Page 12 of Interference

And more than anything, I didn’t have to rush through my shower for fear that something might happen to my dog. Partly because I could see her through the fogged-up doors—she’d come in and lain down on the rug by the sink—and partly because I believed to my core that my host would chew glass before he did something to an animal.

I ran the showerhead over some aching muscles, especially in my neck and back, and basked in the relief. I didn’t want to abuse Anthony’s hospitality or waste water, but I admittedly indulged in a longer shower than I needed. For a good several minutes after I was clean, I just enjoyed the warmth and the relaxation.

But I did want to be a good houseguest, so I didn’t stay in too long.

His towels were big and soft, not the tiny gritty things I’d used at homeless shelters. I also didn’t have that usual anxiety over needing to rush out so someone could use the facility or to make sure my few worldly possessions—and my dog—were safe.

Which also meant I could do things like shave. I didn’t mind having a beard, especially when I was facing a winter of sleeping outside. But I hated when it was unkempt like this. Tonight, I had another luxury that I hadn’t in a while: time to do some actual beard maintenance.

I dug into my shaving kit, and I indulged in taking my sweet time trimming the edges and tidying it all up. My hair was longer than I would’ve liked, but a comb worked wonders, and suddenly the man staring back at me in the mirror was familiar. Too thin, especially in the face, but more… me than I’d been in ages.

I leaned against the counter as a weird sense of fatigue settled in. I was always exhausted—came with the territory of sleeping on the streets—but this was new. It was less like I was about to collapse and more like… I could collapse. I was in a warm, safe place where I could lie down, close my eyes, and surrender to sleep like I hadn’t been able to in months.

I felt weird.

But I felt good.

Chapter 5

Anthony

Simon: I’ll be there in the morning. We’ll talk then.

Leaning against the kitchen counter and glaring at my phone, I exhaled hard. I’d tried. I’d fucking tried. He was shutting me out, though, and past experience had taught me that there wasn’t much I could do when he was like this.

I scrolled up through the messages we’d exchanged since I’d come home, trying to make sense of it all. Not that I ever had much luck with that.

Anthony: I’m home now. We can still FaceTime at 8 if you want.

Simon: I thought something came up.

Anthony: It did but I got home sooner than I thought I would.

Simon: Ok.

Anthony: So, do you want to FT?

Simon: I made other plans.

Anthony: In an hour?

Simon: I’m sorry, was I supposed to wait until I knew if you were going to find time for me? We’ll talk later.

Anthony: You’re just not usually that spontaneous.

Simon: And you don’t usually blow me off for the FT calls YOU insisted on.

Anthony: I didn’t blow you off. Something came up.

Simon: Of course it did.

Anthony: What do you want me to say? You knew I was taking the boys to the vet.

Simon: Is something wrong with one of the cats?

Anthony: No, they’re fine.

Simon: Then what does that have to do with “something coming up”?

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