The Triangle

by Huss, JA

  And with this revelation I feel tired. And my head really begins to pound. “I just have a headache, that’s all.” At last I have something to say that’s true.

  “I’m going to ring a doctor,” Alec says.

  “No,” I say, pulling away from them both. “No, I just need to lie down. And take some aspirin. Rest,” I say. “That’s all I need. It’s been a crazy couple of days.”

  “And food,” Danny says, going with it. “You go lie down. We’ll make a meal and call you when it’s ready.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I think I’ll do that.”

  I turn away from them, acutely aware that they are still watching me. I don’t even know where I’m going or which bedroom I should sleep in. Danny came from the other direction but it’s too late now, I’m headed this way across the glass hallway that thinks it’s a bridge and I have this overpowering desire to get away for some reason. So I don’t turn back, I just keep going.

  There are windowless steps at the end of the glass hallway. Just half a flight that takes me up to another level of the house. One side is a wall filled with black and white nature photographs. Aspen trees and snow-capped mountains. The other is a wall of windows looking out over the lake, but with a slightly more elevated view than the one down in the great room.

  I think about what Alec said outside earlier. About staying here. It confused me. He’s really not the kind of guy who hides away. Or lives in a secluded mountain compound protected by a wall. But there was something in his voice. Longing, maybe?

  Maybe I was rude? Maybe I was too quick to dismiss the idea? Maybe we could make a fresh start out here in the middle of nowhere?

  I stop and look over my shoulder. Should I go back and tell him that?

  But I hear the familiar sound of cupboards being opened and closed as they search for food. A low rumble of male conversation.

  No. They need some time together. Just the two of them. Danny has come a long way in a very short period of time, but I know him so well, I can sense some underlying hesitation. They need to come to some sort of understanding if we’re all going to be together.

  I turn back and keep walking across the narrow room, which I now realize is an art gallery, and climb yet another half-flight of stairs that leads to another hallway, this time windowless.

  What a weird house.

  The sounds behind me fade quickly once I reach this level. And the hallway makes an abrupt ninety-degree turn. I end up at the bottom of another flight of stairs and I suddenly realize—I have no clue what this place is. I’m incapable of forming a mental map of it in my mind.

  It’s a very large tree house maze made of glass and concrete.

  So strange, so odd, so… intriguing.

  At the top of the stairs is a massive room. Like a ballroom, maybe. I don’t know how one would hold a party out here, so why this is necessary, I have no clue. But who can predict the whims of the über-rich, right?

  In the corner is a concert grand piano.

  I stop. Take a breath. And think about it for a moment.

  My head still hurts, I haven’t found the bedrooms—if any exist on this side of the house to begin with—and I have an overwhelming urge to touch those keys.

  So I walk over to it, take a seat, catch my breath as I look out at the view of the lake and surrounding mountains, and place my fingers on the keys.

  I don’t know a lot of songs. Just three. And I’m not any kind of professional musician. But the ones I do know I practiced relentlessly and a moment later the sweet sound of Schumann’s Scenes from Childhood fills the room.

  I like this piece for three reasons.

  One. You can play it softly. It’s a soft song to begin with, but it’s very easy to adjust the pressure of your fingertips to make it even softer. Like a warm blanket that wants to cover you on a cold autumn evening.

  Two. Because the scenes I remember best from my childhood are all filled with Danny. The later ones have Alec too, but I wasn’t a child anymore when Alec joined our family. Those years Danny and I were together are all I have left of the little girl I once was.

  And three… it’s happy even when I try my best to make it sad.

  I play it very soft now. I need that blanket.

  Because something is terribly wrong here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - DANNY

  “What’s down that way?” I ask Alec. We both watch Christine disappear through the glass hallway.

  “I have no clue, friend. But the kitchen’s this way. And I think making a meal with what we have is going to be challenging.”

  “Typical,” I say.

  “How so?”

  I follow Alec down the hallway the opposite direction of where Christine disappeared and get an overwhelming feeling of dread.

  And I know that the anxiety I’m feeling is mostly due to the whole turning-Alec-over-to-Brasil plan I came up with and am now regretting.

  But there’s something else too.

  Something with Christine.

  “You know,” I say, sighing, “we always had a few hundred thousand dollars of diamonds on us, and we’d be on our way to a luxury yacht that would take us to paradise, but we’d have to hitchhike to get to the marina.”

  “It’s called improvising, bru. And besides, we always made it.”

  “Yeah, but I like a plan.”

  “Like that plan you had back at your garage? The extra escape route?” He laughs. It’s not a mean taunt. Just a true one.

  “Yeah, well. I had the guns. And the Jeep.”

  “That you did,” Alec says, opening up the pantry door. “And we made it. Which is the only thing that matters.” I join him in the opening and we both stare at the shelves. “Assuming we have pots,” he says. “I guess we’ll be eating pasta.”

  “I guess we will,” I say. Because aside from some condiments and baking supplies, that’s all that’s on the shelf.

  He backs away, walks over to the Sub-Zero fridge-freezer, and opens the stainless-steel doors. “Well, shit.”

  I almost laugh. “I guess we’re hitchhiking?”

  “We could go out to eat. Might be nice to get out of the house.”

  “We’ve only been here a day. You already itching to move on?”

  He sighs. “We could go grocery shopping. Planning a grocery list feels very domestic.”

  “Maybe we should just find the nearest Super Target? That way we can eat hot dogs and Slurpees at the snack bar and pick up some clothes too.”

  He shoots me with his finger. “Yes, we should. Target is so… provincial. I’ll have to go outside to get a signal and find the closest one, but—why are you laughing at me?”

  “Because you’re so stupid.” He leans against the fridge and scrunches up his eyebrows. I lean against the stove opposite him and cross my arms over my chest. “We’re not playing house here. People are after us.”

  And, I don’t add, Brasil is probably out of his mind pissed off that I’ve disappeared. He’s probably got people looking for me.

  Alec doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at me. Which gives me ample time to study him. It’s been a while since I took a good long look at Alec van den Berg.

  He’s tall. Lean. Ropey. He’s well-muscled, but he’s not yoked, ya know? Not like I am.

  “We’re safe here.”

  “Are we?” I ask.

  Alec takes a step forward, a sly grin creeping up his face. I get this weird feeling in my gut as he crosses the few feet between us, unbuttoning his shirt and discarding it as he approaches, and then slides his hand along the muscles of my waist.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  He leans in, his hand sliding behind my back in a gesture I find possessive. Like I might try to duck out of this encounter and he’s thinking three steps ahead. “We’re safe,” he says, breathing the words into my neck as he begins to kiss me.

  I have about six million conflicting thoughts, but first and foremost, should he be touching me without Christine?

/>   “Stop,” I say, pushing him back. But even I have to admit, my rebuke is half-hearted. So I’m not the least bit surprised when he pays absolutely no attention to my command.

  “You have to make a choice,” he says, his other hand sliding across my stomach.

  I grit my teeth. Because I can’t help it. I respond to his touch. I don’t turn my head and kiss him back or anything. But that feeling in my gut has sunk down to my cock and… yeah. That’s how I respond.

  “I want you as much as I want her, Danny.”

  I hold my breath for a moment. And this is so stupid, but the way he says my name… “Fuck,” I say.

  “And I’d like to know,” he says, still kissing my neck, “if you feel the same.”

  “Of course,” I say, my breath heavier now. My eyes slightly closed.

  “You say that like it’s obvious. And it’s not.”

  “Jesus, Alec. What do you want? A fucking ring? How many carats does it take to make you feel special?”

  “Seven,” he whispers.

  I turn my head to look at him. Because my comment was just a way to get his hand around my dick so we can stop all the talk about how I’m feeling. But now… now I feel like we’ve jumped worlds and his response was an accusation. “What’s that mean?”

  He backs up. Not a lot. Not enough to make that feeling in my gut go away. Just a few inches of space. “Means whatever you want it to mean.”

  “You got a problem with what we did?”

  “Knowing what it means? What it represents? I have a big problem with it, yes. I would have given you anything you wanted, Danny. You just had to ask.”

  Just my fucking luck. I don’t want to talk about my feelings for him so I bring up diamonds. And I want to talk about diamonds—specifically that diamond—even less than I do my feelings. Hell, maybe they’re the same thing.

  So… choices. Choices.

  I guess feelings win the day.

  “You know that day in the gym?”

  He smiles. “One of the best days of my life.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Mine too.” And that’s not even a lie. Not today, not last week when he was the last thing on my mind. Not even when the whole fucking thing blew up and the three of us fell apart.

  Well, the two of us, I guess.

  “Go on,” he says.

  BEFORE

  “You there,” the kid in the ring says. He slithers through the ropes like a snake. Sleek with sweat that glistens on his perfect physique of a body. Tanned in a way he shouldn’t be. And even though he’s only said two words to me, there’s no way to miss his… foreignness.

  He doesn’t belong here.

  “You mind, bru?”

  “What?”

  “Hand me my shirt, yeah?”

  I look down at the pile of clothes at my feet. The blue blazer with the embroidered private school emblem. The expensive shoes. Then I reach down and pick up the white shirt, thrusting it at him.

  “Thank you…”

  “Danny,” I say. He smiles at me. Which just makes me squint. “You live around here?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You have a beef with Curtis or something?” I ask.

  The kid looks over his shoulder at Curtis, who has been helped to his feet by a few of the other guys. “Is that his name?” And then he smiles at me. “No. I just wandered in and felt like beating the shit out of someone. He was just the first one who said yes to my offer.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Cool.” Because I’ve had days like that myself.

  “Alec,” he says, shouldering into his shirt and extending one bloody hand in my direction.

  NOW

  I’m not really a hand-shaker, but I shook. Our hands touched and he was hot. Blood trickled down his knuckles. And when I pulled away some of it was on me.

  It wasn’t the way he looked. Not really. I mean, he was—is—a very nice-looking guy. But it wasn’t his looks. Or his stupid accent. Or that he didn’t belong. Or the fact that Curtis just got his ass kicked because he was the first person who took him up on an offer for an ass-kicking.

  “It was the blood,” I say.

  “What?” Alec laughs.

  “That day at the gym. You had blood on your hand. And when we shook some of it got on me.”

  “Oh,” Alec says, thinking about that for a second.

  “You’re…” God, why is this so hard to say? Why can’t I just tell him?

  “I’m… what?”

  I uncross my arms, grip the countertop with both hands, and lean back. This makes him smile. Because the whole gesture is one of opening up. “You’re…”

  “Danny,” he grunts. “Come on, bru. Just say it. It’ll feel good when you get it out.”

  I want to hit him right now. But I want to touch him too. “We’re in this together,” I blurt.

  “No,” Alec says, shaking his head. Enjoying how uncomfortable this moment is for me. “Not good enough.”

  “I got your back,” I add quickly.

  “Danny. Bru—”

  “And when the time comes I’ll choose you, OK? I’ll choose you.”

  That shuts him up.

  “We good?”

  He tilts his head a little. Trying to read between my lines. Opens his mouth to reply but then stops. Because somewhere in this house, someone is playing the piano.

  “Well, that’s quite nice,” Alec says. “When did she get so good? I thought the only thing she could play was Chopsticks.”

  “You’re asking me?” I say. “You’re the one who’s had her all these years.”

  He shoots me a look that says, Don’t.

  And if I were in a fighting mood I’d shoot him one back. One that says, Try to make me. But I’m not in a fighting mood. Not at all.

  “Should we go find her?” I ask.

  He’s still very close to me, his hand still on my back. “Yes, but first… answer me this, OK?”

  “What?”

  “Will you always need her to have me?”

  I don’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Fair enough.” He sighs. And then he withdraws his hand and walks off in the direction of the music.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - ALEC

  Schumann leads us toward her. Like a snake charmer calling for serpents.

  Entering the room from behind, neither of us make a sound to disturb her playing, and she doesn’t turn to see us.

  Kinderszenen. “Scenes from Childhood.” Schumann’s Opus Number Fifteen. Thirteen movements that call to mind a young person at play. At times giddy, at times somewhat more melancholic, it was the first piece of music I ever remember hearing as a boy. My mother played it for me when she was trying to get me to sleep.

  I have no idea how in the world Christine would know that.

  Moreover, I had no idea Christine could play like this. Jesus Christ, man. For all the things I’ve seen and done in my life, it warms my spirit to know that I still have the capacity to be surprised.

  The piece is almost twenty minutes long, and for almost twenty minutes, Danny and I stand behind her. Listening. The movement of her head, her neck, her shoulders, suggest that she’s lost in the music. Bathed in euphonic bliss.

  I wish I could see her eyes. I feel certain they’re closed. The way she’s giving herself over to her playing, there’s no way she can be thinking about it. She’s unconscious, and it’s mesmerizing.

  She comes to the conclusion of the piece and she strikes the final. Three. Notes. With a languid precision. Methodical in their delivery, but insouciant in their execution. It is, quite honestly, a perfect performance. And only Danny and I get to hear it.

  I begin my clap slow and soft, so as not to startle her, but startle her it does nonetheless. She jumps and spins around.

  “Shit! You fucking scared me.”

  I continue my applause. The small smile on my face is mixed with something akin to wonderment. Danny’s head is cocked to the side, and after a moment, he shakes it a bit and begins cl
apping as well.

  “What?” she asks. “What? Why are you doing that? Stop it.”

  It is annoyance underpinned by insecurity. Feeling exposed can induce that in a person. Instead of stopping, we both applaud more vigorously.

  “Fuck, stop, goddamn it! Seriously. Don’t make fuckin’ fun of me.”

  I start shouting, “Brava! Brava! Encore!” Danny does the same. In his own way. His choice of words is, “No fuckin’ way! That was fuckin’ incredible!”

  “You guys are assholes,” she says, attempting to motor past us. Danny stops her, grabbing her by the arm.

  “Hey, whoa. Slow down,” he says. “We’re not fucking with you. That was… When did you learn to play like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like flippin’ Yuja Wang,” I say.

  “Fuck is Yuja Wang?” she asks.

  “Trust me, it’s a compliment,” I tell her. “But as Danny asked… Oh,” I say, having a sudden dawning. “Is this one of those situations where someone takes a bump on the head and it unlocks some prodigious ability that they never knew they had?”

  She looks at me with exasperation. “No,” she says, “I just, y’know, practiced.”

  Fair enough.

  “Well, it paid off. Color me impressed,” I say.

  She steps back from the two of us, looks at us standing there shirtless and somewhat awestruck at the discovery of our Christine’s freshly unearthed talent, and says, “Yeah. I guess we’re all learning a whole lot about each other recently, huh?”

  I have no idea if she’s aware of the fact that she’s being dead clever with her couldn’t-be-more-right observation, but I choose to take it as such.

  “Yes, my dear, we are.” And pressing toward her, I reach to my side and take Danny by the wrist as well.

  “Fuck are you doing?” he asks.

  “Christine here’s not the only one who can make sweet music.”

  It is, of course, an awkward attempt at seduction, but I’m far less interested in being witty than I am in seeing both of them naked and writhing in about thirty seconds.