Page 22 of Hush

He spat his pencil out and smiled back. “Hey.”

“Hello yourself, Your Honor.” Mike’s eyes sparkled. “I have to say, I’ve never seen a judge sitting on his floor before.”

Tom straightened his tie, trying to collect his dignity. He set the book he was reading to one side. Rules of evidence could wait. “I realized I was building a fort on top of my desk. I figured you were about to tell me it was a safety hazard. That if you couldn’t see me from the doorway, then you’d have no idea if I was truly alive or dead behind all those books.”

Mike laughed. He held out his hand. “I’m not worried you’re going to drop dead on me. You’re too young for that.”

Warmth flooded Tom’s chest, and his shoulders straightened, drew back. He took Mike’s hand and clambered up. Mike’s grip was firm, his hold gentle. He thought Mike’s hands would be rough, but they were smooth, practically soft. Callused just a bit on his thumb and his finger. He took care of himself.

Mike let go first, and Tom turned to his desk, tossing his pencil on his blotter as he exhaled. “You think I’m young, huh?”

“You’re no Chief Judge Fink.”

Tom whistled and shook his head. “He is ninety-six-years-old. Incredible.”

“If I live to be ninety-six, I won’t still be working.”

“Oh, come on.” Tom leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms. “You’d be a great ninety-six-year-old marshal. Standing post in the courtroom, leaning on your cane with your badge and your gun. By then it will probably be a laser or a sonic-something, though. Something high tech that will make us feel really ancient.”

“And I’m sure I’d have to help you off the bench so you could go talk to the jury. You’ll keep doing that even when you’re ninety-six, I bet.”

He winked. “It’s just around the corner.”

“You’renotthat old.”

How could he be both thrilled and depressed at the same time? Mike, saying he wasn’t that old, wasn’t a dinosaur, that he didn’t see him as an old man. He was no Chief Judge Fink. But, the truth of it was, he was still too old for Mike. Too old for popped collars and a smooth, sleek face. Too old for the men onGrindMe, even.

He took a breath and pasted his polite smile on, his judicial smile, the little quirk of his lips that he used in court. “How can I help you?”

Mike frowned and leaned back slightly, and a wariness settled in his eyes. “I… noticed you were here pretty late for the past two weeks. Just wanted to check in on you.”

His smile softened. “Thanks. I’m buried in a white-collar crime case. Embezzlement. I’m…” He nodded to the stacks. “Trying to get a handle on case law and precedent. The evidence is detailed, and a lot of it is challenged. I have to rule on evidence every day, and I want to make sure my opinions are well-grounded in legal fact. I don’t want the appeals court to overrule me because I didn’t know enough.”

“Sounds like a lot. Is it almost through?”

“Yes. Thank God.” Tom smiled as he crossed his arms. “I have never been so happy to see the end of a case.”

Mike’s small frown faded. “If you’re busy, I can leave you to your reading—”

“No, I need a break. I’m going cross-eyed.” He scrubbed his face, his fingers rubbing his eyelids and pressing on his eyeballs. What time was it, even?

“Can I repay your generosity, then?”

Tom opened one eye, staring at Mike.

“Can I buy you dinner?” Mike spoke like his offer was an easygoing nothing, like his words were the easiest thing in the world to say. Like they didn’t have any deeper, richer meaning to them. Like they weren’t what Tom had been longing to hear for twenty-five long years, and, more recently, for the past several weeks, ever since Mike had begun starring in Tom’s personal fantasies.

He boggled, blinking, frozen.

“I never got a chance to repay you for lunch. When we went out for BBQ?”

Mike was trying to jog his memory. Oh, heremembered. He remembered every moment of that lunch, of that day. Swallowing, Tom nodded. “You don’t have to pay me back—”

“I want to. Something simple. You haven’t eaten, and you said you need a break, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“What do you feel like? Mexican? Indian? BBQ again?”