“Say it, Son. Before I die.”
Judge braced his hands on the windowsill, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. “It’s not gonna happen. I’m not gonna fall in love with him.” Was he trying to convince his father or himself?
“He’s a warrior, JJ. But no one can live forever, Son. But I know that Austin won’t go early and he won’t go without a serious fight.”
Judge huffed. The conversation was going nowhere. “I gotta get on the road, Pop. I’ll finish this job up in a few days and then I’ll be back, okay.”
His dad watched him for a few moments, sighing wearily. “Okay, JJ.”
Judge kissed Linda one more time and promised he’d be back very soon. Outside he saw Michaels throw a tattered tennis ball out into the field and waited for Bookem to run and get it. He ran back to him and dropped the ball in his hand. Michaels rumpled his scruff and then threw it out again. Bookem was really enjoying the playtime and he hated to interrupt it, but they were on a schedule.
Judge looked like he was truly warring with his nicotine addiction if the way he was chewing the hell out of that sugarcane was any indication. Michaels could see the stress and tension flowing like waves off of Judge. Like the mirage of wavy lines when heat rose off the searing asphalt. It was choking both of them. He wanted to talk about last night; he wanted to talk about Judge, Sr. Was his disease genetic or onset by some toxin? He just wanted to talk to Judge.
“Hey. You want to talk about it?” Michaels said, after a half-hour of riding in silence.
The snarl that curled up Judge’s lip, warned Michaels of the tongue lashing he was about to get in three, two,—
“No, I don’t want to fuckin’ talk about it. Talk about what? If I did want to talk, why the hell do you think I’d want to talk to you? Oh I forgot, because you think you know every goddamn thing!” Judge’s voice rose an octave with every sentence. He glared at him, angrily yanking his sugarcane out of his mouth and throwing it out the window.
Damn. He knew when to take his cue to shut the fuck up. Any other time Michaels would’ve checked a man in his mouth for talking to him like that, but he somewhat understood Judge. His father was dying. Maybe Judge was losing his best friend. Michaels had no clue what that was like. He had a healthy father and mother. He had friends. His team was like a band of brothers, no matter how annoying they could be, he trusted them. Judge had very little. But it wasn’t his problem and Judge clearly wanted Michaels to keep it that way. A few more days and they were done.
Michaels hoped his face didn’t reveal how much Judge’s words stung. He turned away and went back to watching the landscape fly by at seventy miles per hour. They had about another four hours to go before they got to Miami. Vikki had made them reservations under her name at the Pink Flamingo with a room that had a perfect angle to watch their target’s house. He prayed Switch was either there or very close, because Michaels was ready to go home.
He heard Judge sigh about thirty minutes later. “Look. I didn’t mean—”
“Save it,” Michaels snapped, quickly cutting off whatever Judge felt he needed to say. It was foolish of him to think he and Judge could be cordial. “You don’t need to say anything. It’s your life, your problems. It was stupid of me to try to talk to you… don’t worry… it won’t happen again.”
When Judge pulled into a truck stop off the Florida Turnpike twenty miles before their exit, Michaels grunted in annoyance. He’d been reading his book the last few hours and it was just enough to keep him from snapping. He wanted out of the truck. He wanted away from the bipolar motherfucker driving it. Michaels still reeled from how Judge had talked to him. Especially after what happened between them. No, they hadn’t made love, but Judge definitely did something... made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt challenged. Judge probably liked cute little hairless, submissive twinks, with their waxed, bleached pink assholes and their shaved balls. Ugh. Gross.
Michaels powerwalked away from Judge, ignoring him when he called out to him. He tore past the visitor’s center, the small deli and straight into the bathroom. That whole line of thinking was making him reel. This assignment could not have been more of a clusterfuck. Why-oh-why didn’t he listen to Day instead of tagging along on the hunt? Because no one listens to Day. Fuck. His skin was feeling tight, like his insides were expanding. His chest moved as he inhaled and exhaled rapidly, pacing back and forth by the shower stalls. He wanted… no he needed to punch something. He snapped out and swung his right hand as if he had a formidable opponent in front of him. He wondered for a second, if he beat the shit out of Judge, if Bookem would bite him.