Page 50 of The Care of Broken Things
Eli laughed and swiped at his face. “I know it’s weird. To get emotional over food.”
He wasn’t sure how to break out of panic mode. His heart was still pounding, and the lizard part of his brain was telling him to get help. To fix it. To make sure he was all right. Disbelieving, he pressed a hand to Eli’s cheek, then his neck, but there was no fever, just the usual warmth and that lovely, otherworldly skin. “But you’re okay? Everything’s okay?”
Eli pressed his hand over his, and he realized he was still holding the man’s face. He couldn’t seem to let go. “You’re shaking,” Eli said. “Why are you shaking?”
He didn’t know. His stomach was in knots, and his face was so hot. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I hate that.”
Eli pulled the hand free, but he didn’t let go of it. “I’m good. Better than good, really. I didn’t think, when I came here, that I could…” he shook his head. “Wednesdays were my late nights in the office, and Nathaniel would have dinner ready, when I came home. He would feel self-conscious, because he thought my food was better than his, but he always put so much thought into—He would ask what I was craving, and then he’d go shopping, just to pick up whatever he thought I wanted. I thought it would be years before I had anyone prepare a meal for me again. Thank you, puppy.”
“But I didn’t—it’s my father who—”
“Your father?”
Too late, he realized his mistake, but there was no hiding it anymore. “I called him. He's the one who…who helped.”
Eli squeezed his hand. “You never talk about anyone but Jenny. Sometimes I forget there must be others.”
He shrugged. He wanted to drop the conversation. His stomach was so tight, and he was still flustered from his nerves. He just wanted to lie down. “There aren’t. Not anymore.”
Eli didn’t pry. He always knew when to leave something alone. “When I was talking to Nathaniel the other day, he said it feels like you’ve been a part of our family forever, and I agree. But I worry, sometimes, that you don’t feel the same way. You do know you’re ours, right? That you’re our family.”
It was worse than that “I love you.” Like swallowing a ball of lead. A burning hot ball of lead that was eating through his insides. When Eli craned his neck to look up into his face, he pushed the tray closer to him. “Eat. It’s getting cold.”
“Samuel.”
He couldn’t answer that voice. It was too soft. It would break him. “If you don’t eat it, I will.”
Eli let his hand slide free and picked up his fork. He might have sighed, and he worried that the man was disappointed, but relief was his predominant emotion. He just needed to keep making Eli smile. If he could do that, then everything would be fine.
But nothing could stay fine for long. He was stacking their trays when he felt their approach.
He looked up and there was Big Tom, a mountain of asshole with his trusty sidekick at his side.
Big Tom spread his hands. “The man of the hour.”
He was wearing a big fake smile that had the hairs on the back of Samuel’s neck standing up.Predator, his brain said, theway it always did.Run. He smoothed his face into an expression of casual disinterest. “Can I help you with something?”
Big Tom laughed as if that were the joke of the century. “‘Can I help you?’ he says. Did you hear that, Martin?”
Thunk shook his head the way grandmas at church do when they heard someone was dating outside their race.
An arm circled his waist. Eli.
“I’m tired, baby. Take me to bed.”
His hand automatically closed around the one resting on his stomach. When they were alone, that touch had his heart leaping out of his mouth, but now he drew strength from it.
“And here he is. Your pretty princess. Hello, doctor. Are you enjoying being the center of attention?”
He felt stupid for not expecting it. The pre-Eli Samuel wouldn’t have overlooked Big Tom’s ego. For a man who usually considered himself to be the biggest show-off since God himself, the restructuring of the entire prison food network would naturally be interpreted as a nuclear attack on nis reputation.
Eli’s fingers brushed the edge of his ‘husband’s’ waistband. “Samuel’s attention? Of course. The rest? I could do without it.”
He knew Eli was just playing his role, but the damage such playacting was doing to his faculties right then likely outweighed the benefits of the playacting itself. He tried to force his thoughts into order, but Eli’s body was velcroed to his back, and the man’s breath was hitting the sensitive skin behind his ear.
“Tell me, Samuel,” continued Big Tom. “Have you considered how much more helpful your patron’s generous donation could have had on other sections of prison life?”
He was ten thousand percent certain Big Tom was in love with the sound of his own voice. Still, the man did have a point. Rather than overhauling the food budget, money spenton medical or prisoner education programs would have had a far bigger impact on the future of most prisoners. But that assumption missed a vital point.
