Love Has No Direction

by Kim Fielding

  “—and they met up again on that same bridge in Bailey Springs and decided to stop being stupid and stay in love instead.”

  “They seem successful at it.”

  Did Wes look wistful? Maybe. Parker felt wistful. Jeremy and Qay had faced pretty enormous obstacles, yet they made things work. Nevin and Colin too. Parker’s parents had been together for over twenty years when his father died. A lot of his friends were married now too. Or in serious relationships—the kind where they shared living arrangements, went grocery shopping together, and named each other as life insurance beneficiaries. Or at least got matching tattoos.

  Wes yawned.

  “You’ve had a long day,” Parker acknowledged. “Let’s get some rest.” They tidied up the kitchen, walked into the living room, and paused. “I’ll be right there.” Parker pointed in the direction of his bedroom. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Okay.”

  Parker gave him a kiss on the cheek. It wasn’t passionate or sexy, but it was nice. It made Wes smile.

  “Night,” said Parker and headed to his room.

  ALTHOUGH PARKER had meant to set an alarm, he awakened to Wes lightly shaking his shoulder.

  “We should go pretty soon.” Wes was already dressed, his hair in its neat ponytail and his breath smelling faintly of coffee. Yesterday he’d worn a forest green long-sleeved tee, but today a white one peeked out from under an eggplant-colored fleece that looked deliciously soft. Parker wanted to pet him.

  Parker looked at his phone. Shit. He didn’t intend to sleep so late. Rhoda would have left for P-Town hours ago. “Crap. I wanted to talk to my mom and tell her what we’re doing.”

  “I told her. She says be careful.” Wes looked as if he was trying not to grin.

  Parker showered and dressed and considered a late breakfast. But Wes suggested they grab lunch along the way, and that sounded like a good idea. Parker was still yawning as they walked through the drizzle and climbed into Morrison.

  “You’ll have to give me directions.” Wes pulled out of the driveway.

  “Sveglio’s downtown. I’ve been there a bunch of times. Do you know downtown Seattle very well?”

  “Never been.”

  Parker blinked. “You’ve never been to Seattle?”

  “Never been anywhere in Washington except Vancouver.”

  “But that’s only a few miles away. I thought you traveled a lot. Did you skip our neighbor to the north for some reason?”

  Wes didn’t answer. In fact he remained silent all the way up I-5 through North Portland, over the Columbia, and into Vancouver. His music was playing—Heart, Pink Floyd, Van Halen—and he didn’t say a single word until they were passing the fireworks stores in Hazel Dell.

  “I lied,” Wes said, his voice startling Parker as much as the particular words. Wes was staring resolutely through the windshield.

  “What?”

  “I lied. I haven’t been to Wyoming. Just read about it.”

  “I don’t think you ever told me you’d been there. Just that you were heading that way.”

  A Wes shrug. “Well, I haven’t. I’ve never been anywhere except for Oregon. A little of northern California. And Vancouver.”

  Parker couldn’t remember exactly what Wes had told him about his travels, but Parker had certainly formed an impression of a history of road trips and footloose adventures. It made sense for a guy who had no close personal connections or other obligations and who was self-employed and therefore able to take off at a moment’s notice.

  “Why?” Parker asked.

  “Guess I thought it’d make me sound more interesting.”

  “No, I mean why haven’t you gone anywhere?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Parker didn’t believe that for a moment. The topic was important enough to Wes that he’d lied about it and then later came clean, which meant he hadn’t stayed close to home just because travel never occurred to him. Something else was going on. But Wes was doing him a huge favor right now, so Parker decided to not play amateur psychotherapist. Wes didn’t owe him all his secrets.

  “I like traveling,” Parker said mildly. “We used to do a lot of family trips when I was a kid. Nowhere fancy, usually, but they were fun. I did a school trip to New York and DC in eighth grade. And when I was twenty, me and my friend Denise flew to Spain and spent a couple of weeks in youth hostels. Which was totally irresponsible, because I was broke when I got back and I got fired from my job while I was away, so I ended up having to move in with Mom for a few months.”

  “But you had an adventure.”

  “Yeah.”

  Parker smiled at the memory. Lots of bars where he could drink because he wasn’t underage in Europe. Hostels full of new acquaintances from all around the world. Two years of high-school Spanish that proved useless in the face of Barcelona’s Catalan. A doe-eyed university student named Lluís, who was eager to practice his English with a native speaker—and eager to put his pretty mouth to other uses too.

  Wes and Parker stopped for lunch in Chehalis at a place where Parker and his parents used to eat on their trips north. As a kid, Parker always ordered one of the enormous cinnamon rolls, but today he had a panini and fries. Wes ordered a cheeseburger but mostly picked at it instead of eating. He didn’t often meet Parker’s eyes either, and he said very little. Hating the awkward silence, Parker blathered on about stupid crap that meant nothing to either of them. He insisted on paying, especially since Wes hadn’t even let him pitch in for gas.

  “I think Morrison’s happy,” said Wes when they were on the road again.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “He’s getting to see a little more of the world. More of I-5, anyway.”

  “So are you.” That earned one of Wes’s shrugs, which Parker decided to interpret as encouragement to continue. “You know, Seattle’s a pretty nice city. I can show you around a little after we’re done talking to the detective. We can watch them throw fish at Pike Place Market if you want the full tourist experience. Or we can do the Space Needle.”

  Wes didn’t answer, not even with a shoulder twitch. Parker didn’t know what that meant. When a few more attempts at conversation failed, Parker resorted to playing with his phone. Wes hummed.

  Traffic grew heavy by the time they reached Tacoma, and Wes grumbled under his breath about the driving skills of the locals. Parker couldn’t entirely blame him. On the rare occasions when Parker had possessed a car, or at least had temporary access to one, he hadn’t enjoyed his Seattle driving experiences. He generally tried to live close enough to his job to walk or take public transportation.

  With Parker navigating, they arrived at an underground parking garage near Sveglio with a little time to spare. Wes had some trouble finding a space big enough for his van, but he proved adept at navigating the narrow areas and then at parking. Lots of practice, Parker guessed, assisted by the driver’s training he’d received in the police academy.

  After they disembarked from Morrison, Parker grabbed Wes’s arm before he’d gone more than a few steps. “What?” Wes asked.

  “I don’t care that you haven’t been anywhere.”

  “Parker—”

  “I don’t.”

  Firm-chinned, Wes shook his head. “Logan stole from you. I lied to you. The last thing you need is another dishonest boyf—” He swallowed audibly. “Dishonest friend.”

  “It’s not even close to the same thing, and yours wasn’t a big deal. You stretched the truth to make yourself look better. Big deal. I’ve dealt with way bigger lies than that just on dating apps. Age, height, weight, marital status, jobs, interests, dick size.”

  Wes shook his head again and tried to pull away, so Parker tightened his grip and hauled Wes closer. “The travel thing doesn’t matter to me, not even with the lies. That mistake you made a decade ago—God, I was still in high school then!—isn’t important to me either. Or that you live in a bus, ’cause your bus is actually way cool, and frankly I’d be homeless i
f not for my mom.”

  Parker realized both of them were breathing hard, the sound slightly amplified in the garage’s concrete confines. Although they needed to get to the café, it was even more important that he tell Wes some things. Right here, right now.

  “Here’s what I know about you, Wes. Not from what you’ve told me, but from what I’ve seen with my own eyes. You are a kind man who took in a stranger in distress at a moment’s notice and uncomplainingly let him—let me—intrude into your life. You never took advantage of my emotional state, not even when I literally threw myself at you. You take personal responsibility for your choices. You’re brave. You aren’t remotely greedy. You’re an artist who makes magic with ordinary materials. You listen to me and act like what I say is worthwhile, and you don’t make me feel like a dumb kid even if I act like one. You drag me out of the rain, give me your clothes, and pick the thistles out of my skin. We hardly know each other, but here you are in Seattle because I asked you to come. You have my back. God, these are the things that are important. Not whether you made up a story about going to goddamn Wyoming!”

  His voice had risen as he spoke, mainly so he wouldn’t burst into tears. Parker wasn’t as skilled with words as he would have liked. If he’d been able, he would have described how Wes had a depth to him, an authenticity, that made Parker want to hold on to him like a limpet glued to a rock in a tide pool. Wes also possessed deep sorrow, and that also made Parker want to hold him tightly until all the sadness faded away. But Parker didn’t hold anything except for Wes’s arm—which he let go of now, then sniffled a few times.

  Wes remained statue-still, eyes wide and lips parted. “Oh,” he said finally, in the tiniest voice imaginable.

  Parker was going to suggest they head to the café. But before he could say anything, Wes had him in a crushing embrace. And even though they held each other too tightly to breathe, they somehow managed to kiss. Oh God, that kiss. Whoever was watching the garage security cameras owed Wes and Parker a hefty fee for the honor of seeing the world’s most amazing, most satisfying, most soul-ringing kiss. Energy poured into Parker from every spot where Wes touched him, and it poured back out of him too, creating an infinite loop of power and strength and goodness. So many sparks flew that Parker worried they’d ignite whatever gas fumes lurked in the garage.

  Parker grew painfully hard and felt Wes against him, just as desperate. But this wasn’t just a sexual kiss. It was also a romantic kiss, and a thankful one. A kiss that atoned for past transgressions and promised joyful futures. If Parker could have bottled that kiss and distributed it, there’d be world peace.

  “Oh,” Parker said when they finally separated. Which was what Wes said at the beginning, so maybe it was now their word, just like this clammy underground space was their parking garage.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “I’m Jewish,” Parker said.

  “So was he.”

  That made Parker laugh, which was a good thing because his body was still threatening to explode. Wes took Parker’s hand and they walked to the stairs. Detective Saito was waiting.

  Chapter Twelve

  ALTHOUGH DETECTIVE Saito was wearing ordinary street clothes, she might as well have had a blinking COP! sign over her head. She sat at a table near the window, with her phone in hand and a tall cardboard cup in front of her. She owned her space and emanated self-assurance and control, just like Nevin and Jeremy and most other cops. Wes doubted he’d ever possessed it himself.

  She stood up long enough for handshakes and introductions; then, when Wes and Parker were seated across from her, she turned her laser vision on Wes. “What’s your interest in this matter, sir?”

  “I’m just here to support Parker.” He tried not to fidget, but police officers made him uncomfortable. He wished he were back home, feeling confident as he conjured beautiful furniture from pieces of wood. But then he caught the taste of Parker on his lips and was glad to be here.

  Saito tilted her head. “And who are you to Mr. Levin?”

  Wes didn’t have an easy answer to that. He was still trying to find the right word when Parker spoke up. “He’s a good friend.”

  “Was he a friend of Mr. Miller’s?”

  It took a second for the meaning of that question to register since Parker had never mentioned Logan’s last name. But like Wes, Parker must have also caught the slight emphasis Saito put on the word friend, and he thumped his fist on the table. “I wasn’t cheating on Logan with Wes, and Wes wasn’t messing around with Logan, if that’s what you’re thinking. I didn’t even meet Wes until after you called to tell me Logan was dead. So you can put all of those weird ideas away.”

  “That’s a short period of time for two people to become close friends.”

  “So? Maybe sometimes you find just the right person at just the right time, and the two of you click, and you get attached in just a few hours. Haven’t you ever seen that before, Detective?” Parker narrowed his eyes at her.

  She frowned, and her voice took on an edge. “I’ve seen a lot of things.”

  Her demeanor might have intimidated a lot of people, but Parker had practically grown up with Nevin. Cops with an attitude were old hat to him. Wes almost smiled at the way Parker rolled his eyes at Saito.

  “Look, if you want to get yourself sidetracked into a stupid investigation that’ll go nowhere, be my guest. But if either Wes or I was trying to hide a skanky affair, do you really think I’d ask you to meet with me and bring the ‘other man’ along?” He made air quotes for the other man part.

  Saito did an eyebrow thing that might have been her admission of his logic. “Fine. Then why did you want to meet?”

  “Because I’m not sure Logan killed himself. And I’m certain he didn’t intend that letter as a real suicide note.”

  She scrunched up her mouth and seemed to consider for a moment. Then, apparently reaching a decision, she pulled a notebook from her jacket pocket and raised a pen expectantly. “Please explain.”

  Parker did, clearly and calmly, including all the inconsequential details Saito asked for. He remained patient when she asked him to repeat things and when she took an inordinate amount of time to write notes. Wes didn’t say a word and might as well not have been there, except that sometimes Parker reached over to give his hand a quick squeeze. Saito probably noticed despite the partial cover of the table, but she didn’t say anything.

  Finally she snapped her notebook shut and clicked the pen. “Thank you for this information, Mr. Levin.”

  “Are you going to investigate?”

  “I’ll do my due diligence to collect all available information and reach appropriate conclusions.”

  “Right. But will you investigate?”

  Saito leaned forward a little and, for the first time, allowed her professional mask to slip and her human face to show. “I’ll do what I can. Frankly, our resources are limited, and even when there’s physical evidence to analyze, it can take months or longer to hear from the lab. Unless there are some pretty clear indicators of foul play, it’s not going to be at the top of our list. I’m sorry. I believe you’re telling the truth. I know you cared about Logan. But we can’t work magic.”

  She looked tired and older than Wes had first guessed. She probably wished she could clear all her cases and take a nice vacation somewhere warm and dry.

  Parker nodded. “Okay.” He sighed loudly. “Logan’s, um, body…. Is it…?”

  “His family has claimed the remains.”

  “Good. But I hope they didn’t bury him in Oklahoma. He hated that place.”

  After a few brief words, Saito left, pausing to toss her empty cup in the trash on the way out. Parker seemed lost in thought as he stared out the window at the library across the street. It was an interesting building, all glass and steel and strange angles.

  “They’re not going to do anything,” he said to the window.

  “Why is it important to you?”

  Parker turned to face him. “Because he
was my boyfriend. Even if we didn’t—God, I feel way more connected to you, and we’ve never even had sex. But he wasn’t even thirty yet and now he’s dead, and I don’t feel like everyone should just go ‘Oh well’ and move on.”

  One of the things Wes lov—liked about Parker was his passion. He wasn’t ashamed to show his emotions, which so fully animated his face and words. He clearly felt distress over Logan, even if on some level he was coming to accept that Logan’s death wasn’t his fault. And he felt… something for Wes. That had been obvious enough in the parking garage when he gave that little speech. Wes hadn’t necessarily believed everything Parker had said about him. But he saw that Parker believed, and that was a gift.

  “Want to give me that tour?”

  Parker managed a smile.

  SINCE WES didn’t feel a particular need to watch dead fish fly, they didn’t visit Pike Place Market. They also didn’t go to the top of the Space Needle, although they drove past it. Parker said it was illegal to come to Seattle and not at least look at the thing. After stopping to get gas, they switched places inside the van, Parker now behind the wheel so Wes could sightsee without worrying about crashing. They went to Capitol Hill, where Parker pointed out the rainbow crosswalks and the clubs and bars he’d sometimes visited. They drove around the edge of Lake Union. And then as darkness fell, they went to Parker’s old neighborhood and stopped in front of the complex where he and Logan had lived.

  “Barkin’ Lot is just a few blocks that way.” Parker pointed north.

  Wes snorted. “That’s really the name?”

  “Yeah. Dumb. It’s a pretty good place, though. The guests—that’s what we were supposed to call the dogs—are treated well. They have indoor and outdoor exercise areas, with separate parts for different sizes so the Great Danes don’t trample the Chihuahuas.”

  “You liked working there.”

  “Yeah.” Parker spent a minute or two chewing his lip; then he smiled. “Have you ever been on a boat?”