Aaron thought about Quinn, and worried about him. He also thought about the beers in the refrigerator, and then went and took them all out. He lined them up beside the kitchen sink and opened every one. Tipped them all down the drain. He hated how much it hurt him to do it, because hadn’t he always told himself it wasn’t an addiction? It wasn’t that bad? A lie.
The beer swirled away, and Aaron made a coffee instead; black, and as bitter as he could stand it. It burned his throat as he gulped it down, but it took the edge off his cravings for now.
It was dark and he was sitting in the den when he heard the faint knock at the kitchen door. He climbed awkwardly to his feet and moved into the kitchen. He didn’t turn the light on. He didn’t want whoever was outside to see him before he saw them. Old habits meeting new paranoia.
“Who is it?” he asked, reaching for the crutch leaning against the wall. Better than nothing if he needed a weapon.
“It’s me.”
Quinn.
Aaron shoved the crutch away and crossed to the door. He drew the latch back and opened it. “Holy shit. Are you okay?”
Quinn reached out for him, and then stopped as though he’d hesitated. He brushed his knuckles against Aaron’s chest, barely a touch at all, and moved past him into the kitchen. “You got a drink?”
“Thought you were sober these days,” Aaron said carefully.
Quinn kept his back to him as he checked the refrigerator. “Yeah, well fuck that.”
“You’re about two hours too late,” Aaron said. “I tipped the last of them down the sink.”
Quinn straightened up and slammed the refrigerator shut. He learned against the counter, and laughed. “Of course you did. That’s just my luck, isn’t it?”
“Maybe it is,” Aaron said. He kept his tone even. “Maybe it’s not a good idea to get fucked up when Jimmy’s going to be gunning for you.”
Quinn nodded, one hand tapping his thigh restlessly. “Yeah. I just needsomething, you know?”
“Then come here,” Aaron said. He couldn’t read Quinn’s expression in the gloom. “I said, come here.”
Quinn moved towards him.
Aaron reached out when he was close enough and gripped him by the shirtfront. He pulled him close. He reached his other hand up to grip Quinn’s hair, and tugged his head back, and forced him into a kiss. Quinn growled, but it was all for fucking show because he didn’t make a move to push Aaron away. The kiss was rough, but when had they ever done anything the soft way? By the time Aaron released him, Quinn’s breath was coming in harsh pants. There was something like anger in his face, something like hunger too, and Aaron wasn’t sure if Quinn wanted to punch him or fuck him.
Quinn didn’t do either. Instead, his expression crumpled and he flung his arms around Aaron’s neck, pressing his face into the crook of his neck and breaking down into silent, wracking sobs.
Aaron squeezed his stinging eyes shut. He held Quinn tightly, running a hand up and down his spine, feeling every knot under the smooth slide of his soft T-shirt. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know.”
It felt like a long time passed. Before Quinn lifted his face. He made no move to step away. “This is what it feels like, huh? When some asshole shoots your father?”
Aaron nodded, his throat tight.
“He was my uncle,” Quinn said, “but he was more of a father to me than my piece-of-shit dad ever was.”
“I know.”
“Jesus.” Quinn rubbed a hand over his face. “I gotta call my handler again. And I gotta figure out how to keep Jimmy on a leash before he hands this town over to the Burned Skulls. And I gotta somehow do that without him putting a bullet in my skull.”
“Put one in his first,” Aaron said.
Quinn laughed and the sound was harsh. “What?”
Aaron held his face between his hands. “Put a bullet in his skull first, Quinn, if that’s what it takes.”
Quinn’s mouth quirked in a smile. “I’m acop, Aaron. I don’t get to do that.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” Aaron said. His chest ached. “I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t,” Quinn said. He pressed his mouth against Aaron’s in a quick, soft kiss. “You won’t.”
