Page 3 of A Breath of Life (Shadowy Solutions #4)

Diem

S ummer clung to the city in the form of a thick, sticky cloud of humidity that was unacceptable for mid-September.

Even sundown offered minimal relief from the heat.

It dampened my skin with sweat as we strolled the busy downtown streets, my T-shirt sticking uncomfortably to my body.

Despite the conditions, I wore rugged jeans and army boots, unwilling to expose any more scars than was strictly necessary.

The canvas of war wounds that ravaged my frame was not something I willingly shared with the world.

My model-gorgeous boyfriend didn’t abide by the same guidelines.

He wore his fashionable silk shirt unbuttoned practically to his navel.

It showed off his hairless chest and trim figure in ways that made my tongue feel thick in my mouth.

In trendy shorts and sandals, Tallus’s legs went on for miles.

He’d balanced sunglasses on top of his artfully messy auburn hair, and when I pointed out the sun had gone down and he didn’t need them, he explained they were a fashion accessory, nothing more.

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but he looked good enough to eat despite the absence of his dark-framed glasses.

The days he wore contacts made me sad, but regardless, Tallus always looked good, no matter how he dressed.

Even fresh out of bed or rumpled from a hard fucking, he could win awards.

His walk spoke of a confidence I’d never known. It was something of a strut or a sashay. I didn’t know what to call it, but it drew the eye of men and women alike, no matter where he went. It made me unnecessarily possessive and growly. He’d called me out many times.

I stole random glances as we walked, admiring his physique, still in awe that he was mine, even though we’d been dating for a year and living together for the better part of our relationship.

I didn’t always understand what he saw in me, but I questioned it less as the months passed.

My therapist continually asked why I didn’t feel worthy, and my hundred-and-one excuses never got me anywhere.

Tallus and I shared a bed every night. Our sex life had astronomically improved—or at least I thought it had. His recent demands in the bedroom made me wonder if he was still not satisfied. I had learned to communicate far better than when we first started dating, but maybe it wasn’t enough.

Our relationship wasn’t perfect. Show me one that was. We had our issues, like any other couple on the planet.

Tallus was social, and I was not. People were drawn to him.

They feared me. He enjoyed going out dancing and partying.

I preferred staying in. Tallus had friends and a loving family.

I did not—unless I counted Nana, but ever since the hospital discharged her in the spring after a bout of pneumonia, she no longer recognized me.

I was as much a stranger as the men and women who cared for her, or I was a ghost from her past if I was anyone.

It broke my heart .

Tallus and I kept a slow pace, letting Echo be the guide. I hadn’t put on her working vest—something I usually did when we were out in the city—so she took liberties when it came to sniffing lampposts, benches, bus stops, subway vents, and anything within range of her leash.

Echo had earned a certificate as an emotional support dog. Even off duty, she never failed to keep an eye on me, always evaluating her charge, in tune with my temperament and ever-shifting moods. Alert, in case she was needed to calm me down.

Since she’d come into my life this past spring, the ground beneath my feet had stabilized.

I’d never known this level of peace. If I got worked up, Echo recognized my distress and did her job.

All it took was her undying affection and determination to steal my attention from whatever set me off, and all was right in the world again.

We stopped at a red light, and Echo sat at my feet, her golden eyes watching me like I hung the moon.

I offered her a smile and glanced at my boyfriend.

Tallus’s attention was far away, so when the walking sign appeared and he didn’t notice, I used it as an opportunity to take his hand—my brain still demanded excuses for initiating small affections—and drew him along.

The warmth of his grin touched my cheek, but I didn’t make eye contact, embarrassed at the bold gesture, knowing it was commonplace for most couples.

Tallus liked holding hands, but he rarely initiated, knowing I had to be in the right frame of mind, especially in public.

Tonight, I was calm and relaxed. I went with the flow as I fantasized about having him naked in bed later that evening.

“You’re thinking kinky thoughts, aren’t you, Guns?”

“You can’t read my mind. ”

“That’s what you think.” He squeezed my hand. Warmth filled my chest and bled through my veins. God, I loved him. I didn’t tell him nearly enough. Another barrier.

We continued down the street toward the Chinese restaurant, Echo sniffing everything, Tallus at my side where he belonged, our fingers weaved together.

I got lost again in our differences.

Diem, the penny-pincher. Tallus, the frivolous shopper.

My wardrobe, outside of gym clothes, consisted of plain shirts and rugged jeans. Tallus dressed for the runway.

I sweated my stress out at the fitness center in my spare time, and Tallus lazed on the couch watching reality TV, convinced exercise of any kind would surely put him in an early grave.

My personality veered toward reserved and quiet. Tallus was verbose, bright, and expressive. He adored being the center of attention.

When I got angry, I yelled and often needed to punch things. When Tallus got mad, he grew scrappy and sassy. He fought with words. I fought with fists but would never lay an unwelcome hand on him. I’d rather die.

Yin and Yang.

Day and night.

Heaven and hell.

Black and white.

Oil and water.

We shouldn’t work, but somehow, we did. We balanced one another.

“This way.” I directed us down a quieter side street, a shortcut to the restaurant, and drew Echo closer to my side as a man approached from the opposite direction .

The way he was dressed caught my attention. The long coat in the mid-September heat aside, he wore some sort of fancy satin vest with shimmering buttons, a white dress shirt underneath, a puffy tie, pinstriped trousers, a shiny black cane, and a bloody top hat.

The man looked like he had fallen from another era.

He stopped before passing by, holding up a finger and addressing us with a theatrical British accent. “Excuse me, fine sirs. Might I trouble you for the time? I seem to have misplaced my pocket watch.”

When all I could do was stare, Tallus provided him with the answer.

“Ah, very good. Very good indeed. I shall carry on then. Ta.” And with a skip and hop and a tip of his hat, he veered around us and continued down the street, leaving a faint cloud of alcohol, cigar smoke, and much confusion in his wake.

The city was full of weirdos, but that was new.

Tallus craned his neck, peering over his shoulder and watching the gentleman’s retreat. With a quiet laugh, he leaned into me, whispering, “Did you see that guy?”

“Yeah. Costume party? Actor?”

“Maybe. Christ, he was wearing a full Edwardian wardrobe. Historically accurate, too. Well, mostly. Impressive, though.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“His clothing. Edwardian. It’s a time period, Guns.”

“And you know this how?”

“Give me some credit. I know fashion. I bet that outfit cost a pretty penny. You can’t walk into any old store and buy stuff like that anymore. The Fletcher vest alone would be easily a couple of hundred dollars. Did you see those buttons?”

“They were shiny.”

He chuckled. “Shiny? You’re so observant.”

“What? They were. ”

“They looked like embossed silver. The morning coat was definitely wool. Merino, probably. That’s easily another thousand bucks.

Now, I’m not sure, but I think those were Christian Louboutin boots.

Not technically period-accurate, but they worked with the outfit. Easily eighteen hundred dollars, and—”

“How do you know what all these things cost?”

I didn’t have to see the eye roll to know it happened. “Fashion is my thing, Guns. All eras. Do you know how many hours a day I spend browsing high-end boutiques on the internet? Maybe I can’t afford that shit, but a boy can dream.” He sighed. “That’s what I should have studied in school. Fashion.”

“You hate studying.”

“Not the point.”

“Well, the top hat was ridiculous.”

“This from a man who wears a fedora in the colder months.”

I could have argued, but he was right. “His cane was stupid.”

“Aw”—Tallus used stage-worthy flair and a similar accent to what we’d heard a moment ago—“but without it, good sir, would he have truly been a high-class gentleman?”

My lips twitched, but I fought the smirk. I didn’t know how to respond when Tallus grew performative. I was not a man built for a battle of wit with words, so I continued in unaffected silence.

He chuckled and let it go.

At the restaurant, I gave Tallus my credit card so he could run in and grab the food while Echo and I waited outside.

My canine friend sniffed an alcove, an abandoned sleeping bag, and a bike someone had left chained to a post. I watched a streetcar rumble past, its interior lights showing passengers lost in their own worlds, reading, listening to music, sleeping, or engaged on their phones .

Tallus returned ten minutes later, peeking inside the full paper bag with a wide grin. “Gah, it smells amazing. My tummy is growling. I want to sit on the curb and devour it right now. I’m starving.”

“Did you eat anything today?”