Page 185 of Whisper
Langley, Virginia
September 7
1800 hours
Deep breath in.You can do this.Deep breath out.
Did hewantto do this?
Part of him did.
Kris badged back into CTC, a bag of takeout Chinese in one hand. The center hummed, constant soft chatter flowing between workstations in the dim light of the two-story monitor banks along the front wall. He headed for Dan’s office, above the rows and rows of analysts plugging away.
Dan stood behind his desk, his back to the door, arguing on the phone. Kris leaned into the doorjamb, blatantly eavesdropping.
“Ryan…Jesus, I’m working on it. I know, I know. The dump from Islamabad scares the shit out of me too. Do you think calling me and yelling about it is going to get this done faster? My people are working on it.I’mworking on it. I will call you when I know more. Hell—Hello?” Dan stared at the phone. “Prick.”
“Hang up on you?”
Dan twisted, his jaw hanging open. Shock lined his wide eyes. His gaze darted over Kris, from his change of clothes to his bag of takeout.
“He used to do that to me too. When I was—” Kris flicked his wrist, as if that conveyed all that was the past and Afghanistan and his bitter shame. He shrugged and headed for Dan’s desk. Set the food down with a plop. “Hungry?”
“I… didn’t expect to see you again.” Dan hung up, still staring. “Maybeever.”
“I swung by the Golden Sun.” Kris shrugged, taking out cartons of rice and egg rolls, lemon chicken and crispy beef. “Thought you might be hungry.” He kept his voice light, as much sass as he could inject. As if he just happened to be out, happened to drive by Dan’s favorite Chinese restaurant. Happened to have showered and changed into one of his best outfits, his slim black pants and a crisp turquoise button-down, showing off his collarbones. He slipped out of his Gucci trench, draped it over a chair.
His hands trembled.
He couldn’t look at Dan.
Not yet.
Dan’s confession had haunted him the whole way home, the words circling his mind as he drove, as he parked, as he rode the elevator to his unit.
They didn’t mean anything. It was just Dan. Dan being in love with him. That was nothing new.
Home, and his empty studio seemed to swallow him whole. The hum of the laundry machine was as loud as a train.
A bowl of condoms and a bottle of lube on his nightstand had stared him down. Across the bed, on the opposite nightstand, David’s photo sat, alone. Other than the photo, was there anything real in the entire condo? Anything that showed the world a human existed inside the four walls?
Kris’s gaze had traced David’s image, his stern glower, his brawny stance. Why had he chosenthatphoto? Why not a picture of their wedding? Why not something happier, something that showed them, their love?
If he’d had to look at that every day, could he have ever moved on?
Hadhe ever moved on? Was fucking his way through every older man in DC moving on?
It was something. But something wasn’t everything.
He’d held David’s photo, staring into his dead husband’s gaze. Was there anything left of their love? Was there anything left between him and this photo?
Finally, he’d set the photo facedown on the nightstand and headed for the shower.
It was in the shower that he collapsed, clinging to the tiles as he slid down the wall, sobbing, shrieking, falling to his knees as it hit him,again, the truth blindsiding him as powerfully as it had nine years before. David wasdead. Gone. He was all alone.
Kris cried until the water ran cold, face buried in his hands. He’d taken his ring off after six years. Even the tan line had faded. His ring lay next to David’s, tucked into the bottom of David’s duffel from Afghanistan, in the darkest corner of his closet.
David was dead, and gone, and there was nothing Kris could do to change that. To make that hurt less. Freezing his life hadn’t worked. Freezing his heart hadn’t worked, either. The hurt still ached, still was an anguish he couldn’t possibly bear.
