Page 21

Wiliam

Safe Haven had a system in place for visitors. There were days designated for family and friends. But outside of that, no one without pre-authorization was allowed to just “drop by,” or show up at the facility. Authorized visitors were sequestered in areas where visits took place, private rooms on the third level of the community hall, right above the floor where the classrooms and yoga studio were located. When the weather permitted, the courtyard and gardens were safe zones too.

Visitors weren’t allowed to roam freely. They were provided a Safe Haven liaison to escort them to and from their meeting place. Most of our residents were hesitant to strangers, and our number one priority was providing them a safe place.

Residents were free to come and go as they wished. We weren’t running a prison system, and saw it as a great improvement when they felt strong enough to venture outside on their own. It brought them one step closer to starting a productive life outside of our walls.

Many knew me as the founder, and were always grateful and happy to see me stroll through Safe Haven’s doors. But there were others, survivors who’d more recently arrived and had yet to meet me. They would be leery. I didn’t want to be treated differently, didn’t want any special privileges. So I went through the proper protocols before showing up for my lunch with Ryan.

A group of young women I’d met before hung out in the sitting area playing cards. They smiled and waved as Peggy led me through the community hall lounge and into the dining area.

“You’re soaking wet.”

“I rushed out of the car without my umbrella. Felt pointless going back for it.”

“An umbrella won’t do you any good in this weather anyway. There’s a coat rack in the kitchen.” We weaved through the unoccupied tables toward the swinging doors in the back.

“As you know, communal lunch ended at one. If anyone wants to eat before dinner, they can do so from their residence. You two will be alone.”

Ryan’s strict instructions to get here after one made sense now. He’d wanted to make sure we were uninterrupted. I’d been too thrilled about seeing him again to pick up on that. He’d planned this out with purpose, and my stomach fluttered with excitement.

“He’s nervous, you know.”

“Wait, did he say that?”

“No, Mr. Fickle—as I like to call him—hasn’t uttered a word. But I caught him staring into the rainy parking lot a couple times.” She stopped with a hand on the kitchen door, lowering her voice. “And he changed his outfit three times.” She smiled as though she were fond of him, then pushed the door open and gestured for me to go in.

Ryan sat at an intimate table for two in the rear of the kitchen, hunched over a piece of paper resting in a manila folder. From the way his pencil worked, as if he were shading something in, I assumed it was a sketch. The door closed behind me, leaving us alone.

“Hi,” I said, and he scrambled to his feet, his pencil rolling onto the floor. He’d been too preoccupied to hear me enter. “What are you drawing there?” I craned my neck to see as I hung my satchel on the coat rack. Ryan frowned, slamming the folder closed, amusing me.

“I miss your frowns,” I said, then remembered the nickname Peggy called him, “Mr. Fickle.”

Ryan looked at the door and his features turned tender. He had a soft spot for the older woman too.

I hung my wet trench coat next to my satchel. Ryan studied the green sweater I wore at his request. There was no denying the heat in his gaze when our eyes met again.

“You look nice,” I said. He wore a vintage Stone’s t-shirt with the short sleeves rolled above his shoulders. He complimented the look with slim fitting jeans and black loafers. I’d only ever seen him in the clothes I’d picked out for him. Sweats and basic-tees mostly. This new, stylish look suited him. He seemed comfortable in his own skin.

He whipped his phone from his back pocket and typed something into it. My phone chirped behind me. I fished it out of my bag.

Ryan: I got my first paycheck last week. Peggy helped me get a prepaid debit card, then showed me how to shop online. I thought it looked cool.

“It looks really good. Shows off your muscles.” I wiggled my brows and felt satisfied when he grinned.

Ryan: I’m lifting weights with Shawn now.

“You and Chef Shawn seem to be getting close,” I said wryly. Ryan’s lips twitched.

Ryan: Jealous?

“Of course. Shawn’s a good looking guy.” I aimed for playful, but only halfway succeeded.

Ryan: You’ve noticed?

“And you haven’t?” I scoffed, laughing when he shrugged his shoulders.

We spent the next few minutes taking each other in, appreciating all the things we hadn’t seen in a while, and taking inventory of the things that weren’t the same.

Ryan: Your hair looks different.

“Ah, yeah. I let it grow for a few weeks, then got a haircut. This is how it was when you met me.” I ran a hand over my fade. “Your hair’s straight.” It made his beauty mark more pronounced. Maybe because the typical wild state of his hair no longer hid his face.

Ryan: Lucy did it. She lives in the women’s residence. We have the same tutor. She said it would make me look hot.

He dropped his gaze to his loafers.

“You were already hot. I love it both ways.”

He’d gone to a lot of trouble for this lunch. I tried my best to feel deserving of it.

“You have to tell him.” My mother’s words rang inside my head.

“I will,” I’d promised.

In our own ways he and I were in recovery. I needed us at our best, at our strongest before presenting him with the worst thing about me. We were better than we were over a month ago, but still fragile. I let all the negative thoughts go and refocused on the man in front of me.

Now that we’d taken in each other’s smile, hair, and clothing, it was time to settle into the tension. It was there from the moment I entered the kitchen, but it lingered at the forefront now.

Was he thinking about the kiss he’d promised me? Or had he changed his mind? He had a right to, I just hoped not. I needed the feel of his soft lips on mine. I needed our mutual desperation to filter into my lungs and spread through my entire soul, nourishing me as it went.

Ryan broke eye contact, restoring the oxygen in the room. He slid the folder off the table, weighing it in his hand before holding it out to me.

“For me?” I grabbed it with childlike excitement. Ryan snatched it back before I could open it, gesturing behind me to my satchel. “What? You want me to open it later?”

He nodded, walking around me to tuck it into the satchel himself.

“Wait!” I blurted, but he was already withdrawing the gift I’d stashed in there for him. A stack of books wrapped in brown paper and tied together with twine. My excitement transferred to him.

“Yes, it’s for you. But!” I called out before he tore away the wrapping paper. “You can’t open it until I leave.”

He scowled at me.

“I mean… I suppose I’m open to a compromise.” I pointed to the folder tucked under his arm. He shoved the stack at my chest, freeing his hands so he could put the folder in my bag.

“Guess that means no deal, then, huh?” I sounded sadder than I was, but his sketches conveyed how he felt. Since I couldn’t hear how he felt about me, I was anxious to see it.

Maybe he felt bad for me, or maybe being so close to me made him crave my touch as much as I craved his. Ryan stepped into me, peeling his shirt collar down, exposing his neck and shoulder.

“Is this supposed to make up for me having to wait to open my present?” I lowered my nose to the spot below his ear, inhaling as I worked my way down. Ryan shivered, and I sank my teeth into his shoulder.

“I think I missed this the most,” I whispered, before kissing the sting away. I didn’t want to move from this position. I wanted to make a home against his skin. My arms itched to wrap around him, to hold him. Would this burning need for him ever cool down? No. I didn’t think it ever would.

Ryan let his shirt fall back into place, and then he… hugged me. Not one of those informal hugs where you bend at the waist and the chests never meet. Ryan slung his arms across my back and squeezed, his chin resting at the base of my neck.

After the initial shock wore off, I returned the hug, rocking us gently as I soaked up the scent of his shampoo. I pressed my lips to the side of his head, and he didn’t shrink away.

A timer went off, and Ryan extracted himself, hurrying over to the industrial sized stove.

“What’s that?” I waited behind him while he pulled a pan from the oven. “Is that fried chicken? How’d you accomplish that without frying it?” The kitchen smelled divine. I would’ve noticed earlier if I wasn’t busy noticing him.

Setting the hot pan on top of a metal trivet, Ryan removed the oven mitt and pulled out his phone again. I read from his screen.

“Oven-fried chicken?” I asked dubiously. He nodded, going over to the toaster oven and removing a rack of waffles. He’d been keeping them warm there.

Ryan bounced around the kitchen while I took a seat to clear his way. I watched in amusement as he got all the condiments together, then poured us fresh squeezed lemonade before sitting down across from me.

“Did you make this yourself too?” I took a sip, impressed when he nodded yes.

He urged me to dig in, nudging my plate closer to me. I laughed, reaching for my knife and fork.

“These are the best waffles I’ve ever had.” Granted, we’d both survived on Eggos, and these were made from scratch. Still, they were amazing. More so because he’d made them for me.

“Okay, you’re going to have to tell me how you got this chicken so crispy—in the oven.” My eyes bugged out, and Ryan’s shoulders shook with laughter as he texted me the sealed-lips emoji.

I pointed toward his untouched food. “Not hungry? Or too busy looking at me?”

Ryan tucked his hair behind his beet red ears and forked a piece of chicken into his mouth.

We were like love-sick puppies. Too scared to look away, but also too terrified to push for more. Whatever this was between us, it had been the slowest thing I’d ever experienced, with no finish line in sight. Under different circumstances, would I have wished for something different? Sure. But with him, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

After eating we talked for a long while. Well, I did all the talking—sometimes rambling—and he’d shoot me a text every now and then asking me to get to the point. Through it all, his eyes kept veering over to the counter where his gift rested.

“Go ahead, open it.” I’d been joking when I said he had to wait anyway, torturing him the way he loved to sometimes torture me.

Ryan loosened the string and tore through the paper. He read through each title, his eyes widening as he went. Some were from my personal library. Books I knew he loved. A few were new.

One title in particular caught his attention more than the others. He returned to the table with it, holding it up to me while angling his head in question.

“ His Eternal Love ,” I whispered. He’d already read the synopsis, so I didn’t bother explaining the storyline. I didn’t think he was asking me to anyway. “I thought it might be helpful to read about two men falling in love under the harshest of circumstances. How love could heal old wounds. I thought maybe you’d never seen love. This might help you comprehend how it could be. It’s a true story.” I wasn’t an expert on love. I actively avoided it. But I’d been out in the world long enough to understand how it should work when it’s good.

“You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.” I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. Why would he need me to expose him to literature about love? What made me qualified to determine whether or not this book was the best learning tool on the subject? All I had to go off was how it made me feel when I finished reading it last night.

I leaned over the table to take it from him, but he yanked it out of reach. He went back to the counter, adding it to the pile before texting me.

Ryan: Thank you. I’ll read it first.

I smiled, setting my phone down. “I heard the TV adaptation is even better. They say it’s… spicier,” I added hesitantly, wondering how cautious I needed to be.

Ryan: Will you watch it with me?

This time I typed my reply, afraid of what my voice would sound like if I spoke.

Me: Yes.

“I should go,” I said when the sound of voices closing in caught my attention. I knew everything about Safe Haven. Knew the policies, the shift changes, and the Sunday brunch menu too. The afternoon cooks would be arriving to prepare for dinner. We’d be in their way.

Ryan’s shoulders slumped, which only made my heart make more room for him.

He walked me out, and we stood under the protection of the eave as the rain pummeled the pavement. The cold air turned his breaths into clouds of smoke, and he rubbed his arms for warmth. I’d told him to get his coat, but he’d refused stating I didn’t have a jacket on either. My coat was still too wet from earlier to wear, which I found odd. My sweater was warm enough to make the short dash to the car, though.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” I said, a bit agitated. I didn’t want him outside in the cold. The thought of him getting sick dredged up painful memories I’d rather not deal with right then. He grabbed me by the arm, stalling my exit.

“Damn it, Ryan. If you get sick—” I stumbled, satchel and coat falling to the ground as he launched himself at me, stealing my breath with a searing hot kiss. I cupped his head, and he guided my palms to his cheeks, holding them there.

He dragged his blunt nails over my scalp. Deep enough to remind me I was alive. For the first time I wished I had long hair, so he could wrap his fingers into it and pull, showing me how much he wanted to hang on to me, how much he wanted to tear me apart.

We pressed our foreheads together when we were through, panting. It was so cold, and his wellbeing superseded my need to kiss him over and over again.

“Put this on.” I fisted the hem of my thick sweater. Ryan stopped me before I tugged it over my head.

Kissing me once more, this time short and sweet, he hurried inside without saying goodbye. I grabbed my dripping coat and satchel off the ground before jogging to my car.

I’d used the key fob to get the engine running when we first stepped outside, so the interior was nice and toasty. Dumping my drenched things onto the rear floorboard, I pulled my now soaked sweater over my head, tugging the t-shirt I wore under it into place.

Flipping the front and back wipers on, I shifted the car into reverse before looking through my rearview camera. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t take my eyes off the spot we’d kissed in.

Maybe I should run back inside to hug and kiss him one more time before announcing I’d be staying for dinner.

I threw the car in park and cursed. I couldn’t stay. And not only for all the reasons I’d mentioned earlier about Safe Haven’s rules and procedures. I had a virtual work meeting scheduled, and I had emails and paperwork to go over.

I’d check my calendar and be intentional about building time in for him, if he wanted that. Spending time with him wasn’t the problem. Neglecting my own life to do so was where I ran into trouble. I’d make more than enough room for him while still fulfilling my other passions, although none were more important to me than Freedom Fighters and Ryan.

Arriving home, I discarded my damp things by the front door, and strode for the living room with the folder in hand. I’d almost cheated and looked inside several times, but in the end, I wanted to keep my word to him.

Leaning a shoulder against the window, I withdrew the sketch he’d done of the two of us. We were wearing the same clothes we’d worn today, and we stood under the eave of the community hall kissing in the rain. He’d sketched this before I even got there. Peggy’s words from earlier reemerged.

“I caught him staring into the rainy parking lot a couple of times.”

She’d thought it was because he was nervous about seeing me, which I believed to be true, but he’d also wanted to make sure the finer details in his sketch were accurate.

“Wear your green sweater.”

He’d planned this. I thought he’d changed his mind about the kiss. Instead, he’d created the most romantic gesture. Ryan had drawn a moment we hadn’t even had yet based on hope and imagination alone.

Even the position of our hands was accurate. I remembered he’d brought my palms to his cheeks. I reached into my pocket for my phone.

Me: It’s beautiful. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. Thank you.

Xavier’s past overtures were on a grander scale. A night out at the opera. Dinners at Masa and nightcaps at The Pierre. None of it ever hit the mark. He’d been trying to win a prize that wasn’t his to attain.

I’d stared at the spot Ryan and I kissed in before driving off, trying to record everything to memory. I no longer had to. It was all right here.

I traced his bare, lean arms, pausing when a thought occurred to me. I picked up my phone again.

Me: Maybe next time draw yourself in a coat.

He sent three laughing emojis before a message came through.

Ryan: At least I remembered to pour water over your coat when you went to the bathroom.

I howled with laughter, falling back onto the couch pillows.

Me: I wondered why it hadn’t dried even a little bit in all that time. If anything it seemed more wet. You could’ve gotten us both sick.

I got a frowning face emoji after that.

Ryan: I know. I wasn’t thinking. When will I see you again?

Me: I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s such a good idea to make a habit of hanging out at Safe Haven.

My finger hovered over the screen as I considered whether or not to go through with my suggestion. Screw it.

Me: Maybe next time you can come to my place.

I’d been about to add “no pressure,” but his reply came through at lightning speed.

Ryan: Tomorrow.

I grinned hard before checking my calendar to see if tomorrow was open. Other than my morning run, I was free.

Me: Tomorrow works. Just let me know what time to pick you up.

Ryan: Can I let you know in the morning? I need to finish my vision board for next week. Dr. Shwartz thinks creating a visual of my short term goals helps me to reach them. I keep the boards mounted on the wall next to my bed.

I loved this idea, and considered doing the same myself moving forward. I also couldn’t help wondering if I was ever on his board.

Me: What was on your board for this week?

Ryan: Touch.

I reclined on the couch sporting a goofy smile.

Me: Touching me?

Ryan: Yes.

Five eye-roll emojis accompanied his reply, and I doubled over, chuckling until I couldn’t breathe. We texted our goodbyes, then I headed for the library to get started on my tasks for the evening.

I carried his sketch with me, adding it to the pile I’d already collected in my desk drawer. There was the one he’d made when we took our first run together, the one of the autumn leaves, and the ones I’d snuck out of the trash bin when he wasn’t looking.

Closing the drawer, I got down to my first order of business. I called my agent.

“William,” Mihaela said upon answering. “I was just about to call you.”

“Hopefully with good news. Did Mark get back to you regarding the Kiwanika movie?” I’d turned down his offer to work with him on it at the gala, and his ego bruised easily. He’d make me grovel now.

“Nope. He hasn’t returned my calls either. You know how he is. Give him a few more days to come around.”

“Yeah, okay.” I could hear her pen clicking away in the background. I sighed. “What is it?” The clicking stopped.

“You think you know me, huh?”

“I do. Now what’s on your mind?”

She cleared her throat. “I spoke to Xavier.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, knowing what she’d say next.

“He’s striking out on his own.”

“Yeah. It’s for the best.” I was surprised it took him this long to let her know. Maybe he’d been hoping I’d try to change his mind. Doing so wouldn’t have been fair, or what was best for him.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Well, he fired me before I could drop him.” She chuckled. Representing us both would’ve been a conflict of interest and a disaster. Besides, Mihaela’s loyalty would always be to me. “Raymond’s going to work with him moving forward.”

“Raymond’s good. He’ll help him get to where he wants to be.” And I’d be there for him professionally if he ever needed me.

Mihaela and I went over a few more offers and goals for the new year before wrapping up the call. For a while I sat there in thought, my fingers steepled in front of me. Why did I have to wait for studios to bring projects to me? Why couldn’t I create my own? Tell the stories I wanted to tell? I’d been in the business long enough to know how it worked. All I needed was the right team around me.

An idea lodged itself in my heart. I crossed the library in six long strides, untucking my favorite book from its shelf. Gargantuan.

Gazing at the cover, I ambled over to my desk again, dialing my manager.

“Miss me already?” Jamal said in a dry tone. I’d already had my daily check-in with him on the car ride home. I chuckled but got right to the point.

“I’d like to secure the film rights to a book.”

“Uh, you don’t have a film production company.” His tone suggested he thought I’d hit my head.

“I know that. I’d like to create one.”

There was a flurry of activity on the other end, drawers opening and closing, papers shuffling. I smiled, knowing whatever I came up with, Jamal would be committed to it.

“So what’s your niche gonna be? Period pieces? War Films? Movies that focus on human rights? Documentaries?”

“Animation,” I replied. I typically composed for the genres he’d rattled off. I still would, but I also wanted to bring another side of me to life. “I’d like the rights to a children’s book. A series of them.”

“Okay, animation it is,” he said without skipping a beat. “First, let’s make sure your company name hasn’t already been trademarked. Then we can bring Estello in.” Estello was my business attorney.

“Do you have any names in mind, or should I come by with Eggos and booze for a brainstorming session?” he teased.

“I’m never eating Eggos again,” I vowed. Not after having Ryan’s homemade waffles. “And I already have a name. I trademarked it years ago.” I hadn’t known what I wanted to do with it, but I needed it to be mine in case I one day thought of something worthy of using it for. That day had arrived.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”

I moved to the window, placing my palm against the glass the way Ryan loved to do when it rained. Something about the vibrations of the rain striking the glass calmed him. I closed my eyes, trying to siphon some of that calm into me.

“William? You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“What’s the name?”

I inhaled a fortifying breath before whispering on the exhale, “Asher Gray. The name is Asher Gray.”