Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Sorry that you got mixed up in this mess. Because of you three, my sister and her two boys won’t be looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives.”
“I hope he becomes some gangster’s bottom boy in jail.”
“I don’t know, he might end up liking it.”
“Are we free to go?” Fitch asked.
“Yeah, as long as they have your contact information.”
“Great. Come on, Angel.”
“Are you coming?” Ansel asked Z.
Z looked up at Connelly and then back at his friend. “Um...”
“I’ll take you home,” Connelly said before Z could speak.
He didn’t want to go home. He wanted to stay there with Connelly. He wanted to strip him naked and make sure there were no injuries that had gone unchecked. He wanted to hold on to him and never let him go.
He swallowed those confessions. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Ansel.
A minute later Z was waving as Fitch drove away. As soon as their taillights disappeared, Connelly’s hand slipped into his. The first real contact in over a week and it felt like he could breathe again. Like all the empty places inside were suddenly full and thriving. He bit his lip to keep from whimpering.
“Will you come in for a drink? I don’t know about you, but I could use one.”
“Same here.”
As soon as the door shut behind them, the noise of the night receded. He could still see the flashing lights on the ancient wallpaper of the entryway, but the rumbling of voices and cars was muffled enough to give some sense of peace.
Like the last time, Connelly led the way to his apartment, locked the door behind them, and stashed his weapon and badge in the closet safe. Then he turned to Z and pulled him into his arms.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you standing over John with that little purple stun gun.” Connelly’s breath warmed Z’s neck and fluttered the fringe of his hair. “God, why’d you do that? He could have hurt you.”
Z curled his fingers into the cotton of Connelly’s T-shirt, feeling the tense muscles of his back, the strength of his spine. “You obviously don’t know how much I’d do just to make sure you were okay.”
Connelly pulled back, both palms smoothing the longer strands away from Z’s face. “I’m sorry. So goddamn sorry. I was such an asshole, I—”
“I know. I heard your messages.” Z shook his head as best as he could with Connelly still cupping his cheeks. “You could never be an asshole, even if you tried. You’re too moral. Too good. Way too good for me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are, but it’s okay. I don’t care. I want to be better. You make me want to be better.”
“Impossible. You’re already perfect.”
“Far from it.”
“You’re perfect to me.”
“How can you say that after everything?” He pushed out of Connelly’s grip and crossed to the far window, arms crossed around his middle.
“Hey, no one has the right to judge you for how you choose to survive. Especially not me.”
“Learned something, have you?”
The corner of Connelly’s mouth tipped up in a sardonic half-smile. “Only you could be mouthy at a time like this.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I love that about you.”
“Don’t be an idealist right now, please.” He spoke to the glass, to the flashing lights outside, to their history. Connelly stepped closer, but didn’t touch, didn’t speak. “I don’t know if I can dream with you, yet. I’m trying to be brave enough, but it’s so hard.”
“No one is dreaming, Azariah. There are no rainbows, no unicorns and no picket fences. There’s just us, here and now.”
“Here and now.” Z entwined their fingers and stepped into Connelly’s space.
“I’m sorry I stole your control. I never meant to make you feel inferior. It kills me that I took away your confidence.”
“I’m not a project for you to fix.”
“Of course not.”
“I am what I am, not perfect that’s for damn sure. I’ve got issues and I need to deal with them myself. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want—need—your help. Just let me ask for it.”
“Will you?”
Z looked into Connelly’s hazel eyes. “I promise.”
Their kiss was slow and sensual enough to send lightning to the tips of Z’s hair. There was nothing else right then but the sweet caress of Connelly’s lips on his, so soft and gentle and full of all the words they still hadn’t said.
And in that instant Z knew what Kerouac meant when he wrote Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream.
* * *
There were no words for how Connelly was feeling in that moment—simple or otherwise. The only word that encompassed every emotion filling his chest was Azariah.
In his mind, his lover’s name repeated on a loop like a mantra that brought him peace and filled him with a passion so hot it set his soul on fire. He was alive and he had Azariah in his arms again. Nothing else mattered. The rest of the world faded away and with it all his worries about the case, his sister and the attack dissipated.