13. Tallus

Diem seemed drenched in guilt over the reactive response he had back at Beth’s. He couldn’t look at me, was incapable of sitting still, and had decimated his fingernails by incessantly biting them. In the past few hours, he could barely put two words together, which was typical but seemed far worse since leaving Beth’s. I didn’t press the issue.

He was wound tighter than a spring, and I wanted him to know I wasn’t afraid. Yes, I’d been momentarily paralyzed when his boulder-sized fist had swung toward my face, but he’d caught himself in time.

“Don’t freak out. I’m going to touch you,” I warned.

“You’re what?” Diem tensed and flashed his attention from the motel door to me with questions in his eyes.

I displayed my hand before bringing it closer and removing his fedora. It frustrated me how it shadowed his face and prevented me from seeing him properly.

“Eyes forward, soldier. Trust me.”

Diem glared. I glared back with mock intensity. When I didn’t explain myself, he returned his gaze to the motel, but his muscles were so taut they could have sung.

Carefully, cautiously, giving him time to process, I brought my hand to his head and massaged my fingers over his scalp, scraping my nails gently over the surface. His shorn hair was incredibly soft. Much softer than it looked.

“My mother used to do this to me when I was little,” I explained. “It helped calm me down when I was upset. My father would argue she was too soft with me and I shouldn’t be coddled, but she never listened and did it anyway.”

At first, Diem remained tense.

“Breathe, Guns. We’re okay.”

He took a shaky inhale and let it out too fast.

“Again. Slower this time.”

I didn’t pull away. His throat bobbed, but he listened. In and out. Over and over. I continued to slowly and methodically offer a tender caress. It was like he didn’t know what to do with the contact, and it took him an exorbitant amount of time to relax.

But he finally did.

When his breathing evened out, I considered it a win.

When he pushed against my hand, encouraging more, I chuckled. “You have a big fucking head, Guns.”

He made a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a huff. “I know. My mother never failed to remind me she birthed me naturally and how my head was the biggest obstacle.”

“Considering your stubbornness, I’m not surprised you came out with a noggin this size.”

He closed his eyes for a minute while I worked. I dug my fingers deeper, applying more pressure.

After thirty minutes of massaging his scalp, my arm grew numb from being elevated, so I lowered it to my lap and fiddled with the brim of his fedora instead of giving it back.

“Feel better?”

“A bit.”

“Good.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Anytime.” The silence grew uncomfortable again, so I tried for conversation, expecting to fail. I’d found a tag on the inside of the hat. A name was printed on the label, but it was too faded to read. “What did you say your grandfather’s name was?”

“Boone.”

Boone. I saw it now. I traced the name with a finger. “How did he die?”

“Bad heart. He got eighty-five years out of it. Better than some people, I guess.” Diem’s voice was quiet and wistful. It was the first time it didn’t feel like pulling teeth to get words out of him.

“Were you close?”

“Yes. Sort of. I’m closer to my nana. Boone was always working. Never stopped. Worked until the day he died, but I loved spending time with him when he was home. He liked fixing stuff in his shop. He invited me to help sometimes. Clunky toasters. Radios. A gramophone once. I’d never seen one of those before. He bought it at a junk store for three dollars. He loved going to junk stores. Took me with him sometimes. He’d be a hundred and one today if he was still alive.”

“Incredible.”

Diem trailed off. I watched his expression in the shadow of the Jeep. He seemed far away in his head. Lost in time and space. I wanted to ask about the scars on his face, about his disfigured ear, and the tattoos along his forearm under his coat, but I knew those topics were out-of-bounds.

“I don’t know my grandparents. Mom’s parents are out in New Brunswick, so I’ve seen them maybe five or six times my whole life. I’m not in touch with my dad’s side of the family anymore, and my stepfather is older than Mom, so his parents were long gone before they met. It’s why I love hanging out with Kitty. She gives me grandma vibes.”

“Ms. Lavender is good people.”

“She is. She makes me laugh. Spunky old broad. Smart too. Did you know she’s a witch?”

Diem made that same noise again. Not a laugh, not a grunt. Something in between. I liked it. It suggested contentment, and I wasn’t sure Diem was ever content. Were we making progress?

After one, I grew tired and fought a battle with my eyelids to stay awake. My head dipped more than once before I gave up and leaned against the side window. I wasn’t sure when I fell asleep, but I was awakened with a start.

“Wake up,” Diem hissed. “We’ve got action.”

I jolted upright, confused and disoriented. “I’m not asleep.” I totally was.

It took a second to get my bearings. The world was fuzzy and indistinct.

The rain had abated at some point, and as I peered out the window, I realized why everything was so blurry. My glasses were gone. Before I could ask what had happened to them, Diem passed them to me. “Here. Didn’t want you to break them.”

I fit them on. “Thanks. What’s happening?”

Diem gestured out the windshield as Beth and the man we knew only as the elusive bastard left the motel room.

Beth went to her car, and the man followed. He wore tan trousers and a white buttoned shirt. No tie. He carried extra weight around the middle and was balding—something we’d assumed but hadn’t been able to confirm until now. I couldn’t pin an age on him, but he looked as old as my stepfather. Sixties maybe?

“What do we do?” I asked.

“We wait until he gets in his car and follow him.”

The man saw Beth off, staring after her vehicle as she drove away. When Beth’s taillights vanished down the empty road, the man scanned the parking lot. I slumped in my seat, and Diem did the same, tipping his hat over his face.

“Does he see us?”

“Doubt it. Windows would be too dark to see through at night.”

The man persisted, scanning everywhere like he had a sixth sense we were out there watching. After a few minutes, seemingly satisfied, he ducked his head and walked toward the sidewalk before heading toward the closest main intersection.

“Where’s he going?” I asked.

“No idea.”

Diem waited until the man was almost out of sight and turned over the engine. I wasn’t skilled in surveillance or trailing people, but following a pedestrian when we were in a vehicle seemed tricky.

“Shouldn’t we go on foot? If he’s walking, we can’t exactly follow without him seeing us. The streets aren’t busy at this time of night. We’ll stand out.”

Diem seemed to consider and turned off the Jeep. He didn’t praise me for my idea, but it felt good he considered my advice. We followed the man, hustling to catch up before we lost him but staying a good fifty or sixty yards back, sticking close to the buildings where it was more shadowed.

Between the weather and the time of night, the streets were empty, and there was a much higher chance of us getting caught, especially since the guy seemed squirrely. The man turned around more than once, but we slipped out of sight easily. He kept a steady clip for several blocks, turning onto a busier road that was more lit up.

We’d gone five blocks when the man stopped about fifteen feet from an intersection. I was about to open my mouth and ask what he was doing when a city bus pulled to the curb, and the man got on.

“Shit,” Diem muttered. “Motherfucker.” He spun and hightailed it back to the Jeep at a sprint.

I was not a runner on a good day, and it took effort to keep up. Diem’s legs were much longer than mine, and it was clear his gym time was not strictly spent lifting weights.

But we were too late.

By the time we got the Jeep and returned to where the man had caught the bus, we were screwed. A quick investigation of the bus routes told us three buses operated along that stretch of road, and all three picked people up at the stop the man had used. The routes headed in vastly different directions around the city. Since we hadn’t noted which bus he’d gotten on, we had no way of knowing what way to go.

Diem was not happy, and we parked illegally at the bus stop for several minutes as he took his frustration out on the steering wheel.

After all those hours, the night had turned out to be a bust. It was past two, and both of us were worn out.

“What now?” I asked.

“We’re done.”

Reluctantly, Diem headed to the office, but when he asked where I’d parked my car so he could drop me off, I hesitated and didn’t answer.

“Tallus. Car. Where is it?”

“Let me come up,” I said.

“It’s two thirty in the fucking morning.”

“So?”

“I—”

“Let me come up, D.”

Diem wore a familiar look of uncertainty, but he didn’t continue to argue. He parked in the lot across from his building. The congested, construction-blocked road contained no traffic, so we crossed easily, unlike during the daytime. Under the unused scaffolding, we entered and aimed for the stairs.

Three flights up an echoey and damp stairwell. Down the hallway lined with a moldy brown carpet.

Diem adjusted the crooked sign outside his office before letting us in.

No words were spoken. He vented nervous energy.

Diem crossed the office space without turning on a light and entered his private living quarters. From there, he aimed for the fridge. The man didn’t function well without crutches. I’d seen him battle the urge to smoke all night, choosing gum and biting his nails. Now, he needed to lean on alcohol because I’d invited myself up, and he didn’t know how to tell me no.

When he offered me a beer, I shook my head. “I’m good. Do you have water?”

He tossed me a bottle. The plastic crinkled when I caught it, piercing the quietness of the room.

When Diem hesitated to open his beer, I urged him to go ahead. He drank deeply, eyes never leaving mine. A hundred questions brewed in his stormy grays. After he’d emptied over half the bottle, I removed it from his hand and set it aside with my water.

His muscles tensed when I encroached on his personal space. With the counter at his back, he had nowhere to go. I reminded myself Diem may not do well if he felt trapped or cornered.

“Touch me.” I held his gaze challengingly, my voice barely a whisper. “I know you want to, Diem.”

“I… I can’t.”

“You can. I want you to. I give you permission.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be. I’m not a nice person.”

“I don’t know who told you that, but they’re wrong.”

His throat bobbed.

I tugged my tie loose and pulled it over my head. Tossing it aside, I undid the buttons on my shirt one at a time, my gaze locked on Diem’s face.

He didn’t seem to know where to look. Twice, his attention moved to the beer I’d removed like he longed to pick it up and drain it, like he wanted fifteen more to help calm his nerves.

“Watch me,” I said.

He tried. I had to give him credit for the effort, but it was a struggle. His mind seemed to rebel against his body.

“Come on, D. I’m sure you fuck guys all the time. Why is this so hard for you?”

“It’s… You’re not the same.”

“Why? How?”

He didn’t answer.

With my shirt undone, I reached out, ensuring he saw the movement and my intent, and took his hand. I brought it to my abdomen, placing it on my bare skin over my ribs. His palm was sweaty, and a tremble radiated through his fingers, but lust swam in his eyes.

“Touch me,” I said again. “I know you want to.”

Fearing he’d pull away, I kept my hand anchored over his, holding it against me, letting him feel the warmth of my skin.

The color drained from Diem’s face, and his stormy gaze remained locked on my collarbones as I moved his hand over my ribs and across my sternum. I’d never been able to grow much chest hair. What did grow, I had waxed. I was naturally lean—most people were envious of my high metabolism—but I wasn’t muscular. I didn’t sport a six-pack or have a defined V-cut leading to my pelvis. Those were for bodybuilders and gym freaks, of which I was not.

Regardless, Diem’s ragged breathing suggested he appreciated what I did have.

“I almost hit you.” His words were choked.

“Almost, but you didn’t.”

“I—”

“Shh.”

I drew his hand up, over my pecs, along the side of my neck and jaw, and held it near my mouth, grazing my lips over the pads of his fingers, teasing one with my tongue. Diem sucked in a breath and held it.

I smiled. “Do you like that?”

He didn’t respond.

I guided his hand down, following the middle of my chest, snaking it lower. At my navel, I released my hold, hoping he wouldn’t jerk away.

He didn’t.

“Touch me, Diem.” I used his full name and none of the silly nicknames I’d adopted, hoping to penetrate the concrete barrier keeping him motionless.

His fingers twitched. He wanted to. I felt it. I knew it.

It would have been easier to strip naked, bend over the couch, and let him fuck me like last time. I had no doubt Diem would have done away with intimacy altogether and gone for it, but it would be as cold and impersonal as before, and although I wasn’t looking for great acts of love, I wanted more than a clinical fuck.

I was horny after a night of inactivity. I’d missed out on drinks at Gasoline, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I had a thing for the brooding giant despite his oddities. Maybe I had a thing for challenging situations, and Diem was the definition of challenging.

He managed to keep his hand on my skin for another minute. It didn’t move up or down or side to side. Then, it was just his fingertips. Then air. I didn’t berate him or put his hand back when it fell to his side. I removed my shirt instead and put it with my tie. Backing up a step, I unbuttoned my pants and lowered the zipper, sneaking a hand inside and stroking myself over my underwear.

“Fuck,” Diem rasped under his breath.

“Do you have a condom?”

He nodded, gaze locked on the attention I was giving myself below.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Another nod, faster than the first.

Diem was stuck in a trance, biceps like iron, hands grasping the counter behind him so tightly his knuckles were white. With his lips slightly parted, he watched me strip to my underwear, kicking my shoes aside.

Diem’s tented pants announced he was onboard. The beer seemed long forgotten. Good.

“Don’t just stand there, Guns. Pay me some attention.” I swayed my hips from side to side. “Don’t make me regret this.”

He winced.

Without inhibition, I shoved my underwear down until they pooled around my ankles. Naked, ready, and more than willing, I waited for Diem to take what I knew he wanted.