“Yes,” we say simultaneously.
While I’m happy about the prospect of working with my brother in his chosen field, the addition of these severe cases makes the years of feeling lost fall away.
These are people I can help.
* * *
“Bram?”Levy asks, and I have a feeling it’s not the first time he’s called my name.
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring out the window. He raises his brow, and I look down at the eggs, snarling at the burnt edges.
“Bram, what’s going on? This thing with Charlie and Justin got you in a knot too?”
“Uh, no. But I went out and talked to Nacho, and he seems upset as well.”
“He’s your patient from Waco, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I was asked to talk with him after a violent incident,” I say, omitting the more prurient details. “I didn’t work with him long. He didn’t have much time on his sentence and wanted to get out and do good wherever he landed.”
“Looks like he followed through. It’s nice to see the community accept him, even with his history,” Levy says, keeping his tone even.
He respects me enough not to pry, and hopefully, he’ll assume I’m keeping patient confidentiality, not that I’ve crossed major ethical lines.
Fuck. I’m not even sorry.
Just thinking about it, I can picture leaning over to strap Ignacio in, smelling his arousal mixed with the prison laundry soap in his always pristine clothes. It was all I could do not to sink my mouth onto his cloth-covered cock. I would push his chair under the table when I wanted him to access the underhang he could rub himself against, and I’d keep it back when I wanted him to sit there with no relief.
What we did was never about pain or humiliation. Even as I’d tighten the belt across his legs, I never locked it in place. He could’ve loosened the belt by simply parting his thighs, but he never did. He wanted someone to pay attention, to notice whether or not he complied.
And I’d noticed everything. I’d needed his breathless compliance, needed to soothe his upset heart, and needed his cheeky rebellion when he started feeling better. I loved instructing him on how to sit properly and impress potential employers with his words and ideas. We’d practice interview questions, and he could barely hide his satisfaction when I praised his hard work.
In our last session, I’d pushed our usual boundaries further than ever. I’d given him instructions about cleaning his cock thoroughly as I stepped up to him. He was seated, and I knew I was too close, yet I rocked forward as he turned to me. I could maybe fool myself into thinking it’d simply been a mistake, but I palmed the back of his head and rolled my hips, a split second of madness.
I suppose that doesn’t sound like much compared to how other people have abused their power, but I know what I did. He acted as if nothing had happened, but the sound of Ignacio inhaling my scent fueled many, many instances of self-pleasure in the days and weeks after.
Worse, that was the last time I saw him in prison.
By the time I found out the warden had approved Ignacio’s early release—which I’d signed off on—he was already gone. I certainly couldn’t admit that it felt like a profound loss. I’d swung from proud to distraught on a minute-by-minute basis, shocked to find I’d grown to need him as much as he needed me.
God, don’t be a creeper, Abraham.
I’ve mostly kept this to myself because I don’t want Levy implicated in any way, but maybe also because I want him to still think of me as his rule-follower brother.
What a joke.
Once I’ve managed to cook a pan of edible scrambled eggs, I allow myself to remember Ignacio’s beautiful smile. I don’t know if I can stand to be away from him again, knowing he’s so close.
3
NACHO
Ant and I make our way to Willow, the tiny, super-queer coffee shop just past Pedernales Falls. I never take anyone here, but I think Ant needs it. Hell, I do too. I don’t think Justin and Charlie are purposefully excluding us, but Ant’s right—it does sting to be called brother, to be treated with kindness, and then not included in the typical family things.
Honestly, if I said something about the Sunday dinner, I know we would instantly be invited and apologized to. But I resent having to point it out.
“Willow?” Ant asks as we park the truck. “What kind of coffee shop goes by the name Willow?”
I point out the logo, a bunch of delicate stems with wispy balls of white fluff running up the sides, tied together with a rainbow ribbon.
