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Reaching Larkin, Doyle made a very conscious broadcast of their relationship by moving into the threshold and putting a hand on the back of Larkin’s head. Larkin didn’t stop him. Doyle kissed his forehead before asking, “How about I drive?”
Larkin strode across the room, the tap, tap, tap of his derbies causing Doyle to turn. But before Doyle could speak, could ask how the call went, Larkin grabbed his tie, gave it a yank, and Doyle willingly moved forward with the action. With the distance closed, Larkin wrapped his arms around Doyle’s neck, hugging him hard. Doyle returned the embrace tenfold. “I love you,” Larkin murmured, pulling back after a moment. “I didn’t tell you that today.”
“Since the day we met—I knew I was in love.” Into that quiet, Larkin realized for the first time that he’d associated dying, not with guilt, but with love.
What was here was life and love and Ira Doyle. Larkin placed a hand on the back of Doyle’s head and whispered, “I’m right here.” Doyle drew Larkin to his feet as he stood, bringing their bodies closer. “We’re okay,” Larkin said. Doyle nodded, his posture a bit stooped so as to press his face to the crook of Larkin’s neck and shoulder. “I love you more than you know.” Doyle tightened his hold but said nothing.
“I think you can do this,” Doyle began. Man’s will yearned for purpose. “I would at least like to try.” And what if that purpose was to love? “But I’ll understand if you can’t.” Larkin slowly pulled the chair out and took a seat. “I love you very much,” he whispered. Doyle whispered back, “I love you too, sunshine.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Larkin cast a critical look at Hackett. Seeming to take silence as an indicator of yes, Hackett asked, “Are you autistic?” Rolling to a stop at the next red light, Larkin looked at Hackett a second time. “No.” “I just got that spicy vibe from you.” “Spicy,” Larkin repeated, unblinking. “Neurospicy.” “You mean neurodivergent.” Another laugh. “Yeah.”
Doyle set the phone on the tabletop. “Give it to me straight, Butch.” “The best I can do is gay and marginally effeminate.” Larkin smiled when Doyle abruptly laughed. He watched the last of the tension ease from Doyle, and he took on that more relaxed, big cat posture.
