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My shoulders slumped. “No.”
But Clint might’ve taken photos of the injuries he’d sustained from me that night. I wouldn’t put it past him.
“That makes it harder, but not impossible.” Officer Holt pulled into a space in front of the police station, then stared at me for a long moment, likely figuring out I was talking about myself. “I’m sorry that happened to him.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, averting my eyes.
The building was a flurry of activity, with multiple floors of courtrooms, offices, and even a jail. It did not feel comfortable being inside, so I just kept my head down until we got to Officer Holt’s desk in a crowded room with other cops all around us.
Fuck, I almost couldn’t breathe.
“Wait right here,” he said, and I watched as he walked over to another officer to discuss something.
I felt fidgety, so I pulled out my cell, suddenly wishing Foster were here with me. I scrolled to his number and opened up a text box. I’m at the police station, filing a report about the assault.
He responded immediately. Is that where you went?
Not exactly. The social worker at the shelter has a cousin who’s a cop. I’ve seen him around a couple of times. I felt more comfortable asking him for help.
Good idea. I’m proud of you.
Yeah, I was proud of me too. Or I would be once I got this part over with.
26
Foster
“How’s your friend?” Doug asked me over lunch the following week. This time we met at a sandwich shop closer to the hospital.
“Lachlan is much better, thanks for asking.”
I’d kept him updated for a couple of days after the aerosol assault, but we hadn’t had time to really catch up this past month.
“Good to hear. He still staying with you?” he asked, his tone even.
I nodded around a bite. “I’m giving him the opportunity to get back on his feet.”
And between job applications, haircuts under the bridge, and filing a report at the police station, he was well on his way. He was keeping himself busy, that was for sure.
Doug set down his soup spoon. “It’s more than that for you, isn’t it?”
Fuck, how could I even explain? But Doug and I always played it straight with each other. “It just sort of evolved into… We… I…”
He arched a brow. “You’re hooking up?”
I cringed because it felt like he’d reduced whatever this was between Lachlan and me to just sex, and it was more than that.
“We’ve been intimate, yes.” My face felt hot. “But mostly just spending time together. I care about what happens to him.”
“Can you see a future with this guy?”
Could I? I hadn’t allowed myself to really go there because so much of what happened felt so temporary, which was unsettling.
“I dunno. The timing’s not ideal. He got out of a bad situation and ended up living on the street, and I’m…well, I’ve been going through a rough patch too.”
His eyes filled with concern. “Your depression?”
I’d shared some with him over the years, and even recently when I had to cancel plans because it was difficult to get out of bed, let alone out of the apartment.
“Uh-huh. I mean, it’s part of me, but I feel bad he has to see me like that.”
My depression had been more manageable the last few days, but I knew I wasn’t out of the woods yet. My head wasn’t entirely clear, and I still wanted to cocoon myself under my blankets, though to a lesser extent, so the med change seemed to be helping.
“Has he said anything?”
I recognized that protective tone all too well—I’d heard it from Doug before, when I finally called it quits with my ex.
“No, no, not at all. Lachlan’s been really supportive. It feels so authentic and real with him.” I turned away from his scrutiny. “We’ve been vulnerable in front of each other plenty of times.”
“I can tell you care about him.”
“Yeah, I do.”
If I admitted that to Lachlan, would it scare him off? I knew he felt indebted to me because of the living arrangement, the cell and clothes, so did that muddy the waters for him?
“When he does get back on his feet, will he be looking for his own place?”
I crumpled up my sandwich wrapper. “I think he’d want that. To feel some agency over his life.”
“That makes sense.” He stood to dispose of our trash. “I wouldn’t want you to move too fast.”
“No worries there,” I replied, though I believed that people could feel in their gut early on when something was right—or wrong.
Out on the sidewalk, we said our goodbyes. “Catch you later, Doug.”
I went back to work in a daze, mulling over our conversation and realizing just how much Lachlan figured into my daily thoughts and plans. I was falling for him, and I didn’t know what I meant for him outside of friendship, but no way I’d want him to feel any pressure from me.
