All Wheel Drive

by Z. A. Maxfield

  It was a long time before he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  Bluewater Bay hummed faintly under slithering fog. Healey crept along the street, barely able to see ten feet ahead. Mist like this could be eerie as hell. It had a disorienting way of reflecting his headlights. He and Nash used to sneak out and head for the beach on nights like this one, with one of Pop’s earlier inventions—a radio-controlled, drone-like flying saucer he’d originally designed to carry small parcels between rooms of the house. With LED lights, it made the perfect UFO for nighttime mischief.

  Healey and Nash had gotten up to all kinds of stuff with that.

  Tonight, barely anyone was out and about. The glistening streets hissed beneath his tires. Instead of heading home, he took the highway toward Port Angeles, restlessness and a persistent sense of unease driving him.

  Finally, he pulled over to the shoulder and made the call he’d been dreading.

  “Healey?” The sleep-tinged voice belonged to Beryl, Ford’s younger sister, the only member of Ford’s family still willing to take his calls.

  “Hey, B.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

  “Who said that, your dad?”

  “No. Of course not. The lawyers.” The snick of a lighter was followed by a deep indrawn breath. “Everything is so fucked up.”

  “I just—” He tried the wipers before realizing it was his eyes that were cloudy. “I need to see him.”

  “Ford doesn’t ‘see’ people.”

  “Can’t you ask him for me? I promise, I won’t—”

  “He won’t let me visit anymore. He asked to be moved to a new facility. He won’t speak to anyone except our father’s attorney.”

  Healey’s heart sank. “Since when?”

  “Since the arrest. I wish I could tell you that it’s going to be okay, or that he’s going through something and he’ll change his mind. But we don’t do that, do we? We don’t change our minds. We lose them.”

  Somewhere, an owl hooted. “Ford could change his mind.”

  “He won’t. So you know what we’re up against,” she commiserated. “Mom thinks she understands, but she keeps talking about how Ford is going to get better and come home and everything will go back the way it was. Dad sees Ford’s problem as primarily medical. He’s hoping someone will fix Ford and send him back to us. Like taking a dog to board and train.”

  More sounds on her side. Familiar. The pop and hiss of an energy drink. And it would be an energy drink. Something expensive and natural. She’d never just drink an ordinary pop.

  Zebras, not horses. It was always zebras with Ford and his family.

  “It’s going to be hard for Ford to prove there’s nothing wrong.” Her bitter laughter was just short of frightening. “He’s had his chances.”

  “I’m sure once Ford’s meds are stable, your parents will—”

  “It can’t go back the way things were. Ford doesn’t want it to. He says life is suffocating. He hates every minute of it.” Exhalation break, although how she had breath left after those pronouncements when he certainly didn’t . . . “I don’t know how much more plain he’s going to have to make things. Move on, Healey. Even when he gets better, he wants nothing to do with any of us anymore, and I don’t blame him.”

  Healey disconnected the call before Beryl could. She and Ford had always been especially close, and if he was refusing to see her . . .

  Dropping his phone on the seat beside him, he sat there, numb with grief. In the far distance, a foghorn warned passing ships against the local coastline.

  Growing up, he’d expected to run into certain types of problems. His gifted status didn’t spare him from being gay-bashed, nor did it prepare him in any way to defend himself against loving the wrong man.

  Privilege wouldn’t keep him from throwing his life away on drugs or alcohol.

  He’d prepared himself as best he could for all the things that could trip him up, existing in a strange kind of limbo, bobbing along, hoping for the best. Preparing for the worst.

  Life had thrown Diego at him, in much the same way it had thrown Ford. And there was nothing bad, nothing inherently wrong with taking what life offered.

  But what if he hadn’t learned his lesson the first time? What if Diego was equally bad for him, in the long run?

  And how come—if he was really as smart as everyone said he was—he didn’t know the answer?

  Ford was done with him. He’d declared as much the last time they were together. He’d said it through his actions, his parents, his lawyers, and now, his sister. Ford’s life was suffocating and hopefully now he could breathe.

  So why did Healey still feel this awful burden—guilt and shame and something far worse? A kind of self-loathing. The feeling he’d let everyone down. He’d cheated somehow. Been unworthy. Unsympathetic.

  He’d abandoned someone he loved.

  Was forced to abandon him, despite the fact that now was probably when Ford needed his friends and family most. The nature of Ford’s illness isolated him. Depression caused him to shut himself away, mania made others shy away from him. Balancing meds meant weird mood swings. Some days Ford acted perfectly normal. Others, it was beyond his capability to get out of bed.

  And now Healey wondered, how long had it been since he’d done a check on his own mental health?

  Too long.

  Way, way too long.

  Before he could pull back out onto the road and drive home, flashing lights lit up the rearview mirror. The sheriff’s deputy who pulled in behind him exercised caution, coming to the passenger side window instead of standing in the street when the visibility was so poor.

  Healey wiped his eyes discreetly before rolling down the window.

  “Something up with the car?” The man was polite. Dark and handsome. Healey felt no sense of alarm.

  “I stopped for a phone call.” Healey leaned over the console while still keeping his hands in plain sight. “I was waiting a minute before heading out.”

  The deputy did a surreptitious visual check of the car. “Bad news?”

  “Nothing unexpected.” Healey didn’t explain he was the one who made the call.

  “It’s obviously not the best time to park here in fog like this.” The man’s wide, white smile surprised him. “My wife, Sana, would kill me if anything happened to you.”

  “Oh gosh.” Healey winced before offering his hand across the console for the officer to shake. “You must be Sahil?”

  Sahil nodded. “I was just about to get a cup of coffee, would you like to join me?”

  “God yes.” Healey wasn’t ready to sleep. “Where can we get coffee at this time of night?”

  “Gas’n’Sip?”

  “Has their coffee improved? Never mind. It’s not about the coffee, is it?”

  “Is it ever?” Sahil quipped before he left to return to his patrol car. The black-and-white edged onto the street, and Healey pulled out to follow him.

  The following morning, Diego realized two things. One, his sheets smelled delicious, like Healey Holly, sex, and cookies. And two, he wished like hell Healey was still sharing them with him.

  A sick pool of yearning formed in his gut—presumably the condensation drip from his thawing libido. Because he couldn’t be missing Healey’s warmth in his bed, next to his body, bad-breath kisses, and the awkward of having someone see his morning routine. All his routines.

  He shivered, and not from the cold.

  That longing couldn’t be his heart, coming back to life.

  It could not, because that would be so fucking unfair . . . For his dick to lie insensate forever while his heart started beating happily again, hoping things could get back to the very “new normal” he’d been dreading . . .

  He pulled a magnifying mirror from his nightstand drawer and minutely examined his skin. There was nothing like clinical medical shit to shoot Cupid down like a MiG over Miami. His dick, perineum, and anus looked fine. There were a couple marks on the skin
of his ass from Healey’s tight grip. No problems.

  There wouldn’t be, would there? Healey was gentle and capable. He wanted things rough on his end, as it were. He didn’t so much as scrape a nail over Diego’s skin. At least, not without asking first.

  Memories made Diego want to pull a pillow over his head and relive the experience in great, whacking-off detail. Except, yeah. Not possible.

  Another reason to wish Healey had stayed. He was starting to crave that armpit thing.

  “Your own fault.” Diego transferred to his chair and rolled toward the bath. “It’s your own goddamn fault. You told him to go because you—”

  Didn’t believe. Didn’t have faith. Didn’t listen to your mami.

  “You know, Healey doesn’t believe in any of your metaphysical shit.”

  He knew what his mother would say to that.

  He said it himself, using her voice. “Yeah? Well. I don’t believe in him either. He’s weird.”

  Healey’s weird?

  Right.

  Morning routines accomplished, Diego rolled out into the odd serendipity of a sunlit, golden morning. While long-time residents of Bluewater Bay got a slow start on Saturdays, the tourists had no such scruples. On Main Street, Stomping Grounds did brisk trade, but that was a given. His plan to bypass Tori’s place in favor of a fast cup of coffee at the Gas’n’Sip was thwarted by a long line at the register there too. He shot Roy a wave as he rolled past. Waved to the nervous kid in the Tourist Info place. Familiar places. Familiar faces.

  He gave up and headed for the Sunrise Café, where the wait would theoretically lead to actual food.

  One face—a patron wearing a flap hat, seated in a four-top table by himself—caught Diego’s attention and made his heart clench happily, at least for the split second it took for him to realize he was looking at Nash, not Healey.

  From his face, Nash knew he’d been mistaken for his brother. As he took his hat off and set it on the bench beside him, the sparkle in his eye formed a wry apology for not being the proper twin.

  Am I that obvious?

  Nash made a come here gesture and mouthed, Join me?

  Since he was seated at an accessible table, the hostess moved one of the chairs. She smiled brightly as soon as Diego rolled up to the table.

  “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” He picked up a menu and started to read. His smile dimmed when he realized they were going to have the same waitress from his pancake trip with Healey.

  She brought the coffee pot over and hovered for a second.

  “Hey, Lisa, I want you to meet someone.” Nash added a casual wave of his hand in Diego’s direction. “Do you know Diego yet? He works with the Wolf’s Landing postproduction team. Edits and stuff. He’s dating my brother.”

  Diego looked up. “News travels fast.”

  “I saw you in here with Healey the other day.” She smiled so brightly, it seemed a little scary-clown. “How are you today?”

  Poor woman had no idea which word to stress, you or today, so her voice wobbled, hovering uncertainly on each word as it came out.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “What can I get for you?” She made such sincere eye contact his irises burned in sympathy.

  Oh my God. She’s afraid to blink now. “I’ll have Huevos Rancheros with no sour cream, please.” He said the words quickly to put her out of her misery.

  “I’ll get that.” She noted his order before backing away.

  “Lisa’s kind of shy,” Nash said, after she left. “She’s, like, always been weird around me. Maybe she’s super-religious or something, and she gets spooky around the gay.”

  “Healey and I were having a frank conversation last time I was here, and I think I freaked her out.”

  “Ah.” Nash rested his chin on his hand. “So. You and Healey are dating.”

  Diego couldn’t help the eyebrow that twitched at that. “So he told me.”

  Nash’s eyes narrowed.

  Diego dumped cream and sugar into his coffee. “He doesn’t seem to be over Ford.”

  “Would you be?”

  Of course, he wouldn’t. Not if he loved someone and an illness took them away from him. If they were still around, still in trouble, and he couldn’t do anything to help them, it would kill him.

  “Did Healey tell you what happened?” Nash asked. “His accident?”

  He shook his head. “I’m ashamed to say I dug into the story using some old news contacts.”

  “Uh-oh. Does Healey know you did that?”

  “I apologized.” Guilt made Diego flush. “I’m not sure I wouldn’t do it again, though.”

  “Healey blames himself for what happened.”

  “I guessed.”

  “He hasn’t even talked to me about it yet.” Nash carefully neatened his flatware. Fork on the left, knife and spoon on the right, knife edge facing the plate, just the way Mami taught Diego to do it. “Wish he would. It’s hard to stay on the sidelines, waiting for him to decide he’s ready.”

  “It wouldn’t be right for me to—”

  “Damn right. I can wait until Healey’s ready.” He aimed a harsh gaze Healey’s way. “Maybe you should’ve waited.”

  “I didn’t have the luxury of waiting.” Who was this guy to tell him how to handle his shit? “Your brother showed up on my doorstep at night, banged up to hell, determined to rent a room I had no desire to—”

  “I get that. But you check his references. You don’t go digging up information like he’s a criminal.”

  “I know, a’ight?” Diego’s defensive growl startled the waitress, who hesitated behind him, holding their plates.

  Once she’d placed them and slunk away, he continued.

  “Some of the things he was saying sounded sketchy. I figured I should find out what I could. He isn’t all that stable himself, you know that, right?”

  Diego’s cell phone vibrated. He dug it out of his pocket and took a look. “Speak of the devil.”

  “I’m surprised he’s awake. He didn’t roll in until around six thirty.”

  Diego glanced up. Had he mistaken the time Healey’d left? Mistaken drifting in and out of sleep alone in the stillness of morning? Healey’d headed out around three. “Six thirty?”

  Nash nodded. “I guess he met up with an old friend on the way home from your house.”

  Healey’s text read, Free for brunch tomorrow?

  Diego considered his options. Admittedly, they were binary. Go for brunch or stay home. Where? he texted back.

  Resort of Juan de Fuca? 11:30 okay?

  Sure, Diego typed, before putting his phone away. “Your brother doesn’t have a clue what he wants.”

  “I know. Here, Lisa.” Nash moved things out of the way for the skittish waitress. She poured each of them more water. “Oh, that’s great. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Diego watched her go. “She’s like some frightened woodland creature.”

  “Speaking of which, I hope to hell you like watching every fucking documentary on Big Foot ever made.”

  “Big Foot?”

  “Healey didn’t tell you?” Nash grabbed his fork and started smashing butter into his pancakes. “Oh my god. Why would he? He’s probably still trying to impress you with the power of his awesome. Healey’s a closet cryptozoologist.”

  “What?” Diego asked, incredulously. “That fake fucker. He says he doesn’t believe in anything he can’t prove with science.”

  “That’s probably why he didn’t mention it. Crypto is Healey’s Achilles’ heel. He really, really wants to believe. You’re welcome.”

  “That lying bastard.”

  “I know, right?” Nash’s eyes were the same disconcerting shade of blue as his brother’s, though they seemed . . . older . . . somehow. As if he’d lived more, or harder . . .

  “You know what my favorite thing in the world is?” Nash asked suddenly.

  Diego took a sip of his coffee. “I could not begin to guess
.”

  “Getting Healey’s goat.” Nash leaned back against his chair as if he had all the time in the world. “You’re a photographer. How well do you use Photoshop?”

  “Holy shit.” Diego saw the possibilities immediately. “You’re really not a very good brother, are you?”

  “Do you have an identical twin who happens to be a verifiable genius with a PhD?”

  “Nope.”

  “You can call me anything you want if you ever get one of those.” Nash shoved a piece of super-crispy bacon in his mouth and gave it a hard crunch. “In the meantime, let’s just make his life a little more exciting. Shall we?”

  Diego grinned. “You are a serious shit-stirrer.”

  Blue eyes lit with cold fire. “I know, right?”

  It was 11:31. Diego was late. You couldn’t really count a minute as late, but Healey had been anxiously looking toward the parking lot since 11:15, and therefore, when the second hand passed the half-hour mark, his anxiety ratcheted up ten notches.

  Not that he had anything to be anxious about.

  He wanted this to go well, is all. He wanted Diego to meet his friends. He wanted his friends to meet Diego. He wanted everyone to get along. And he wanted it to be over so he could go back home and put on sweatpants.

  Not necessarily in that order.

  “You look so nice.” Sana adjusted his tie. Again.

  He’d borrowed a suit from Nash, who had much better tailors now that he’d hooked up with Spencer than they could have imagined back in the day, when suit separates from JCPenney were an extravagance Pop could barely afford. Even when Pop’s ship came in, they’d never had stuff like this. Nash was broader than him through the shoulders, but it didn’t look like he was wearing his pop’s clothes or anything.

  It’s only breakfast.

  They’d done that already. He wondered if Diego liked the same types of foods he did. He hadn’t ordered anything gross like hash or liver and onions. Did Diego liked his eggs sunny side up? Did he dipped his crusts in the yolks?

  What if he thinks it’s weird to invite a hookup to brunch with old friends?

  He said you were dating.

  Wait. No.