5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Greg

Greg was fretting. Of course he was fretting. Anyone in his position would be. Only, he knew it wasn’t helping his husband, who seemed to still be in shock after having seen the damage to his car.

Allen was resting upstairs now and had been for some time. And Greg had been fielding all of his calls. He’d spoken multiple times with the sheriff and other local law enforcement, but the last call... that had been the toughest yet.

It had been the sheriff, Mike Foster, calling to let Greg know that they’d found the kids.

Apparently, with social media being what it was, it hadn’t been too difficult of a task. The idiots had filmed themselves doing it—using some heavy-duty utility knife to slash the tires on Allen’s Toyota and etch several horrible words into the hood; smashing the windshield and windows with a brick; and then joking and laughing as they chucked another large brick into the front window of the library. They’d filmed it and then posted the damn video to social media, along with some more obscene and derogatory comments indicating they’d specifically targeted Allen. The thought made him sick to his stomach—that his kind, caring, compassionate husband who had never, ever done anything to hurt anyone had been the target of such maliciousness.

And the two boys were teenagers, both of them just sixteen years old.

But maybe the worst part, Greg thought, was that he and Allen knew them and their parents. The kids went to the local high school and had attended several of the community events where Allen and Greg had volunteered. One of them worked as a bagger at the grocery store just down the street from the library. They both lived only a few blocks away.

Greg’s phone buzzed again, just as it had been doing for the last two hours since they’d been home. It was probably another text message from another neighbor, wanting to express their support. He’d gotten dozens of those by now. Their community was behind them, he knew. Yet he’d never felt so isolated.

All the supportive messages in the world wouldn’t change what had happened.

They’d lived here for nearly thirty years. Allen had worked at the library in one capacity or another for just as long. And in that time, the community had evolved a lot and grown more accepting and tolerant, for the most part. It had been many years now since they’d had to be careful about being out and openly gay in their small community.

And this... this was beyond anything he’d ever expected to experience.

He powered his phone off, not wanting to take any more calls or texts for the time being. Then he double checked that the doors were locked, turned off all the downstairs lights, and headed up to the bedroom.

Just like a couple of nights before, he paused in the doorway, his eyes drawn to his husband’s sleeping figure. Beans lay protectively on the floor right next to the bed, rather than in his spot in the corner, and the dog looked up at him briefly before settling his head back on his paws with a quiet whimper.

It was pretty telling—that the dog wouldn’t even get up to greet Greg when he entered the room. The silly dog didn’t move an inch as Greg made his way across to the bed. He knelt down and ran a hand over Beans’s rough coat while studying Allen’s features. Even in his sleep, there was tension—a tightness in the way his mouth was held closed, a slight irregularity to his breathing.

Greg’s frown deepened as he straightened up, and his hand went back to his pocket. He should call Annabeth. Allen was scheduled to work tomorrow, but it was possible the library would just be closed or that Allen wouldn’t feel like going in.

God.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right—that the one place Allen had always considered safe for him now maybe wouldn’t feel that way anymore.

“I’ve always felt at home here. In any library, I mean. When I’m surrounded by the quiet and the books, and I can get lost in another world—whatever’s written on the page—I just feel... safe. God, I sound silly, don’t I?”

“No, I don’t think so. That’s how I feel out on the trail—it’s just me and the mountain, the forest. Quiet and peaceful and yet also alive and wild. I feel at home and safe. I think I understand perfectly.”

The memory shattered, shards piercing Greg’s heart as he shook his head. Allen had been through a lot as a child. His parents had been horrible—his father downright mean and occasionally physically abusive, and his mother an angry, narcissistic, manipulative woman who’d spent years humiliating Allen and telling him he wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t worth her time, he was a waste of space and a burden and all those other things that had tanked Allen’s sense of self-worth and self-esteem. So growing up, Allen had ended up spending a substantial amount of time at the local library rather than at home. He’d always called the library his “safe space.” A place where he felt comfortable, where he could be himself, where he could get lost in other worlds and surround himself with the joy books brought him.

Would Allen still be able to feel that now? Now that he’d essentially been attacked in his “safe space”?

Greg pulled his hand out of his pocket, leaving the phone where it was. He wanted to help, but he knew he really couldn’t make any decisions for his husband; they’d have to talk, and Greg would have to let Allen decide for himself. What he hoped more than anything was that this would all just be a small blip and that Allen would be able to return to work without much fuss.

It was still early, just a little after seven, but they weren’t going anywhere else tonight. So Greg stepped away from the bed and quietly changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt. Then he crawled into bed and carefully gathered his husband up in his arms. Allen’s tension didn’t really ease, which made Greg’s heart ache even more, but he did wrap an arm around Greg’s waist and let out a short, sharp sigh.

With a quiet whisper of “I love you” to his husband, Greg closed his eyes and tried to let himself relax. But the weight of everything—the last few days, his realization that he’d not been present enough, and now... this whole mess—rattled him more than he cared to admit.

It took him quite a while to fall asleep.

** *

Greg awoke the next morning to Beans’s quiet whimpering, and he was surprised to see weak sunlight streaming through the windows. He turned over, grumbling something to Beans to go back to sleep while reaching out to Allen’s side of the bed. But his hand just landed on a cold pillow, and his stomach dropped. He sat up quickly.

“Allen?”

Beans whimpered again from the doorway and then turned and trotted off down the hallway. The house was otherwise quiet—there were no sounds from the bathroom or kitchen, no muted playing of the piano from the living room downstairs, no indistinct noises from the garage.

Greg ran a hand through his hair and let out a short breath, then pushed himself up out of bed. He resisted the urge to call out again, and instead, he made his way out of the bedroom and downstairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and his expression tightened as he saw Allen sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the cup of coffee in his hands.

“Shane and Lily are donating a new window to the library, along with the installation. But it’s still going to take at least a week because the window isn’t a standard size, and it’ll take some time.” Allen’s voice sounded oddly detached, and he didn’t look up as he spoke. “At least the weather’s supposed to be good for the next few days, so we can keep the library open in the meantime. But the preschool group that was supposed to visit on Wednesday canceled. And Tina said the homeschool group might cancel too. They’re supposed to visit on Thursday. I haven’t heard from—”

There was an odd sound that escaped Allen’s throat—not quite a sob, but more of a strangled breath—and he dropped his chin.

Greg couldn’t get his feet to move right away. When he saw his husband reach up and swipe at a tear on his cheek, however, that seemed to unstick him. He closed the distance between them, pulled a chair up next to Allen’s, and sat, slipping his arm protectively around Allen’s shoulders.

“Did you look outside yet?” Allen asked, his voice rough.

“No, what . . . ?” Greg trailed off, almost afraid to ask.

“It’s the only reason I’m... sort of okay,” Allen said, and he leaned his head against Greg’s shoulder for a moment before straightening up slightly. He lifted his eyes to Greg’s and gave his husband a gentle but strained smile. “Go look.”

Reluctantly, because he didn’t want to put any distance at all between them, Greg pushed back his chair and stood. Allen nodded weakly, his expression tired but hopeful, and Greg pursed his lips but turned and made his way out through the living room to the front door. He unlocked the deadbolt and slowly opened the door.

Just at the bottom of the front porch steps, the short walkway and small grassy lawn were blanketed with rainbow flags, handmade cards and notes, bouquets of colorful flowers, and other gifts. Dozens of small showings of support and love.

An older woman Greg recognized from several community events, though he wasn’t sure they’d ever really met, had just set down a beautiful arrangement of pink and yellow flowers, and she straightened up, smiled at him, and waved.

“You are both loved and appreciated and such an important part of this community. We just want to make sure you know that,” she said, her voice soft but also filled with optimism, and Greg felt a tug at his heart.

“Thank you,” he managed .

And as though she knew that he didn’t have words to express everything he was feeling, she just nodded and then leaned heavily on her cane as she turned and shuffled back down the walkway to her car, which was parked along the street at the edge of the lawn.

From at his side, Beans gave a low whine, and Greg bent down and stroked the dog’s head. “Wow, right, buddy?”

He slowly closed the door and then turned around. Allen was watching him from the kitchen, his eyes still tired, still pained, and now also glistening with tears.

“I didn’t expect that,” Allen said quietly, shaking his head. “I mean, I... I think I expected some sort of a media circus, especially...” When he trailed off, Greg pushed himself away from the door and started back to the kitchen.

“Especially, what, darling?”

“When I turned on my phone this morning and scrolled through all the texts and—and everything, and when I saw who had done this and... and I-I never thought...” Allen shook his head. “But I’m glad we don’t have reporters banging on the door or... or anything like that.”

Greg stopped behind his husband’s chair and set his hands on Allen’s shoulders, letting his thumbs massage gently into Allen’s stiff muscles. “I’d worried about that too,” he admitted quietly.

They were both silent for a few minutes, and Greg continued his massage, his hands working their way up Allen’s neck and then back down. He switched to longer strokes, then let his hands drift out to Allen’s upper arms and downward. When he reached Allen’s elbows, he leaned over and wrapped his husband into an embrace, brushing his lips against Allen’s cheek.

“Can I make you something to eat?” he asked, squeezing Allen gently before straightening back up again. “I have a delivery scheduled today, and some consultation with a client who wanted—ah, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to reschedule both, and—”

“Don’t do that,” Allen cut in, an edge to his voice. “Don’t reschedule or cancel or—n-not for me. I’ll probably be working all day anyway, and—and I don’t want to...”

Greg’s hands froze, now resting on Allen’s shoulders again. “Allen...”

The words were familiar but also jarring, a reminder that just three days ago, Allen’s mental state had been fragile enough already. He’d seemed to recover Saturday, after some good rest and relaxation, but Greg wasn’t surprised to hear his stuttering dismissal. Sad, but not surprised.

“I have to work anyway,” Allen argued again, though there was a hitch in his voice. “I have to... I mean, there’s a lot to do, and...”

Greg took the seat next to Allen again, and when he reached out to take Allen’s hands in his, he felt his husband trembling. He closed his eyes and started to speak, but Allen beat him to it.

“I can’t stay home. I won’t live in—in fear. Those boys, they... are misguided, and—and I’m going to work today. You—you should too.” Allen pulled his hands away, and Greg looked up as Allen stood, picked up his mug, and turned so his back was to Greg. The tension in his shoulders was clear, and when he spoke again, his voice was unsteady. “And p-please don’t argue with me, I’m not sure I could handle... that.”

“I—” Greg shook his head. “Allen, I . . .”

He knew. He knew how much Allen was hurting, despite his words and despite the small smile he’d managed earlier and despite his attempt to brush off the fact that he was scared. And Greg also knew how difficult Allen’s last sentence had been—standing up for his decision and admitting he’d struggle if Greg argued.

He pushed himself to his feet slowly and then moved up behind Allen and slipped his arms around Allen’s waist. Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to Allen’s jaw, just below his ear, the short hairs of his beard tickling Greg’s chin. “I won’t argue,” he said softly, and he kissed his husband again. “But will you let me walk you there? And pick you up at the end of the day?”

Because I am scared. Greg didn’t say the words, but he knew they were true. He remembered the phone call from Joe the day before. He’d been just about to start cooking dinner when the phone had rung. Joe had been calm and collected, but his words had had an edge to them, a note of something more than just concern. And when Joe had said, “Allen’s okay, but...” Greg’s heart had plummeted. Even though Joe had warned him about the car, seeing it had brought an unexpected wave of nausea—a combination of anger, fear, and pain.

Allen’s breath shuddered, but he nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

He didn’t say anything more, and neither did Greg. Instead, they got started making breakfast—something mundane, simple, normal. Something they did nearly every day.

And that made things feel just a little bit better.