Page 63 of Hush
Remarkably, he managed to speed through two of the opinions he needed to finish and rule on three motions. He sent them all to Peggy and Danny for final drafting and review and then turned to the research he needed to dig into, prep work on case law, precedent, and the pre-trial proceedings for a trial due to begin in two weeks.
Silence, perfect, heavy silence, encased his day. No texts. No knocks. No smiles. When he did venture out of his chambers, he spotted Mike’s dark and closed office. Avoidance, pure and simple.
He left for Georgetown early, stopping to grab a sandwich on the way. He ate half and saved the rest. His appetite had fled.
His students were polite, but they could tell he was off. One young woman wished him well after class. As he was packing up, Tom rifled through his briefcase, but couldn’t find his phone. Damn it. He’d left it in his drawer, back at court. He’d banished the thing, trying to escape its dreary pull. Confirming Mike’s continued absence of texts only shredded his heart more, turning his insides to ribbons. He’d put it away, and then forgot about it.
He could leave it. Forget about the damn thing overnight. But, would he sleep? What if Mike did text him, and he didn’t respond? And, he really should be reachable at all times. He was a judge. Emergencies that woke him in the middle of the night did happen. Few and far between, but they were there. An emergency warrant, breaking news from the Hill, or information from the White House. With his luck, tonight would be the night he was needed, and his phone, if he didn’t go back, would be ringing and ringing in his desk drawer.
He headed back. The Annex was lit up like a spaceship, gleaming white marble and smooth lines. The American flag flapped in her floodlight, snapping in the summer night breeze. No one was inside the Annex except for a few late-night workaholic AUSAs and the cleaning crew. He said hello to Miguel and Rachel as they cleaned and headed up the stairs. He’d been a late-night work addict once, before Etta Mae. He’d said hello to Miguel and Rachel every night when they passed through, cleaning around him like he was a potted plant.
The fourth floor was dim, the lights turned down at night. But, at the end of the long, secured hallway, light poured from the tiny marshal’s office.
Mike.
Don’t do it. Don’t go there.
Who was he kidding? Tom grabbed his phone—no texts—and padded to Mike’s open door. He stopped just outside the doorframe and tried to smile. He failed, miserably.
Mike looked up and froze.
God, Mike looked awful. Dark bags beneath his eyes, long stubble, like he hadn’t shaved since Sunday. His suit was rumpled. He never looked like that, so out of sorts and off. Even after his ex had thrown coffee at him, Mike hadn’t looked that bad.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were teaching.”
So Mikehadbeen avoiding him. Coming to the courthouse when he thought Tom would for sure be gone. Ouch. His heart flinched. “Left my phone on accident. Thought it might be important that I had it.”
Mike’s gaze flicked back to his computer monitor. His jaw clenched, and Tom watched the muscles in his jaw bulge. “I’ll drive you home.”
He wanted to be a bigger man, tell Mike not to bother, but the thought of spending just a few minutes at Mike’s side was too alluring. Silently, he waited for Mike to grab his keys and his phone and shut down his computer.
Walking out together was terrible, nothing like their sojourns for dinner or drinks when they’d been happy and relaxed, chatting or laughing. A tuning fork would have sung an opera between them, rung and rung and rung. Mike kept ahead of him, not looking at Tom. Tom hung in his shadow, staring at Mike’s dark figure.
Mike had parked his marshal’s car at the curb, in police-only parking. He normally took the Metro to and from the courthouse and kept his marshal-issued undercover cruiser parked in the courthouse garage. But, with him avoiding the courthouse, and Tom, it seemed he’d pulled it out.
The drive was deathly silent. Strained. Mike kept his eyes glued to the road and both his hands on the wheel. Tom clutched his briefcase in his lap, the only armor he had to protect his heart.I guess this answers my question. Well, part of his question. The why, the motive, was still unaccounted for, but like many crimes, he figured he’d never truly know. In any event. the motive rarely mattered, except to plead for extenuating circumstances. It was only the outcome that meant anything.
Mike pulled up to the curb outside Tom’s home. He looked down. Said nothing.
Guess it was all up to him. “I’d invite you in, but…”
Mike’s jaw clenched. His eyes shut.
“But, I take it that’s not going to happen again. Ever.”
Mike looked away, out the driver’s side window.
The why didn’t really matter. What was done was done. Mike had come to a decision, for some reason. Nothing Tom said or did could change that. After nineteen years as a prosecutor, he’d learned that much, at least. People did what they did and believed in their own actions. The only thing he could truly do was accept it. “Whatever happened, I’m sorry, Mike. I honestly never expected anything. I knew I wasn’t your type. I shouldn’t have…” He sighed. “I’m sorry that this has ended our friendship. I really, really do think you’re great.” He swallowed hard.Don’t tear up. Don’t tear up, God.
Hewasgoing to survive this, survive this car ride, survive Mike. He’d survived everything else; he’d get through this, too. “You’re going to make some guy the happiest man on the planet someday. He’s a lucky man.”
Mike’s hands gripped the steering wheel, squeezing so hard the leather squeaked. Groaned.
Time to go. He got out, his mind a blur, and he barely managed to hold onto his briefcase and not trip over the curb. He shut the car door and turned, staring at Mike.
What now? A hundred words tried to climb up his throat, tried to push free from his mouth, but he swallowed them all down.
Mike jerked the car into gear, yanked the wheel over, and burned rubber as he sped into the street. His tires squealed, and he disappeared down the block in seconds.
