“My father showed up that afternoon. It was the first time I’d seen him in three years. He was drunk off his ass, talking about how he was clean now and wanted to make things right,” he said flatly in a way that told me how much emotion lay beneath.
I gasped. Langston rarely spoke about his father. The man had been a ghost in his life, appearing only in the bruises Langston sometimes tried to hide in gym class.
Langston continued, “I knew better than to believe him, but some part of me still wanted to, you know? The pathetic kid part that never quite dies.” His hands clenched into fists, then deliberately relaxed. “He wanted money. When I told him Grandma and Grandpa wouldn’t give him anything, he lost it. Started with the usual shit about how I ruined his life, trapped him with my mom. It ended with his fist in my ribs until I couldn’t breathe right.”
“Jesus, Langston.” My hands trembled as I noticed the muscles in his jaw jumping.
He glanced at the frozen image of his teenage self on the phone. “I snuck out after Grandma fell asleep, stole some of Grandpa’s whiskey, and went to that stupid party planning to drink until I couldn’t feel anything. Mission accomplished. Somehow, I made it to the community center, climbed through the window, and passed out on the bleachers before midnight. Woke up to people talking about the fire and about how the sheriff was looking for me because someone saw my truck near the hardware store earlier.”
My heart hammered in my chest as the whole picture emerged. “You were drunk at a party when you should have been at home. That’s what you couldn’t tell anyone? That’s what you let me lie for you about?”
“I was ashamed, not only of being wasted but of running away instead of standing up to him… again… of being exactly what everyone in town already thought I was weak, damagedgoods, just like my old man. And then you walked into the principal’s office and told the sheriff you were with me. You looked at me like I was worth saving when nobody else did,” he said, voice cracking.
A tear slipped down my cheek. “You were always worth saving, Langston.”
“I didn’t believe that shit. Not back then, but you did. And that was enough to make me want to try, to build something that proved I could be more than my father’s son.” Langston stood slowly, like a man much older than thirty-four, the weight of the past heavy on his shoulders.
The realization messed me up. “So Black Security, all of this, is because of that day?”
“It’s because of you. You believed in me when you had no reason to. Made me believe I could be someone worth believing in.” The simple declaration hung between us.
My legs felt unsteady as another piece clicked into place. “That’s why you’re still trying to repay a debt that doesn’t exist.”
“No. At first, maybe. Then you were here, in my space, with your scarves and your laugh and your damn coconut lotion, driving me crazy. And I realized some things never change.” Langston moved his hands to his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for me.
The air between us was charged with years of unspoken longing, heavy with the weight of shared history and secrets finally spoken out loud. I saw my own revelation in his eyes: our relationship had always been about mutual rescue, his debt to me for lying, my reliance on his unwavering belief in me even when I’d lost faith in myself.
I swallowed hard. “You know, when I was in Buenos Aires, thinking Leo had been in my room, the person I wanted to call was you, even after all those years. Because you always made mefeel safe when everything else was falling apart,” I said, my voice unsteady.
Langston blew out air at my confession.
“And when my book deal fell through, when I was sitting in a café in Lima thinking I’d failed at the one thing I was supposed to be good at, I remembered what you said to me before I left. I had stories no one else could tell. That someday, the world would hear my voice.” My voice caught.
Langston moved then, circling the desk. The three feet between us might as well have been an ocean, but something in his confession pulled me across the distance like gravity. I spent fifteen years wondering why this man let me lie for him, why he’d taken my sacrifice and disappeared into his own life without ever reaching back for me. Now I knew he’d been reaching for me all along, building himself into something worthy of what I’d done. The realization left me dizzy with emotions I couldn’t name.
“Langston, you didn’t need to prove anything to me,” I whispered, my voice cracking on his name.
His eyes met mine, vulnerability still raw and exposed. “I did. I do.”
I crossed those three feet without conscious thought. My body decided before my brain caught up. My hands found his face, brushing against his beard as I tilted his head down to look at me.
“I want to go home with you.” My words hung between us like a challenge.
His eyes widened slightly, searching my face for certainty. Finding it, he nodded once. His hand found mine, fingers interlacing with a certainty sending heat spiraling through my body.
We left the building in silence. I watched the muscles in his forearm flex as he locked up behind us, remembering how those arms had felt around me in his office, in the elevator.
“I’ll follow you,” I stated.
Langston walked me to my car and made sure I was inside with the doors locked before he went to his SUV.
His colonial-style homenear downtown wasn’t what I expected — sleek and modern, where everything else in our hometown clung stubbornly to old-fashioned or traditional.
His home revealed a space which screamed Langston in every detail —
minimalist furniture in shades of gray and black, everything meticulously organized. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the neighborhood.
“Damn, I guess security pays better than writing,” I joked, taking it all in.
