Shades of Gray (38 page)

Jill gave Ronnie a quick pat on the upper arm as the bailiff led him away, his hands shackled behind his back, a chain securing his ankles together. Ronnie kept his gaze straight ahead as he shuffled through the door that would take him to the holding room down the hall, and from there to his new home.

“How are you doing?” Danny asked as they gathered up their clutter from the defense table, plastic tubs filled with numbered exhibits, scores of yellow legal pads, highlighters and pens, half-empty water bottles, a box of Kleenex, and several tins of Altoids, which Jill refused to enter the courtroom without.

“Me?” Jill smiled at Danny across the table. “I’m fine.” Shades of Gray | 295

“Are you upset about the verdict?”

“Not really.” Jill shrugged. “I expected it.”

“But you worked so hard.”

“I did,” she agreed. “But he was guilty, Danny. He robbed that store. How can I be mad when the jury made the right decision? He should have taken the plea.”

“But….” Danny stopped, at a rare loss for words.

“Let me guess, you want to know why I worked so hard if I knew he was guilty, right? Or how I could represent him in the first place?” Jill didn’t wait for Danny’s response, stuffing the last of the legal pads into her battered briefcase with a sigh. “I did it because it’s my job. I can’t go into it thinking about guilt or innocence or what my client deserves. Those kinds of judgments are beyond me. Everyone’s entitled to a good defense and that’s my job. Fighting for a fair sentence, that’s my job too. But as far as the verdict, the system usually works the way it’s supposed to. Innocent men are convicted and guilty men go free, but not as often as people think.”

Danny stared at her and Jill laughed. “Bet you weren’t expecting a speech, were you? I’ve got more where that came from. Someday, ask to hear the one on three-strikes laws. It’s a doozy.”

“How do you do it?” Danny asked. “How do you do this job every day?”

Jill looked up at him. “Because I love it. And because I’m one of those pathetic bleeding hearts who really does believe that everyone deserves a decent defense. Sad, but true.”

“It’s not sad.”

Jill smiled as she hoisted a box of exhibits onto her hip. “Hey, a few of us are going out for a beer. Want to come?”

“Nah,” Danny shook his head. “I’m beat. I’m going to head home.” He knew Jill’s invitation was genuine, just as the friendly greeting he’d received every morning from the prosecutor and bailiff, the judge and his clerk were truly meant. But he still felt uncomfortable around this courthouse crowd.

296 | Brooke McKinley

The first day he’d shown up here in his new black slacks and white button-down shirt, his heart had threatened to burst out of his chest, his feet dragging with thoughts of setting foot in a courtroom again. He’d only done it for Jill, because she’d needed help with this trial, and she’d promised him it would be three days or less. His anxiety must have shown on his face because Jill had pulled him aside and told him to relax, he wasn’t a defendant anymore. He didn’t know how many of the people working in the courtroom knew his history, but even if they all did, no one acted like it mattered. It still mattered to Danny, though, and he was pretty sure it always would.

“See you on Monday,” Jill said as they parted ways on the courthouse steps, waving with her briefcase. “You did a good job, Danny.”

“Thanks.” Danny smiled. “See you later.”

The St. Patrick’s Day weather had held for more than a week now, and Danny took advantage of the unseasonable warmth, getting off the ll one stop early to swing by a local sandwich shop for dinner.

He got a turkey club to go, knowing the sandwich wasn’t in his budget but for one night not caring.

The warmer temperature brought a hint of spring to the air, but the deep twilight pushing in by six o’clock told a different story. Danny let himself into his apartment, shedding his shirt before he’d even switched on the living room lamp. Thank God Jill hadn’t made him wear a tie, at least. More comfortable in old jeans and a T-shirt, he grabbed a beer and his sandwich, settling himself on the couch to eat. It was so quiet in the room he could hear each crunch of the lettuce, the lonely sounds of his meal shriveling his appetite into nothing.

He knew what he was going to do—had known from the minute he’d turned down Jill’s invitation for beers. It was one of those nights.

He could feel Miller rising up in him, swamping him with need. He put his plate, complete with half-finished sandwich, down on the floor and lay back on the couch, resting his head on a chenille throw pillow Amanda had picked out a lifetime ago.

He closed his eyes, searching for the right image, trying to decide Shades of Gray | 297

which one he’d dole out tonight. Only one—that was the most he could handle and the most he could afford to use up. It reminded him of being a kid, when his dad had always received a tiny box of chocolates for Christmas from his sister-in-law. Danny was allowed to have one, just one, and he had to pick carefully because if he chose wrong and ended up with the maple nougat or the raspberry cream, that was his own tough luck.

Danny felt like that boy as he sifted through his memories, trying to put his fingers on just the right vision for tonight, one he could savor, one that would melt slowly on his tongue like chocolate and caramel, sweet and rich, one that couldn’t be swallowed down too quickly, disappearing in a single ravenous gulp.

His mind closed around the memory in a greedy clutch, but Danny slowed himself down, easing his fingers off the vision, letting it unfold slowly. He pictured rolling over, his body limp with sleep and satisfaction, and seeing Miller’s face above his, those gray eyes warm and peaceful, hearing the faint, almost imagined, snap of snow against the windows. Miller’s face had been soft and easy that morning after they’d first made love, for once not carrying any weight around his eyes, his mouth loose and relaxed. Whatever else Danny had fucked up between them, he’d done something right that day because Miller had been happy, lit up from the inside.

It was a good memory. One that was worth the bittersweet sting of remembering.

WAITING until morning was the smart thing to do, get a decent night’s sleep and head out when the sun was up. But Miller had spent his whole life doing the smart thing, the safe thing, and now he couldn’t wait for daylight. He wanted to look at his watch in an hour, on the dark and deserted highway, and know he was getting closer to Danny with each ticking second.

He’d waited all week for Colin to call him back, impatience robbing him of appetite, longing stealing his rest. He’d promised 298 | Brooke McKinley

himself he’d give Colin five days, one hundred and twenty hours, before he’d simply head to Chicago without any clear plan, just show up on Danny’s doorstep with no idea what he’d do in that strange city.

But in the end Colin had come through, and Miller could go to Danny with more than just a wish for their future.

He packed quickly; he didn’t need much. He’d have to come back here soon, no matter what happened. Either to pick up the pieces of this life or to gather his things and move them to his new life with Danny.

He didn’t allow himself to think beyond the drive, beyond rolling over the miles separating them. Nine hours, give or take, and he’d see Danny’s face again.

Miller zipped up his duffel bag and laced up his battered tennis shoes. He stood in the doorway of his apartment for a moment, the moon high and bright through the window. Going after what he really wanted, reaching for it with both hands, was unfamiliar to Miller. He’d lived his life waiting patiently for what would come to him. But Danny had changed all that. Miller thought that maybe Danny’s walking away that day in the park had been a blessing in disguise. By letting go, Danny had freed him to pursue, had forced Miller to find the courage to follow.

THE sun woke Danny before he was ready. He’d planned on sleeping in, taking advantage of his work-free Saturday. He tried putting the pillow over his head but couldn’t settle back into sleep, the sun hitting right between his bare shoulder blades, heating the skin to an itchy tingle.

“Shit,” he muttered, squinting at his bedside clock. Eight o’clock.

The “real job” schedule he kept during the week was wreaking havoc with his lazy mornings in bed. He needed to shower, and, judging from the sorry state of his kitchen, a trip to the grocery store was definitely in order. Maybe this week he’d branch out and get something besides cereal and Hamburger Helper.

When he opened his living room window, the breeze hitting his Shades of Gray | 299

face was warm, ruffling his shower-damp hair. He figured he probably still needed his jacket, the Chicago wind capable of chilling the mildest-looking day. As he jogged down the stairs to the front door of his building, he sent up a quick prayer that his car would be where he’d left it, three blocks away. He hadn’t driven it in over a week; parking in Chicago was such a bitch he walked or took the ll if at all possible.

The sun hit Danny’s eyes in a blinding glare as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. He patted his jacket pockets for his sunglasses, too late remembering them sitting on his kitchen counter. Fuck it—he wasn’t going back up four flights of stairs. There was a brown Jeep parked at the curb, its bumper flush against the car in front. Danny smiled to himself. Someone was going to be pissed when they woke up and couldn’t move their car because of that Jeep’s snug embrace. He turned left, toward his own car, his rapid pace slowing suddenly… that brown Jeep.

Danny pivoted and stared. He knew that Jeep. He’d almost died in that car, he and Miller both. Miller.

No, it’s a different Jeep. There are thousands of brown ones just
like that. You’re imagining it.

But Danny knew he wasn’t. Because the license plate was the same. He never forgot details like that, never forgot details about Miller. Danny moved closer, peering into the passenger window, seeing nothing but a clean interior. From a distance he heard the faint tinkling of the bell on the door of the corner shop, the one that sold newspapers, stale doughnuts, and day-old coffee. Without even looking, he knew who had come out of that store. Even from five car lengths away, Danny could feel him.

Danny straightened up slowly, almost scared to see, scared that if he turned his head Miller would disappear, a figment of his starved imagination. Danny turned his head, eyes drawn to the lanky man standing on the sidewalk, a Styrofoam cup of coffee clutched in his hand, his eyes camouflaged by mirrored shades.

They stared at each other, neither one moving. And then Miller pulled off his sunglasses, hooking them through the neck of his army-300 | Brooke McKinley

green T-shirt, closing the distance between them in long strides. Danny stood frozen in place as his mind clicked off facts in a detached, distant voice: he needs a haircut, he’s not smiling, he’s getting closer, the freckles on his nose are darker.

Miller stopped in front of him, his eyes sweeping over Danny then locking on his face, not moving.

“That coffee sucks,” Danny croaked, because he couldn’t find his voice to ask the important questions, the
why
and
how
and
what does it
mean
of Miller’s presence on this sunny Saturday morning.

Miller’s mouth curved upward, the very beginnings of a smile, and then he opened his fingers, the cup thudding down onto the pavement. Coffee soaked into the concrete in a muddy stain as the lid gave way.

Their bodies came together hard, the force of Miller’s lunge driving the air from Danny’s chest, the mirrored sunglasses sacrificed between them. Danny’s arms wrapped around Miller’s back, one hand fisting in his hair, threatening to never let go, tugging against the soft strands. “Miller,” Danny whispered, closing his eyes, swallowing past a throat crowded with tears.

“Danny, Danny.” Miller’s voice was thick, his lips moving against Danny’s neck. “God, Danny.”

Danny pulled him closer, his arms ratcheting tight. He didn’t know what the future held or why Miller was there, but for a single endless moment, standing with Miller in a warm March breeze, Danny had everything he’d ever wanted, and he didn’t want to lose his grip.

MILLER wasn’t sure he was going to make it up the stairs. He concentrated on Danny climbing steadily in front of him, ignoring his trembling knees and shaking fingers that registered an internal earthquake. He followed Danny down the narrow hall to the apartment at the far end of the building, waited while Danny fiddled with the multiple inner-city locks.

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“Come on in,” Danny said, hoarse and breathless.

The apartment was small and plain but clean, Danny’s furniture too nice for its new home. Miller watched as Danny locked the door behind them, bracing himself for Danny’s weight against his body. But Danny skirted his way around him, throwing his jacket onto the couch as he passed. Danny took a seat on the edge of the far windowsill, his eyes on the floor. The silence between them was laced with tension, the lack of words as loud as any scream. Miller cleared his throat, moving a little closer to Danny, unsure how to begin. In his imaginings it had all been easier, this awkwardness between them something he’d never anticipated. “I heard you got a job,” he blurted out.

“Yeah,” Danny nodded. “At Legal Aid.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fine. They want me to apply for a paralegal job that’s opening up.”

“That’s great, Danny. That would be really good—”

“What are you doing here, Miller?” Danny’s voice was flat, cutting Miller’s words short.

Miller blinked. “I wanted to see you,” he said, even though he didn’t think it needed saying.

“Why?”

“Why?” Miller repeated. He felt mired in uncertainty, off balance since they’d entered the apartment, the atmosphere so different from their greeting on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, Miller, why?”

“Because… because I did what you said. I cleaned up my life. I told Rachel the truth, I quit my job—”

“I hope you didn’t do all that for me.” Danny grasped the windowsill with white knuckles.