Chapter 16 Tallus
Tallus
Traffic had died down, and I was able to watch Diem and Darcy as they exited Subway and aimed for the corner store. From there, after a short conversation on the sidewalk, they headed to Darcy’s apartment across the street.
Echo whimpered, seeing Diem out the window.
“You noticed it too?”
Echo chuffed.
“I know. Daddy’s being surprisingly… patient for someone who loathes teenagers with every fiber of his being.”
Darcy wasn’t technically a teenager anymore—nineteen made him a legal adult—but his attitude suggested otherwise. Yet, for whatever reason, Diem had mostly maintained control over the situation, refusing to defer to me, the calmer, more sociable of the two of us.
Something had to give. My boyfriend’s temper was like a volcano under pressure. Eventually, he would blow.
The eruption happened less than three minutes after they vanished down the stairwell. Diem reappeared, dragging Darcy by the scruff of his neck. The kid hugged a ragged backpack to his chest and stumbled after him, fear painted in sharp relief across his pale face.
Diem’s expression was set in stone. Murderous, if I’d ever seen it.
What the hell was going on? Diem wasn’t usually this handsy. He was overly cautious with physical contact. First the football tackle in the street, and now this.
They crossed the road, and Diem dragged Darcy around to the driver’s side. He yanked the door open, shoved the seat forward, and growled, “Get in.”
Darcy scrambled to comply, getting tangled in the seat belt before tumbling into the back and landing on top of Echo, who barked her objection.
The instant he was out of the way, Diem shoved the seat in place and climbed in, slamming the door and jamming his keys in the ignition.
“Um…” I glanced into the back seat where Darcy and Echo stared at one another. “D, this is kidnapping.”
“It’s not. He’s coming willingly.” Diem glared at Darcy in the rearview mirror and sharpened his tone. “Right?”
“Y-yeah. T-totally willing. Does your dog bite?”
“Not as hard as me.”
I stared at Diem with disbelief, but my boyfriend put the Jeep in gear and pulled into traffic.
Darcy said nothing. He stared helplessly out the window as far away from Echo as he could get.
Echo poked her head into the front seat, nudging Diem’s shoulder, but Diem growled for her to sit back with the same snip in his tone he’d used on the kid.
He never used that voice with Echo, and the poor dog seemed confused, but she returned to the back seat.
I had no idea what was going on or what had tipped him over the edge, but when Diem didn’t aim for the office and instead turned toward home, I risked asking, “What’s happening?”
“He’s not staying in a fucking crack house.”
“It’s not a crack house,” Darcy mumbled.
Diem lanced daggers via the rearview mirror, and Darcy shrank lower in the seat. “It’s not,” the kid said petulantly.
“I ought to call your fucking landlord.”
“He already knows, asshole. He doesn’t care.”
“Um, D…” I wanted to remind him that this kid wasn’t our responsibility. I wanted to ask about his intentions, but the words wouldn’t form.
Fifteen minutes later, Diem pulled into the underground car park at our building and slotted the Jeep beside my Jetta. He killed the engine, and silence engulfed us.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Diem strangled the life out of the steering wheel, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched.
He closed his eyes and pressed air through his tight jaw, once, twice, three times in even intervals.
I imagined him counting backward from ten.
It was something he did when he was particularly stressed.
Dr. Peterson had taught him various means of controlling his anger, and Diem used them religiously.
They worked… most of the time.
I glanced at Darcy, who shrugged.
“What did you do to him?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“D?”
“I’m fine.” He shouldered the door open and jerked the seat forward, ordering Darcy to get out.
Echo followed, and Diem leashed her.
We rode the elevator in awkward silence, the walls pressing in too close, the air thick and hard to breathe. My hip throbbed, so I shifted my weight to the uninjured side, except that was the ankle I’d twisted.
“Why is he coming home with us?” I asked when the doors slipped open.
Diem snagged Darcy’s coat sleeve and dragged him down the hall. “Not now, Tallus.”
My snarly boyfriend unlocked the apartment and shoved a wooden Darcy inside. The kid stumbled over his busted sneakers.
“Take off those disgusting running shoes. In fact, give them to me. I’m throwing them in the garbage.”
“You can’t. They’re all I have.”
Diem didn’t care. He grabbed the runners the second they were off Darcy’s feet and tossed them into the hallway, slamming the door and locking the dead bolt as though that might prevent Darcy from retrieving them.
Unleashed, Echo ran into the kitchen, woofing for food. I volunteered to feed her but kept a wary eye on Diem and his hostage because I didn’t care what anyone said. Darcy was not here willingly, and my boyfriend had officially lost his marbles.
At this rate, they would be sharing a jail cell.
Still hugging his backpack, Darcy glanced around our modestly decorated apartment, seeming unsure where to put himself. A frown slowly formed, pulling his brows together. “Do you two both live here?”
“Yes.” Diem stormed down the hall toward the bedroom. “I’m finding you something to wear, and you’re taking a fucking shower. Move it.”
Darcy and I briefly locked gazes before he scrambled after Diem. Not wanting to miss a thing—and moderately concerned for Darcy’s well-being—I dumped a scoop of food into Echo’s dish and hustled after them. This was better than reality TV.
Darcy stood outside our bedroom, his expression morphing from confusion to disgust as he took in the lone bed and dressers while Diem dug through a stack of my clothes.
Then, because the kid clearly had a death wish, he opened his mouth. “Oh my god. You’re fucking gay.” Darcy shot me a look of disgust before turning to Diem, who had found joggers and a graphic tee I rarely wore. “You’re fucking homos.”
Diem bristled.
“Oh, buddy.” I sighed, patting his shoulder. “I will say nice words at your funeral.”
Diem turned from the dresser and stood to his full height before stalking toward Darcy. “You got a fucking problem with that?”
I put myself between them and faced off with my surly boyfriend. He might scare most people, but he didn’t scare me. “Guns, if you spill blood on these carpets, we won’t get our deposit back. Think before you act.”
I spun and pointed my finger in Darcy’s face.
“And you. I don’t know why my insolent boyfriend decided to bring you here, but he must have had a good reason, so filter your fucking mouth and stop acting like a shit.
If even one homophobic slur leaves your mouth, I will cut your tongue out and feed it to the dog. Understand?”
Darcy’s cheeks blazed, and he backed up a step, running into the wall. “We’re cool.” Darcy’s gaze flitted from me to Diem. “If it helps, you don’t look gay. I would never have guessed.”
I sighed. “Sweetie. Let me ask you something. Does Diem look like a man who could snap you in half like a glowstick?”
“Yes.”
“Does he look like a man with a deep well of patience?”
“No.”
“Does he look semi-psychotic right now?”
“Y-yes.”
“Remember that each and every time you open your mouth, okay.”
Diem reached around me and wrenched the kid’s backpack from his arms and replaced it with a pile of my clothes. “Go shower.”
“Hey. That’s my bag. Give it back. I have my own clothes.”
“And if they’re as clean as the ones you’re wearing, I’m either washing them or burning them. Go. Shower. You fucking stink. And wash your hair, or I’m shaving it off.”
Darcy looked like he wanted to argue, but he glanced in my direction and bit his lip, scooting down the hall instead and vanishing into the bathroom. He slammed the door and engaged the lock.
When I heard the shower run, I rounded on my boyfriend, who opened his mouth to speak.
I cut him off. “What the fuck is going on? He’s not staying here.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Diem Krause—”
“His living arrangements are unsuitable.”
“That’s not our problem.”
Diem didn’t have a response to that and opened the hall closet where we kept laundry soap and extra towels. He selected one of the latter and tossed it on the floor by the bathroom door, banged a fist on the wooden surface, and shouted, “There’s a towel out here for you.”
With Darcy’s backpack over his shoulder, he grabbed a handful of soap pods, our coin jar, and aimed for the apartment door. “I’ll be back.”
“You’re doing his laundry now?”
He slammed the door.
I stood helplessly in the middle of the apartment, unsure what to do. Diem had brought a stranger into our house. A criminal. Darcy may not have masterminded the scam against Elwood, but he had helped steal the money. What made Diem believe he wouldn’t steal from us, too?
Diem returned a few minutes later, rooting around in the bottom of the empty backpack. He tossed a battered phone onto the kitchen counter and dragged the garbage pail from under the sink. He upended the bag, dumping crumpled papers, empty candy wrappers, and old pens and pencils.
Before tucking the garbage away, he mumbled, “Fuck it,” and shoved the entire bag into the trash, pushing down to make it fit.
I crossed my arms. “Where’s he sleeping?”
“On the couch.”
“He’s going to leave in the middle of the night.”
“He won’t. He has nowhere to go.”
“He could go home. He has an apartment.”
“That’s not a fucking home. It’s a drug den.”
“He’s going to rob us blind.”
“He won’t.” Diem’s entire focus was on the cellphone and not the conversation.
I threw my hands up. “You aren’t even listening?”
“I am, Tallus, and he’s staying. You should have seen that apartment.”
“Not. Our. Problem, D.”
“It looked like a fucking crack house.”
“Not. Our. Problem.” I clapped each syllable to no avail.
He continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “Three guys, completely strung out. They’re shooting heroin, not snorting coke or smoking weed.
It looked like a fucking landfill. Mice shit everywhere.
Roaches. Mold. Feces. Christ, it might have been human feces.
Smelled like a goddamn urinal, too. I didn’t have enough fingers to count the sheer number of health violations.
He slept on a torn mattress on the floor among dirty needles. ”
“So you decided to bring him here.”
“Yes.”
“Diem—”
“He’s not on heroin. He’s living there because he has no other options.”
“Says who?”
“Says him.”
“And you believed that load of crap? All he’s done is lie.”
“It’s the truth. Maybe the only truth he told me.” Diem chucked the phone on the counter. “It’s fucking locked.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Diem had made up his mind, and I wasn’t going to change it. My aches and pains were getting worse, not better, and I was tired. Fighting with Diem was never worth it.
The shower cut off.
“All right. He’s your problem, but for the record, I’m not on board with this. You should have asked me how I felt. I live here too.”
For the first time since our stakeout that afternoon, Diem looked ashamed. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, and his shoulders fell. “I’m sorry.”
“Is this because you’re convinced that he has answers?”
“No. I mean, he does, but that’s not why… I just… I have to do this, Tallus. I can’t explain it.”
He didn’t have to. I’d always had a keen ability to hear everything Diem didn’t say. He felt connected to Darcy, and Diem rarely connected with anyone.
“You’d better keep an eye on him. Maybe you trust him, but I don’t.” With that, I aimed for the bedroom, doing all I could to walk properly and ignore the pain in my hip and ankle.
I failed, and Diem noticed. “You’re limping.”
Shuffling to a stop, I braced a hand against the wall but didn’t turn around. “I fell chasing after you two. My shoe slipped on the wet pavement.”
“How bad? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
I smiled to myself. His concern was hours too late. “No, D. I’m fine.”
Hobbling, I continued down the hall and closed myself inside the bedroom. I wasn’t as angry as I pretended, but I was uncomfortable with a stranger under our roof, no matter how sure Diem was that Darcy wouldn’t be a problem.