by A. E. Via
“Hey, um. Is your manager here?”
Natalie stuttered a moment, “Is there something…?”
Bishop hurried to clarify what he wanted. “I’m looking for an old friend.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Actually, we have three managers. Royce is here in the mornings and Jen and Stuart are the evening managers. One of them?”
Bishop’s throat went bone dry at the sound of his ex’s name and he suddenly wanted Natalie to hurry up and get his water. He was in the same building as Royce. Right now. He could appear at any moment. Would he look the same? Tall, blond, beautiful, and with a supple mouth that a man would mortgage a house for. And so much damn attitude and neediness that it didn’t make sense. All the things Bishop used to get turned on by. Used to. He didn’t really know what he was into now. Peace. Kindness.
The waitress dipped to get a better view of his eyes, and he realized he’d been staring, saying nothing. “Royce. Could you tell him an old friend is here to see him? Please.”
“Sure thing. His office is right off the kitchen there,” she pointed over her shoulder. “I’ll grab your drinks while you decide on your food.”
Bishop’s tongue was too thick for him to speak so he nodded and watched her leave. When she disappeared behind a set of double doors. Trent sat heavily in front of him. Bishop tried to appear unfazed, but his hands started to sweat, and his knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. His nerves were getting the better of him no matter how much he’d told himself everything was cool. Nerves are just your body preparing for the moment. Bishop was silent, lost in his head, as Trent droned on about the expensive prices, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil.
“Shit man. Ten bucks for the chicken and waffles. Do I get a whole chicken?” Trent scowled, flipping more pages. “I’ll just have the special. For five bucks I get pancakes, bacon, and eggs.”
Bishop stared at the many pictures on the menu trying to make a decision about what to eat. When he’d first stepped out of the county lock-up forty minutes ago, he’d been famished. But the second their server came out a side door—that he assumed was the manager’s office—he felt like a swarming beehive had been dropped in his gut.
“He said he’ll be right out,” she said to Bishop, setting their coffees in front of them. Next, she picked up two glasses of ice-cold water from her small tray and set them down with two straws she’d pulled from her black apron.
“Who’ll be right out?” Trent asked.
“I’ll have this, please.” Bishop ignored his friend and pointed at a decent-sized plate of bacon, ham, sausage, hash browns, eggs and pancakes. He had no clue what it was called, but it looked delicious, despite his unexpected wave of nausea.
“The breakfast sampler. Sure,” she hummed. “And how would you like your eggs cooked?”
“Scrambled plain,” Bishop croaked.
She turned to Trent who was still frowning. “And for you?”
“I’ll have the two, two and two special. Eggs scrambled.” Trent gathered the large menu and handed it back to her.
“Cheese on those?” she asked.
Trent gave her a thoughtful expression. “Hell why not? I think I’ll treat myself. Add me some cheddar cheese on those eggs, darling.”
She giggled while jotting a couple of notes on her pad. Bishop glanced up as she sauntered away with their menus. Only when she made her way to the kitchen’s double doors, she brushed shoulders with a tall, striking man who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his tight chest, eye-fucking the hell out of him. The hair on the back of Bishop’s neck rose and his dick was next to follow suit.
Royce. Bishop cast his eyes down to his coffee mug as he swallowed a large lump of nothing in his throat. He reached for his water and drank half the glass, hoping the coolness would quench the fire in his belly and his groin. Fuck. He was hoping Royce wouldn’t come over to his table, he just… he just wanted to see him. But now that he had, he thought maybe he wanted more. Royce had been everything to him before he’d gotten locked away like an animal. Bishop tried to level out his breathing but there was no way anyone would miss the rise and fall of his chest the more he drank in Royce’s presence.
“What the hell is up with you?” Trent scowled. When Bishop didn’t answer, instead choosing to down the last of his water, Trent turned and locked eyes on Royce who was still leaning as if nothing bothered him. Especially Trent’s muttered curse, or the daggers he was shooting from his dark brown eyes. The left one twitched when he looked back at Bishop, his anger getting the better of him.
Fucking great.
“Are you shitting me right now?” Trent’s voice rose as he slammed his palms on the table, drawing the attention of a few people around them. Bishop watched him. “That’s why we’re here? That’s why I’m coming off eight dollars for breakfast because of him? I can’t believe you.”
“Lower your voice,” Bishop said calmly.
Trent shook his head, but at least his tone went down to a muted roar. “After what he did?”
“And what did he do, huh? Get us less time because he was the only one brave enough to take the stand on our behalf. He’s the only one who spoke up for us… for me.” Bishop cut his eyes to Royce and saw him motion for him to meet him around the back. Great, another back-alley meeting. He was on a roll. “We’d still be incarcerated right now if he hadn’t.”
“I’d rather still be in jail than called an illiterate moron with the IQ of ant.” Trent sat back with a grimace when Bishop winced at the reminder. “He betrayed your trust. That’s unforgivable. Pure and simple. You’ve only ever told me and Mike that secret. The second you told him, you see what he did with it. Made it fucking public knowledge.”
“It’s easy to say you’d rather still be in jail when you’re sitting here free to eat hot pancakes, cheese eggs that don’t give you the runs and coffee that doesn’t taste like tar.” Bishop got up. “I’ll be right back. I just wanna clear some things up.”
“Fine,” Trent grumbled but turned on his megawatt smile when Natalie reappeared to refill his coffee and Bishop’s water. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re asking for trouble, B.”
“Most likely,” Bishop murmured. He eased out of the hideous camel-colored booth and left through the front door, not bothering to look back at Trent’s disapproving stare. He was asking for it in the worst way.
The air was getting warmer as the sun broke through the early morning overcast. Yeah, it was gonna be a scorcher today. But August in Hampton Roads, Virginia, typically was. The closer Bishop got to the end of the street the more anxious he became. He was about to be within inches of his ex. He hadn’t seen him once in five years and six months—not even a letter. His rhythm slowed until his feet were barely moving. The few pedestrians on their way to work or hauling their kids to daycare became annoyed as they maneuvered around him. Trent was probably right. No matter how much Bishop tried to justify what Royce had done, what he’d said about him in front of a full courtroom was hard to forgive. A huge choking pill to swallow. Was that how his boyfriend had seen him? Stupid and gullible, or had he just said anything he could to keep them together? He would never know asking himself.
Bishop turned the corner ready to face the music. He’d avoided this conversation long enough. Royce stood by the restaurant’s back door with his phone in his hand, his eyes riveted on whatever was on the screen, as if he wasn’t waiting on him. How could he look so cool when Bishop’s own insides were in a shambles? His head confused and hurting. He was foolish to want Royce to want to see him. To be as excited and as nervous as he was. But, then again, his ex was damn good at acting. At least he had been. He wondered if he was approaching the same man he’d left all those years ago, because Bishop sure had changed.
He kept walking until they were only a few feet apart. “Hey,” he said, happy that his voice was steady.
Royce tucked his phone into his crisp khaki pants pocket and gave Bishop his full attention. He wore a dark blue
button-up shirt with a simple Champion logo over his right pec. His shoes were nice, still regulation, but not the dirty non-slip shoes most restaurant managers wore. Bishop worked his gaze up Royce’s long throat to his sinful mouth, then to those dark lashes that outlined big blue eyes. He’d been Bishop’s weakness at one point.
“Well. Look at you.” Royce smirked. He didn’t seem happy to see him but he didn’t look disappointed either. Simply unbothered. “You really filled out.”
He tried not to close his eyes at the sound of Royce’s voice. “Not much else to do in prison besides lift.”
Royce nodded, still watching him closely, his gaze wandering all over him. Bishop forced himself to sit still and take the inspection. He was wearing the same jeans and black sleeveless tee he’d had on last night, and his work boots. He looked like a hoodlum standing in front of Royce. He watched him run his slim fingers through his messy locks—deep golden hair that he now kept longer on the top.
“Did you do anything else… like… um.” Royce shrugged. “Did you take any classes? I’ve heard of people getting degree—”
“Nope.” Bishop didn’t sneer but he knew what Royce was asking. “I’m still stupid.” With the IQ of an ant.
Royce sighed and fell the last few inches against the door. He stared upward as if he was asking God why. “Bishop, come on. You know that’s not…”
Bishop closed some of the distance between them. “Not what?”
Royce opened his eyes slowly, staring at Bishop the way he used to when he wanted him to make him feel better. Oh shit. Bishop felt his stomach flip. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He was there to…
“You know I didn’t mean that stuff. I loved you.”
Loved? Noted.
“You meant everything to me. I was going crazy thinking about you leaving me and going to prison. So yeah. I said any and everything I could.” Royce pushed away from the wall and squared his shoulders. He was a few inches shorter than Bishop but still tall. “I thought you’d be appreciative since it worked.”
Bishop dipped his head. “Yeah it did.” His voice was rough. “It worked like a charm. Their testing showed I was just as dumb as you said, and just like that I was pleaded down to accessory.”
“And those other bastards, the real idiots that put you in the middle of their shit got twenty years.” Royce’s hand came up as if he was about to touch him then shook his arm and dropped it back to his side. “They shot and paralyzed a man for not giving up the few bucks he had in his cash register. They deserved what they got. But you. I know you. You would’ve never approved of anything like that. You or that prick, Trent. Funny I didn’t get a thank you from him either.”
Don’t hold your breath. Bishop thought back to Royce’s testimony. He’d told the prosecutor the absolute truth. That he and Trent had played video games at their tiny apartment the night before, drinking brews and smoking weed until he’d crashed on their couch. Bishop and Royce had had sex twice before passing out in their bed until noon the next day. That afternoon when he’d left to hang with his crew, they’d walked him into a store and pulled guns while he and Trent had been picking out beer from the goddamn cold case. “Yeah. He thinks you could’ve left some things out.”
“It wasn’t enough, and you know it. Your lover’s word against theirs.” Royce pinched the bridge of his nose. “I would’ve said anything for them to let you out. I needed you so badly. I knew if you left…”
“It’d be over.” Bishop wasn’t sure what else he needed to say. The way Royce was painfully confessing how much he’d wanted Bishop to stay was affecting him in a way he didn’t want it to.
“I was run out of the neighborhood when you left! From our place,” Royce suddenly barked. “Snitches get fucking stitches, ya know. Everyone hated me. Hated me for what I did to the great Bishop. I was the one that destroyed your rep. I was threatened and almost killed, if it wasn’t for Sly. He helped me get out of Norfolk. He said he hated me too, but he was helping me for you.”
Now Bishop knew why Sly had told him where to find Royce.
“I didn’t know,” Bishop said, leaning towards Royce’s rigid body. He was vibrating with fury and passion. This was the Royce he knew. Dramatic and beautiful. He had to ask, he needed to know. “You just disappeared on me. Why didn’t you come to see me? Not once. Why not one letter Royce?”
“How would you have read it?” Royce whispered.
Fucking hell. Bishop could only release the startled breath that’d gotten caught in his throat. That was some harsh damn truth right there. He guessed there was no way for Royce to know that Bishop had been paired with a decent cellmate who’d read the letters to him he’d gotten from Trent and Mike.
“I didn’t want anyone else reading what I wanted to tell you. What I felt when you left. I didn’t even want to acknowledge those feelings to myself, Bishop. How could I write to you about my sleepless nights in a cold bed, huh? What would that have done for either of us? Should I have come there on visiting day and begged you to break out of there? That I needed you home like I needed oxygen. Don’t you get it? I couldn’t see my man like that. Caged-up. I couldn’t, Bishop.”
Before he knew what he was doing, he’d grabbed Royce and pulled him tight against his chest and held him like he never had before. Held him like he hadn’t held a man in five years. He almost groaned when Royce’s strong arms wrapped around his waist and his face went to the spot it’d always had when they’d been a couple, just at the base of his throat. Mmmmm. That hot breath against his neck sent chills all over his warm skin.
“What took you so long to come see me?” Royce’s voice was throaty and laced with sadness. “You’ve been out for months.”
“I couldn’t find you,” was his only reply. Bishop didn’t exactly do Google searches. He felt Royce’s tender lips against his Adam’s apple. He closed his eyes, forgetting where he was and waiting for the world to tip over.
“Kiss me, Bishop,” Royce begged, his lips already parted in invitation.
Damn that mouth. He knew he couldn’t deny it and he wouldn’t lie to himself. His body wanted… but so did his mind. Their lips met tentatively at first. Just a brush and nip as he soon became familiar with what was once his and his alone. Royce may not have been the most selfless boyfriend in the world, but he’d been loyal until the end. Bishop remembered that and tried to pull on the good memories they’d once shared—ones that didn’t involve his gang life. Royce had been his relief from all that. He pushed his tongue in more, tasting coffee and boysenberry syrup before he dug deeper, going for that natural taste he’d dreamed about so many dark nights.
“I want this,” Royce whispered.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Bishop clutched Royce’s hand from inching past his abdomen. He took a deep breath, needing to rein in his lust. He’d made promises to himself that he planned to keep. “What is it you want, Royce?”
“Is that a trick question?” Royce licked his lips. “I want you. Tonight.”
No, it wasn’t a trick question, but the answer was confusing nonetheless. He didn’t know if Royce wanted him for now or wanted them to have something long term. Something good. Not what they’d had before. That Bishop was gone. But maybe they could build a life without the constant negativity from others around them. Without Bishop’s responsibility to a crew, to a family that never really loved him. “Let me see you tonight.”
“Okay,” Royce hesitated.
“I’ll be off about eight.”
“Where are you working?” Royce asked.
“I’m back staying at Mike’s now, working for his landscaping company.” Bishop stood straighter. “It’s nice. Pay is good.”
“I remember when you used to sketch yards all the time. You used to say that’s how our home would look in the front.” Royce cocked a brow. “You still drawing?”
Every day. “Sometimes,” he mumbled. He wished he didn’t feel so uptight whenever Royce asked about his life or what he was doing. All he kept hearin
g over and over were his last words.
He’s illiterate!
“Well, my break was only fifteen minutes and I’m sure I’m a few seconds past that. Here.” Royce pulled a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “Here’s my number and address. I live in Pembroke Crossing apartments. It costs a small fortune to live in the beach but it’s a lot safer and cleaner.”
“You always wanted to live in Virginia Beach,” Bishop said.
“I know.”
The air was thick and tense around them. The life they could’ve had flashing before them and vanishing into dust. They’d made all kinds of future plans for when Bishop got out of the gang life. He’d been a decent landscaper back then and had earned a fair wage despite his lack of a high school diploma. But that time was gone, and he couldn’t get it back. He could only control what was within his grasp right now. He cupped the back Royce’s neck while he felt a paper shoved into his side pocket.
“How about midnight?” Royce whispered. “I’ll be ready.”
Bishop shielded his disappointment. He didn’t want a booty call. “I think we’ll have time to grab some dinner and talk. Maybe catch up a bit.” He didn’t want to think that Royce was no longer interested in conversing with him.
When he’d confided in Royce that he couldn’t read very well, actually, not much at all, he hadn’t laughed or insulted him. That hadn’t come until a couple of months later when they’d ended up in court. Until then, Royce had been understanding for the most part, only casually leaving Adult Learning Center and GED prep course pamphlets on their nightstand.
“Um. I’ll be meeting some friends from school at a restaurant in Town Center tonight… but… I guess you can meet me there and we can eat together if you want.” Royce didn’t look so sure but Bishop still agreed.
“I can do that. Meet you where?” For a moment he thought of changing his mind, but the more he stared at Royce’s hot body, the more he was getting on board. Besides, he hadn’t been to Town Center yet and he’d been meaning to. He should’ve known Royce hung out there now, he’d always wanted to be better, to have more than he’d had growing up in low-income housing.
