Wayward

by Gregory Ashe

  “Um, yeah. You’re engaged to the man of his dreams. He’s jealous of you.” Nico frowned. “Although, to be honest, it’s kind of got a weird vibe. It’s too intense or something. I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Fuck me,” Hazard breathed. “He’s jealous?”

  “Just so you know, being involved in your romantic life is one of my personal nightmares,” Nico said, working Hazard’s fingers free, “and my therapist is probably going to be able to buy a yacht with all the extra counseling I’m going to need after tonight. So let’s call it here, and I’ll go back to desperately wishing I could make up for how shitty I treated you, and you go back to being desperately in love with your fiancé.”

  The words broke through Hazard’s fog, and he glanced up to see tears in Nico’s eyes.

  “Hey, hold on—”

  But Nico was already moving toward the door, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair.

  Hazard stared after him, trying to figure out how in the last half an hour his life had managed to become so fucked up.

  “Well,” Mitchell said from his chair near the fireplace. “You sure know how to clear out a room.”

  “You’re next,” Hazard said.

  Laughing, Mitchell squirmed in his seat, pulling his knees up to his chest. He was young—nineteen, maybe twenty—but he’d already finished college and now worked at one of the many departments or divisions or centers on campus. He was cute because he was young, but his features were a study in contrasts: the fiery red of his hair, the watery blue of his eyes. He did look better than he had, though; almost six months before, Mitchell had survived a brutal stabbing, and the physical toll had been intense. Only now was he really starting to look like the young man Hazard had first met.

  “Go on,” Hazard said. “Ask me about my haircut or about the inevitable slide into middle age. And then let’s really fu—” Hazard and Somers’s daughter, Evie, galloped through the room, pursued by Noah and Rebeca’s oldest daughter, both of them laughing. When they had gotten clear, Hazard said more quietly, “Let’s really go at it.”

  “Don’t be such a drama queen. Look, Dulac was being a jerk, Wesley and Susie just wanted an excuse to go . . . what did you say?”

  “Necking.”

  “Right, whatever that is. And Nico is obviously still hung up on you. So, it’s not your fault.” Mitchell grinned. “I was hung up on you too, remember? But I’m harder to shake.”

  “I need more beer. Tonight, I definitely need more beer.”

  As Hazard started to stand, though, Mitchell laughed and said, “No, no, come on. I’m just teasing you. Tell me about the wedding.”

  “Definitely more beer.”

  “Stop it. It can’t be that bad.”

  “It’s not bad. It’s great. I’m marrying the man I love; how could it not be great?”

  “Right.” Mitchell had his arms around his knees now. “Let me guess: you don’t agree on the flowers.”

  Hazard tried not to make a face, turning his attention to the empty Budweiser bottle. Sticking a finger in the neck, he spun the bottle on the raised edge of its base; the glass vibrated and emitted a low note.

  “Oh my God,” Mitchell said, slumping in the chair. “I was joking. You’re hung up on flowers.”

  “No.”

  “You look like you’ve got a sore tooth. What kind of flowers does he want?”

  “Drop it with the flowers. Nobody cares about the fu—” Two boys battled their way into the living room, swinging huge, plastic lightsabers at each other and screaming at the top of their lungs. When the duel drifted into the kitchen, Hazard leaned toward Mitchell, jabbing a finger at him. “Don’t say a word to John about this. Not a fu—”

  Noah and Rebeca’s youngest, Rocio, who was about the same age as Evie, toddled into the room, bawling. Hazard shook the beer bottle off his finger and scooped her up. She started crying harder, burying her face in Hazard’s shoulder, her tiny body shaking with sobs.

  “Hey, hey,” Hazard said, stroking her back. “What’s the matter, why—what happened here, sweetheart?”

  A cut, maybe a quarter inch long, showed on her upper arm. It wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding, and so Hazard carried her into the kitchen.

  “First aid kit?” he said to Rebeca, who was packing up the leftovers.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know, but she’s got a cut. A little one.”

  “Here, I’ll take her.”

  “Ree can do it,” Somers said from the sink, where suds coated the inky calligraphy on his arms. “He’s really good at that stuff.”

  “You don’t mind?” Rebeca looked a little pale. “I’ve got six of them, and they’re constantly falling down stairs and hitting their heads on rocks, and somehow blood still makes me queasy.”

  “Where’s the kit?”

  “Upstairs hall bathroom.”

  “Come on,” Hazard said to Rocio. “Let’s find some princess Band-Aids.”

  Wild, exhilarated screams came from upstairs. “And I’m going to send in the cavalry,” Rebeca said grimly. “Noah?”

  It wasn’t hard to find the upstairs bathroom, and after digging out the first aid kit from behind a pile of superhero bath towels—complete with hoods, God, which Evie would die for; Hazard made a mental note to look for some next time he went to the store—he set Rocio on the counter.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Noah said as he passed the bathroom, his normally goofy expression fixed in anger. “I’ve got to whoop some ass first.” His steps continued down the hall, and then a door slammed, interrupting the wild screams from the boys, and Noah’s voice, although controlled, came clearly down the short hallway. “That’s enough. Everybody out. Not you, Robbie.”

  Hazard washed Rocio’s wound, patted it dry, and then displayed a selection of Disney princess bandages. Rocio took her time, clutching them in pudgy fingers, holding them up to the light.

  “Yeah, don’t worry,” Hazard said. “I can wait. Ask me sometime about picking out wedding colors.”

  He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the doors were open, and Noah was speaking loudly enough and clearly enough for Hazard to make out every word.

  “—a knife, Robbie? You were chasing your siblings around with a knife? Where did you even get this?”

  Robbie’s answer was muffled.

  “You bought this? From who?”

  Hazard resisted the urge to interject whom.

  “And you didn’t think it was dangerous, to have something like this, to show it to your siblings, let alone to chase them around with it? That didn’t cross your mind? And what did you think was going to happen after Ricky and the others saw it? You know he would have come looking for it. Or what if Roman or Rafe had found it? They could have hurt themselves. And your sister is in there bleeding really badly. She’s probably going to have to get stitches. Are you happy about that?”

  Robbie’s sobs were the only answer.

  After a moment, Noah sighed. “Come here. No, stop being a log. Come here. It’s ok.” Robbie must have tried to say something through the sobs because Noah said, “I know you didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Yes, she’s going to be fine.” Then Robbie must have asked something else because Noah chuckled and said, “Yes, sir, you are definitely losing privileges for a while.”

  With a triumphant crow, Rocio held out a Jasmine bandage. Hazard nodded, applied it over the already scabbing cut, and said, “You could teach John a thing or two about making decisions.”

  Then Rocio grabbed another bandage: Belle.

  Hazard sighed. He knew how this routine went, and so he nodded and peeled off the backing.

  A few minutes later, footsteps in the hallway made the floor creak, and Noah poked his head into the bathroom. “Ok, what’s up? Oh.”

  “Not one word.”

  Noah actually gulped, but his grin was splitting his face.

  “Here,” H
azard said, holding out Rocio, who had now applied bandages to several other, less visible boo boos, including spots on her hand, her ankle, her neck, and her forehead.

  “Did you cut yourself shaving?” Noah asked with a smirk.

  “You’re lucky you’re holding a child,” Hazard said, pushing past Noah and heading for the stairs.

  When he got to the living room, Mitchell, the scrawny little asshole, started laughing so hard he curled up in a ball and pressed his face into a pillow. In the kitchen, Rebeca laughed too, covering it with a drink of wine, and Somers just grinned and toyed with his water glass. As Hazard joined them, Somers reached out, touching his face and arms, counting.

  “Seven Snow White Band-Aids,” Somers said. “One for each dwarf? Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Emery, you didn’t have to let her put those on you.”

  He just grunted and rested a hand on the back of Somers’s neck.

  “What’s it called when you have a fetish for made-up species?” Somers said. “Do you like elves? Do they do it for you too?”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Rebeca said. “You’re very sweet. And, just so you know, Snow White is her favorite, so she must really like you.”

  “What a relief.”

  Then Evie came around the corner, saw the bandages, and immediately needed some herself. She had a shocking range of hidden injuries, all the way from her big toe to her eyebrow, which required extensive application of princess bandages, which Rebeca retrieved from upstairs with another huge grin.

  While Hazard let his daughter sort princesses, Rebeca said, “So, are you guys crazy busy right now?”

  “Huh?” Somers said.

  “He’s playing dumb,” Hazard said, graciously—he thought—accepting a Briar Rose bandage across the bridge of his nose. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I’m not playing dumb,” Somers said. “The wedding isn’t until next year. The hardest part was getting a venue; everything else will be cake.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Hazard muttered.

  “Hmm?” Somers said, although his eyes were sharp. “What was that?”

  “Ok, ok,” Rebeca said. “We can talk about the wedding instead.”

  “Instead of what?” Somers said.

  “See,” Hazard said. “He’s playing dumb.”

  Emitting a low, frustrated noise, Somers splayed himself across the counter, his words slightly distorted from his face pressed to the granite. “Ok. I don’t want to talk about the election. Short version: it’s a total nightmare. Slightly longer version: yes, I feel like a loser for helping my dad’s campaign, but he’s Naomi’s only serious competition. I don’t want to have him as mayor. I don’t even really want to have him over for dinner. But he’s better than Naomi.”

  Rebeca’s gaze moved to Hazard.

  “Oh no,” Hazard said. “I officially have no opinion on this except that I fully support John in whatever he decides to do.”

  “He officially has no opinion,” Somers said, face still plastered against the granite, “but there has been a surprising number of the Federalist Papers left casually around the house. And a lot of Cicero. And something by John Milton.”

  Heat worked its way into Hazard’s cheeks. “Sometimes I forget to put away what I’m reading.”

  “Uh huh,” Somers and Rebeca said at the same time.

  “Noah’s been doing that with a lawnmower he wants to buy,” Rebeca said. “If I have to see one more diagram of a mulching bag, I’m going to lose my mind.”

  “I’d kill for a mulching bag,” Somers said.

  “Two more weeks, John,” Hazard said. “It’ll be over in two more weeks.”

  “Not soon enough,” Somers said.

  Hazard was about to reply when his phone rang; his mom’s name flashed on the screen, and he answered.

  “Emery?” Aileen Hazard’s voice had always been high and soft; in the last few years, it had taken on a crepe-paper thinness. “I don’t want you to worry, but we’ve had to take your father to the hospital.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  MARCH 25

  MONDAY

  7:11 AM

  SOMERS FOLDED ANOTHER PAIR of jeans, the ones he knew Hazard thought were comfortable because he wore them every weekend, all weekend, and packed them at the bottom of the duffel bag. Then he started going through Hazard’s long-sleeve tees and sweaters.

  In the bathroom, the buzz of Hazard’s razor cut off, and he poked his head through the doorway. His long, dark hair was wild from sleep. “Will you stop that?”

  “I just want you to be ready.”

  “John, it’s just a precaution. They kept him overnight; they’ll probably send him home today.”

  “I know.”

  “So stop.”

  “I just want you to be ready.”

  Hazard made a growly noise and pulled his head back into the bathroom. Somers found the sweatshirt that Hazard liked to jog in, the heavy flannel shirt that he liked to wear when the house felt too cold, the fuzzy socks that he insisted he didn’t like but, somehow, ended up on his feet Friday nights because “all my other socks were dirty.” Toiletries? Later. But what else would he need? Books. Hazard would need books. He’d probably be sitting in a shared hospital room, nothing to do but watch daytime TV, and that would be worse for Hazard than water boarding.

  “Where’s your Marcus Aurelius?” Somers shouted as he dug through another drawer.

  Hazard’s big hands slid down his arms, catching him at the wrist, and Hazard pulled him back. They stood like that, Somers’s back to Hazard’s chest, and then Hazard’s arms slid around Somers’s waist.

  “John,” and then he pecked Somers on the cheek. “Stop.”

  “Are you ok?” Somers tried to squirm so they were facing each other, but Hazard’s grip was too tight, so he had to settle for pressing the side of his face to Hazard’s, enjoying the grit of stubble that the electric razor had missed. “Ree, would you tell me if you weren’t? I’d be out of my mind. I don’t even like my dad and I’d be freaking out.”

  “You’re a very empathetic person.”

  “Don’t give me that. That works on other people, but not on me. You’re the most sensitive person I know. Uh. I mean. In a good way.”

  “Uh huh.”

  This time, Somers managed to wiggle around until they were facing each other. Looping his arms around Hazard’s neck, he said, “Are you? Ok, I mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my God. This is why men get a bad rap. Can you try to emote a little here?”

  Hazard had eyes the color of straw ready to burn; they widened slightly now. “Here are my top ten emotions right now, in order of magnitude: 1) worry about my dad; 2) fear for my dad; 3) might throw up; 4) hungry; 5) sleepy 6) in love with you; 7) curious about a passage I read in Seneca yesterday; 8) annoyed that half my clothes are in a duffel; 9) horny; 10) hungry. I listed it again because I’m really, really hungry.”

  “In love with me comes after might throw up, hungry, and sleepy?”

  Hazard’s scarecrow eyes got a little wider. Moving forward, he caught Somers against the dresser.

  “Shit, Ree, I can feel you, baby. Horny is definitely higher than number nine.”

  “I can rearrange the list,” Hazard said, bending to kiss Somers again. “And I’ve never seen you fold a shirt before.”

  Laughing, Somers got free, and when Hazard took another step in pursuit, he held out a hand. “No, sir. Stop right there. We’ve both got to go to work. Somebody’s got to pay for my extravagant wedding.”

  Hazard leaned on his elbow and cupped his crotch.

  “Not a chance.” Then Somers smirked. “Maybe tonight. If you’re good.”

  “But John,” Hazard said, his voice suddenly soft and broken. “I just feel so awful inside. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better.”

  Somers knew his face was a mask of shock; he couldn�
�t help it. And then, grinning like a maniac, he worked his tie loose and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “You’re going to hell,” he said as he turned himself out of the shirt. He shoved Hazard toward the bed and then grabbed his belt. “Manipulating me, using my sympathy against me. I’m worried about you, you big, dumb Neanderthal.”

  Hazard was working his shirt over his head, and he threw it across the room and fell back, strumming his fingers through the stiff, dark hairs across his chest. “Please, John,” he said in that same hopeless voice. “I just need you to make me feel alive again. Use your magic dick to make me better.”

  “Oh my God,” Somers groaned as he shimmied out of his pants. “We are both going to hell.”

  With a chuckle, Hazard dragged him onto the bed, rolling across the mattress with him. “At least we’ll be together,” Hazard said with a grin before yanking down Somers’s boxer briefs.

  The sex was hot, fast, and fantastic. So much so, in fact, that Somers had to shower again, and by the time he’d dressed and driven to work at the Wahredua Police Station, he was late. Dulac was already at their desks, tapping on the keyboard. He glanced up and then looked back at the screen.

  “Eww. Gross.”

  Somers glanced around, spotted the coffee, and changed direction. It was still too early in the morning to deal with Dulac.

  When he came back, though, Dulac was waiting for him.

  “Bro.”

  Somers stirred his coffee. Sweet and milky, the way he liked it.

  “Bro,” Dulac said again. “You have sex eyes, just so you know.”

  Don’t ask, Somers told himself. But instead, as he was powering up his computer, he said, “Ok, what are sex eyes?”

  “Uh, your eyes get all dreamy because you’re in love with Emery and you guys just banged one out.” Dulac turned back to the computer, pecking savagely at the keyboard.

  “There’s no such thing as sex eyes.”

  “Yes. There is. And you have them.”

  More vigorous tapping; it rattled the monitors. Then, with a furious exhalation, Dulac shoved himself away from the desk. The casters squeaked as Dulac rolled himself in his chair all the way across the bullpen to pick up something from the copier. Then he squeaked all the way back. At this hour of the morning, the station was busy with uniformed officers, civilian clerks, and Wahredua’s citizens. Barbara Samuelson was there, picking up Leonard Bint, one of Wahredua’s eminent town drunks, from the tank. Everyone understood that Barbara, who was on the Methodist Ladies’ Quilt and Supper Circle, had carried a torch for Bint for years, and Bint had reportedly been observed leaving the upstanding lady’s home in the early hours of the morning. When they passed each other on the street, though, they might as well have been strangers. Somehow, though, Dulac’s squeaky casters seemed loud enough to drown out everything else.