What He Left Behind(4)
No. No. No.
Not going there. Not tonight. Not if I ever want to sleep again.
I force my mind to shift gears as I head inside. The instant I open the door from the garage to the foyer, Ariel, our young boxer, comes thundering in from the kitchen, whipping the walls and her own sides with her long tail.
“Ariel,” Ian says firmly from the kitchen, and she hurries back the way she came. I follow her. In the kitchen, Ariel skids to a halt, sliding a little on the linoleum before dropping onto her haunches. He taps his thigh, and she moves to his side at the stove, where she sits again. “Good girl.” Her tail thumps against the cabinet, and he pets her head. To me, he says, “Hey you. How was your day?” Then he gestures at the stove. “Hungry?”
“Not bad, and very.” I greet him with a kiss before I glance at the pot and the skillet, but as soon as I see the food, my gut tightens. It looks and smells wonderful—Ian cooks like a pro—but I’m not sure I can stomach much of anything tonight. Not even when the last real meal I had was the one he cooked last night.
“Hey.” Ian tugs my belt loop and brings me closer. “You okay?”
There’s that f*cking lump in my throat again. No. No, I’m not okay. Because Michael isn’t okay. And I don’t know what to say to him, and I don’t know what to do short of hunting Steve down and strangling him with my bare hands and—
“Josh.” Ian cups my face, drawing me out of my thoughts. “What’s wrong?”
I lower my gaze. Ariel is staring up at me with those huge brown eyes, her tail still beating against the cabinet, so I hold out my hand. She licks my fingers, and her tail slows.
Daddy, what’s wrong?
I sigh and pet her, prompting a little more tail thumping.
Ian kisses my cheek. “Why don’t I dish everything up, and we can talk while we eat?”
Wordlessly, I nod. That’ll at least buy me a moment to collect my thoughts, assuming our dog’s innocent expression doesn’t break me down first. Fuck. I haven’t been this shaken since the first time I met a bruised, stitched-up Michael at the ER. It’s been five years since Steve laid a hand on him, but the wound feels fresh to me because, up until today, I hadn’t known. I hadn’t f*cking known.
What did he do to you, Michael?
Ian dishes everything up, and we sit down at the kitchen table. Ariel lies down beside Ian, ever hopeful of a tossed table scrap, and Rosie, our aloof Siamese, perches on the windowsill, glaring at me like she always does. She’s definitely Ian’s cat, because she can’t stand me. I decided a long time ago she must blame me for her stupid name. I’ve tried explaining that it was the shelter who named both her and the dog, but to no avail—she hates me.
The thought can’t even make me chuckle tonight, and I just sigh and try to eat.
From across the table, Ian watches me, but he doesn’t say anything.
I shift uncomfortably. “I had lunch with Michael. And he…”
Ian pulls in a sharp breath and sits straighter. He knows me, and he knows what it means when I’m like this after I’ve had lunch with Michael. The details are the only variables.
I hesitate. Michael knows I talk to Ian about these things. In fact, he encourages it.
“You shouldn’t have to internalize it all,” he said to me a few years back. “And I trust you both.”
So I take a deep breath, and I tell my husband everything Michael told me over lunch.
When I’m finished, Ian sits back against the chair just like Michael did earlier. “Oh my God.” He shakes his head and starts absently petting Ariel. “I know I’ve said it before, but there is a special place in hell for that f*cker.”
“Yeah, there is.”
We exchange glances. That special place in hell has been reserved since long before we found out about this development.
Neither of us says much more. In fact, neither of us says much of anything while we eat. And damn it, I’m still ravenous, but it’s a struggle to eat. Ian seems to be having a tough time too, and pasta is one of his favorite things on the planet. Except the Steve diet works pretty well on him too.
I have to wonder how Steve can sleep at night. Or eat. Or just breathe. He’d been such a charmer in the beginning, but my God, the poison in that man is almost visible to the naked eye after a while. During the five long years he had Michael under his thumb, that * committed a lot of unforgivable sins, and people still ask Michael why on earth he stayed for so long if it was really that bad. Of course, anyone who’s ever been in an abusive relationship knows that walking away is easier said than done. The threats, the manipulation—all of it holds on to the victim like a f*cking choke chain.
One chain in particular kept Michael firmly within Steve’s grasp—his dog. Any time Michael stepped out of line or so much as hinted about leaving, Steve knew damn well all he had to do was threaten to hurt Cody. Once, after a particularly bad fight, the * actually left with the dog and came back without him. He let Michael believe for days that he’d sold him to a dog-fighting ring before finally, after deciding Michael was repentant enough, bringing him home from his brother’s house.
In Ian’s eyes, that alone cemented Steve’s place in the deepest, darkest pits of hell. Ian’s an animal lover just like Michael, and even joking about hurting one makes him see red. Actually threatening to do it? Especially to manipulate someone who once literally jumped into a frozen lake to save a dog? Unforgivable.