Lie With Me (Stonewall Investigations Miami 2)

“You won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“I know. Logically, I know that. It’s just in here.” I pressed two hard fingers against my chest. “I can’t shake the fear that our age difference is going to drive you away. Just looking in the mirror, I feel reminded by it. With every new crow’s-foot, every new forehead crease, it’s a visible reminder that there’s no way of bridging the time between us.”

“I don’t care about bridging it, Beck. I know that’s impossible. What I care about is walking across every other bridge in my life with you by my side.” Oliver’s hand found mine. His fingers, soft and thin, dipped between mine, locking our hands together. “And just for the record, you may see all that, but I don’t. All I see is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Even if I don’t know the difference between an Instagram and a Snapbook?” It was a little bit of a lighthearted joke that still carried plenty of truth to it. Seeing Oliver and all his popular social media accounts had made me feel self-conscious, only because it felt like such a faraway world from the one I had lived in for so long.

Oliver’s lips quirked into a smirk, a moment of much-needed levity during the storm. “Would it change anything if I said I’m jealous that you grew up without all that crap? I kind of wish I didn’t have to even think about the number of people ‘double-tapping’ on my photo. And I grew up with that shit. You know how messed up in the head that makes you?”

A laugh rose up out of me, strange but welcome.

“And that’s not to say they’re aren’t great things about all the social meeds. I get to see pictures of celebrities eating sponsored ice cream while also simultaneously staying in touch with all of my friends from college. And then, all in the same ten-minute span, I could get a comment on a photo from my drunk aunt Laureen telling me that my smile was heaven-sent and that she wishes I wrote her more.” Oliver’s grin was growing. “See? Magical. But also a huge pain in my ass.” He stepped closer to me. “Unlike you. I want you, Beckham. And only you. That’s not going to change for anything.”

I believed him. I really fucking did.

But I needed to hear it said. Maybe it was the investigator in me, but I had to ask the question. “So me being sixteen years your senior doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it doesn’t bother me. I’ve seen how quickly time can become irrelevant, Beck. Suddenly, a sixteen-year age gap is shortened to nothing through some tragic accident or sidewalk homophobic attack that leaves someone dead. I’ve learned the hard way that life is short for everyone, so why the hell am I going to make it harder for myself by fighting my love for you?”

Those stormy blue eyes were holding a category five hurricane. He meant every word he said. There wasn’t a doubt in my bones.

“Okay?” Oliver asked. I realized I was quiet. “I love you, forever and always.”

“I love you, too, Olly.” We leaned in for a kiss. It felt like we were stepping into an old dance routine, one which our bodies knew all the steps but needed a few seconds to warm up.

His lips, soft and warm against mine, instantly eased the turmoil that had rocked my world hours before. His kiss was a spread of cool aloe vera over a scorched sunburn.

After we shared that healing kiss, the two of us moved out of the cramped hall and into the living room. Oliver took a seat at the dining table next to the kitchen. The window was open, letting in a warm breeze from outside, rattling some of the blinds.

I went to reheat Oliver’s tea in the microwave.

“Thank you,” Oliver said when I set the steaming cup back in front of him.

I took a seat opposite him with my own mug. It was decaffeinated green tea with a dollop of honey thrown in, soothing every part of the throat as it went down.

“I take back what I said about the investigation.” Oliver’s words weren’t surprising. I knew he had been speaking through his frayed emotions. I knew that at the end of the day, what Oliver wanted most was to find the fuckers who did this. He wanted closure and he wanted to put Derrick’s killers behind bars, and I was sure as hell going to do it.

That’s when it hit me.

“Bloody hell.”

“What?” Oliver asked. “What is it?”

“Bloody fuckin’ hell. How am I so stupid?” I pushed back on the table and stood up, going for my phone which I had put to charge on the kitchen counter.