by Gregory Ashe
The sound of a child’s tears broke the stillness in the kitchen. With a sigh, Cora laid down the spoon and stepped away from the potpourri.
“I’ll check on her,” Somers said.
“No. She’s been fighting with Sara Padaleski, and we’ve been working on sharing.” As though that were enough explanation—What, Somers wanted to ask, I can’t teach her about sharing?—Cora left the kitchen, and then Somers was alone with Bing, alone with that knowing stare, alone with that silence.
If he’d just say something. If he’d just say one goddamn thing. Just like that night. Just like that. If he’d just said something then instead of staring at me. If I’d—
—not been such a fucking coward—
—had five more minutes to think instead of—
“I’m going to check on them,” Somers said, not even knowing what he was saying, and he hurried into the cramped living room to escape that stare and that silence.
But he didn’t make it more than a step. He stopped just past the kitchen doorway, at the edge of the throng that had invaded his home. His heart dropped, and he felt splat somewhere around his knees. His mind began the inevitable catalogue: two six-packs in the fridge, the mimosas that Cora was serving, a bottle of Prosecco his father had given them last Christmas—where had Cora put it? In the pantry, right? Mother of God, it had to be in the pantry. But just as quickly, he scratched out all those possibilities and went back into the kitchen. Bing was still watching him, but now Somers didn’t care. He worked the toe of one shoe under the cabinets, found the loose board near the oven, and tipped it forward. The bottle of Jose Cuervo rolled into sight and sloshed to a stop against Somers’s other foot. It was a quarter full. That would have to be enough.
Because in the other room, Grace Elaine was talking to Hazard and Nico. It had only taken one look, just one look at her powdered face for Somers to know she was telling him. And she was fucking loving it.
SOME ANIMALS, HAZARD KNEW, CHEWED off their own legs when they were caught in a trap. Foxes? Wolves? Maybe something smaller, maybe some type of rodent? It had seemed like such a stupid trait. Yes, Hazard understood why they did it. Intellectually, yeah, he got it. But it had still seemed stupid. That was the human part of him. That was the part of him that wanted to use reason and logic and analysis to disassemble problems. But right then, at the edge of Somers’s birthday party, Hazard understood with a flash of visceral insight. Yes, he understood perfectly, and right then Hazard would have willingly chewed off his leg. He would have chewed off about goddamn anything if it got him out of this hot room that smelled like CVS cosmetics and sweat and orange juice from concentrate.
Why had he let Nico talk him into this? That was the dominant question in Hazard’s mind as he stood near the doorway, scanning the crowded front room of Somers’s home. He recognized most of the crowd. Most of them, truth be told, he recognized from his childhood. Wahredua had changed, but not that much, and there were too many familiar faces in this crowd. And, exactly as they had twenty years before, these faces quickly turned away when they saw Hazard. If you couldn’t see him, he might not exist.
“Are we just going to lurk near the door?” Nico asked. He was actually wearing clothes—real, adult clothes, which was a goddamn miracle. And he had been the one who wanted to come. Nico. Nico, who couldn’t even hear Somers’s name without spitting fire and venom and God only knew what else. And here they were, with Nico’s hand like a vise around Hazard’s, and Nico was wearing chinos and a sweater and somehow it made him look—
—like an infant—
—even younger than he normally did.
“We’re not lurking.”
“We’re literally shrinking into a corner by the door. That’s pretty much the definition of lurking.”
“Where do you want to go? It’s like a pigpen in there. Take one step and you’re walking in shit.”
Nico didn’t answer, but he scanned the crowd. “Hey, it’s Al. Look.” He waved.
Hazard’s stomach dropped because it was, indeed, Albert Lender. The crooked cop stood on the far side of the room. In this setting, with his bristly mustache supporting plastic-framed glasses that looked like something Hazard’s great aunt would wear, Lender didn’t look like much of a threat. He looked like the kind of fellow who might own a dozen different pocket protectors, who might get upset if his tuna casserole touched his canned green beans, the kind of guy who’s not even a threat in a bowling league. But he’d murdered a suspect in custody. And the month before, he’d tried to help murder Somers and Hazard.
“Is something wrong with your teeth?” Nico asked.
“What?”
“You’re grinding your teeth. Does something hurt? Jesus, your face—do you want me to call my dentist?”
“I don’t need a fucking—” Hazard tried to draw breath. This was it all over again, the kind of stuff that had precipitated the blow-up fight last night. “I’m fine. I have a headache.”
Uh huh,” Nico said.
Hazard barely heard him. His eyes were back on Lender. More specifically, they were on Lender’s new gun: oiled metal visible where Lender’s jacket hung open. An automatic. Nine millimeter, most likely. Not a ton of stopping power, but Lender was just carrying it until they returned his revolver from the evidence lock-up.
But there was something about that didn’t feel right. A grain of sand in the watchwork of Hazard’s thoughts. Something about Lender shooting Stillwell—
“Grace Elaine?” Nico’s cheery tone—like he was greeting an old friend—dragged Hazard out of his thoughts. His attention refocused on the room just in time to see Somers’s mother cutting through the crowd like a shark. The tasteful gray of her hair, the fashionable dress that showed off her slim figure, even the artificially smooth skin around her cool blue eyes, they all bespoke money. She was smiling, too, and for all Hazard could tell, it was just a normal smile. But that didn’t explain why he wanted to check the .38 under his arm.
“My God,” Nico said. “I didn’t even think about the fact that you’d be here.”
“You,” Grace Elaine said, kissing his cheek, “are absolutely wicked. This is the one you’ve been talking about non-stop.” Those same cool eyes—
—a coyote, Hazard suddenly remembered, it was a goddamn coyote that chewed its leg off in a trap—
—locking onto Hazard. “Why didn’t you just say his name, pet? All this mysterious talk about the new man, about how quiet he was, about his—” Her voice dropped into a mock-whisper. “—ass, you should have told me.”
Nico was blushing, but it was a good-natured blush that only accented his impossibly attractive looks. “Emery and I like to keep things quiet. I never really thought—I mean, the last name, of course, but I never really put it together—”
Grace Elaine laughed. “That I’m John-Henry’s mother? You’re not the first. John-Henry insists on using that ridiculous nickname, and he’s always been so sensitive about his legacy, about how people see him. I don’t have to tell you two about that, of course.” She laughed again. “Emery knows all about this, of course. He and John-Henry went to high school together. They weren’t friends, not back then, but they knew each other. Is that right, Detective?” Her attention suddenly transfixed Hazard. “Have I put that correctly?”
Hazard shrugged.
“Dragging an answer out of him,” Nico said, shaking his head. “You might as well get blood from a stone.”
“I intend to,” Grace Elaine said with a serrated smile. “Nico, my drink is gone. Would you be a dear and get me another?”
“What? Oh, yes. Emery, do you—”
“No.”
“I’ll be right back.”
And then it was just Hazard and Grace Elaine. The room was still full of people. Maybe twenty. Maybe thirty. So full that the smell of sweat and countertop cosmetics made an almost visible haze. But it was really just Hazard and Grace Elaine. It was just the two of them as if the
y’d stood on the surface of the moon, just the two of them.
“You weren’t friends,” Grace Elaine said, “were you? Back in high school, I mean?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Hazard frowned. Had she somehow learned about—
—the locker room—
—all the shit that had gone down between Hazard and Somers? The bullying, the assault, the torture?
“I’m sure.”
“That’s so strange,” Grace Elaine said, her tone puzzled as she tapped a finger against her lips. “Why were you always at the football games?”
“What?”
“His football games. John-Henry’s? Why were you always there?”
“They weren’t his. They were the high school games.”
“Why were you at his football games? And don’t tell me you weren’t. You were at all of them. You were always at the top of the stands. You were always watching him.”
“It was the only thing to do in the whole town. It was my school too.”
“No. You went because of him. You watched him. You—you wanted him.” Her words had dropped into a hiss. “You were obsessed with him.” Her blue eyes had gone wide and electric, and now she latched onto Hazard, her nails biting the inside of his arm. “You, with your sick, degenerate obsession. With your perversion. Are you happy? Are you happy with how his life turned out?”
For a long moment, Hazard remembered the sight of Somers their last night at Windsor. Somers, naked, hard, aching for Hazard’s touch, had crawled towards him on the bed. Because he’d had a massive fight with Cora, true. Because he was lonely and hurt and confused, true. But he’d wanted Hazard. He’d said, that night, that he chose Hazard. And Grace Elaine’s question echoed in Hazard’s mind: are you happy with how his life turned out?
“Trapped in this town,” she hissed, oblivious to Hazard’s thoughts. Her nails dug deeper. “With a whore wife. With a dead-end job. He deserves better than this. He is better than this. And you had to—you had to ruin him. Watching him. Following him.” Her hand jerked spasmodically, her nails driving deeper, and Hazard felt warmth bloom under the sleeve: blood darkened the fabric where her grip had punctured skin. “Touching him.”
The locker room, the steam wisping up from Somers’s golden skin, his chest just starting to broaden but still boyishly thin, and the feel of Somers’s hand on Hazard’s collarbone, the sudden, aching erection between Hazard’s legs, and the kiss like sandpaper—
But that was it. That was the only time. And Hazard hadn’t touched him. Hadn’t dared to touch him because it might have been a trap, the whole thing might have been a set-up. So what was Grace Elaine talking about? Touching him. What the hell did that mean? Did she know about that night in Somers’s apartment, when Hazard had pushed his partner to the edge of reason, kissing him, mauling him with his hands? Did she know about Windsor, about the way Hazard’s touch had raised gooseflesh on Somers’s chest, about—
“Here you are,” Nico said, the cheer in his voice fading as he sensed the tension in the air. “Is everything—”
“What are you talking about?” Hazard asked.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You finally got what you wanted. You watched him. You followed him. You—” A floodgate broke inside Grace Elaine, and words poured out. “You would sit outside our house with binoculars. You would trail after him when he was on dates. He told me about the time you pressed yourself up against the Camaro. He told me that you—that you pleasured yourself on the glass. You stole his underwear, he told me that too. And you wore it, you sick, perverted—” The string of insults choked her.
Nico’s eyes were huge. “Grace Elaine, whatever—”
“You took away his life and left him with this—this travesty,” Grace Elaine said, her voice hoarse as though she’d been shouting. “You broke him. He couldn’t take it anymore, and he broke like a twig, and it wasn’t his fault. It was your fault. And I’ll never forgive you for that. All his hopes and dreams gone. He couldn’t play anymore, not with you watching. He couldn’t go out on that field. Couldn’t even go near the team anymore. Glenn thought it would be enough, dealing with your father. But it wasn’t enough. It won’t be enough until you’ve got nothing left, until everything you wanted is ashes.” She snatched the champagne flute from Nico, whirled, and plunged into the crowd.
Over her head, Hazard glimpsed Somers in the kitchen doorway. He held a bottle to his mouth, and he was sucking it back pretty hard. When he noticed Hazard’s glance, he flushed and darted back into the kitchen.
“What was that all about?” Nico said.
Hazard shook his head. Grace Elaine’s words echoed in his head: He couldn’t play anymore. Play what? Football?
Holding out another flute, Nico asked, “What did you do?”
“No idea.”
“She sounded—hey, what happened to you?” Nico set down his flute and rotated Hazard’s arm. “Are you bleeding?”
“It’s fine.”
“What the hell? Did she do this?”
Hazard jerked his arm free. Or rather, he tried to. To his surprise, Nico held on tighter.
“I asked you a question.” Nico’s voice was low, low enough that somehow they still hadn’t drawn any attention. But his tone was anything but low. It was hot and furious, and his grip was iron. “We talked about this. Last night, Emery, we—”
“All right. Jesus Christ, just—can we do this later?”
“No, we’ll do this now. Let’s find a bathroom and get this cleaned up.”
“Great,” Hazard grumbled, but he followed Nico as the younger man led him through the crowd. “We’re going to find a bathroom together. The only two queers in the whole place and we’re going to the bathroom together. Why don’t we just tell everybody we’re fucking and get it over with?” A doughy-faced matriarch—Hazard thought she was part of the Wiese clan—stared at them in shock. “Enjoying the fucking show?” Hazard growled at her, and she dropped her champagne flute with a squeak.
Somers’s bathroom was cramped. Every available space had been filled with something: over-the-toilet shelves spilled towels and hand soap and a ceramic potpourri tray; cabinets mounted on the opposite wall held hairspray and styling gel and half-used bottles of cologne; a wire rack wedged between the shower and the far wall held bath bombs and body lotion and shampoo. It looked like someone had tried to shove an entire Bath and Body Works into this one room. And then, at some point, everything had exploded.
Nico found a first aid kit in the cabinets. “Roll up your sleeve.”
“It’s a few scratches.” Four crescent moons punctured Hazard’s forearm, and they bled more than he’d expected
With an antiseptic wipe, Nico cleaned the injuries. “I left you alone for five minutes.”
Hazard grunted.
“No, not even five minutes. Two minutes.”
He grunted again.
“Well?” Nico asked as he dug around in the first aid kit, eventually producing a box of Batman bandages.
“What?”
Pausing in the act of stripping the backing from the adhesive, Nico leveled a look at Hazard.
“I’m talking.”
This time, it was Nico’s turn to remain silent, but he slapped the bandage on so hard that he left red fingerprints on Hazard’s arm.
“Yeow,” Hazard said, shaking out the sting and trying to pull away. He was too slow, and Nico grabbed him. “Fine. You heard her. She’s insane. She thinks I ruined Somers’s life.”
“Did you?”
“I don’t know. It was pretty shitty already when I got here.”
“That stuff she was saying. Did you do any of it?”
“No. I’m not a fucking lunatic.”
“You didn’t follow him?”
“Christ, no. He followed me. Him and Mikey and Hugo. Practically lived in my footsteps because they were always trying to knock the shit out
of me.”
“You didn’t sit outside his house with binoculars?”
“You think I’d do that?”
“Maybe. You’re downright bat-shit sometimes.”
Hazard took a moment to control his voice before answering. “I didn’t.”
“You didn’t steal his underwear and wear it?” Nico burst out laughing. “I’m kidding. So what’s she talking about?”
“I already told you.” As Nico applied the last bandage, Hazard withdrew his arm and flexed it. The shirtsleeve was still stained with blood, but he rolled it down to cover the wounds. “She’s insane.”
Nico considered this for a moment. He stood between Hazard and the door, his lanky frame blocking passage.
“Can we go back out there? Everybody’s going to think I’ve got you bent over the sink or something?”
“Or that I’ve got you bent over the sink,” Nico said with a smirk, but he spoke absently, and his eyes were looking at something Hazard couldn’t see.
“C’mon, already,” Hazard said, gripping a handful of Nico’s shirt. “Let’s go.”
“Just a second. I want to talk about this.”
Jesus, Hazard thought, barely biting back the word. Talk. Was that what they were going to do now? Talk? Talk about every goddamn thing like it was the Paris Peace Accords? If so, Hazard wanted a bullet right between the eyes. Right that fucking minute, if that’s what they were going to do now.
“Did Somers stop playing football?”
“What?”
“You heard her: she said Somers stopped playing football because of you. She said he broke, or something like that. Did he?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Don’t bullshit me. That’s part of this deal. That’s what this means.” Nico gestured between them.
Hazard’s face colored slowly. “He didn’t play their last game. I don’t know why. He got hurt, that’s what everyone said.”
“So something did happen.”
“I don’t know what happened. Frankly, I don’t care. I didn’t do any of that shit to Somers; he’s the one that made my life a living hell. Maybe he finally started feeling guilty about all that. Maybe he got the yips, maybe he twisted his ankle banging some girl by the river, how the hell should I know?”