Page 130 of Throwing Shade
There were mere inches between us, the back of his hand covering mine skimming against the fabric of my clothing.
His lips parted and I tracked the movement, not daring to blink. “What a waste of a perfectly good tune,” he said.
A startled laugh burst out of me and he gave this soft hum of pleasure, low in his throat, that banished any lingering self-pity.
I rinsed out the cloth and attended to the final cut on his forehead.
“How old were you?” Laurent said. He had a tiny imperfection in his left eye, a black dot that I’d never had noticed had I not been this close.
“Fifteen.”
“You finished prodding me?” Laurent folded his fingers over mine, enveloping them in his warmth for a brief second.
“Yup.” I zipped up the first aid kit. “Well, I should get—”
He caught hold of my wrist, stroking his thumb over the sensitive skin for the briefest instant, before releasing me. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
I stared dumbly at where he’d touched me, every nerve ending having flared to life. “It’s the least I could do.”
“No,” he said quietly, “it was far more than most. Generally people can’t wait for me to leave once I’ve completed a job, but you stuck around. Made sure I was okay.”
I scattered facts like birdseed, but was stingy with the details about myself. Laurent was the same with personal information and the weight of these words charged them from simple gratitude to the key to a treasure map, given while both of us tumbled mid-air.
He was cut and bruised from the dybbuk attack and he held himself tensely, cradling a shoulder. But his eyes shimmered like a verdant field on a hot summer day, mirroring my exhilaration that we might just stick our landing.
I patted his shoulder. “Get some rest.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you out.” He escorted me to the side door in silence.
I smiled at him to cover my sudden awkwardness. “Well, thanks. It’s been…” I threw my hands up. “Crazy.”
“No shit.” He opened the door. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah.” I waited a few seconds but he didn’t add anything. “Take care.”
I only got a handful of steps away before my phone buzzed. “It’s a text from Tatiana to come see her at the Bear’s Den later.”
“Don’t do it,” Laurent said from the doorway.
“I have to. Max died. I owe her the courtesy of seeing her in person.” I spared only a single glance back for the man with the frown on his face.
I left the radio on the classical music station for the drive home, humming along to the lilting piano concerto and letting the final sweeping notes fade away with a bittersweet feeling, reminiscent of the time Laurent and I had shared.
There were still decisions to be made about my magic, especially in regards to my family, as well as Jude’s trauma to support her through, and I made list after list in my head, selecting and discarding ways to move forward.
I was able to get a few decent hours of sleep and another shower before I headed over to the Bear’s Den on Friday afternoon, using the same parkade elevator that I’d gone through before.
This time, the basement button easily revealed itself to me. I double-clicked the switch hook on the broken payphone, hung up the receiver, and the wall swung away.
Vikram lumbered toward me.
“Hey friend.” I waved.
“Bah. Tatiana is at a banquette over by the bar.”
I thanked him and made way through the mostly empty speakeasy.
Tatiana greeted me with a smile, motioning for me to help myself to the carafe of coffee and the steaming basket of croissants. “I just woke up,” she said, “and I like to start my day with breakfast, even at 2PM.”
