Page 94 of The Black Table
I pull her to me, lift her chin, and kiss her.
The instant our lips touch, I know it’s wrong. Know that this is indeed what will damn me for all eternity.
But my God, is it good.
Sweet, soft, easy, warm.
Everything. Everything I wanted.
And then it’s over. I pull back.
“I,” I stammer. “Oh my God, I didn’t…”
“It’s fine,” she says, her cheeks a little pink. “It’s…” She tucks a hair behind her ear.
“Just…I’m excited,” I ramble on, “and I…we won, and you’re here and…”
“Lanz?”
My stomach drops.
It can’t be?—
But I turn, and there he is.
Callahan. Freshly showered, holding his equipment bag over his shoulder.
Waiting for me.
And no mistaking what he’s seen.
“Cal,” I say. “Callahan. I was just…we were just…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “Don’t worry about it. But we should…”
“Yeah, I…” The pit in my stomach has turned to a churning, the excitement of my victory now stirred up into a kind of fresh terror and self-loathing.
And it’s all too much.
“I’ve got to…” I can’t string two words together. “I’m sorry. I?—”
That’s all I can manage before I run.
Run like an absolute coward. Away from her, away from Callahan, away from everything.
TWENTY-FOUR
KINGSTON
“That was a disgrace.”
My father’s voice is as pitiless as it is cold. I stand in front of him, the fire in his townhouse living room flickering light across the oriental carpet, my arm hanging heavy in the black sling that loops around my neck.
“I cannot tell you,” my father goes on, pacing, not looking at me, “what it is like to stand there and watch my son allow that abomination of a performance.”
“It was a mistake,” I say quickly. Nothing to deny there. I don’t look at him, stare at the ground instead.
“Obviously,” my father drawls. “That’s all you have to say? You agree that what you did was beyond the pale?” He gives a low snort. “Your powers of observation are to be commended, Kingston.”
