Page 117 of Hurt

Tony was finally able to pry Owen off, knocking him into the street. Without casting a second glance back, he took off down the street with his head down. He whipped out a cellphone and pressed it to his ear.

Once he disappeared, Owen felt like he could breathe again.

“Okay. I did it. I stuck it to the inside of his belt.”

The comm crackled with Jamie’s unrestrained laughter. “OHMYGOD. You were clinging to him like a koala!”

“Shut up!”

“What? Did you think he would hold you?” Jamie howled on the other end of the comm.“‘Hey, Mister!’”he mimicked in a high voice.

“I got the damn thing on!” Owen hissed, picking himself up. “I’m pretty sure that took five years off my life, asshole.”

The gunshot had drawn a crowd, and Owen knew he would have to get out before the cops came. Heart hammering, he ducked down a side street and ignored the gleeful laughter in his ear.

“Oh baby, come here. Let me kiss it better.”

“Jamie, I’m going to ram that gun so far up your ass you’ll be spitting out gunpowder for a week.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Fucking Weavers, Owen thought for the hundredth time that day.

The can of soda had grown warm. It hung precariously over the edge of the roof, loosely clasped between his fingers. Elijah wondered what would happen if he simply…dropped it. He pictured the flat soda plummeting the four stories to the ground and splattering all over the sidewalk. Lukewarm Coke would paint the dumpster beside his building like a Jackson Pollock painting.

He knew he wouldn’t act on these intrusive thoughts, but he was mildly alarmed by how close he came to wanting to.

There was a warm breeze kissing his face. It smelled like old cooking oil from the Mexican restaurant two blocks away. Arms crossed, he was leaning against the railing around the roof of his building. There wasn’t much of a view, just a sea of squat flat-roofed buildings as far as the eye could see. Even the stars were difficult to see. The glare from the city’s lights was too strong for the celestial glow to break through.

He doesn’t usually come to the roof, but he was craving some solitude tonight. It felt like his thoughts were too big for his head. The more attention he gave to them, the worse they got—growing bigger and rowdier until he could no longer function.

Elijah hated smoking but standing out here with nothing to do gave him a small insight as to why people did it. He craved something to do with his hands. Something besides holding onto a can of flat soda.

He had seen violence before. He had inflicted violence before. But what Grant had done was haunting him. That might be the first time he was so close to such fury. It felt a little bit like when you open the oven and get that rush of heat scalding your face. That’s what standing next to Grant had been like. He only opened the door a little, yet so much rage and hate crept out that Elijah was afraid they would all be burned.

The Weavers were hardly the softest or most innocent people. But they had neverenjoyedinflicting pain. It was part of their job—like filling out expense reports to an accountant. An unpleasant but necessary task they used to get their job done. But that had felt different. Grant had wanted that man to suffer and seemed disappointed when he gave up the information, and his interrogation had to stop.

It was easy to forget that the affable man could be vicious. Especially when Elijah saw him with Kurt. Grant radiated a softness with the grumpy bartender. A desire to protect and support. His love was palpable.

Elijah could hardly reconcile the two parts of the man.

Still, he was grateful that they got the information. More than that, it served as a reminder as to who he really was. They could play at being average people, but inside they were monsters. Having Noah so close to him lately had been a sweet form of torture. They fell into a sort of easy routine—laughing, talking, and just being in each other’s company came so naturally. He felt good around Noah. More than he had ever felt around anyone else.

They shared a similar taste in music, although Noah tended to be more eclectic and varied while Elijah stuck with safer options. They both enjoyed comedies, and it was a pleasant surprise to discover that Noah also liked disaster movies with low budgets and cringey acting.

Every day made it clearer that Elijah’s first impression of Noah was correct. But it also reinforced that if he genuinely cared for him, he should keep his distance.

“You’re thinking loudly.” The object of his affections said as he joined him at the railing.

Noah was wearing Elijah’s clothes. They fit him perfectly, and the sight made Elijah’s stomach twist. Like the world was mocking him by showing him all the ways they matched.

“Lot to think about,” Elijah hedged.

“I would ask you to tell me about it, but I know you won’t,” Noah said with a put-upon sigh. “You’ll just get that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“Like a parent whose kid has just asked them where babies come from.”