Shades of Gray (37 page)

THE back door banged loudly as Danny let himself out into the mild night air. According to the calendar it was still winter, but they’d gotten lucky this St. Patrick’s Day and the temperature was hovering somewhere in the fifties, even this close to midnight. Jesus, he was tired all of a sudden. Earlier today they’d tromped all the way down Michigan Avenue to the bridges over the river, just to watch dirty, fake-green water rush by. At the time it had seemed like a good idea.

That’s what five beers with lunch will do to you.

Danny lowered himself to the steps, digging his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. The party was still going full swing inside—Lauren, one of the attorneys from work, and her husband were inaugurating their new house in appropriate Irish style.

The door behind Danny opened swiftly, crashing into his back.

“Shit,” he griped, scooting forward as Jill inched out.

“Sorry.” Jill sighed as she plopped down next to him, holding out her hand for a drag.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Danny passed over his cigarette, which she inhaled with gusto.

“I don’t, really. Not since college. But it’s like riding a bike.” Danny laughed, leaning his elbows on the step behind him.

“Pretty rowdy crowd in there. Somehow I expected a more sedate party 288 | Brooke McKinley

from a bunch of attorneys.”

“Nah—get a bunch of lawyers together with some booze and all hell breaks loose.” Jill passed him back his cigarette, hunching over with her arms curled around her jean-clad knees. “Did you hear Taylor got into law school?”

“Yeah, she told me at work today. That’s great.”

“It means come September we’ll need a new paralegal.” Jill tipped her face toward him, her long hair falling forward like a curtain.

“Okay,” Danny said, unsure of her point.

“You should apply for it, Danny.”

Danny coughed on his inhale, blowing smoke out his nostrils.

“Me? I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because I’m not qualified. Don’t you have to go to school for that?”

Jill shrugged. “Nowadays most people do, but it didn’t used to be that way. You can do the job. Shit, you already practically do it for me.

Reading cases, writing memos, outlining witness testimony, arranging trial exhibits. It’s nothing you don’t do every day. And you’d get paid more. It would be a permanent position.”

Danny hadn’t thought beyond the end of his year-long stint at the Legal Aid office. He didn’t know what kind of commitment he was willing to make to Chicago, to this job, to this new type of life. “I’ll think about it,” he said, tapping ash off against the side of the steps.

“Okay,” Jill said, not pushing. “You have a while before you need to decide.” She shivered slightly in the breeze, wrapping her arms more closely around her knees.

“Here,” Danny said, shrugging out of his jacket. “Take this.”

“Thanks.” She put her arms through the sleeves, practically disappearing inside the black leather. “Danny?”

“Hmmm?”

“Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?” Her Shades of Gray | 289

question came out in a rush, sounding like one long, single phrase. It took him a moment to break it up into separate words.

Danny tossed his half-smoked cigarette to the concrete and crushed it under his heel. “Jill, I’m gay.”

She stared at him. “No, you’re not,” she said after a moment, pushing against him with her shoulder.

“Yes, I am.”

“But your ex-wife called that day.”

“Amanda. Yeah, I was married. I’m still gay, though.”

“Oh.
Oh
,” Jill breathed. “Fuck. Now I feel really stupid.”

“Don’t feel stupid.” Danny smiled. “It’s not like I advertise it.”

“No, you don’t,” Jill agreed. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t have asked you out.”

“Are you even supposed to do that? Since we work together?”

“Eh, it’s pretty casual around that place. I don’t think going to dinner would have been crossing any lines.”

“Why would you want to go out with me anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Jill asked, her brow furrowed. She twisted her hair up on top of her head as she spoke.

“I mean, you’re an attorney, you could have your pick of guys.

I’m an ex-con, Jill, with a high school education. I’m not quite in your league.”

“You’re not doing anything illegal now, are you? Not selling crack out behind the building on your lunch hour?”

“No.” Danny grinned with a shake of his head.

“You’ve got a real job, right? You’re trying to turn things around.

And you aren’t half bad to look at, Danny Butler.” Jill flashed her own wide grin. “Why wouldn’t I want to go out with you?” Danny didn’t answer right away, listening to the thumping beats of music vibrating from the house. “You really believe people can change?” he asked. “That they deserve second chances?” 290 | Brooke McKinley

Jill took his hand in hers, but there was nothing sexual in the touch; it was a sister’s caress, meant to ease suffering, not kindle lust.

“Of course I do. Otherwise I’m sort of wasting my life, right? I mean, look at what I do all day, every day. If I don’t believe people can change, that a second chance might be all someone needs to get their act together, then why am I doing this shit-for-pay, thankless job?” Danny squeezed Jill’s hand, her fingers so small and delicate in his own. He’d only stopped wearing the bandages over his fingertips recently and it was nice to touch someone else’s skin.

“Are you seeing anybody, Danny?” Jill asked after several minutes of easy silence. “Because you could have brought him tonight.”

“No, I’m not with anyone.” He could feel Jill watching him.

“I hear a broken heart in your voice,” she said gently. “I’ve had some experience in that department.”

“It’s a long story.” Danny withdrew his hand, using it to light a new cigarette.

“Does this long story have a name?”

Danny sucked so hard against the filter he thought he might inhale the entire cigarette down his throat. “Miller,” he managed.

“Miller. Now that’s a name you don’t hear every day.”

“Nope.” Danny choked out a sad little laugh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight.”

“Okay.” Jill nodded. “And I hope you appreciate how difficult that is for me to say, because I’m naturally such a nosy bitch.” Danny laughed, a real one this time. “Maybe someday.”

“Deal.” She dragged herself up off the step, using both hands around the railing as leverage. “I’m going in. Need anything?” She stripped off his jacket and handed it back.

“No, I’m good. Jill?”

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“Yeah?” She paused, her hand on the screen door handle.

“I like that thing you do with your hair, the knot.” Jill smiled, her face lit with genuine joy. She let go of the door and bent down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Even after smoking, she smelled like flowers. “Thanks, Danny.”

The party sounds grew louder as she opened the door, receding again when she shut it behind her, leaving Danny to man the back stoop alone. The edges of Lauren’s backyard were dense with bushes, the interior lights failing to reach the shadowy corners. Danny crushed out his cigarette and stood, wandering into the dark. He could see a few stars, the city lights not obscuring their dim glow. Nothing like a prairie sky, but he’d take it.

Miller was heavy on his mind tonight. More than three months had passed since he’d seen Miller’s face, touched his hair, or heard his low voice, and it still hurt to say his name. It was too long and yet not long enough, because the guilt still burned in Danny’s heart, a brand on the inside that wasn’t going away. He wondered what Miller was doing tonight, if he was moving on, if he was healing. Danny hoped so, had hope for Miller he was still trying to find for himself.

“Miller,” he breathed, lifting his face to the stars.

Danny didn’t believe in ghosts or conjuring people’s spirits, even when they were still alive, but as he spoke Miller’s name he felt warmth against his back, a man’s strength behind him, holding him tight. He could have sworn he smelled the spice of Miller’s skin, his soft lips murmuring words of comfort against Danny’s neck. For the first time since he’d walked away from Miller, Danny knew peace.

A single hot tear ran down his cheek, catching on the corner of his mouth. “I miss you,” Danny whispered. “I miss you.” He felt loved.

He felt heard. And for now it was enough. It would have to be.

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THE razor made a harsh, scraping sound against Danny’s cheek,
louder in his ear than in reality. For a moment he was transported
somewhere he did not want to travel: a cold warehouse full of death.

Funny how that happened; the disposable Bic in his hand was nothing
like Madrigal’s favored weapon, but the bright scrape of metal was
reminder enough. Danny forced his mind back to the small motel
bathroom, leaning closer to the mirror as he tucked his top lip over his
teeth, shaving the delicate skin underneath his nose.

“You’re shaving?” Miller’s head poked out from behind the
shower curtain, his hair standing up in shampoo-laden tufts.

“Yep.”

Miller’s head disappeared again and Danny smiled as he listened
to Miller rushing his way through the rest of his shower. He couldn’t
keep from sneaking a peek—or two—when Miller yanked the curtain
open, reaching for a towel with a dripping arm. Miller twisted the
towel around his waist, coming up to press his damp chest against
Danny’s bare back.

“Hey,” Miller said softly, resting his chin on Danny’s shoulder,
meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Hey, yourself. I didn’t realize this was so exciting.”

“I’ve never seen you shave before,” Miller said, as though that
explained it. And maybe it did. Hadn’t he stayed awake after Miller fell
asleep last night, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, tracing a
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random pattern on his arm? Or this morning, hadn’t he been
fascinated by the way Miller thumbed his way through the paper as he
nursed a cup of coffee, every motion slow and deliberate? Maybe they
were both storing up memories, tiny moments in time, to sustain them
in the bleak, lonely days that waited just around the corner.

Miller planted a wet row of kisses along Danny’s neck. “When
did you get this one?” Miller’s fingers trailed a lazy loop around the
yin-yang tattoo on Danny’s shoulder.

“After Leavenworth. That one was actually my idea, as opposed
to Hinestroza’s or Amanda’s.”

“Why did you want it?”

Danny shrugged, pulling the razor down his cheek. “I read about
the symbol when I was in prison. I liked the idea of it. Light and dark,
two halves making a whole.” He met Miller’s eyes in the mirror again,
setting his razor down on the sink.

“Are you the dark, Danny?” Miller asked quietly.

But Danny didn’t want to talk about his mistakes, the shadows
that swirled within him and would never go away, having grown
accustomed to their dank and fertile home, roots embedded deep in the
rich, black soil. So he grabbed Miller’s hand and pushed it lower,
watching when Miller’s mouth opened, a low groan escaping as he
pulled Danny’s towel away, loosening his own with his free hand,
spreading Danny’s thighs with strong and demanding knees.

Danny gripped the edge of the sink, arching his back as Miller
surged into his body, Miller’s hot breaths whistling against his neck.

They worked together without speaking, Danny driving back for every
thrust forward. Their eyes caught in the mirror, showing faces slack
with pleasure.

Miller came with a shout, his fingers carving rough troughs in
Danny’s hips, and Danny closed his eyes and took what Miller gave
him, wishing that somehow a spark from Miller might be left behind, a
tiny flicker in the darkness.

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“GUILTY.”

The judge’s voice was calm and even, probably not carrying much beyond the first row of the gallery, which was fine, because the courtroom was practically empty. The reaction was nothing like what you saw on TV; no one screamed in hysterics and the bailiff sat calmly in his seat, not fighting off a distraught defendant or his family. The jurors looked blasé, most of them anxious to be home now that their civic duty was complete.

Danny glanced across the table at Ronnie Jennings, watching as Jill murmured something in his ear. Ronnie nodded, his eyes focused on his hands. To someone who’d never sat in Ronnie’s seat and heard the single word,
guilty
, that would dictate his life from now on, it would probably seem as though Ronnie was fine, that he was paying attention, present. But Danny had been in that seat several times, and he suspected Ronnie was retreating further into that space he’d created around himself from the moment he’d been arrested—the safe space that kept him removed from what happened to him and insulated him from thoughts of how his life was no longer his to control. If Ronnie was lucky, he could stay inside that self-made bubble for the length of his prison sentence. The trick was figuring out how to step back into life when the prison doors swung open, how to become a part of the living world again.