A single hot tear ran down his cheek, catching on the corner of his mouth. “I miss you,” Danny whispered. “I miss you.” He felt loved. He felt heard. And for now it was enough. It would have to be.
The razor made a harsh, scraping sound against Danny’s cheek, louder in his ear than in reality. For a moment he was transported somewhere he did not want to travel: a cold warehouse full of death. Funny how that happened; the disposable Bic in his hand was nothing like Madrigal’s favored weapon, but the bright scrape of metal was reminder enough. Danny forced his mind back to the small motel bathroom, leaning closer to the mirror as he tucked his top lip over his teeth, shaving the delicate skin underneath his nose.
“You’re shaving?” Miller’s head poked out from behind the shower curtain, his hair standing up in shampoo-laden tufts.
“Yep.”
Miller’s head disappeared again and Danny smiled as he listened to Miller rushing his way through the rest of his shower. He couldn’t keep from sneaking a peek—or two—when Miller yanked the curtain open, reaching for a towel with a dripping arm. Miller twisted the towel around his waist, coming up to press his damp chest against Danny’s bare back.
“Hey,” Miller said softly, resting his chin on Danny’s shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
“Hey, yourself. I didn’t realize this was so exciting.”
“I’ve never seen you shave before,” Miller said, as though that explained it. And maybe it did. Hadn’t he stayed awake after Miller fell asleep last night, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, tracing a random pattern on his arm? Or this morning, hadn’t he been fascinated by the way Miller thumbed his way through the paper as he nursed a cup of coffee, every motion slow and deliberate? Maybe they were both storing up memories, tiny moments in time, to sustain them in the bleak, lonely days that waited just around the corner.
Miller planted a wet row of kisses along Danny’s neck. “When did you get this one?” Miller’s fingers trailed a lazy loop around the yin-yang tattoo on Danny’s shoulder.
“After Leavenworth. That one was actually my idea, as opposed to Hinestroza’s or Amanda’s.”
“Why did you want it?”
Danny shrugged, pulling the razor down his cheek. “I read about the symbol when I was in prison. I liked the idea of it. Light and dark, two halves making a whole.” He met Miller’s eyes in the mirror again, setting his razor down on the sink.
“Are you the dark, Danny?” Miller asked quietly.
But Danny didn’t want to talk about his mistakes, the shadows that swirled within him and would never go away, having grown accustomed to their dank and fertile home, roots embedded deep in the rich, black soil. So he grabbed Miller’s hand and pushed it lower, watching when Miller’s mouth opened, a low groan escaping as he pulled Danny’s towel away, loosening his own with his free hand, spreading Danny’s thighs with strong and demanding knees.
Danny gripped the edge of the sink, arching his back as Miller surged into his body, Miller’s hot breaths whistling against his neck. They worked together without speaking, Danny driving back for every thrust forward. Their eyes caught in the mirror, showing faces slack with pleasure.
Miller came with a shout, his fingers carving rough troughs in Danny’s hips, and Danny closed his eyes and took what Miller gave him, wishing that somehow a spark from Miller might be left behind, a tiny flicker in the darkness.
“GUILTY.”
The judge’s voice was calm and even, probably not carrying much beyond the first row of the gallery, which was fine, because the courtroom was practically empty. The reaction was nothing like what you saw on TV; no one screamed in hysterics and the bailiff sat calmly in his seat, not fighting off a distraught defendant or his family. The jurors looked blasé, most of them anxious to be home now that their civic duty was complete.
Danny glanced across the table at Ronnie Jennings, watching as Jill murmured something in his ear. Ronnie nodded, his eyes focused on his hands. To someone who’d never sat in Ronnie’s seat and heard the single word, guilty, that would dictate his life from now on, it would probably seem as though Ronnie was fine, that he was paying attention, present. But Danny had been in that seat several times, and he suspected Ronnie was retreating further into that space he’d created around himself from the moment he’d been arrested—the safe space that kept him removed from what happened to him and insulated him from thoughts of how his life was no longer his to control. If Ronnie was lucky, he could stay inside that self-made bubble for the length of his prison sentence. The trick was figuring out how to step back into life when the prison doors swung open, how to become a part of the living world again.
Jill gave Ronnie a quick pat on the upper arm as the bailiff led him away, his hands shackled behind his back, a chain securing his ankles together. Ronnie kept his gaze straight ahead as he shuffled through the door that would take him to the holding room down the hall, and from there to his new home.
“How are you doing?” Danny asked as they gathered up their clutter from the defense table, plastic tubs filled with numbered exhibits, scores of yellow legal pads, highlighters and pens, half-empty water bottles, a box of Kleenex, and several tins of Altoids, which Jill refused to enter the courtroom without.
“Me?” Jill smiled at Danny across the table. “I’m fine.”
“Are you upset about the verdict?”
“Not really.” Jill shrugged. “I expected it.”
“But you worked so hard.”
“I did,” she agreed. “But he was guilty, Danny. He robbed that store. How can I be mad when the jury made the right decision? He should have taken the plea.”
“But….” Danny stopped, at a rare loss for words.
“Let me guess, you want to know why I worked so hard if I knew he was guilty, right? Or how I could represent him in the first place?” Jill didn’t wait for Danny’s response, stuffing the last of the legal pads into her battered briefcase with a sigh. “I did it because it’s my job. I can’t go into it thinking about guilt or innocence or what my client deserves. Those kinds of judgments are beyond me. Everyone’s entitled to a good defense and that’s my job. Fighting for a fair sentence, that’s my job too. But as far as the verdict, the system usually works the way it’s supposed to. Innocent men are convicted and guilty men go free, but not as often as people think.”
Danny stared at her and Jill laughed. “Bet you weren’t expecting a speech, were you? I’ve got more where that came from. Someday, ask to hear the one on three-strikes laws. It’s a doozy.”
“How do you do it?” Danny asked. “How do you do this job every day?”
Jill looked up at him. “Because I love it. And because I’m one of those pathetic bleeding hearts who really does believe that everyone deserves a decent defense. Sad, but true.”
“It’s not sad.”
Jill smiled as she hoisted a box of exhibits onto her hip. “Hey, a few of us are going out for a beer. Want to come?”
“Nah,” Danny shook his head. “I’m beat. I’m going to head home.” He knew Jill’s invitation was genuine, just as the friendly greeting he’d received every morning from the prosecutor and bailiff, the judge and his clerk were truly meant. But he still felt uncomfortable around this courthouse crowd.
The first day he’d shown up here in his new black slacks and white button-down shirt, his heart had threatened to burst out of his chest, his feet dragging with thoughts of setting foot in a courtroom again. He’d only done it for Jill, because she’d needed help with this trial, and she’d promised him it would be three days or less. His anxiety must have shown on his face because Jill had pulled him aside and told him to relax, he wasn’t a defendant anymore. He didn’t know how many of the people working in the courtroom knew his history, but even if they all did, no one acted like it mattered. It still mattered to Danny, though, and he was pretty sure it always would.
“See you on Monday,” Jill said as they parted ways on the courthouse steps, wavi
ng with her briefcase. “You did a good job, Danny.”
“Thanks.” Danny smiled. “See you later.”
The St. Patrick’s Day weather had held for more than a week now, and Danny took advantage of the unseasonable warmth, getting off the L one stop early to swing by a local sandwich shop for dinner. He got a turkey club to go, knowing the sandwich wasn’t in his budget but for one night not caring.
The warmer temperature brought a hint of spring to the air, but the deep twilight pushing in by six o’clock told a different story. Danny let himself into his apartment, shedding his shirt before he’d even switched on the living room lamp. Thank God Jill hadn’t made him wear a tie, at least. More comfortable in old jeans and a T-shirt, he grabbed a beer and his sandwich, settling himself on the couch to eat. It was so quiet in the room he could hear each crunch of the lettuce, the lonely sounds of his meal shriveling his appetite into nothing.
He knew what he was going to do—had known from the minute he’d turned down Jill’s invitation for beers. It was one of those nights. He could feel Miller rising up in him, swamping him with need. He put his plate, complete with half-finished sandwich, down on the floor and lay back on the couch, resting his head on a chenille throw pillow Amanda had picked out a lifetime ago.
He closed his eyes, searching for the right image, trying to decide which one he’d dole out tonight. Only one—that was the most he could handle and the most he could afford to use up. It reminded him of being a kid, when his dad had always received a tiny box of chocolates for Christmas from his sister-in-law. Danny was allowed to have one, just one, and he had to pick carefully because if he chose wrong and ended up with the maple nougat or the raspberry cream, that was his own tough luck.
Danny felt like that boy as he sifted through his memories, trying to put his fingers on just the right vision for tonight, one he could savor, one that would melt slowly on his tongue like chocolate and caramel, sweet and rich, one that couldn’t be swallowed down too quickly, disappearing in a single ravenous gulp.
His mind closed around the memory in a greedy clutch, but Danny slowed himself down, easing his fingers off the vision, letting it unfold slowly. He pictured rolling over, his body limp with sleep and satisfaction, and seeing Miller’s face above his, those gray eyes warm and peaceful, hearing the faint, almost imagined, snap of snow against the windows. Miller’s face had been soft and easy that morning after they’d first made love, for once not carrying any weight around his eyes, his mouth loose and relaxed. Whatever else Danny had fucked up between them, he’d done something right that day because Miller had been happy, lit up from the inside.
It was a good memory. One that was worth the bittersweet sting of remembering.
WAITING UNTIL morning was the smart thing to do, get a decent night’s sleep and head out when the sun was up. But Miller had spent his whole life doing the smart thing, the safe thing, and now he couldn’t wait for daylight. He wanted to look at his watch in an hour, on the dark and deserted highway, and know he was getting closer to Danny with each ticking second.
He’d waited all week for Colin to call him back, impatience robbing him of appetite, longing stealing his rest. He’d promised himself he’d give Colin five days, one hundred and twenty hours, before he’d simply head to Chicago without any clear plan, just show up on Danny’s doorstep with no idea what he’d do in that strange city. But in the end Colin had come through, and Miller could go to Danny with more than just a wish for their future.
He packed quickly; he didn’t need much. He’d have to come back here soon, no matter what happened. Either to pick up the pieces of this life or to gather his things and move them to his new life with Danny. He didn’t allow himself to think beyond the drive, beyond rolling over the miles separating them. Nine hours, give or take, and he’d see Danny’s face again.
Miller zipped up his duffel bag and laced up his battered tennis shoes. He stood in the doorway of his apartment for a moment, the moon high and bright through the window. Going after what he really wanted, reaching for it with both hands, was unfamiliar to Miller. He’d lived his life waiting patiently for what would come to him. But Danny had changed all that. Miller thought that maybe Danny’s walking away that day in the park had been a blessing in disguise. By letting go, Danny had freed him to pursue, had forced Miller to find the courage to follow.
THE SUN woke Danny before he was ready. He’d planned on sleeping in, taking advantage of his work-free Saturday. He tried putting the pillow over his head but couldn’t settle back into sleep, the sun hitting right between his bare shoulder blades, heating the skin to an itchy tingle.
“Shit,” he muttered, squinting at his bedside clock. Eight o’clock. The “real job” schedule he kept during the week was wreaking havoc with his lazy mornings in bed. He needed to shower, and, judging from the sorry state of his kitchen, a trip to the grocery store was definitely in order. Maybe this week he’d branch out and get something besides cereal and Hamburger Helper.
When he opened his living room window, the breeze hitting his face was warm, ruffling his shower-damp hair. He figured he probably still needed his jacket, the Chicago wind capable of chilling the mildest-looking day. As he jogged down the stairs to the front door of his building, he sent up a quick prayer that his car would be where he’d left it, three blocks away. He hadn’t driven it in over a week; parking in Chicago was such a bitch he walked or took the L if at all possible.
The sun hit Danny’s eyes in a blinding glare as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. He patted his jacket pockets for his sunglasses, too late remembering them sitting on his kitchen counter. Fuck it—he wasn’t going back up four flights of stairs. There was a brown Jeep parked at the curb, its bumper flush against the car in front. Danny smiled to himself. Someone was going to be pissed when they woke up and couldn’t move their car because of that Jeep’s snug embrace. He turned left, toward his own car, his rapid pace slowing suddenly… that brown Jeep.
Danny pivoted and stared. He knew that Jeep. He’d almost died in that car, he and Miller both. Miller.
No, it’s a different Jeep. There are thousands of brown ones just like that. You’re imagining it.
But Danny knew he wasn’t. Because the license plate was the same. He never forgot details like that, never forgot details about Miller. Danny moved closer, peering into the passenger window, seeing nothing but a clean interior. From a distance he heard the faint tinkling of the bell on the door of the corner shop, the one that sold newspapers, stale doughnuts, and day-old coffee. Without even looking, he knew who had come out of that store. Even from five car lengths away, Danny could feel him.
Danny straightened up slowly, almost scared to see, scared that if he turned his head Miller would disappear, a figment of his starved imagination. Danny turned his head, eyes drawn to the lanky man standing on the sidewalk, a Styrofoam cup of coffee clutched in his hand, his eyes camouflaged by mirrored shades.
They stared at each other, neither one moving. And then Miller pulled off his sunglasses, hooking them through the neck of his army-green T-shirt, closing the distance between them in long strides. Danny stood frozen in place as his mind clicked off facts in a detached, distant voice: he needs a haircut, he’s not smiling, he’s getting closer, the freckles on his nose are darker.
Miller stopped in front of him, his eyes sweeping over Danny then locking on his face, not moving.
“That coffee sucks,” Danny croaked, because he couldn’t find his voice to ask the important questions, the why and how and what does it mean of Miller’s presence on this sunny Saturday morning.
Miller’s mouth curved upward, the very beginnings of a smile, and then he opened his fingers, the cup thudding down onto the pavement. Coffee soaked into the concrete in a muddy stain as the lid gave way.
Their bodies came together hard, the force of Miller’s lunge driving the air from Danny’s chest, the mirrored sunglasses sacrificed between them. Danny’s arms wrapped around Miller’s back, one h
and fisting in his hair, threatening to never let go, tugging against the soft strands. “Miller,” Danny whispered, closing his eyes, swallowing past a throat crowded with tears.
“Danny, Danny.” Miller’s voice was thick, his lips moving against Danny’s neck. “God, Danny.”
Danny pulled him closer, his arms ratcheting tight. He didn’t know what the future held or why Miller was there, but for a single endless moment, standing with Miller in a warm March breeze, Danny had everything he’d ever wanted, and he didn’t want to lose his grip.
MILLER WASN’T sure he was going to make it up the stairs. He concentrated on Danny climbing steadily in front of him, ignoring his trembling knees and shaking fingers that registered an internal earthquake. He followed Danny down the narrow hall to the apartment at the far end of the building, waited while Danny fiddled with the multiple inner-city locks.
“Come on in,” Danny said, hoarse and breathless.
The apartment was small and plain but clean, Danny’s furniture too nice for its new home. Miller watched as Danny locked the door behind them, bracing himself for Danny’s weight against his body. But Danny skirted his way around him, throwing his jacket onto the couch as he passed. Danny took a seat on the edge of the far windowsill, his eyes on the floor. The silence between them was laced with tension, the lack of words as loud as any scream. Miller cleared his throat, moving a little closer to Danny, unsure how to begin. In his imaginings it had all been easier, this awkwardness between them something he’d never anticipated. “I heard you got a job,” he blurted out.
“Yeah,” Danny nodded. “At Legal Aid.”
“How’s it going?”
“Fine. They want me to apply for a paralegal job that’s opening up.”
“That’s great, Danny. That would be really good—”
Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits Page 72