Talking to Dr. Okafor had helped Kyle see a whole host of things about himself, many of them unrelated to the bashing.
“Anxiety after a traumatic experience is very common, and those feelings can manifest in all sorts of ways.” Dr. Okafor tilted his head. “Your sleep problems, for example, and lack of appetite.”
“Right.” Kyle nodded. “Overall, I haven’t been taking the best care of myself.”
“Why do you think you’re neglecting your own needs?”
“They don’t always seem important.” Kyle tapped his scar with his fingertips, so his nerve endings zinged. “After the bashing, my first impulse was to take care of my boyfriend. Make sure he was okay and not blaming himself for what happened.”
“Did you blame yourself instead?”
“For a hot minute, yes. But I don’t anymore.”
“What about your boyfriend?” Dr. Okafor asked. “Does he blame himself for what happened that night?”
Kyle rubbed his lips together for a beat. “I think so, yes, even though he’s never said as much. He…we’ve been spending time apart. Actually, he asked me to leave his apartment the last time we got together.” Kyle forced a wry smile. These appointments were keeping him honest since Luka’s angry words. “I haven’t seen him since. I haven’t told anyone else about what happened yet.”
“I can imagine it hurts to be apart.”
“It hurts me. It certainly gave me an excuse to slack on the self-care.” Kyle turned his eyes to the window and stared unseeing at City Hall Park spread out before him four stories below. “Being away from me is better for Luka, though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He acted like he couldn’t stand being around me. Couldn’t stand seeing me. My face in particular. He—”
He looked relieved when he asked me to go that night.
Kyle swallowed against his tight throat. “I asked Luka if the scar bothered him and he said yes. Now, I’m not stupid. I know it looks bad. But I thought…” Kyle shook his head. “I thought we’d both get used to it.”
“Is that why you grew the beard?”
“No. I couldn’t shave while the sutures were in, and now, I’m just afraid to. I don’t want to make the scar worse while it’s so fresh.”
“Okay, and what about a month from now?” Dr. Okafor asked. “Or three months from now, or six?”
Kyle’s cheeks went hot. “I’m not sure. I’d like to say I’ll be okay with shaving it off, but the truth is, I don’t know. I know Luka wouldn’t be. When he looks at me now, all he sees is my scar. He can’t see past it to me.”
Dr. Okafor said nothing for a moment. “What do you see when you look at yourself, Kyle?”
Something broken.
Kyle shrugged off the thought. “I’m not sure about that either,” he said. “I haven’t wanted to look at myself much, literally or figuratively. So, it seems I can’t see past the scar either.”
“Have you considered scar revision?”
“Yes.” Kyle hauled in a deep breath. “I know from talking to my doctor that there’ll always be a mark there though. So what’s the point?”
Dr. Okafor hummed. “The revision could improve the look of the scar, so it bothers you less.”
“On the outside, maybe. But I’ll still know it’s there.” Kyle shook his head. “That probably sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.” Dr. Okafor frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Some days, I feel mostly okay, but other days…they’re dark. I don’t always recognize myself, if that makes sense.”
He shifted his gaze back to meet the doctor’s and pressed a hand on his heart. “I don’t look good or feel good, but I’m still in here somewhere, right?”
Dr. Okafor leaned forward in his chair, his dark eyes kind. “You are most definitely still in there, Kyle. I know you don’t feel your best, but the fact you’re asking yourself that question tells me you’re getting back to being you. That includes coming to terms with the way your face has changed.
“Scars are proof of life,” he said, smooth voice even gentler than usual to Kyle’s ears. “Signs that we survive and heal. That is what you’re doing, even on your darkest days.”
Lines from a poem Kyle had always liked popped into his head.
come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed
He gave a slow nod. Okay, maybe something didn’t try to kill him every day—that was a bit over the top despite the things he’d experienced in the last six months. Dr. Okafor had a point though.
Kyle would turn thirty in a couple of weeks. He’d survived a fire and the bashing and come out battered but alive. He wouldn’t change a single thing about his part in making sure Luka had survived the attack either, not even the mark on his face or losing Luka in the process.
Which meant Kyle needed to get okay with that scar so he could keep moving forward.
* * * *
Kyle was headed back uptown after his appointment when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fumbled it when he saw Detective Bowen’s number on the screen and connected the call with a murmured curse. He hadn’t heard from anyone at Special Victims Division for a couple of weeks and was relieved that his voice sounded steadier than he felt.
“Hi, this is Kyle.”
“Mr. McKee, it’s Detective Bowen at Special Victims. Have you got some time to come out to the station this afternoon? We’ve taken a person of interest into custody who we believe may have been involved in the attack against you and Lieutenant Clarke.”
Kyle blinked. “Um. Yes. I’m…I’m downtown now, and I’ll get on the first ferry I can.”
An hour and a half later, Bowen ushered Kyle into a small, nondescript room containing a table around which were arranged four chairs. Large windows covering one wall were the room’s only distinctive features.
“We’ll get started in a few minutes, Kyle.”
Detective Schwarz, who’d followed behind Kyle and Bowen, closed the door. “You know how a police line-up works, right? From TV shows?” He aimed a crooked smile at Kyle. “Another officer will come in and act as administrator. He’s going to give you instructions, and you’ll sign a form stating you understand what’s happening today. Then the suspects will be led in”—he nodded at the windows—“and you’ll look them over, see if you can make an ID.”
“This is a good time to remind you that you could be called back again,” Bowen added.
“That’s fine,” Kyle replied. “I work nights and I can come in if you need me to.” He glanced at the windows. “The glass is mirrored on the other side?”
Schwarz nodded. “Yes. The suspects can’t see into this room.”
The door opened again and what seemed like a crowd of people trooped in, including two uniformed officers and several people in suits. Kyle shook hands with an attorney from the DA’s Hate Crimes Unit and a defense lawyer, as well as an investigator and another detective from SVU. They all faded into the background when the lights in the room beyond the windows switched on, illuminating a white wall decorated with height lines, just like Kyle had seen in countless TV shows and movies.
Holy shit. This is really happening.
One of the uniformed officers turned to Kyle.
“I’m Officer Riddick, Mr. McKee.” He focused on a sheaf of papers in his hand and read aloud. “You’ll be presented with a series of individuals. A person who is involved in the crime may or may not be among them. You’ll be shown all of the individuals, and you can take your time looking at them.”
Kyle waited, a frown on his face while Riddick continued, and he signed off on a form just as Schwarz had described. Riddick issued a command through a microphone in the wall, and six men filed in to the room beyond the windows, all fair-skinned and wearing baseball caps. Each man looked to be around Kyle’s own height, and most were broad shouldered and muscular. Every one of them looked annoyed with life. Awa
reness buzzed through Kyle’s body.
‘You go for the dark meat, huh?’
One of the men had growled those words at Kyle that night. A man in a baseball cap who’d looked at Kyle and Luka with disgust, lips curled in a sneer when he and Kyle had grappled with each other.
Riddick gestured Kyle forward. “If you’d step up, Mr. McKee, we can get started.”
Kyle moved, his eyes on the figures beyond the window. One by one, they were called up and he searched their features, looking for something—anything—that sparked recognition. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as number four stepped forward.
‘Does that moolie fuck you hard?’
Kyle swallowed. He scanned the man in front of him head to toe, taking in his plain black cap, black T-shirt and dark jeans. He was handsome, with strong, elegant features, but his eyes were cold and dead and his mouth hard. Familiar. Kyle’s gaze stopped at the big, meaty hands holding the placard identifying the man as suspect four and his guts wound tight. Thick silver rings adorned every finger, including a huge Iron Cross on the man’s right hand.
A chill ran through Kyle. He knew those rings. He’d told the cops about them when he’d answered their questions. They’d made every punch thrown during the beating hurt that much more. That Iron Cross had likely ripped Kyle’s face open. And the eyes glittering like blue ice on the other side of the glass…yeah, Kyle knew them. They dragged him out of sleep in the darkest part of every night.
‘Jesus, man. You let an ape fuck you? What the fuck is wrong with you?’
“Four,” Kyle ground out, his voice rough. He sensed a burst of quiet activity in the room around him. “It’s number four.” He stared, unmoving, as suspect four was instructed to move back into place.
“You’re confident that number four is the perpetrator, sir?” Riddick asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me why you picked number four?”
“His rings,” Kyle said. “I recognize his rings—especially the Iron Cross. And his eyes.” He swallowed down a wave of nausea and forced himself to face Riddick. “He held me back while the others went after my boyfriend. He…he used slurs and knocked me down.”
Kyle signed the form again, his hands shaking slightly, and not until the line-up room had emptied out again did he feel like he could draw a deep breath. By then, the top of his head was tingling, and Detective Schwarz guided him into one the chairs at the table while the crowd in the room dispersed.
“You did great, Kyle,” Schwarz said. He took the chair opposite. “Just sit here and get your bearings for a second.”
“Here.” Bowen set a small carton in front of Kyle and popped it open. “Drink some of this, nice and slow.”
“What is it?” Kyle’s ears rang faintly.
“Orange juice,” Bowen said. “You look pale, and we want to raise your blood sugar before you go moving around.”
Kyle picked up the carton and sipped without tasting. “Okay,” he muttered, too dazed to feel embarrassed that he needed someone to keep an eye on him. “That was surreal.”
“It’s intense,” Bowen said. “We had a guy pass out cold last week, and that was before the suspects were even brought in.”
Kyle let out a rusty chuckle and that lightened the air around him like magic. He recovered his wits over the next fifteen minutes and felt more himself again by the time he exited the station. A familiar voice calling his name froze Kyle in his tracks though, and oh, he’d missed hearing it.
He forced himself to turn around, and there stood Luka, right there on the sidewalk in front of Kyle, tall and beautiful in his overcoat, his blue eyes bright. Kyle’s heart twisted so hard it hurt.
“Hey,” he managed and watched the corners of Luka’s mouth twitch up, though his expression was far too serious.
“I saw you come in to the station,” Luka said. “I was with someone from the DA’s office though, so I waited.” His forehead puckered. “You okay?”
“Sure.”
Kyle wanted to roll his eyes at the obvious fib. He looked less than spectacular these days and knew it. There were circles under his eyes, and he could have used an extra meal or two. But who cared when he could have been crushing Luka in a hug instead of making polite conversation? Kyle didn’t move though.
“I had to view a line-up and that was weird,” he said instead. “I’d tell you about it, but I’m not supposed to. Actually, I don’t want to talk about it for a million different reasons.” Kyle made a face, but Luka nodded, his expression sympathetic. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I get it.”
“It wasn’t what I expected, I guess,” Kyle said. “Not that I knew what to expect in the first place.”
This time, a real smile crossed Luka’s face. “Yeah, I understand. I have Wade around to answer questions, and I’m still lost when it comes to this stuff.”
“Is Wade here?”
“No, he’s on duty. I called him on my way down here though, and he coached me as best he could.”
We could have coached each other, Kyle thought. A bitter wave swept through him. We could have come here together. We should have come together and had each other’s backs through the whole thing, but Luka turned to Wade instead of me.
Not that Kyle had done any better. He hadn’t even known Luka would be here. He’d pulled Luka’s number up on his phone more than once during the ferry ride to Brooklyn, intent on asking him to meet Kyle. He’d stopped himself from calling each time because he didn’t want to hear Luka say no. Even now, Kyle jammed his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out.
“That’s good,” he murmured.
Emotion flashed across Luka’s face too fast for Kyle to read. Apprehension, maybe? Regret? “You headed back?” he asked.
Kyle nodded. “I took the ferry. I was in Tribeca when I got the call, figured I might as well take the scenic route.”
“Right.” Luka pressed his lips together in a grim line. No doubt he knew what Kyle had been doing downtown, but still, he didn’t ask. “I’m, uh, headed back that way, if you want company. I’ll buy you a cup of shitty coffee or a beer if you want one.”
“I’m working tonight, but I never turn down shitty coffee,” Kyle said, and there, some of the tightness in Luka’s face disappeared and Kyle counted that as a win.
Neither said much during the walk to the docks, but Kyle didn’t mind. He’d never needed his time with Luka to be filled with chatter, and just being around him now was nice. A boat had docked as they arrived so Luka quickly bought a ticket and they boarded, heading inside just as the ferry departed for its next stop.
“So, the beard,” Luka said. They’d bought their coffees at the concession and sat at a table by the window, the hum of other passengers’ voices rising and falling around them. “I never imagined you wearing one, but it works.”
“You’re not the first person to say this.” Kyle ran his knuckles against his cheek. “I think I wigged Carter’s kids out when they got a look me this weekend though.”
“Yeah?”
“I had dinner there on Saturday,” Kyle said. “Dylan actually accused me of wearing a fake beard and insisted on pulling on it before he’d accept it was real.”
“Ouch.” Luka laughed.
“He thinks it makes me look like a ‘movie villain.’” Kyle made air quotes with his fingers. “They got over it though—you know how kids are. Sadie even offered to help me dye it different colors. She thinks blue would work for me.”
Luka’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “She said that?”
“Oh, yeah. Hell, I may take her up on it. It’s not like I plan to keep the beard forever, so I may as well have some fun with it.” Kyle’s stomach tumbled at the way Luka’s expression faltered.
“You’re going to shave it off?”
Kyle blinked. “Well, yeah. At some point.”
The light went out of Luka’s eyes. “I figured you’d want to keep it, all things considered.”
“Considering my face, you mean.” Kyle tried not to let his hurt show but knew he’d done a poor job when Luka’s expression fell.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, I get it.” Kyle turned his eyes away from Luka, who just saw too goddamned much. “You were being honest. I’ve always liked that about you.
“I’m trying to do that, too, actually, and stop keeping things from the people in my life.” He stared, unseeing, out of the window as the ferry slipped into the dock at DUMBO. “I do it a lot, it turns out. Mostly because I don’t want to worry or hurt people I care about. Unfortunately, that backfired with you.”
Kyle met Luka’s eyes again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Dr. Okafor. I know I should have.”
“Kyle—” Luka paused in whatever he’d been about to say and frowned. “Has it helped? I mean, I still don’t really know why you decided to go in the first place.”
“Right.” Kyle nodded. “Because I didn’t tell you anything. I’ve been having trouble coping. I’m nervous all the time. Anxious. Some days, I feel like I shouldn’t leave my apartment, most of all when I’m alone. Going out to your place is hard. Hell, going to work takes a fuckton of energy.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to be a burden. You seemed to bounce back okay, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that.” Kyle blew out a long breath at Luka’s pained expression. “I thought it’d be easier for both of us to move on if I acted like nothing was different.”
“Oh, Kyle.”
“The problem was that everything is different.” Kyle drained the last of his coffee and crushed the cup in his fist. “I feel off-balance a lot. I have bad dreams. I stay at the bar sometimes instead of going home at night.”
Luka’s mouth fell open slightly. “You stay at the… But why? You can come to Sugar Hill anytime. Why don’t you?”
“I didn’t know how to tell you I was freaked out about riding the subway after hours and a Lyft wasn’t much better.” Kyle laughed—a hard, ugly sound. “I’ve lived in this city for years and never been afraid, Luka. And…I don’t know. I wasn’t sure you’d want me at your place.”
Behind the Stick Page 26