by Max Walker
I had to ask point-blank. I had to see if I caught him off guard. I secretly set Record on my phone and braced myself, knowing this question wasn’t going to get a good reaction.
“Mario,” I said. “Did you have any involvement in the assault and murder that took place that night? Did you kill Derrick because he was gay? Did you?”
That was when all hell broke loose.
Mario shot up from the table and came at me, fists flying.
I was ready for it. I blocked two punches before I was able to land one of my own. It left me open, though, and his fist connected with my face. My vision exploded into a field of stars. It threatened to give out, but I knew that if I showed any sign of weakness, I’d be done.
I fought back hard, using the searing hot pain as fuel. I pressed the assault and started pummeling him back, not giving him a second to breathe. One of my punches landed hard, slamming into his side. He fell, grabbing onto the tablecloth to hold him.
It didn’t hold shit. The tablecloth went with him to the floor, dragging the fruit basket and a couple of plates down with him.
Porcelain shattered. Huge chunks spread out across the floor.
Mario jumped back onto his feet before I could even think.
And then things got worse.
“You fighting my brother?” The bedroom door was thrown open. A loud crack sounded through the room as the doorknob broke through the drywall.
“Juan, get back,” Mario spat.
So that was the infamous J who needed his big brother’s help in cleaning up.
He looked like his brother: beady dark eyes and a pointed face with olive skin and green eyes. They both had shaved their heads down to the scalp, and they both were covered in black-and-white tattoos.
Something about Juan’s instantly caught my eye. Unlike his brother, Juan had tattooed his knuckles. Every knuckle had the tattoo of a cross done in a different style.
He cracked those knuckles, his beady eyes pinning me down. I moved backward, toward the door. I was outnumbered and out of my element.
This interview was over.
Except Mario didn’t seem to think it was. He launched himself at me again. I saw a glint of pearl white in his hand and realized, almost too late, that he held one of the shards of porcelain. I sidestepped his lunge at the very last second, the porcelain shard slicing through the air only inches from my face.
If I hadn’t dodged, he would have impaled me. No doubt about it.
I felt the door at my back. I grabbed the handle and twisted it. Mario was moving to attack again, but just before he could launch at me, I opened the door and used it as a shield.
Mario hit the other side of the door with a loud bang. The momentum slammed the door shut and threw me out of the apartment.
I ran out of there before Mario and his brother could try for round two, glad I was running with both my eyes intact and a new person of interest to look into.
23 Oliver Brightly
I’d been chewing on my nails all day. Nerves were as alive as a nineties kid finding out Toys “R” Us and Blockbuster are making a joint comeback. I couldn’t sit in one spot, and when I couldn’t sit, then I would stand, but I couldn’t do that in one spot either, so I would end up pacing around my living room, Mason and Jar both staring at me with the most judgmental cat faces I’d ever seen. If they could talk, I’m sure I would have been shouted at to “sit down already but get our salmon first.”
I continued to pace. The TV played some mid-afternoon talk show, but I wasn’t paying attention, the celebrity being interviewed serving as white noise. I started second-guessing my decision to stay home from the clinic today. I thought my nerves would be torture, but now I thought I could have at least kept busy.
My phone dinged, pulling my attention toward the counter. I ran over. All I wanted was to read a text from Beckham saying “interview with Mario is done, he confessed to everything and he’s spending the rest of his life behind bars, love you and see you in twenty.” Instead, I got a text from my dentist reminding me I was due for a “sparkling-tastic check-up.” I groaned loudly and opened my calendar app. There, I set a reminder to myself that read “find new dentist.”
Another text dinged in. My eyes shot to the top of the screen, but this one was just from Will, asking what I was up to later. Again, I groaned, but this one wasn’t as frustrated or as loud as the previous one. In no way was Will comparable to the dentist.
I told him that I was busy later with Beck, but that if he was around he could swing by. Thankfully, it didn’t take him longer than a few minutes to say that he was down for coming over. I knew he was between jobs and probably frustrated with being home, especially since he and his mom didn’t really get along. They lived in a tiny two-bedroom place, so if Will wasn’t working, he was probably crammed up in there.
Having him over would be good for my nerves, too. I wasn’t sure how much longer Beckham would be with Marco. I knew that I couldn’t take another hour of this pacing, and my carpet definitely looked like it was calling it quits. There was a clear circular trail around the coffee table where the tan threads had turned dark.
I considered vacuuming real quick (that’s how anxious I felt), but there was a knock on my door telling me Will had arrived.
“Hey, man.” Will stood in the hall, the heat from outside practically smacking me in the face the moment I opened the door. He wore navy board shorts and a gray T-shirt, small sweat marks telling me he probably biked here. It would explain how he got here so quick, too.
“Get inside. It’s an inferno out here.”
Will gratefully stepped into my air-conditioned palace of neurosis and anxiety.
Mason and Jar, my court jesters, jumped off their perch and came cooing and purring over to Will. He’d been over so many times, they always recognized him instantly and went right for the cuddles.
“How’ve you been?” Will asked, slumping down onto the couch, fanning himself with one hand and giving Mason back scratches with the other. I went to the kitchen and poured him an ice-cold glass of water, bringing it back and seeing the face of pure gratitude reflected on my friend.
“All right,” I lied.
“So how’ve you really been?”
Will was never one for the bullshit. He could read me like a worn-out book. “I’ve been losing my mind, Will. There’s so much going on, I don’t know where to even focus.” I put a hand on my face, closed my eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Well, let’s start with what you’re worried about the most.”
“Okay, yeah, let’s start with the fact that ever since someone threatened me, I haven’t felt safe. And it’s not fair, Will. I want freaking closure, not death threats thrown through my window. It’s been quiet, but maybe it’s because they think Beckham’s backed off. Thing is, he hasn’t. And he won’t. He’s like a hound dog on the scent.” I slumped into the love seat next to Mason and Jar’s cat tree. There were scratches in the dark green fabric on the side of the chair. “And I don’t think I want him to stop his hunt either. I think he’s getting close, and that’s why they’re trying to scare us off.”
“Olly… maybe it’s not a bad idea. Calling it off.” Will looked up from the glass of water in his hands. His eyes were filled with concern. “I don’t want anything happening to you. And if we can just let this lie, leave it alone, then maybe you can move past it and you won’t have to put your life in danger. Or Beckham’s life.”
That last part stung me like a surprise sting from a bee. Of course I’d been concerned about myself, but I was dumb in thinking I’d be the sole attention of whoever wanted this over. When they saw their threats weren’t working with me, maybe they’d turn to Beckham. Maybe they’d turn to more extreme measures, ones that went past breaking windows with a frozen pig’s head.
My palms turned clammy as the saliva dried in my mouth almost instantly. “It’s scary,” I said, the words scratching against my throat. “I don’t know. I’ll have to talk
with Beck. He’s interviewing a big suspect today.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was four in the afternoon. “He should have been done soon. Maybe this entire saga will be over before tonight.”
Will dropped his gaze back down to his glass. “Yeah, maybe.” He sighed. “What a fucked-up situation, huh?”
“Very.”
“But you met the man of your dreams from it, huh?”
“Yeah… I think I did.” I looked out the window over my shoulder, hoping to see Beckham’s black Nissan pulling up to the parking spot right outside my building.
I may have found the man of my dreams, but I also lost the man of my dreams in the process. It was the definition of bittersweet. I swallowed and tore my gaze from the empty parking spot.
“So you like him a lot, huh?”
For some reason, Will’s question sounded like the understatement of the year.
“I really like him, Will. Like… I like him, like him.”
“Oh, two likes, huh?”
I laughed, feeling the light inside me grow brighter at the thought of Beckham and my connection with him. It was like I held a star inside my ribs, and it only burned when Beckham crossed my mind. Before I knew it, I was speaking, not thinking much of the words falling from my lips. “Will, it’s not even a joke… I love that man. I love him so much.”
Will seemed a little taken aback by my declaration. It was the first time I told Will. Saying that I loved Beckham felt like one of the most natural things in the world. Words I knew how to say before I even learned the alphabet, and yet Will’s face looked like he’d been hit with a whip. I felt bad not having told him from the start. It was difficult, though, and I could sense Will was having a hard time with it, too. Me gaining Beckham meant less time I spent with my best friend, and that combined with Will’s breakup wasn’t making for a good time.
“Love him, huh?”
I took a breath. “Yeah. I do. And I can’t ever stop myself from loving him.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“But then it makes things so much scarier, you know? Because I love him, the stakes are just that much higher. I don’t want to lose him. I know how loss feels; I know how badly it hurts. I can’t lose him.”
“And why would you?”
I shrugged, acting as though I hadn’t anxiously drawn up a hundred different scenarios where Beckham would walk away from me, leaving me behind to devolve into a crying sludge pile of flesh and bones.
“I don’t know,” I answered, deciding to keep things simple. “It’s just scary. I haven’t felt like this about anyone since… well, not since, Derrick.”
Will winced, as though the pain of losing Derrick was as fresh to him as it was to me. And I wouldn’t doubt it either. Derrick and Will were always close. I loved hanging out, just us three, shooting the shit and having a good time. We’d watch dumb reality TV and drink boxed wine and have a ball.
“It just means Beckham is that special,” Will said. “He woke something up in you. Something no one else could.”
“He really did.” I threw another nervous glance over my shoulder. Parking spot still empty.
I jumped when I felt a hand land on my knee. Will pulled back like he had touched a hot oven. “Sorry, I was just going to ask for more water.”
“Yeah of course, Will. You don’t have to ask.” I grabbed the empty glass off the coffee table and stood. “Twinkling titties, you spooked me.”
Will chuckled at that and followed me into the kitchen. “I didn’t think you were so offended by my touch.”
“Not offended, just spooked.” I filled the glass with water from the fridge.
“I was gonna say.”
“Oh? What were you gonna say?”
Will took the glass from me and shook his head, smiling as he walked back to the living room. “Nothing, nothing.”
“No, now I’m curious. What were you going to say?” I crossed my arms and cocked a hip. I was close to arching a brow, but Will cracked before then.
“I was gonna make a stupid joke. About that one time. Just forget it.”
Oh.
Instantly, I knew what “one time” Will was talking about. There could be “one time” and “one time” only.
Seven years ago. We were two seventeen-year-old boys who got way too drunk and way too loose.
“Will, Will, look, it’s a full moon out!” I dropped my shorts and flashed my best friend. We both fell down into a heap of laughter in the grass. My parents were out of town, and my brother was staying over at a friend’s, so it was just Will and me and the unlocked liquor cabinet.
“That was the whitest ass I’ve ever seen. I think I’m blind.”
“Oh please, it’s a cute white ass.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Wait, when did Will’s hand land on mine?
“You want another drink?” I asked, getting up on shaking legs. I had to hold on to the wall to steady myself.
“No.” Will was standing, too. He was looking at me funny. Like I was a stiff-as-a-board actress and he was an interestingly hot but potentially constipated vampire staring at me from across the classroom, an owl statue looming over his shoulder.
And then I wasn’t holding the wall. My back was against the wall. Will was on me.
His lips were on me. His hands on me.
A car door slammed shut outside. All thoughts of that one night disappeared as I turned my attention to the door. If I were being honest, I hadn’t even thought of that night for years now. It had taken us a few days to talk about it, but when we had, we squashed any weirdness between each other, and Will went on dating his girls, never making another move on me again.
Two hard knocks matched the hard pounding of my heart. I hurried and unlocked the door, opening it and immediately feeling a mixture of relief and worry.
“Beck! What the hell happened to you?”
I grabbed his hands, looked at the red and bloody knuckles. His lip was busted, too. And his eyes, they were clouded with a raw anger I’d never seen before.
“Mario and his brother happened.” He leaned down to kiss me. I tasted blood when he pulled back. I wiped some of it off his upper lip, Beckham wincing slightly at my touch.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
We came back into the apartment. Will must have gone to the bathroom since he wasn’t around in the living room. I gave Beckham one look-over as he took a seat on the couch, his head dropping into his hands. Other than the bruises and bloody lip, he looked good, no other injuries that I could see. I hurried around the apartment, grabbing what I needed.
“You don’t have—“
“Here,” I said, handing him a bag of frozen peas. “Let me clean this up first.” I crouched down in front of him, holding a warm wet towel in my hand. I gently dabbed it on Beckham’s lips. He shut his eyes as I cleaned up the little blood that still slipped from the cut.
“So, what the hell happened?” I could barely wait any longer. I handed him the peas and sat down next to him, putting a hand on his thigh.
Beckham went into what happened, starting at the beginning. He didn’t get far into his story before we were interrupted by more knocks. These were so hard that they rattled the doorframe. Mason, who had come to cuddle with Beckham, bolted off the couch and ran into his cat cave with Jar.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Beckham asked, standing up before I could.
I shook my head. This felt wrong. Something rocked in my gut. It felt like that feeling you get when you’re walking across a suspended bridge and look over, down at the steep drop to a certain death. It was an instinctual feeling. A survival mechanism.
“Don’t open it.” My voice shook. I stood as Beckham walked to the door and looked through the peephole.
He hissed through his teeth, confirming my gut feeling. This wasn’t a surprise pizza delivery by someone with anger management issues, as I had desperately hoped it would be.
“Go to another room.” Beckham looked at
me, his speckled green-and-gold eyes holding a darkness in them that told me that he wasn’t playing around.
Except I couldn’t move my feet. And I didn’t want to either. If someone was here, knocking on my door, then I was going to handle it with Beckham. Fear was not going to control me. Not today.
My legs started moving. Instead of going toward the bedroom, I went to Beckham. “Open it.”
There were more hard knocks on the door and then “Open the fuck up!”
Fear regained control. It was like a vicious wolf jumping out of the mist and grabbing me by the throat.
“I know that voice.”
Of course I knew that voice. I’d never forget it. Not even six years later. I heard it every night when I went to sleep, heard it when the nightmares hit.
Whoever was on the other side of the door was the man who attacked me and killed Derrick.
I grabbed onto Beckham’s wrist as black stars flooded my vision, my nightmare come to life and threatening to turn off the lights.
24 Beckham Noble
This was the worst-case scenario. I was pissed that I’d made such a rookie fucking mistake. How had I let Juan follow me to Oliver’s place? I had been so riled up from the fight I’d barely even checked my fucking mirrors. I hadn’t taken any longer routes or tried to lose any tails. I’d fucked up and now had to pay for it.
And then Oliver spoke, changing the situation, this shit turning even more dire.
He recognized Juan’s voice. He was one of the assailants that night. And he was currently hammering down on Oliver’s door.
All because of me.
Fuck.
I’d deal with my self-hatred later. Right now, my priority was keeping Oliver safe.
“Please.” I grabbed both his hands. “Go to your bedroom. Lock the door and call the police.”
Oliver took a deep breath. He nodded and left, his face paper pale. I was scared he would pass out, but Oliver stayed strong, making it to his bedroom and closing the door.