Page 82 of Dear Mr. Brody
“It’s once-in-a-lifetime writing.”
“And you’re thinking with the right head?”
“I am,” I grinned as he tapped his knuckles on my desk.
“Send it, I’ll read some of it on my lunch.”
“Thanks.”
He opened the door, but before he left, he said. “You’re a good agent, a good friend. I know I can be… difficult, but if this does blow back on the agency for some reason, I want you to know I’ll defend you to whoever will listen.”
“Anders, I—”
“But try not to let it blow back, alright.” The command in his voice was unmistakable.
“I won’t,” I said, and hoped like hell it wasn’t a lie.
Tonight’s class had been interesting, to say the least. Despite everything that happened between Parker and me over that last few days, and all the secret smiles he’d sent my way, I thought I’d kept up a professional appearance. But, after my long night last night, and my even longer day, I was exhausted. My head in Parker’s lap, his hand running through my hair, I struggled to keep my eyes open. His other hand rested on my hip, his fingers drawing symbols and letters on my skin under my shirt. The movie on the television served as white noise, making it that much harder to stay awake. Occasionally he would laugh, and I’d smile. The scent of his soap and cologne, the warmth of his body, this easy intimacy, I almost liked it better than sex. Well… maybe.
“You awake?” he asked, and I hummed.
“A little.”
“Do you want me to go?”
I opened my eyes and was met with a smile. “Not yet.”
“You’re tired,” he said and laughed when I shook my head. “Van, you looked dead on your feet in class.”
“Is that a nice way of saying I looked like shit?”
“I’m just glad Marcos was still sick, so I didn’t have to hear his jokes about how I kept you up all night.”
“I’m not looking forward to seeing him again,” I said, and Parker grinned. “He’s going to make it awkward.”
“Only for me.” His fingers trailed over my lips. “He’s under strict orders to keep his mouth shut.”
“And he’ll listen?”
Parker’s blue eyes stilled, serious and raw as he stared down at me. “He’s an idiot, but he’s an idiot who loves me and would do anything for me.”
“Anything?” I asked, not fully convinced.
He looked at me, searching my face for something. His throat worked as he swallowed, his hand in my hair again, he said, “I’ve known Marcos since basic training. He’s had my back. Always. Our first year at MacDill, I thought I could be out. There was no more ‘don’t ask don’t tell’. Marcos told me I was crazy. I didn’t believe him.” His voice was hoarse, the fingers on my hip trembled as he spoke. “I should have.”
“Did something happen?” I asked, knowing the answer by the way his eyes had turned to glass.
“I met a guy, another airman. We talked online for a few weeks, decided to meet. He was nervous. He wasn’t out. At least that’s what he’d told me.” Parker’s chest stuttered as he exhaled, thinking of things I was terrified to know. “We met at a bar, and it seemed like things were going good. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, which should have been a red flag, but I was dumb, and young, and wanted… shit… I—”
“Park.” I sat up, curling my legs underneath me and faced him. “You don’t have to tell me, if it’s too difficult.”
“I do.” He wet his lips and picked at the hole in his jeans. “We walked to one of the nearby piers, I was buzzed, not thinking straight. I didn’t see the other guy until it was too late.”
“Oh God, Parker…”
His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as he tried to shore up whatever storm was building inside.
“They beat the shit out of me. Called me every slur you could think of. Told me I was worthless. Told me I didn’t deserve to serve my country. I don’t remember much after that, but I remember calling Marcos. I woke up in the hospital ER. Concussion. Broken ribs. Broken nose. I was broken. Marcos wanted to report them. I begged him not to. I was embarrassed and scared. The guy was an officer, his friend—I had no idea. Marcos never said a word. We told the police I’d been mugged. Told my CO the same thing. The closet was my home after that night. For four years.”