Glass Tidings

by Amy Jo Cousins

  “Rodrigues with an s, not a z. Portuguese, not Spanish. I don’t have an address. I’m traveling. Yes, I have a cell phone. No, I’m not employed at the moment.” Eddie knew every word out of his mouth was dragging him higher and higher on the cop’s #1 Suspect list, but his brain was slow.

  “Okay, tell me what happened here. What did you see?”

  Eddie didn’t want to think about what had happened. Didn’t want to tell it like a fucking fairy tale or a recap of an episode of Law & Order, but that girl . . .

  That girl was probably dead by now, and he would remember the sight of her pinwheeling through the air for the rest of his life. Would remember that he hadn’t shouted in time to save her.

  He wasn’t going to tell the cop about that part. He couldn’t. They’d lock him up for sure. Failure to Be a Good Samaritan or Stupid Fucking Dumbassness or some charge like that.

  He couldn’t tell the cop about how he could’ve prevented the accident, but Eddie could point the law in the direction of the driver who’d fucking run a girl down with his car and then just kept going.

  Hell, maybe I didn’t save her, but I didn’t fucking kill her. And I didn’t leave her. I stayed.

  “Sir.”

  “There was a car. It didn’t stop.” He could get that much out before choking.

  “A hit and run?”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced up. The cop was writing things down in a tiny notebook as she fired more questions at him about how long ago it happened, in which direction the car drove off, had it swerved at all . . .

  “What kind of car? Did you get a plate number?”

  “No. I . . . It happened so fast. It was a regular car. I mean, a . . . what do you call them?” Words were fading in his mouth faster than he could say them, a gray cloud hovering over his tongue. “A sedan. Four doors. I think. A dark color. I think.”

  He was waiting to be asked what he was doing here, who had given him permission to walk the streets of this nice, normal town.

  Nice, normal town where people run you down and kill you.

  “Did you get the plate number?” the cop repeated.

  Guilt swamped him. Useless. He was so fucking useless. Eddie shook his head. “No. It happened too fast.”

  He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off that flying body. Even the driver’s face had just been a streaky blur of pale skin and a dark slash of eyebrows.

  Shivers wracked his body. He turned his face away, looking for something, anything else to distract him long enough for the images to fade.

  A man was walking across the lawn of a big house three doors down. With broad shoulders, his head hunched down into the collar of his jacket, the man strode with a rolling gait Eddie imagined sea captains of old deployed on their ship decks. His hair was short and dark, with gray patches at the temples, and the strong line of his jaw blurred into the night with a way-beyond-five-o’clock shadow.

  The man nodded as he came to a halt at the edge of whatever circle of politeness kept people from standing on each other’s toes. His eyes skimmed over Eddie, pausing on his face for a long moment that made Eddie’s breath catch.

  Surreal, being clocked by another gay man in a situation like this.

  Eddie turned back to the cop in time to catch her return nod to the man.

  “Grayson.”

  “Christine. Need anything?”

  “Permission to shoot and a stiff drink?” she answered sourly, frowning down at Eddie.

  He was pretty sure he wasn’t the one she wanted to shoot.

  One hundred percent sure would’ve been fine and fucking dandy though.

  The man named Grayson barked out a laugh.

  “Mr. Rodrigues—” she began again.

  The radio on the cop’s hip crackled with static and then a distorted voice.

  “Shit.” The cop tilted her head while she listened, eyebrows scrunched up, then put her hand on her belt radio. “I’ve got a helluva mess here, John. Can you handle it?”

  When only half the conversation was intelligible and you were covered in blood, tuning out was easy. Eddie’s brain was most of the way shut down, his attention focused on the shivers still quaking his body. The man who looked like a sea captain squatted down next to him.

  “Here.”

  A soft jacket dropped onto his shoulders. Eddie shrugged it off reflexively. The man caught it before it hit the ground.

  “I’ve got . . .” Eddie waved at his pants. Blood.

  “You’re cold.” The man’s voice was firm as he lifted Eddie’s left arm and slid it into the sleeve of the navy-blue fleece, dressing him like a child. “It’ll wash.”

  “Jesus Christ.” The cop was back. Her shiny boots planted themselves in front of Eddie’s feet. “I’ve got to get over to the Walmart out on County Line Road before John has to shoot someone.”

  “At midnight?”

  This wasn’t the kind of town where a lot of shit went down in the middle of the night, Eddie bet.

  “Black Friday tomorrow. Tonight.” The cop’s voice curled with disgust.

  “They’re fighting over TVs?”

  “I wish. We got a family feud breaking out in the parking lot. They normally keep their distance, but everybody’s been in the parking lot since sunset, waiting for the doors to open. Now they’re rioting. Goddamn. Frigging Romeo and Juliet with tire irons.”

  “Montagues and Capulets.”

  The cop snorted. “You would remember that high school crap.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who threw up on stage, Juliet,” the man crouched next to Eddie shot back. Before the cop could open her mouth, though, the Grayson guy must have thought better of arguing. “Sorry.”

  “Listen, sir. Mr. Rodrigues.” The cop’s attention was firmly back on Eddie. He looked up. “Are you staying around here?”

  “No, ma’am.” He knew better than to speak to police without bowing his head, even metaphorically. “I’m on my way to Texas. I was just headed for the bus station. I had a lift drop me off nearby.” Which sounded like he’d been hitchhiking, in a state that strongly frowned upon that activity, but that was better than admitting he’d abandoned a sort-of stolen car on the highway.

  “Of course you were,” the officer said, then shook her head as if realizing how her frustration sounded. “Sorry. I don’t mean anything by that.”

  “No problem.” Always be polite to cops.

  “Double shit.” The cop rubbed her forehead like it hurt. “Gray, I need to ask a favor. Can you put Mr. Rodrigues up for the night?”

  “What?” Mr. Have-My-Coat stood up in a hurry.

  “I need to get his statement, but I gotta get out to the Walmart before somebody caves in a skull. You’ve got plenty of room in that monstrosity of yours, right? The town’ll reimburse you for the equivalent of a motel room.”

  The big man grunted, clearly unhappy.

  Yay. Just what Eddie needed. To be left like a kid in need of a babysitter with a man who’d been strong-armed into putting him up for the night.

  “Can’t he go to a motel?”

  “You want to drive him? Mr. Rodrigues here is apparently on foot. And fork out the cash for the room? Be my guest. Just let me know where you drop him and get a receipt.”

  Eddie could see the emotions rolling across the man’s face like the tide. Hope, frustration, resignation. Probably not a ton of nearby motels in a town this size. A long drive after midnight clearly didn’t appeal.

  “Fine. I’ll put him up.” The man scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Jesus.”

  He stomped off down the block in the direction Eddie had come from.

  “Hey, don’t do me any favors,” Eddie snapped, scrambling to his feet.

  “Relax,” the cop said with a tired smile. “Mr. Croft doesn’t bite. He’s just a hermit who doesn’t like being forced to interact with the human race.”

  That his bark held no bite was something Eddie was going to have to take on faith, apparently. He tugged th
e zipper of his borrowed jacket up. The casual kindness of the loan made him want to trust these two strangers enough to take the man up on his offer of a bed for the night, but that was a damn stupid idea.

  Maybe it wasn’t even up to him whether or not he stayed, though.

  “Do I have to stay? Am I under arrest or something?” he asked, stomach churning as he pushed out the words.

  “No, son. You’re not under arrest. But I don’t know if Lily Rose is gonna make it through the night, so it’s important, what you saw.” The cop looked him in the eyes, none of that authority intimidation bullshit shining out of her. Just plain old asking for help. “You understand me. I can’t make you stay, but I sure would appreciate it.”

  Eddie dropped his eyes, staring hard at the pavement between their feet. His battered running shoes looking all kinds of fucked up next to the shine of that polish.

  Damn it.

  The sticky wetness of his jeans lay cold against his thighs. He couldn’t leave town with that girl’s blood all over him. Not and wake up in the morning without loathing himself.

  “Fine.”

  “Just sack out and I’ll be by in the morning to get the rest of your statement.” She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

  Eddie concentrated on not flinching or pulling away. After what felt like seventeen years of her staring him in the face as if trying to read his mind, she sighed and dropped her hand.

  “Can I count on you?”

  Eddie snorted. Most people didn’t bother to ask that question. Took one look at him and just assumed the answer was no.

  “No problem.” Yes, problem. Fucking blood and dead girls and sea captain’s coats and being left in the dark with very big strangers.

  The cop’s mind-reading skills were clearly for shit.

  A thump at Eddie’s feet turned out to be his duffel bag, which the man had apparently retrieved from the end of the block. A softer thump accompanied the drop of his cell phone on top of the bag. Eddie pocketed it without a word. He’d totally forgotten about dropping his phone in the snow when he’d started running toward the girl. That the man had spotted it was . . . nice.

  “Thanks, Gray,” the cop called out, jogging over to her waiting cruiser.

  The big man shrugged uncomfortably and waved as she pulled away from the curb. Then he turned to Eddie, brows lowered over his dark eyes. The wind pressed the fabric of the man’s shirt against his body, making him shiver.

  “C’mon. Guess you’re with me.”

  The man—Grayson Croft, the cop had said—pivoted and walked off down the block, heading for a house that looked like a shadowed castle with turrets and a dungeon, probably.

  Eddie swiped a hand under his runny nose, and hauled his bag to his shoulder. The last thing he wanted was to be on some cop’s radar as the guy who left town without making a statement. Especially since she had his info, and Eddie was only off the grid some of the time.

  Plus, he was so cold, his bones ached.

  Down the block, the man strode across the lawn and up the front steps of the house, leaving the golden rectangle of an open door behind him after heading inside.

  Eddie followed.

  “Bathroom’s upstairs if you want a shower to warm up,” Gray said, leading the way.

  The skinny guy with long, dark hair pulled back in a ragged ponytail had moved hesitantly through the open front door as if on the lookout for an ambush. Gray slouched and kept his sentences simple, all too aware of how he loomed over most people.

  Their feet were silent on the faded carpet runner of the staircase to the second floor.

  “I’m in the back.” He waved a hand toward his bedroom before jerking his chin toward the hallway that led to the room at the other end. “You’ll be up front in . . . the guest room.”

  Hard to say the words when he still thought of it, after all these years, as Brady’s office. Even though the room had never been that anywhere except Gray’s imagination.

  He paused outside of the open door to the guest bathroom. “I can bring you fresh towels if you want.”

  A strange look crossed Eddie’s face as he stopped in the middle of the hall, his shoulders dropping. A moment later, Gray’s guest straightened up again and walked into the bathroom with his bag, jaw set and a thousand-yard stare haunting his eyes.

  “Sure. I’ll shower.”

  He didn’t close the door behind him, which was strange. Despite that one burst of awareness between them on the street, there was no way that was an invitation, but the open door stuck in Gray’s brain like a burr.

  “I’ll get you some towels.” He didn’t keep any in there. Made no sense, stocking towels in a room no one ever set foot in.

  He’d spent years on the long, slow haul of sanding floors, hanging new drywall, painting, installing cabinets. The need for a project, for something to occupy his time, not to mention distract him from the sounds of him rattling around this ridiculous house by himself, had been intense. That no one would use the rooms he repaired had never been the point.

  Gray grabbed a couple of thick navy towels from his own bathroom and returned to the hall.

  “Here you—” Go was swallowed along with most of Gray’s tongue as he pushed the mostly ajar bathroom door all the way open.

  “So, what are you, like, deputized?” the naked man in his bathroom asked without turning his head.

  Gray tore his eyes away from the skinny hips, skinny arms, skinny ass. Someone needed to feed—

  Not your problem. Leave him alone.

  “What?” He had to replay the words in his brain, and then he snorted. “Hardly. I was just the closest person with a spare room who was awake and available.”

  “So if I want to leave after this?” the young man asked, waving one hand at the shower as he pulled a ponytail holder off his lank, dark hair with the other. The ends brushed the sharp angel wings of his shoulder blades.

  Gray had heard his overnight guest tell Christine he was twenty-eight, but reconciling that fact with the man’s youthful face and sapling-like body was breaking Gray’s brain. His mind kept slotting the man into “college student” even though he knew better. Gray caught himself about to lecture the kid—the man—about his responsibilities as a witness like he would one of his part-time holiday hires at the shop.

  Eddie. His name is Eddie. And he’s a grown man.

  A grown man who is not self-conscious about being naked in front of a stranger.

  “Leave the towel in the hamper and find me in the kitchen downstairs if you want a sandwich before you hit the road,” he said and took a step back. He wouldn’t—he would not—start lecturing this man about his responsibilities.

  Your opinion is neither needed nor wanted, asshole.

  “And if I stay?”

  Gray didn’t understand the question. “If you stay . . .”

  Eddie sauntered over to him, hips slinky in a way they hadn’t been during the perfectly ordinary walk to the house and upstairs. As if Eddie’s pelvis had decided to start broadcasting all sex, all the time in stereo when Gray wasn’t looking.

  This close, Gray could smell the stale scent of the road rising off all that bare, olive skin. The ghost of cigarettes and gas station junk food. Processed cheese and cheap chocolate. The musky undertones of a man who’d been wearing the same clothes for almost twenty-four hours now. The combination made his mouth water. Drove a need in him to wrap his arms around Eddie and tuck his own face into the warm skin of Eddie’s neck, inhaling deeply.

  Gray crossed his arms to keep himself from reaching out. His palms itched.

  As if reading Gray’s mind, Eddie hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Gray’s jeans and yanked him forward a step. “I’ll blow you, but no fucking. And you have to wear a condom.”

  Gray’s hands flew out, whether to grab Eddie back or to brace them apart, Gray wasn’t sure. But the skin under his hands was so chilled, he automatically started rubbing Eddie’s upper arms.

  “Jesus C
hrist.” A no was supposed to have come out of his mouth too, but Grayson found himself swallowing the sudden rush of saliva in his mouth. His brain was stuck on blow you, replaying the words over and over again in Eddie’s seductive voice. What the hell was happening here? It was as if a switch had flipped and he’d found himself in the awkward opening dialogue of a porno.

  “Or maybe you want to suck me?” Eddie asked, and Gray had to struggle to keep his eyes from dropping to where Eddie’s soft dick pressed against him. Eddie hitched his hips up a notch, then let himself drag against the denim of Gray’s pants on the slide down. That dick was firming up. “Been too long since you’ve gotten on your knees for someone?”

  Gray’s vision swam. He was so light-headed, he held on tighter to Eddie to keep from swaying on his feet, which must have read as some kind of go ahead signal, because Eddie snaked a hand up and pulled Gray’s face down until their mouths met.

  Eddie’s mouth was open and hot and wet beneath his, the press of his lips and teeth demanding Gray open to him. He tasted faintly of sugared cola and cigarettes, and Gray’s head went dizzy at the surge of arousal that battered him, a dark undercurrent making him flinch at the wrongness of it all.

  The fuck . . .

  Gray pushed him away, and he wasn’t at all sure if it was because he didn’t want that kiss or if he wanted it so hard his skin hurt.

  But Eddie’s thighs were stained with the red-brown of blood and his eyes were haunted, and nothing in his actions or Gray’s response rang with any kind of rightness at all.

  “Stop.” His voice scraped low in the bright room. “You got a bed for the night. Laundry if you want me to do a load. I don’t want anything from you.” A lie, but he needed to say it. Needed to make it true in the space between them, even if the words made about as much sense as Croatian Pig Latin in his head. “Whatever you were thinking . . . that’s not what I want.”

  “Sure it’s not.” Eddie bit the words out. Their torn, bloody edges should have stained his teeth.

  Gray shrugged. He was long past the days of arguing with someone determined to believe their own read on a situation. That way lay madness. He left the room.

  “Wait.”