Vann took another deep breath, reveling in the silence for the rest of the drive to the halfway house as he processed everything Drayton had said in the last few hours. Not a word had been spoken in the last two hours, but a different type of quiet had settled between them, almost an understanding in the absence of the tension that had been tangible since they’d left the prison.

Night had fallen by the time they pulled into the rear parking lot of a large home sandwiched within—what looked like—a business district. He pulled the pen from the spiral spine of the notebook, jotted down a quick note on the inside cover, and reclosed it.

Drayton shifted the car to park and remained seated as the car idled.

“Was that considered our first fight?” Vann asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know. We’ve never yelled at each other and I don’t want to start now.”

Vann quieted. The tension was less, but the air between them was far from the comforting ease he remembered, punctuating the growing chasm threatening to keep them apart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Drayton pivoted his head against the headrest to face him. “Tell you what?”

Vann looked down at the notebook in his hand, flicking the edge with his thumb. “What your mother did. You never mentioned her disowning you.” He looked over to Drayton. “Why didn’t you tell me you were alone?”

“You wouldn’t see me.”

“But you didn’t include it in any of the letters.” Vann looked away, fidgeting with the notebook again.

“I didn’t want there to be anything negative. I imagined it was tough being inside and…I didn’t want to risk saying anything to make things worse. I thought focusing on our moments, memories…the positive things would be better. I thought that might…help.”

Vann glanced up, looking out the front windshield at the house that would be his home for the next few months. “You didn’t tell me about the car line. What you invented. You didn’t tell me about changing your name,” he said, distantly. There was so much that had changed and so much he didn’t know. Every letter from Drayton reminisced about some moment of their years together. Each letter was positive, happy, and light but barely a mention of present-day events, especially life-changing ones. He craved knowing the milestones, but missed the tiniest of things—if Drayton still hated tomatoes in his salad, if he still hated wearing anything orange or red, if the rare cool breeze hitting his face still made him smile.

“Taking your name would have led you to think something—”

“Dray, don’t,” Vann said in a reprimand, turning to face him again. “We both held back here. And I admit I fucked up by not sending you letters or having you come visit. I had my reasons but…” He shook his head, needing to dispel the million thoughts racing through his mind. Nothing he wrote ever came out right. He couldn’t lie to Dray, and writing a letter saying everything was fine was complete and total bullshit. Besides, Drayton would see right through that. He always did. And there was no way in hell he ever wanted Drayton to actually see him as that stereotypical “bad guy” everyone said would end up in prison one day. He had never wanted to prove someone wrong more in his life.

He took a deep breath, hoping to calm the negative thoughts battling for attention. “Why didn’t you tell me about the car line? That’s a huge thing. That’s a great thing. I would have figured you would have bragged about that endlessly.”

Drayton flinched. “I didn’t want you to think I was rubbing your nose in anything. I mean…you were stuck inside while I was outside—”

“Living. Changing the world. Just like I knew you would. That would have been nice to know,” he finished quietly.

“I couldn’t see you or talk to you, so I didn’t want to risk writing something in a letter that might piss you off or add any more distance between us. I just…” Drayton exhaled heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. “I missed you so fucking much it hurt. I never gave up hope. Never.” He slammed his head back against the headrest.

Vann looked out the front windshield, watching the cloud-filled night sky. He glanced at the house when the lights turned on inside and a tall, lean, dark-haired man opened the back door. He smiled and waved, then closed the door behind him as he re-entered the house.

“That’s Matt Doner. He and his partner, Julian Capeletti, own the house.”

Vann nodded, peering up at the window of the second floor as someone stepped away from the blinds. “I should probably go in.” He exited the car, not waiting for a reply.

Drayton quickly followed, exiting the driver’s side and closing the car door. He walked around to Vann’s side. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

Vann shook his head as he glanced up again at the cloudy, night sky. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I need to do this on my own.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t overthink things. It just means I want to walk into that house and start this new change on my own. It doesn’t mean I want to do everything on my own from now on. Okay?”

Drayton reached out and pulled him into a desperate embrace. “Cut me some slack. I just got you back after a decade, and I’m not thrilled about losing you again.”

He wrapped his arm around Drayton’s shoulder, screwing his eyes shut as he tightened his hold. He brushed his fingers up Drayton’s neck and into his hair, releasing a shaky breath as the silky strands slipped between his fingers. “I’m scared, Dray,” Vann confessed with a whisper. “A lot’s changed and I’m just…trying to make sense of things and finding out where I fit in all of it.” He parted his lips on an exhale when Drayton’s lips pressed against the scar on his temple, a permanent reminder of the night that still haunted him. He missed this—the closeness, the intimacy, Drayton’s constant need to touch.

“You fit right here, with me. That won’t ever change.”

Vann sighed, still holding Drayton close, not really wanting the intimacy to end.

“We’re seeing each other while you’re here. And we’re talking on the phone. Got it?”

Vann nodded. “I don’t know the rules, but yeah. Didn’t you tell me that once I got settled in, we were going to work through this? I’m holding you to that.”

“Deal,” Drayton said with an almost quiet laugh, releasing him from the embrace.

Vann took a deep breath and closed his eyes, memorizing the melody of Drayton’s soft chuckle. “I know I don’t deserve this, but…” He shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed the tip of his boot into the ground. “I want you, Dray. That’s never changed. I want this. I want us. If…you want that too.”

“I want it all.”

He looked up, silently gasping a breath at the hope sparking in Drayton’s eyes. He wanted to reach out and pull him close again. He wanted to feel those arms again, touch his hair, his skin, kiss those lips. He swallowed heavily and blew out a heavy breath. His body was going from zero-to-sixty in two seconds flat, and he was having a hard time controlling the charge zipping through him. “I need to know you’re mine, fair and square. Not out of pity, obligation, or because we were together for years before shit happened. I know I’ve changed, but I want this. I’ll work my ass off for it. I know it sounds weird, but—”

“You’ve never accepted something for nothing.”

“And I sure as hell won’t start now, especially where you’re concerned. You’re too important to me.”

“I want to kiss you,” Drayton said with a wistful smile.

Vann took a deep breath. There was nothing he wanted more than to know if Drayton’s lips still felt as warm and soft as he remembered. “I haven’t earned it yet.”

“But I have.” Drayton stepped forward and cupped Vann’s face. He leaned in and closed his eyes, barely a breath away. His exhale brushed against Vann’s cheek and the beginning of his stubble scraped the edge of Vann’s jaw as he nuzzled him. “Say yes.”

Vann closed his eyes, lost in the strength of Drayton’s hold, the heat of his body, and the scent of him. Hell yes. A thousand times yes. Vann’s heartbeat pulsated in his ears and a ripple of goose pimples bloomed across his skin with Drayton’s touch. He reached up and gripped Drayton’s forearms, anchoring himself, not wanting him to retreat a millimeter. “It’s always a yes for you,” he whispered past the tightness in his throat.

Vann’s heart thundered when soft, warm lips tentatively pressed against his, molding perfectly against the shape of his mouth and reviving a flood of memories of stolen kisses and tender moments in the dark. He groaned when a tongue swiped the seam of his lips, demanding yet hesitantly requesting an invitation he willingly granted. His lips parted of their own volition, and his fingers dug into Drayton’s muscles just as a large hand gripped his ass and tugged him flush against a hard, lean-muscled body.

A moan echoed in the silence of the night followed by another. Each sound and graze of skin awakened a base need within. They tugged at each other, digging fingers into skin, sucking, biting, and torturing the tender skin of their lips during the kiss.

Every tiny sound of need he drew from Drayton spurred him on. The feel of him, his taste. It was everything yet not enough. Familiar, while still new. He reached up and took hold of both sides of Drayton’s face, slanting his head to better his angle before diving in and feasting on Drayton’s willing mouth like a starved man desperate for another taste. He devoured every groan he extracted with a possessive growl. His body vibrated with untamed need, craving, burning for more, urging him to take what was so openly offered.

He tore away from the kiss before crossing the point of no return.

“Fuck,” Drayton whispered on an exhale, holding Vann tight and burying his face at the side of Vann’s neck, panting each warm puff of breath against Vann’s heated skin.

His heart thundered in his chest and his breath came at a clipped pace. “If you don’t let go, I’m going to come in my jeans. Not really the first impression I want to give these folks.”

Drayton chuckled, brushing his lips against Vann’s ear. “I don’t ever want to let you go.”

Vann tightened his hold, reveling in the closeness he’d been denied for so many years, to the one person who meant more to him than anything in his lifetime. “I need to go inside,” he said, trying to disguise the protest in his tone.

“Promise me you’ll call me tomorrow and let me know how your day went. They have all my contact info, so you can find me wherever I am.”

“If they let me make calls, I will.” Vann reluctantly separated from the embrace. He stole a glance at Drayton, his lips parting at the want reflecting back in those gray eyes. As much as he’d loved the eyeglasses Drayton had worn as a teen, seeing his eyes and the emotions conveyed in them without the obstruction was a welcome trade-off. He reached up and hesitated before grazing his fingertips along Drayton’s jaw, needing to feel the scrape of slight stubble to know this wasn’t a dream.

“Shaw,” a new voice interrupted.

Vann looked over his shoulder at the doorway to the halfway house and instantly withdrew from the intimacy. Damn. He didn’t know how open Drayton was or what was or wasn’t acceptable. The man with the shaved head didn’t look bothered or irritated, but Vann knew how to read people enough to recognize it was best to stay on his good side. He turned back to Drayton and sighed. “I gotta go.”

Drayton nodded. He reached out and brushed his thumb along Vann’s cheek. “Call me tomorrow.” He looked over Vann’s shoulder. “Julian, you have my number if anything comes up.”

“You got it,” Julian said.

“Goodnight, Dray.”

Drayton retreated to his car, shutting the driver’s side door behind him. Within a few seconds, he lowered the passenger window. “You left your notebook.”

He stared at Drayton’s outstretched hand, holding the beaten notebook. His heart pounded as the worry and fear almost won over. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets to avoid the instinct to snatch the notebook. “That’s for you. For later.”

Drayton’s eyebrows twitched in that way they always did when he was trying to solve an equation. He set the notebook back down on the passenger seat and smiled, waving goodbye as he finally drove away.

Vann stared at the red taillights until they faded out of sight, unable to move, not ready to break the spell from a few moments before. He closed his eyes. He could still smell the lingering scent of Drayton’s cologne and feel the warmth of his arms around him.

“C’mon, Shaw. You’ve had a long day.”

He glanced up to the cloudy sky and a small smile curled his lips. This was the closest to any form of freedom he’d had in a decade or had hoped to ever have again. He turned toward the house and stared at the broad, tall man carefully watching his every move. After another deep breath, he finally took a step forward, ready to start his new life.

 

 

∞ ♥ ∞

 

 

Drayton poured himself a glass of water and walked over to the living room couch. Times like these, he really wished he hadn’t sworn off liquor. But the memory of everything Vann had suffered growing up was enough to steer him clear of alcohol. He casually set the glass on the table and held Vann’s notebook in his lap. He traced his fingertip along the frayed edge, anxious to see what was inside but worried all the same. Vann was quiet. Too quiet. His mood could be attributed to the transition of being paroled. But this notebook? This was something he had from before. Something he had a chance to think about. Drayton reached for the glass of water again, hoping to soothe his suddenly dry throat. What if his desire to surprise Vann by picking him up was a bad idea? Shit. He was overthinking. He finished off his drink and set the glass aside.

He flipped open the notebook and saw the text written on the inside cover.

 

~ * ~

 

Dray,

I did respond to your letters. Every one of them.

They’re the only thing that kept me sane.

~V

 

~ * ~

 

Drayton thumbed through the notebook and skimmed the entries, some longer than others. Each page solidly filled, front and back, from beginning to end, with two lines of neatly written words in small lettering squeezed between each preprinted line and the margins completely disregarded.

Not a single millimeter of precious space wasted.

He looked for a drawing or doodle, but only found a solid wall of inked words filling each page. For Vann, drawing was his escape. Drayton remembered walking to their spot by the tree one afternoon and seeing Vann’s swelling eye and cut lip as he brushed angry strokes across a blank sheet, breathing life into a new sketch. He’d confessed his drawings settled him, gave him peace, and helped him survive the hell he said he waded in each day at home.

Drayton shook his head, dispelling the memory as he skimmed the notebook in his hands.

He inhaled sharply when he realized what he was seeing.

Each entry started with a number followed by a few words in quotes…his own words. Words he had written in letters to Vann during his sentence. The entries were sequential. Each number representing a letter he had sent Vann during his sentence.

Drayton tightened his hold on the notebook as he quickly flipped to the last page.

#525.

The total number of weeks he had written Vann.

Drayton took a deep breath, returned to the first page of the book, and began to read.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #1…

Thank you for the letter. I thought about sending you a reply, but I wasn’t sure if it would cause more problems with your mother. Honestly, I didn’t know what to say. I screwed things up for you with your family and I don’t want to make things worse. Sitting down to write you a letter, and being careful about what I say so you don’t worry…it stresses me out because I can’t lie to you. It’s like my mind is only focused right now on doing what I need to do to survive here. It’s as if I need to shift my brain in a different gear to do that, like when I was around my pops, always on guard. I don’t want to be that person when I’m writing to you. ’Cause that guy’s an asshole. I know that, and you deserve better. But it’s who I need to be in here to survive. I need to lock away that guy you fell in love with and let this other side of me be the person these people see. So I’ll write what I want to say here, in this notebook, without guarding my words. This is where I’ll let me be me. Even if it’s something you’ll never read. But in some weird way, it’s as if I can still talk to you by doing this. The thought of not writing back or talking to you hurts. I don’t ever want you to think I don’t care. Because you’re all that matters to me. You’re all that’s ever mattered to me. I can’t return the money you deposited in the commissary account, so I bought this notebook. I figured, I’d respond here. It’s not fancy, but it seems sturdy enough to last a while. I don’t have many lines in it, but I don’t know how many letters you’ll send before you get tired of writing me and move on. So I’ll write really small and it might be enough. They won’t let me keep both your letters and this notebook. Something ridiculous about using the paper from the letters for other things to make weapons and stuff. It’s fucking paper. But they let me keep this notebook because I bought it in their store. Assholes. So I wrote down a few sentences from your letters. The special words that make me smile so I don’t forget them.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #5…

I know you’re probably mad at me, but I had to send you that letter. I don’t want you visiting. I don’t want you to see me like this. Some days are really bad and I know seeing you would help. The visiting rooms here have that clear divider thing and phone. At least that’s what they tell me. I don’t know. No one visits me. I’m not sure if it would be harder, seeing you, being inches away from you and not touching you. I think that would drive me crazy. But I can’t stand the thought of you seeing me in here and being sad about things. Please try to understand where I’m coming from. Once you see me in here, it’s going to be all you remember. And that would wipe out all the great memories we’ve shared because it’s all you’ll see when you close your eyes and think of me. That would break me. Please don’t be mad.

 

~ * ~

 

Drayton sighed. He remembered that time—those weeks after the attack—and how he had worn a mask to get through each day in his recovery. But he was stronger, more comfortable because of the strength Vann had instilled in him through their years together. His chest constricted, thinking of Vann, alone inside, suffering through each day on his own, guarding himself behind that shield he had shed ages ago. That old, tough armor disguised so much pain and hardship and had taken Drayton an exorbitant amount of time to tear down. He didn’t want to think about Vann erecting his guard and regressing to that time. No, he wasn’t mad; he was worried.

He blew out a heavy breath as he turned the page.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #18…

I hate it here. This is hell and purgatory training camp rolled into one. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing you’re out there, living. I’m so glad you got that job at that engineering firm you wanted. I know that’s why you were spending all those hours working in that lab place when you finished school. You’re going to change the world. You’ll see. I needed to hear something like that today. Thank you.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #18b…

I got your second letter this week. It’s as if you somehow knew I needed more help getting through this week. I remember your smile and that one dimple on your left cheek. And your laugh. Your laugh is really loud and it rumbles a little at the end into an almost quiet chuckle then you sigh. That’s how I can tell when you’re finished laughing. I miss your laugh. I miss you.

 

~ * ~

 

Drayton bit his lip and smiled. Sometimes, it was the little things Vann said and did that meant so much. He was thankful a thought of him and his written words had helped Vann through a tough time.

He turned the page and frowned at the string of short replies that followed.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #39…

I’m sorry for all the short entries. I promised myself I would always respond to every letter on the day I received them, even if it’s a bad day. But sometimes it’s too hard to keep this mask on. Today is one of those days. I’m sorry. I miss you. I miss everything. I want to see you. I want to touch you. Thinking of you helps me escape. But sometimes it hurts and I don’t know how to stop that pain from ripping a hole in me. It’s as if someone tore out my heart and lungs then expected me to still be able to breathe, and I don’t know how. It scares me. Fear is something really bad to have here. But I think it’s okay. It reminds me that I can still feel things and that I’m not like these guys here. Because that scares me more.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #98…

I’d give anything to see you, but if you see me, I know you’ll worry. You’ve always been able to see through my bullshit. I know you’ll be able to see how much this place is slowly killing me. And I don’t want you to be held back because you’re worried about me. I want you to live your life.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #126…

I thought about sending a letter back, but I’m worried I’m going to say something wrong, say too much, or not say enough. I don’t know how else to explain it. I know the letters will eventually stop, but I don’t want to do anything to rush that. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. I miss you so much. I still remember the sound of your voice. So I pretend I hear your voice as I read your words.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #213…

I swore to myself I’d always be honest here. Truth is, I don’t think I can do this much longer. I’m sorry I broke your family. I never wanted to be one of those guys who hurt you. I think that’s the worst part of all this. I’m so sorry. You mentioned you needed to get a response because you weren’t sure I was getting them. I am getting them. I hate that they read them before they give them to me, but I don’t care anymore as long as I get them. I didn’t know what to say and you’re too smart and would pick up on things if I wrote too much. If I said I missed you, you’d feel bad. If I told you how tough it was in here, you’d get upset and demand to see me. Or…maybe you were hoping I wouldn’t reply so you could stop writing? I don’t know. I hope not. I’m not ready to have that happen yet. I’m sorry. Your letters are the only thing that keep me going and remind me I’m human. That I’m a person who feels something, good or bad. I hope what I wrote is enough to keep the letters coming. The “thank you” is for everything…remembering all the memories you write about and for keeping me sane with your special words and for making me smile even though it hurts too much to do this shit every day.

 

~ * ~

 

A surge of anger rose in Drayton’s chest with the desperation in Vann’s words. He stood from the couch and paced his living room. He should have been there with Vann. He should have insisted. He should have fought harder about visiting him, to help him push through each difficult day.

He raked his hands through his hair and clasped his hands behind his neck, leaning his head back and silently cursing. He hated having been excluded from this part of Vann’s life. He would have given everything up and done whatever was necessary to be at Vann’s side to offset some of the pain in his words. He let his hands fall to his sides and blew out a shaky breath. He couldn’t imagine everything Vann had gone through while inside.

The loneliness.

He looked around his empty, quiet living room. This was a different type of solitude. He had the freedom to walk out and go anywhere else. He could walk, drive, or even fly anywhere in the world.

Vann hadn’t had that right.

Drayton stared at the notebook, set face down on the coffee table. He was barely halfway through Vann’s replies and already felt the pain tearing away at him.

He returned to his spot on the couch and picked up the notebook again. He steeled himself and turned the page to continue.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #252…

Sometimes I wonder if you’ve met someone. It’s been almost five years. I hope you’ve moved on. Not really. But I keep telling myself that. Maybe I’ll believe it one day. I want you to be happy, Dray—that’s not a lie. I have a feeling there’s more you’re not telling me, but I’m okay knowing whatever you do want to share with me, even if it’s an old memory and nothing new with what you’re doing in your life. I need to know you’re happy. That you’re living the life you were meant to live. That you’re changing the world and giving all those assholes the finger for ignoring you. Until then, I hope the letters don’t stop.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #395…

Some days, I’m on autopilot and don’t care. Today is one of those days. The other guys stare at me and walk the other way. I don’t feel like that guy you fell in love with. I’m slipping. It’s like this other person is taking over and all I feel is hate and pain. Then they yell my name and tell me I have another letter, and it’s like the version of me you know from before comes out and kicks this other person’s ass long enough to keep him in check for a bit. They throw your letters through this small opening in my cell and sometimes it hits the floor before I can catch it. I hate that. I quickly wipe them down as much as I can before I open it. I don’t ever want anything of yours to be tarnished by a place like this. You deserve so much more. You always deserved more. I miss you so much. Sometimes, I have a memory, and it’s so real I can feel everything and I fight the sleep because I don’t want the memory to end. Do you remember that night, lying down by the lake? You told me that if we were ever apart, I could look up and see the moon and know that you were looking at that same moon and thinking about me. And you said full moons were extra special. Because the full moons showed me how full of love you were for me. I remember laughing and telling you that was cheesy as hell. But I always thought they were special words, and I didn’t deserve them. People here…they only say harsh shit. Stuff that sticks more than you hope it does. Stuff like what my father used to always say. It’s hard. Too hard sometimes. When you hear you’re stupid and useless your whole life, and don’t hear otherwise, it makes it easy to believe. It’s nice to hear something different. I miss you. I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. I miss the things you say. Even if it’s cheesy. I haven’t seen the moon since I got here. The letters let me know you haven’t forgotten me. But…I’m not going to pretend that means you still love me. Regardless of what they tell me in here, I know I’m not stupid. And I know you’re amazing and easy to fall in love with and you might have someone in your life you say those special words to every day. I don’t really want to think about that. I can’t right now. Today was a tough day. So maybe I can pretend you still love me. I think it’s my birthday but I lose track of time and forget. It doesn’t fucking matter. I’m going to die in here anyway, so I’ll pretend for a little while you still love me. Because that gets me through another day in this hell. Shit, I’ve used too many lines on this reply.

 

~ * ~

 

Drayton fought the sting in his eyes. “Yes, I still love you,” he whispered. He screwed his eyes shut and took a few deep breaths before turning another page.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #475…

I can feel myself slipping. I almost forgot what your laugh sounded like and I panicked. They put me in a different cell for a few days because they thought I was going to hurt myself. I miss you. Your voice. Your laugh. I need you. But I’ll settle for a peek of the moon. They only let me have one notebook at a time and I’m running low on lines. I don’t want to give this book up to get a blank one. What if your letters stop and I don’t have the quotes I wrote down to read again? I memorized them, but it’s been so long.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #502…

I was told today they are moving me to a new prison. One guy bit off another guy’s ear last week, and this week, he’s crying because he’s on the move list to this new place. They hear things I don’t because they talk to people outside. But I heard the place is a real hell. They told me my mail would stop for a while with the transfer. I can’t think about that right now.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #515…

I didn’t believe them when they told me I was getting paroled until I got your letter. I thought they were fucking around with me. They like to do that. Get your hopes up then watch you get crushed, hoping you crack. I can’t wait to see you, but I’m not sure if you want to see me. Writing letters to a guy you knew way back when who isn’t getting out is a big difference from someone who’s getting paroled. I want to see you. I wonder how much you’ve changed. If your hands are still big and your fingers are still long and thin. If you still wear thick-framed glasses or if you switched to thin wire-framed ones. I’m bigger than I used to be. I’ve got enough muscles to keep away the fuckers in here. I know you’ve probably moved on. It hurts to think of that. But I’m hoping you still want to be my friend. You’re the only person who ever gave a shit about me, ever. So if being friends is all I can get, I’ll take it.

 

~ * ~

 

Drayton leaned back on the couch and recalled the last few years of his life. He cringed, realizing that while Vann struggled to make it through each day of his sentence, Drayton was laying the groundwork for the company, traveling the world, establishing a network of business contacts, and launching the car line.

His life had changed as a direct result of his determination, driven by Vann’s request to live for the both of them. Something he wouldn’t have been able to do if he had witnessed Vann’s deterioration with each visit. He had always had difficulty deciphering the human psyche, but now, realization came crashing in with striking clarity. He finally understood why Vann had insisted on the distance during his sentence. Drayton’s focus would have been on each scheduled visit instead of the milestones in building the company. He would have put his life on hold if necessary to offer support to Vann when needed.

He rubbed at the sudden pain in his chest. Even while inside, Vann was sacrificing himself to push Drayton ahead. His throat tightened and his eyes burned. Vann was strong, stronger than anyone he had ever met. But everyone had a breaking point. And there was no way Drayton was going to let Vann slip out of his reach again.

He ignored the tremble in his hands and turned to the next page.

 

~ * ~

 

Letter #525…

Tomorrow’s the day I’m getting out. I haven’t slept in about a week, and I can barely keep any food down. A part of me wonders if there’s still a chance for us to be together again. Even though I didn’t see the moon, maybe you did and maybe it means the same to you? And now I’m thinking if you didn’t, then shit, I didn’t mail you the replies to your letters so you don’t know I’ve been thinking about you all this time. But maybe you do. You always had a way of figuring me out like no one else could. I don’t know if I’m going to get a chance to see you. I hope so. If we do see each other again and you hate me, please don’t tell me. I don’t think I can handle that. Just laugh once for me so it’s fresh in my mind again and that’ll hold me over for a few more years.

 

~ * ~

 

Drayton finally closed the notebook, two hours after having read the very first page. A response to each and every one of the five hundred twenty-five weeks’ worth of letters he’d sent. Even those short letters he’d send sometimes a few days apart because he needed the contact with Vann—even if it was one-sided at the time. He closed his eyes at the ache in his chest thinking about the numerous entries with only a few words in response. Nothing more than an “I miss you” or an “I can’t stop thinking about you” spoke not only of his consistent love for Drayton, but also the pain on those particular days when he couldn’t muster the strength for a longer response. He knew Vann’s time inside must have been tough, but reading his replies spoke volumes of the pain he had survived during that time.

Thinking about it, he realized he wouldn’t have been able to stand seeing that pain staring back at him through an acrylic barrier without reaching out and touching him. He set the notebook on the table and reached for his cell phone. He paced the room before dialing the number, not caring about the late hour of the night.

“Halfway House,” Julian answered, his voice still alert enough to indicate he’d been awake.

“Sorry for the late call. I need to talk to Vann for a second.”

“It’s barely been three hours, Drayton. Give him some space to settle back into things. Ten years is a long stretch and his head’s probably exploding right now with all the rules and information we gave him about the house and all the changes he’s experienced since he walked out of that prison.”

Drayton raked a hand through his hair. “Just for a minute. It’s important.”

Julian’s sigh echoed through the line. “I swear. I was a lot better at telling people to fuck off before Matt softened me up. Hold on.”

He heard a knock and muffled voices as if Julian held a hand over the phone.

“Dray?” Vann said, his voice filled with obvious concern. “Is…everything okay?”

Drayton gripped the phone tightly in his hand, letting the sound of Vann’s voice fill his senses. “I’ll make this quick.”

“Okay,” Vann said in a defeated tone.

“I love you. I always have and I always will. I’m bothered you didn’t mail out your replies or want to see me, but I read them and understand why. I need you to know you are the reason I am where I am right now in my life, and I mean that in a good way. You’re the only person who thought I could do this, and I held on to that and ran with it, imagining you there by my side cheering me on. The difference is, now you’re actually going to be there. Because I want you there with me. Do you hear me?” He waited for some reply but nothing came. “Vann?”

“I heard you,” he whispered.

“You want time because you don’t think you’ve earned it, and I’ll respect that. But know that you’ve already earned that right as far as I’m concerned. I’ve waited ten years to have you back, and if I have to wait a little longer for you to come to me, then I’ll fucking wait. However long you need, I’ll be here waiting…for you. Because I love you.”

The silence over the line was unsettling, but it was also Vann’s introspective nature as he digested and processed things. He was always a silent thinker, and it seemed that habit hadn’t changed. Another thought suddenly came to Drayton’s mind, something that would have helped soothe Vann on those tough days. “Why didn’t you draw anything? That always helped you through the rough times.”

“Replying to the letters was more important than drawing,” Vann said. “And I would have run out of paper sooner.”

Drayton closed his eyes and fell onto the couch again. He raked a hand through his hair, desperate for the feel of Vann in his arms again. “I promised Julian I wouldn’t take long, and I don’t want to screw things up on your first night. But I needed to tell you this so you’d know. Call me tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Night, Vann.”

“Night.”

Drayton waited for the line to disconnect, not wanting to end the connection.

“Dray?”

He closed his eyes, loving the sound of his nickname flowing from Vann’s lips like an endearment. “Yeah?”

“Thank you…for…saying all that. I didn’t realize I needed to hear it until you said it. I promise I’ll call you tomorrow.”

A peace settled in Drayton’s chest at the promise. “Okay.”

“I have to hang up. I’ve got a pissed off guy looking at me waiting for me to hand him the phone back.”

Drayton held back a smile. “Okay. And please tell Julian I said thank you.”

“Okay. Good night.”

Drayton ended the call and tossed his phone aside. He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, recalling the sound of Vann’s voice he had missed over the years. There was no way he’d let Vann second-guess things or retreat for whatever reason. They finally had their chance to be together and there was no way he was letting anything stand in the way of that happening.

He reached for the notebook on the table. He opened the spiral booklet to the first page and re-read each word again until sleep finally took over.