Page 68 of True North
Misha dropped his phone on the bed and slung an arm over his face to hide his eyes. What was he doing? What had he ever done in his life that made any sense? He was sabotaging the best thing that had happened to him in years—the best thing that had happened to him maybeever—because he was an idiot who liked to act on instinct without ever thinking things through.
He had been floating along all this time like a piece of driftwood in a current, letting things happen to him, letting other people make decisions for him, being buffeted here and there without direction. But he wasn’t helpless or a child. He was a grown man, and he could choose what he wanted out of life. He didn’t have to passively wait and wonder what would happen next.
The door creaked as it opened. There was a slight scrabbling noise, and then the dog’s ears and eyes appeared above the mattress. Misha rolled onto his side and reached down to help her up onto the bed. She licked his cheek before turning around a few times and settling down on the bedding.
“Why do you think I’m like this?” he asked her, quietly so Lenny and Marie wouldn’t overhear him talking to an animal. “People have been so kind to me, and I haven’t done anything but act weird and run away whenever I can’t deal with my feelings.”
She looked at him for a moment, then closed her eyes and rested her muzzle on her folded paws.
“You’re right,” he said. “I should get over myself, huh.”
He texted JT:Sorry for worry. Sorry for leave. Today I come home if you want.
The dog groaned quietly beside him. He patted her soft back, then smiled as she turned onto her side and pulled her legs up to expose her belly. She was almost hairless underneath and felt like warm velvet.
His phone buzzed in his other hand. His heart kicked hard in his chest. He drew a deep breath to settle himself before he glanced at the screen.
Of course I want. I can come get you any time.
Misha gripped the phone in his sweaty hand. Something stirred in his heart that felt suspiciously like love.
Ok any time, he replied.
Twenty-Six
Misha waited for JT at the end of the driveway, dressed in his own clothes, freshly laundered by Marie while he slept. When he spotted JT’s truck coming down the road, he turned and waved at Lenny and Marie where they stood on the front porch. They waved back and went inside. He would have to spend some of JT’s money to get them a nice gift. They had given him exactly the help he needed at the time he needed it most.
JT’s truck slowed and stopped. Misha opened the passenger door and climbed in. He and JT regarded each other for a moment. Then Misha scooted over on the bench seat and JT opened his arms and gave Misha the hug he had been yearning for since JT picked him up at the police station.
JT turned his head and kissed Misha’s hair. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” Misha mumbled. “I don’t, um. My—thinking is not good.”
“I know, buddy. Let’s go home, eh? We can hash all of this out later.” JT squeezed Misha tight and then pulled back to put the truck in gear.
They didn’t talk much on the ride home, but JT drove most of the way with one hand on Misha’s thigh, removing it only when he had to navigate a sharp turn. The warm weight of his palm gave Misha a solid grounding. No matter what happened next, JT hadn’t given up on him yet.
At home, they drifted into the kitchen sort of by default. Misha didn’t want JT to leave his sight, and he had an inkling that JT felt the same way about him.
“More coffee?” JT asked after an uncertain moment spent eyeing each other beside the island.
“Yeah, okay,” Misha said. The one cup he’d had at Lenny and Marie’s wasn’t going to get him through the conversation he and JT needed to have.
JT made a pot of coffee and pulled something out of the freezer—cinnamon rolls, Misha saw when he nosily peered over JT’s shoulder. There were five or six of them crammed together in a round foil pan, heavily slathered with frosting.
“My mom bought these from the church bake sale,” JT explained as he turned the oven on to pre-heat. “I’ve been saving them. Seems like a good time to break them out.”
They sat at the kitchen table with their coffee as the kitchen filled with the smell of baking pastry. JT had opened the doors to deck and Misha could hear birds singing in the yard. Sunlight pooled on the floor by their feet. JT didn’t turn on the TV. Misha looked at him from across the table and didn’t have any idea where to begin.
JT sipped his coffee. “Will you tell me what happened in Toronto?”
Misha exhaled. The memories were encased in so many layers of shame that even the most gentle probing set off his fight-or-flight reflexes. But JT deserved an explanation after everything that had happened.
“I had—not boyfriend,” he began haltingly. “We had sex sometimes. Russian guy. He live with his uncle.” He looked down at his coffee. “I think his uncle maybe know we have sex. Not know, but um—think, guess.”
“Suspect?” JT said.
Sure. Misha shrugged. “One night, I went over. We in his room. We kissed…” He gestured to indicate the rest. They had been making out, pretty hot and heavy, with Misha’s shirt off and his jeans unzipped, and Kirill in nothing but his underwear. “Then the door open, and his uncle came in.”