Kairos - Blood (MxM) | Book 2 | ✅

41.In Too Deep

A holding cell. That night I could have ended up in far worse places.

My only company — a homeless old man burping and farting in his booze-induced sleep. My only immediate problem — the aches plaguing a bruised rib cage. My only remedy — sit as still as possible on the narrow metal bench that also served as a bed. And try not to think.

But I was in too deep into my shitty situation and into my own ass to focus on anything other than on the prickly question: How do I protect Ginny from Sands?

It had been one thing for me to stand alone on the ledge, but now Ginny had been thrust beside me in precarious balance and I had to hold her hand.

I'm never letting go, Ginny.

Footsteps on the corridor paced at regular intervals. A night guard.

The reality of my surroundings hit me again, refreshed and more genuine than the first time I'd gotten pushed into this cell.

Prison.

I rubbed my black fingertips wondering how many days it would take for the fingerprint ink to fade.

Punching a police officer was no small matter, but a judge would probably decide that I could get bail. Especially since I had no priors and held a position at the University...

I snickered despite the sorrow blooming in my chest. Yes, all those years as a college professor would soon mean nothing. The Dean wouldn't care to have a member of his staff in jail, accused of assaulting an officer of the law. I knew I wouldn't.

Maybe the press too would catch on to this juicy piece of gossip and sensational news. Why not?

My job meant nothing. I grieved for it in the same way one grieves for a broken toaster. I'd gotten used to having it and it had been useful, but in the end, it was only a toaster.

Ginny's life on the other hand — now that was something to grieve and fear for. So I turned and tossed, tangling and untangling schemes of how to protect the one friend I had been able to make in my pitiful 33 years of existence.

This red-haired tornado of a girl, loud and smiling, had sat beside me before a lecture, back when I was a college freshman. "You got a pen?" she'd asked me.

"Sure," I had answered plainly.

I gave her my pen thinking she'd jot down whatever she needed and eventually return it.

But as soon as her small hand got a hold of the pen, she threw it at some guy in the front row. "Fuck you, Larry!" she yelled.

And then her cheeky smirk aimed at me. "I'll buy you a new pen. And a cup of coffee."

"Add to that a pack of cigarettes and I'll also give you my notebook to use as a weapon."

"Why, thank you, mister! How very gracious of you," the red-haired girl said with a fake southern drawl.

I handed her the notebook. It was full of doodles and broken story bits that meant nothing anyway. "My pleasure, missy."

Hostilities led to a full-blown war against the front rows and our ammunition soon ran dry as foreign pens and notebooks flew our way. I and Ginny took cover giggling like middle schoolers even if we were supposed to be college students.

No, we weren't mature. No, we weren't even civil at times. But we were always laughing. We found a way to.

And now, with the crystalline giggles of our youth still ringing in my head, I wondered if Ginny and I would find a way to laugh at our current situation as well, no matter what Sands or any other mobster shithead threw at us in the present or future.