Page 197 of Broken Dreams

“I heard there are more people going back to school for a variety of reasons,” Christian says. “You’re in your early thirties. I think you’ll be fine.”

“The dean of computer engineering told me that I should be able to polish off my undergraduate degree this year if I take sixteen credit semesters,” Linus says. “It’s a really heavy load, but I think I can do it. There’s a lot of tied up emotions to this I think.”

“Like what?” Christian asks, his amber colored gaze heavy on Linus.

“I’m the first person in my family to go to or graduate college,” he explains. “My family was never anything to write home about. They were neglectful and selfish, but this milestone is important to me. They didn’t understand the joy I got from tinkering with computers. I put together my first computer when I was fifteen.”

“They weren’t impressed?” I guess.

“My room was a mess from the different parts,” Linus says, his cheeks getting red. “My mom had yelled at me a few times about cleaning it up before she’d leave to get high. Trust me, they were less than impressed.”

“That sucks,” Christian sighs. “My mom overdosed while I was working in a gang. The fucked up thing is that someone in that gang may have given them to her. I got out as soon as I could develop my contacts to run weapons. I don’t know why, but drugs always bothered me. I’ve never touched them.”

“How did you get out?” I ask. “Gang members are in for life, I thought?”

“I supply the leader with guns,” he mutters. “He pretends he doesn’t know me in any other capacity. Since I don’t really see any of the men in that crew, they don’t give me trouble.”

“Wow,” Linus says. “We lived in a rough neighborhood, but I knew where I wanted my life to go. I got a scholarship for college, worked my ass off, only to get taken on my way home from studying. It’s so fucked up.”

Christian rolls his bottom lip in as he gazes at Linus.

“Do you have any night classes?” he finally asks.

Since he started the nightly patrols, I know where he’s going with this. I asked once when I came up for air from hacking if they were still running, and he told me that they were. More people are beginning to pull their weight to keep Minneapolis safe.

“No,” Linus says. “They start early in the morning and then end around five so I’m in classes back to back. I’ll bring snacks to manage, but it’ll be a long day. I still want to keep working at the club too.”

“One year,” I remind him, smiling. “Then you’ll start graduate school?”

“Yeah, the dean said that I should start on those applications as well so there’s not a gap in my schooling. It’s overwhelming and exciting all at the same time,” he says with wide eyes.

“I know. It sounds like it. I’m so proud of you, though,” I tell him. “You’re getting your life back, Linus.”

“So much lost time,” he grumbles. “As awful as it all was, I can’t say that I’d change it. Call me crazy, but I mean it. I met you both at Slick Dreams, and changing anything would mean I may not have otherwise.”

I would say this is the wine talking, but he’s barely had a sip. He told me that wine gives him a headache and always has.

“It’s true—” I start to say but Christian shakes his head.

“I will always kick my own ass for not getting you out sooner,” he rasps. “It was too long.”

“We’re going to agree to disagree,” Linus says with a shrug. “I don’t want to fight, unless it leads to fucking. I do want to dance, though.”

Christian chuckles under his breath as he asks for the check. “I’ve noticed that you enjoy arguing more than I thought you would. You seem like you like to keep the peace.”

“It depends,” Linus says.

“On what?” I ask, smirking. I’m enjoying our conversation immensely.

“Whether I know I’m going to get the result I want if I argue,” Linus says, grinning. “I’ll also fight with you, Quinn, if you’re doing something that’s hurting yourself. I didn’t fuss about how much time you’ve been spending at the computer because Duncan and Callum have had it covered.”

“You really are my brats,” Christian mutters without thinking as he hands his card to the waiter.

“When I have the space to be who I am, fuck yes I am,” Linus confirms.

Grinning, we continue to chat once the bill is paid, and we walk out to the truck to go dancing.

“My father used to give me shit about my entire personality,” Christian says, opening the back door for us.

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