“Fuck.” Niles dropped into a chair, closing his eyes and letting his head tip back.
“Okay, we should call the cops about this.” Jordan picked up the envelope Niles had left sitting on his desk, and studied it again.
Niles scoffed. “And say what? A bunch of gaming geeks are stalking me because they have a stick up their ass about queer characters in their games? The cops aren’t exactly well-known for taking gay issues all that seriously.”
Jordan rolled his eyes. “C’mon. This is Portland, not the Deep South, and you know it. Besides, getting them to investigate isn’t the point, at least not yet. Starting a paper trail of complaints is, so if it escalates, they can see that it’s an ongoing problem.”
“Or if it ever does get serious—which it won’t—they won’t believe me because they think I’ve been overreacting to every troll who tries to bait me.”
Rosie gave him a flat look, leaning against the wall. “Okay, Niles, I get it. You know I do. It’s nearly impossible in gaming culture to separate out the genuine threats from the usual smack talk. You don’t want to overreact because you don’t want to make it look like you can’t cut it. You don’t want to seem like some precious snowflake. I get it. But this is not trolling. This is menacing. They’ve crossed the line. At the very least, whoever left that note for you was trespassing. And probably in violation of some postal laws.”
“Fine. Okay.” Niles’s jaw shifted as he glanced back and forth between them. “If I make the complaint, will the two of you quit nagging me and let me get back to writing? In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve got a production deadline for the Gairi DLC.”
“I’ll go with you to the police bureau at lunch.” Jordan gave him a tight smile, and Niles tensed as though he was going to argue again. Then he pushed himself up out of the chair and strode from Jordan’s office. They stared after him.
“I get why he didn’t want to overreact, which is why I backed him at the club last night.” Rosie slipped into the chair Niles had vacated. “But why am I getting the vibe that his resistance to the idea that this might be a problem goes deeper than that?”
“He’s a pacifist.” Jordan tapped the end of a pen against his desk blotter. He was far more edgy and energized now than he’d been when he’d arrived at the office. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, either, and this wasn’t going to do a thing to help him rest tonight. “Always has been. I don’t think he’s really ever internalized how serious homophobic violence can be. He can’t conceive of someone having that much hate in themselves.”
She smiled at him, her eyes soft. “I don’t think you realize just how sappy you get when you talk about him.”
Jordan ducked his head, coloring. “He’s my brother. Good thing, too. Someone’s got to look out for him because he’ll never look out for himself.”
“You think they realize that about him?” She jerked her head toward the exterior wall of the building and ostensibly the picketers outside. “This guy they’re so up in arms about, who is such a threat to their kids, is just a gentle little lamb who wants to write stories about people like himself finding love and being heroes.”
“Do you think it matters to them?” Jordan grimaced and turned up the volume on the TV. The local morning show had just cut to the reporter outside Third Wave’s headquarters, where an officious-looking guy had handed off his picket sign to act as spokesman.
“What we’re seeing here is a clear-cut agenda, an insidious attempt to work fringe liberal ideology into the hearts and minds of our kids through what is commonly perceived as harmless entertainment. We, the concerned citizens who form the Coalition for Responsible Media, are making a point of bringing to light this sort of brainwashing that’s being embedded in music, television, movies, and even video games, and bring back family-friendly entertainment . . .”
“All right, Patrick. Run these to the printers, and then go ahead and take your lunch.”
“Sure, Mr. River . . . Niles.” Patrick accepted the thumb drive with the files on it and tucked it into his breast pocket, none of his usual puppylike eagerness present. “Anything else?”
“Nope. How are you? Everything still going okay?” It was as close as Niles could come to prying without invitation.
“I guess.” He shrugged. If he’d seemed subdued Sunday night after the club, today he seemed downright depressed. “I’m looking for a roommate. I really don’t feel like I can stay with my stepdad and stepbrother much longer.”
“Any trouble after you got home last night?”
Patrick shrugged, staring at the wall past Niles’s shoulder. “Um, just, um, well, you know, my stepdad is sort of intense.” Read: homophobic, Niles interjected mentally. “And my stepbrother, Charlie, he hangs out with his cousin and some of their guild-mates a lot.” He shuffled his feet. “A few of the guys came into town for the con this weekend and headed out yesterday.”
“Sounds cool. You ever play with them?”
“Um. No. Not anymore.” Something in Patrick’s eyes flashed, as though he were near tears, but he wouldn’t look at Niles, and his body language was screaming for Niles to shut up. Suppressing a sigh, Niles tried shifting the conversation in another direction.
“That’s great that you’re trying to find your own place. A little harder to cut on an intern’s wages, but sometimes you just need to be on your own. Any prospects?”
Patrick nodded. “One guy. He’s a little older, but he’s cool, though. Found him in a local game store. He’s got the most amazing gaming rig, and he said he wouldn’t mind if I use it while he’s working.”
“Awesome.” Niles smiled encouragingly. Anything that would help Patrick get comfortable in his skin could only be a good thing. He was tired of seeing a shadow on the kid’s face every time his family was mentioned. Patrick didn’t quite manage to smile back, but he practically genuflected on his way out the door, leaving Niles shaking his head.
“Hey.” Jordan’s head popped around the door to Niles’s office just as he was trying to turn his attention back to his work, and Niles looked up at his brother. Over the course of the morning, he’d managed to get a grip on his irritation at Jordan’s and Rosie’s overreaction to the note in his mail, but seeing Jordan reminded him about their agreement to go down to the bureau of police, and he felt the tension creeping in again.
“Lunchtime already?” He glanced back at the script on his laptop. So much for his hopes of finding his stride again. PF3’s first expansion—which would be offered as downloadable content—was due to be released just two months after the game went live, so they were under the gun to finish it. It was an important DLC pack because it dealt heavily with Gairi’s background and upbringing, some of the mystery that shrouded his past becoming clear. It also had the potential to escalate matters if the player character was involved in a relationship with Gairi when they reached the end of PF3. That sort of continuation in an expansion pack was always hugely important to players who had invested themselves in the emotional storyline.
“Actually, I’m not going to be able to make it.” Niles’s head came up as Jordan squirmed. “Sorry. I began scheduling some of those media appearances I was talking about and one of the webcasts I contacted had a last-minute opening for this afternoon because another guest canceled, so now I’m doing that. You’re still going, though.”
“Oh, am I?” Niles snapped his laptop closed so he could focus on his brother.
“Come on, dude. Don’t make me babysit you through this. Just file the damn report, nothing to it.”
“Nothing except that it’s ridiculous and unnecessary.”
“Maybe, but humor me, okay? Or I’ll sic Mom on you.”
“Now, that’s just mean.”
“You know I’ll do it.”
Niles laughed, hanging his head. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.” He stared at the mirror image of his own face across the desk. “I’m not sure you aren’t worse than Mom.”
“Hey, at least I don’t force-feed you w
hile I nag.” Jordan grinned and pushed himself away from where he’d been propping up the doorjamb. “I’ll see you after I’m done with the webcast and you can tell me about the hot cops.”
“Right.” Niles snorted. “Assuming I spot any through the mass of potbellied desk jockeys.” He stood and smoothed the Oxford shirt he had tucked into a comfortable pair of jeans. Third Wave, like many gaming studios, didn’t have a stringent dress code for the office. Jordan wore suits more often than not because he never knew when he was going to have to take a marketing meeting, but being a writer, Niles could get away with going casual. He shrugged into his light leather jacket, stuffed his teeny MacBook Air into his messenger bag, and hung it over his shoulder. Maybe he could get some writing done while he was waiting for someone to take his report.
The picket line hadn’t dispersed even though the morning-show broadcasts were over. Niles couldn’t hear what they were saying as he opened his car door and shut himself inside. At least they kept their protest safely on the sidewalk and off the property of Third Wave Studios itself, though he thought they’d gotten a little louder when they saw him emerge from the building. He couldn’t let himself dwell on the monumental injustice of their making him and his stories the scapegoat for whatever they felt was wrong with society. Most days it was easy to shrug off, but today he felt particularly raw about it.
Maybe it was just Jordan and Rosie getting to him.
His phone rang while he was driving past the protesters—not the buzz of an incoming text message this time, thankfully—and he answered it as he turned out of the parking lot.
“Niles?” Anthony’s aggressive tenor filled his ear before he had a chance to regret not checking the caller ID. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the car, Anthony. I have to pay attention to driving. What do you need?”
“I tried calling you at home on Saturday, and you weren’t there. Were you out?”
At the intersection, Niles began to drum his fingertips on the steering wheel, the turn signal clicking rhythmically under the sound of the phone at his ear. “I had a convention to go to in the afternoon, and then Rosie and I were raiding that night.”
“I was expecting you to be at work right now. You usually don’t take lunch this early.”
“I have things to do today. What do you need?” He didn’t like repeating himself, but apparently Anthony was too fixated on knowing exactly where he was and what he was doing at all times to get to the point.
“What sort of things?”
Niles sighed. “Anthony, I don’t mean to be rude, but this is why we broke up. Because you have to be all up in my business every minute of the day. I wanted a boyfriend, not a warden. But now we’re broken up, so I have no obligation to account for where I’m going or why or with whom.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” Anthony’s voice was instantly contrite. “I’ll stop being so nosy. I just thought I’d ask if you wanted to get together for lunch.”
What part of broken up don’t you get? “Sorry, but I have to take care of some stuff.”
“You sure? I’d really love to see you. You did say we could give being friends a try.”
Fuck. “Yeah, I did, but today isn’t a good day.” Niles hit the accelerator when the light turned, gnawing on his lip as he debated how to respond. “Maybe in a week or two, but things are a little crazy just now. We’ll have to see.”
“I’m not sure being friends is going to work if you’re never around when I ask to see you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s definitely not going to work if I can’t have space to take care of things when I need to, either. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you sometime, okay?”
He hung up, cutting Anthony off midprotest, and spent the rest of the drive irritated with himself for ever letting Anthony hold on to that bit of hope that they might be friends. He’d wanted to soften the blow because Anthony was sweet, even if he was clingy, but it wasn’t going very well. Anthony obviously wasn’t getting the hints that it wasn’t working. If this continued, Niles was going to have to be a dick about it because the kind-but-blunt approach only seemed to offer Anthony encouragement.
Once he got to the police station, Niles walked toward the building in the misting November not-quite-rain. He stood outside for a minute, staring at the doors and willing himself to go in and report this stupid incident. He briefly debated simply leaving, taking a long, leisurely lunch at Veritable Quandary or Kell’s Irish Pub, and telling Jordan and Rosie he’d reported the harassment. But Jordan always knew when he was lying, so what was the point?
“Niles?”
Oh fuck. He knew that voice. Knew it in the “sometimes still dreamed of it even ten years later” sense. Swallowing, Niles turned slowly from the doors to face his ex. If you could call a guy who had, in the end, denied the relationship had even existed an “ex.” Timothy Wyatt had been the first guy Niles had ever known who was so determined to remain in the closet that he’d be downright cruel to anyone even thinking of urging him to come out.
Tim was approaching from the on-street parking reserved for cops, dressed in a suit with an equally well-dressed woman beside him. His slightly gingery hair was curling a little in the humidity, which made him appear ruffled and rakish, and his blue-gray eyes were alight, as if he were thrilled to see Niles.
Damn. It really wasn’t fair that he looked that good after all this time.
“Tim. Wow. Hi.” Niles ventured an uncertain smile, wondering just how familiar he should be with a one-time college classmate. “What the hell are you doing in Portland? Is this your wife?” He extended his hand reflexively, his smile firming up as he found his equilibrium.
“What?” Tim looked startled and quickly shook his head as the woman beside him guffawed. “Um, no, of course not. This is my partner, Detective Angela Payne. I’m with the Portland Police Bureau now. I’ve been here for . . .” He glanced at the woman for confirmation. “Seven years?”
“S-seven years? Really?” Just like that, Niles’s composure staggered again. “Um, pleased to meet you, Detective Payne. I’m Niles River.” She shook his proffered hand, looking wryly amused. Niles glanced back at Tim, who was blinking and seemed a little stunned himself, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d run into Niles.
That makes two of us, honey.
The detective gave him an inquisitive half smile, eyes sparking in her dark-brown face. She was almost as tall as Tim was, which was impressive. He would get a crick in his neck if he had to stand here and talk with them both for too long. “Niles River? So, when you were in school and they called your name out, they said, ‘River, Niles.’ Your parents did that to you on purpose?”
Niles laughed. He’d had to develop a sense of humor about his name long ago, or he’d be pissed off anew with every introduction. Bantering with the other detective also gave him a reason to avoid Tim’s gaze, which had shifted from disbelieving to taking in Niles as if he’d been starved for the sight of him.
Not very circumspect for a guy so firmly in the closet you could hang clothes on him.
“Yes, they really did. They’re both MDs and did a lot of travel for Doctors Without Borders and decided they should commemorate the journey which resulted in our conception. My twin brother is named Jordan.”
“Oh God.” She groaned, laughing with him.
“So, what are you doing here?” Tim asked when they sobered, recovering his own aplomb. “I mean, right here, at the precinct?”
“What? Oh, um, debating whether or not to waste someone’s time.” Niles shook his head ruefully. “I’ve been getting these harassing messages, you see. It’s no big deal, just trolls being trolls, but one of them actually came to my house and now Jordie is worried. He wants me to report it, and you know how he gets when he goes into protective mode.”
“Do I ever.” Tim rubbed his jaw as if the memory of Jordan’s fist still pained him. The strawberry-blond scruff on his face was new. And very nice. “Well, hey, I was just about to head out to lu
nch after dropping Payne back here. Why don’t you come with me, fill me in on the situation, and I can help you decide whether it warrants a formal report or not?”
Niles gnawed his lip uncertainly, wondering if it was a good idea for the two of them to spend any amount of time together. Especially with Tim still devouring him with his eyes. Finally, he shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. Okay.”
He could have kicked himself as soon as he said it. Staying would be a monumental clusterfuck.
“Bring me back a sandwich,” Detective Payne instructed before jogging up the stairs and into the building, leaving Niles and Tim facing each other on the sidewalk.
He should walk away. Niles shuffled his feet, trying to figure out a good excuse to do so, when Tim jerked his head toward a car parked at the curb. “Come on. I’ll treat.”
The silence as Tim unlocked the door for him was heavy. Niles wasn’t sure exactly what it was okay to say so close to where Tim worked. Being in a car with Tim was an experience he remembered well. Like the car needed to be bigger, because there was too much man there for such a contained space. Pushing away the eerie feelings of déjà vu, he turned a curious—and slightly bitter—gaze toward Tim, observing the way his thick, blunt fingers clenched the steering wheel before he started the ignition. Niles stared at them a moment before he noticed what was different.
No wedding band.
“So what happened?” His voice came out so hard and aggressive that Niles himself damn near flinched at the sound. He suspected he was taking his mood—already poor after the letter and Jordan’s overreaction to it and the protesters and Anthony—out on Tim. He made a damn convenient target. “Last I heard you were heading back to Klamath Falls to take a job with the county sheriff’s office and marry your high school sweetheart.”
“Yeah, it didn’t work there.” Tim shook his head, pulling into traffic. “Largely because I had too many things I kept thinking about that I couldn’t let go of. Like you.”
“Me?” Oh look, there was that old bitterness again. He tried to laugh it off, but the joke came out with a bit of bite. “I thought I was just your college experimentation.”
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