“When we get out of here, I'm buying an ostentatious house in Malibu or Santa Monica or something.” Turner pats down his pockets looking for cigarettes and comes up empty. We've been bumming the occasional smoke off the guards, but for whatever reason, they refuse to just go out and buy us a fucking pack. With a sigh, Turner stops searching and leans his forehead against the window. “Something that costs an arm and a leg, with a dozen bedrooms, and a fucking bowling alley. We'll all move in, have one big Indecency crash pad.” He turns to look at me and I raise an eyebrow. “Naomi and I will start a family, and we'll get custody of your forty-nine children.” When he closes his brown eyes, I can see that the fear is still there, but there's also a glimmer of hope.
We're going to make it through this.
What the other side will bring, I have no fucking idea.
Two days later and Brayden Ryker still hasn't shown up. Turner and I have both finally hit our breaking point and are gearing up to go. I shower, fix my hair and don some eyeliner, snatch some shades and dress in a black Indecency shirt and some jeans – brand new ones that Milo snuck into my bag at some point. First thing we're doing when we walk out of here, hitting the hospital. I have to look good for Lola.
“I see you've hit the end of the line with your patience,” Brayden says, slipping in the door and not bothering to close it behind him. In the hallway, I catch a glimpse of Jesse and my lips split into a grin. He gives me a thumbs-up and for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe. “My apologies. I only expected to keep you here for t'ree days.” Turner wrinkles his nose at the man's accent and shakes his head, imitating the word three under his breath. Brayden shrugs and then moves aside, like that's it. When neither Turner nor I move, Brayden holds out a hand and gestures for us to go.
“We're done here?” I ask, and he shrugs. “No explanation, no debriefing, just get the hell out and go?”
“On the way to the hospital – where I presume you'd like to go – you'll get your stories straight. You saw what we say you saw and that's it. I did the best I could, to try to make up for the mess you were dragged into, but my reach only goes so far. America and Stephen might be dead, but that doesn't mean things are going to be easy. I'll be in touch.” Brayden scoots away and disappears down the hallway before I get out another question. I clench my teeth, but what am I gonna do? Chase the man down? His biceps are as big around as my fucking waist.
Turner and I join Jesse in the hallway, pausing for an awkward moment of bro hugs, wherein I'm encouraged to show most of the affection since, you know, that's been designated as my job. Jesse runs a hand over his short hair with barely a grimace. When he first got it cut, just a single touch was enough to send him into a full blown man-trum. Looks like he's finally over losing his locks.
“Where's Milo?” I ask, hitching my bag up on my shoulder and giving the guards at the end of the hallway a sideways glance. “And Trey?”
“Waiting downstairs,” Jesse says with a sniffle, rubbing at the pinup tattoos on his arm. The buxom beauties stretch over his muscles with bright smiles and daring winks, scandalous lingerie and dresses that manage to hark back to an earlier era while simultaneously encouraging dirty thoughts. I never gave the tattoos much thought before, but now that I know Jesse's gay, I have to wonder if they're some sort of front for the world.
“What do you know?” I ask as Turner shoulders past us and moves towards the elevators, scowling at the guards as they step aside and let us on. I ignore them, focusing on Jesse's brown eyes as he looks at me and shrugs.
“Nothing I'm sure you haven't already figured out.” There's an awkward pause as the ratty elevators doors screech closed and I'm left wondering if we're even going to make it downstairs. The damn thing feels like a tin can on a string – only that'd be safer. There's a questionable stain on the orange carpet near my foot and the walls are so covered in old movie posters that it's impossible to see if there are actually any walls behind the curling bits of paper. Doesn't bother me much. Again, kind of used to this scene. Indecency spent a good couple of years living in exactly this sort of squalor, so we get it. At the time, it felt appropriate, especially after Asuka and Travis passed away, like I deserved the filth and the echoing screams from the rooms next door. “Was that really Travis' son onstage?”
“That was so fucking him,” Turner says, still growling and snapping at everyone in sight. Apparently, being set free hasn't cooled his rage. Nothing will, I don't think, until he gets a chance to see Naomi. “The long arms, the freckles on the back of his neck, the way his lower lip curved up in the center, like an upside down bow tie. Call me a bitch or whatever for getting all poetic, I don't care, but I know my best Goddamn friend's sperm when I see it.”