Page 96 of Hush
Tom nodded. The whole government was shutting down and American flags dotted every square patch of grass and flapped from street corners and stoplights throughout DC. With the ratcheting tension between the U.S. and Russia, the holiday was taking on a supersized status this year. “Do you have plans?”
Mike made a face. He pulled a folder from the bottom of his stack and crossed to Tom’s desk. He held it with both hands. “I didn’t know if you wanted to do anything. I understand if you just want to go home and stay inside for three days. We can probably move you back into your own house, too.”
“Or…?”
“Or…” Mike smiled shyly. “I thought we—you and I—could get out of DC.” He passed over the folder. Inside, a few pages had been printed out, a flyer from the web for a secluded cottage on the Maryland shore, complete with a private beach. The cottage was small, just a studio, and rustic. The kind of private beach vacation that a marshal could afford. But it was very private and very secluded. Empty sand stretched for miles on either side of the cottage, the flyer promised. Uninterrupted privacy. “I put a hold on it. It’s ours for the weekend if you want it.”
“They accept dogs?”
“Of course. That was a requirement for any place I looked at.”
Tom’s heart pitter-pattered. Once, months ago, he’d dreamed about Mike on the sand, lying on a towel by the ocean, letting the sun soak into his skin. He’d played the part of the indefatigable lover, constantly pouncing on him in his daydreams. Licking off beads of sweat and running his hands over Mike’s sun-kissed body. How many times had they made love on that beach towel in his fantasies?
There wasn’t a calamitous risk of being discovered, though, in his daydreams.
Miles and miles and miles of privacy, the flyer said. Uninterrupted privacy.
It only tookonepair of eyeballs to see them,oneperson to recognize who he was.
Into the sunlight or into the darkness. His toes curled inside his dress shoes, pressing against the firm leather of his wing tips.
He should say no to Mike, to this vacation.
He should get rid of the trial, march into Fink’s office and tell him he could have the damn thing, and the heartburn, too.
He should tell Mike they needed to cool it, be careful, at least until this was done.
But if he turned around now, he’d start running until he found the very end of his closet, and looked right back into the face of his old professor, into the empty eye sockets in his skeletal face, and his cackling, bony jaw. And he’dnevercome out again.
“Let’s do it,” he breathed. He nodded. “Let’s go.”
Oh, it was worth saying yes just to see that smile on Mike’s face. He grinned in return at Mike’s exuberant joy.
“I gotta call and confirm.” Mike bounced on the balls of his feet. “Lemme go let them know.” He pulled out his wallet and ducked into the hallway, hiding the full price from Tom.
Tom breathed out slowly, closing his eyes. Miles and miles of uninterrupted sand. Privacy.
He could do this. They could do this.
Mike drove Tom to his house to grab a few things. Swimsuits, t-shirts, shorts, flip-flops. They didn’t plan on leaving the cottage, aside from hitting the sand and the surf. Tom grabbed a few toys for Etta Mae and another couple of towels for her.
Mike packed fast at his place and was ready to go in just a few minutes. As Tom was putting Etta Mae’s harness on, Mike rifled through his mail, bag already in hand. He sucked in a sharp breath. Tom turned to him, and saw him staring at an envelope with wide eyes. “Something up?”
“My last STD check.” Mike clutched the enveloped, grimacing. “Silvio was cheating on me. I caught him screwing another man without any protection. I don’t know how long that was going on, so I went and got the whole shebang. This is my three-month blood test results.” He took another breath, and exhaled slowly.
Tom frowned. “Was there anything on the other tests?” They were using condoms, but still.
“No, no, I would have told you. This is really my last major one for possible HIV. The risk is low. Silvio was on PrEP. But I just want to be absolutely certain.” Mike slid his finger into the envelope’s seam. Paper tore. He tugged out the single sheet inside, and his eyes roamed over the table, the grid of tests run and the results on the right-hand side. Tom averted his eyes.
Mike beamed. “My blood test is still negative.”
Tom smiled. “Good. I’m glad.” He hesitated, but then dove right in. “So, you weren’t using condoms with your ex?”
“No. If I’m serious about someone and we commit to monogamy, then I like to ditch the condoms. I’m kind of old school that way.” He shrugged, and his shoulders hung up by his ears. “I just like to really be with someone. And I’m old-fashioned. I don’t like to share.”
“We’re serious about each other.”
Mike blinked. “I’m very, very serious about you. Us.”
