Spencer sat up in his hospital bed with his MacBook Air laptop. He had wanted the laptop because he wanted , no , needed to work on his newest book on the magic of math and numbers in general as well as his blog The Culture of Mathematics which currently had a following of ten. That was mainly what he used the device for in general. DuBuis was the more social media adept type ; he had Facebook , Twitter , Instagram and TikTok. DuBuis had actually sweettalked Spencer into starting a Facebook though. DuBuis had three thousand friends. Spencer had forty. Spencer usually tried to stay off Facebook because he tended to irritate what his husband called " trolls " by merely inserting fact to combat their complete lack of good judgment and intelligence and misinformation. The troll people always took offense and would attack him which meant that DuBuis , Faith and Mark would have to " rescue " him. He also occasionally went online there to make sure that DuBuis was not posting anything too embarrassing about him. Like the picture of Spencer wearing no shirt or undershirt and BBC Sherlock boxer shorts dancing in their living room with Algebra. Spencer was still miffed over him posting that one. He never would have done it if DuBuis hadn't poured him that second glass of wine. Because of DuBuis and his love of taking pictures he had had to suffer through comments like Faith's " AWE " , Mark's " LMFAO " and even young Luci's " Bust a move , Unk ! ". He had not talked to DuBuis for a full week after that one.
Yet that night after they had finished the movie and he bid goodnight to DuBuis via text he pulled out the laptop to begin googling. He desperately needed to find any and all information on this prison he was being exiled to. All he found though was a fairly professional looking website that had the smiling supposedly happy inmates featured. He frowned as he pictured himself as one of the inmates. He hated this.
" Time for your laxative , Mr. Norland - Lane , " grumbled an almost startingly obese nurse Bertha who seemed to take an unnatural pleasure in cleaning out patients and their bowels.
" It is bedtime , ma'am. Why on earth would I take a laxative at bedtime ? Now if you would please go away and kindly return with a nice cup of herbal tea that would be preferable. Made with bottled water please. Not tap. Tap tends to repeat on me. "
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DuBuis could not sleep after saying goodnight to Spencer that night. He couldn't sleep well without the small slim man curled up next to him in their bed. He missed his cold ass feet pressed up against his own. He missed the feel of Spencer's warm breath on the back of his neck. He missed hearing the little snores that Spencer claimed he didn't make. He missed waking up to Spencer complaining about something he had seen in the newspaper. He missed Spencer.
DuBuis stomped down the long steep staircase in his white cotton undershirt and black briefs , passing the kittens Plus and Minus sleeping so peacefully in the downstairs hallway under a small end table and Algebra cleaning herself on the windowsill in the living room.
In the kitchen he made himself a cup of hot milk and set with it at the kitchen table. He took a sip and logged into his Facebook on the laptop. He needed to make his daily update about Spencer. Most people on his friend list were actually concerned about his husband. Even the ones who thought Spencer was an obnoxious know it all pain. Some seemed like vultures circling dying flesh though. Those people he blocked. One was his sister Sylvia. Susan Mullins even had started a go fund to help them pay medical bills which had humbled DuBuis and startled Spencer. The GoFund made five thousand dollars. It had still been gaining when Spencer made Susan shut it down because he didn't care for the attention.
( " I am not the first man to have had an accident. " )
DuBuis had been mad as hell to hear Spencer call what had happened to him " an accident " but he hadn't said anything about it.
" Genius has so graciously agreed to go to a highly regarded and esteemed rehab center , " his fingers deftly tapped out as a status post. " Pray for the staff there. "
A few seconds later after he posted it a comment popped up. One that had his lips curling into a loving smile and his heart aching. And yearning.
" Bossy Dr. Lane means the prison , " Spencer wrote simply. He followed up with a long line of angry face emojis.
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Faith Lane in her uniform and mirrored sunshades stood outside Miss Mabel's closed store. Her wide brown eyes behind the sunglasses sternly watched the store as if willing it , daring it , to give up its secrets about that day.
Where were the bastards that had hurt Spencer ? They were out there somewhere. She wanted to find them with all her heart and soul. She had lost her father to street violence and almost lost the man she saw as a friend and family to it. Who else would she have to cry over ?
She would find them , she silently vowed as her fingers touched the solid black gun holstered to her pants. And she would kill them. Nobody hurt her family. She was tired of that shit.
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Richard Norland was working yet another late night in his office in Arlington , Virginia. It was what he did most nights. Why shouldn't he ? Sarah was at the house she loved and he paid for fucking the pool boy Manny. And he really didn't care. Why didn't he care ? She was his wife and it should affect him. But it did not. He felt more sorry for Manny really. He didn't want to go home though.
The condo was not ready to be moved into yet. He was staying at a hotel close by. It was cold and sterile and lonely though. In the morning he would shower in his corner office's adjourning bathroom and dress in another expensive suit that he kept tucked away in his office closet. Nobody would be the wiser , he thought as he on a whim pulled up his Facebook page with its five thousand business associates. Nobody would know but Nigel. Nigel would know. Nigel always seemed to know. The short and model thin man with the odd eyes and the soft British accent knew too much at times. Nigel was the only man he had ever met with purple eyes. Well eye , he conceded. The other one was covered by a sequined rainbow eyepatch. Even with one eye the man saw too damn much. He was tempted on a daily basis to fire the young man whose steady gaze seemed to see through to his soul and stripped him bare as though he were naked. Something always stopped him from doing it though. Nigel was too.... too... essential.
( " Nigel is the only one who loves you. " )
" Nonsense , " he mumbled as he pulled up a profile page he had stumbled upon once by accident. He never friended or messaged the bastard but couldn't help coming back to it occasionally.
A profile picture of an older White man with unruly tussled salt and pepper curls that looked like Richard in the future. The bastard was smiling. That smile , so oddly shy and sweet , reminded him of Spencer.
Andrew Norland.
Their father.
The bastard who abandoned them all to her mercy and viciousness.
Richard sighed. For the first time ever he sent the bastard a message. A link to the Washington Post that detailed the shooting of a local professor. Spencer's shooting.
( " I've never been a good brother. " )
Then he poured himself another glass of expensive Scotch and downed it in one shot. And thought of one pensive magnificent purple eye.
YOU ARE READING
ODDS OF LOVE
Storie d'amoreOnce upon a time two very different young men met in college and fell into a most unusual friendship. Then over the years they fell into a most unusual marriage. Then one day a tragic event occurred that tossed them both upside down and had them que...
