16. Tallus

16

Tallus

W hat was meant to be a quick jaunt back to the Jeep came to an abrupt halt when one of the constables in the cemetery called us over. Worse, Diem threw up walls. A murderous look settled in his eyes at the summons. He didn’t gel with authority, so if I didn’t take control and defuse the situation fast, we’d be warming a cell for the night. I didn’t have Go to Jail on my Bingo card this year, so I planned to avoid it.

“What are you two up to?” The constable’s bushy white mustache danced when he talked. With thumbs hooked in his belt loops, he puffed his chest to make himself look bigger and more daunting. Wearing the stern cop face I saw at the office daily, the man didn’t look impressed. I was convinced they taught severe expressions at the academy, maybe made them practice in a mirror. Diem had pulled the same face more than once in the few months I’d known him, but he made it look sexy.

“We were heading back to our vehicle. We’re parked on Beecroft.” I pointed unnecessarily. “Quicker to cut through the cemetery than to go around. Is there a problem?”

The constable scanned us, lingering longer on Diem, shining the flashlight in his face. “Where are you coming from?”

“We were at a friend’s on Park Home Avenue,” I answered, even though he was still focused on scrutinizing Diem.

“Uh-huh. Been drinking tonight?”

“No, sir.”

“How about you?” The constable hitched his chin at Diem, and I caught a hint of smugness in his tone. Did the guy recognize Diem? Had they worked together in the past?

Diem shook his head in the negative, holding the officer’s gaze like they were in a to-the-death staring contest. I wrapped my fingers around Diem’s arm, hoping the contact would keep him levelheaded or remind him to breathe.

“You take recreational drugs?”

“No, sir,” I said louder, hoping to redirect his attention from Diem to me. But it didn’t work. The officer’s gaze remained fixed on the rage-filled brick wall to my left.

“No,” Diem bit out, jaw ticking.

I lightly squeezed his arm, hoping he’d get the message. The fact he hadn’t pulled away from my touch yet was astounding.

Constable Cranky Pants scanned us once more and waved to the path we’d been following. “Go on. Get outta here.”

I tugged Diem’s arm, encouraging him to move since we’d been given the green light, but he planted his feet and wouldn’t budge.

To the constable, he said, “Tell Sergeant Quartier Krause said hi.”

The constable huffed. “Do it yourself. You should thank me for letting you go so easily.”

“We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Yeah, I know your reputation, Krause. I could bring you in for any number of things, and no one would blink an eye.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Diem,” I hissed under my breath. “Do not call this friendly officer an asshole. I do not want to go to jail. Orange is not the new black. I don’t care who says it is. They’re wrong. Come on. Move your stubborn ass.”

I tugged his arm again. Still no juice, so I pulled a page directly from Diem’s book and growled under my breath.

The stubborn, surly man’s lips twitched as he flashed his still stormy gaze toward me.

“Did you just growl?”

“What? You can, and I can’t? Move your ass, you mule.”

Diem complied, and I didn’t release his arm until we were safely out of the cemetery and across Beecroft Road, standing on the sidewalk beside the Jeep.

“Fucking jerkoff,” Diem muttered under his breath, glaring back from where we’d come.

“Yes. Yes, he was. But we don’t need to tell him that to his face. I gathered you weren’t best pals with Constable Mustache back there, but here’s a life lesson for you, Guns. Are you listening?”

Diem’s caustic glare turned on me.

I grinned, unaffected. “Don’t piss off the people with the keys to the slammer.”

“He wouldn’t dare arrest us.”

“I don’t like taking chances. Listen closely, my sweet, oblivious nonboyfriend.”

“Stop calling me that.”

I cocked a brow, and he suddenly couldn’t look at me anymore. “Thought so. Guns, you might survive prison with all your height and muscles and scariness, but look at me.” I paused. “You’re not looking.”

He looked—from the corner of his eye.

I flung my arms out. “I’m a borderline twink. Do you know what happens to twinks in prison?”

“Believe me, you’re not a twink.”

“Believe me , that’s not the point. I’m cute, and I have a perky ass.” I displayed it, and he looked everywhere but. I laughed. “The point is, always be nice to the people with police badges. Please. For my sake, if for no other reason.”

Diem took a minute to get his growls out of the way. Then he visibly relaxed before mumbling, “I’m sorry.”

“We’re good. No hard feelings. Now, what do you think that was all about?” I thumbed over my shoulder to the cemetery.

“Drug bust.”

“Really?” I squinted through the dark, but other than the odd flicker of a flashlight, I couldn’t see what was happening.

“Parks, cemeteries, and schoolyards at night are hot spots. Happens all the time. If you haven’t hit your monthly quota, they’re perfect places for a cop to nail a few dealers, snag a hooker or two, or slap a few idiots with fines for possession or public intoxication.”

“Quota?”

Diem didn’t quite roll his eyes, but the expression gave the same vibe. “Technically, they don’t call it that. The department prefers the term productivity .” He added air quotes. “You have to hit certain marks of productivity in a day and a month, or you can get slapped with a warning. Places like this boost your productivity score if you’re running low at month’s end.

“Arrests and traffic violations are high hitters. Getting called out to a scene or giving warnings isn’t worth shit. It might eat up half your night but won’t score you a single productivity point if nothing comes of it. This place is golden.” Diem gestured to the cemetery. “Might take an hour or two at most to clean up the trash and get them booked, but then the constables can fuck around the rest of the night and sit on their asses.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“I mean, wow !”

“Fucking bureaucratic bullshit is what it is.”

“That’s not why I’m wowing, D.”

He frowned.

I smirked. “That was a lot of words in a row. You’re getting better at this communication thing. I’m proud of you.” I swung a finger between us. “We’ve got something here. We’re growing as a noncouple. Can’t you feel it?”

Diem, as usual, didn’t know what to do with the comment, so he grumbled indecipherably and wrenched open the passenger side door of the Jeep. “Shut up and get the fuck in.”

I did not point out that he’d opened the door for me again. His chivalry knew no bounds.

***

Diem’s hunch turned out to be right. When we got to Hilty’s office shortly before ten, the doctor’s BMW was parked in the lot, and a single window at the back of the building was illuminated. The storefronts surrounding us had all closed many hours ago.

I was at a loss for what to do and kept glancing at Diem for guidance, but the brooding man was, well, brooding and not paying attention to me at all. He was the real investigator, despite how often I played the game. I would have loved his opinion on what our next step might be.

“Hilty lied to us,” I said, hoping to break Diem out of his ponderous state.

He grunted in agreement.

“Why do you think he did that?”

Another guttural noise, one indicating he didn’t have a clue.

“What do you think’s in those files?”

Another grunt, but the longer I watched Diem, the more I wondered if his mind wasn’t elsewhere. Sometimes, he was easy to read. Other times, it felt like there was a whole world behind his eyes I knew nothing about.

I sighed dramatically. “You’ve gone monosyllabic again.”

“I don’t know,” Diem said through clenched teeth. “But when the asshole leaves, I’m going to find out.”

I perked up. “We’re breaking in?”

“No. I’m breaking in, and you’re going to keep watch.”

“Excuse me? My case, remember?”

Diem’s stomach interjected with a loud opinion.

I chuckled. “Is that so?” I scanned the block. “There’s a pizza joint down the street. Why don’t we grab food while we wait, and we can argue semantics once your belly is satiated?”

Diem grumbled in agreement. Before I could wonder about the state of my bank account, he fished a fifty out of his wallet, insisting on paying. I almost made a joke about how he was spending his bribe money on a nondate with his nonboyfriend but held my tongue, deciding that poking a hungry bear might not be good for my health.

We shared a large supreme—Diem ate nine slices to my three—as I did my best to keep the conversation rolling. It was mostly one-sided. I talked about my mom and stepdad. I told him about how I’d been having the occasional coffee date with my cousin, building a relationship as adults. I didn’t miss how Diem’s eye twitched whenever I mentioned Memphis.

Although I managed to squeak out the odd word from him here and there, for the most part, Diem listened and didn’t contribute more than an odd grunt. Again, his mind seemed far away.

The tension in Diem’s neck and shoulders loosened once he was fed. He grunted less but wasn’t any more communicative. Any time I teased him about our nonpartner, nonlover, or nonrelationship status, he grew distant. His gaze took on a thousand-yard stare, suggesting he wasn’t listening anymore.

By midnight, I was all talked out. Hilty was still inside, but boredom and the late hour were kicking my ass. At some point, I fell asleep slumped against the side window. The Jeep rumbling to life woke me a short time later. I startled and blinked, trying to bring the fuzzy world back in focus as Diem pulled from the parking lot.

“What’s happening?”

“Absolutely fucking nothing. Here.” He handed me my glasses.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. We’re done.”

“But… Is Hilty still there?”

“Yeah. I got tired of waiting and poked my head in the window. Buddy boy fell asleep on his couch. He isn’t going anywhere tonight.”

“Shit.” I stifled a yawn. “What about the files.”

“Doubt he takes them home. We can try tomorrow night.”

“What if he destroys them?”

Diem made a noise I didn’t understand, and I didn’t have the wherewithal to ask him to clarify.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

I sat upright and rattled my head to help me wake up as I glanced at the quiet street ahead. “No. My car’s at your house.”

“Your car’s at headquarters. I picked you up after work, remember?”

“Oh, right. You can drop me there, I guess. I can’t afford an Uber in the morning.” I lay my head against the headrest, but despite my efforts to stay awake, I was out cold again in ten seconds.

The next time I opened my eyes, Diem was calling my name. A dimly lit parking garage surrounded me, the faint glow of sodium lights illuminating Diem’s face. His anxiety wasn’t hidden.

Something was wrong.

I tried to clear my head, but the sleep fog persisted. We weren’t at headquarters. “I thought you were taking me to my car.”

Diem chewed on words for a long moment before mumbling, “We need to talk.”

I blinked several times at the scowling, tense man across from me as his words penetrated my groggy mind. Talk? Had Diem Krause suggested a conversation? I must have been dreaming.

“Talk?” I asked.

He gave a clipped nod, his warm skin tone unusually pale. He looked like he was going to vomit.

“About the case? Can’t it wait?”

“No.” A long pause. “Not the case.”

“Not the case?”

He shook his head.

Had it been anyone else in the world, I’d have argued that it was nearing one in the morning, my body battery was depleted, and I had to work the following day, but this was Diem. The man whose vocabulary consisted of more grunts and growls than words with syllables. The man who struggled with feelings and emotions and expressing himself on a good day. I’d spent half the night yapping his ear off, and he’d contributed a grand total of about six words.

Now he wanted to talk?

To me?

I didn’t know what it was about, but how could I refuse?

Groggily nodding, I exited the Jeep and headed up to his office in silence. Diem’s body language conveyed discomfort. He looked like a man being marched to the gallows, and again, a sense of unease worried my belly.

Of all the things I knew about Diem, there were a thousand more I didn’t.

In his private living space, I took a minute to say hello to Baby while Diem sorted himself out. As was typical, the poor guy didn’t know where to put himself. He spent a long time staring into the bowels of the fridge. If I had to guess, he was wishing a beer or a bottle of hard liquor would miraculously appear.

Baby was hidden inside her log, her thick muscular body coiled around itself. I didn’t love his pet snake. In fact, she gave me the heebie-jeebies and made my heart pound, but I understood her better. Or rather, I understood Diem’s connection to her. I understood why he related to a snake over a kitten or puppy.

“He’s a mess,” I whispered to the reptile. “Something’s been bugging him all night.”

Baby didn’t respond or give any hint she was listening.

“I think it’s because I kissed him yesterday. Did he tell you about that? Maybe he’s finally ready to talk about it.”

“I can fucking hear you,” Diem snapped. “The apartment isn’t that big.”

I chuckled and glanced from Baby to Diem. The brooding man paced, squeezing the life out of the rubber ball I’d given him months ago. “I wasn’t talking to you, Guns. Baby and I were chatting.”

No response.

Pacing.

Pacing.

Pacing.

The air pressure in the room increased.

I gave him another few minutes before deciding to intercept. I had a hunch we’d be there all night otherwise.

When I blocked his path, Diem stopped moving. Our gazes clashed and held. Deep pools of torment stared back at me.

Diem’s eyes reminded me of the ocean. Not the coastal, tropical parts that shimmered blue or turquoise, but the deepest, darkest depths in the middle. The part you might be lucky enough to see from an airplane on an international flight or observed from the deck of a transcontinental cruise ship. Like the ocean, Diem’s eyes held mysteries, dangers, and secrets. Like the ocean, there were parts of Diem that were inaccessible and unknowable to everyone.

“Why don’t we sit?” I suggested.

But Diem didn’t want to sit. His nostrils flared a few times before he jumped off a cliff, launching into a spiel like I’d never heard before. A damn burst. A volcano erupted. And little old me stood at ground zero. I got hit with the full effect of Diem’s innermost turmoil.

It was the most words I’d heard him speak in a row since we met. I didn’t interrupt, drowning in his sorrow. Some people spoke because they had something important to say. Others spoke because they desperately needed someone to listen. I didn’t know which this was, but if Diem was going to bare his heart, I would be there.

Every caustic word bled from deep within his soul.

“I got in my first fight when I was twelve years old. Until then, I’d gone my whole life being a punching bag, enduring someone else’s violent rages, too afraid to fight back or defend myself. But that year, a mouthy piece of shit named Bobby O’Connell decided to have something to say about my face and my fucking ear.”

Diem subconsciously reached for his mangled ear but didn’t touch it. “I initially ignored him. He wasn’t the first kid to tease me about my scars. I was used to it. But he egged me on and on and on. He kept pushing my fucking buttons until I snapped.”

Diem worked his jaw, audibly breathing a few times before continuing. “I don’t remember the fight. I saw red, and the next I knew, I was in the principal’s office with Bobby’s blood all over me and a broken nose because the fucker must have gotten a lucky hit in. I didn’t give a shit about getting in trouble. The school could give me detention until the end of time for all I cared. No big deal. But there I was, sitting on the bench with an ice pack pressed to my nose when my dad walked in.”

He was no longer in the present. Diem’s gaze was far away, locked in the past. “I knew whatever pain Bobby was in, whatever I’d done to him, was going to be returned to me a thousand times worse when I got home. Got suspended. I didn’t count on that, but it was good for Dad because the school never saw what he did to me. I was all healed up before I returned.

“In ninth grade, I was expelled for breaking a kid’s face against a brick wall. Knocked six of his teeth out. Broke his nose and fractured his cheekbone. All because he called me a sissy fucking faggot. I’d never felt more exposed in my life. No one was supposed to learn my secret. Again, I don’t remember the fight. It was like my brain shut off, and some fucked-up survival instinct took over. I turned into a machine. Punching. Kicking. Smashing the kid to a fucking pulp. I was told someone had to pull me off. Might have killed him otherwise. They expelled me for that.”

Diem swiped a hand over his mouth. It trembled. “I missed an entire school year and started somewhere new the following year. I was a grade behind. Didn’t know anyone. Made no fucking difference. That fight had awoken something inside me. A sense of power. Destruction. I was no longer the punching bag. I became an atomic weapon of war, ready to explode on a hair-trigger. Ready to destroy anyone who got in my way.”

He banged a fist against his chest. “I had so much anger inside me, I couldn’t contain it or control it. All I knew how to do was fight. All I wanted was to make other people hurt and bleed. Between tenth grade and my eventual graduation, I was in so many fistfights I lost count. I got nicknamed the D-Bomb, and I was out of fucking control.”

Spittle flew from his mouth when he spoke. About five and a half feet separated us. Part of me wanted to reach out and comfort him, but I knew better than to touch him at that moment. Diem was lost in memory. His soul was flayed open. I didn’t forget his mention of PTSD, nor did I forget that time months ago when he’d almost decked me because I’d touched him unexpectedly during a flashback.

Diem’s knuckles popped as he clenched his fist. Every word came from behind a clenched jaw, and his nostrils flared as he took a few deep breaths. He wasn’t finished. I could envision him counting backward from ten inside his head to calm himself.

“Not long after I graduated, before I went to the academy, I was drinking too much, doing drugs, and I got in a dozen bar fights a week.” His eyes narrowed, and I knew he was seeing one in particular. “I almost killed a man. Put him in the hospital. He didn’t… He didn’t press charges. I don’t know why. He should have. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe he realized too late that he’d instigated the whole mess and…” Diem shook his head like he was shaking away the past.

He looked me square in the eye. “I knew then that if I didn’t do something to help myself, I was going to end up behind bars or dead. I was so full of rage I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was eating me alive from the inside out. I wanted to hurt everyone and destroy everything. I really was a bomb, seconds from going off, but even I didn’t know how to stop it. So I reached out to the only person I trusted…”

Sorrow crossed his face. A different pain filled his eyes. “Nana got me into rehab and helped me find a therapist. She paid for all of it.” He huffed derisively. “Still does. She’s never let me help with the bill. It’s probably guilt.” He waved the possibility off and continued. “My doctor assured me multiple times that I don’t have an antisocial personality disorder, but I do tick a lot of the boxes. I’m impulsive and reckless. I have ongoing substance abuse problems, anger issues, and a distinct inability to communicate my thoughts and feelings, which can come across as lacking in empathy.”

Again, Diem paused as he seemed to gather himself. I read the caution in his next words. They came out quiet, almost whispered. “I don’t hit people anymore, even if I want to sometimes. I haven’t hit anyone since I was twenty-one, but the urge has never gone away. I punch a bag daily at the gym, but sometimes, it’s not enough. Sometimes, in moments of frustration, I hit walls or throw things. I yell when I’m angry. I’m a borderline alcoholic. I may have quit smoking, but I always feel like I’m one bad day away from starting again.”

He balled a fist and banged his chest again. “The anger lives inside me, Tallus. Right here. It doesn’t go away. Somedays, I have a better handle on it than others, but I will always be a ticking time bomb. I will always be unpredictable.”

Diem trembled, not with rage, I didn’t think, but from containing his emotions through his speech. I saw it in the way his skin strained at the corners of his eyes. In the firm set of his mouth between the long, heartfelt sentences. He had probably never spoken those truths to anyone before. Never exposed himself so thoroughly.

But the real blow was yet to come, and it had nothing to do with Diem’s brutal past and everything to do with the present and future. Only then did I realize his story was meant as a warning against my recent advances. Against my not-so-subtle suggestions of us taking things further.

He met my gaze and spoke definitively. “ This is why you should have nothing to do with me. I’m a bad person, Tallus. A stain on society. I’m not safe. I’m unstable and violent. I don’t know the first thing about romance and intimacy. I can’t give you what I don’t have. And besides,” he huffed, “I’m not worthy of a person like you. It takes all my strength to get from one day to the next. I’ve been in therapy for over ten years . Believe me, there will never be a day when I will be better. If it was possible, it would have happened by now. And there will never be a day when I’ll be good enough to have someone like you in my life. The sooner you understand that, the better… for both of us.”

He swiped a hand over his mouth again. It shook uncontrollably. In fact, Diem’s entire body vibrated. Beads of sweat speckled his forehead. I’d never seen him so undone. So raw.

He dropped the hand heavily by his side and glanced into the other room. The oceans of his eyes reflected profound sadness. Deep, unfathomable sorrow emanated from a place where no human could go. His torment was something he’d been handling solo for his whole life, and it slayed me. At least when the shit in my life had hit the fan, I’d had my mother by my side. She was my warrior. My savior. My one-woman army when I stood up to my homophobic father at fourteen.

But Diem had fought his war alone. Maybe he’d had his grandmother or grandfather, but there seemed to be a piece of the puzzle missing in that regard. I didn’t ask. It wasn’t the time.

I’d seen Diem in many moods—brooding, frustrated, angry, apprehensive, worried, distracted, pensive, and on and on—but not sad. Never sad. Sad and its counterpart, happy , were extremes Diem hid from me—perhaps from everyone. But the grief and remorse swirling in the dark gray waters of his eyes was unmistakable.

How could anyone hurt this much and keep it inside for so long without self-destructing?

As quickly as the sadness appeared, it disappeared, replaced by familiar simmering anger. I recognized it now as Diem’s defensive mechanism. Its root cause was not in question.

“You can go now.” He clenched his hands and teeth again. “That’s it. That’s all I have to say. I’m done. I hope that was enough fucking words for you.”

It was plenty. More than I’d ever expected. But they had the opposite effect Diem was going for. Instead of being repulsed by his stories of violence, I hurt for the child he used to be. The man he still was. Did no one wonder why he had so much anger inside? Did no one see that violence was all he’d ever known?

Had no one taught this man about love? Safety? Peace?

I had a million questions but now wasn’t the time.

Approaching him cautiously, I let him see my intent, telegraphing my moves. Diem wouldn’t look at me, and the guttural pain radiating from the dark pools of stormy gray cut me like a knife. He was a live wire, body so taut I thought his limbs might snap if forced to move.

I took his face between my palms. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he stiffened more. His breathing grew thready like he was fighting with all his might to stay in control and not jerk away or break down.

He let me touch him. He let me cradle his face. His sandpaper stubble rasped my palms when I tried to make him look at me. At first, he refused, but then he caved. But his gaze darted every which way, unable to settle.

“Tallus,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Tallus, you—”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

“But—”

I went to my toes and kissed him.