Page 46 of A Breath of Life
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. These… men caught me off guard and messed me up.” It wasn’t a lie, but Tallus also knew it wasn’t the whole truth.
“Were you drunk? I could smell it on you, so don’t fucking lie.”
I shrugged, letting him take from that gesture what he would. In fact, at the time of my attack, I was stone-cold sober. The alcohol had come after, thanks to the Consigliere.
“I figured.”
Although wishing I could dispute his conclusion and tell him he was wrong, I didn’t. Tallus knew I struggled with alcohol addiction. As much as it pained me, I would ride the excuse for all it was worth if it meant he stopped questioning my whereabouts from the previous night. Drunken bar fights made sense to him. It was the man I used to be a long time ago, so why not now? I wasn’t a fighter anymore, and I thought Tallus knew that, but maybe I was wrong.
I was about to revisit the issue of returning the card to Clarence when my phone rang. My heart jolted, landing in my throat as Tallus whirled around in confusion. “What the hell? It’s, like, three o’clock in the morning. Who’s calling you?”
As he reached for the device, I lunged, grabbing it first. Unsurprisingly, the name flashing on the screen readAsshole. I connected with a quiet “What?” as I turned my back.
“Hello, Mr. Krause. I’m glad you got home all right. I hope I didn’t wake you. It’s terribly late. A good test, though, huh? If you’d slept through my call, we might have had an issue. Anyhow, Ace has informed me there is an alteration to your timeline. It appears he has unexpected business out of town next week, so our seven-day timeframe no longer works. You understand. Five days should be sufficient. Let’s call it Sunday at midnight. That is all, Mr. Krause. Forgive me for interrupting your night. Ta.”
The phone clicked, and the Consigliere was gone.
Five days. Sunday. We were in the wee hours of Wednesday morning. Was it enough time?Fuck.
“Who was that?” Tallus asked with a frown as I dropped my phone back on the side table.
“Wrong number.”
I didn’t know if he bought it or not, but he let it go and patted the spot beside him. “Come on, Guns. It’s late.”
A fraction of my stress lifted, hearing the nickname he’d given me on the day we met. Since my return home, it had been absent. The affectionate moniker gave me hope that I hadn’t ruined everything.
Not yet.
“Are you sure you want me…” I motioned to the bed, unsure of what I was trying to say.
“Beside me? Always, D. Even when you drive me up the wall.”
I crawled in beside him, and Tallus shuffled over until his long, lean body pressed against mine. He rested his head in the crook of my shoulder and placed his hand over my heart. The organ thudded under his touch, a pounding pace I couldn’t calm.
Tallus felt it—he must have—and deduced its cause. “We’re okay, Guns.”
“Are we?”
“Yeah.”
Why didn’t I believe him?
12
Tallus
Diem was not a man of wit and words. He spoke when necessary but never frivolously. His communication skills had improved over the long months of our relationship, but he still struggled when under stress, hoarding emotions like a dragon hoards its treasures. When his inability to express himself surfaced, I knew things inside him were bad.
With me, Diem had found comfort, grumbling less and joking more. It was a joy in which I took tremendous pride. Who knew Diem Krause had a sense of humor? But Diem was also a man of many secrets. Growing up with an abusive father was not something he readily discussed. His history and struggles were etched into his body in scars and ink, shared only in tiny morsels. Most remained mysteries I might never learn, and I was okay with that. I would take the crumbs he offered.
But one thing Diem wasn’t was a liar.
Until now.
Ever since returning home, battered and beaten, he’d been cagey, offering answers to my questions that weren’t answers at all. His vague explanations hid something far more serious, and I wanted to shake him upside down until the truth fell out.
Morning arrived like a taut bowstring, humming and ready to snap at the slightest provocation. I was meant to be in the records department by nine and went about my usual routine, doing my best to ignore the seismic tremors running along the fault lines of my relationship.
