But Gray wasn’t going to do shit if Eddie stomped around like a cranky bastard. And there was still the cop to talk to. All bullshit aside, the idea alone was giving him the sweats.
“She’s probably going to want me to describe all that . . . awful stuff, isn’t she?” Eddie didn’t have to fake nervousness as he let his voice rasp again, playing up the very real ache from his screaming the night before. He dropped his shoulders and his gaze.
“You’ll be fine. She’s not gonna bother you,” Gray said gruffly, then gave him a nudge toward the bathroom. “Take a minute and wash up. I’ll get her coffee. Make sure she knows you’re still shaken up.”
Gray jogged down the stairs, and Eddie headed into the bath, reassured that he’d found Gray’s protector button, at least.
And thank fuck, because the way Gray had kept his cool in the face of all kinds of provocation the night before, Eddie was starting to worry he didn’t have any buttons at all to push, and Eddie didn’t trust anyone who acted like nothing bothered them.
That kind of calm just wasn’t natural.
It was like Eddie couldn’t relax until he knew what made someone lose their shit. Once he found that out, he could chill. That’s where the land mines are. Cool. And he didn’t jump up and down on that stuff. He wasn’t an asshole. He just needed to know people’s weak spots. Their danger zones. It made the difference between sailing your ship into space with a big, blank map and running right into a surprise asteroid belt, versus knowing where all the hazards in the star system were. Like Ferengis.
People who acted nice all the time were scary fucking black holes of future danger.
Downstairs, teeth slick and minty, Eddie spotted the cop and Gray sitting on the edge of their seats in the front parlor room, like they were afraid to get the furniture dirty. Eddie braced himself to join them. He’d spent a few minutes scowling at himself in the bathroom mirror, leaving him all set and ready to blank this cop if she wanted to get personal and talk about anything other than what he’d seen, which was pretty much fuck all.
He hadn’t heard anyone talking as he’d come downstairs, but it still felt like a curtain of silence dropped when he entered the room. Gray met his gaze and nodded once, as if to reassure Eddie that he’d taken care of things.
The cop was way less reassuring. The skin around her eyes looked bruised, like maybe she hadn’t been to sleep yet, and her hair was coming out of its tight knot. Her face was so solemn, Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. Oh shit, no. Please not that. He’d been trying as hard as he could not to think about the girl. The cop’s eyes were black as night, and she stared at Eddie, who wanted to ask. Needed to ask. But was afraid to know the answer.
What happened to Lily Rose?
Thank god for Grayson.
“Hey, they think Lily Rose is going to make it.”
Eddie pressed a hand to the frame of the open doorway. “That’s . . . good. I’m glad. Really glad.” His knees were wobbly.
The cop waved Eddie into the room. “I appreciate you sticking around to give a statement. Lily Rose is hopefully getting out of the ICU in short order. They upgraded her status from critical to serious pretty quickly, but they’re keeping her in the ICU until she wakes up.”
“Cool.” Relief made him light-headed, which felt weak, so he slouched into the room like he didn’t give a fuck and slumped all the way deep into the corner of the fancy couch.
The cop gave him squinty eyes. Of course. “But even when she does, that girl’s gonna be doped up on so many drugs she won’t remember her own name for at least a week. So your statement is pretty much all we’ve got to go on, at least for right now. Which means everything you can remember is important, okay?”
Eddie nodded. And he tried. He honestly tried. Because nothing had made him want to vomit with guilt more than seeing that girl slumped against the curb with blood in her hair. He shut his eyes and watched the horror film in his memory over and over again, trying to pick out the details.
A half hour later, he’d pulled the elastic out of his hair, he’d tugged on the band so much. “I’m sorry. I suck at cars. I know. I don’t remember much.”
The sheriff lifted a hand with a ballpoint pen threaded between her fingers. “I understand. Maybe I’ll have you flip through some pictures online. See if anything rings a bell.”
“I’m sorry,” Eddie repeated for the hundredth time. He’d already explained that probably a white male under fifty was as close as he could get to an ID of the driver, and he wasn’t ruling out a short-haired woman or a light-skinned Latino or Black guy. Everything was a blur. “I was in shock, I guess. I’m sorry I’m not a lot of help.”
“Well, I sure do wish you were sticking around for a while,” she said, sighing heavily and flipping her notebook shut with a grimace. “If we get a break and track down the car in a hurry, I was hoping to have you take a look at a lineup.”
“Sorry.”
Grayson cleared his throat. Every time Gray made a sound, Eddie’s head tilted slightly and his shoulders shifted, like his body was programmed to lean toward the man. It was annoying as hell since he was trying to ignore the way he pretty much always wanted to reach out and touch Gray already.
This time, Gray was looking back at Eddie like he felt the same urge.
“You said your budget’s a little tight to replace those glasses, right?”
Tight. Ha.
Like a pair of skinny jeans from his high school days tight. Eddie nodded, heat blooming on his cheeks. He hated talking about money when he didn’t have any.
Gray leaned closer. “I could use another daytime person at the shop. And I’ll buy stock from you too, if you wanted to do any glasswork. Or you could sell stuff in the shop on consignment. I’d keep a twenty percent cut.”
“Can’t. And I already told you no.” Eddie could’ve bit his own tongue off for how fast it shut Gray down. The want in him—to stay, to spend time with Gray, to show him . . . stuff—burned so hot it made his face flame, and that was just humiliating. Embarrassment never brought out the best in him though. “I don’t need any help.”
Gray squinted at him, then sat back in his seat. Knowingly. “But I do. You’d be helping me. If I helped you, that’d just be an accidental side benefit.”
Ha. He lies better than I do.
But maybe it wasn’t a lie. Eddie forced the thrill in his stomach into lockdown.
Because if Gray wasn’t lying, then Eddie wouldn’t be the one at a disadvantage if he did the stupid thing he really, really wanted to do . . . and stayed.
The butterflies on crack in his belly battered their way out of the steel cage of I don’t care Eddie had shoved them into.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“Wow.” The cop was staring, her head turning back and forth between the two of them like she was watching a Ping-Pong game with one of those Chinese whiz kids. “This is some kind of record. You, Gray? Volunteering to interact with another human being?”
“Shut up.”
The pink flush to Gray’s face made it okay.
If Gray was embarrassed too, then Eddie wasn’t the only one who wanted this. Wasn’t the only one, maybe, wishing for something stupid that he couldn’t, shouldn’t, have.
The pause of no one saying anything had lasted too long since Gray’s snappish response to the cop. Which meant both their heads turned, of course, when Eddie accidentally cleared his throat on the way to dragging the words out of his mouth.
“Okay. I’ll stay.”
By the time the cop left, Eddie was ready to go hide in one of Gray’s many closets—a literal closet, duh—just to get away from all the conversation.
Jesus. So much frigging talking.
Eddie avoided talking to people whenever possible. He was used to turning on the charm and his salesman patter when he was working at a faire or when he needed to figure out where he was going to land for the off-season, but in his private time, Eddie’s idea of heaven was being le
ft alone. An hour of sitting on the edge of Grayson’s fancy velvet sofa while the cop grilled him over and over again, staring at him with intense eyes, made Eddie want to crawl out of his skin. Watching Gray duck the cop’s nosy questions—those two clearly used to be friends or something—hadn’t been any more comfortable, although Eddie could empathize with Gray’s obvious desire to avoid her personal questions about what sounded like Gray’s ex, until she finally gave up and left.
In an ideal world, he’d go right back upstairs to that cozy bed in the guest room and go back to sleep for the rest of the day, but Eddie knew that wasn’t going to happen. His brain would be racing if he tried, running a looped replay of everything he’d said to the cop and everything he’d seen the night before. He’d spend hours watching that girl in his mind, horror-struck at the sight of her cartwheeling body. Her limp form flung against the curb, lifeless in its tumbled pile.
Nope. Not doing that. Gotta stay awake. Stay distracted.
Distraction. Yes. That was key.
He’d drifted into the kitchen after turning down first crack at the shower from Gray, who had mentioned needing to go to work shortly. Caffeine was definitely going to be required, and he was pretty sure he remembered spotting a coffeemaker on the kitchen counter the night before. He could get some brewing while Gray showered and got dressed.
He found a dusty box of filters in the cabinet above the fancy coffeemaker, but no coffee. Maybe Gray didn’t drink coffee? The possibility was too scary to contemplate, so he kept searching. Everyone needs coffee before work. That’s, like, a scientific law.
He wondered what Gray was like as a shopkeeper. His host was stern, but not harsh. A no-nonsense man. Eddie could have pictured him in charge of a class of rowdy high schoolers or doing something that required accuracy and attention to detail.
An accountant maybe, or some kind of designer, like an architect. Jobs like that made sense for Grayson.
Nothing that required a lot of social interaction, though, which meant the whole running-a-shop thing was kind of an odd choice. The man was not exactly a charmer. Eddie tried to picture Gray doing any of the jobs he was familiar with from the faire circuit, and snorted out loud as he searched through the cabinets for coffee grounds, finding approximately three hundred cans of soup, but no grounds. He discovered them eventually in the fridge. A suspiciously ancient-looking can, but Eddie grabbed it like a lifeline.
Scoop. Inhale deeply over the none-too-fragrant grounds. Try to imagine Gray in a Renaissance merchant’s costume. Laugh. Figure out how to slide out the funnel thingy he needed to put the filter into, only to realize it was made of a metal mesh, which explained the dustiness of the paper filters. Picture Gray standing at the open front of a merchant’s stall, calling out his wares in an Elizabeth English accent to strolling passersby, keeping up a happy patter of jokes and outrageous claims of excellence. Wince. Dump the grounds into the funnel, shove it back into the machine, check the water reservoir level, press the Brew button, and pray.
No way could he picture Gray working a faire. Eddie loved what he did—loved the freedom of choosing which faires he worked and when, loved the focus he could turn on his work, repetitive as it was most days—but even so, there was a baseline level of humor required to pretend to be from another era in order to entertain folks out of their discretionary dollars.
Maybe the whole small-town thing was different. Maybe you could get away with being a grumpy bastard if people had nowhere else to go to spend their money?
Eddie saw the appeal.
The sound of someone entering the kitchen behind him made Eddie turn around.
“Damn.” Eddie kept himself from whistling. Barely.
Gray jerked to a halt two steps from the counter, while Eddie ran an appreciative eye over the ready-for-work Mr. Croft. The man cleaned up well. His olive chinos were freshly pressed and fitted rather than baggy, and the collar of his charcoal zip-front ribbed sweater stood up over a navy-and-white-striped button-down. He looked like a high-end sea captain, in a way that Eddie found surprisingly fashionable for a small town, although what did he know? Maybe small-town gay guys—because the dude was definitely not straight—dressed like they’d just strolled out of a Banana Republic store all the time. They were only three or four hours outside of Chicago, on a non-fucked-up traffic day.
As Eddie blatantly gave him the once-over, Gray’s face reddened.
Eddie bit his lip at the memory of how easy it was to fluster Gray with the suggestion of sex. You’d think the guy hadn’t had sex in a decade the way he responded to something as minor as a look.
Then Gray waved no to the offer of a cup of coffee, and Eddie knew he was in Bizarro World.
“I didn’t even know I had any grounds.”
“In the back of the fridge.”
“Yeaaah,” Gray said, drawing out the word like he was afraid to finish it, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Not sure when I bought that stuff.”
Eddie would’ve bet his remaining few bucks that was a lie. And for someone who obviously didn’t like coffee, Gray sure had hung on to a fucking expensive can of the shit for a long, long time.
Wonder who the coffee drinker was?
Gray pulled a thermos out of a cabinet, opened it, and dropped two tea bags in by their strings, then pushed a switch on a tall silver pot that sat on the counter and was plugged into the wall.
“I’ve got to work all day. Didn’t hire any daytime help until today,” he said with a little smile that about broke Eddie in half.
“Aren’t you going to be slammed today?” Eddie asked, curious despite himself. At Gray’s puzzled look, he elaborated. “Black Friday? Shopping day from hell?”
“Everybody pretty much heads to the big box and outlet stores today,” Gray said, shaking his head. “And I figure you could use a day to relax before jumping in the deep end. Plus, we need to figure out how to get you supplies for your glass stuff, right? I can pay for an order in advance if you need . . . funds.”
“I got it,” he snapped out reflexively. Eddie liked to keep accounting simple. Pay him what he was owed and nothing else. He’d never minded people giving him things—a cold beer, a room to crash in, a free meal. Hell, the entire Ren faire behind-the-scenes economy worked on the barter system. And if Eddie usually got more than his fair share out of a deal, that was just a smart way to live. But cash was different. Cash was for real work. And Eddie was suddenly feeling like the last real human alive after the invasion of the body snatchers at the realization of what he’d agreed to: sticking around in a town full of the kind of civilians he normally bitched about having to deal with on a daily basis in the faire scene, with the lovely bonus of one local cop already knowing him by name.
The pot on the counter clicked, and the blue switch Gray had pressed popped up and quit glowing. Gray poured steaming-hot water into his thermos.
Holy shit. He’d agreed to stay with—to work for, which meant giving up all kinds of personal stuff like social security numbers and driver’s license info—a dude who drank tea. And walked to his shop in his small town where he knew the cops by name because they’d all gone to school together, like they’d all been assimilated by the Borg.
While Eddie was having a whole sci-fi-inspired breakdown, Gray screwed on the thermos top and shoved the whole thing in a messenger bag.
“See you about seven tonight. I left my number at the shop on the nightstand by your bed, if you need anything.”
Gray stopped in front of Eddie, who buried the Stepford wife urge to kiss him on the cheek and wish him a Good day, dear.
“Eat whatever you like. There’s, uh . . . soup.” Gray winced. “I gotta go to the grocery store.”
“It’s fine.” Please go. Get out of here so I can freak out in peace, please? “I like soup.”
Dumbest. Conversation. Ever.
At the door to the hall, Gray paused and spoke without looking back over his shoulder.
“If you need to head out for some reason today,
just push the button to lock the front door. And maybe call the station first, okay? Since we told Christine you were sticking around.”
Eddie swallowed. It was starting to freak him out how Gray kept knowing exactly what Eddie needed to hear at any given moment. And right now, he’d desperately needed to be given an escape route.
Somehow, having the escape available settled Eddie’s nerves enough that he was able to breathe again. None of which he said to Gray, of course.
Duh.
“’Kay.”
Grayson left.
Eddie tried to keep himself distracted. He really did. Sending a short text to Bertie explaining where he’d left the car took up all of thirty seconds, and he had to turn his phone off immediately after to avoid the angry phone call he knew he had coming.
TV normally worked, since Eddie didn’t have access to any of that during the faire season. But he’d binge-watched everything he could possible find during the past two months with Bertie, ignoring the constant haze of pot smoke seeping under the door from their bedroom. A quick flip through Gray’s channels didn’t turn up anything appetizing.
When he couldn’t find anything good on the TV, he’d ended up back in bed, trying to nap. He wanted to go through Gray’s room, see what was in his drawers or on the top shelves in his closet, where no one would ever stumble across Gray’s hidden things. But he wasn’t sure he’d hear the front door open from that far away, and a phobia about getting busted snooping stopped him in the open doorway to Gray’s room. In the squishy down fluffiness of his bed in the guest room, Eddie was unable to sleep.
It wasn’t Lily Rose he couldn’t stop thinking about though. It was Grayson.
Eddie was sticking around for a while apparently, even if they hadn’t specifically discussed exactly how long. But he was pretty sure Gray’s invitation had meant to extend for a couple of weeks even. Maybe all the way to Christmas? Which would be a weird kind of holiday kick in the ass. Thanks for the help. Have fun getting a bus ticket on a national holiday. Not that Eddie would have a place to go if he blew Rhonda off until the end of December. Maybe Gray would want him to stick around even after the holidays?
Glass Tidings Page 5