38. Enslee
Iarrived back in New York City, which was a place I hadn’t planned to return to anytime soon.
In fact, the very thought of seeing Declan or Brogan had filled me with anxiety, but after I’d watched the news footage of Brogan being arrested, the wall I’d been erecting around my heart started to crumble.
Brogan Sinclair had always been intimidating, but he looked more broken than anything when being pushed into the back of the police car.
And I’d also witnessed a glimpse of Declan, standing there watching with an equal look of devastation on his face. I knew these men, not only intimately, but I’d come to be able to read them. Had I known the truth up front, it would’ve answered the questions I’d had, and everything now made sense.
To the unsuspecting eye, the two were best friends.
That wasn’t even debatable, as they’d been photographed so many times over the years.
Declan had even talked about his best friend in various interviews.
Their love went beyond friendship for one another.
They loved each other so much, and it’d been something I’d had a front row seat to witness in my short time with them.
They were also lovers, and it still hurt like hell to know that they’d fucked me to force me to keep that secret if I so chose to go public about them.
I shouldn’t have cared at all about Brogan being arrested.
I mean, his fiancée had been missing, and instead of being torn up over it, he passed the time fucking, and being fucked, by others.
Declan and me, to be more specific. And Declan, he used his Hollywood charm to perfect the most incredibly stirring performance of his career.
He deserved an Academy Award for what he’d done to me.
It'd been another reason I’d almost ignored the message I saw come in on one of my social media accounts.
I’d wondered initially why he hadn’t just called or messaged me, but then remembered that he hadn’t had my phone number.
I still almost ignored him, but some morbid curiosity of mine made me click onto his message, and the rest was now history.
I was back in the city feeling the chill that had a hell of a lot more to do with my apprehension than the fall temperatures. It was November, and the holiday season would be upon us sooner than later. Declan would likely spend his time with the parents he’d told me briefly about while Brogan…
My heart actually wept for the man who’d held me in his arms and detailed his previous torture. That’d been real even if nothing else had been. I’d felt his pain bone deep, and I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing him first.
After, I’d go to Declan, then see what I could do to help.
Despite their lies, the truth of the matter was that my heart was still here.
A part of it, at least. I’d fallen in love with these men, and whether it made sense or not to anybody else, it had been real.
And it still was. While I knew there was definitely not a future with either man, especially not the one I’d first imagined, it didn’t mean I wanted bad things for them.
That’d been the reason I hadn’t turned them in when I’d had every reason to do so.
After speaking to Declan, I’d told him that I’d be back in the city within a day or so, because I had things to wrap up in Pennsylvania.
I’d let these men disrupt my life enough, and I wouldn’t continue to let them at the expense of my anxious fans that were waiting on my blog post and podcast that evening.
I’d gone ahead and set up the section of my van where I liked to film, then managed to hold it all together when I talked about jail as I tried to describe what it was like seeing the prisoner at SCI Greene.
My fans had been especially interested in the conditions of those facilities I visited almost as much as the prisoners I was there to interview ever since I did the piece on the inhumane conditions at Rikers Island.
Knowing Brogan was there in that place only broke my heart more.
I’d managed to get through the podcast and even post my blog post. If nothing else, it’d at least satisfy my readers for another week or two.
Afterward, I’d made the six-hour journey back to New York City.
It didn't seem like that long of a distance, but it really was, considering the closer I got, the more my chest started to hurt. Nothing would be like it had been when I’d left.
One of the men was being held without bail for murder in a place where human rights violations and worse occurred.
I’d never pictured Brogan in a place like that, not even the night I’d first met him in his office.
When I’d walked in, I’d been so nervous.
And his tone, coupled with the intensity that radiated off him, had been something to behold.
It’d been exciting but also terrifying. It’d been him, but not him at the same time because I’d also gotten to witness the man who’d eventually relax, displaying a playful side I never would’ve suspected existed after our initial encounter.
So many memories of us in the pool, eating meals together, lying on the couch, or even just in bed draped over his chest as I listened to the sound of his breathing.
Picturing that man in one of those cells was what hurt me now.
I had to see him, and before I saw Declan.
Although, I wasn't sure I'd even be able to get in to see him.
I had to try, so I took the train, then later the bus to Rikers Island.
Once there, I repeated the same process I was normally subjected to when visiting anyone, which consisted of metal detectors, pat-downs, and even a dog sniffing for contraband.
Standard procedures but annoying, nonetheless.
Once I’d cleared them, I was led to the visitation room.
It had a row of windows with chairs in front of each one, with a half partition separating each small section.
It was the sort of thing you’d find when going to the DMV to renew your license or the registration on your vehicle, which were two things I actually needed to do myself because my license and tags were set to expire soon.
I’d have to go down to Alabama and would do so once I was finished here in New York City.
I took a seat where instructed, then kept my hands on my lap as nervousness set in.
I hadn’t seen this man in person since I’d held him at gunpoint.
As I looked around, I noticed the cameras, and I was reminded that this wasn’t a secure and safe area to talk.
I’d have to let Brogan know, assuming he actually wanted to speak to me.
As I waited, I could hear others talking to their loved ones before I saw Brogan enter from the other side.
He’d been led into the room shackled at the ankles, which I knew had to make his PTSD worse.
One of the correctional officers removed them before pointing to the cubicle where I was waiting for him.
His steps slowed as he approached, then he froze as I came into view.
For a second, I thought he might actually turn around and deny my visit, but I mouthed out a single word to him.
“Please.” He hesitated, but as if he knew he owed me at least this much after what he’d done to me, he eventually took a seat.
His eyes were narrowed and hauntingly hollow. Still, I tried to soak in everything, needing to memorize every feature of his, from his dark hair that was a bit wavier and longer in the front, to the five o’clock shadow on his chin, and mostly those dark eyes of his, even if they were dark holes.
My heart ached, causing my chest to tighten with emotion, and I hated myself for being so fucking weak.
What was it about these men? They had the ability to make me lose all sense of pride and self-preservation.
They could twist me up in knots, and with very little effort.
Even now, with nothing more than a scathing glance.
“Did he send you?” he asked me the moment he picked up the phone.
There’d been no pleasantries, or even a question as to why I was there. Unfortunately, I knew why he’d asked that, and I also knew how torn up over everything Declan was.
“No,” I answered softly, before clearing my throat. “I saw your arrest on the news, so I needed to come see you. “
“Why? It's not like—”
“Hey,” I said, quickly stopping him, then motioning with a nod at the cameras all around us. I also pointed to the phone and made a zipping motion across my lips before gesturing a circular motion with my hand to let him know that audio and video were being recorded.
“Eyes are all around us,” I said, and it took a second, but then recognition dawned on his face, and he gave me a curt nod. “No one sent me. I’m sure others know I’ve returned to the city, but not that I’m here to see you.”
“Oh,” was all that he said. We stared at each other for several seconds before he spoke again. “Did you need something?”
His voice was as hollow as his eyes, and I hated to see a man I still cared about as nothing more than some shell. “I needed to see you. I'm sure it’s been difficult being in here.”
He shrugged. “More or less, but it's nothing I didn't expect when I thought about jail.”
“Are they treating you good?” I asked, immediately realizing how stupid that question was the moment it slipped from my lips.
“No more or less than any of the other prisoners I've seen so far,” he replied.
“Have you been around a lot of the other prisoners?” He shook his head, and I asked. “Are you sharing a cell with one?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess.”
He said nothing as I tried searching his face for any emotion. Other than the consistent deadness in his eyes, there was nothing else there.
“Are you through with this week’s episode of twenty questions, or—”
“Is there anything you want me to say? Any words that—”