Damage Control

by Lynn VanDorn

  He wasn't sure what that said about him. Probably nothing good.

  “As for the video,” Ryan continued, “we’ve been working with the Highland Park police to figure out what happened to it. They've had quite a bit of turnover since then, and they’re tracking down people who had access to the evidence safe at the time.”

  Patrick leaned forward. “I have a friend who we hired to try and track where the video was uploaded. It's from an ISP from this area, which in the grand scheme isn't surprising. She thinks she might be able to get something more specific for us soon.”

  “Okay, great, I guess. That still doesn't eliminate Dad,” Tyler said. He eyed his drink and wished he didn't hate scotch. “Not that I can go and accuse him of fucking with me while he's in the hospital recovering from a heart attack.”

  Patrick and Ryan looked at each other. “As to that,” Ryan said, “I may have discovered something.” He cleared his throat. “About you, and why Dad is the way he is with you.”

  Tyler sat up. “You mean besides me being gay and a massive disappointment to him?”

  “Yes, I think so. Ty, do you remember Michael Connolly? We used to call him Uncle Mike?”

  Beside him, Josh twitched with some sort of reaction. Tyler glanced at him, but all he got was an unhelpful puzzled frown. He looked back at Ryan.

  “Vaguely. He used to work with Dad, right? Mom was friends with his wife, the one who was always sick. What was her name? Sophie, I think? Something like that.”

  “Yes, Sophie,” Ryan said. “She had cancer. It kept going into remission and then coming back. Do you remember what Mike looked like?”

  “I was a kid the last time I saw him. I’d probably recognize him if I saw him, though. I think he had reddish hair. Why?”

  “I was going to go back to the wedding after I talked with Patrick.” Tyler noticed the incredulous look Patrick gave Ryan at that and was not surprised. “But I didn't, because of that ‘something’ I mentioned in the hospital.”

  “Oh, right. That thing that came up that had nothing to do with you fucking Patrick. Right.” Tyler said, not able to help himself.

  Ryan didn't look angry, and that was a little worrying. “Not now, Ty. This is important. On way out of the museum, I noticed Uncle Mike waiting with Patrick by the door.”

  “He said that, like me, he was wedding crashing,” Patrick added.

  “And?” Tyler asked, wanting them to get to the point already.

  “I thought he had to be your actual Uncle Mike because he looks just like you,” Patrick said.

  Tyler felt like he'd been thrown into icy water. “What? No. No, he doesn't.” He flung a hand out and Josh caught it. Tyler curled his fingers around Josh’s hand and hung on to it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

  Ryan took a sip from his glass, then set it down on a nearby table. “That’s what I said, but Patrick made me really think about it, and there is a resemblance. So instead of going back to the wedding, I went to Dad’s house and hunted down the old photo albums. I finally found what I wanted in the attic. Here, look at this.”

  Ryan held out a picture for Tyler to look at, and at first, his eyes refused to focus on it, possibly out of self-defense. Next to him, Josh swore.

  “Fuck, that's creepy. Damn.”

  Tyler reached out, his hand shaking a little, and took the photograph. It was from one of the company picnics, and had been taken when he was three or four, based on what he looked like. He was standing next to his mother, his hand on her leg. She was talking with a couple. The woman was very thin and wore a scarf on her head. The man… the man…

  The picture dropped out of Tyler’s numb fingers and Josh bent and picked it up. He studied it more closely. “The resemblance is striking, especially taking into consideration how dissimilar you look from Brad and Ryan.”

  “I always thought I took after Mom,” Tyler said. He marveled at his feeling of incredulity. Hadn't he always wondered why his father didn't love him? This was the explanation. He ought to feel relieved. Instead he felt utterly betrayed. “Mom. I need to speak with her. I need her to explain…”

  Josh put down the photo and rubbed Tyler’s hand. “Later. Rachel sent me a text while we were on the way here, saying that she and my parents joined her and Brad at the hospital. Now is not a good time to talk to your mom about this, okay?”

  Josh was right. Tyler knew he was right. But there was a tearing, howling feeling of betrayal ripping through him and he could barely stand it.

  “Take me home. Please. Take me home.”

  “There’s more I'd like to discuss with you, Tyler. Regarding the video…”

  “Fuck the video,” Tyler snarled. “And fuck you.”

  Ryan recoiled. Tyler felt he should maybe apologize, but he couldn't.

  “Later,” Josh said. “It can wait, can't it?” He stood and pulled Tyler up with him. “Can we still borrow one of your cars?”

  “Yes, of course,” Ryan said, and he hurried to get them the keys to what would no doubt end up being the Volvo. Why he'd ever bought the thing was a mystery to Tyler.

  Tyler bent and picked up the picture. He stared at the man by his mother and it was like looking into a mirror. It was him, with slightly longer, dark-auburn hair. That was his smile, or one of them, at any rate. It was the one Purvi called his “panty-wetting smile,” and despite standing next to his wife, that smile was aimed right at Tyler’s mother.

  Chapter 33

  Josh Takes His Boyfriend Responsibilities Seriously

  Saturday, October 1st, 11:48 p.m.

  In Ryan’s Volvo

  Chicago, IL

  “I left my clothes at the museum. You did, too.”

  Josh glanced over at Tyler, who fingered the lapels of his tuxedo jacket absently.

  “Rachel said that your mother grabbed everything that we left there—me, you, Brad, and Ryan. She gave my stuff to my mother. I'd guess she has your things. We can get them tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” Tyler said, his voice so low Josh could barely hear him.

  “Do you want to talk about it? I mean, that's probably a stupid question, but as your official boyfriend, I need to ask. I’m pretty sure it's part of my duties and responsibilities.”

  Josh sensed Tyler looking at him and gave him another quick glance. Tyler had a half-smile on his face and looked a little less distant. “No one told me that. Please elaborate.”

  “Okay. For example, I'm required to not allow you to brood for too long without asking if you're okay and making an offering of some sort.”

  “What kind of offering?” Tyler asked.

  “Oh, ice cream or a back rub or a blow job. Something like that.”

  “Hm. How about ice cream, a back rub, then a blow job?”

  “Now you're being greedy. I'm also required to ask if you want to talk, but Chadwicks don't talk about things, so…”

  Tyler let out a short, ugly-sounding laugh. “I'm not a Chadwick, though, am I? Maybe it's not Chadwicks who don't talk about things. It's probably a Foster thing instead.”

  “Foster?” Josh asked.

  “My mother's family. And that seems a hell of a lot more likely, doesn't it? Ryan and I get it from Mom, not Dad.”

  Tyler’s voice sounded thick, and Josh risked another look at him since they were stopped at a red light. As Josh watched, Tyler blinked and a tear fell from his lashes, down his cheek, and then dripped off his chin. Josh was about to reach out when a horn beeped behind him. The light had turned green.

  “Stop worrying about me. Just drive. I'm fine.” Tyler scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand.

  Josh could no more stop worrying than he could stop breathing, but he could shut up and drive, if that's what Tyler needed, so that's what he did.

  –—

  Sunday, October 2nd, 2:03 a.m.

  Josh’s perfectly adequate condo

  Evanston, IL

  Josh woke and Tyler wasn't in bed. He squinted at the clock and
saw it was just after two in the morning. He felt the blankets next to him but they'd lost any residual heat from Tyler's body. Josh got up and went to look for him.

  Once he left the bedroom, Josh heard the water running in the guest bathroom. Oliver sat outside the door and pawed at it plaintively. Josh bent to scratch Oliver’s head and called, “Tyler? Are you okay?”

  No answer.

  He tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, so he and Oliver went in. Through the foggy glass shower door Josh could see Tyler sitting in a huddled ball in the bathtub letting the shower’s spray hit him. Josh slid open the shower door.

  Tyler’s right fist was clenched and blood dripped from it. He looked up at Josh, his eyes huge and glassy. “I didn't cut myself,” he said. “I wanted to, so much, but I didn't.”

  Josh turned off the shower and took hold of Tyler’s hand. “Let me see,” he said, and gently pried Tyler’s hand open. He was holding a razor blade, the cardboard strip still on it, but it had become soggy and flimsy with water. A corner of the blade was unprotected and had cut into Tyler’s palm. It wasn't very deep, and Josh felt relief flood through him. It could have been so much worse.

  Tyler looked at his hand. “Oh. Looks like I cut myself anyway. Does it count if I didn't mean to?” Then he laughed, and the sound was horrible. Josh couldn't stand it.

  “Shh,” he soothed. “Come on. Let's get you dried off and your hand bandaged up.”

  Tyler laid his forehead on his knees. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled, and made no move to get up.

  Josh stood looking down at Tyler. He considered trying to get him to stand up then changed his mind. He grabbed a towel, tucked it around Tyler’s shivering body, and sat down on the floor next to the tub, folding his legs under him awkwardly. Oliver jumped into the bathtub and started rolling around in the water drops.

  “You have a weird cat,” Josh said.

  “Oliver is not weird,” Tyler said, “and I'm going to get blood on your towel.” He made it sound like a bloody towel would be utter catastrophe. Josh didn't particularly care about the towel, but he got up, found an adhesive bandage, and sat back down.

  “Here, give me your hand.” Josh bandaged the cut, then kissed the back of Tyler’s hand. “There, your majesty,” he said. “Nearly good as new.”

  “Why are you here?” Tyler whispered. Oliver lay on his back, all four feet in the air, and Tyler rubbed his belly. Josh was impressed. He'd tried that the other day and had gotten clawed for his efforts.

  “I woke up and you weren't in bed, so I came looking for you,” Josh said. “Your cat was looking for you, too.”

  “No, I mean, why are you here, being my real boyfriend and shit? You said you love me, but I'm not sure what you see in me that you could possibly want. Besides the fine packaging, of course. What else worthwhile is there?”

  “Tyler, you are way more than just fine packaging.”

  “Right,” was his sardonic response.

  Josh would be the first one to admit that he wasn't an expert when it came to relationships. He was nearly thirty-five and hadn't once had a normal one that lasted longer than a few months. What he'd had with Ryan wasn't even in the ballpark of normal, let alone healthy, and other than that, all he'd had was a string of short-term shallow relationships with enough men that he would have to get out pen and paper to keep them all straight. He'd never helped someone he loved to get through a tough time. He was so hopelessly out of his depth it was almost ridiculous. But leaving Tyler alone to wallow in self-pity in his bathtub wasn't an option, so Josh stayed put on the floor, his legs starting to go numb from having their blood supply cut off, and hoped like hell that what he was about to say wouldn't make things worse.

  “It's not like you’re full-on gorgeous all the time, you know. I've seen you look almost ordinary. Case in point, right now you're kind of a hot mess.”

  Tyler glowered at him. “Fuck you. If this is you trying to make me feel better it's not working.”

  Josh couldn't help but smile a little, because an irritated Tyler was a million times better than a miserable one. “And then you do this thing, I don't even understand how, and suddenly you're so beautiful that you take my breath away. You look, I don't know… photoshopped.”

  “Like Ryan Gosling in Crazy, Stupid, Love?”

  “I guess. I never saw that one. But you look too perfect. Too lovely. Unreal.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes and favored Josh with a slight smile.

  “But sometimes you stop. You drop it all like a discarded mask and I see the real Tyler underneath. Not ordinary. Not perfect. Not Tyler Chadwick: pretty boy, aspiring star, and tabloid fodder. What's under all that is something both more and less. The man I fell in love with.”

  Tyler shook his head, smile gone. “I'm not one of those people who’re all beautiful rainbows and sunshine and sparkly glitter whatever-the-hell on the inside. If you think that, you're fooling yourself. You're seeing shit that’s not there.”

  “No, I'm not. I don't want rainbow sparkle glitter crap. I'm not a rainbow sparkle kind of guy, if you haven't noticed. Glitter gets everywhere and you can never clean it all up. It's awful.”

  Tyler snorted, but it sounded almost like a laugh.

  “I'll admit,” Josh continued, “that I do love beautiful things. I love art. I always have. And the best art has depth. Layers. Nuance.”

  “And?”

  “I've dated a lot of men. Lots of very attractive men. A few were better-looking than you, believe it or not.”

  “Hearing about the legions of handsome men you've been with is not helping,” Tyler informed him. “I know I'm not your usual type. Brad told me that you've been dating Ryan clones for as long as he can remember.”

  “Yeah, and I didn't fall in love with any of them. You, on the other hand, I spend two weeks with and I can't imagine being with anyone else. You are interesting. You have depth. Nuance. Layers. So many layers I'm not sure if I'll ever uncover them all. You are art, Tyler, and I think I could spend the rest of my life studying you and not get tired.”

  “Stop. Just stop. I can't live up to shit like that. One day my ass will sag. I'll have wrinkles. Liver spots. Scary old man toenails.”

  Josh’s lips quirked. “Where did you get the idea that art is only about aesthetics? You’re not just a marble statue of a beautiful boy. I think you’re like a Chuck Close painting,” Josh said.

  “A what?” Tyler raised that bitchy eyebrow of his and Josh knew he must have it very bad indeed, because he was starting to find the expression more endearing than annoying.

  “He’s this fascinating artist who paints hyper-realistic portraits that look like perfect photographs from far away but become unrecognizable colorful blobs up close. You’re like that.”

  “What, like I'm incomprehensible unless seen from a distance?” Tyler asked. His tone was caustic but Josh thought there was more there, too. Buried beneath the self-denigration and gloom was a small spark of hope. Sort of like Charlie Brown and that football of Lucy’s and how this time maybe, despite all evidence to the contrary, things might be different.

  Josh could relate.

  His fingers stroked the back of Tyler’s head. “Not exactly. Perfect from far away, complex and beautiful and unexpected when up close, with shapes and colors you can't see until you stand near enough to not see the perfection.”

  Tyler sighed. “That’s… dammit, Josh. I don't know what to say, other than maybe that prick Patrick was right. You do deserve someone better than me. So much better. The best.”

  “I don't want someone better, I want you.” Beautiful and scarred and sweet and sharp as a knife. Josh rearranged his legs so he could kneel beside the tub. He leaned over to kiss the back of Tyler’s neck and smelled alcohol that even a shower hadn't been able to wash away. And apparently drunk as a skunk. “What have you been drinking?” That explained a lot. It seemed Tyler was a maudlin drunk.

  “I drank all the vodka and then there was no more,” he said, making it so
und like a tragedy. “I am merely a tiny bit intoxicated. I wish there was more vodka. Something not shitty. Would it kill you to buy Grey Goose? You’re such a cheapskate. That and you have zero ice cream. How can you have no ice cream?”

  “Oh, baby,” Josh sighed. He tried to remember how much had been in the bottle. He thought maybe it had been between half and two-thirds full.

  Tyler lifted his head and gave Josh a murderous look. “Do not call me that,” he hissed.

  “Okay, fine. No calling you baby. But princess is okay?”

  Tyler heaved a great sigh. “Princess is what you call me, so it's acceptable. Annoying, but acceptable. I'd maim anyone else who tried it, but from you it's okay. He called me baby and I hated it, and he knew it, and he still called me it anyway, the fucker.”

  Josh rubbed Tyler’s back and tried to parse that. “The ‘he’ in question is one of your exes, I take it?”

  Tyler nodded. “The evil one. David.”

  “I know about Ethan. He’s the failed twink experiment who’s a journalist, right?

  Tyler nodded again.

  “Okay, tell me about David. What flavor of gay is he?”

  “The gaslighting, abusive kind.”

  Josh felt anger begin to curl within him. “Good to know, but that's not what I meant.”

  “Oh, I suppose David is a bit of a stealth gay. Like you, but not like you, if you know what I mean.”

  “Not really.”

  Tyler tipped his head back and gazed at the ceiling. “He’s like you in that he can pass for straight. At first, he didn't even ping my gaydar and my gaydar is good. Like very, very good.”

  “So how was he not like me?”

  “Um, you're not an evil sociopath, for starters.”

  “Tyler, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Tyler huffed and almost smiled.

  “Why was he evil?”

  “Bad genes? Terrible parenting? Possessed by a demon?” Tyler shrugged. “Beats me.”