by Josh Lanyon
Not since Ashe Dekker. Goddamn him.
Yeah, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. They had to do something for the holidays, after all, and sitting around in a silent house that suddenly felt too small for both of them? No. Maybe if they could get away, take a real vacation like Will had been promising forever, maybe talk things out? Maybe then they could get back to normal…
“Hawaii?” Taylor said skeptically when Will broached the idea that evening.
Will had almost lost his nerve after Taylor’s indifferent response to Japanese takeout from his favorite restaurant. It was possible he hadn’t even noticed. His conversation, per usual—their new usual—had revolved strictly around work.
Which was ironic, given how little enthusiasm either of them had for the job these days.
That wasn’t the worst of it. They hadn’t touched each other, beyond an inadvertent brush of hands or arms, since the night Ashe Dekker died. That quick, warm brush of Taylor’s mouth before he had gone to talk to Dekker.
Taylor hadn’t wanted to hear what Will had to say then—and he didn’t want to hear it now.
They had never been great at talking about their feelings, but until recently they hadn’t stopped trying.
And once they stopped trying…
“We can afford to take a little break,” Will said.
Taylor pushed his plate aside. “We took a little break for Thanksgiving.”
“I mean a real break.”
Taylor shrugged. “Thanksgiving with your family. Seemed like a real break to me.”
It was hard when he was like this. Hard to say the things Will knew he needed to say.
“I know. I mean…” Will took a breath. “I think maybe it would do us good to get away after…everything.”
Taylor’s green eyes met his, direct and unblinking, like the stare of an unfriendly cat.
“I would like to take you on a real vacation,” Will said. “Like I’ve been promising for…”
Years.
Since before Paris. Since before the High Sierras. Since before Taylor had been shot and everything had changed forever.
“I appreciate the thought,” Taylor said. “But we’re busy now, and I don’t want to waste money we don’t have.”
Finances remained a touchy subject given that they were still in hock to Taylor’s stepfather. Not that Richard gave a damn about the money—he spent that amount and more on charity dinners—but Taylor did.
“Business is as slow as it’s going to get. It’s the holidays. Plus, I talked to Stuart Schwierskott about covering for us if something does come up.”
“Schwierskott? You’re serious?”
“Yes. I’m serious. He’s looking to make a change.”
“From bad to worse?”
Will let that go. “We’re not going to never take a break again, and we need some kind of coverage, so why not give him a shot? It’s only a couple of days.” Lately Will had gotten into the habit of not arguing when Taylor shot him down. He didn’t want to risk the fragile balance between them. But there were worse things than arguing.
“Will…”
“We need some time together,” Will said. “We need to talk—”
Taylor said with unexpected, almost shocking fierceness, “What the fuck do you think there is to say, Brandt?”
Will stared, silent and stricken in the face of that restrained fury.
Taylor glared at him, then rose and went to the window to stare out at the night-shrouded garden.
Will watched him, his heart beating unpleasantly hard in his chest. He had not seen that coming, had not anticipated Taylor’s…what the hell was that even? Had never expected to see Taylor looking at him like he hated him. He almost couldn’t think past it.
His gaze dropped to Taylor’s left hand, spotted the glint of platinum. Taylor was still wearing his ring. So okay. That was a relief. It wasn’t over. Not yet. Maybe that would change in the next five minutes. He was afraid to speak. He had no idea what to say. He was never going to regret any decision that kept Taylor alive and in one piece. And even if he did regret it, he would make the same decision every time. Period. He wasn’t going to lie about it.
Taylor reached up and squeezed the back of his neck. He let out a long sigh, and turned back to Will. “I know what you’re saying, and I’m working through it, Will. Okay?”
“Since when do we work through things alone?” Will added bitterly, “Or am I what you’re working through?”
Something flickered in Taylor’s eyes. Bingo. The pain of recognition was beyond anything Will had experienced. Maybe even worse than the night he’d thought Taylor was going to die.
His mouth was so dry, he thought the words would turn to dust before he got them out. “Are you leaving me?”
Taylor’s face twisted. He shook his head. “No.”
And now it was Will turning away.
Taylor came back to the table, dragged his chair out, and sat down. He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not leaving. I’m not… I’m still…” He stopped and tried again, and the fact that he was trying again was a good sign, right?
“I can’t help feeling the way I feel. I’m not saying it’s fair. I know it’s not.”
Will nodded, expelled a breath, turned back to face Taylor.
“Okay,” he said wearily. “Where do we go from here?”
They locked gazes—once upon a time and not so long ago, they had known everything the other was thinking just by looking into each other’s eyes.
Taylor grimaced, offered a curl of his mouth that was not quite a smile.
“I guess we head to Hawaii for Christmas.”
* * * * *
A Santa in a red and yellow Hawaiian shirt and shades was Aloho-ho-hoing everyone passing through Kahului Airport on Maui.
It turned out Christmas in Hawaii was not an original idea, and the small airport was packed with holidaymakers in shorts and Santa hats. Even so, it was only a brief wait for their rental car, and then they were on the road to Kihei and the Pineapple Inn.
They’d had a couple of drinks on the not-quite-six-hour flight, and the lush scenery—luminous and sparkling from recent rain—was genuinely breathtaking, so their collective mood was cheerier than when they’d boarded at LAX that morning. Taylor, face partially hidden behind his aviators, looked…maybe not relaxed, but less rigid than he had in a week. The damp breeze through the Jeep windows whipped some color into his face, and Will began to feel a little more confident about insisting they needed to get away.
The inn turned out to be cozy, quaint, and very small—a total of four guest rooms and a little cottage—which was not a problem for two guys pretty sick of humanity at the moment. It was about a twenty-minute walk to the ocean, but that was also okay. They were surrounded by a sprawling tropical garden complete with fountains, pool, and hot tub, and, most importantly, given Taylor’s precarious mood, the whole setup was relatively affordable.
Taylor nodded in approval at their room, unexpectedly soothing with lots of verdant light streaming through all the windows, dark-wood furnishings, and classic Hawaiian leaf-patterned linens. A private lanai faced seaward, offering a stunning view of palm-tree-framed ocean.
They unpacked with their typical quick efficiency—maybe less talkative than usual, but then there was no job to discuss. Or rather, the job was to get their relationship back on track. In a funny way, Will was reminded of that camping trip from hell in the High Sierras. The trip that had changed everything between them.
Or rather, the trip that was supposed to fix everything that had changed between them.
That was the hope here, and Taylor must have shared it too because he had agreed to this impromptu vacation, just as he had agreed to camping in the mountains. At least this time they were somewhere warm and comfortable and to Taylor’s liking.
At least Will hoped it was to his liking.
“What do you think?” he asked as Taylor sat down on the foot of the bed, pulled off his sunglasses, a
nd pinched the bridge of his nose.
Taylor glanced up. “Nice. Very nice.”
“What would you like to do first? Grab something to eat? Check out the beach?”
Taylor gave a funny half-laugh. “Honestly? More than anything I’d like to sleep.”
They had not been sleeping much. Over the past few days, there had been a lot of lying still and controlling breathing so as not to disturb the other. Funny how you could know someone so well, you could tell the difference between their real sleep and their fake sleep.
“We’re on vacation,” Will said. “We’re allowed to sleep. Let’s sleep.”
“Are you sure? Because we’ve only got—”
“I think we’ll enjoy the rest of our time a lot more if we get some rest.” Will sat down on the bed. All at once he was so tired, he couldn’t see straight. As if it had taken all his strength to get them here. He let himself fall back on the fern and cactus print comforter, folded his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes.
After a moment, he felt the mattress give as Taylor rose, heard Taylor’s boots hitting the carpet, felt the mattress dip again. He opened his eyes. Taylor lay beside him, as straight and neatly contained as a stone effigy, and once again Will thought that he’d shoot a hundred Ashe Dekkers before he’d let anything happen to Taylor, whether Taylor ever forgave him or not.
For a moment they lay still and silent, their breathing even and regular. The sliding doors to the lanai were open, and the whisper of draperies, the rustle of the palm trees was peaceful. The breeze was a little moist, scented with exotic flowers. It did not smell like home, but it was nice.
Once, and not that long ago, Will would have turned to Taylor and kissed him, and regardless of how tired they were… But he didn’t quite dare. In fact, as much as he wanted to put his arm around Taylor, he didn’t quite dare that either. These days it was like Taylor had a force field around him, and Will was standing outside, looking in.
He was so afraid of making matters worse, he did nothing, which was probably guaranteed to make matters worse.
It was just that he was so painfully aware of the, well, error of his ways. For two years he had been taking things for granted. Everything from dismissing Taylor’s insecurities about David to turning down the Paris posting without discussing it with his partner first. And yes, he had realized he was being kind of high-handed about stuff, but he had excused his behavior because he was sincerely trying to do the right thing for both of them. But however much he loved Taylor—more than his own life, that was the truth—and however much he wanted to take care of Taylor, keep him out of harm’s way, he didn’t have the right to make some of the choices he’d made without talking it out with the person most affected by these decisions.
It was kind of ironic that this epiphany should be brought about by the one decision he didn’t second-guess, wouldn’t take back even if he could—the decision to put Ashe Dekker down. Regardless of what Taylor thought, Dekker had been about to kill him. Will had zero doubts.
He could understand and sympathize why Taylor had doubts, why Taylor didn’t want to believe his old friend had been willing to murder him, but Will? No regrets.
It didn’t mean he was happy about it, for God’s sake. He felt sick every time he remembered.
And sicker still on the nights he dreamed he fired too late.
If they could just talk like they used to…
That was the main thing he hoped for from this trip. If they could just manage to open the lines of communication again, that would be a start.
In the midst of these grim thoughts, Taylor shifted onto his side and put his arm around Will’s chest.
Taylor didn’t say anything, didn’t put his head on Will’s chest as he once would have done, but just that simple gesture closed Will’s throat, made his heart expand with emotion—not least gratitude.
They were a little groggy but definitely more relaxed at dinner. They found a place on the beach called Mama’s Fish House, with decor vaguely reminiscent of Aloha Steakhouse—lots of wood and bright-blue accents. They drank Bali Hais and Mai Tais and Scorpions—the kind of thing they ordinarily never touched—and got a little plastered. Taylor ordered the grilled Ahi baked in banana leaf, and Will got South Pacific salmon with caramelized onions, chili pepper, and avocado. They ate, drank, and watched the sun go down over the ocean.
They did not talk much, but the silence between them was friendlier than it had been of late.
“We should have done this a long time ago,” Will said, and Taylor smiled faintly because they both knew all the reasons they couldn’t have done this before. Maybe they shouldn’t be doing it now since it meant leaving Schwierskott—their newest employee—and Euphonia to deal with anything that might crop up. But maybe Santa would bring them an absence of trouble for Christmas.
After their leisurely meal, they agreed they were both too much the worse for wear and phoned an Uber to take them back to their hotel.
Once back in their room, there was an unexpected awkwardness about what to do next.
Will began, “Did you want to—” He was thinking along the lines of go for a walk in the moonlight, but Taylor looked so instantly and totally blank, the words died in his throat.
His expression was probably a reveal, because Taylor said quickly, awkwardly, “Whatever you want.”
Which was clearly not how he felt.
“We could try out the hot tub,” Will said desperately, and Taylor leaped at that.
And, in fact, the hot tub turned out to be a great idea. The air was cool and balmy, the tub deliciously, bone-meltingly hot, and they had its frothy, steaming waters all to themselves. The lush garden and twinkling stars gave the night a magical feel.
Nothing like that hot spring in the High Sierras, where they had first made love.
Could you call that making love? Maybe not.
“What would you like to do tomorrow?” Will asked. “You want to go on a whale watch? Take a helicopter tour?”
Taylor murmured, “You’ve been reading the guidebook.”
“Whatever you want to do, I’m up for it,” Will said. “You want to go surfing? The big winter waves are supposed to be great for experienced surfers.”
Taylor raised his brows. “Do you surf? Because that would be news.”
“Well, no. But I wouldn’t mind having drinks and watching you surf.”
Taylor was silent for a moment. He said, “Nah. Big-wave surfing is out of my league these days. Besides, we should choose something we can both enjoy.”
“Hey, there’s nothing not to enjoy about sitting on the beach, drinking Mai Tais.”
Another pause before Taylor said almost gently, “Will, you don’t have to try so hard. I’m not convalescent.”
He didn’t mean it as a slap, that was obvious, but it still stung.
Will said, “No, but you’re not happy.”
“Are you?”
Will’s heart was pounding so hard, he wondered if it was going to explode. He had known they had to talk, he wanted to talk, but not this soon. Not before they had a chance—he had a chance—to remind Taylor of everything that was right between them.
“At the moment? No.”
Taylor’s shadow nodded as though this confirmed his thoughts.
Having admitted that much, Will couldn’t think of another thing to say. Or rather, he could only think of one thing, and he was afraid that if he said it, it would mean the end of everything.
The words came out anyway.
“You don’t want to believe it, but he was going to shoot you.”
Taylor turned his profile to him.
Will said harshly, “But even if he wasn’t, you’d have made the same choice.”
“Only I didn’t. I didn’t pull my weapon.”
“I don’t mean to protect yourself. I mean to protect me. If our positions were reversed, you’d have made the same call.”
“As usual, you’re thinking you know b—”
&nb
sp; Will burst out, “You shot me, MacAllister. You shot someone you loved when you believed you had to, so I know you’d have shot him in my position.”
Taylor gave that little huff that indicated unwilling acknowledgment.
The minutes ticked by and Taylor didn’t reply, so maybe Will was wrong about that.
Taylor finally said, “Is there a Plan B?”
“What?” Will asked blankly.
“For tomorrow. Did you have a Plan B for how we spend tomorrow?”
Will’s heart started beating again. He had been expecting annihilation, but it seemed he had cut the blue wire after all.
“We drive to Hana. It’s supposed to be spectacular. Rain forest and waterfalls and ocean views. It takes about three hours if you drive straight through, but if you do it right, there are all kinds of hiking trails and places to swim and roadside stands. We could make it an all-day trip.”
Christ. He really was beginning to sound like the guidebook.
“Okay,” Taylor said. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”
What I want? More than anything, I’d like my best friend, partner, lover back.
Instead, Will said lightly, “Your wish is my command,” and Taylor’s mouth curved politely.
Excruciating. Since when did they have this kind of trouble talking to each other?
Neither spoke for a time. Taylor tipped his head back, watching the stars, and Will watched him out of the corner of his eye.
After a time, Taylor commented dreamily, “Hey, a shooting star.”
“Aren’t you supposed to make a wish?”
Taylor closed his eyes. Opened them. He continued to stare at the sky.
Chapter Eight
The next day—two days before Christmas—they spent the morning and afternoon driving the road to Hana, which turned out to be a 64.4-mile-long very windy, narrow highway through lush tropical rainforest with passes over fifty-nine bridges—many of which were only wide enough for one lane of traffic.
Hours of wind in their hair and sun on their faces. Hours of nothing to do but drive and think and be. They stopped a few times to take photos, to hike up to see waterfalls, to buy iced coconut water and snacks at roadside stands. They didn’t talk much, but they shared smiles, helped each other across tricky patches of terrain, shared bites of their shrimp and pineapple and garlic hot dog and red bananas and hot Kona coffee over ice cream.