Page 85 of Nothing To Lose
“It’s better than maintaining a long-distance relationship with a felon for several decades.”
There it is. The vague threat. His way or no way. My fists clench.
“I’ll also sweeten the pot. If you leave within the week, I’ll call off the zoning commission and ensure Isaac has the funding to open his business.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why? What doyouget?”
“I can’t have my son dating a vagrant,” he says without hesitation. “It’s enough that he looks like a delinquent. At least if he’s a business owner, he’ll be somewhat respectable.”
“But I can’t tell him?”
“No. If my involvement is discovered, we both lose. You’ll risk the deal, and he’ll be back on track to spend the next fifteen to fifty years in prison. Give it a week for the dust to settle. Not before.”
It still seems too easy. Too clean. But that’s how he operates. Smooth and sharp, like a scalpel.
I want to tell him no. But I can’t. Not if there’s even a chance he can pull this off. Not if it saves Isaac.
He’s not just the man I love. He’s the man who held me when I was broken. Who never asked me to be anything but exactly who I am.
If I have to buy his freedom with my silence, I will.
Even if it breaks me.
* * *
PRESENT
This morning, we didn’t talk.
We made love like the world was ending—slow and deep and wordless. I don’t know if I started crying first or if he did. We both did, quietly, like it would be less real that way. Afterward, we stayed tangled together until the sun was too high to ignore.
Then we showered. And we did it again. This time, he took me, with my foot propped up on the lip of the tub. Then with my back to the wall and my legs hooked over his forearms. I’m still sore from the number of times we’ve made love and outright fucked each other’s brains out. But I relish the pain. I’ll cry when I can’t feel him anymore.
After the shower, I knew I had to leave. If I didn’t make myself go, I would never get the strength.
He didn’t ask where I was going. Maybe he already knew.
And I didn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t. If I had, I wouldn’t have made it here.
The terminal is cold, despite the warmth of Isaac’s hoodie wrapped around me. I keep my head down, tucked into the fabric, trying not to think. Trying not to feel. The gate number blinks overhead in that pale airport font that makes everything feel sterile and temporary. I’ve never felt more out of place in my life.
People walk by with coffee cups, earbuds, suitcases wheeling behind them. Everything looks normal. Like the world hasn’t tilted off its axis.
I think about turning around. About walking out the doors, catching a cab, and going home. But where is home now, if he’s not in it? No matter how much it hurts, I can’t risk his future knowing I could have saved him. I can be strong for him.
I pull out my phone. Type out the message I’ve had in my head since I left.
Me: I’m sorry. I just need space. Give me time to figure things out, please. I love you.
And this time I hit send.
My fingers are cramped around the photo I pulled from my carry-on. It’s a printout from one of the underground fight nights—a candid of Isaac mid-motion, sweat shining across his chest, a look in his eyes like he’s daring the world to hit harder. I trace the words inked across his ribs with the pad of my thumb.
Nothing to lose, everything to gain.
That might’ve been true once. But now…
What if I’ve risked everything, and it means nothing?
