Page 37 of Hush

“I need to go freshen up.” Kris hopped to his feet and stretched, rolling his neck. “I smell like dirty balls and stank ass.”

“That’s ‘cause you have dirty balls and a—” Jon laughed and rolled away as Kris tried to kick him. They squabbled, Kris snapping at Jon and Billy as Aaron and Carlos gathered their things.

Mike stood and held out his hand for Tom. Etta Mae woke and shook, and Tom reached for Mike. His hand was warm, and fit right in his grasp, his skin soft and rough in all the right places. A shiver ran down his spine, imaginary fingers that ghosted over his skin. He tried not to show how weak his knees went. “So, where are you guys going?”

“The Tap Room. It’s a chill place to kick back. It’s off K Street, by Dupont Circle.” Mike slung a backpack over his shoulder.

“Sounds great.”

The rest of the guys bled away, Kris leading them toward Constitution Ave, but Mike stayed behind. He fidgeted, his hands playing with the strap of his backpack. “I’d invite you to come along. I mean, you’re notnotinvited,” he said quickly, rolling his hands as he spoke. “It’s just— It’s a gay bar.” He sighed, his expression tightening. “And, I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable with that. I mean, you’re a judge, and…” He rolled his hands again, gesturing like he was signaling to invisible pieces of evidence, exhibits A through Z of Tom’s Potential Bad Decisions.

Hewasa judge. That wasthereason he was in the closet, right? He couldn’t be both gayandlive his life. His old professor, and society, had made that abundantly clear. He couldn’t appear…

Couldn’t appear what? Like he was alive? Like he was a man? Like he was a living, breathing human being with wants and desires and dreams of his own?

There were ten other openly gay judges.

Why couldn’t there be eleven?

Fear crawled up his bones like roots sprouting from the earth, spewing rationalities and excuses that flayed his trembling courage. This was too fast, too much. An afternoon in the sun, hanging out with Mike. That was more than he deserved. Anything beyond that was pushing the boundaries of good sense.

But… he could test the waters, perhaps. Go and step into a gay bar again. Be among his people. Get a lay of the land. And, if he was spotted, if he was asked, if his name appeared in the papers or was spoken about in hushed voices, he could say he was there with friends. Just there with friends.

He was a shitty person, thinking the thought. Using Mike and his friends and this offer as a way to test his extremely pathetic courage. Just call him the cowardly lion. He was a man with training wheels still attached. Did he have floaties on his arms, in case he went into the deep end of life?

Mike stared at him, biting his bottom lip. A question hung in his perfect blue eyes, the color of the sky above their heads. The corners of his eyes were pinching, and he started to look away.

“I’d like to go with you guys.” Tom swallowed. “I had a great time. I haven’t had this much fun in…” He blew out, losing count of the years, the decades. “I like your friends. I’d love to stick around, if that’s okay?”

Nodding, Mike smiled, exhaling like he’d held his breath. “Yeah, ‘course. They like you, too. I think Kris has a little crush on you.” He pushed his shoulder into Tom, a gentle, playful nudge, and started walking.

Tom laughed, his cheeks burning. Etta Mae trotted ahead, tired after her day at the Mall. She didn’t pull as hard on her leash. “I need to drop Etta Mae off at my house first. She needs dinner and I know she wants a nap.” Etta Mae turned her head, as if agreeing.

“I’ll walk you.”

He couldn’t say anything that would convey the warmth in his chest, the feeling of the sun rising rose gold in the sky just for him, so he said nothing at all.

He invited Mike in when they got to his place. Mike whistled as he walked up, eyeing the old DC style, the Victorian trim and historic neighborhood. “I wanted a place like this. Alas. Government salary.”

“I understand completely. I saved for years.” Tom let Etta Mae off her leash and she trotted inside, heading straight for her water bowl. “Bathroom is there, if you need it.”

While Mike ducked into the hall bathroom, he poured ice into Etta Mae’s bowl—she was waiting expectantly; she only drank chilled water—and then started prepping her dinner. By the time Mike reappeared, his face washed, hair wetted and combed, and sporting a zip-up hoodie that was obviously two sizes too small, Etta Mae was halfway through her dinner.

Tom looked at Mike and then down at himself. “Should I change?”

“What? No, you’re fine.”

Tom arched both eyebrows at Mike, slowly. “You look like you’re about to break the seams on that hoodie and I…” He waved his hand over his rumpled polo.

Mike’s cheeks flared crimson, and he looked away, looked down, coughed and shoved his hands in his hoodie’s front pockets. “You look fine, Judge B.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll be right back.” He headed for his stairs. “Let her out when she’s done, please.”

He sprinted for his bedroom and his closet. Jesus Christ, what should he wear? He ransacked his shirts, pulling out t-shirts and polos and discarding them as quickly as he tore them from their hangers. A pile appeared behind him, more shirts on the ground than on the rack. Cursing, he grabbed a long-sleeve gray pullover, a cotton shirt from an amateur swim competition he’d participated in years ago. It had shrunk a bit in the wash. He squeezed into it, and stared at himself in the mirror.

Well, it showed off his shoulders, and if he pulled up the sleeves, his forearms looked decent. It hugged his hips, too. At least he’d never developed a belly.

The door downstairs opened and shut, and he heard Etta Mae’s nails on his hardwood. Time to go. On the way, Tom grabbed a ball cap and plunked it on his head, and then thundered down the stairs. “All right, I’m ready.”