Page 8 of For the Rest of Forever
“No.”
“Did they say anything? Joe said he heard some yelling, but he couldn’t make out the words.”
Allen hesitated again, and Greg squeezed his shoulder. “Allen?”
He couldn’t repeat their words. He wouldn’t. He lowered his eyes to his hands, which now rested in his lap.
“I-I heard them,” he stuttered. “Their words were... not kind.” There was an almost palpable thickness to the air around him now, and he closed his eyes again as he felt Greg tense up. He shook his head. “They were just kids. They don’t—”
“All the more reason they learn this behavior isn’t okay,” Jake said gently but firmly. “What did they say, Allen?”
But Allen just shook his head. “I’d rather not repeat it.”
There was a pause, and Allen’s jaw clenched as he felt Greg’s tension again. He knew Greg would be upset, angry even. Not angry at Allen, of course, but angry at the perpetrators and the situation. And Allen understood. Maybe he’d be upset enough himself in a day or two, when the lightheadedness and shakiness were gone. But for now, he couldn’t do it.
“I-I’m sorry,” Allen said, his voice sounding rough, even to his own ears.
Greg knelt down next to him. “You’re okay, right, darling?” he asked quietly, and Allen managed a nod. Greg’s lips pressed lightly against his forehead, and then Allen felt Greg stand up again. His voice seemed a bit farther away and hushed, though Allen could still feel the warmth of his presence. “Jake, maybe... well, can I just take him home now? And we’ll call later if he remembers anything else.”
“Of course, sure, Greg. Allen, take it easy, okay?”
“Thank you, Jake,” Allen said.
Jake’s heavy footsteps moved away, and Allen slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head again, blinking as the light from the room sent a sharp pain through his skull. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore it. It was probably just a stress-induced headache, not a migraine or something else.
Greg’s hand covered his, and Allen let his husband help him to his feet. He felt everyone’s eyes on him as they started toward the entrance, Greg’s arm looped through Allen’s to support him.He wanted to be stronger, to brush it off, to be able to reassure everyone that he was okay.
Because he was.
Nothing had even happened.
But when he got closer to the front entrance and saw the mess for the first time—one of the front windows shattered, a large brick on the ground only a few feet from the main desk where he usually sat to work, shards of glass everywhere—his stomach dropped. His hand holding Greg’s tightened as he leaned heavily on his husband.
“They threw a-a brick?” he rasped.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Greg sounded solid and in control next to him, and Allen just nodded again and let Greg lead him around the debris, out into the warmth of the late afternoon. There were more people gathered outside, and he heard the murmurs of the crowd fade into a tense silence as Greg supported him, leading them toward the SUV.
His eyes landed on his own car, parked down at the end of the short row of parking spots, and Allen stopped suddenly, his legs nearly giving out. The windshield and windows were smashed in, the tires were slashed, and several derogatory and threatening words had been carved into the hood.
Greg tried gently to steer him away, down the last of the front steps of the library. “Allen, let’s just go, okay? The police will handle it.”
But he couldn’t move; his legs physically wouldn’t carry him, and instead, he grabbed ahold of the railing next to him, barely keeping himself from slumping to the ground. “Why?” he breathed. “Wh-what reason would they have for—for...”
Around him, the crowd was still silent, and Allen was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that he wasn’t safe. He scanned the crowd; he knew everyone there, and they all watched him with sympathy. But standing there, his ruined car not more than fortyfeet away, unable to move of his own accord, without his husband’s support, Allen felt more exposed and vulnerable than he’d ever felt in his life.
“Get me home, please,” he begged quietly, letting go of the railing and leaning on Greg again. “Please.”
“Of course, darling. Of course.”
Chapter Five
Greg
Greg was fretting. Ofcourse he was fretting. Anyone in his position would be. Only, he knew it wasn’t helping his husband, who seemed to still be in shock after having seen the damage to his car.
Allen was resting upstairs now and had been for some time. And Greg had been fielding all of his calls. He’d spoken multiple times with the sheriff and other local law enforcement, but the last call... that had been the toughest yet.
It had been the sheriff, Mike Foster, calling to let Greg know that they’d found the kids.
