Page 33 of The Professional
When they got out into the frigid New York City air, Rourke tugged Forrest closer. The crisp wind fluttered around them. It’d snowed last night and white tufts of snow lined the sidewalks. People were covered in thick coats and beanies, long scarves wrapped around their necks. Rourke wished he’d grabbed his now.
“How are you not freezing to death?” Rourke muttered with a shiver. He hated this cold. It was supposed to be easing by now they were heading into the latter part of January, but the cold wasn’t letting up. He didn’t blame Sloan and Conall for escaping to Miami for Christmas. It would have been a lot better than here.
Forrest laughed and snuggled in tighter. He slotted against Rourke perfectly. “When I lived with the Brassards, I never wanted to be home. I always found myself outside, somewhere around the city. I guess I got used to the cold.”
“And ice cream? Really?” Rourke leaned in and smelled the floral shampoo scent that clung to Forrest’s hair. Everything about him felt refreshing, and Rourke’s comfortableness with having Forrest in his arms edged toward dangerous.
Forrest shrugged. “I like it. The Brassards never let me have ice cream. The very first cone I ate some was with Conall when I arrived at the Virtue on the first day. I think heknewI’d amount to something, you know? So he took me down the street and we got ice cream and he told about the job. I knew the Virtue was meant to be my home from the very beginning. I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah, you were right. You’re good at what you do.”
“Want to know my secret?” Forrest asked.
Rourke raised his eyebrows. “There’s a secret, other than being good looking and knowing how to suck cock?”
Forrest laughed. “Yep. Everyone that walks through those front doors just wants what every human does. Connection. To feel wanted. If you give them that, they’ll be loyal to you. I make them feel like they mean something to me, not as a love interest, but as a friend. I want to know about their lives and how their children are. I ask them about their day, and about that stupid boss that’s riding their ass—not in a good way.” He sent Rourke a teasing grin. “They want to be cared about. So other than a tight ass and mouth, I also give them someone to talk to.”
Rourke understood that need perfectly. Some nights when he lay in his bed, staring up at the pale off-white ceiling, he craved another person’s body beside his own that he could spoon against, and for someone to ask him how his day had gone when he finished sorting out the issues at the Virtue. He needed to remind himself that the person he wanted couldn’t be Forrest.
“You bring in a lot of money,” Rourke said gruffly, feeling a sting in his throat. He released his hold on Forrest, and Forrest had the audacity to look hurt at the action.
“I can’t do this forever, though,” Forrest whispered. “Good looks only last so long.”
“You should save money while you can.”
Forrest seemed like he wanted to argue, but a weak frail voice calling his name interrupted him. Rourke frowned at a man huddled in a blanket by a lamp post. They could only see his eyes, with the blanket swathed around the rest of his face and body. Forrest must have recognized him, though. His eyes widened, and he pushed past Rourke to crouch in front of the man.
“Hey, Mick. How are you?” He kept his voice low and sweet, in typical Forrest fashion.
“Cold.” The man laughed. He removed the blanket from his face, and Rourke realized he was an older man with craggy skin and bloodshot blue eyes. It looked like he’d been out in the cold for a long time, with his lips permanently chapped and discolored.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Forrest whispered, touching Mick’s hands. “I’ve been worried.”
“Trying to get somewhere warmer.” Mick huffed out a laugh. “They caught me and sent me on my way, so I’m back here now.”
“Let me get you something to eat.” Forrest rose and held his finger up to Rourke as if to say he’d only be one second. He strode into the grocery store close to them, and Rourke resisted the urge to follow him in there and keep an eye on him. Instead, he turned his attention back on Mick.
“Are you a friend of Forrest’s?”
Mick chuckled. “More like someone he adopted. He goes to the ice cream shop down the block.” He pointed a wrinkly finger in the direction Rourke and Forrest had been heading. “Forrest stops and talks when he sees me. Buys me a warm meal.”
Rourke wasn’t surprised. Forrest had always been the caring type, the real big brother of the whores who didn’t hate him. He took them under his wing and nurtured them.
“Have you been homeless for long?” Rourke asked, as a way of keeping the conversation going. He didn’t have to worry, though. A few seconds later Forrest exited the store, a Styrofoam container in his hand.
“I got your favorite,” he said, crouching in front of Mick and handing him the container with a plastic fork. “Eat slow, Mick. You know it’ll make you sick if you don’t, and here.” He dug in the pocket of his coat and handed the homeless man a couple of ten dollar bills. “I’ll be busy in the next few weeks. I won’t have many days off, so eat while you can, okay?”
Mick grabbed Forrest’s hands and kissed them in gratitude, and the sight made Rourke’s heart ache. He’d never stopped for homeless people. If he had change, he’d give it to someone, but Rourke never took the time to ask about their life story and learn their name—just another way he and Forrest were different.
After Forrest said his goodbyes, they continued walking down the street, avoiding the people with their heads shoved into the collar of their coats as they flew past in a hurry. That’s the thing about New York City—everyone was in a rush. Usually Rourke would be too. He couldn’t remember the last time he took a leisurely stroll down the street.
“Can I hold your hand, Mr. Boss?” Forrest grinned at him, and Rourke didn’t have the heart to tell him no, so he slid his gloved hand into Forrest’s without a word.
“How long have you known Mick?” Rourke asked, stepping closer to avoid a woman who strode past them with a glare. He didn’t mind being this close anyway. He could feel Forrest’s arm against his own. He’d prefer to feel skin-to-skin contact, but this was better than nothing.
“A year or so.” Forrest breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. He looked peaceful for a short moment, enjoying the chilly breeze that fluttered against the creamy skin of his face. “I saw him being abused by these teenage boys, so I went over and told them off. I got called all the names under the sun for it. Fag being the main one.” He rolled his eyes. “As though I haven’t been called that before. The least they could do is be more original. Anyway, Mick stood up for me too. He told them to fuck off. It went from one against two, to three against two, since I had a guard with me at the time. They scampered off like the cowards they were. After that, I sat down with Mick and we talked. It was nice. From then on, I made sure to go this way so I could visit him. He told me he’d heard about this warmer spot, and he’d be going there for a while. I guess it didn’t work out.”
Rourke nodded. “You can’t save everyone.”
