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Tallus

T hree weeks went by. The hazy days of summer ended as fall settled over Toronto. Nights were cooler. A chilling wind blew off the lake. I often opened my windows before bed to let the crisp air move through my stuffy apartment and because I wanted an excuse to see if my stalker was around.

Diem was back to his old tricks, spending endless hours sitting outside my apartment or following me around the city. Although he had yet to bang on my door at midnight looking for a fuck, he’d become my shadow. I didn’t tell Memphis. Diem’s inability to accept his feelings cut like a knife.

That Thursday evening, as I performed my nightly ritual, I spotted his dark Jeep parked in its usual place on the street, angled so he could peer from the tinted windshield into my living room seven stories above.

I couldn’t see him but sensed the brooding man’s turmoil. I felt his suffering.

I was at a loss to know how to handle it. We hadn’t spoken since our race around the city to gather phony echinacea bottles after meeting with Doyle at Casey’s when he’d told us about the kratom.

A call with an update never came. What more could I do? I’d laid my card on the table. I’d told Diem how I felt, but it had gotten me nowhere. At this rate, Diem would forever remain an unrealized attempt to have a normal relationship.

Normal. I chuckled. It was not a term he would use, but to me, it fit. I’d never dreamed of dating or settling down. Random hookups had always satisfied me. Commitment had felt too grown up, and I’d never been ready to cross that line.

Until now.

The fact that Diem had brought out those urges meant something. Leave it to me to want someone I couldn’t have. Diem of all people.

Work around the office was quiet. I’d taken a trip to homicide one afternoon the previous week, frustrated at not hearing from Diem. Doyle confirmed that the eleven people we’d discovered had tested positive for significantly high levels of kratom in their systems, and Brodie Newall was being investigated. His prints had been found on the bottles—including the ones we’d retrieved from the victims. Where the case went from there, Doyle wasn’t saying.

I stared for a long time at Diem’s vehicle, wondering what he was thinking and considering what I would do if he showed up at my door looking to fuck around again. Were we going backward? Was I allowing it? I wasn’t sure I had it in me. Feelings and emotions had gotten in the way, and I couldn’t think of Diem as a hookup any longer. We’d moved past those disconnected terms.

Frustrated, I closed the curtains, shutting him out, and got ready for bed.

Ten minutes later, as I spat toothpaste into the sink, the door buzzer sounded.

I stared at my face in the mirror. “Shit. Here we go again.”

Still unsure how to handle the situation, I took my time walking to the intercom panel.

It buzzed a second time before I pressed the button. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” His voice was thick and raspy. Quiet. Typical uncertain Diem.

I didn’t bother asking what he wanted or feigning shock at his arrival. If I was going to send him away, I would do it face-to-face, so I buzzed him up and waited.

The knock came a few minutes later. Soft and tentative. Bracing, I opened the door and found Diem on the other side, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders bunched by his ears, thick scruff covering his jaw, and torment swimming in his gray eyes. Faint traces of cigarette smoke surrounded him, but I didn’t smell alcohol.

He didn’t look at me and focused intently on the carpet underfoot and the room over my shoulder. Once, he glanced down the hall like he wanted to escape instead. Usually, on nights he showed up looking for a random fuck, he wasn’t hesitant. He was also never sober.

He didn’t speak for a long time, heaving weighted sighs and scuffing his shoe on the baseboard in the hall more than once.

I waited, sensing a reluctance in his demeanor.

Diem’s lips moved like he was silently rehearsing lines, and then he glanced up. “I’m gonna royally fuck this up.”

I couldn’t help the smirk. Tilting my head to the side, I asked, “Royally fuck what up?”

He blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Look, I… I don’t want you to have to bring stupid ass fucking cases to my desk anymore. I hate it.”

“Okay.” I crossed my arms, uncertainty sinking in. “Meaning?”

“I don’t… That’s not what I meant. Fuck” He kicked the wall, spun, then faced me again. “What I mean is… I don’t want to… When I’m… Tallus.” My name quivered, and he clenched his jaw.

“I’m listening, D. Just say whatever you have to say.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know. Let it out.”

His chest heaved, and he swiped his mouth again, nodding. “I don’t know how to be intimate. I can’t figure out… I want to touch you, but… I would make a shitty boyfriend because I’m fucking crippled in the bedroom. I have issues with touch, and I don’t know if I can share a bed with someone without losing my fucking mind. What you want is something I don’t think I can give you, but… but… Jesus.”

He paced down the hall, hands clutching the back of his bowed head like he was trying to hold it together. When he returned, he continued, “I’m probably going to lose my cool and put a fist through a wall because the clerk at the store didn’t bag my groceries properly, or some idiot cut me off on the expressway, or because I fucking hate myself because I said or did something stupid.

“I can’t stop smoking or drinking because I’m fucking stressed every minute of my goddamn life simply trying to be a normal fucking person. And I have a snake you hate. And my father still lords over my mind and life, but because my grandmother lives with him, I can’t cut him out. I can’t go a fucking week without chancing an encounter because Nana’s dying, and I refuse to stay away. Someday I’ll kill the motherfucking asshole. That’s not a joke. It’s a matter of time. I’ve thought far too much about it, and the thing is, I wouldn’t be sad. So maybe I am a homicidal maniac, and that’s the last thing you need in your life. Plus, I’m in therapy, and I will be until the day I die.”

He was unraveling before my eyes. His breathing turned thready. His muscles were so tightly coiled he shook uncontrollably.

“D?”

He squeezed his eyes closed and growled before opening them again, meeting my gaze for the first time since he’d arrived. He looked utterly wrecked. “I know I’m rambling, but please let me finish.”

“Okay.”

He swallowed several times and worked his hands open and shut. “Tomorrow is Friday night.” His voice remained strained. “If you’re absolutely sure you want to put up with a wreck like me… I would love to take you out for dinner. Like a date. As… Maybe as a…”

“Boyfriend?”

He nodded and looked at his feet.

Good lord, my heart couldn’t take it. I nudged his foot, and when he lifted his head again, I couldn’t stop smiling. “Let me get this straight. You, Diem Krause, are asking me out on a date?”

“I’m not a good bet, Tallus. I’m serious.”

“A date?”

“Yes. I fucking miss you. Not having you around is… It’s fucking me up even more. I’m going ballistic. I’ll do my best. I swear. It might not ever be good enough, and I’ll probably disappoint you, but—”

I closed our distance, took his face between my palms, and kissed him. He whimpered and staggered on his feet, but he kissed me back. Then Diem, the man who’d bared his heart and claimed incompetence when it came to relationships, gently rested a hand on the back of my head and drew me closer.

When we came apart, I was in his space. “You are so good enough, and I’d love to go out with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then I swear to fucking god, he smiled.