6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Allen

The sun shone brightly overhead by the time Allen and Greg left home at around a quarter to nine. It was a short walk—they only lived about half a mile from the library, and the weather was pleasant and warm, typical of a late August morning. The neighborhood was quiet, as it usually was, but to Allen, the silence felt unsettling in some way, almost as though something was lurking in the bushes, about to jump out at them.

He slipped his hand into Greg’s and was rewarded with a comforting squeeze.

“Where’s your delivery today? Is it local-ish?” Allen asked, hoping to distract himself.

“Renton. So, yeah, not too far. I should be back by noon if—”

“And those photos that you took yesterday—when will they be ready? In case anyone calls to ask?” Allen cut in, stopping what he assumed was going to be Greg’s attempt to offer to meet him for lunch or something .

Burden. Don’t make him do anything extra. It’s disruptive. You’re being too much.

It was bad today. Much worse than Friday. Much worse than he remembered it being in a long time, in fact. His internal monologue seemed to be running rampant, anxious and on edge. He was fighting it at every chance, trying to tell himself he should go about his day, not be scared, not feel unsafe and unsure and all the things. But his brain continued to drown him with intrusive thoughts, telling him everything he was doing wrong, everything that would annoy and burden his husband.

Like having to take time out of his day to check in on Allen.

“I-I’m sorry,” Allen said quietly, when Greg didn’t immediately respond to his question. “I didn’t want you to feel...”

Greg’s hand released his, and his arm looped around Allen’s waist as they rounded a corner and the library came into view.

“I don’t feel that way,” Greg assured him. “I wouldn’t. I never have. I love you, and I would love to meet you for lunch today, if you’ll have a break.” Greg paused for a moment and sighed—not a frustrated or upset sigh, but more of a sad sigh. Or maybe a worried sigh. He continued in a quiet voice. “Yes, it’s partly because I do want to check on you midday. But I... I was also affected by yesterday, Allen.”

Greg slowed and stopped, his arm tightening around Allen.

“Of course you were. I-I’m sorry, I—”

With a quick shake of his head, Greg cut Allen off again.

“No. No apologies, please darling. But I know what you’re thinking, and I want you to understand. I need to see you later today—for me. For me, so I can know you’re okay. Because I’m scared to be away from you right now, not because I think you’re not capable of being on your own. Please, would you be okay if I stopped by around noon? ”

The effect was immediate. Guilt and nausea hitting him in an unpleasant rush. “Yes, of course. I’m—” Sorry. I’m sorry again. No, no, don’t say it. He doesn’t want you to say it. But, god... Allen screwed his eyes shut, his train of thought unable to stop him from apologizing again. It was a damn compulsion that he couldn’t control, and he hated it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Yes, I’d love to see you at lunch.”

Greg directed them to start walking again, though he was silent, and that just made Allen’s anxiety tick up another notch. He shouldn’t worry. But knowing he shouldn’t worry didn’t stop the worry from happening. And the closer they got to the library, the more everything just seemed to compound.

He stared straight ahead, but his heart began to thud in his chest, and when they got within view of the parking lot, little bits of leftover glass from the shattered windows of his car shimmered as they caught the bright sunlight. The car wasn’t there; it had been towed to a repair shop in Issaquah. Yet a rush of emotions still hit him.

“I-I need—I need a minute,” he said, forcing the words out as his feet rooted to the ground.

He saw it, even though it wasn’t there—his broken car, with its slashed tires and shattered windows. Pain erupted in his chest, and he clung tightly to Greg, gasping for breath.

“I just need a minute. Just a minute. Just a—just a minute,” he repeated, closing his eyes as Greg stepped in front of him. His husband’s familiar embrace surrounded him, and he let out a soft sob as he buried his head in Greg’s shoulder.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Greg soothed, his hands rubbing up and down Allen’s back. “Take all the time you need. You’re—you’re okay. You’re okay.”

The sound of Greg’s voice cracking made everything hurt even more .

This time, however, Allen managed to not apologize, and that was partly because he couldn’t speak anyway. They just stood there, holding each other, for what had to be several minutes. And when the aching in Allen’s chest finally subsided, he took a deep breath and managed to straighten up. He hadn’t actually cried, and he was grateful for it, though the tears were right there, ready to spill. It was already bad enough that he wasn’t quite as presentable as he’d usually be, having opted to wear jeans and a simple black sweater rather than his typical slacks and dress shirt. Adding puffy red eyes to the mix would just make things worse.

He felt a light kiss press to his forehead, and he was still shaking, even as he nodded to Greg and cleared his throat.

“I-I’m ready now. I think.”

Without a word, Greg took his hand, and they started walking again. Allen’s eyes darted from the parking lot to the building. Plywood had been rigged up to block the broken window, and the sight made his stomach turn.

“It really happened,” he rasped, without meaning to.

“Yeah,” Greg said quietly, and they stopped again, this time right at the bottom of the steps. Greg’s hand still held his tightly. “You can still decide to stay home today if you want. No one will fault you for it.”

He should. He should go home. For maybe the first time in his entire decades-long career, he didn’t want to be here. He could still hear the sounds of the glass shattering, the two voices shouting at him. He could still feel his heart racing, his breaths becoming unnaturally short.

And he didn’t really know.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what was best or what would be best for his long-term mental well-being. But he also hated how he was feeling, and something inside of him needed for him to fight it .

“I... I know I can, but I—but I need to stay. I need to . . . not let them—”

“It’s not letting them win,” Greg corrected gently. “It’s doing what you need to do for your own health and safety.”

“You’re right,” Allen said, though his voice still shook with uncertainty. “And I... But I need to...” He closed his eyes. “If I don’t do this today, I’m afraid, Greg. I’m afraid I won’t ever come back.”

He hadn’t even known it was the truth until he said it out loud, and he expected all the pushback he probably deserved. After all, it sounded wrong. Illogical. Irrational, even. Yet his husband just shifted again to loop his arm around Allen’s waist.

“I will support whatever decision you make. Always,” Greg said.

With a nod, Allen gritted his teeth and started up the steps, Greg following him.

***

The morning was a blur. Greg stuck around for fifteen or twenty minutes, until Annabeth showed up, and although Greg hadn’t said anything specific, Allen knew exactly why he’d stayed that long. He was thankful, really. He was glad he hadn’t been left alone. Even the thought of being there alone again brought his heart slamming to a stop.

So he was also glad that there were a lot of visitors who stopped by, too. It was a bit unusual for a Monday morning, when they typically only had a few people who came in to drop off books, maybe one or two to use the computers. Many of the visitors that morning brought gifts of support—more flowers, handmade cards, even some baked goods. And thankfully, when Shane Whitman and his wife, Lily, showed up around eleven to discuss the installation of the new window, Annabeth handled that for him.

It wasn’t until about noon when Greg showed up with lunch, ushered him off into the back office, and shut the door that Allen realized how badly his head was pounding and how fast his heart was racing.

He crossed his arms over his chest and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths as he watched Greg begin to unpack several containers of food from a small tote.

“I made that chicken salad you like—the one with the red grapes—and I stopped for some fresh croissants at Harvey’s Bakery. Plus I’ve got—” Greg stopped suddenly and frowned. “Sorry, I want to ask you how you are and how your morning went, but I don’t want to upset you, darling.”

Allen understood. He closed his eyes and nodded, then he reached out. Greg’s warm embrace was there immediately, and Allen felt his whole body relax for the first time that day.

“It wasn’t bad, really. This morning, I mean,” Allen started. Together, they moved to a small sofa pushed up against one wall of the office, their lunch momentarily forgotten. “There’ve been so many people who have shown up to drop off cards and flowers and make donations. We—we’ve received over twenty-six hundred dollars in donations just since yesterday. And three trays of brownies. I-I told Mrs. Gupta that it’s—it’s a really good thing you love chocolate so much. It’s been... incredible, really. And, um, well, as long as I’m distracted, it’s fine, I think. I’ve been fine. But it’s... hard. It’s really, really hard.”

That was certainly much, much more than he’d intended to share, and Allen shook his head as he stopped talking. Greg kissed his temple and continued to rub his upper arm, as he’d been doing nearly the whole time they’d been sitting there together. With a long sigh, Allen leaned against his husband.

“I can imagine how difficult it is,” Greg said quietly. There was a reluctance to his voice that Allen recognized well. And his next words seemed very carefully chosen. “You could take the afternoon off to rest, if you want.”

The gentle reminder was just that—a gentle reminder that he didn’t have to overcome everything today. He didn’t have to pretend like today was just like any other day, or like being here at work today was a normal thing.

And again, he wondered whether Greg was right. He didn’t feel well, either. There was a lightheadedness accompanying his nausea now, and his knees and back hurt, which didn’t really seem to be related to the previous day’s events or anything, but it certainly wasn’t really helping.

“I’ve got so much to do though. I want... to...” There was something in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite put words to yet, but he tried. “I don’t want... to—to let the community down—”

He felt Greg tense up next to him, and he shook his head.

“That’s not it, I mean. I’m not finding the right words. What I don’t want is for... That preschool group already canceled, and there’s nothing I can do about that. But the homeschool group—I want them to be here. I don’t want them to cancel. And I want... I want... the library to be here and open and accessible to anyone who needs it, whenever they need it. I don’t want there to be any doubt about what type of place this is, whether it’s...”

Something pulled at him, memories of when he was a kid, and he lifted his eyes to meet Greg’s, which were filled with a deep understanding and softness.

“...whether it’s a safe place. Of course, darling,” Greg murmured, his voice low and kind .

“So, I need to be here,” Allen continued, “to show that.”

Greg pulled him into another hug. “I understand. I do. Just don’t forget”—Greg kissed his cheek, then lingered with his lips still just barely brushing Allen’s skin—“that you need to think about yourself too.”

Allen’s chest tightened, and he closed his eyes and nodded a weak agreement. Then he settled his head on his husband’s shoulder with a long sigh. “We should have lunch now.”

“Sure, darling,” Greg said quietly, and after another moment, they stood together and headed back to the table.