Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Only that lingering residue of fear clinging, wet and sour, to the inner walls of Amani’s heart let him push past his frustration to press, palm to palm, with Vic. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m skeptical of the idea of you and brilliance in the same sentence right now.”
“Ouch. Try to make the cuts a little more shallow, would you?”
“I’m not happy with you right now.”
“I know. I know. But hear me out.” Vic leaned in and nudged their noses together, resting temple to temple. “Remember when I told you I’m on the social roster in the next few weeks to host the next big charity shindig?”
Amani eyed him warily. “…I remember.”
“It’s almost always a live concert venue.” Vic’s words were slow, careful, but Amani knew what he would say even before the words came out, each one an arrow of dread. “And I happen to know a very talented cellist who could give them the performance of a lifetime.”
“What? No. No.” Amani leaned back, jerking his hand away, his entire body knotting, and for just a moment he was cold sweaty palms and the burn of stage lights blinding him and all those indistinct faces looking at him with pity and condescension— “I don’t—I can’t—”
“Okay. Okay, Amani. It was just a thought.” Vic’s arms were around him instantly, pulling him in close, wrapping him up tight. “You’d said you missed performing. I’d thought it might be a good baby step.”
Amani curled his hands in clutching handfuls of Vic’s coat sleeves, burying his face in his throat and breathing deep again and again until that sharp shock of panic passed. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” he whispered. “If I’ll ever be ready.”
“You don’t have to be. But Amani…” Victor drew him into his lap, tangling them together in comforting warmth. “If fear’s your only reason for not trying, what’s really stopping you?”
“I don’t know. But I know—I know I’ll never go back if I don’t jump in with both feet. Until I met you didn’t even think going back was an option, but…”
“But…?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to fill in that blank.”
Vic smiled ruefully. “I guess we really aren’t that different. Both of us can’t seem to stop doing something that’s hurting us, just because that something is what we’ve always done.”
“…when you put it that way…”
“When I put it that way…?”
Amani didn’t know how he managed to speak when his tongue was so thick, when his lungs swelled and locked. “I…I…” He could say this. He could. He had to, because he couldn’t demand of Vic what he wouldn’t face himself. “I’ll do it,” he choked. “I’ll play the gala. But you have to come. You have to.”
“Good.” With a soothing stroke down Amani’s back, Vic said, “I’ll be there the whole time. I won’t let anything go wrong, Amani. I promise.”
That’s not a promise you can keep, Amani thought, and hated how he trembled. And I’m not sure it’s enough.
l
WHEN AMANI RETURNED TWO NIGHTS later, Vic wasn’t there.
He’d made himself stay away from his phone all of Tuesday and Wednesday, or he’d give in to the urge to text Vic. To call him. To make sure he was all right, still alive, still…just the thought made him press his knuckles to his mouth and struggle to breathe, and that was why he couldn’t. He couldn’t forget that he’d set the rules, he’d defined the terms, and everything they were was bought and paid, love for sale and Vic was just the highest bidder.
But Vic was nowhere to be found, when the front desk buzzed Amani in without even batting an eye and he stepped off the elevator into the apartment. Even in a room this large, with such sparse furniture there was nowhere to hide, nowhere where Victor could duck out of sight; Amani let his steps carry him to the living room arrangement, turning slowly, frowning.
“Vic…?” he called, and ignored the sick lurch of his heart that said Vic was dead.
Vic was dead, and he’d just missed the news report, a quick footnote on the evening recap and forgotten.
“Vic?” he tried again, to no response—yet as if on cue, his phone rang, and he fumbled it from his pocket to tap answer almost before he registered the Overbearing Prick on the screen.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “Where are you?”
“I’m sorry,” Vic said—though he sounded distant, distracted. “I completely forgot I had plans tonight. I should’ve told you I couldn’t see you.”
“Oh.”
Vic didn’t answer, and Amani almost thought he’d hung up, until he came back with a borderline disinterested, “I’ll still…you know…pay for the time.”
An odd, sick floating feeling washed over Amani, vertigo a thing that ran in circles, and he let himself tumble to the side until the couch caught him. He had to close his eyes and count his breaths until his head cleared; until he no longer wanted to scream with the sudden shock of hurt and rage and confusion when no matter how many times that notification had popped up telling him his body had bought another layer of safety, another promise of a better future…Vic had never treated him like someone he could just hire and dismiss so impersonally when his services were no longer needed. And maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much if Amani hadn’t cried over Vic’s shaking, convulsing body, if he hadn’t watched him sleep so he could stand guard against the darkness that might take him away, if he hadn’t…if he hadn’t…