And Tarq is talkative, so he just goes on. “She’s coming back, right? I know I can come off a little… strong, Pell. I get it. But whatever she told you, I’m just doing my best to mitigate things, OK?”
Hmm. Pie didn’t mention this. She did say he made her uncomfortable, but this feels like more. Like something… intimate. “What are you talking about?”
“The baby and the marriage.” He shrugs. “You love her, she loves you. I get it. I get that—”
“Hold. The fuck. On.” I put up a full-stop hand. “What are you talking about?”
His eyebrows go up. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
He shakes his head and laughs. “Of course she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. And of course I have to be the one to explain it.” I don’t think he’s talking to me. I think he’s talking to himself. I think my friend is… broken. At the end of his line. At his wits’ end, as they say.
He has been through something. And of course he has. It’s been two thousand years and he’s been living here, in this… somewhat real world. While I’ve been spending my unreasonably long life in a place called Sanctuary.
I could go on and on about my hardships, but even I have to admit that there was never any real chance of anything hurting me. I have been protected behind charmed walls. Under the care of a slave—slaves who were never really on my side until now—but under the care of people, nonetheless.
Tarq has the look of a man on the run. He has the look of a man who is always behind and can’t seem to catch up. He has the look of a man who needs a moment of peace and there isn’t a chance in hell of that ever happening.
No. Wrong. That last part is wrong, isn’t it?
He does have a chance to catch his breath. And that chance is a woman called Pie.
Tarq has the look of a man who has been hurt.
No. A man who is currently hurting.
And I hate this. “Tarq.”
But he won’t look at me.
“Tarq?”
“What?” He’s still not looking at me.
I place a hand on his shoulder and finally his eyes meet mine. “How about we sit down and you start from the beginning?”
For a moment I see the suspicion in his eyes. Maybe he thinks this is a trick? Maybe, in this world, when a man hears another man use the words ‘baby’ and ‘marriage’ in a sentence that refers to his woman—and he’s not the one being referred to—he expects violence and outrage.
And I’m not gonna lie. Once I get this story I will probably be filled with rage and threatening violence. But Tarq is my friend. And yeah, I can be a dick. I’m selfish and, at times, obnoxious. I care little for most people—monsters included. But I am nothing if not loyal.
Tarq not only gets the benefit of the doubt from me, he gets a chance to explain.
He points to one of two chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat then. You’re gonna need it.” As I sit, he walks over to a counter, which I realize is a bar, and then pours us each a drink. It’s dark green. The color of moss. And it doesn’t look very appetizing to me, but when he hands it over, I accept it to be polite.
Tarq drinks his down in one gulp, then pours another and takes the other chair. He stares at me for a moment, then says, “I’ve done some things.”
I have no doubt. “Spill. Get it all out. I won’t judge you, brother.”
“You will,” he says. “You will judge me, Pell. Because you and I, we’re very, very different men.”
“OK, then. I won’t presume to know what you’re going to say or how I’ll feel about it, but I know a man at the end of his rope when I see one. And you are that man. You gotta tell someone, no matter what happens after. It might as well be me.”
He gulps the second drink down and breathes out, setting the glass down on his desk. The air is suddenly filled with the scent of… I look down at the drink. “Is this…”
“Wood wine.”
I sniff the drink, then take a sip. “Holy shit. I have not had wood wine in—”