Page 149 of Hush
Tom laced their fingers together, hidden in the press of their thighs, side by side.
“What are your dinner plans, Judge B?” Mike spoke softly, but even still, Villegas glared at Mike in the rearview mirror.
“I’m not hungry.”
Mike arched one eyebrow at him.
Tom chuckled. “What do you suggest, Inspector?”
“How about I get takeout from the Mexican place? Queso and both soft and crunchy tacos together?”
This time, Tom actually smiled. The dinner they’d shared when Mike first asked to take him out. Granted, it was a professional ‘thanks for not chewing me out’ dinner, but still. It wastheirs. And Mike apparently remembered it just as fondly as Tom did.
He nodded, leaning his head against Mike’s.
“I’ll go get it and bring everything up. You relax.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” Mike smiled.
Villegas watched them in the rearview mirror, until the darkness of the Hyatt’s parking garage stole through the SUV, washing Villegas in shadows and obscuring his harsh glare.
Upstairs, Tom scrubbed his face and waited on his balcony, after getting his hugs and slobbery kisses from Etta Mae. She hung nearby, seeming to sense he needed the comfort, and trotted outside with him.
He stared over the city, letting the heat, the humidity, and the hum and buzz of the capital work through him. His whole life, he’d worked for the capital, for the District and the nation as a whole. Was it all coming apart now? Was the puzzle of his life, so meticulously put together, finally breaking apart? Was Humpty Dumpty falling again?
Mike texted him from the Mexican restaurant, sending a picture of the corner booth they’d eaten in and a heart.[ <3 Our first date.]
Circles upon circles upon circles. He’d loved Pasha as a young man, more a boy than a man, on the cusp of his own existence. He’d given up Pasha in exchange for the life he thought he wanted, and now Pasha was back, at the edge of the life Tom had worked so hard for… and was willing to give up to be with Mike.
His sob hit him again, out of the blue with the force of a tank, and he doubled over, gut-punched with the slam of his realization. HewantedMike. He wanted the life they were building. He wanted freedom, the freedom he’d tasted as a younger man.
What had happened to Pasha in the years since? He’d looked at Tom like Tom was his life, his liberty, and his personal pursuit of happiness. He used to practice the pledge of allegiance, and called America the ‘United States of Freedom’. He’d been drunk with happiness, giddy at the liberation he’d felt in America.
Tom had only seen a prison cell made by words of hate and violent discrimination. Paths that led only to a tomb, the grave of both his dreams and his life. His hopes, his plans, were too big for 1991.
Pasha’s dreams had been the dreams of a refugee—to live simply, to love deeply, to laugh often. To stay safe within his community.
Did Pasha still think America was a glorious refuge, a home away from people who hated who he was? Had he ever found the hate that Tom had? What had his life made him into?
How had he come to be Vadim Kryukov’s lover? In all the ways, in all the days, that he ever imagined seeing Pasha again, he’d never, ever thought it would be in his courtroom. Certainly not in the most important trial heard on the world stage.
Mike arrived as the tears were drying on his cheeks, blown off his skin by the hot winds of summertime DC. Mike said nothing, just kissed him sweetly, thumbing his damp cheek before he pulled out dinner.
Tom picked at the chips and ate a taco, and managed to smile and even laugh as Mike distracted him with stories. He felt better after eating, and told Mike so. Mike beamed.
“What now? We’re in recess until Monday. Are we locked in this hotel until then?”
Mike frowned. “According to Villegas, yes.”
“‘According to Villegas’?”
Slowly, Mike smiled. “In myprofessionalopinion, I think you need a break. I think we should get out of DC for the weekend. You need to get away from all of this. Barnes is looking for Baryshnikov. Ballard is… well, I don’t know where he is. No one has seen him since this morning. But, there’s nothing we can do until Monday. Except, if you stay here, in these four walls, you’ll be spinning your wheels and running your mind in circles.”
“You do know me well.”
“I try.”
