Page 173 of Whisper
It would be a wonder if he didn’t get a bullet in the back of the head one day. Friendly fire, blue on blue.He was too gay, he was sure their defense would go.We just snapped.It was one wrist swish too many. One perfectly arched eyebrow too much.
Kris’s boots squeaked to a stop in the wide central hallway of the headquarters building.Should he…
Goddamn it.
There was a tiny part of him that kept him up at night, that ate away at the base of his brain. He’d been ruthless with himself, shutting that voice down. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, there was an emptiness inside of him that just opened wider. Some days, he thought he was a skinsuit walking around with a void inside him, nothing but darkness and bones.
That tiny, tiny part of him kept asking,did it have to be this way?
He glanced down the hall toward CTC. Dan had texted, of course, while he was in Estonia, telling him to be safe. He’d asked Kris to check in when he got back.
That didn’thaveto be immediately.
He and Dan weren’t anything.
Though... Dan wanted to change that.
He’d always known how Dan felt about him. From that rooftop in Pakistan fifteen years before, sharing a shitty bottle of chardonnay when Dan had confessed he wanted to take Kris out to dinner. Wine him, dine him. Woo him. But he’d been two months too late. Kris’s heart had already belonged to David.
But fifteen years… Shouldn’t the affection have tempered? He’d thought Dan would have moved on, found his own partner, husband, someone to love. But every time Kris asked, Dan always demurred.
He had been Kris’s best and only friend, until Kris started going to the gay men’s community center events a few years back. Started socializing with other gays again, finally. He’d been like a chrysalis breaking free, a part of his soul resuscitated by rejoining his people. He’d dived in headfirst, desperate for his people, desperate for normality in his life. He hadn’t played volleyball since college, and even then, it had only been to check out the guys on the team, but he’d joined the gay men’s DC league on a whim.
He’d started going out again, too.
At first, he couldn’t quite close the deal, though. Nights out at bars ended with an apology and an “another time” as he slinked toward the door. He’d wanted his people, wanted the energy, the vibe, the thrive. Wanted to be full of the gay life again, have everyone’s gayness pumped straight into his veins, as if he needed a transfusion of gay to come back from the dead.
But he just couldn’t go home with anyone, then. Couldn’t kiss another man andnotthink of David. Couldn’t look at another man and feel aroused, constantly comparing him to his dead husband.
Every man competed against a ghost, and every man was found wanting.
One night, he’d met Mike, a new gay from out of town, freshly transplanted to DC.Everybodyin the bar had wanted him that night, but Mike had zeroed in on Kris.Uh-uh, honey, you’re barking up the wrong tree. He’d wanted to be rid of Mike, send him spinning in another direction. But Mike was fun and kind, gentle when he had no right to be. He’d wanted Kris, and for amoment, a half of a breath, Kris had thought about it. Mike was the only man he’d ever met who reminded him of David, in a way. Who had that same mixture of strength tempered by warmth, and an earnest, honest kindness.
Mike was David without all his ghosts, he’d finally realized.
But he’d told Mike no, no a half-dozen times. Mike asked him out for brunch the next morning instead.
He had shown Mike around DC, given him tips on where to live, what to watch out for, and who the real snakes in the grass were. They’d had dinner, and then drinks, and then that became routine.
Mike never pushed again. And Kris had one more friend.
It was nice, having a friend who didn’t know his entire tragic past. Who had no idea he’d once been Director Edwards’s hand-picked hero. A hero who had made the president crow with pride. But who then had gotten his entire team killed, let his husband be murdered. Who was the scum of the CIA, a walking scarlet letter of pure shame.
Of course, he told Mike in fits and starts. The first time, five Martinis too deep into a night that seemed innocuous to Mike, a Thursday, but to Kris was the sixth anniversary of Saqqaf’s death. Two weeks later, he’d ended up a raging mess in Mike’s apartment, six years after David’s proposal.
Dan was the only person alive anymore whoknewhim. Who truly knew him, every shadow, every dark secret. Dan had refused to let him wallow, refused to let him slip beneath the waves of darkness that tried to suck him to the bottom of his personal abyss. He was Kris’s partner to plays and art galleries, his lunch date, his after-dinner drinks meet-up. It was good. They’d always had an easy friendship.
Four years after David’s death, Dan invited him to be his guest to a dinner honoring CIA leadership. By that time, Dan had been promoted fully onto the leadership track in his own right, managing CTC. He, along with George, the deputy director of the CIA, and Ryan, the new chief of clandestine operations, would all be receiving handshakes and huzzahs from Director Edwards and the president himself.
Inviting Kris to be Dan’s date was the juiciest kind offuck you, acoup de graceto Kris’s personal relationship with the director, with George, with Ryan, and with the whole CIA.
“You sure you want to even be seen with me? I’m the CIA leper. You’ll catch whatever I have. Soon you’ll be the agency’s most hated.”
Dan had shrugged demurely. “It’d be worth it.” He’d winked. “Especiallyto see the looks on their faces.”
It was a black-tie affair, and they’d showed up in matching tuxes and holding hands. Director Edwards shook Dan’s hand and ignored Kris, as if he weren’t even there. Ryan had avoided them. George had carefully kept to the opposite side of the ballroom for the entire evening.
They’d flirted outrageously, holding hands through dinner and sharing bites off each other’s forks. They’d made each other laugh, caught each other’s gaze over glasses of champagne.
