by Jaime Reese
“You’ve never accepted something for nothing.”
“And I sure as hell won’t start now, especially where you’re concerned. You’re too important to me.”
“I want to kiss you,” Drayton said with a wistful smile.
Vann took a deep breath. There was nothing he wanted more than to know if Drayton’s lips still felt as warm and soft as he remembered. “I haven’t earned it yet.”
“But I have.” Drayton stepped forward and cupped Vann’s face. He leaned in and closed his eyes, barely a breath away. His exhale brushed against Vann’s cheek and the beginning of his stubble scraped the edge of Vann’s jaw as he nuzzled him. “Say yes.”
Vann closed his eyes, lost in the strength of Drayton’s hold, the heat of his body, and the scent of him. Hell yes. A thousand times yes. Vann’s heartbeat pulsated in his ears and a ripple of goose pimples bloomed across his skin with Drayton’s touch. He reached up and gripped Drayton’s forearms, anchoring himself, not wanting him to retreat a millimeter. “It’s always a yes for you,” he whispered past the tightness in his throat.
Vann’s heart thundered when soft, warm lips tentatively pressed against his, molding perfectly against the shape of his mouth and reviving a flood of memories of stolen kisses and tender moments in the dark. He groaned when a tongue swiped the seam of his lips, demanding yet hesitantly requesting an invitation he willingly granted. His lips parted of their own volition, and his fingers dug into Drayton’s muscles just as a large hand gripped his ass and tugged him flush against a hard, lean-muscled body.
A moan echoed in the silence of the night followed by another. Each sound and graze of skin awakened a base need within. They tugged at each other, digging fingers into skin, sucking, biting, and torturing the tender skin of their lips during the kiss.
Every tiny sound of need he drew from Drayton spurred him on. The feel of him, his taste. It was everything yet not enough. Familiar, while still new. He reached up and took hold of both sides of Drayton’s face, slanting his head to better his angle before diving in and feasting on Drayton’s willing mouth like a starved man desperate for another taste. He devoured every groan he extracted with a possessive growl. His body vibrated with untamed need, craving, burning for more, urging him to take what was so openly offered.
He tore away from the kiss before crossing the point of no return.
“Fuck,” Drayton whispered on an exhale, holding Vann tight and burying his face at the side of Vann’s neck, panting each warm puff of breath against Vann’s heated skin.
His heart thundered in his chest and his breath came at a clipped pace. “If you don’t let go, I’m going to come in my jeans. Not really the first impression I want to give these folks.”
Drayton chuckled, brushing his lips against Vann’s ear. “I don’t ever want to let you go.”
Vann tightened his hold, reveling in the closeness he’d been denied for so many years, to the one person who meant more to him than anything in his lifetime. “I need to go inside,” he said, trying to disguise the protest in his tone.
“Promise me you’ll call me tomorrow and let me know how your day went. They have all my contact info, so you can find me wherever I am.”
“If they let me make calls, I will.” Vann reluctantly separated from the embrace. He stole a glance at Drayton, his lips parting at the want reflecting back in those gray eyes. As much as he’d loved the eyeglasses Drayton had worn as a teen, seeing his eyes and the emotions conveyed in them without the obstruction was a welcome trade-off. He reached up and hesitated before grazing his fingertips along Drayton’s jaw, needing to feel the scrape of slight stubble to know this wasn’t a dream.
“Shaw,” a new voice interrupted.
Vann looked over his shoulder at the doorway to the halfway house and instantly withdrew from the intimacy. Damn. He didn’t know how open Drayton was or what was or wasn’t acceptable. The man with the shaved head didn’t look bothered or irritated, but Vann knew how to read people enough to recognize it was best to stay on his good side. He turned back to Drayton and sighed. “I gotta go.”
Drayton nodded. He reached out and brushed his thumb along Vann’s cheek. “Call me tomorrow.” He looked over Vann’s shoulder. “Julian, you have my number if anything comes up.”
“You got it,” Julian said.
“Goodnight, Dray.”
Drayton retreated to his car, shutting the driver’s side door behind him. Within a few seconds, he lowered the passenger window. “You left your notebook.”
He stared at Drayton’s outstretched hand, holding the beaten notebook. His heart pounded as the worry and fear almost won over. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets to avoid the instinct to snatch the notebook. “That’s for you. For later.”
Drayton’s eyebrows twitched in that way they always did when he was trying to solve an equation. He set the notebook back down on the passenger seat and smiled, waving goodbye as he finally drove away.
Vann stared at the red taillights until they faded out of sight, unable to move, not ready to break the spell from a few moments before. He closed his eyes. He could still smell the lingering scent of Drayton’s cologne and feel the warmth of his arms around him.
“C’mon, Shaw. You’ve had a long day.”
He glanced up to the cloudy sky and a small smile curled his lips. This was the closest to any form of freedom he’d had in a decade or had hoped to ever have again. He turned toward the house and stared at the broad, tall man carefully watching his every move. After another deep breath, he finally took a step forward, ready to start his new life.
∞ ♥ ∞
Drayton poured himself a glass of water and walked over to the living room couch. Times like these, he really wished he hadn’t sworn off liquor. But the memory of everything Vann had suffered growing up was enough to steer him clear of alcohol. He casually set the glass on the table and held Vann’s notebook in his lap. He traced his fingertip along the frayed edge, anxious to see what was inside but worried all the same. Vann was quiet. Too quiet. His mood could be attributed to the transition of being paroled. But this notebook? This was something he had from before. Something he had a chance to think about. Drayton reached for the glass of water again, hoping to soothe his suddenly dry throat. What if his desire to surprise Vann by picking him up was a bad idea? Shit. He was overthinking. He finished off his drink and set the glass aside.
He flipped open the notebook and saw the text written on the inside cover.
~ * ~
Dray,
I did respond to your letters. Every one of them.
They’re the only thing that kept me sane.
~V
~ * ~
Drayton thumbed through the notebook and skimmed the entries, some longer than others. Each page solidly filled, front and back, from beginning to end, with two lines of neatly written words in small lettering squeezed between each preprinted line and the margins completely disregarded.
Not a single millimeter of precious space wasted.
He looked for a drawing or doodle, but only found a solid wall of inked words filling each page. For Vann, drawing was his escape. Drayton remembered walking to their spot by the tree one afternoon and seeing Vann’s swelling eye and cut lip as he brushed angry strokes across a blank sheet, breathing life into a new sketch. He’d confessed his drawings settled him, gave him peace, and helped him survive the hell he said he waded in each day at home.
Drayton shook his head, dispelling the memory as he skimmed the notebook in his hands.
He inhaled sharply when he realized what he was seeing.
Each entry started with a number followed by a few words in quotes…his own words. Words he had written in letters to Vann during his sentence. The entries were sequential. Each number representing a letter he had sent Vann during his sentence.
Drayton tightened his hold on the notebook as he quickly flipped to the last page.
#525.
The total number of week
s he had written Vann.
Drayton took a deep breath, returned to the first page of the book, and began to read.
~ * ~
Letter #1…
Thank you for the letter. I thought about sending you a reply, but I wasn’t sure if it would cause more problems with your mother. Honestly, I didn’t know what to say. I screwed things up for you with your family and I don’t want to make things worse. Sitting down to write you a letter, and being careful about what I say so you don’t worry…it stresses me out because I can’t lie to you. It’s like my mind is only focused right now on doing what I need to do to survive here. It’s as if I need to shift my brain in a different gear to do that, like when I was around my pops, always on guard. I don’t want to be that person when I’m writing to you. ’Cause that guy’s an asshole. I know that, and you deserve better. But it’s who I need to be in here to survive. I need to lock away that guy you fell in love with and let this other side of me be the person these people see. So I’ll write what I want to say here, in this notebook, without guarding my words. This is where I’ll let me be me. Even if it’s something you’ll never read. But in some weird way, it’s as if I can still talk to you by doing this. The thought of not writing back or talking to you hurts. I don’t ever want you to think I don’t care. Because you’re all that matters to me. You’re all that’s ever mattered to me. I can’t return the money you deposited in the commissary account, so I bought this notebook. I figured, I’d respond here. It’s not fancy, but it seems sturdy enough to last a while. I don’t have many lines in it, but I don’t know how many letters you’ll send before you get tired of writing me and move on. So I’ll write really small and it might be enough. They won’t let me keep both your letters and this notebook. Something ridiculous about using the paper from the letters for other things to make weapons and stuff. It’s fucking paper. But they let me keep this notebook because I bought it in their store. Assholes. So I wrote down a few sentences from your letters. The special words that make me smile so I don’t forget them.
~ * ~
Letter #5…
I know you’re probably mad at me, but I had to send you that letter. I don’t want you visiting. I don’t want you to see me like this. Some days are really bad and I know seeing you would help. The visiting rooms here have that clear divider thing and phone. At least that’s what they tell me. I don’t know. No one visits me. I’m not sure if it would be harder, seeing you, being inches away from you and not touching you. I think that would drive me crazy. But I can’t stand the thought of you seeing me in here and being sad about things. Please try to understand where I’m coming from. Once you see me in here, it’s going to be all you remember. And that would wipe out all the great memories we’ve shared because it’s all you’ll see when you close your eyes and think of me. That would break me. Please don’t be mad.
~ * ~
Drayton sighed. He remembered that time—those weeks after the attack—and how he had worn a mask to get through each day in his recovery. But he was stronger, more comfortable because of the strength Vann had instilled in him through their years together. His chest constricted, thinking of Vann, alone inside, suffering through each day on his own, guarding himself behind that shield he had shed ages ago. That old, tough armor disguised so much pain and hardship and had taken Drayton an exorbitant amount of time to tear down. He didn’t want to think about Vann erecting his guard and regressing to that time. No, he wasn’t mad; he was worried.
He blew out a heavy breath as he turned the page.
~ * ~
Letter #18…
I hate it here. This is hell and purgatory training camp rolled into one. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing you’re out there, living. I’m so glad you got that job at that engineering firm you wanted. I know that’s why you were spending all those hours working in that lab place when you finished school. You’re going to change the world. You’ll see. I needed to hear something like that today. Thank you.
~ * ~
Letter #18b…
I got your second letter this week. It’s as if you somehow knew I needed more help getting through this week. I remember your smile and that one dimple on your left cheek. And your laugh. Your laugh is really loud and it rumbles a little at the end into an almost quiet chuckle then you sigh. That’s how I can tell when you’re finished laughing. I miss your laugh. I miss you.
~ * ~
Drayton bit his lip and smiled. Sometimes, it was the little things Vann said and did that meant so much. He was thankful a thought of him and his written words had helped Vann through a tough time.
He turned the page and frowned at the string of short replies that followed.
~ * ~
Letter #39…
I’m sorry for all the short entries. I promised myself I would always respond to every letter on the day I received them, even if it’s a bad day. But sometimes it’s too hard to keep this mask on. Today is one of those days. I’m sorry. I miss you. I miss everything. I want to see you. I want to touch you. Thinking of you helps me escape. But sometimes it hurts and I don’t know how to stop that pain from ripping a hole in me. It’s as if someone tore out my heart and lungs then expected me to still be able to breathe, and I don’t know how. It scares me. Fear is something really bad to have here. But I think it’s okay. It reminds me that I can still feel things and that I’m not like these guys here. Because that scares me more.
~ * ~
Letter #98…
I’d give anything to see you, but if you see me, I know you’ll worry. You’ve always been able to see through my bullshit. I know you’ll be able to see how much this place is slowly killing me. And I don’t want you to be held back because you’re worried about me. I want you to live your life.
~ * ~
Letter #126…
I thought about sending a letter back, but I’m worried I’m going to say something wrong, say too much, or not say enough. I don’t know how else to explain it. I know the letters will eventually stop, but I don’t want to do anything to rush that. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. I miss you so much. I still remember the sound of your voice. So I pretend I hear your voice as I read your words.
~ * ~
Letter #213…
I swore to myself I’d always be honest here. Truth is, I don’t think I can do this much longer. I’m sorry I broke your family. I never wanted to be one of those guys who hurt you. I think that’s the worst part of all this. I’m so sorry. You mentioned you needed to get a response because you weren’t sure I was getting them. I am getting them. I hate that they read them before they give them to me, but I don’t care anymore as long as I get them. I didn’t know what to say and you’re too smart and would pick up on things if I wrote too much. If I said I missed you, you’d feel bad. If I told you how tough it was in here, you’d get upset and demand to see me. Or…maybe you were hoping I wouldn’t reply so you could stop writing? I don’t know. I hope not. I’m not ready to have that happen yet. I’m sorry. Your letters are the only thing that keep me going and remind me I’m human. That I’m a person who feels something, good or bad. I hope what I wrote is enough to keep the letters coming. The “thank you” is for everything…remembering all the memories you write about and for keeping me sane with your special words and for making me smile even though it hurts too much to do this shit every day.
~ * ~
A surge of anger rose in Drayton’s chest with the desperation in Vann’s words. He stood from the couch and paced his living room. He should have been there with Vann. He should have insisted. He should have fought harder about visiting him, to help him push through each difficult day.
He raked his hands through his hair and clasped his hands behind his neck, leaning his head back and silently cursing. He hated having been excluded from this part of Vann’s life. He would have given everything up and done whatever was necessary to be at Vann’s side to offset some of the pain in his words. He let his hands fall to his s
ides and blew out a shaky breath. He couldn’t imagine everything Vann had gone through while inside.
The loneliness.
He looked around his empty, quiet living room. This was a different type of solitude. He had the freedom to walk out and go anywhere else. He could walk, drive, or even fly anywhere in the world.
Vann hadn’t had that right.
Drayton stared at the notebook, set face down on the coffee table. He was barely halfway through Vann’s replies and already felt the pain tearing away at him.
He returned to his spot on the couch and picked up the notebook again. He steeled himself and turned the page to continue.
~ * ~
Letter #252…
Sometimes I wonder if you’ve met someone. It’s been almost five years. I hope you’ve moved on. Not really. But I keep telling myself that. Maybe I’ll believe it one day. I want you to be happy, Dray—that’s not a lie. I have a feeling there’s more you’re not telling me, but I’m okay knowing whatever you do want to share with me, even if it’s an old memory and nothing new with what you’re doing in your life. I need to know you’re happy. That you’re living the life you were meant to live. That you’re changing the world and giving all those assholes the finger for ignoring you. Until then, I hope the letters don’t stop.