by Andrea Speed
“No, I mean… about being attacked? I know you fucked those guys up, but you don’t have to do the Fox thing.”
“The Fox thing?”
“You know, acting like nothing touches you, cooler than thou. The stuff that made me idolize you back in the day.”
Holden tried to smile, but it was a crooked grimace. “You idolized me?”
“Oh come on. We all did. You could talk your way out of everything and acted like you didn’t give a shit the whole time. We all admired it and tried to emulate it, but none of us were you. We didn’t know how to do it.”
“The key is being a born liar and really not giving a shit what happens.”
Chai shook his head. “Don’t try that. You know that’s not true.”
“It’s totally true. Sometimes when I want to tell the truth, I have to fight my own instincts to lie. I probably need to see a therapist. It’s probably pathological, but fuck it. I can’t imagine wasting my time at a therapist’s office when I have so much to do. Just surviving can take up a hell of a lot of time.”
Chai started to nod but then frowned and stopped. Holden was way too good at redirecting conversations. He could still dodge and duck better than any MMA fighter. He wanted him to be real with him because whether Holden acknowledged it or not, he was a crime victim. Chai wanted to be there for him and wanted him to know that, but Holden clung to his Fox persona so hard. Did he even realize it was a persona anymore? Did he think he was Fox now, that there was no difference between them?
Chai had opened his mouth to say so when there was a knock on the door. It was startling, because no one knocked here. Then the door opened, and Roan stuck his head in. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Holden’s crooked smile reappeared. “Goddamn it, you never change at all, do you?”
“Are you kidding? This is a new haircut,” Roan said, fluffing up his improbably colored hair. Under harsh hospital fluorescents, it seemed blackish-red, a sort of shadowy crimson a few strippers Chai knew would have killed for.
Roan kept a poker face, he really did, but Chai saw something briefly flit through his eyes. It was all the bruises, right? Holden looked pretty beaten up, no matter how he was acting. Roan was hiding a flinch.
“Bring it in, big guy,” Holden said, holding out an arm. Roan hugged him carefully, and Holden patted him on the back. When did Holden hand out hugs? But Chai knew why and wondered if Roan knew as well. It probably didn’t matter.
Roan hugged him one-armed and with great care. Normally Chai would call it a macho, cootie-fearing hug, but he figured Roan was trying to keep from hurting him further.
“Jesus, Holden, you look like shit. How do you feel?”
“Like shit. Thanks for the strokes, Captain.”
Roan straightened up, shaking his head. “I’ve got painkillers if you need them.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay for now. You might wanna leave me a couple once you go and finish up my case. How’s Kevin?”
“Good, considering. I think the presence of his family is starting to make him a little claustrophobic.”
“Family’s tough,” Holden said, in what had to be a grotesque understatement. It occurred to Chai that no one currently in this room had their parents still in their life. Roan’s were dead, and Holden’s and Chai’s might as well have been. He wondered what it was like to have a family that would talk to you. Now he understood why Kevin was still in the closet.
Roan said with a sigh, “So, Colt.”
“My guess was correct? They’re together together?”
Roan nodded. “Beyond a doubt. I think he genuinely cares for Kevin, though, so I hope it goes well.”
“Me too. Speaking of significant others, how’s Dylan taking all this?”
“As soon as I told him Kevin had been shot, he knew I was coming back. He’s in town too. They’ve had their differences, but Dyl likes Kevin.”
Holden clicked his tongue. “Everybody likes Kevin. It’s not fair.”
“You have to work on being more likable,” Roan said.
“Twenty-five dollar hand jobs isn’t friendly? Boy, times sure have changed.”
Chai swallowed a giggle as the door opened again and a nurse stuck his head in. “Gonna have to ask you to wrap it up in here.”
Roan caught his eye first, and he nodded. “Got it. We’re on our way out.”
As soon as the nurse ducked out again, Roan said, “I’ll come back later. I’m sure the nurses on the overnight shift remember me.”
“I’m surprised the entire hospital doesn’t remember you,” Holden admitted.
“How soon people forget when you stop ending up on their doorstep every five minutes.” Roan patted Holden’s shoulder gently, clearly trying not to hurt him. “You want anything on my return trip?”
“A greasy breakfast sandwich.”
“My favorite. Got it.”
“And a chocolate shake.”
Chai levered himself up from the chair, using the cane. “Maybe we should leave before he demands a birthday cake.”
“Fuck that,” Holden replied. “I wanna cake with a stripper in it.”
Roan shook his head. “Ask Scott for that when he gets back. He’ll probably volunteer to be the stripper.”
“Call me when that happens,” Chai said. He bet Scott would make a hell of a stripper.
They said their goodbyes and left the bruised Holden sitting propped up in bed, looking tired but also trying not to show it. He and Roan gave the male nurse a respectful nod before disappearing into the elevator. Roan didn’t say anything until the elevator doors closed. “You know he’s not okay, right?”
Chai nodded. “He plays a good game, though, doesn’t he?”
“One of the best.”
Roan looked like he was going to say something else, but he stopped as the elevator did and a patient came in, shutting him up until they reached the car. Once inside, Roan told him what he’d meant to say. “Dropkick came by.”
“Really? Any news?”
“Yeah. One of them died.”
He didn’t need to specify the “them.” Chai understood it was one of the men who’d attacked Holden. He knew he should feel bad, but he didn’t. He meant to kill Holden; he simply died in the attempt. If that wasn’t karma, what was? “So what happens now?”
“Nothing.” Roan glanced at him, and it was very dark in the lot, but there was something kind of weird about Roan’s eyes. His pupils were really big. Was it the painkillers kicking in? But they were MDMA big. “Apparently some camera phone footage of the fight has shown up, and it’s pretty clear Holden is simply defending himself against a large, coordinated attack. Nobody is gonna charge him with shit, and his street cred will probably balloon ridiculously.”
“So the people in the Jungle came through.” Chai was kind of surprised. Not that they had phones capable of video, but that anyone would help him.
Roan nodded. “You know he’s one of them, right?”
Chai kind of knew what he was going for but wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “Street kid?”
“Jungle denizen. He lived there for a little while during his street-kid phase. No one is still there from back then, but he isn’t forgotten. Communities often take care of their own, and he’s grandfathered in. Being gay or working with the freak isn’t enough to get him kicked out.”
Chai almost asked but realized Roan was referring to himself as the freak. And why the hell hadn’t Holden told him he’d once lived there? He couldn’t imagine. Except, no, he could. Before Chai had found some friends, he slept in some rough places too. It wasn’t like you had a choice when you were thrown out on your ass. Besides, wasn’t one of the first things he loved about Holden how deft a pickpocket he was, which he once mentioned in passing was something he had learned because he had to? You did what you had to do to survive.
Looking back, Chai couldn’t believe he was the same person as that sixteen-year-old boy who’d suddenly found himself homeless and terrified. T
hat was Chai number one. Chai number two was the one who took up that whole cam boy thing and found himself at Elite Escorts. Now he was Chai number three, and he still wasn’t sure what this one was all about. What number of personality was Holden on? Since Holden adapted and shed personas as necessary, maybe he didn’t count variations, or maybe he was well into the hundreds. Would he even tell him if he asked?
Chai felt a nervous cramp in his stomach, although it was a combination of nerves and hunger. Those toaster pastries didn’t have a lot of staying power. “You knew that would happen, didn’t you?”
Roan shook his head. “No, I hoped. I had no idea if anyone filmed it who wasn’t on the thugs’ side. I bet they had some friends who did before it started going south, and if they have the brains of at least a one-celled organism, they’ll have deleted the footage and destroyed the phones. It doesn’t mean anything now, but I’d be curious if they ever recover any of it.”
“What’s our next move?”
“I’m thinking of going to the cop shop again, make myself a real pain in the ass. You want to come with me, or should I drop you back off at E’s place?”
“E’s place, I guess.” Chai supposed he should have something to eat and consider his next move. Did he have one? He didn’t think so. His only move was to hide behind Roan and try not to die. That should be hard to screw up, at least in theory.
“Okay. But, and I know this is gonna be a pain, I don’t want you going anywhere. Stay in. Keep hiding like your life depends on it, because it might. Don’t Tweet or post to any social media site, as there could be tagging on the posts that reveal your location. Talk to no one. Act like you’re on house arrest.”
Chai normally liked staying in and avoiding people, but the thought of having to do it felt wrong somehow. “Isn’t that a little extreme?”
“These guys’ go-to move is murder. No, it’s not.” Roan must have seen the skepticism in his face—that couldn’t possibly have a smell—because he sighed. “Can you defend yourself at all?”
“Does saying I was beaten up by bullies in fifth grade who constantly called me the wrong racial slur answer your question?”
“No.” Roan glanced at the window before saying, “I used to get beat up as a kid.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. Foster kid, poor, ill? I was a bully’s wet dream, even before I came out as gay. But then I realized if they saw me as only an illness, I should use that to my advantage. I’d bite my lip until I was bleeding and then threaten to infect them. As soon as they remembered my blood was toxic waste, they couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
Okay, that was fucking terrible. But Roan almost looked like he thought that was a pleasant memory, or at least a better one. Maybe it was. It took a lot of guts just to be him, probably. He was gay, and on top of that, a “freak,” a monster with toxic blood and the ability to change his shape into something far weirder than a simple lion. So he found his upsides in the strangest of places. That was yet another thing you had to do to survive.
Roan nodded at Chai’s cane, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. “Holden bought that for you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“It’s his style. Tasteful, probably looks more expensive than it was, and that cane head makes an excellent blunt weapon, but it hides in plain sight. No one would likely consider its weapon property until it was used.”
Chai looked at the cane and smiled faintly. “You know him well.”
“He’s a great believer in a great offense being a great defense.”
“Are you?”
Roan shrugged as he put the keys in the ignition. “Strategy goes out the window when you realize if you get mad enough, a lion is going to come out and start killing everyone in reach.”
Yeah, that seemed fair.
THE CAR was actually Chai’s, but he had no problem loaning it to Roan, especially since they were working together and Chai didn’t want to ride bitch on someone’s motorcycle. He didn’t like donor cycles even before he lost his leg. Now he couldn’t even imagine being on one. It also guaranteed that if the bad cops went after Chai’s car, they’d find Roan in the driver’s seat, and they were both sure that was the last thing the cops would want. Of course, they probably thought they were ready for Roan, but according to him, no one ever really was. Everyone thought they could handle him, and no one had cracked the code yet. Roan said it was because most people were expecting an actual lion and only that alone, not aware or not acknowledging the strange symbiosis between him and the cat. Chai didn’t really understand what Roan was saying but decided to accept it and move on. He knew enough about Roan and decided he didn’t want to know any more. He could barely wrap his head around what he did know.
Still, even though he’d agreed to it, the thought of voluntary house arrest was claustrophobic. But Roan was right. These men were desperate and had already proved they’d kill. And for what? What had death gained them, exactly, except trouble? They probably weren’t stupid, but they were acting that way.
Chai found a folded note taped to E’s door, but they appeared to be taped to most of the doors he saw. He knew he shouldn’t read it—it wasn’t his place—but he did anyway. It was from the landlord, who said the rent was going up five hundred dollars (!) next month. Was that even legal? Jesus. At this rate, nobody but the extremely wealthy could afford to live in Seattle. They’d all be living in the Jungle soon enough.
He was sure E couldn’t afford it. He wasn’t sure he knew anyone who could. He’d have to get roommates—and this apartment, even with E’s embrace of minimalism, wasn’t that big—or he’d have to move out of the city. In theory, it wasn’t that bad to move to an outskirt, but being openly gay in those situations could be really weird. Seattle was pretty comfortable with its gay population, despite some pockets of what Holden called “broification,” but outskirts varied wildly. It went to a case by case basis out there. Some, like Roan, were so used to being feared and hated wherever they went that they brazened it out, but others might not be so brave or so lucky.
Shouldn’t things have been different by now? Chai couldn’t help but despair a bit about it, but he couldn’t think about it now because murderous policemen were after him. He could worry about the strange resistance to gay acceptance when he wasn’t being hunted.
Chai tried to distract himself. He turned on the TV, did a little web surfing on his phone—checking his email wasn’t off limits, was it?—and searched the cupboards for food. E needed to do some shopping. They’d finished off the toaster pastries this morning. All he had was energy drinks, a jar of olives, a dusty jar of almond butter, and a bottle of absinthe in the freezer. Was he vegan too? Chai couldn’t remember.
He decided to order a pizza. That wasn’t verboten either, was it? Was there a secret conspiracy between pizza places and cops? It would make more sense between cops and doughnut places, but that was a hack joke.
Without meaning to, Chai found himself skimming self-defense videos on YouTube and wondering if he could do any of these things. Physically, yes. Nothing he looked at would be affected by his missing leg. But mentally, emotionally, could he? He hadn’t become a pacifist by deliberate intention; he simply drifted into it. But how much of that was just his natural dislike of conflict? Unlike Holden, who seemed to like to fight, and Roan, who would do it if he had to, Chai never saw much point to it. He’d had reluctant verbal arguments with a few boyfriends, and he’d hated every single one of them. He never felt better afterward; he always felt shittier than ever. His therapist told him that avoidance was never the way forward, and he knew that was true, but it was hard to kill old habits.
Chai suddenly realized he hadn’t ordered a drink with the pizza, and there was nothing here but absinthe. He never did like that stuff. Since he’d just ordered the pizza, he figured he had time to go to the convenience store at the end of the next block and get something to drink. For some reason, he had an odd craving for cranberry juice. R
oan wouldn’t object to him walking to the corner store, would he?
On the way, Chai called Dee and realized he had never mentioned to Roan he was kind of maybe seeing his ex. He still wasn’t sure if they were dating or not. That was partially the reason for his call, and also, he wanted to know how he was doing. But he got Dee’s voicemail, which suggested he was either at work or sleeping, as his weird shift schedule kept his body clock permanently fucked-up. Chai felt for him and understood, as his years as a sex worker pretty much made sleeping in until noon and being up until four in the morning what he was used to. He was starting to work out of it, but very slowly. He still had no grasp on what mornings could possibly be about and why people subjected themselves to them on a regular basis. Chai left him a message that was nice and vague, as he had yet to decide on the best way to ask if they were or weren’t a thing. That was probably best face-to-face too, if he could bear it.
At the corner store, he bought an undoubtedly overpriced bottle of cranberry juice and a slightly more reasonable candy bar, as he felt the additional need for chocolate. He still ate when he got nervous.
Walking back, he started to regret the trip. His stump hurt, and he was starting to sweat in his coat like he was climbing a mountain, not walking down a street. Here was another reason he’d be a poor fighter—he was winded easily. Did Holden stop fighting because he had to catch his breath? He bet not. But then again, Holden was a vigilante who had been at it for a while. That was probably a rookie mistake.
Chai stood at the corner, wondering why the lights always seemed so long when you were in a hurry, when a black SUV pulled up right in front of him. He was prepped to tell the asshole you didn’t stop over a crosswalk when a big man came up behind him and stuck something hard into the small of his back. “Get in the fucking car or I kill you right here,” he snarled into his ear.
Chai went rigid with fear. But even while it felt like his heart jumped up into his throat, it occurred to him Roan would be so disappointed in him. He’d failed to do the only thing he could do.