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was tender, a gentle
    squeeze, and the dreaded tears fell, creating little dark spots on Hank‘s new gray suit
    pants.
    He covered them with his hands, afraid his father would see and yell at him to buck
    up and be a man, but his father only pulled him closer, putting his arm firmly around
    Hank‘s shoulders. He said nothing more, but kept Hank close to him for the duration of
    the service. Hank remembered sitting very still, afraid if he moved at all, even to scratch
    his nose, his father would come to his senses and let him go.
    Now Russell continued to hold him, and Hank leaned into the strong arms, trying
    to swallow the hard lump in his throat. He would not cry, not here in the arms of the
    paid entertainment.
    ―You okay, Hank?‖ Russell‘s low voice was soothing and gentle, the last thing
    Hank needed right now. He tried to pull away but Russell held him tight. ―It‘s been a
    while, huh? Since someone held you.‖
    ―Let me go.‖ Hank‘s voice cracked and he gulped. He jerked hard against Russell‘s
    embrace and this time Russell let go. Not expecting the sudden release, Hank fell to the
    floor, slamming his shoulder hard into the ground. Angrily he pushed down
    frustration, humiliation and pain as he struggled to right himself and pull up his jeans.
    Russell slid down beside him on the carpet and lightly touched Hank‘s cheek with
    one hand and put his other arm around Hank‘s shoulder. ―Relax Hank. Whatever
    happens here with us, stays here. I promise. You‘re safe with me.‖
    Hank was completely disarmed by the simple kindness in Russell‘s expression. The
    dam broke and despite his best efforts to hold back, Hank began to cry, the tears rolling
    hot down his face, his voice rasping in his throat.
    ―Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,‖ he swore between wrenching sobs. ―I don‘t do this. I
    don‘t cry. This isn‘t happening. It can‘t be happening.‖ He hid his face in his hands,
    desperately wishing Russell would just disappear, but the big man stayed beside him,
    gently stroking him as he cried and cursed.
    ―I miss him,‖ Hank said before he could censor the words.
    Russell didn‘t reply for a while and Hank hoped maybe he hadn‘t heard. The last
    thing Hank wanted to do was talk about Reese. No such luck. Russell said, ―You want
    to talk about it?‖
    Hank closed his eyes, which burned from the unfamiliar tears. ―No. No I don‘t.‖
    Russell said nothing more, thank god, but just continued to gently stroke Hank‘s
    back. Finally regaining control, Hank blew out a breath and ran his hands over his face.
    He sniffed. ―I think I must be getting sick or something. I haven‘t cried since I was a
    kid.‖
    ―That‘s probably part of your problem, Hank. All that tough guy shit you present to
    the world has got you fooled into thinking you don‘t feel things. But you do. Everyone
    does. Denying it will end up killing you, way before your time.‖
    They sat quietly for a time. Hank finally mustered the energy to pull away. He
    reached for his underwear and jeans, drawing them back up his legs. Once dressed, he
    began to feel more in control of himself. Standing, he pulled at his shirttail and used it
    to wipe his eyes.
    He looked down at Russell, who remained sitting on the carpet, his arms now
    crossed around his knees, which were pulled up to his chest. ―What‘re you, some kind
    of hooker-shrink or something?‖
    ―Nope.‖ The tall man unfolded his long limbs and stood. ―I‘m just a regular guy
    who‘s been around a while. You may think you‘re unique, my friend, in your loneliness
    and your pain, but it‘s everywhere. Most people go every day to jobs they hate,
    working with people they don‘t respect or even like, only to come home to a life they
    hadn‘t bargained for.‖
    ―I have everything I need.‖ Hank waved his hand around the guest room, which
    was, like the rest of his large house, filled with fine furnishings and original art. ―When
    I want company, I