Bad Attitude

by K.A. Mitchell

Gavin tried to summon his bored facade to shield himself with it, at least until he could convince himself he didn’t care, but instead, he wished Jamie would say more. Incredibly, he did.

  “You ignore all my bullshit or you stand up to me. Usually that would make me want to deck you, but I don’t. And you look out for people who don’t have anyone else, like those kids with their car or the people dying all alone in that place. Yeah, you give as good as you get in bed, and damn that’s sweet, but that’s not all of it.”

  Gavin failed utterly to convince himself that he didn’t want to know what “it” was. But Jamie didn’t offer anything else, and Gavin was too afraid to admit what might be going on inside him. What if it was, really was, as Jamie termed it, the L word? What did that mean anyway?

  “You too.” It had been so much easier when Gavin thought he understood the rules.

  “Wow. A swing and a miss for Mr. Walking Dictionary. Don’t strain yourself, babe.”

  No matter how familiar Jamie’s disappointment felt, it provoked an unexpected reaction. Gavin was angry. At Jamie for changing the game, at himself for not knowing how to play.

  He pushed Jamie onto his back, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him against the sheet. “What the hell do you want from me?”

  Jamie’s muscles shifted in something like a shrug. His blue eyes glared right back. “More’n you want to give, I guess.”

  “Your hand in my ass wasn’t enough?”

  “I loved it, but that wasn’t for me, babe. Wanted to do that for you.”

  Gavin felt heat and a prickle behind his eyes. He hadn’t cried when his mother died, and he absolutely would not do it here. He let Jamie go. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

  “Because that’s not how it works.” Jamie rolled off on the other side of the bed.

  Gavin heard the water run, all the noises that told him Jamie was in the bathroom, yet Gavin couldn’t shake the idea that he was all alone. Left behind.

  When Jamie came back into the room, he didn’t get on the bed, but flipped out the lights and stood there.

  “I—I could leave,” Gavin said. As he waited for an answer, there wasn’t room in his chest, as if Jamie had somehow reached up and filled more than just Gavin’s ass with his hand.

  Jamie sighed. “Do what you want.”

  Gavin’s muscles tried to gather themselves, move him out of the bed and into the dark.

  “I like you here.” Jamie came toward him.

  They lay on the bed with an ocean of space between them.

  “Thank you,” Gavin whispered into the dark.

  “For fuck’s sake.” Jamie flung an arm over Gavin’s chest.

  Gavin pulled Jamie closer, until he was lying on top. After a thick swallow, Gavin brushed a kiss into Jamie’s hair. “I like being here.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The insistent bleating of his phone dragged Gavin from a solid sleep. It wasn’t an alarm though. It was a call. He staggered out from sheets that smelled of sex, and no matter how much he wanted to slide back in, let the smell drag him under again, he knew he had to find his phone in case there was an emergency with Lily.

  He finally tripped over his jeans and got a hand on his phone in time for it to stop buzzing and chiming.

  Missed call: Chip.

  “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Jamie sounded instantly awake, alert, though it was barely four a.m. Because of experience with his job or because he hadn’t been sleeping?

  “My brother called. It’s probably something with Lily.” But Gavin hesitated before retrieving the voicemail.

  “I guess he never calls with good news.”

  “No. Do you talk to your family a lot?”

  “Some. Usually when my sisters call they want something. Broken pipe fixed, car help.”

  Gavin sat on the bed. Jamie wrapped himself around him from behind. It wasn’t only the smell of sex, but of them, together, a lure he almost couldn’t resist.

  “You want privacy?” Jamie asked.

  Normally Gavin would. Especially if any one of the disasters he imagined were waiting in that voicemail.

  Jamie started to push away.

  “No.” Gavin caught his wrist. “Stay. Please.”

  Jamie settled back, keeping an arm around Gavin’s waist. “You really worry about her.”

  “Yes. I know she’s not my mother. But she’s always been kind, and—” Gavin swallowed. “We thought my mother was pregnant at first. With the cancer. She had had a lot of trouble with Honey, and a miscarriage after that.”

  Jamie tucked his chin over Gavin’s shoulder. “That sucks.”

  “My father.” The familiar frustration and shame soured his empty stomach. “I don’t know whether it’s the professed Catholic bullshit about welcoming children or the determination to prove his virility.”

  Jamie nodded against Gavin’s cheek. He would have expected Jamie to say it wasn’t his problem, or that the cross and saint he wore around his neck would lead him to defend the faith. Yet he only held Gavin, provided a solid wall for him to lean against as he pressed the button for the voicemail and put the phone to his ear.

  “Gavin.” Chip’s voice was clipped, devoid of concern or emotion, but then it usually was. “I know it’s early, but I thought you would want to know. Beach woke up.”

  Gavin eased himself into the faux Barcalounger next to Beach’s bed. Jamie had asked with half concern, half smug pride if Gavin was sore, and he was definitely moving and sitting with care. He’d explained, “Not really sore, more that it echoes. Suffice it to say, yes, you’ll be on my mind the rest of the day.”

  Jamie had grinned and given Gavin one of those long kisses. “We can take it easy tonight.”

  Chip had warned Gavin that Beach would probably drift in and out for a few days, so Gavin finished a couple books on his phone while answering Beach when he woke up periodically to ask, “What happened?”

  Around seven that night, it seemed to stick. Beach was far more alert than he had been, absorbing Gavin’s version of events and asking a few questions. Gavin only mentioned that there had been an accident on the bridge, that they had both gone in, that Beach had been in a coma to relieve pressure on his brain.

  “You going to stick around?” Beach asked through a yawn. His eyes were fluttering the way they’d been most of the day.

  It was getting close to the time when the nurses came around to usher people out. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You know I probably own lots of stock in…wherever I am.”

  Gavin wanted to laugh in relief. That was Beach. Bulling through anything.

  After Beach had nodded off, Gavin called Jamie to apologize and ask for a rain check.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “All right. He doesn’t remember much about the accident.”

  “They’re going to want to question him. He might want to get a lawyer ready to go,” Jamie suggested with an effort that sounded as if it twisted him in a knot just to offer the inside information.

  “Thank you. I’ll mention it.”

  Gavin could almost hear Jamie’s shrug.

  “So, you’d pick a night on a chair instead of a night in my bed.” Jamie’s voice pumped blood places Gavin swore would be dormant for at least another few hours. “I promised we’d go easy. On your ass anyway.”

  “Who said I wanted to.”

  Now Gavin heard Jamie smile. “You’re really something, Montgomery.”

  For an instant, Gavin remembered how often Jamie used that name to push distance between them, but now there was as much affection in it as when he whispered babe in bed. Gavin felt a distinct urge to bash himself in the head with the phone for letting himself get sentimental about what Jamie called him.

  “Hey,” Jamie said. “You know, it’s that Harbor Festival this weekend, and I’ll be working my ass off until Monday. If you change your mind, I’ll leave the back door unlocked.”

  Gavin planned to make use of that a
s soon as he was sure Beach was really out. Not seeing Jamie for three days—Gavin would definitely take advantage of the chance to store up some time.

  Over the weekend, Jamie sent texts about fuckwitted tourists and pathetic sailors who couldn’t hold their liquor. Beach was allowed solid food and to get out of bed without assistance, Gavin following him around the halls as Beach remembered how to use his legs. Other than his spotty memory, Beach was himself. Gavin knew they would release Beach soon when he felt good enough to get into a rant about the food.

  “Do not darken my door again unless you bring me something freshly killed and lightly seared.” He threw down the spork that had come sealed in plastic, like the rest of his Sunday lunch. “All right, Gavin. Let’s hear the real story.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one that explains what actually happened that night. My lawyer assures me that due to my recent incapacitation, after the appropriate checks are cashed, I will not be charged with anything but a violation on my license. You can tell me the truth now.”

  After sending something he hoped would calm Jamie enough to keep him from sinking the capsized sailboat he had been sent out to get upright, Gavin tucked his phone away. “What do you remember?”

  “For the most part, I remember the party. You were in a shitty mood. I wanted you to have fun.”

  “Did you spike the shots?”

  Beach shrugged eloquently. “I have such a spotty memory.” His smile vanished, forehead wrinkling as he thought. “But there was something. Something important. When we left, I had something I had to do. Or get or…”

  Gavin waited.

  “Damn, it’s right there.” Beach jabbed a finger into a spot near his hairline. “Squirming away when I get close.”

  “Stab it,” Gavin suggested, offering the discarded spork.

  “Brilliant suggestion. So after we left…” Beach tilted his head.

  “You look very Southern belle like that, my friend.”

  “Stop trying to get under my skirts…” Beach plucked at his hospital gown, “…and tell me what the fuck happened.”

  “You were driving me out to Holly Neck.” Unlike Beach’s, Gavin’s memory was all too clear. “I—uh—insisted on putting down the top on the Bentley. I wanted to see the stars.”

  That didn’t provoke any sort of reaction.

  “I asked again if you were able to drive. Then you stopped in the middle of the bridge.”

  “Now why in the hell would I do that?” Beach scratched at the razor stubble on his jaw.

  “You said you thought you could swim it. I think you meant out to Fort Carroll. You could see it easily, with the top down.”

  Beach’s eyes got wide. “Fort Carroll…”

  Gavin waited for blame, for confirmation that his idiotic insistence on driving with the top down had started the whole chain of events, but Beach had turned inward, chasing the elusive memory again.

  “Damn. I remember. My cousin Beauregard, he told me—” Beach was sifting through again. Gavin wanted to shake the information out of him.

  Beach looked up at Gavin with clear eyes and a jutting jaw. Whatever he’d remembered, it had gelled now.

  “My great-great-grandfather had a ring made, a seal with a signet. Fancy romantic thing you could spin to reveal the seal.” Beach set off as if he were getting into one of his stories. He was good at them, had kept Gavin entertained long into the night any number of times in prep school, but Gavin wasn’t interested in a story. He only wanted to know why Beach had jumped.

  “My grandfather’s baby brother, Uncle Wynant, stole it from my father. Beau said his Uncle Titus got it and dropped it out on Fort Carroll during some crazy party in the ’90s.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “What is?”

  Gavin folded his arms, leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs out. “You actually have a cousin named Beauregard Beauchamp.”

  “Fuck off. The thing is, that girl who claims my dad was having an affair with her, said the stuff about my father, we were always sure she just wanted money. And she claims he gave her the ring. But if the ring is out on Fort Carroll, my father could come home.” Beach’s eyes were bright, alive with the sort of energy that had swept Gavin up in more than one disaster in prep school. He could still see the half-gelatined pool.

  “Great. You can call your father and hire someone to find it.”

  “No way. I can find it. I’ll get one of those things the beach bums use, a metal detector.”

  “That’s crazy, Beach.” How many times had Gavin started to say that, only to find himself going along. Though he had to admit the semiliquid pool had been funny. “It’s an island. And I’m pretty sure it’s private property.”

  “Beau was out there a couple years ago with some friend who was thinking of buying it to put a resort or something on it. It’s just a man-made island full of birds and bird shit. Who the fuck would care?”

  “Well, when you get out, we’ll take a look,” Gavin offered, though he couldn’t help wonder what Jamie would have to say about that. While he might find the Jell-O-in-the-pool story funny, Gavin doubted Jamie would be behind this latest insanity from Beach.

  “What?” Beach jabbed him with the spork.

  “What what?”

  “You’ve got an idea, or a plan to get laid, or maybe both.” Beach pointed at Gavin’s face.

  There was something to be said for having known someone half your life, having shared adolescent secrets—it gave them an ability to read your face. “I’m merely thinking of what someone else I know would say about your quixotic idea.”

  “A someone who you’re fucking. What’s his name? And go ahead, hit me with the nasty details.” Beach gave a sigh of profound suffering.

  “I told you all about him while you were sleeping. So you missed that.”

  “At least comas are good for something at least, because I don’t think I’m looking well rested. Lines, Gavin. I have lines.” Beach gestured at his forehead. “So what does your hot piece have to do with my island adventure?”

  “He knows the harbor.”

  “Perfect. When can he help?”

  “He’s not going to help, he’s a cop.”

  Beach’s shock was precisely the way Gavin had imagined it. “You’re dating a cop? What’s old Fortescue have to say about that?”

  “Not a thing, if I can help it.”

  “But this is so good. He’s probably got access to radar or something that could help us.” Beach looked at Gavin. “And if a police boat is moored there, we can go anytime, look as long as we want.”

  “I’m not asking him.” Even if Gavin didn’t already know what the answer would be, there was no way he would put a strain on his and Jamie’s fragile new…connection by involving him or asking for a favor.

  “I can pay him, I mean if…” Beach trailed off. “Seriously? You found a cop who was all noble and dutiful? Here?”

  Gavin was torn between a desire to defend Jamie and the urge to distract Beach to get him off this track.

  Beach knew Gavin too damn well. After making his mouth comically wide in surprise, Beach said, “Well, paint me brown and use me as a fence post, you’re really into this guy.”

  Gavin shrugged.

  “Never thought I’d see it.”

  Beach was distracted all right, but not the way Gavin wanted.

  “Now you’re going to have to bring him by,” Beach teased. “I have to see what got you to abandon your famous philosophy of ‘hit it and quit it.’”

  “I’ve never said that.”

  “True. But you have said the chase is half the fun.”

  Gavin shrugged again. “Right now I’ll see if I can’t chase you down something better for dinner.”

  “This is too good to be true. You, the human iceberg, all melty over some guy and running out the door rather than talk about it.”

  Sometimes discretion was the better part of valor. “I yield the field.” Gavin nodded as he st
ood up.

  “More like you in the Federal Army and we’d have won the damned war,” was Beach’s parting shot.

  Gavin strolled up the hospital corridor cradling a steak dinner from Mancini’s tucked in close to preserve the warmth. When he turned the corner into Beach’s room, the sight of the stripped empty bed made him feel as though he’d missed the last couple of stairs. He grabbed the doorframe for balance. Beach was— No, he wasn’t dead. Gavin was pretty sure he knew where Beach was though. With that in mind, the fact that Beach might be dead before the day was over wasn’t too farfetched an idea.

  An orderly came in and started making up the bed.

  “Do you know where Mr. Beauchamp is?”

  The orderly shook his head and pointed toward the nurses’ station. Knowing what the answer would be, Gavin asked the nurse who remembered him enough to unbend with, “Mr. Beauchamp is no longer staying with us.”

  No doctor would have discharged him, especially not at seven on a Sunday evening.

  Gavin thanked her and handed off the food. As soon as he was out of the hospital, he pressed the contact number he had for Beach but knew it was pointless. Beach’s old phone was in the bay, and who would go to the trouble of getting a new one for a man in a coma? Besides, Gavin knew exactly where Beach was headed, and Gavin cursed himself for bringing Beach some clothes.

  Gavin called Jamie as he drove toward the marina where Beach kept his sport fishing cruiser. But it rolled straight to Jamie’s voicemail, and Gavin couldn’t figure out how to explain this in a message.

  He tried again, ready this time. “I know you’re incredibly busy, but I’d appreciate it if you could call me back as soon as possible.”

  The sun was sinking behind the Bank of America building by the time Gavin made his way through the traffic and found a spot near the Bridgestreet Marina.

  He was almost jogging along the waterfront walkway when his phone rang.

  He didn’t dare hope it was Beach, but he was surprised at how much relief he felt hearing Jamie’s voice.

  “Sorry I missed you before. You do not want to know what happens to a kayak when someone on a speedboat is grabbing bikini ass instead of watching the water. Anything in the harbor smaller than sixty feet might as well be playing Frogger on eight lanes of traffic packed with semis.”