Page 16 of The Evening Wolves

John smirked as he got closer.

Well, Emery thought, perhaps some traits had stayed the same.

“I know that look,” John said, and he stepped into Emery’s embrace and turned his head up to kiss him. “I missed you too.”

“It’s a good thing they had you in solitary, or I imagine you would have had a great deal of unwanted attention.”

“Who said it would have been unwanted?”

Emery kissed him again, and this time he pulled John’s hair until John made a soft whimper against his mouth. But John didn’t pull away, and Emery didn’t let up, not until he thought he had made his point.

When the kiss broke, John pressed his forehead to Emery’s shoulder, heavy in the circle of Emery’s arms, as though that were the only thing holding him up. Emery kissed the side of his face and tasted that unfamiliar soap. He kissed his ear. He soothed the patch of hair he had pulled. He was hard, and John was hard, and the rage that had been cycling through him for a full day had taken on a different, sharper edge.

“Later,” John said, a laugh buried in the word. He raised his head and met Emery’s eyes and said, “I’m sorry.”

“What in the world are you sorry for?”

For whatever reason, that cracked open a smile. “I don’t know, dummy. How I acted when I got home, let’s start with that.”

Emery smoothed blond hair away from John’s forehead. “You were understandably upset.”

“I didn’t need to take it out on you.”

“Believe it or not, John, I can handle it.”

That stole some of the light from John’s face.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He gave a tiny shrug inside Emery’s embrace. “I’m sorry for letting this happen, Ree. That’s what I’m sorry for.”

“For letting it happen? What in the world are you talking about?”

“This is my fault. If I’d been halfway decent at my job, we wouldn’t still be chasing our tails looking for these guys, and they wouldn’t have been able to set up something like this. Not to mention my own department, somebody getting to my computer—”

“What do you mean your department? What about your computer?”

Rubbing his eyes, John freed himself and sat on the couch. Emery sat next to him and listened as John laid out the evidence against him—the witness, the audio recording, the files on his computer.

“Fuck me,” Emery said. He got up, paced a few times across the room, and gave the weight bench another kick. “You fucking idiot.”

“I know—”

“Not you, John. Me. What the fuck was I thinking? Of course there’d be a grand jury. Of course there’d be evidence. I should have been doing something productive, finding out what had led to these charges, instead of—”

“Taking care of our children? Holding our life together? Getting me an attorney?”

“Feeling sorry for myself.”

John’s smile was unexpectedly relaxed, almost loopy. It changed his whole face, washed away years. He held out one hand and beckoned with his fingers.

“I’m not done,” Emery said and kicked the weight bench again.

That made him laugh. He twiddled his fingers again.

Eventually Emery made his way over to the couch. John took his hand, drew him down next to him, and cupped his cheek. “You do have a talent for being hard on yourself. Have I ever mentioned that?”

“I believe there have been passing references.”

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