Page 275 of Untouchable

This is who I am, he tells himself. No one gets to hurt me anymore.

He knows it’s easier said than done. But Harp either can’t or won’t protect him from Gil, and maybe, Parker realizes, it’s not his job to.

Maybe Parker needs to learn to protect himself.

* * *

Parker reappears at the table,wearing a wide smile.

“Did anyone come to take our order yet?” he says, dropping into his chair.

Gil gives Harp the saddest smile he's ever seen, as if to say It's okay, I know there's nothing to say, before turning to Parker.

"Nope, not yet. Hopefully in a sec. You settled on the gnocchi?"

Parker pretends to consider the menu once more.

“Yup, I think so,” he says. “But it all looks great. What are you thinking of?”

Gil and Parker make pleasant small talk, as if they'd actually hit some sort of reset button, as if Gil hasn't just ripped everything to shreds that had been anchoring Harp, making him happy, pointing the way to a future he could actually look forward to.

Parker is half his age—that much is true. There's nothing Harp will ever be able to do or say to change that.

And Parker does sound young sometimes, even younger than Gil when he's nervous.

You guys have nothing in common.

It's true—it's absolutely true—and yet they never want for conversation. Not yet, anyway. Will that change? Will Parker—

"Thanks so much for your patience!"

The server frightens Harp so badly, walking up behind him as she speaks, that he jerks, kicking the base of the table and shaking the entire thing and nearly upending his own water glass.

Parker’s hand darts out, reflexes lightning fast, and grabs the water glass before it falls over, righting it. Harp’s hand is on the table, and Parker grabs it, squeezing gently and giving him a small smile.

Harp realizes that he hasn’t even looked at the menu for himself yet.

“We need another minute,” he cuts in before anyone else can order. He knows he must’ve come off as too gruff because the server disappears immediately.

* * *

This isthe dinner from hell, and Parker wishes he could drag Harp out of there, leave Gil behind, find some run down burger joint where they both felt more comfortable, and ask Harp what the hell that comment about Parker’s speech had been about.

Instead, he folds his hands in his lap and forces a smile, casting around for any kind of conversation topic that might be neutral—but Gil beats him to the punch.

"So what’s your endgame, career-wise? I mean, don't you want to go back to school and pursue something?" Gil says casually.

It is just more salt in the wound, and Parker stiffens, his smile tightening. It’s like he’s back at Thanksgiving dinner with his parents, defending his choice, his career, his passion to his family as he, for some reason, is asked to justify his existence.

But this time it’s a little different. Because he isn’t going to play this game anymore. He’ll explain his thought process, give someone the benefit of the doubt, of course, in case they’re just ignorant, but he no longer feels any need to win Gil onto his side. If Gil doesn’t like him, so be it.

And if that’s an issue with Harp, then… so be it, too.

Parker’s tired—exhausted, weary beyond belief—of this.

He’s done with people treating him like shit.

“I did go to school,” he says calmly. “For massage therapy. The best part about my job is that there’s always more to learn—different modalities and research and stuff. So I can just keep getting better and better.”

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