by A. M. Arthur
Maybe Taz had already told him the boring stuff like volunteering, and if he had, Will didn’t mind. Taz had kept the important things a secret. No one else needed to know about Will’s private past.
Instead of finding a parking spot, Peter pulled up in front of the building’s entrance. “You two enjoy the pizza,” he said.
Taz squawked. “You aren’t coming up?”
“Nah, you boys don’t need an old fart like me hanging around. Eat, enjoy yourself.”
Will’s pulse jumped. Sounded like Peter was definitely on their side, if he wanted to give them time alone together. Too bad Will and Taz had agreed to a purely platonic relationship.
For now.
“It was nice to meet you, sir,” Will said as he climbed out.
“Likewise,” Peter said with a smile very similar to Taz’s. “Take care of my boy.”
“I’ll try.”
“See you later, Dad,” Taz said.
They watched him pull away for a beat, then fled at the same moment for the safety of the building’s interior. Familiar walls of the stairwell and hallway, despite Will having only been there twice before. Today was his third visit in three days, which was kind of a record for him going anywhere that wasn’t the Stanley Center.
And it had everything to do with the company.
After they declared a mutual love of cold pizza, Taz got them both sodas and they relaxed in front of the television with their food to watch a random cooking show. Mostly it was background noise, so they could eat without awkward silence or making small talk. Only nothing about the afternoon was awkward, and maybe it was because they both knew this was friendship only. Will still had to wrap his head around that a bit—the idea that Taz wanted to chill with him without actually chilling in the new slang sense of the word.
The only black mark on the afternoon was a brief call from a detective named Gene Morrell. Will had worked with the man after the bust, and he hadn’t liked him much. Brusque, cold, with seeming very little sympathy for Will’s situation, he’d always left Will unsettled and angry. Today was no different, but that was mostly because the call was to inform Will that he’d taken over the search for Christopher no-last-name.
It sucked, because Will had genuinely liked Detective Wolf, but he was a homicide detective, and Will’s case belonged to narcotics.
Taz cheered him up with a story of a college April Fool’s prank where he’d ended up half-naked and covered in whipped cream in front of a sorority house. Will had no frame of reference for the story, since the closest he’d ever been to a college campus was via the television set, but Taz told it so well that it didn’t matter. They were both cackling by the end, and Will decided one of his new life goals was to see Taz covered in whipped cream.
As he walked home that evening, Will marveled at how much his life had changed in only three days—and despite last night’s scare, he wouldn’t alter a minute of it.
Will had to work at the Stanley Center the next day, so there wasn’t really time to hang out in person. They texted throughout the day, mostly random emoji and funny GIFs, and later they voice chatted from their respective homes. Taz asked about the possibility of video chat or Skype, but Will’s computer was old and the video camera didn’t work anymore. Voice was okay, though, and if it made Taz more comfortable that was even better.
He even managed to talk Taz into agreeing to help with the fund-raiser setup the next day, and Will found himself looking forward to it more than he’d anticipated anything in, well, ever. It was like a date, without being a date, and it would help Taz meet more people. The nondate helped him forget about Christopher and about the parts of his past trying to nudge their way back into his present. He refused to allow the horrors of his past to taint his friendship with Taz.
He woke up extra early Saturday morning with more energy than he’d felt in months, ready for all kinds of nonsexy, indoor activities for him and Taz to do at the club hosting the fund-raiser. Until he checked his phone and found a text sent late last night.
Not feeling it for tomorrow, Will. I’m sorry. I can’t.
Will stared at the text, his stomach souring. Taz didn’t want to be with him today. After everything they’d talked about and shared, Taz was pushing him away again. He didn’t want to have sex with Will, so why else keep him around? He’d probably only agreed to help with the fund-raiser so Will would shut up about it. The last few days of texting and voice chat had probably been some long-winded goodbye.
Is that really what you believe is going on? His shrink’s voice was back.
“I don’t know,” he told the phone. He didn’t want to believe it, but why else send a text at midnight, begging off their plans? A text with no explanation.
Maybe he’s sick.
Maybe he’s sick of me.
He stared at his phone, resisting the urge to send a passive-aggressive text back. He could call, but he also kind of wanted the chance to tell Taz off in person. If this was Taz dumping Will on his ass, then he could damned well do it to his face.
Will threw on clean clothes, then his favorite sweatshirt—big and bulky, it disguised his body in a way that made him feel safe, less noticeable. He didn’t want anyone to notice him today, and he was halfway to the front door when his phone rang.
Hope made his pulse race, but it wasn’t Taz’s name on his cell screen.
A. Banks.
His mother’s lawyer.
* * *
Taz usually went to bed around ten o’clock. Eleven if there was a show on that he liked. It was a good time to make sure he got eight hours of sleep and could still get up early to shower, eat breakfast and treat his transcriptionist job like a regular office job—minus the commute. Fridays he didn’t have a ten o’clock show, so he was in the middle of changing into his sleep shorts when his phone rang.
Dad.
His heart skipped. Peter never called this late, and besides, they’d talked a few hours earlier. Not about anything important, just a regular check-in. He snatched up his phone and swiped. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Oh, Taz, you’re up.” Peter sounded surprised, even though it wasn’t all that late.
“Yeah, I’m up. Getting ready for bed. Something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong, exactly.”
That didn’t make him feel any better about the call. Taz sat on the edge of his bed. “So what’s going on?”
“I have to go out of town for a couple of months. For work.”
If Taz hadn’t already been sitting, he might have fallen over, because the bottom of his world fell out from beneath his feet. The stable rock that had been his father was leaving town? For months? “You’re leaving?” He hated how thin his voice sounded.
“If I had any choice, I promise I wouldn’t go, but I have to. It’s a great opportunity for my résumé and for networking.”
“But...” His dad brought him groceries. His dad treated him like a person, not a giant walking scar. Sure, he was still feeling through the whole bisexual thing and what it meant now that Taz was acting on his sexuality—Oh. “Is it because of Will?”
“What?” Peter’s voice got high, then he cleared his throat hard. “Why would you think that?”
“Because knowing I’m into guys and seeing it happen are two different things.” His sexuality had caused him nothing but grief so far, so why should that change? Apparently he couldn’t have more than one person in his life who cared about him. He had Will, so goodbye Peter.
“Son, this has nothing to do with you being bi, I promise. It’s work.”
“You do freelance IT work all over the county. Why do you have to go away?”
“One of the advertising agencies I regularly work for here in Wilmington hired me to work with a branch in California that is having trouble with their IT team. They ne
ed someone with experience to train their new team leader. I’m not happy about it, but the money is fantastic and it keeps my clients here on speaking terms with me.”
Taz grabbed at his shirt, needing something to hold because his hands were trembling. “California?”
“I know this is sudden, and I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“That soon!” Taz caught himself before he got too shrill. He was a grown-ass adult. He could handle his life for a few months without his father around to coddle him.
Right?
“I’m so sorry, son. Listen, we’ll figure out your grocery arrangement at the beginning of next week and—”
“No.” He didn’t care that cutting Peter off was rude. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Taz—”
“Forget it.” Relying on people was stupid. Hiding from his scars was stupid, too. This was his life, dammit. Will had gone through some awful things, but the way he’d talked about really living a few days ago? Will was doing something Taz was terrified to do again. Stepping out. Interacting. Being a real person.
Maybe Peter going away for a little while was a good thing.
Or maybe it was a disaster waiting to happen. Either way, Peter was leaving, and Taz couldn’t change that.
He was also fucking terrified.
“I can take care of myself,” Taz snapped, finding power in his anger, allowing it to override his fear. “I was doing it long before you showed back up in my life.”
Peter made a pained sound. “I know this is hurting you, and I wish I didn’t have to go. Hopefully I can make it up to you one day.”
“Whatever. Enjoy California.”
Taz hung up before Peter could say anything else, then put the phone on mute in case Peter tried to call back.
“I can do this.” He stared at a crack in the opposite wall. Not a big one, but he’d always wanted to go get some putty and fix that crack. Except that meant going to the hardware store. Facing the clerks. Letting them see him. Peter would have bought him putty if Taz had asked, but he wanted to do it himself.
He could do it himself.
The idea of walking into a hardware store made his insides seize up. Taz dashed for the bathroom and bent over the bowl, but nothing came up. His chest hurt and he kind of wanted to vomit, only he couldn’t. All he could was kneel there and shake and hope he wasn’t doomed to be this fucking weak for the rest of his life.
He couldn’t depend on Peter to take care of him forever. And he couldn’t be the kind of friend—or potential romantic partner—Will deserved if he freaked every time he had to do something normal people took for granted, like buying frozen dinners or getting a gym membership.
Maybe Taz had put too much pressure on Peter to always be there. Maybe he wasn’t working hard enough to be independent. Two years was a long time. Maybe Peter needed a break and he’d requested the job in California. He needed to get away from his clingy, agoraphobic son.
He’d pushed Peter away. He couldn’t stand the idea of doing the same to Will.
Even though Will was the best, brightest spot in his life right now, when Taz managed to stop dry heaving and shuffle his stupid ass back into his bedroom, he texted Will that he couldn’t do the fund-raiser tomorrow. He needed time to figure out his new reality. Time to vent and rage and be upset, without worrying that he might upset Will.
Sleep evaded him most of the night, filling those dark, empty hours with shadows of his past. The excitement of his scholarship. The joy of falling for Charlie. The hope of coming out. Then pain and fear. So much pain and fear that he never thought he’d recover. Until Peter. Peter doing everything and more to help Taz get out of Minnesota and living his own life.
Except it wasn’t much of a life. Taz finally dozed with memories of his first time meeting Will. Comforting him.
He woke sometime later to morning sunshine and someone pressing his doorbell. Exhausted, achy and really thirsty, he tumbled out of bed. He checked his phone on the short walk to the front door. Two missed calls from two unknown numbers, but nothing from Will, and that hurt.
Then again, Will was probably upset about Taz canceling their day, but the way he felt now? He’d have been terrible company anyway.
Taz looked through the peephole, surprised to see a middle-aged man in a suit standing in the hallway. Random strangers almost never showed up at his door, especially not on a Saturday morning. “Who is it?”
The man raised his hand, showing off a shiny badge. “Detective Morrell, Wilmington police department. Are you Thomas Zachary?”
A detective? The hell? The name sounded familiar, too, and he wasn’t sure why. “Yeah.”
“I’d like to ask you some questions, Mr. Zachary. May I come in?”
His belly wobbled at the idea of letting a stranger into his home. Even one with a badge. Taz hadn’t done anything wrong, so he had no idea what the man wanted. He was pretty sure he could refuse, but that might mean things getting more complicated, and he wasn’t sure he could take being driven to a police station.
“Um, all right.” He undid the door locks and chain, then turned the knob. Braced for the inevitable reaction to his face.
Morrell didn’t disappoint. His attention slid to the left side of Taz’s face and his mouth puckered up. He tried to hide it fast, though, but it made Taz want to shut the door and go back to bed for the rest of his life.
“Come in,” Taz said, ducking his head and twisting his neck to hide his ruined face.
“Thank you.”
After Morrell was inside, Taz turned the dead bolt out of habit. He also kept a good distance between them while trying to maintain a firm hold on the sudden wave of anxiety that was making his stomach roll. “What do you want?” Taz asked.
Like Will had, Morrell zeroed in on the desk photo of Taz and his dad. He didn’t pick it up, though. He stared at it a moment, then met Taz’s gaze. “You’re Peter Callahan’s son, correct?”
Taz blinked. “Um, yes. Do you know my dad?”
“Not personally, no.”
“But you know his name?” His brain leaped back to the abrupt phone call from Peter last night. Leaving town last minute. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“Right now he is simply a person of interest, and I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
Morrell frowned. “Do you have something to hide?”
“No.” Taz didn’t even have a parking ticket to his name, so what would he have to hide from the cops? This whole thing was way outside his comfort zone, and he really wanted someone to tell him what to say to get it over with faster.
“Then I don’t see us needing to bring lawyers into this. As I said, Mr. Zachary, I only have a few questions.”
“Okay. Ask.” Taz stayed near the kitchen entrance, needing the space and glad he had a clear line to the front door. Not that he doubted Morrell’s intentions. Much.
Morrell pulled a small notepad and pen out of his jacket. “What does your father do for a living?”
Now that was a stupid question. “He does freelance IT for different businesses all over New Castle County. One of his biggest clients is an advertising agency here in Wilmington.”
“Which agency?”
“Um.” He searched his memory, but if Peter had told him exactly where he worked, Taz hadn’t remembered it. “I don’t know. I forget. He doesn’t talk about work much when he visits.”
“Is your father currently dating anyone?”
“Not that he’s mentioned. I mean, he works a lot of overtime, but if he’s got a girlfriend he’s never told me.” Peter would have told him that, wouldn’t he? Unless he was ashamed of his scarred, reclusive son and didn’t want to lose a prospec
tive girlfriend over Taz.
What did he really know about Peter’s life outside of his visits with Taz? He hadn’t been back to Peter’s house once since he got this apartment.
“Did Peter do something wrong?” Taz asked.
“As I said, he’s a person of interest.”
Taz had seen enough cop shows to figure that line out. “So you think he’s connected to something you’re investigating, but you don’t have any actual evidence?”
Morrell stared at him for several moments. “Do you have any reason to believe that your father might be connected to some sort of criminal activity?”
“No. I mean...no.”
“Why did you hesitate?”
Taz shrugged. “Look, I don’t like to leave my apartment. I know what I look like, and I don’t trust other people. Hardly at all. I mean, look at my face. My dad helped me out when I didn’t have anybody else, and he’s done everything he can to take care of me. I haven’t been back to his house since I moved into this apartment, and whatever friends he has, he doesn’t bring them here because he knows it would freak me out. If you want to know more about Peter’s personal life, I’m not the guy to ask. I’ve only known him two years.”
Morrell seemed to chew on that. “So you’re unaware of your father’s past?”
“I mean, I know about his history with my mother. I know he was a computer science teacher first, then went into IT so he didn’t have to deal with kids anymore. He went to Mexico on vacation a few times because he likes their beaches. He’s a Phillies fan and likes Dogfish Head beer.”
“Then it would surprise you to hear Peter Callahan spent time in prison?”
Taz grabbed the wall to keep himself upright. “Prison? When was he in prison?”
“I suggest you have that conversation with your father.”
That was not a conversation he wanted to have with Peter over the phone, but he wasn’t sure he could wait several months until—Shit. The truth dangled on the tip of Taz’s tongue. The sudden trip. His father probably on a plane right now, flying west.
If he was going to California at all. Everything Taz thought he knew about the man was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.