenalyza,”Imutter,stillsmilingasIunlockthescreen.Butitisn’ther.It’sa

numberIdon’trecognize,andmyheartstartshammering.ForamomentIconsidernot

lookingatthemessage,butIknowI’lljustbeconsumedwithcuriosityandangstforthe

nextfewhoursifIdon’t.Ihitthescreenwithmythumbtoopenthemessage.

Hey,it’sKyle.Whattimeareyouoffwork?Wanttocomeover?Youcouldbring

yourlaptopandwe’llplaysomeRoS.

Isthatcodeforhavingsex?Andwhy,afterallmorningmopingaboutwhetherhe’ll

contactmeornot,doIfeellikegivinghimahardtime?WouldservehimrightifIdidn’t

answeruntillater.

Maybehe’samindreader,becauseanothermessagepopsup.Weneedtotalk.

Isighandscrubahandovermyface.He’sright,ofcourse,butIhavethesneaky

suspicionthatifwegettogethertherewon’tbealotoftalking.EitherwayImightaswell

go.Wereallydoneedtogetsomestuffstraight.IjustwishIdidn’tfeelasifI’lllook

desperateandeasygivingin.

Okay.Can’tstaytoolatethough.I’llbringpizza.Ilookatthescreenforawhile,

tryingtofigureouthowhe’llinterpretthat.ThenIadd:Anypreferenceontoppings?And

hit‘send’.

Nofuckingpineapple.I’mnotfussyotherwise.

Isnort.SomehowI’mnotsurprisedbythepineappleissue.Okay.Seeyouabout6?

Soundsgood.

It’sonlyafterIfinishworkthatIcheckmyphoneagainandseewherehe’dsent

anothertext.Thisonejustsays:Thanks.

IorderthepizzabeforeIleavework,thenswingbytheapartmenttogetmylaptop,

justincasehemeantwhathesaidanditisn’tcodefor,‘wecanhavesomemorewild,

monkeysex.’ThenIpickupthepizzaonmywayouttohisplace.

Springismyfavoritetimeofyear.Havinggrownupinatropicalcountry,winters

getoppressiveafterawhile,especiallyifthey’reveryovercastandgraymostofthetime.

Ofcourse,whenthey’resunnyisalmostjustasbad,becausethenthey’recolder.Okay,

winter’sjustplainnastyallroundandbythetimespringcomesI’mgoingcuckoo.

Windingdownthewindows,Iletthebreezefillthecarandenjoythewarmthand

occasionalscentofthecherryandcrabappleblossomswhenIpasstreesinfullbloom.

Everythingisgreentoo.Notthekindofgreenyougetinthetropics,forsure,butI’lltake

itanyway.

Imisshome.It’satotallydifferentvibefromNorthAmerica,oftenmoresocial,

morelaidback.Sure,mostCanadianslikeagoodbushpartyorbackyardbarbeque,but

that’snotthesameaslyingonabeachlisteningtoreggaeanddrinkingRedStripebeer,

thenstayingupallnightplayingdominosordancingcalypso.Butit’smorethanthat,I

think.It’sbeingsurroundedbypeoplewho’velivedthesamekindoflife,who’vehadthe

sameexperiences.Iknowpeopledon’thavetobethesametobefriends,butsometimes

youjustwantsomeonewhohasthesamepointsofreference.

Orsomeonewho’lltakethetimetogettoreallyknowyou.Listentoyourstories.

Understandwhereyou’recomingfrom.

AsI’mturningontotheroadwhereKyle’shouseis,Irealizeit’sreallyonlyabout

tenminutesawayfrommine,afactIwastooupsettoreallypayattentiontotheday

before.It’sbecauseIliveintheeastendofthecityandhe’sfarthereast,sothere’sno

goingthroughoraroundthecenteroftown.Handy,iftherearetobemoreofthesebooty-

calls.

AndI’mprettysureitisabootycall.I’mnotconvincedtherecanbeanythingmore

thansexbetweenus,nomatterwhathesays.

Butwhenheopensthedoorhedoesn’tjumpmethewayIhalf-expected.Insteadhe

takesthepizzafrommeandsays,“Areyoustarving?OrcanyouholdoffeatinguntilI

finishironingmyuniforms?”

“I’mokayforawhile.”Islipoffmyshoesandputthemonthemat,thenleanmy

laptopcaseagainstthetableleg.“AndI’mgladtoknowI’mnottheonlyonewhostill

ownsanironingboard.”

Comingbackoutofthekitchen,hestartsupthestaircase,throwingahalf-smile

overhisshouldertomeasIfollow.“Someoftheguyssendtheirsoutfordrycleaning,but

IliketodoitmyselfbecausethenIknowit’sdoneright.”

Ichuckle,seeinganotherindicationofhisborderlineOCD.Butit’ssomethingI’m

familiarwithandcanrelateto.“Myfatherwasasticklerabouthisuniformtoo.Wouldn’t

letanyoneelseironit.AndwhenIwasintheArmyCadetsinhighschool,ifouruniforms

weren’tperfectlypressedourcommandergotveryrahtid.”Whenhepausesandlooks

backatme,hiseyebrowssomewhereupbyhishairline,Ilaugh.“Angry.Hegotangry.I

havetostopdoingthattoyou.”

“Nah.Ilikeit.Aslongasyouexplainanddon’tmakemeguesswhatyoumean.”

HegoesintoabedroomclosetothetopofthestairsandIstepinbehindhim.It’ssetupas

anoffice,withadeskandchairalongthewallwherethewindowis,anarmchaircloseby,

andhisironingboardnexttoaclosetwhereabunchofapparentlyfreshlypressed

uniformsalreadyhang.“Onlyacoupleofshirtslefttodo.Thenwecaneat.”

Settlingintothearmchair,Istretchmylegsout.“Noproblem.I’llsithereand

supervise.”

Hegivesmean‘ohyeah?’glare,thenlaughs.“Youcantry,buddy,butI’mgoodat

this,andIknowit.Spraystarchismybestfriend.Youcan’tcomebetweenus.”

Ilaughwithhimbut,atthatexactmoment,undertheinfluenceofthatgorgeous

smileandthosesparklingeyes,IknowI’mgettingindeep,deep,deep.

AndhopeIdon’tendupdrowning.

Kyle

IseethesidewayslooksVincentkeepsgivingmeastheeveninggoeson,butIdon’t

doanythingaboutthem.Theydon’tlookinviting,morespeculative,andIcanalmostbet

he’swaitingtoseewhenI’llmakeamove.Idon’tplanto,althoughIreally,reallywantto.

There’smoretowhat’shappeningbetweenusthanjustsex,andIneedtomakesurehe

knowsthat,andknowsthatIknowittoo.

Weeatthepizzasittingatthekitchenisland.UsuallyI’dtakeitintothelivingroom,

wherewecouldwatchTV,buteverytimeIlookatmycouchIrememberwhatwedidon

it.Rightnow,tryingtositonitwithVincentinacasualwayjustdoesn’tseemeitherwise

ordoable.Bettertostayasfarawayfromitaspossible.

WhileweeatItellVincentthatmybrotherDennyhasmadeplanswithPattogosee

thepups,andthatDamoniscrazyexcitedaboutchoosingone.Vincentswallowsa

mouthfulandshootsmeasmile.“Didyoutellyourbrotherhowmanypuppiesthere

were?Andthattherewasachancehe’dendupwithtwo?”

“Itdidn’toccurtome.”ButIhavetochuckleatthethoughtofDennytryingtoget

Damontopickjustone.“MaybeIshould.”VincentandIexchangeaknowinglook,thenI

shakemyhead.“Nah.”

Helaughs.“Mean,Kyle.Realmean.”

Ishrug.“Hey,youhavenoideahowmanytimesDennybeatthecrapoutofme

growingup.ItakevengeancewhenIcan.”

Thatmakeshimlaughagain,andIlikethewaythesoundfillstheroom.Nowonder

thehousefeltsoemptytoday.Vincent’spersonalityandspiritaddsomethingthat’salways

beenmissing.

Suddenlyseeminglyfascinatedbythesliceofpizzainhishand,heasks,“Youjust

haveonebrother?”

“Nope.”Ilikethathe’sinterestedinfindingoutmoreaboutme.“There’sonemore

brother,youngerthanme,andtwosisters.”

“Theyalllivehere?”

Reachingforanotherpieceofpizza,Icheckoutthemeatdistributionandpickoffa

pieceofpepperonitomovetoanotherspotonthesliceasIanswer.“Dennydoes,of

course,andmyoldersisterMarikaisheretoo,buttheothertwoliveupontheGaspé

Peninsula,neartomymom.Aftermydaddied,abouttenyearsago,shewantedtogo

backtoQuebectobeclosertoherfamily.Weolderkidswereprettysettledherealready—

Dennywasmarried,MarikawasingradschoolandI’djustgraduatedfromPoliceCollege

andgottenajobwiththeforcehere—sowedecidedtostay.TiggerandNickwerestillin

theirteens,soMomdraggedthem,kickingandscreaming,backwithher.Now,Idon’t

thinkeitherofthemwouldevenconsidermovingback.”

“I’msorryaboutyourfather.”Helooksstraightatmewhenhesaysit,anditdoesn’t

soundlikeaplatitudethewayitdoeswhenmostpeopleexpresssympathy.“It’shardto

loseaparent,nomatterhowoldyouare.”

Inodslowly.“Itwashard,especiallysinceIdidn’treallygetonwellwithhim.

SomehowthatmadeitworsebecauseI’dalwaysthoughtatsomepointwe’dgettoaplace

wherewecouldtalkthingsout.Butthenhewasgone,andIhadtocometotermswiththe

factitwouldneverhappen.”

Sayingitsortofshocksme.Ineverspeaktoanyoneaboutmyfather—well,except

maybetoDenny,butwithhimit’sallshorthand,becausehewasthereandknowsallabout

it.We’llskirtaroundthesubjectofDadwithaliftofoureyebrowsora“youknow”,not

havingtoactuallysaythewords,justknowingwhattheotherpersonmeans.Theinterest

andhintofunderstandinginVincent’sexpressionmakesmewanttotellhimeverything.

“Myfatherwas…”God,it’sharderthanIthoughtitwouldbe,butIwon’tback

downnow.“Hewasoneofthosepeoplethateveryoneoutsideofhisfamilyloved—funny,

alwayscheerful,generous—butathomehewasatotallydifferentperson.”Iswallow,the

pizzaI’veeatensuddenlylikearockinmystomach,andIpushmyunfinishedsliceaway.

“Hewasn’tamonster,justcoldand,Isupposesomepeoplewouldsay,emotionally

abusive.Mymothersaysit’sthewayhewasraised—hisfatherwasaviolentalcoholic

whobeatallhiskidsandhiswifetoo—andDadfiguredaslongashewasn’tphysically

hurtingus,itwasokay.Healsowastotallyanti-establishment,somygoingintopolicing

didn’tbuymeanybrowniepoints.”

Vincentdoesn’tsayanythingforafewmoments,hisgazesteadyonmine,asthough

he’stryingtohearthestuffIcouldn’tbringmyselftosay.Theyearsofname-callingand

beingignoredifIdidsomethinghedidn’tlike.Thatfeelingofbeingsomehownevergood

enoughforhim.Gettingbeyonditwasonething—IliketothinkI’vemovedon,donemy

ownthing,myownway—butit’snothardtoseegettingoveritissomethingelse

altogether.

“I’msorry.”Hetouchesmyshoulder,andhislipstwist.“Weirdisn’tit,howit

sometimesfeelslikethepastwillneverletyougo,nomatterhowfarorfastyourun?”

Ihavetolookawaythen,becauseI’mnotsureIcancontrolmyexpression,and

don’tknowwhatit’lltellhim.I’mnotusedtofeelingvulnerable,andVincenthasaway

ofstripingmedowntothebone.It’stoomuch.

“Hey.”Hepushesbackfromtheislandandclosesthepizzabox.“Ipromisedyouan

ass-kickinginRingofSteel,andIwon’tbedenied.Getyourlaptop,andpreparetobe

trounced.”

Takingadeepbreath,floodedwithasenseofreliefand,strangely,gratitude,Igetup

too.“Trounced?”Isneer.“Whothefucksays,‘trounced’?”

“Themanwho’sabouttoteachyouexactlywhatitmeans.”

Hegoestogethislaptopfromwherehe’dleftitandIheadupstairstograbmine,

takingamomentwhileI’malonetopullmyselftogetherandwonderwhyIfeelsolight.

Downstairsagain,IfindVincentsittinginoneofthearmchairs,andIpushthe

coffeetablealittleclosertohim.“Putyourfeetup,ifyouwant.”Isetmyselfuponthe

couch,becauseIlikeusingamouseratherthanthecontrolpadandneedtheextraspace,

butI’mgladhe’satasafedistance.

Justaswe’reloggingontothegame,hisphonebuzzes.Fishingitoutofhispocket,

helooksatthedisplay,andhislipstwist.Thenheglancesupatme.“Ishouldtakethis.

Youmind?”

“Nope.Youwantsomeprivacy?”

“Nah.”Hesmilesslightly.“It’smycousin.Iforgotshesaidshe’dcallmetonightor

I’dhavecalledherearlierandputheroff.”

HeanswersthephoneandIrealizewhyhedidn’tneedprivacy.Allofasuddenit’s

asifhe’sspeakingaforeignlanguage.Completelyunintelligiblesentencesare

interspersedwith“Ee-hee?”,“Nah”andthatsoundJamaicanscallkissingtheirteeth,

wheretheysucktheairinthroughtheirteethtomakeasoundbothslightlydisgustingand

strangelyunderstandable.Dependingontheinflection—andthereareasurprisingnumber

ofthem—itcansignalamusement,disgust,dismissalorjust“Ihearyou.”

Partwaythroughtheconversationhisgazeslidestowardmeandthenjustasquickly

jumpsaway.

“Nah,”hesaysintothephone.“Nahgohappen.”ThatIunderstand.What’she

tellinghiscousinwon’thappen?“Alright.Yeah.Yeah.Walkgood.Hail-upAntonfimi.”

Endingthecall,heputsthephoneawayandgoesbacktofiddlingwithhislaptop.I

wanttoaskwhatwassaid,butifhewantsmetoknowhe’lltellmeandI’mnotina

positiontoask.

“Youready?”heasks,givingmeachallengingsmile.“Tobetrounced?”

Isnort,andthebattlebegins.He’sgood,andI’mdistracted,sohedoesindeed

trouncemeinthefirstmatch,butalthoughhelaughsandgenerallybehavesasifhesingle-

handedlywonWWII,he’ssofunnyIcanonlylaughwithhim.Andpayhimbackby

winningthenexttwomatches.

“Rassclaat,”hegroans,asmyavatarraiseshisbattleaxeintriumphagain.“Lucky

play.”Heglancesathiswatch,thengrinsatme.“Onemore,thenIhavetogo.I’mback

intoworkateighttomorrowmorning.”

“Okay.Idon’tmindkickingyourbuttagain.”

Withatwistofhislipsandakissofhisteeth,heletsmeknowjusthowhefeels

aboutthatstatement,andI’msmilingwhenIlookbackatthescreen.

Hewinsconvincinglyandpracticallycrows.Itellhimoff,accusinghimofusingall

kindsofunderhandmovestogettovictory,whichjustmakeshimlaughharder.

“Yeah,yeah,Mr.Babylon.Thepoorlittleblackboymusthavecheatedtowin.”

Thattakesmeaback.It’snotthekindofthingmostpeoplewouldsayjokingly,andI

wonderifhethinksI’minanywayprejudiced.Hecan’t,canhe?

Vincentlooksupfrompackinguphiscomputerandlaughsevenharder.“Jesus,

Kyle.I’mkidding.IknowCanadiansareultra-PCbutJamaicansaren’tallthetime.Itjust

meansI’mcomfortablewithyou,sogetusedtoit.”

“Okay.”IrealizeI’mgrinningathim,atthosewords,‘I’mcomfortablewithyou.’

“I’llbearthatinmind.”

Gettingup,hestretches,andI’msorryhisshirtistuckedin.Nohintofthatbellyfor

metonight.“I’mouttahere.”Heslidesmeaglance,hislipstwitchingupatthecorners.

“Letmeknowwhenyouwantatie-breakermatch.I’llbereadytoroutyou.”

Laughingandputtingmylaptopaside,Igetupandfollowhimtowardthedoor.I

don’twanthimtoleave,andwishwewereatthestagewhereIcould’vejustaskedhimto

staythenight.But,Iremindmyself,I’msupposedtobeshowinghimit’snotallaboutsex.

Pausingatthebackdoor,afterhavingputonhisshoes,heturnsandsmilesatme.

“Thiswasfun.Thanks.”

“Ienjoyedittoo.Andthanksforthepizza.”ShouldIjustlethimleavelikethis?It

feels…wrongsomehow.Hereachesforthescreendoorhandle,andIhearmyselfsay,

“Wait.”Eyebrowsraised,helooksbackatmeandImoveincloser,butdon’tcrowdhim,

givinghimroom.“CanIkissyougoodnight?”

Vincent’seyelidsdroop,andIwaittoseeifthetipofhistonguewilltouchthe

unscarredcornerofhismouth.Whenitdoes,Iknowtheanswer,evenbeforehesays,

“Yeah.”

Keepitcool.Keepitlight.

Yep.Right.

EvenifIwereabletoholdback,Vincent’sreactionwouldhavederailedmybest

intentions.AssoonasIcuphischeeksandrestmylipsonhis,mycontrolslipsandI’m

deepeningthekissbeforeit’sevenproperlystarted.ThenVincentiskissingmebackwith

thesamekindofvoracioushungrychurninginmygutandfiringoutintomybloodstream.

There’sadeliciousrumbleofsoundinhischest,andhisarmcomesuparoundmyneck,

pullingmeinsocloseIcanfeeleverymuscle,andeveryroughbreathhetakes.Mylegs

goweak,andIleanagainstthewallbehindme,spreadingmythighssoIcangrabhimand

tughimbetweenthem.Whenhegivesoneofthosesexyswivelsofhiships,Igroan,

wantinghimsobadIdon’tknowhowtostopmyselffromtakingwhateverhewantsto

give.

Slidingmyhandsdown,Ipalmhisass,squeezing,holdinghimtighttomygroin.

Rightthenthoughtsoflettinghimwalkoutcatapultoutofmybrain.Itjustfeelssodamn

righttohavehiminmyarms,Idon’twanttoletgo.

It’sVincentwhofinallybraceshishandonthewallandpusheshimselfbackjust

enoughtobreakthekiss.

“Ihavetogo,Kyle.”It’sjustarumbleofsound.“Ihavetoworkearlytomorrow,

andIwasn’tveryeffectiveatworktoday.”

Can’tsayIfeelbadabouthimnotbeingabletoconcentrate—notifitwasbecause

hewasthinkingofme.“Iknow.”Irestmyforeheadonhis.“Iknow.ButIdon’twantyou

to.”

HeeasesbackalittlemoreandIreluctantlylethim,althoughIdon’treleasehim

completely,keepingmyhandsonhiships.“Gladtohear,but…”Hetakesadeepbreath

andblowsitout,thenshakeshishead.“IknowIwon’tgetenoughsleepifIstay.Idon’t

haveanyclothes…”

Islidemyhandsupandsqueezehiswaist.“It’sokay.Ishouldn’thavesaidanything.

It’sjust,withmebeingonafternoonsthisrotation,IknowIwon’tseeyouforafewdays.”

MaybeIshouldsoftenitwithasmile,butIcan’t.“CanyoucomebyonSunday?That’ll

bemynextdayoff.”

“Ican’t.IpromisedJenalyzaI’dgovisitherinWindsor.”

“Can’tyougoanotherday?”It’smycopvoice.WhydoIfallbacktothatwhenI’m

withhim?Itrytotemperit,butitstilldoesn’tsoundmuchlikearequestwhenItackon,

“Please?”

Helooksawayforasecond,thenlooksbackatme.There’ssomethingdifferent

abouthisexpression,butI’mnotsurewhatitmeansuntilhesays,“Whydon’tImeetyou

hereSaturdaynight,afteryougetoff,andyoucometoWindsorwithmeonSunday?”

BeforeIcanprocessthat,muchlessfindananswer,hegoeson,reallyfast.“Itwouldbe

fun.You’lllikeJenalyzaandAnton,anditwouldn’tbeabigdeal.It’snotlikeIexpect

youtopretendtobemyboyfriendoranything.”

Ithurtsthathewantshiscousin’scompanymorethanmine.It’sannoyingthathe

wantsmetogosomewherewithhim,outingmyselftostrangers,evenifitwouldbeina

townwhereI’mprettysureIwon’tseeanyoneIknow.

“No.”Iletmyhandsdrop,butIholdhisgaze.“Sorry.”

Vincentnodsslowly.“Okay.Yeah.Maybewecangettogethersometimenext

week.”

Hesmiles,butthere’ssomethingwrongwithit,andit’sonlyafterIseehistaillights

disappeararoundthesideofthehousethatIrealizewhatIsawinhiseyeswasamixture

ofunderstandingandhurt.

ChapterEleven

Vincent

Ishouldn’thaveaskedthatofKyle.Iknewitevenasthewordswerecomingoutof

mymouth,butIcouldn’tstopthem.Itwasstupid,andIcan’tevenfigureoutwhyIdidit.

ShouldIapologize?That’sthequestionIwrestlewithallthewayhome,andeven

afterIshowerandgetintobed.InvitinghimtogowithmetoJenalyza’swasoverstepping

thebounds,despitethetwoofusnothavingestablishedwherethelinesaredrawn.His

reactionsaiditall;awalloficecomingdowntosurroundhimandchillmealltheway

through.

Lyingonmyback,staringupattheceiling,Icometoacoupleofdecisions.The

firstoneisthatIwon’tbackdownaboutgoingtoJenalyza’s,althoughIreallydon’twant

toanymore.Doingthatwouldbesettingmyselfuptobehisdoormat—thebooty-callwho

neversaysno.TheseconddecisionisthatIdon’twanttoleavethingsthewaytheyare.

AlthoughIstilldoubtwhateverthereisbetweenuswillgoanywhere,Idon’twanttoslam

thedooroniteither.Onceuponatimeonlytorturewouldhavepulledanapologyfrom

me,butI’mbiggerthanthatnow.It’snoweaknesstoadmityou’vebeenwrong,especially

toafriend.

He’sprobablygonetobedbynow,soItext,hopingIdon’twakehimup.

Listen,didn’tmeantoputuonthespot.Sorry.

Havinggotthatoutoftheway,Irolloverandtrytogotosleep,butI’mjokingwith

myself.It’shardtosleepwhenyou’redesperatelylisteningforyourphonetobuzz.Thank

Goditdoes.Makingagrabforit,Isenditflyingoffthebedsidetableandonlyjustcatch

itbeforeithitstheground.

It’sokay.

Chattyfuckerisn’the?I’mcontemplatingtextingagain,wonderingwhattherassto

say,whenanothermessagecomesthrough.

IgetoffatmidnightonSaturday.Icandropoffakeysoyoucanletyourselfin

earlier.

Myheart,alreadydrummingfromthemomentIheardthefirsttextcomein,picks

upthepace.Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.Imean,Ido,inthathewantsmetocomeover

andspendthenightwithhim,buthashechangedhismindaboutgoingtoWindsor?

Youcanleavefromheretogotoyourcousin’sonSunday.

WhyamIsodisappointed?Iknewhedidn’twanttogo,sothisisagood

compromise.YetIhavetopushasidestirringsofannoyancetoreply.

Okay.Dropthekeyoffinmymailslot.Apartment#3.Feelingsnippy,Iadd:Andtry

yourbestnottocomearoundhereinuniform.Theneighborsalreadygivemethesideeye.

LOL!Iwon’t.LookingforwardtoSaturdaynight.IfIgethunguponacase,I’lltext

you.

Saturdaysuddenlyseemsaneternityaway,andastheweekgoesbyitfeelsas

thoughit’sgettingfartherawayratherthancloser.KyleandItextbackandforthabit,but

Ilethiminitiatetheconversations.I’veacceptedthefactthatifIwanttokeepseeinghim,

it’llhavetobeonhisterms,athisinitiative.He’stheoneinthecloset,whohastobe

careful.Andit’snotarelationship.ThebestIcanhopeforisthatwhenthisrushoflust

wearsoffwecanstayfriends,butIdon’tthinkthat’spossibleeither.Heprobablywon’t

wantanoldfuck-buddyhangingaround.

I’mdeterminedtojustenjoywhateveritisthathappens,foraslongasitlasts.It

beatsbeingalonewithoutanyprospectofsexatall.IfIcankeepconcentratingonthesex,

it’llbeallgood.

ThursdayeveningIgethomeandfindanenvelopewithakeyinmymailbox.Just

seeingitdropintomyhandgivesmeanerection.Foramanwhousuallygoesmonthsata

timewithoutgettingany,I’veturnedintoaslobbering,desperate—what’sthemale

equivalentofanympho?Justforfun,Ilookituponlineandfindtheclosestequivalentis

asatyr.Theancientworld’soriginalhornygoats.Baaaa…

I’mabouttothrowawaytheenvelopewhenInoticethere’saslipofpaperstuckinit

andIpullitout.

Youdon’thavetowaituntilSaturday,butifyoucomeoverbeforethen,you’llbe

tiredatworkthenextday.

Thatmakesmechuckle.Verytempting.Makesmewanttothrowsomeclothesina

bagandheadoverthererightaway,butsomethingholdsmeback.Ihavetokeepsome

distance,andgivinginwheneverhewinksdoesn’tseemwise,evenifitisjustsex.“Start

asyoumeantocontinue,”wasoneofmyGrannie’sfavoritesayings,andIbelieveit’s

true.Ifheknowshecanhavemejumpwheneverhewants,he’lltakeadvantageofit,and

I’llendupangryatmyselfandhim.

Sothenexttimehetexts,ItellhimI’llseehimSaturday,notbefore.Hesendsa

frowniefaceinreturn,followedby:Don’tmakemegiveyouthePORCstare…

TheWHAT?

PissedOffRezCopstare.That’swhatDennycallsit.

ThatmakesmelaughsohardIhavetowipemyeyesbeforeIcanreply.

Yourbrotherdeservesabeating4real.Ithoughtanyreferencetopigsmadecops

seered?

Whydoyouthinkhecallsitthat?BTWhe’sstillbiggerthanme…

Ishakemyhead,butevenafterhesayshehastogo,break’sover,I’mstill

chuckling.I’dbeentemptedtogotothesanctuaryand‘accidentally’betherewhenhis

brothercametoseethepups,butI’drestrainedmyself.ThelastthingIneedisKyle

thinkingI’mtryingtowheedlemywayintohisfamily’sconsciousness.Nope,I’mnot

braveenoughtotouchthatone.

BySaturdayevening,I’masjumpyasantsonaskillet,butImakemyselfwait.

Havedinner.PretendtowatchashowonTV.Finally,ataboutteno’clock,Igivemyself

permissiontoleaveanddriveouttohisplace.Walkingintohishousebymyselffeels

strange,butgood.He’splacedalotoftrustinme,andIappreciateit.ThenIfindmyself

wonderingwhatIshouldbedoingwhenhegetshome…ShouldIjustsitonthecouch—

mysecondfavoritepieceoffurnitureinhishouse,onlynarrowlybeatenbyhisbed—or

shouldIgoupstairs?Bedressedornaked?Smotheredinthetofuequivalentofwhipped

creamandlaidoutonthekitchenisland?

Isnortwithlaughter,althoughimaginingKylelickingsomethingoffmemakesme

hard.IntheendIoptforthearmchairandwatchingamovie,myphoneinmyhandincase

hetexts.

Attwentypasttwelve,IhearaHemienginecomingalongtheroad,andmyheart

goesintooverdrive.Lawd,I’vemissedhim.Whoknewfourdayscouldfeellikeforever?

Thetruckdoorslams,thenIhearhiskeyinthedoor,andIcanhardlydrawbreath.I

knewIwantedtobewithhimagainbutdidn’tknowhowmuchuntilthismoment.

IknowI’mintroublewhenhedoesn’tstoptotakeoffhisshoesbutcomesintothe

livingroomimmediately,hisbootsclunkingonthehardwoodfloor.Ihaven’tseenhimin

uniformforalongtimeandIcan’tbelievehowgoodhelooks.Fullblacksuitshim,makes

himlookevenbigger,moremasculine,ifthat’spossible.

Hestopsatthefarsideofthecoffeetableandgivesmeahardlook—thePORC

stare—buttheheatinhisgazemakesthinkingofitlikethatanythingbutfunny.

“There’saveryunhappyConstablebackatthestation,wonderingwhyhersergeant

tookofflikeabatoutofhellandlefthertofinishupthepaperworkalone.”

Igetupandgorighttohim,unabletoresist.

“Thenlet’smakehersacrificeworthwhile.Whatyousay?”

Hegrabsme,givesmeoneofhismind-bendingkisses,andweenduponthecouch.

Andwedon’tmakeitupstairsuntilalongtimeafterwards.

Kyle

IwakeupSundaymorningfeelingasifI’vebeenhitbyatruck.Thefirstdayoff

afterfourdaysoftwelvehourshiftsisalwaysrough,butVincentandIhadstayedupuntil

almostthree,gorgingourselvesoneachother.Apparentlyhavingsexrepeatedly,ina

varietyofpositions,istheequivalentofspendingeighthoursinthegym.Everymuscle

aches,butasIforcemyeyesopenI’malsosmiling.

It’sonlyeight—alatestartforme—butIdecidenottogetup.Onedaywithoutmy

usualfivekilometerrunwon’thurt.I’malsotemptedtowakeVincent,who’sflatonhis

stomach,stillsleepingbesideme.Hehasonearmslungacrossmyribs,onelegsticking

outfromunderthecovers.Hisfaceisturnedawayfromme,burieddeepinthepillow,so

allIcanseeisthebackofhishead.Therememberedsensationofhishairagainstmy

palmsasIheldhim,watchedhimblowme,sawmycockslidinginandoutofhismouth,

sendsahotshiverdownmyspine,andmymorningerectiongetsharder.Thetemptationto

wakehim,maybebykissingandlickingmywayalongthatlong,strongback,makesmy

breathinggrowshallow.

AmIthesamepersonwhowasjustthinkinghowdestroyedhewas?Beingwith

Vincentafternotseeinghimforfourdayshasmademegreedy.Besides,ifIwakehimup

now,gethimtohavesexagain,he’llbetootiredtodrivethetwohourstoWindsor.

Thatthoughtsurprisesme,it’ssoconniving.I’musuallyfartoostraightforwardto

botherwithpretenseslikethat,butitstillgratesthathe’sdeterminedtogotohiscousin’s

houseinsteadofstayingwithme.It’scompletelyunreasonable—Iknowit—butit’sthe

onlydayIknowofwe’llbothhaveoffforthenexttwoweeksandIwanttospenditwith

him.Notnecessarilyinbed,althoughthatwouldn’tbeaterriblewaytopassthetime,but

thereareotherthingswecoulddo.

Yeah.SitaroundandplayRingofSteel.Talk.Eat.Ican’tofferhimanythingmore

thanthat.HowcanIblamehimforpreferringtospendhisdayoffwithfriends,ratherthan

coopedupherewithme?

Realistically,unlessI’mwillingtoofferhimmore,Ihavetotakewhateverhe’ll

give.AndIdon’thaveanythingmorethanstolen,secretivesextocontributetohislife.

Easingfromunderhisarm,Islideoutofthebed,gladhe’ssuchaheavysleeper.

Suddenlyfullofpent-upenergy,almostangry,Idecidetogoforarunafterall.It’ll

smoothmeout,sothatwhenhegetsupI’llbeabletofeedhimsomebreakfastandsend

himoffwithakiss,notpickafightortrytoconhimintonotgoingtoWindsor.

YetrunningashardasIcan,pushingmyachingmusclestotheirlimit,doesn’tdo

muchtoimprovemymood.WhenIgetback,IheartheshowergoingandIcan’tstop

myselffromgoingupstairs,strippingmyclothesoffbeforeIevengettothebathroom

door.Pushingasidetheshowercurtain,Igetintothebathtubwithhim.Ican’tlethimsay

anything,trytostopme,soIkisshimimmediately,dragginghiswet,slickbodytomine.

He’ssoapy,andthesudsletmyhandsslideunimpededoverhisskin.Itakefulladvantage

ofthat,touchinghimeverywhereIcan,likeI’mlearninghisbodyalloveragain.Vincent

groansintomymouth,andIinhaleit,drinkitin.MaybeIcan’tofferhimmorethanthis,

butthisthingbetweenusisprettyfantasticjustthewayitis.

Draggingmylipsfromhis,Inipmywayacrosshischeek—scratchywithmorning

whiskers—tohisneck,thendowntowhereitmeetshisshoulder.There’saspot…Ibite

downgently,andVincentshudders.

“Kyle…”

“Iknow.”Idon’tknowanything,butI’llsaywhateverittakestomakethislasta

littlelonger.“Justletme…”

He’serect,andIkissmywaydownhischestwhiletakingthesoapfromhis

unresistingfingers.Tonguinghisnipple,Irotatethebartogetmyhandsudsy,thenfist

him.Heshuddersagain,onehandgrippingandrelaxingonmyshoulder,theothertrying

tofindpurchaseinmyhair.WhenIsinktomykneesinfrontofhim,andturnhim

sidewaystowashoffhiscock,hedoesn’tprotest,justleansagainstthewalloftheshower,

histhighmusclestrembling.

There’ssomethingalmostviolentaboutmyneedtomakehimcome.Iwanttoknow

Icanwringonemoreorgasmfromhim.AndIhopethattheentiretimehe’sontheroad,

whilehe’swithhiscousin—shit,eventwoyearsfromnow—he’llberememberingme,on

mykneesintheshowersuckinghiscock,pushingonesoapyfingerandthentwointohis

sweet,tightass.UrginghimtofuckmymouthasItakehimdeep,asdeepasIcan.

Hecurses,hiscocksofteningslightly,hishipsrocking,thrustingwithshort,hard

strokes.“I’m—”

Agroaninterruptshiswords,andhespurts,notfillingmymouththewayhehadthe

nightbefore,butcomingallthesame.

Ilickhimclean,thengetup.Hereachesformycock,butIholdhiswristandshake

myhead.“Notime.Youneedtogetontheroadsoonifyouwanttogettoyourcousinin

time.Ihavetofeedyoubeforeyougotoo.”

Thosedark,questioningeyessearchmyface,andheshrugsslightly.“Icanget

somethingtoeatontheroad.Youdon’thavetocookforme.”

“Iwantto.”Whenheglancesdownatmyerection,Itouchmyselfandsay,“Don’t

worryaboutthis.It’snotimportant.Believeme,afterlastnightI’msurprisedIcaneven

getitup.I’minnowaydeprived.”

Thatmakeshimgiveasnortoflaughter,buthe’sstillwatchingme,tryingtofigure

outwhat’shappening.SoIslippasthimtogoundertheshowerandstartsoapingmyself.

Lookingbackathim,Isay,“Goonanddryoff.I’llbeoutinaminute.”

Henodsbeforesteppingoutoftheshower,andIturnmyfaceintothespray,filled

withakindofsavagesatisfactionattheacheinmyballs,theslowlyrecedingengorgement

ofmycock.Fittingpunishment,Ithink,althoughI’mnotsurewhatitisI’mpaying

penancefor.

Whenwegodownstairs,hesitsattheislandandwatchesasIfrysausagesandmake

anenormousomelet,packedwithasparagus,greenpepperandcheese,forustoshare.

Neitherofusseemtohavetoomuchofanyimportancetosay.WetalkabouttheJaysand

theirsurprisinglygoodstarttotheseason,speculatingwhethertheycankeepitgoingorif

thewheelswillfalloffagain.Hementionshe’sonadifferentrotationthiscomingweek,

fillinginforacolleaguewhoneedsanearliershifttobeabletoparticipateinher

daughter’spre-weddingcelebrations.He’llbeworkingeleventonine…Iwonderifhe’d

wanttocomebackandspendthenightagaintonight,butdon’tfeelrightasking.Irealize

I’mgrippingthespatulalikeit’smyGlock,andforcemyfingerstorelax.

“Kyle.”Ilookup,meetinghisgaze,tryingnottogiveanythingawaywithmy

expression.“I’moffonWednesday.Wanttogettogether?”

Idon’twanthimthrowingmebones.

Imentallysnortatmyself.Yes,Ido.“Thatwouldbegood.”Tryingtokeepitcasual.

“ComeafterworkonTuesdaynight.”

Hehesitates,looksasifhe’sabouttosaysomething,thendoesthatmouth-twist

thing.“Soundsgood.”

Ifliptheomeletandsourlyconsiderthenextcoupleofdayswithoutseeinghim.But

whatcanIexpect?Hehasalife.ProbablywantstospendtimeattheshelterwithBongo,

seefriends,stuffIcoulddowithhimifIwasn’tsostuckinmylies.Ican’teventhinkof

anythingIcansuggestwedotogetheronWednesday.Realistically,wecouldgoanywhere

wewanted.Malefriendsdoshittogetherallthetime—gofishingortotherange,and

sincehelikesgunsthatwouldbeperfect—butIcan’tkeepmyhandsoffhim.Ican’ttake

thechanceofjustforgettingmyselfand,say,kissinghiminpublic.

“Youhaveanythingplannedfortoday?”

He’stryingtomakeconversation,andIrealizeI’vefallenbackintomyhabitual

silence.Idon’twanthimtothinkI’mmopingorwhatever.Orworse,consideringwhat

happenedafterthefirsttimewe’dslepttogether,thatI’mgoingtobelikethiseverytime

wehavesex.Idrumupasmilefromsomewhere.

“IthoughtofcallingDennyandseeingwhatthey’reupto.MaybegobysoIcan

hearhowthepuppyvisitwent.”Ichuckle.“Wewereright.Damonclaimsnottobeableto

chooseone.He’stryingtogetthemtoagreetothree.”

Vincentlaughstoo,andIthinkthere’sreliefmixedinwiththeamusement.“Boy

aftermyownheart.”

Andjustlikethattheatmospherebetweenuslightens,andalthoughI’mstill

unsettledandannoyed,Icancopewithit,keepithidden.

Afterwe’veeaten,hegoesuptogethisbagandIputthedishesinthesink.Ashe

comesbackdown,Ifindmyselfwantingtoaskifherememberedtogetgas,ifhewantsa

snackfortheroad,ifhe’ssurehedoesn’twanttoblowoffhiscousinandblowmeinstead.

OfcourseIdon’tsayanyofthosethings,justfollowhimoutsideinmybarefeetandtry

nottolookasmoroseasIfeel.

“SeeyouTuesdaynight,”hesays,aftertossinghisbagontothebackseat.“Have

funwithyourfamily.”

“Youtoo.”

“Okay,thanks.”HestartstogetintotheSUV,thenstops.

Comingbackovertome,hekissesme,slowanddeep—aseductionspecial—andI

pullhimintotakeitevendeeper.Whenwepullapart,we’rebothbreathinghard.

“Yeah,”hesays,rollingthewordoutlikehedoeswhenwemakelove—Imeanhave

sex.“Yeah,Tuesday.”

Thenheleansinagainforaquicknipofmybottomlipbeforeheturnsand

swaggersbacktohisvehicle.Shit,thatwalkgetsmeeverytime.

“Drivesafe.”Copvoiceagain.“Idon’tfixtickets.”

Vincentjustlaughsandclosesthedoor.Irefusetostandandwatchhimdriveaway,

soIheadbackintothehouse,butIlistentothesoundoftheSUVuntilIcan’thearit

anymore.ThenIstandinthekitchenandlookaround,wonderingwhynothingseemsto

bethesameasitwasbefore.Wonderingwheneverythingwillgobacktonormal.

ChapterTwelve

Vincent

KyleandIfallintoapatternofsorts.Dependingonourschedules,wegettogether

twoorthreetimesaweek,alwaysathisplace,ofcourse.Itwouldn’tdoforanofficerof

thelaw,who’sfirmlyinthecloset,tobeseenspendingthenightinoneoftheseamier

sidesoftown.Worsewithanex-posse-wannabe.NottomentionthefactI’mblack.

AlthoughmostofthepeopleI’vemetinCanadaaren’tprejudiced,there’salwaysthat

certainelementwhofancythemselveswhitesupremacists,andwehaveafewinmy

neighborhood.Iswearit’sbecauseofmyscar,whichrightfullysaysI’velivedthrough

someseriousshit,andprobablyerroneouslyseemstoindicateI’mcapableofgivingsome

equallyseriousshitrightback,thatIhaven’thadanyproblems.

Sittinginoneofthehalf-brokenlawnchairsbehindthehouse,Ilookacrossatmy

neighbor’smessyyard,whichisfilledwithcrap,andlistentokidsscreaminginthe

distance.Theoldcouplewholivenextdoorareoutsidetoo,probablytryingtocatcha

breathofcoolairasthesunfinallystartstogodown.Iknowtheywatchmeallthetime.

I’venoddedtothemandgottennothingbutsuspiciousstaresinreturn.Nodoubtifthey

sawanythingatalloutoftheordinarythey’dbecallingthecopsinaflash.Yeah,having

mycloseted,Native,copfuck-buddycomecallingwouldn’tbeagoodthing.

Takingagulpofmybeer,Iglarebackattheoldmanuntilheturnsaway,thengo

backtomythoughts.

IwishIcouldcallKylemylover,butthatjustseemstoointimate.Icatchmyself

thinkingofhimthatwayandmakemyselfstop.Whenwe’retogetherit’salmosttoo

perfect.Welikealotofthesamestuff,canargueforhoursaboutthethingswedon’thave

incommon,arestillhavingmind-destroying,leg-tremblingsexthreemonthsin,butthat’s

whereitends.Wedon’tgoanywheretogether.There’sbeenVictoriaDayandCanadaDay

celebrations,familybirthdays,socialfunctionsofvariouskindsthatoneortheotherofus

havebeeninvitedtoandhavegonetoalone.Jenalyzawantsmetoditchhim,sayingit’s

notarelationship.ThatKyle’sjustusingme,butIjustifyitbysayingI’musinghimtoo.

Butshe’sright.IalwaysfeellikeI’moncallforhim,sinceIstillwon’tletmyself

initiateourmeetings,orevenourtextconversations.Isthishowmistressesfeel?Hidden

away?Likethey’reontenterhooksallthetime,wantingmorebutnotbeingabletohave

it?

OccasionallyIturnhimdownwhenhewantstogettogether,justforthesakeofmy

ownprideandsanity.Ican’tletmyselfgetsubsumedbyhim,andIthinkitwouldbetoo

easytobe.SoIholdbackasbestIcan,keepingwhateverIcanformyself.

Istillwon’tlethimfuckmeface-to-face,andIknowit’spissinghimoffmoreand

moreastimepasses,buthe’sneverpushed,soI’vebeenabletomaintainthatonepieceof

myself.ItstartedoutwithmenotwantinghimtoseehowmyfacecontortswhenIcome.

I’veneverseenit,butIknowitmustbebadbecauseitphysicallyhurts,myscartugging

sohardIsometimeswonderhowitdoesn’tsplitopenagain.ButKyledoesn’tcareabout

myscar.Iknowthat,sotheneedtohidefromhimbecauseofitsuglinessfadedfairly

quickly.NowIhidebecauseIdon’twanthimtoseeexactlyhowmuchpleasurehegives

mewhenheshareshisbodywithme.Healreadyhasaholdoverme.Idon’twantto

strengthenitifIcanhelpit.

Butnow,partwaythroughsummer,theweightofoursecretgetsheavierandheavier

forme.Kyleseemsokaywitheverything.OnlynowandthenIcatchhimgivingmehis

PORCstarewhenhethinksI’mnotlooking,butwhenIaskhimwhy,it’salwayssome

lamereason.Maybehe’sgettingtiredofthesituationtoo.

Rass,Ihopenot.Forallmyinternalwhining,Istillwanthim.I’mnotreadytolet

goyet.

AsthoughheknowsI’mthinkingabouthim,thephoneringsandIseehisnamepop

uponthescreen.ItakeanotherswigofbeerbeforeIanswer.

“Yeah.”

“Hey.Whatyouupto?”

“Sittingoutside,drinkingabeerandtryingtocatchalittlebreeze.”

Kylegroans.“Soundsgood.I’mmeltinginthisfuckingvest.IswearI’velostten

poundsinsweattoday.”

Iglanceatmywatch.Hestillhasmorethanfivehoursleftofhisshift.“Youon

lunch?”

“Yes.Justfinishing.”There’sthesoundofacardoorslamming,andsuddenlythe

backgroundnoisesfadeout.“Listen,Ihavesomesteaksathome.IthoughtwecouldB-B-

QthemonSaturday,whenIstartmyfouroff.How’sthatsound?”

“Likebribery,”Ijoke.“Andyouknowsteakalwaysworkswithme.”I’dbeenasked

totakeashiftonSaturday,butknowinghe’dbefinishinghisrotationthedaybeforeI’d

turneditdown.“ShouldIcomebyonFridaynight?”

Hedoesn’tanswerrightaway,andIrealizeforsomereasonI’mholdingmybreath.

Forcingmyselftoexhale,Itakeanothersipofbeer.“No.Sorry.Ihavechoirpracticeafter

work.”

Iknowthat’swhattheycallitwhenallthemembersofasquador,inhiscase,when

abunchofsergeantsgoouttogetherafterwork,anditshouldn’tbugme,butitdoes.

Maybeitwasthatlongpause,likehewasthinkingupanexcuse,ortryingtofindawayto

letmedowneasy.

“That’scool.”I’mproudofhowmatter-of-factIsound.“I’llcomeonSaturday.

Whattimeisgood?”

“Anytimeyouwant.StaySundaytoo.”There’sastatic-ycrackleinthephone,and

hesays,“Callout.Havetogo.”

“Okay,”Isaytodeadair,sincehe’salreadyhungup.“Yeah.”

ThreemoredaysbeforeIseehimagain.Evenaftermonthsofregular,crazysex,the

anticipationstilltinglesundermyskinatthethoughtofbeingwithhim.AmIdoingthe

rightthing,stayinginthis?

BeforeIcanstartgoingaroundincirclesinmyheadagain,IcallJenalyza,knowing

whatshe’sgoingtosaybutstillneedinganoutsider’sview.Maybeevenhopingthistime

she’llbeabletoconvinceme.

Antonanswersthephone.“Mylovelywifehasdecidedtotakeuppottery,”hesays

afterwegreeteachother,andIgroaninsympathy.Theyhaveatleastoneroomintheir

housefullofJenalyza’sunfinishedprojectsandtheleftoversfromherburstsof

compulsivecrafting.It’sworsebecausesheseemstohavetheattentionspanofagnat,

jumpingfromoneobsessiontoanother.“Thankyou,myfriend,foryourempathy,”Anton

says,laughterinhisvoice.“I’mfearingherinsistingonbuyingakiln,whichI’llhaveto

findaplacefor.”

“Rassman,Ihopenot,foryoursake.”

Helaughs.“Prayforme,Vincent.IneedallthehelpIcanget.Now,whatcanIdo

foryou,ordidyoujustwantJenalyza?”

“Ijustwantedtochat,”Isay,feelingneedyandfool-fool.

“Thatman—what’shisname,Kyle?—hestillgivingyouahardtime?”

“Ineveryway,”Iretort,knowingAntonwillappreciatethehumor.

Hechuckles.“Well,doIsay,‘goodforyou’or,‘thatbastard’?”

“Iguesseitherwouldwork.No,that’snotfair.”Isigh,andscrubmyhandovermy

face.“IknewwhatIwasgettinginto.It’snothisfault.Ijustdon’tknowhowmuchlonger

Icangoonwithit.”

Anton’ssilentforalittle,andIdon’tsayanythingmore.He’squieterthanJenalyza,

who’saball-of-firechatterbox,butwhenyoucangethimtoactuallyspeakheoftenhas

somethingworthlisteningto.

Ihearhimsigh.“Listen,Vincent.Everyonehasdealbreakers.Idon’tthinkyouever

stoppedtofigureoutwhatyoursare,becauseyoudidn’tthinkyou’deverhaveaserious

relationship.Idon’tknowifyou’dclassifywhat’sgoingonasserious,butIthinkit’stime

youreallythinkaboutwhatyouwant,andifKylecangiveittoyou.That’ssomething

onlyyoucandecide.”

He’sright,andmakesitsoundsosimple.Asifhearingmythoughts,hegoeson.“It

mightnotbeeasy,becausesometimeswethinkapersoncangiveusmorethantheycan,

andittakesawhiletorealizewhatweneedcanneverbegiven.That’sthepointwhenyou

knowit’stimetowalkaway.”

Itdoesn’tmakemefeelbetter,butatleasthe’sgivenmesomethingtothinkabout.

“ThanksAnton.Iappreciateit.”

“Noproblemman.”HeknowshisattemptstosoundJamaicanalwaysmakeme

laugh,andI’mstillchucklingasItellhimbyeandhangup.

AndImakeadecision.Ineedsometimealone,awayfromworkandfromKyle,to

reallythink.Ineedtogotothebeach.AlthoughIreallycan’ttrickmyselfintothinkingof

alakeasbeingthesea,atleastit’swater,andthesoundofthewaves,andthesand.Ican’t

gotomorrow,becauseit’stooshortnoticeforthepeopleatwork,butIlogintomy

scheduleandbookoffFriday.I’lltakeadrivedowntoPortStanley,orevenfurtherafield

ifIfeellikeit,justsitonthebeachandthink.

It’lldomeaworldofgood.

Kyle

“HeyPictou.Comingtochoirpracticetonight?”

GlancingupfromtherosterI’mlookingthrough,Inodtomyoldstaffsergeant,

who’sasking.“Yeah,I’llbethere.”

“Good.Seeyouthen,”hesays,beforeheadingofftowardthesquadroom.

Stiflingayawn,Itrytofocusontherosteragain,alittleannoyedattheprospectof

spendingtheeveningwatchingsomeofmyfellowsergeantsdrinktoomuchandtrade

gossip.I’dmuchratherbehome,relaxingwithVincent,who’stakenthedayoff.Wecould

betogetherbyearlyafternoonifIdidn’thavetogoouttonight.UnfortunatelyI’mstilltoo

lowonthetotempoletoblowofftheseget-togethers.Theseniorguysnoticestufflike

that,anditcanworkagainstyouiftheythinkyou’rebeingantisocial.

ForcingmyselftoconcentrateonwhatIneedtobedoingbeforeIhitthestreetis

hardthismorning.I’dbeenworkinganafternoonrotationbutwascalledintocoverfor

oneofthedayguys,whosewifehadtohaveanemergencyC-sectionthenightbefore.I’m

functioningononlyaboutfivehourssleep,butit’snothingunusual.Tossingtherosterinto

mybriefcase,Iheaddowntothegaragetosignoutmyvehicleandstartpatrol.Thereare

acoupleofnewconstablesonthesquadandIwanttobeavailableiftheyneedmyhelp.

I’llkeepmyroutecenteredonthesouthernextentofourbeat,wherethenewbiesare

patrolling,soastobeabletogettotheirlocationsasquicklyaspossibleifnecessary.

I’mexcitedabouttheweekend.DennywantedmetocomeoveronSundaybutI

toldhimIhadotherplans.AllIwantistospendtwowholedayswithVincent,alone,

withoutanythingtodistractus.WhatI’vebeenabletohaveofhimshouldbeenough,but

itneveris.Ihateseeinghimleave,knowingthatwithourcrazyandoftenconflicting

schedulesImightnotseehimagainfordays.Thereoccurringworry,thathe’llgetbored

andtiredofmyneedinessandwanttobreakitoff,nagsatmebutIpushitaside.Weboth

knowthisisn’tgoinganywherefurtherthanwhereitis,andIhavetoacceptthatatsome

pointit’llcometoanend,butIrefusetoworryaboutthatuntilithappens.

Evendistracted,I’mlisteningtothevariouscallsgoingout.Apursesnatchingata

mall.AvehicleaccidentalongWellington,nearthe401highway.ABOLOforamissing

teen.AdrunkmakinganuisanceofhimselfonRichmond.Anotheraccident,thistimein

thenorthend.Yep,it’saFridayinsummer.Fartoomanypeople,especiallyyoungpeople,

withtoolittletodoandtoomuchtimeontheirhands.

Thenmyradiocrackles,andIhearConstablePerkins,oneofthenewbies,say,

“RequestingbackupattheWellingtonRoadaccidentscene.”

There’sacertainrestrainedpanicinhervoice,andthenDispatchcomeson.

“Twenty-eight,fourteenandthirty-two.CodeTwo.”

Nottoobad,sincethey’redirectingnolightsandsirens.Ithumbthemike.“Twenty-

eightavailableandheadingforthescene.ETAsevenminutes”

“Thirty-twoalsoheadingtothescene.I’monlytwominutesout.”

“Fourteenavailable.ETAfiveminutes.”

Theconstableincarthirty-twoisanoldhand,soIknowwhatever’sgoingon,he’ll

beabletogetitundercontrol,probablybeforeIgetthere.Andthereare,forachange,two

officersincarfourteen,althoughthesecondoneissonewhe’llprobablybeusefulonlyas

trafficcontrol.AsBeatSergeantit’smyjobtoprovidebackupfortheofficers,advise

themonstatutesiftheyneedit,calmdisputesandmediatebetweentheofficersandthe

public.OftenbythetimeIgettoasceneit’salloverbartheshouting,andIactuallymiss

beingmorehands-on.SometimesIthinkIshouldhavestayedacareerconstableinsteadof

lettingmyambitionpushme.

Moredetailsstartcomingin.Threevehiclesinvolved.Nolife-threateninginjuries,

butanaltercationbetweentwoofthedrivers.Ambulanceonthescene.Detailsonthe

vehicles…

DarkblueRAV4,licensenumber…

Vincent’sSUV.

I’malreadygoingCodeTwo,butIpushittoCodeOnewithoutpermission,flashing

mylightsandusingthesirenasItakethewrongsideoftheroadatanintersectiontoget

throughatrafficsnarl.

Whatdidtheysayaboutinjuries?Non-life-threatening.Butthereareinjuries.Iwant

toaskformoredetails,butdon’twanttodistracttheofficersonscene.Constable

Rowlandsreportseverythingisundercontrol,butIstillpushit.I’mthirtysecondsout,

andthere’snowayI’mnotattendingthescene.IhavetomakesureVincentisokay,find

outwhathappened.

I’mshakingwhenIputthecruiserinpark,andit’sonlythenthatreasontriesto

breakthroughmypanic.Itakeinthescenefrommyseatinthecar,notfeelingincontrol

enoughtogetoutyet.Vincent’sSUVisontheright-handsideoftheroad,theleftrear

quarterpanelcrumpled,thehooddownintheditch,sothebacksticksupintheair.I

searchforhim,seehimsittingsidewaysonagurney,aparamedicexamininghim.There’s

aguyincuffs,sittingonthesideoftheroad,lippingofftoRowlands,who’sstandingover

him.Ontheoppositesideoftheroad,Perkinsistakingastatementfromawoman.

Ishouldcallformysupervisor,tellhimoneoftheaccidentvictimsisaclosefriend

—alover—andthereforeIshouldn’tbeinvolvedatall.Butmystomachturnsintoacold

ballatthethoughtoftryingtoexplainaboutVincentwithoutoutingmyself.

Gettingoutofthecruiser,IheadstraighttowardVincent,notevencaringanymore.I

can’tseeanyblood,butIhavetomakesurehe’sokay.Hisfaceisturnedaway,soIdon’t

thinkheknowsI’mthere.

“HeySarg,”Rowlandssays,asIgetclosetowherehe’sstanding,andprofessional

habittakesover.WithonelastlookatVincent,Iswerveovertowardtheofficer.

“Report,Rowlands.”

“Well,frominformationgathered,thisgentlemanherewasattemptingtoovertake

despitethedoubleyellowlines,despitebeinginaschoolzone,despiteanon-coming

vehicle,and,havingtoswervetoavoidsaidon-comingvehicle,clippedtheSUVhewas

attemptingtopass.”

Thesarcastictoneshouldbeenoughtotellthemanonthegroundtokeephismouth

shut,butapparentlybrainsaren’thisstrongsuit.“Thatfuckingnig—”

I’mcrouchedandinhisface,myglassespulleddownfarenoughsoI’mstaringhim

deadintheeyes,beforehecangoanyfurther.“I’dadviseyoutostoprightthere,before

youmakeanalreadyobviouslybadsituationworse.”

Hiseyeswiden,andhegoespale.EvenRowlandsmakesasurprisedsortofhissing

soundandhisfeetshuffle,asifhe’sbracinghimself.Theblood’spoundinginmyears,

I’mthatreadytoteartheasshole’sheadoff,myhandsfistingandrelaxingconvulsively.

WhenI’mprettysurehe’sgotmypoint,Istraightenandpushmydarkglassesbackinto

position.Breathe,Itellmyself.Keepbreathing.

“Therewasareportofanaltercation?”Iask,onceI’msuremyvoicewillcomeout

assomethingotherthanagrowl.

Rowlandshesitatesforamomentthen,withoutthesarcasm,says,“ApparentlyMr.

Jaroskihereaccostedtheotherdriver,accusinghimofcausingtheaccident.”Hemakesa

soundsuspiciouslylikeasnortoflaughter.“Thatdidn’tworkoutsowellforMr.Jaroski.”

“Iwanthimchargedwithassault,”Jaroskishouts,glaringovertowhereVincent’s

sitting.“Hepunchedme.”Heturnshisheadtoshowmethebeginningsofabruise.I

think,withnotalittlesatisfaction,he’llhaveaniceshinertomorrowbutit’snowherenear

whathedeserves.

“Idon’tknow,Mr.Jaroski.”Rowlandssaysitinthatcalm,take-it-or-leave-itvoice

allgoodcopsknowhowtouse.“Accordingtothewitnessyoudraggedtheotherparty

fromhisvehicleandpushedhimtothepavement.I’vealreadyaddedassaulttoyourlistof

offenses.Youmaywanttospeaktoyourlawyerbeforeyoustartthrowingaccusations

around.”

OvermydeadbodywillVincentbechargedwithanything.OroverJaroski’s,ifhe

doesn’tshutupsoon.

Oneoftheparamedicscomesoverandnodsatmebeforesaying,“Youreadyforme

totakealookatthisguy?”

“What’stheotherdriver’scondition?”IaskbeforeRowlandcananswerhis

question.

“Stable.There’saheadcontusionanddangerofconcussion,buthe’srefusingtogo

tothehospital.Sayshejustwantssomeonetofindhisphoneforhimsohecancalla

wrecker.”

“See?”Jaroskistartsyammeringagain.“Nothin’wrongwithhim.Howcanyousay

Iassaulted—?”

Iwalkaway.It’sthatordrawmyweaponandshootthefucker,andIhavemore

importantthingstodo.

Thesecondparamedicisjoggingacrosstheroadtospeaktothewomanwhowas

drivingthecarJaroskialmostcrashedhead-oninto,andVincent’sjustsittingthere,his

headdown,hishandsflatonhisthighs.EvenwiththemlikethatIcanseethey’reshaking.

Iwanttotouchhim,checkformyselfhe’snotinjured,butallIcandoisleanmyhip

againstthegurneyandsay,“Vincent.Youokay?”

Henods—justaslightupanddownmotion—notlookingatme.“Yeah.”

He’sgray,ratherthanhisusualcomplexion,andIcanseeadiscoloredpatchnearhis

temple.“Lookatme.”I’msocrazywithworry,Ican’tstopthewordsfromtrembling

slightly,eventhoughit’smycopvoiceI’mgoingfor.“Ineedtoseeformyself.”

Foralongmomenthedoesn’tmove,thenheliftshisheadandfacesme.Hiseyes

areglazed,shocked,andthere’ssmearofbloodatthecornerofhislips.“I’mokay,Kyle.I

justneed—”

“Youjustneedtoletthemtakeyoutothefuckinghospital.”

“IhavetodealwiththeSUV,figureout—”

“I’llfindyourphoneforyou.I’llarrangeforawrecker.Youneedtogetyourassto

thehospital.”

Heopenshismouth,thenapanickylookmakeshiseyeswiden,andheturnsaway,

clutchinghisstomach.Iwraponearmaroundhisshouldersandholdhisforeheadwithmy

otherhand,helpinghimleanoffthegurneyasheloseshisbreakfast.

Thetwoparamedicscomerunning,andIforceVincenttolieback,notlisteningto

hisprotests.Beforethemedicsgettous,Isaytohim,“Fucking.Hospital.Now.”

HecloseshiseyesandIstepback,lettingtheEMTsmovein.AsIheadtowardthe

SUV,Icallout,“Rowlands,anypicturesbeentakenyet?”

“NotyetSarg.”

“Okay.ComeandtakealookforMr.William’scellphoneplease.”I’ddoitmyself,

butI’mdeterminednottoputmyselfintothereportatall.IfIdon’ttouchanything,stayat

arm’slength,it’sdoable.MylogwillshowIattendedandeverythingwasundercontrol

whenIgothere.That’sit.

Rowlandsfindsthecellphoneinthegrassoutsidethecar.“Probablyhaditinhis

handorpocketwhenthatassholedraggedhimfromthevehicle.”Theconstablemakesa

noisethatmakesmethinkifIweren’tstandingbesidehim,he’dspit.“Iwanttoadda

chargeundertheStunnedCuntsActtoJaroski’ssheet.Ireallydo.”TurningVincent’s

phoneoverandoverinhishand,hegivesmeaquestioninglook.“YouthinkIshouldask

himtoletmeseeifhewastalkingonthephonewhentheaccidentoccurred?”

It’soneofthosegrayareas.Ifthephonehadbeenon,andtheinformationRowlands

wantedwaseasilyseen,noonewouldobjecttohimlooking.Butthephoneisoffand

turningitonwithoutpermissionwouldbeseenasaninvasionofprivacy.Yet,withthe

chargesbeinglaidagainsttheotherdriver,itwouldbewisetomakesurethereisno

chanceofthedefensesuggestingVincenthadbeendistractedwhiledriving.

Ican’tallowmyselftothinkaboutthefactthatmynamewillshowupalloverhis

phone.“Whynotaskhimwhenyougototakehisstatement?”Rowlandsgivesmea

surprisedlookIpretendnottosee.I’mprettymuchtellinghimtogotothehospitaland

takeVincent’sstatementinsteadofaskinghimtocomedowntotheAccidentReporting

Centreatalaterdate.“Thatwaywe’recovered,nomatterwhatstoryJaroskicomesup

withlater.”

Rowlandsnods.“OkaySarg.I’llmakeanoteofthefactthatI’mturningthephone

backovertohim,andaskhimaboutitwhenIgotothehospital.”Heglancespastmeto

theambulance,andIcanhearthegurneymoving.“Poorguywasfreakingalittleabout

havingtoleavehisvehiclehere.Iaskedhimifhedidn’thavesomeonehecouldcallto

helphimdealwithitandhesaidno.”

IlookovermyshoulderandseethemputtingVincentintotheambulance,andfeel

likethebiggestpieceofshitever.Hewouldn’tcallme,wouldn’tpullmeintoit.Iturn

backtoRowlands,gladIhaveonmyshades,becauseIdon’tthinkmyeyesare

completelydry.Forcingthewordsoutthroughthetightnessinmythroat,makingthem

soundnormal,isoneofthehardestthingsI’vedoneinalongtime.“Givetheparamedics

thephonetohandovertothenursesforhim.Then,whenthereconstructionguysare

finishedwiththescene,letmeknow.I’llcontacthimandlethimknowhecanarrangefor

thevehicletobemovedthen.”

Then,likethecowardIam,Igobacktoworkinsteadoftothehospital,hoping

Vincentwillgivethemtheinformationtocallhiscousinbutworriedthathewon’t.

WishingI’dhadthecouragetogetintotheambulancewithhim,andvowingtodo

whateverIcanotherwisetomakesurehe’sokay.

ChapterThirteen

Vincent

I’mstuckinthehospitalforhours,notknowingwhat’sgoingon.Thenursesgive

memyphonebutIturnitoff,notwantingtocallJenalyzaandworryher,alsoafraidI’ll

giveintomyneedtotextKyleforsupport.ConstableRowlandsstopsbytotakemy

statementand,ashestandsbesidethebedwritingdownmyversionofthestory,I’m

struckbyasenseofdéjàvu.Differentpoliceofficer,butthefeelingofbeingonthecusp

ofanotherlife-changingmomentisthesameasitwasallthoseyearsagowhenKylecame

tospeaktome.Justlikethen,I’mhurtingtoomuchtofigureoutwhatthechangeisthat’s

coming,justcognizantofitonthehorizon.

EventuallyRowlandsleaves,havinglookedatmycellphone,IguesstomakesureI

wasn’tusingitatthetimeoftheaccident.Man,Ithink,ashehandsitbacktome,I’mso

gladIputKyleinsimplyas“P”,forPictou.I’dneverforgivemyselfifIoutedhim

inadvertently.

BythetimethedoctorfinallycomesandlooksatmeI’mbeyondirritated.AllI’ve

wantedtodoisdoze,butthenurseswon’tevenletmesleep.EverytimeInodoff,oneof

themcomesbustlingintocheckmypulseorbloodpressureorshinealightinmyeyes.

Thedoctordoesn’tseemtoagreewithmyself-assessmentthatI’mfine,andordersa

CTscan.Morewaitingandstayingawake.I’mreadytorassclaatexplodebythetimethey

takemeforthescan.WhenIgetbacktotheER,thestaffnursecomesovertomybed.

“Iknowit’sbeenalong,frustratingday,Mr.Williams,butIpromiseit’llbeover

soon,okay?”Shehasanicesmile,andkindofremindsmeofJenalyzaalthoughshe’s

obviouslyEastIndian.It’ssomethingabouttheshapeofherface,andthatno-nonsense

attitude.

“Thanks,”Isay,unabletoresisthergrin.“Theysentyoutocalmmedown?”

Shelaughsandshakesherhead,hergazegoingfrommachinetomachinebefore

comingbacktomyface.“You’renowhereasbadasmostoftheotherpatients.Icameto

giveyouamessage.SergeantPictoucalledtoletyouknowyourcar’sbeensecuredand

towedfromthesceneoftheaccident.Ithoughtmaybeonceyouheardthatyou’dfeela

littlebetter.Iknowhowyoumenareaboutyourcars.”Shewinks.“Myboyfriendtreats

hiswithahellofalotmorecarethanhetreatsme.”

“Hedoesn’tdeserveyouthen.”Ican’thelpflirtingalittle.Ilikewomen,justnotin

asexualway,andthisone’scute.“Ifhe’sdetailinghiscarmoreoftenthanhe’stakingcare

ofbusinesswithyou,dumpthebum.”

Shegiggles.“I’lltellhimyousaidso.”Withaglanceatherwatch,shesays,“CanI

getyouacoupleofmagazinesorsomething?You’regoingtobehereforalittlewhile

longer.”

ButIturnherdown.MyeyeshurtandIhaveaheadachethatwon’tquit.Ireallyjust

wanttosleep.

Bythetimethedoctorcomesbacktotalktome,I’mgoingcrazy.Almosttwelve

hoursinthehospital,justtobetoldIhaveamildconcussionandwillbereleasedonthe

understandingthatIhavesomeonestaywithmeovernightandcheckonmeperiodically.

Healsotellsmetotakeiteasyforthenextfivedays—nowork,nooverexertion—and

givesmealistofsymptomsthatifIexperienceI’mtocallanambulanceandfindmyself

backinthehospitalimmediately.

AfterhebustlesoffI’mreadytoblowthejoint,butitseemsthenursesaretaking

forevertodischargeme,fussingarounduntilIwanttoaskiftheydon’thaveanyrealsick

peopletotakecareof.Finallytheystickmeinawheelchairandaporterwheelsmeoutto

thecurb.

Igetoutofthechair,andmylegswobble.Ahardhandclampsonmyarm,

steadyingme,andIlookup.It’sKyleand,althoughIknowitshouldn’t,seeinghimmakes

thelonelinessI’vebeentryingtoevademeltaway.

“Hey,”hesays,somethinginhisvoiceIdon’trecognize,althoughhisexpressionis

asstoicasalways.“Theyfinallyletyouout,eh?”

“Yeah.”Theporterwheelsthechairbackintothehospital,andKyleguidesmeover

tooneofthebenches.“Iwasabouttocallataxiandgetthehellawayfromthisplace.”

“Noneedtodothat.I’mhere.”

Why?Iwanttoask,butIdon’t.“Thanks.I’dappreciatearidehome.”I’dturnedmy

phonebackonasIwasbeingwheeledoutofEmergency,anditfinallyfinishesbooting.

Myheadachesdespitethepainkillers,butItrytoconcentrateasKylelowersmetositon

thebench.Hestoopsdownnexttomyknee,sohe’slookingupatme.

“Whatdidthedoctorssay?”

“Uh,mildconcussion.Watchoutforabunchofsymptoms.Takefivedaysoff.

Don’tbealonetonight.”Icouldbitemytongueoffforaddingthatlastone.I’mnot

anglingforhimtotakemehomewithhim.Idon’twanthispity.“I’mgoingtocall

JenalyzaandaskifeitherherorAntonwillcomepickmeup.I’llstaywiththemsinceI

can’tgotoworkanyway.”

“No.”HesaysitsoemphaticallyIjumpslightly.“You’recominghomewithme.”

“Idon’twanttoimpose—”

“WouldIsuggestitifitwereanimposition?”

Ican’tdealwiththisrightnow.I’mhurting,justwantsomepeace.“Okay.”Justfor

tonight,Itellmyself,ashegetsupandsayshe’sgoingtogetthetruck.

ButIunderestimatemyownweakness.Ittakesthelastofmyenergytogatherup

someclothesatmyapartment,eventhoughKyledoesmostofthegatheringwhileIsiton

theedgeofmybedandwatch,andIfallasleepinthetruckonthewaytohisplace.

“Haveyoueaten?”heasks,ashe’shelpingmeintothehouse.

“Yeah.Atthehospital,”Imumble,andthenextthingIknowhe’sstrippingme

downandtuckingmeintobed.And,besidesvaguememoriesofhimwakingmeup

periodicallyandaskingmestupidquestionslikemyname,hisname,andwhereIam,

that’sthelastthingIknowuntilmyeyesopenthefollowingmorning.

ForamomentIthinkit’sstillevening,thattheweaksunlightcominginthroughthe

cornersoftheblindsissunsetratherthandawn,thenitallcomesbacktome.AsusualI’m

sleepingonmystomach,butthere’saweightacrossmylowerbackandovermythighs.

ByturningmyheadonthepillowIcanseeKyle’sface,closetomine,andrealizehehas

anarmandalegthrownacrossmybody.Hisfaceissoftenedbysleep,hischeeksscruffy

withmorningstubble.Thewayhehasmecagedinbyhisbodymakesmefeelsafe,andI

wishitdidn’t.Knowingtheimpermanenceofitmakesmesadratherthanhappy.

I’vealreadygottenintoodeep.IshouldhaveknownIwould.Youcan’ttakea

lonelymanandshowhimwhatitmeanstohavesomeonetocareabout,toworryover—as

IdoeverydayKyle’sonthejob—andexpecthe’snotgoingtograbontothefeelingwith

bothhands.I’minlovewithKyle,andnowIknowwhatmydealbreakerinthissituation

is.Ican’tgoonbeinghispieceontheside,ashadowinhislifeifIlovehim.It’llkillme.

Andyesterdayattheaccidentsite,whenIsawhim,knowinghecouldn’t

acknowledgeourrelationshipwasalmostworsethantheaccidentitself.Lookingupand

seeinghimtherehad,forasecond,beenarelief.Thenhadcometherealizationthathe

couldn’thelpme,notwithoutjeopardizingeverythinghe’dworkedfor,andI’dfelteven

morealonethanIwouldhaveifwe’dnevermet.

Closingmyeyesforasecond,Idecideit’stimetowalk.Betternowthanhowever

muchlateritmightbe,whenI’dbesotiedtohimIwouldn’thaveahopeinhellof

recoveringfromhisloss.

ButI’lltakethenextfewdaysformyself.Spendthemwithhimandenjoyevery

minute,notholdingback,justsoakingitup.ThenIthinkI’llmovebacktoWindsor,so

I’mnotremindedofhimeverytimeIturnaround.Iopenmyeyes,determinednotto

wasteamomentmoreinmyheadwhenIcouldbelookingathim.

Asthoughhearingmythoughts,hiseyelidstwitch,thenrise,andI’mtrappedbyhis

dark,searchinggaze.Heclearshisthroatslightlythen,inasleep-roughenedvoice,says,

“How’reyoufeeling?”

“Ineedtotakeapiss.”It’strue,butIalsoneedacoupleofminutestomyself,toget

myselfbetterundercontrol.“ButI’mtrapped.”

Herollsoffmeintoasittingposition.“Goslowly.Yougotprettybangedup

yesterday.”

WhenItrytositupIrealizehe’sright.Iacheallover,andmyheadimmediately

startstopoundagain.“Bumboclaat.Thathurts.”Itouchmytemple,findingthesorespot,

thenrubthebackofmyneck.“I’veneverbeeninacarcrashbefore.Nobodytoldmeit

waslikethis.”

Hegetsoutofbedandcomesaroundtomyside.“Letmegiveyouahand.”

Ilethim,notbecauseIreallyfeellikeIneedit,butbecauseIwanthimclose.

“Thanks.”Atleastheallowsmetousethebathroombymyself,althoughhe’sright

outsidethedoorwhenIfinish.Thenheguidesmebacktothebed.

“Man,givemeabreak.Ispentallofyesterdayinbed.”

“Andyou’llspendtodayinbedtoo.”Hegivesmethecopvoiceandstare,andmy

heartjumps.Ilovethatsobad.“Youneedtojustkeepquiet.Believeme.”

Igrumblelikecrazy,butbeforehe’sevenfinishedpullingonapairofshortsIfind

myselfdriftingbacktosleep.

Kyle

Ican’tbelievehowshakenupVincent’saccidenthasleftme.EverytimeI

rememberseeinghisSUVintheditchIfeelasifIwanttopuke.Shit,itisn’tlikeI’mnot

usedtoseeingtragedyandcarnage.Inthegrandschemeofthingstheaccidentyesterday

wasminor,exceptthatVincentwasinoneofthevehicles.Ican’tstopimagininghow

muchworseitcouldhavebeen.Fromthereport,JaroskiprettymuchperformedaPIT

maneuveronVincent’sSUV.ItwasonlyskillonVincent’spartthatstoppedhimfrom

spinningoutorturningover.I’llremembertheyawmarksontheroad,fromwherehe

foughttogettheSUVundercontrol,fortherestofmylife.

CatchingmyselfbeforeIslamthefryingpandownonthestove,Itakeadeep

breath.It’sokay.He’sgoingtobefine,justsoreandtiredforthenextfewdays.Taking

careofhimuntilhefeelsbetterwillbemyonlyjob.Untilhe’swellenoughtogoback

home.

MystomachcrampsandIhangmyhead,forcingmyselftojustbreathe.Breakfast,I

remindmyself,lookingvaguelyattheeggsI’vetakenouttoscramble,thebreadwaiting

tobetoasted.Vincentwillbehungrywhenhewakesup,andIcan’tlethimseemelike

this.Ihavetogetagriponmyself.Forhim,ifnotformyself.

BythetimeIwakehimuptofeedhim,helooksbetterthanhehadwhenhewoke

upthefirsttime.Thenhe’dlookedpale,stillkindofshocked,asifithadallcomebackto

himinthosefirstmomentsafteropeninghiseyes.

Hegivesalittlegruntashepusheshimselfuponthepillows.“Icancome

downstairs,”hesays,asIputthetrayoverhislap.

“DidIstutter?”Iask,givinghimaPORCglare,butIcan’tresistlightlytouching

theslightlyswollencornerofhismouthwithonefingeratthesametime.“You’restaying

rightthereallday.AndImighthaveasurpriseforyouinalittlewhile,butIwon’tgiveit

toyouifyoudon’tbehave.”

“OkayMummy.”He’slaughingatme,andIsmilebackathim,justoverwhelmed

withgratitudethathe’saliveandjokingaround.

“Don’ttest,Vincent.You’lllose.”

Thatmakeshimlaughoutloud,andthesoundliftsalotoftheweightoffmychest.

AndanhourlaterwhenPatcomesby,bringingBongowithher,andIleadthemboth

upstairstoseehim,thelookonhisfacemakesitallworthwhile.

PatfussesoverhimandBongo,withthekindofintuitionI’vecometoexpectfrom

him,treatsVincentasifhe’sfragile.Nojumpingonhim,justalotofsniffingandlicking

andthen,finally,hecurlsuponthebedrightunderVincent’shand.

“Damn,it’sgoodtoseeyouboth.”Vincent’sgrinning,hiseyesbrightwith

happiness,andIknowaskingPatifshe’dbringBongoby,andleavehimwithusforthe

nextfewdays,wasagoodidea.

Patsaysshecan’tstaylong,andaftersheleavesIgobackupstairs,havingstowed

allofBongo’sparaphernaliainakitchencupboard.

“Thisisperfect.”Vincenthasastrangeexpressioninhiseyes,buthe’ssmiling.“My

twofavoritemalesatmybeckandcallforafewdays.”

“Enjoyitwhileitlasts,”Itease,easingdownontothebedbesidehim,tryingnotto

jigglethemattresstoomuch.

“Oh,youknowit.”Thenheyawns.“Rass,whyamIsotired?”

“Atrafficaccident,afight,concussion,beingwokenupeverytwohourslast

night…”Iraisemybrows.“That’llsucktheenergyrightoutofyou.Takeanap.”

“ThinkIwill.”

Herollsoverontohisstomach,andIlieonmysidefacinghim.Thenheleansover

andkissesmelightly.Whenhelicksalongmybottomlip,mybreathcatchesandIpull

back.

“Hey,noneofthat.”

Hiseyessparkle,andthecornerofhismouthtwitches.“Alright,boss.Butonly

becauseIcan’tkeepmyeyesopen.”Hesnuggleshischeekintothepillow.“Later

maybe?”

“Inacoupleofdays,maybe,”Irespond,movinginclosersoIcanputmyarm

acrosshim,slidemypalmoverthebackofhishead.“Takeiteasy.Isn’tthatwhatthesong

says?”

Withalittlehuffoflaughter,hestretchesouthishandandrestsitagainstmychest.

And,sinceIwastheonewhohadtowakehimupeverytwohoursthenightbefore,Iclose

myeyesandfallasleepbesidehim,morecontentthanI’vebeeninalongtime.

ChapterFourteen

Vincent

Thenextfourdaysareperfect.Justaquiettime,notdoingmuchmorethanlazing

around,eating,walkingBongo.RefusingtothinkaboutwhatI’mgoingtohavetodo

whenthey’reoverallowsmetojustenjoythetimewithKyle.

AndI’mgladI’ddecidedtoendthingswithhimbeforethistimestarted,becauseI

probablywouldn’thavebeenabletomakethatchoiceattheendofit.Hecompletely

devoteshimselftotakingcareofmeandIjustlapitup.There’sanewlevelof…I’mnot

surewhat…inthewayhetreatsme.Tendernessmaybe,althoughthat’snotquiteright,

sincehe’salwaysbeenconcernedwithnothurtingmeinanyway.Affection?Butthat’s

notquiteiteither.I’musedtohimtouchingmeallthetimewhenwe’retogether—running

hishandovermyhead,caressingmyarm,squeezingmyshoulder—almostasifhecan’t

helpit.

Whateverthisnewelementis,itbothsoothesmeandmakesmerestlesswithneed

forhim.Makesmelovehimevenmore.Iknowthiswillbethebenchmarkforany

relationshipIhaveafterthis,andI’mafraidnothingwillevercompare.

OnTuesdayevening,asIwatchhimwashthedinnerdishes,Iask,“Whattimeare

youworkingtomorrow?”

Hesendsmeoneofthoseunreadablelooks.“I’mnot.”

“Howcome?”Itwassupposedtobethestartofanotherfour-dayrotation.

“Itookapersonalday.Iwasn’tsureyou’dbehealed,soIfiguredI’dmake

arrangementstostickaround.

“Youdidn’thavetodothat.”IwishI’dknown.Iwouldhavepushedmyplansback

aday,butIwon’tnow.Everything’salreadyarranged.

Kyleshrugs.“Ihavesomuchtimeoffbanked,IthinkHRwassecretlythrilledI

decidedtouseoneday.”

Gettingupfromthecouch,Iwalkintothekitchenandputmyarmsaroundhis

waist,leaningmybodyupagainsthis.EachtimeI’vetriedtoinitiatesexoverthelastfew

dayshe’sputmeoff,butIwon’tlethimdoitanymore.Irockmyhips,rotatingmycock

againsthisass.Kyleletsoutamuffledgroan.

“Vincent,giveitonemoreday.You’restillsore.”

Idry-humphim,pushingmyerectionashardasIcanbetweenhisasscheeks.“This

isthepartthat’sreally,reallysore.Ifyouwanttomakemefeelbetter,Icanthinkofafew

thingsthat’lldothetrick.”

“You’rebad.Stopit.”Hesendsmeafiercelookoverhisshoulder.“Idon’twantyou

hurt,okay?”

Ibackoff,butnotbeforeIgivehiscockasqueeze,feelingitpulseagainstmypalm.

“YouknowthisisabattleIwon’tletyouwin,don’tyou?”

Hedrieshishandsandturnstofaceme.“I’mnottakingresponsibilityforcausing

youpain.”Yep,there’sthathotPORCstare.Iwonderifheknowswhatitdoestome

whenhelooksatmethatway?“There’salwaystomorrow.”

“Ee-hee?”Ireachbackandpullmyshirtoffovermyhead.“What’swrongwith

today?”

“Vincent—”

Copvoicetoo.Irresistible.Istartonmypants.“Nah,man.Youcan’tputmeoff.I’m

sohornythatifyoudon’thelpmeout,I’mgoingtostandrighthereandbackmyfistin

frontofyou.”

Idropmyshortsandstepoutofthem,Kylestaringatmeasifdaringmetogo

ahead.“DoesthatmeanwhatIthinkitdoes?”

“Probably.Toputitintowordsyoucanunderstand—chokethechicken,spankthe

monkey,wankoff…”

Heputsuphishandtostopthecatalogueofmasturbatoryterms.“Igetit.”He’s

tryingreallyhardnottolookatmycockasIpushmyboxer-briefsdown.“You’rebeing

stubborn.”

“Nah.Ithinkthat’syou.”Itakemytimewrappingmyfingersaroundmyerection,

closingthemalmostoneatatime.“I’mtheonewhowasintheaccident.IthinkIcantell

whenI’mwellenoughforsex,don’tyou?”

“Shit,”hemutters.

Itakethatasagreement,andstrolltowardhim,stillstrokingmyselfwithslow,long

pullsofmyhand.WhenIgettohim,Ileaninandkisshim,holdingmybodyawayfrom

hissojustourmouthstouch.WhenIteasehislipswiththetipofmytongueheexhales,

andIpulltheairintomylungs.

Hesayssomethingagainstmymouth,butIcan’thearwhatitisandbeforeIcan

pullbacktoaskhishandscomeuptocupmycheeksandhe’skissingmewiththeferocity

Ilovesomuch.

FinallyIcaneasebackenoughtosay,“Upstairs.”

“Yes.”We’rebothbreathinghard,andhe’spartiallyundressed,thankstomy

wanderinghands.Heleansinandkissesmeagain,mumblingagainstmylipsonemore

time,“Yes.”

We’rehalfwayupthestepswhenIrealizethiswillbeoneofthelasttimesIgetto

makelovewithKyle,andIstumbleslightly.Onestepbehindme,hesteadiesmewitha

handonmyshoulder.

“Youokaythere?”

“Yeah.”Ipauseonthelanding,lethimstepuptojoinme.“Justimpatient.Makes

metripovermyownfeet.”

Helaughssoftly.“Comeonthen.Don’tstopwhenwe’rethisclose.”

It’sonlywhenwefalltogetherontothebedIgetasenseofwhyKylehesitated.

There’sakindofleasheddesperationtoourlovemaking,asthoughheknows,justlikeI

do,thatwhatwehaveisalmostover.Maybehe’scometothesameconclusionIhave,but

probablyforadifferentreason.BeforeIcansortitoutinmyhead,allthoughtsdisappear,

andallIwanttodoisfeel,savor,letthepassionovertakeme.

Hisskinishot,alreadyslickwithperspiration,andIrunmyfingersoverhisarms

andchest,downalongtheridgesofhisstomachasweexchangelongkisses,somehard,

somesofterandmorecoaxing.AlthoughIdon’tknowwhichofusneedsany

encouragement.Whenherollsmeontomyback,Idon’ttrytoavoidit,justlethim.

Kylekissestheremnantofthebruiseontheleftsideofmymouth,thenkissesalong

myscar.He’sneverdonethatbefore,andIclosemyeyes,lettingthesensationofhislips

featheringoverthepuckeredfleshseepintome.Thenhesoftlytoucheshislipstothe

lumponmytemple.Myeyesprickle,andIkeepthemshut,notwantinghimtosee.

“Dammit,Vincent.Youcould’vebeenhurtsomuchworse.”

“ButIwasn’t,”Iremindhim.Nowhereasbadlyasit’llhurttoleavehim.“Don’t

thinkaboutit.”

It’slikehe’stryingtoerasethememoryoftheaccident,thewayhetouchesme,asif

he’sreassuringhimselfI’mactuallythere.Ormaybeit’sjustmyimagination.AllIknow

forsureishe’sdrivingmeinsane,lickingandnippingandtouchingmeallover.Bythe

timethefirstbreathwaftsacrosstheheadofmycock,I’mashivering,desperatemess.

Withhiswideshoulderswedgingmythighsopen,onebroadhandovermystomachasif

toholdmeinplace,heliftshisgazetomeetmine.Thenhepressestheflatofhistongueto

theundersideofmydickandslidesituptojustbeneaththecrown.Withacoupleofflicks

heteasesthetendon,beforeslickinguptoswipearoundtheentirehead,gatheringthepre-

comethat’scollectedthere.

Hehums,presseshislipsflushtothetipofmycock.Mylegsjerkandmyback

arches,myentirebodystreakedwithelectricarousal,theanticipationofbeingengulfedby

theheatofhismouthshudderingthroughme.Whenhecirclestheglanswithhistongue

again,thetipfindingtheundersideoftheultra-sensitiveridge,goosebumpsfireacross

mychest,downmychestandarms.

It’storture,thewayhetakeshistime,partinghislipsalittleatatimetotakemeinto

hismouthinsmall,hotincrements.Whenmycockisinhalfway,heswivelshishead

slightly,sotheuppersideoftheheadrubsagainsthispalateandhistonguecaressesthe

underside.I’mtremblingalmostuncontrollably.Maybeit’stheknowledgethatIwon’t

havethisagainaftertodaythatrampsmyarousalsohigh,sofast,butwhateveritis,I

knowIwon’tlastlong.

Reachingdown,Iputmyhandsonhischeeks,tugging.Idon’twanttocomethis

way.Iwanthiminme,now.Hiseyelidslift,andImeethisgaze.Idon’tknowwhathe

seesinmyexpression—inmyeyes—butwhateveritishashimmovingupmybody,until

he’slyingaboveme,ourgazesstilllocked.

“Ineedyou.”

I’veneverbelievedmyselftobeaparticularlyemotionalman.There’vebeentimes

whenI’vecaredaboutnooneandnothing,andthatfeltliketheonlyrealityI’deverknow.

NowIrealizeit’sbecauseI’djustneverknownanyonelikeKyle—didn’tknowKyle—

before.Hishardvoice,thesparkingeyesandfirmhandsonmyfaceallfillmewiththe

kindofemotionsIneverknewIcouldexperience.Iwrapmyarmsaroundtheslick,

muscularbodypressingagainstmine,anditallmakesmesmiledespitethepaininside.I

makemyvoicelight,becauseifIletanyofmyfeelingsout,I’llmakeafoolofmyself.

“Whatyouwaitingforthen?Permission?”Ilockmylegsaroundhisandrockmy

pelvis.TheflushonKyle’scheeksdeepensasItease.“DoIneedtowriteyouanote?

Giveyoudirections?”

Hedoesn’tsmilebut,instead,nodsslightly.“Permission.”

Iknowwhathewants,andthatthistimeIwon’tsayno.

“Yougotit.”

Withouttakinghiseyesoffmyface,hekneelsandreachesforacondom.Isitup

too,andtakethepacketfromhishand.I’mrocksteadyasItearitopenandthenrollthe

latexoverhiscock,butinsidethere’sapartofmethat’sterrified.ButIwon’tbackdown.I

owethistomyself,andtoKyle,andit’llbeonemorememoryforthelonelynightsto

come.Ireachbackforthelube,takemytimeputtingsomeonhim—enjoyingthewayhis

breathinggetsheavierwitheachtwistofmyhand—beforehandinghimthebottle.

ThenIlieback,withKylestillkneelingbetweenmythighs.Ileaveonelegcanted

totheside,theotherfootflatonthebed,makingitclearI’mwaitingforhimtoposition

mehoweverhewants,dowhateverhewanttome.There’snoexpressiononhisface,and

hiseyesaresodarkthey’relikemirrors.Whenhefinallytouchesme,runninghisfingers

alongmythightomyknee,Irealizehishandisshaking.Heguidesmylegup,hisgaze

stillonmyface,and,justlikethat,I’mopentohim,completelyvulnerable,insanely

aroused,totallyready.

Heglancesdowntopositionhimself,thenhiseyessnapbacktomyfaceashe

pushesintomewithslow,determinedpressure.Iwanttoclosemyeyes,savorthe

pleasure/pain,butIdon’t.Hewantstowatchme,andIwanttorememberhowhelooksas

hedoes.Mybreathcatchesjustatthatpointwheretheheadgetsallthewayin,andhis

browscontractbuthedoesn’tletup.Ishiftmyhips,wantingmore,andhegroans,hislips

drawnslightlyback,exposingclenchedteeth.

Stroking,goingdeepereachtime,heworkshiscockinuptotheroot,thenpauses.

Hischestisheaving,themusclesofhisstomachtwitchingeachtimeheinhales.Idon’t

wanttowait,theneedtofeelhimmovinginsidemeoverwhelmingeveryotherimpulse.

Usinghisgriponmeforleverage,Irollmyhipsandsmileathisreaction—abone-deep

shudder,thetighteningofhisfingers,thesparksthatseemtoflickerinhisgaze.

“Don’t…”

Mysmileturnstobreathlesslaughter.Ican’thelpit.Beingwithhimmakesme

happy,evenwhenit’sbreakingmyheart.Irollmyhipsagain,andsay,“Dancewithme.”

Ithinkhelaughstoo,althoughitcomesoutmorelikeagrowl.“Yeah,”hesays,

withdrawingalmostalltheway.“Oh,yeah.”

Astrongthrust.Thenanother.Ashiftofposition,hookinghiselbowsbehindmy

kneessohecanlierightoverme,hishandsplantedonthemattressoneithersideofmy

shoulders,hisfacerightabovemine.I’mprettymuchimmobilized,butIdon’tcare.

Puttingmyarmsaroundhisneck,Iliftmyheadtokisshim,suckingonhislowerlip,his

tongue,swallowingthesexynoisesthatrisefromhisthroat.Thenhe’spumpinghard,and

myheaddropsbackontothepillow,ashefindsarhythmthatleavesmegroaningand

cursingandarchingtogetcloser.

“Likethat,babe?”It’slikehiscopvoice—unyielding,statingevenwhenasking—

butwithanedgeIdon’trecognise.“Tellmeifthat’sit…right…there.”

Ican’tanswer.Thepressureinmyballsisreachingcriticalmass,theneedtocome

buildingandbuildingwitheverythrust,everyslideofhissweat-slickbellyovermycock,

untilI’mtwistingbeneathhim,fightingtoholdback,yetunabletostoptherise.

“Iwannaseeyoucome.”Thewordssoundforcedout,fierceandyetpleadingatthe

sametime.“Comeforme,Vincent.”

ThereisnoresistanceleftinmewhereKyleisconcerned.HedemandsandI

comply.It’sassimpleandascomplicatedandasjust-so-fucking-goodasthat.IthinkI

shouthisnamebutI’mnotsure,becausemypulseisdrumminginmyearsandmybody

feelsasthoughit’sbeingturnedinsideoutwiththeintensityofmyorgasm.Andhe’sstill

fuckingme,sothepleasuredoesn’tjustexplodeandthenwane,butstretchesonandon,as

thestimulationkeepsbombardingmysystem.

“Shit,”hegroans,thelong,hammeringthrustsstutteringtoashort,deep,fractured

beatthattellsmehe’sontheedgenowtoo.“Vincent,I—”

Youwhat?Iwonder,asheshuddersaboveme,everymusclelockedandshaking.

ButIdon’task,justholdontight,memorizingexactlyhowitfeelstobewithhim,gladI

tookthechance,yetwishingIdidn’tcaresomuch,sowecouldmakewhatwehavelast.

Kyle

DuringsummerIusuallytrytogoformyrunbefore6:30inthemorning,soasto

avoidtheheatandhumidity,butthismorningIgetalatestart.That’swhathappenswhenI

wakeuptoVincentblowingme.There’snowayI’mgoingtoturnthatdowninfavorof

exercise.Soit’salmost8:00a.m.beforeIheadout.Standingoutsideonthedriveway,Ido

somestretches,thenlookupatthebedroomwindowbeforeIstartoff.I’mprettysureI

seeashadowbehindthehalf-closedblinds,butwhenIliftmyhandandwavethere’sno

movement,somaybeI’mwrong.

ThelastcouplemorningsI’dtakenBongorunningwithmebutit’stoohotforhim

todayand,althoughIhatetoadmitit,ImisshiscompanyasIjogalong.He’stheperfect

companion,inquisitivebutobedient,lovingbutnotinmyfaceallthetime.Iactuallyhate

thethoughtofhimgoingbacktothesanctuary,althoughIknowPattakesgoodcareof

himthere.

IhateitalmostasmuchasthethoughtofVincentleaving,goingbacktothat

crampedbasementapartment.Thethoughtofusgoingbacktothesporadicvisits,the

jugglingofschedules.Menotknowingwhathe’sdoing,worryingaboutwhereheis,when

I’llseehimagain.Cominghometoahousethatfeelslifelesswithouthispresence.

LastnightwecrossedabarrierI’dbeguntosuspectwouldneverbebreached,and

myheartkicksintohighgearwhenIrememberlookingdownintoVincent’sface,seeing

thearousalmorphtoneedandthentopleasureaswemadelove.Theexpressioninhis

eyesmademefeelhumbleandheroic—thelastofwhichisstupid,Iknow,buthowIfelt.

Itmademewanttoseehimlookatmelikethateveryday,hearhimlaugheveryday,

laughwithhiminthewayonlyhecanmakeme.

AsIpounddownthegravelroad,Iworkitallout.It’snotunusualforpeopleto

haveroommates.NooneknowsthatI’dboughtmyhousewithaninheritancefrommy

grandfather.IfVincentmovedin,everyonewouldjustassumeitwasbecauseIwanted

helpwithmymortgageandnoonewouldbataneye.Hecouldsavethemoneyhepaysfor

rentandgobacktoschool.GetthatMaster’sDegreehewants.Wecouldevenkeep

Bongo.Itwouldbeperfect.

No,notperfect,butclose.Ascloseaswecouldget.Andtherewassomethinginhis

eyeslastnightthattellsmehewon’tturnmedown.

BythetimeIsprintbacktothehouse,Ihaveitallworkedoutinmyheadandhave

toforcemyselftodomycool-downexercises,insteadofgoingstraightintothehouseto

laytheplanouttoVincent.

WhenIgoinsideandseehimsittingonthecouch,Bongo’sheadinhislap,Igrin.

ButthenInoticehisdufflebagandlaptopcasenearthekitchenislandandmystomach

drops,thesmileslidingoffmyfacewhenItakeinhiscarefullyblankexpression.

“Hey.”I’malreadyinPORCmode,andIdon’tevenknowwhat’sgoingonyet.He

can’tjustleave.Hedoesn’thaveacar.I’mprobablymisreading.Igesturetothebags

anyway.“What’sthis?”

Hisgazegoestothebagsandthencomesbacktomine.“I’mheadingoutinafew.

Jenalyza’scomingtogetme.”

Nowitfeelslikemyblood’sbeingcrystalizedintoice,theheatgeneratedbymyrun

dissipatingsofastitmakesmewanttoshiver.“Why?”

“Ican’tstayhere,Kyle.”Hetakesadeepbreath,seemstoholditforamoment.

Bongowhinessoftly,andVincent’sfingerssmoothoverthedog’shead,butIdoubthecan

relievethetension.Notinthedog,notintheroom.Notinme.Vincentexhalesandhis

lipstwist,butIdon’tseeanymockeryorlaughterinthemovement.Justsadness.“Ican’t

livelikethiswithyou.”

Likehow?Iwanttoask,butIknowwhathemeans,andthere’snothingIcansay.

Nothing.Thenhesaysitanyway,andIwishIdidn’thavetohearit.

“Iknowhowyoufeel.Idon’tblameyouforwantingtoholdontowhatyouhave,

believeme,Idon’t.I’vebeenthere.”Vincentrubsthebackofhisneck,andIseethestress

inhisshoulders,thesetofhisheadandneck.“ButIcan’tgobackintotheclosetwithyou.

I’vealreadycomeout.IclaimedthefreedomandthelifeI’dbeendenyingmyself.Forme

togobacktohiding,tolivingalie…”

Hiseyesaremoist,andIalmostwishmineweretoo.ButallIamiscold.Toocold

toreact,toargue,toreallyfeel.

“Igetit.”Ihardlyrecognizethathardvoiceasmyown.It’snotmycopvoice.

There’snolifeinit—nopowerordemand.It’sstiff,stonedead.“Yeah.Iunderstand.”

There’sthesoundofacarcomingalongtheroadandVincentglancesathiswatch.

Whenitturnsintomydriveway,hegetsup.Bongojumpsoffthecouch,andVincenttells

himtostay.Obedientasever,thedogdoes,althoughhisexpressionashewatchesVincent

walkawayexhibitsalltheconfusionandsadnessIwishIcouldexpressbutcan’t.

Ashepicksuphisbags,Vincentsays,“SorrytoleaveyouwithBongo.CallPatand

I’msureshe’llcomecollecthim.”Thenhestopsandlooksatme.“Yousayyou

understand,Kyle,butIdon’tthinkyoudo.”Heswallows,thenrubshisfistbeneathhis

nose.“IfIdidn’tcare,Icoulddothis.IfIcouldjustthinkofyouasafuck-buddy,itwould

beokay.”Facingmehead-on,hesays,“ButI’minlovewithyou,sothiscan’twork

anymore.Ithurtstoomuch.It’llgetharderandhardertojustbeasecretpartofyourlife

whenIwantmorethanyoucangive.I’llenduphatingyou,justasyou’denduphating

meifyoucameoutandthingswentbadlyforyouatwork,withyourfamily.”Hetakesa

deep,shudderingbreath.“WhenIfirstcamehere,toCanada,IthoughtI’dbefree,butfor

alongtimeIwasn’t.Iwastrapped,becauseIcouldn’tfacemyself.Youhelpedmetosee

that,andnowIcan’tgoback.Iknowthestrikesagainstyou,Kyle,andI’msorrythere’s

nowayout.Sorrythere’snowayforthistoworkforus.”

IthoughtIwascoldbefore,butit’slikeI’veturnedtoablockofice.Ican’tmove,

can’tbreathe,can’tspeak.He’sturningtowardthedoor,andIwanttoaskhimtostay,to

talkthesituationthrough,butIknowthere’snothingIcansaytocounteracttherealityof

whathe’ssaid.

Buthe’sinlovewithme…

Thenthescreendoorslamsshut,followedbyacardoor.Anenginefiresup.Thecar

backsup,turns,drivesaroundanddownthedriveway,gravelcrunchingunderthetires.

It’sonlywhenallsoundsfade,andthesilenceofthehousesettlesonmelikeaweight,

thatIstarttofeelagain.

ChapterFifteen

Kyle

Igetdrunk.Whatelseistheretodo?

Then,recognizinghowfucked-upI’mgoingtobe,IcallthestationandtellthemI

won’tbeinfortherestoftheweek.Idon’tevencarewhethertheyhavetoscrambleto

findsomeonetocovermyshifts.BettertheydothatthanIshootsomeshitheadbecauseI

haveahair-triggertemperandnocontrolovermyself.

Icyclethroughanger,disbelief,hope.Butthroughitallisthisrazor-blade-pain

slicingintomewheneverIrememberVincentsayinghe’sinlovewithmeandIcan’tgive

himwhatheneeds.Andrealizinghe’sright.Dammit.He’sright.I’vebuiltmylifeonthis

elephantofalie,andIcan’tseeawaydownoffitsbackwithoutbreakingevery

metaphoricalboneinmybody,losingeverything.

Excepthim.

Andhe’srightabouttherestofittoo.IfIendedupsidelinedatwork,shuntedinto

somepissantjobbecausenooneknowswhattodowitha“queer”cop,Iwouldresentit.

Andifanyofmyfamilyturnedtheirbackonme…I’mnotsurewhatelsewouldhappen

butIknowI’dresenthim.Justasmuchashe’dresentbeingmyfuck-buddyafterawhile.

Afteracoupleofyearsofneverbeingseentogetherasacouple,oflivingseparatelives,

he’dbestir-crazyandleaveanyway.Betterhediditnow,right?

Besides,what’stheupsideofcomingoutatthisstageofmylife?Ican’tthinkofany

benefits.ExceptVincent.Andcominghometosomethingsospecialit’smademerealize

I’vebeenlivinghalfalife,allmylife.

Love.

Notenough.Istarttoshakemyheadandhavetostop,becausemybrain’ssloshing

aroundinthere.Loveisanillusion.Isn’tthatwhatpeoplealwayssay?Ibelievethattoo.

YesIdo.

IfIremindmyselfofthatoftenenough,I’llfeelawholelotbetter.

Igulpdownthedrinkinmyhandandreachforthebottle,convenientlyleftonthe

floorbesidethesofa.BongoliftshisheadfrommylapandIswearhesighs.

“Idon’twantanylipfromyou.”ItwouldbemyPORCvoice,exceptallthewords

runtogetherintoone.“IfIwannagetdrunkbecauseyourmastertoldmetofuckoff,I

will.”

Helayshisheadbackdownandlicksmykneeforgoodmeasure.Atleasthestill

likesme.

Whenmyphoneringssometimeintheevening,Igrabit,hopingit’sVincentsaying

he’schangedhismind,wecanworkitout,butitisn’t.It’sMom.Ialmostdon’tanswer,

becauseI’mshit-facedandgrief-strickenandIcan’tfaceanyonerightnow,butsomething

makesmetakethecall.Inthemuddledrecessesofmymind,Ifigureitmightbe

important.

“HeyMom.”I’mslurring,althoughI’mtryinghardnotto.“Everythingokay?”

There’salittlesilence,thenatentative,“Kyle?”

Thatmakesmelaugh.Iknowwhatshe’sthinking.Inever,evergetdrunk.Didshe

dialDenny,wholovestotieoneon,bymistake?“Yeah,it’sme.”

“What’swrong?”Immediatelyshesoundspanicky,aholdoverfromlivingwithmy

father,Ioftenthink,wherethingscouldgetrealugly,realquick.“Areyouokay?”

“Yeah,I’mfine.Justalittledrunk.”

Silenceagain.Then,softly,“Why?”

“I…”WhatcanIsay?Iwannatellher,tellsomeone.Howdoyougetoverabroken

heartwithouthelp?It’snotlikesheprobablydoesn’tknow.Howcouldshenotknow,

whenherthirty-fouryearoldsonhasn’tbroughtagirlhomesincetwelfthgrade,whichis

whenIdecidedIreallycouldn’tpretendtolikegirlsthatwayanymore,butwouldjust

keepitallonthedownlow.Betterthatthanhearingmyfathercallme‘pansy’,or‘queer’

inthatsneeringwayhehadandreallymeanit.“Ijust…”

“Tellme.”Nowshe’spleading,andIwanttocry.SomethingIcan’tremember

wantingtodosinceIwasakid.“Youcantellmeanything,Kyle.Youknowthat,don’t

you?”

“Imetsomeone.”TheliquorandthepainforcethewordsoutofmebutIstillkeepit

neutral,protectingmyselflikethecowardIam.“Andnowit’sover,andIfeellikeshit.

Likeafuckingfailure.”

Moresilence,andItrytoholdittogether,thescotchfumesmakingitharderthanit

shouldbe.Don’tthinkI’lltouchthestuffeveragain.

“Doyoulovehim?”

“Yeah.”Fuck.WhyisitIcanadmitthattomymother,butnottomyselforto

Vincent,who’stheonewhoprobablyneedstohearitthemost?BecauseIlovehimbut

can’tdoanythingaboutgivinghimtherelationshiphewantsanddeserves.BecauseI’ma

pieceofshit,coweringinmycloset.

“OhKyle.I’msorryhoney.”

Itsinksinwhatshesaid.Him,nother.ItsinksinandIgetaspurtofpanicandthen

awaveofrelief,bothsopowerfulthey,combined,sobermeup.“Howlong…”

“HaveIknownyouweregay?”Momsighs.“Atleastsinceyouweretwelve,butI

suspectedbeforethat.Ididn’twanttoask,becauseyouneversaidanything,andyour

father…”

“Yeah.”Shit.I’mgoingtocry.Maybepuketoo.“Mom…”

“Youwantmetocomeandstayforafewdays?Keepyoucompany?”

Yeah,I’mcrying.Notlikehugesobs,althoughthosearetryingtogetout,but

crying,andI’mnotevensurewhy.Booze.Yeah,it’sthebooze.“No.I’llbeokay.”ThenI

saysomethingIknowI’llprobablyregretthenextday,butcan’tseemtoholdback.“Can

youtelltheothersforme?”

“Youmeanyourbrothersandsisters?”

“Yeah.”

Anotheroneofthosepauses,andI’mdreadinghersayingIshoulddoitmyself,

whenshereplies,“Sure,butIthinktheyprobablyalreadyknow.”

Iholdittogetherjustlongenoughtothankherandsaygoodbye,thenIsprintforthe

downstairsbathroom,mystomachfinallyrebellingagainsttheabuseI’veputitthrough.

Hangingontothetoilet,inbetweenretching,Iplaymymother’swordsbackinmy

head,andbegintowonderifI’vereallyfooledanyone.Orifit’sonlybeenmyselfI’ve

beenhidingfromalltheseyears.

Vincent

Rassclaat,thedaysarelongwithoutKyle.Thenightsareevenlonger.Whythefuck

doesdoingtherightthinghurtsobumboclaatmuch?

I’vebeenbackatworkforacoupleweeks,aftertakingtherestoftheweek

followingtheaccidentoff,butIthinktheothersprobablywishI’dstayedaway.Saying

I’minafoulmooddoesn’tquitecoverit.Itrynottotakeitoutonthepeoplearoundme

butIseethewaythey’repussy-footingaroundme,soIknowI’mnotdoingsowell.

WhichiswhyissurprisesmethatwhenItellmybossI’mthinkingofleaving,

maybemovingtoWindsor,shegoesintoaspin-wobbleandbegsmenottoresign.Even

offersmearaise.It’stempting,butalthoughIhaven’ttoldheryesorno,IdoubtI’lltake

heruponit.Therearetoomanymemoriesaroundeverycorner.I’mriskingarrest,orat

leastmultipletrafficstops,byeyeballingeverycopcarthatIcomeacross,desperatefor

justaglimpseofKyle.

Jenalyzaistryingtohelp—tellingmeIdidtherightthing,boostingmymoraleby

sayingI’llfindsomeonenewbecauseI’mawonderfulperson—butitreallymakesno

difference.Ihurt,bad,bad,bad,andnoamountoftalkingwillhelp.I’mevenstaying

awayfromthesanctuary,knowingI’llseeKyle’sghostthere.

WhatAntonsaidwhileIwasinWindsorkeepsrunningthroughmyhead.

“Justbesureitcan’tbefixed,okay?Ifyou’rethisunhappy,itmightbeworth

lookingatagain.”

Iwishitwere.IwishIcouldjustbethatsecretloverKyleneeds,andnotwant

anythingelsefromhim.ButIwanttolivewithhimeventually.Beapartofhisfamilyand

includehiminwhat’sleftofmine.MaybeI’mlookingforsomethingtoreplacethatsense

ofbelongingthatwastakenawayfromme,andIknow—Ifeelitrightdowninmybelly

—Icouldhavethatwithhim.ButI’dwanttobeopenwithit.Nothavetopretendwe’re

justfriendsifwehappentogooutsomewheretogether.Nothavetosneakandhideand

nothavemyfeelingsacknowledged.Hell,ifI’dwantedtolivelikethatIwouldhave

stayedinJamaica,notcomenorthtofreezemyassoff.

Igetit.Iunderstandhisfear.IalsoknowthatjustbecauseI’minlovewithhim

doesn’tmeanhefeelsthesameway.Ifhedoesn’tthenwhatreasoninhellwouldhehave

tochangeanythingabouthislifejustforme?It’lltaketime,butI’llgetoverit.NobodyI

everhear’boutdeadfromabrokenheart.

AtlunchtimeIgooutsidetooneofthepicnictablesandcheckmyphone.

TechnicallyI’mallowedtohavemineonallthetimebuttheworkersIsupervisearen’t

and,insolidarity,Ikeepmineofftoo.IguessI’vebeenmoreofabitchthanevenI

realized,becausenoonecomestositwithme.

Whatever.

There’satextfromPat,withavideolinkembedded.

Haveyouseenthis?Whatthehelldidyoudo?

Whatnow?Iwonder.Thenthetitleofthevideocatchesmyattention.

Gay,FirstNationsPoliceOfficernewliaisonfor…

What.The.Fuck?

Ihitthe‘play’button.

ThePoliceChiefannouncingthenewliaisonbetweenthePoliceServicesandthe

GayPrideParadecommittee.SergeantKylePictou.

Wha’debumboclaat?

Kyleinfulldressuniform,thatusualstoicexpressionfirmlyinplace,givingthe

reportersafull-onPORCstare.God,he’shandsome.GodImisshim.Ican’thearaword

theChiefissaying,becauseI’msofocusedonKyle,mymindscramblingtofigureout

howthiswasevenpossible.

Thenhestepsuptothemicandthereportersgonuts.

“Sgt.Pictou.Howdidyougetthisresponsibility?”

“Ivolunteeredforit.Thelastliaisonofficerhashadthejobforaboutfouryears,and

wasreadytotakeonadifferentassignment.”

“Sergeant.Whatmadeyouthinkyouwerequalifiedfortheposition?”

“MyelevenyearsinPoliceServicesisagoodstart.Manyofthoseyearshavebeen

spentonthestreets,dealingwiththepublic,learningthewayourcityoperatesandseeing

thedangersinherentinurbanlife.BeingamemberoftheFirstNationscommunityplaysa

partaswell,sincenoonecandenythattherearebenefitstobelongingtoaminoritywhen

tryingtounderstandanotherminoritygroup.Theremaybedifferentissues,butthereare

alsosomethatareverysimilar.”Hepauses,andIknowhimsowellIseethebreathhe

takesbeforehecontinuesspeaking,andgoosebumpsfireacrossmychestandarmseven

beforehesays,“Andofcourse,beinggaymyselfgivesmeaperspectivesomeofmy

fellowofficersdon’thave.”

Ican’thearanythingelseafterthat.Thebloodisdrummingtoohardinmyears.I

freezethevideo,catchingKylejustashe’sturningtolistentosomeoneclosetothe

camerarecordingthereportI’mwatching.It’slikehe’slookingrightatme,andbeneath

thestony,copfaçadeIcanseehisvulnerability,thefearhe’shiding.Idon’tknowifhe’s

donethisbecauseofme,becauseofsomethingI’vesaid,butI’msuddenlyswampedbya

rushofemotion.

He’sfree.

Andevenifit’sfreetobewithsomeoneelse,someonewho’snotscarred,witha

suspectpastandiffyfuture—inotherwords,someonewhoisn’tme—I’mcrying,likea

rassclaatbaby,becauseIknowexactlyhowhefeels.

“Vincent.”AhandlandsonmyshoulderandIalmostjumpoutofmyskin.“Areyou

okay?”

Melanie.OneofthestaffmembersIsupervise.Herbrowcreasedwithconcern.

Iwipemyfacewithmysleeves,suddenlywishingI’dlistenedtomygrannieall

thoseyearsagoandkeptcarryingahandkerchief.

“Yeah.”Iclearmythroat.“Believeitornot,I’mahellofalotbetterthanIwasthis

morning.”

She’sstandingsoshe’sblockingmefromeveryoneelse’sview,anditmakesme

wanttohugher.“Okay.Waithere,letmegetmybag.”Shesmiles.“Ihavetissues.”

Ipasstherestofthedayinafog.Ikeepmyphoneonme,sneakinglooksatthat

frozenvideowheneverIcan.Ican’tgetoverit;keephearinghimsay,“…beinggay

myself…”

Thethoughtofcallinghimtoacknowledgewhathe’sdonecrossesmymind,butI

knowIprobablywon’t.Wouldn’tthatbethesameassaying,“Nowthatyou’reout,can

werevisitourrelationship?”AsfarasIknow,heneverwantedanythingpermanentwith

me.Iwasconvenient.Willingnotonlytohavesexbuttokeephissecret.Therearealot

moreprospectsforhimnowthathe’snothidinganymore.Ifhe’ssmart,hewon’tlook

back.Notforasecond.

Finallytheshiftends,andIfinishupmypaperworkandpackupmybriefcase.I’ll

havetodouble-checkeverythingthenextday.I’mprettysureI’vefuckedsomethingup,

beingunabletoconcentrateworthshit.

Outside,theparkinglotisemptyingout,andI’mheadingtowardtheRAV4whenI

hearabark.ImmediatelyIturntolook,thinkingitsoundsfamiliar.

Kyle.Straighteningfromwherehe’sbeenleaningagainstthefrontofhistruck.

Bongostickinghisnoseoutthroughthepart-openpassengersidewindow,barkinglikea

crazything.

ForamomentIcan’tmove,thenIgetmyshakinglegsgoing,walkingtowardthem,

tellingmyself,playitcool,Vincent.Playitcool.

“Hey,”hesays,asIgettothefrontofthetruck.Thenhereachesupandtakesoffhis

shades.“How’veyoubeen?”

“Good-good,”Isay,hearingthelieinmyownwords.Thetugonmyscartellsme

I’mtwistingmymouthagain,soIstopandtakeabreath.ThenIsay,“Prettybad.”

Thecornerofhismouthtwitches.“Metoo.SoIcan’tsayI’munhappythatIhaven’t

beensufferingalone.”

Asnortoflaughterbreakspastthetightnessinmychest.“Nice.Miseryloves

companyforreal,eh?”

“Fireal.”

Hispseudo-Jamaicanaccentmakesmesnortagain.Mypalmsaresweaty,andIwipe

themonmythighs.“So,Isawthenewsconference.”

Heshrugs.“Okay.SoIdon’thavetotellyou.Good.Because…”Hehesitates,

seemstobesearchingforthewords.“Vincent,Ididn’tdoitforyou.”

Rass.I’dhavepreferredhimtojustkickmeinthestomachandgetitoverwith.

Kickingmeintheballswouldbeevenbetter.Keepingthedisappointmentandpainoffmy

facetakeseverythingIhave.“Okay.”

“No.”Hetouchesthecornerofmylip,rightwheremyscarstarts.“Letmefinish.I

wassittinginthatmeetingtwodaysago,hearingtheChiefsayitwastimetohaveanew

liaisonfortheGayPrideParade,andIrealizedIcouldn’tkeephidinganymore.Ihadto

stepupandacceptmyself—whoandwhatIam.Ididitformyself,tomakemyliferight.

Todotherightthing.Icouldn’tbewhatyouneededifIdidn’t,andsincewhatIneedis

you,therewasnootherway.”

It’shardtounderstandwhathe’ssayingbecauseI’mbracedformorerejection.AllI

candoisstareathim,unabletoanswer.Kylereachesoutandtakesoffmyshades,soI

can’thidefromhim,andthesamefearsIhaveseemtobereflectedinhisgaze.

Hisvoiceislowandstrained,asifhe’sstrugglingwithgettingitout.“Iusedto

thinkofallthethingsthatmakemewhoIamasstrikesagainstme.MystatusasaFirst

Nationsman,beinggay.Evenbeingacopwasanexcusenottogetclosetoanyone,a

reasontohidemyfeelings.Whenyouleft,IrealizedtheonlystrikeIhadagainstmewas

thatInolongerhadyou.Ihadtogetoveralltheothershit,becausewithoutyouIwas

hollow.Justahusk.”

Hemovesjustalittlecloser,touchesmyarm,thenmyhand.“Comehomewithme

—withus—andwe’llgetthissortedout.Ifyouwantto.Ifyoustillloveme.Ifyoucare

thatIloveyoutoo.”

IfIdon’tgetaholdofmyself,I’mgoingtokisshimrighthere,infrontofmy

workplace,andthatwon’tdo.InsteadInod,knowingI’msmilinglikeafool,andsay,

“Raceyouthere,Sarg,andI’lltrynottogetaticketontheway.”

HetriesforaPORCstare,buthiseyesaregleamingandthecornersofhismouth

arecantedup,spoilingtheeffect.Butthecopvoiceisrightonwhenhesays,“Makesure

youdon’t.Idon’tfixticketsforanyone,notevenmyman.”

AbouttheAuthor:

Afterlivingacheckeredpast,anddespiteanavoweddisinterestindomesticity,

multi-publishederoticromanceauthorAnyaRichardssettledinOntario,Canada,with
husband,kids,anadorablepupandtwocatsthatplotsworlddominationonefoodbowlat
atime.Herslightlydarkeralter-ego,AnyaDelvay,emergesoccasionallytowriteerotica.

Interestedinallthingshistoricalandhysterical,Anyadescribesherselfasintensely

curious,(althoughtheword‘nosy’hasbeenbandiedabout)andalife-longpeople-
watcher.Usingwhatshe’sdiscoveredaboutpeople,placesandvariousweirdand
wonderfulthings,Anyahaswrittencontemporary,historicalandparanormal/fantasy
romancenovels,novellasandshortstoriesformanypublishinghouses.

Tofindoutmore,pleasedropbyAnya’swebsiteat

www.anyarichards.com

,follow

heron

Twitter

orlikeheron

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Document Outline

Title Page
Dedication
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author

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