by Gregory Ashe
“Then fucking do it and quit talking about it.”
The doorbell rang again.
Somers moved through the house, trailing one hand on the wall to steady himself. He got to the door. He opened it.
Nico Flores, Hazard’s ex-boyfriend, stood on the porch. He was tall, coltishly long-limbed, and staggeringly handsome. He ran a hand through shaggy hair and smiled at the ground as he said, “Hi, John-Henry. Is Emery home?”
“Now’s not a good time, Nico.”
“Oh. I just had—” He lifted a paper bag. “I know he likes those Cadbury eggs, and I wanted to drop some off.”
Everything inside Somers was singed and raw. He couldn’t take his anger out on Hazard—not the way he wanted to, not without burning whatever they had left to the ground. But Nico was here. Pretty Nico. Petty, selfish, spoiled Nico. Right here on his front porch. Wrapped up like a Cadbury egg.
“Let’s talk for a minute,” Somers said, stepping out and pulling the door shut behind him. Nico backed up, but Somers followed him until Nico stepped off the porch, and then Somers was looking down at him. He put his hands on his hips. He took up as much space as he could.
“Look, I just wanted to drop off some chocolate.”
“Bullshit.”
“He likes them, John-Henry. I know he does.”
“Nico, you, coming around here like this, sniffing after Hazard, your nose practically up his asshole, this isn’t about candy.”
Red flared in Nico’s cheeks. “Hey, what the hell?”
“Yeah, what the hell? We’ve really tried to be cool about this. I’ve tried to be cool about this. I know things have been bad for you lately. You got pulled in on that murder charge; that messes with your head. I get it. And Emery, he’s a great guy. He cleared you of the murder charge. He took care of you. Protected you. That has a lasting impact, I know. So you come around for dinner with friends. You call—just to say thank you, I know. But you call a lot. You bring over clothes and DVDs and one time, you brought dinner. Now it’s chocolates.”
“I’m sorry,” Nico said, his pretty face in a twist. “I’m just trying to show how grateful I am.”
“Bull,” Somers said slowly, drawing out the word, “shit. You’re here because you heard Emery and I split, and you’re moving in. If I look in that bag, what am I going to find? Flowers? Wine? Lube? Rubbers?”
Somers reached, and Nico staggered back a step.
“Thought so,” Somers said, stepping down from the porch. “Now, because I’m really feeling shitty today, I’m going to—”
But before Somers could finish, the door opened behind him.
“All right,” Hazard said, a jacket held loosely in one hand as he came toward them. “We’re headed out. I was going to have Noah and Rebeca watch Evie, but if you’re free . . .”
Somers stared at him.
After another moment limped past, Hazard added, “. . . maybe you could stay with her instead?”
Somers was still staring.
“John? Is that a yes?”
“Yeah, I can—wait, what are you doing?”
Hazard breezed past him, catching Nico’s arm and steering him toward the sedan parked on the street. “I told you,” Hazard called over his shoulder. “I’ve got plans.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARCH 27
WEDNESDAY
5:08 PM
HAZARD WAITED UNTIL they’d driven three blocks, and then he grabbed the door latch and said, “Pull over.”
“What?” Nico said. “No way—Emery, stop. I’m driving.”
“That’s why I said pull over.”
Nico nudged the car up to the curb, but when Hazard opened the door, he grabbed Hazard’s wrist.
“Hey, hold on.”
“I don’t think so. I wanted to make a point; now I’ve done that. Goodbye, Nico.”
But Nico didn’t let go. “You used me?”
“Of course I used you, Nico. I’m trying to make John hurt every fucking bit as much as he hurt me.”
Then Hazard heard the words. He sat back heavily in the seat; the car, which was about the size of a tuna can, rocked under his weight. He put a hand—the hand Nico wasn’t currently latched on to—over his face.
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah, um. Yeah.”
“Oh shit.” Hazard peeled his hand away from his face. The day didn’t look any different than it had before: cars built into steady traffic ahead of them, where this residential street joined one of the main thoroughfares through Wahredua. It was the little town’s version of rush hour, with everybody racing home to their families. Through the open door, spring air rushed into the car. It was cooling rapidly, and it carried the sweetness of exhaust and fresh grass clippings.
“Why don’t I drive you back home?” Nico said.
“No. God, no. Absolutely not.”
“Ok, but you seem upset.” Nico took a big gulp of air and squared his shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Oh my God,” Hazard said, unable to keep the tone of horror out of his voice.
For a moment, Nico’s face flickered between injured pride and something else. And then he started to giggle. Hazard wasn’t sure why, but the laughter unknotted something inside him, and a moment later, a slapstick grin was pasted across his face, and then he was pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying not to fall apart. He might start laughing, but he was pretty sure he’d end up crying, and he couldn’t stand the thought of doing that in front of Nico. There wasn’t anything he could do about that crazy grin, though.
When Nico stopped laughing, Hazard took a few more moments to make sure he was under control, and then he dropped his hands.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok,” Nico said with a shrug. “Honestly, it was kind of my nightmare too.”
“I’m sorry I—” Hazard made a gesture to take in the car, their conversation, everything. “I’ll just go for a walk, I think.”
“Look, I know you just came with me to, you know, whatever. But we really could go get dinner.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Did you guys break up?” The question had a strange edge to it. Not a challenge—or not a challenge for Hazard anyway. Somers would have understood, Hazard thought. And Somers could have explained it.
But Hazard just shook his head.
“Ok, then, what’s the big deal? We’re kind of friends. I mean, we’re becoming friends. Right? You helped me with that murder charge, and you did a great job handing me my butt when I was rude. Now we go to the same parties. We even talk to each other without screaming sometimes.” A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Like right now.”
Right then, Hazard found himself thinking something unexpected: Nico wasn’t a bad guy. He was a kid. He did dumb, kid things. But that’s because he was a kid. He sprawled in the driver’s seat, always seeming like he took up too much space with those long limbs, everything about him knees and elbows. He wore a simple tank with a unicorn farting rainbows, shorts that barely reached the middle of his thighs, and flip flops. He had goosebumps, Hazard realized, and he reached over and shut the car door.
“Is that a yes?” Nico said, his smile getting bigger.
“Put this on,” Hazard said, shoving the jacket at him. “Why the hell can’t you put on some clothes when you go outside?”
Nico’s smile just got bigger as he slipped into the jacket. “You know,” he said, guiding the car back into the flow of traffic, “I never did get to try the food at Moulin Vert, and—”
“No. Nothing romantic. This is not a date.”
“I know it’s not a date. We just talked about that.”
“Then don’t suggest places we used to go on dates.” Hazard tried to think of the least romantic food possible. “Chicken wings.”
“What?”
“Chicken wings. You know, buffalo wings. Fried. And
potato skins. And—” His brain scrambled. “Mozzarella sticks.”
“Ok,” Nico said, drawing out the word. “That’s not really how you normally eat.”
“I’m living on the edge,” Hazard said flatly, dropping back against the seat and staring out the passenger window.
“How about the Bone Bucket?” Nico said. “Is that not-romantic enough for you?”
Hazard grunted, and with a sigh, Nico, turned at the next intersection.
They drove in quiet for a while, although they didn’t have far to go. The Bone Bucket was near Wroxall, managing to straddle the line between a family restaurant and a dive bar pretty successfully. Minimalist décor, featuring massive televisions that showed a variety of sports, but the crowd was mostly college kids and young families. This early, business hadn’t picked up, and the hostess took Nico and Hazard to a booth near the front window. People passing by glanced at them once or twice, and Hazard felt a flush prickle through him.
“Relax,” Nico said, opening a menu. “Nobody thinks we’re on a date. Nobody’s going to call John-Henry and report you. Besides, you told him, didn’t you? I mean, he saw us drive off together.” He scanned the menu for a moment and then laughed, speaking again without looking up. “I guess I’m the one who should be worried. Marcus is already so mad at me, and he’s going to lose his mind when he hears that you and I went out.”
“We didn’t go out.”
“Oh my God, Emery, it’s just an expression. People go out to dinner, too. They don’t just go out on dates.”
The heat climbed higher in Hazard’s face. He didn’t know why he was doing this, not really, except that it had felt so fucking good to shove it in Somers’s face and then, when he had realized how shittily he was treating the man he loved, he couldn’t stand the thought of being alone. He glanced at the menu, but he could barely read the words.
“Hi, gentlemen.” Their waiter was young, blond, gay, and probably barely twenty-one. He looked so fucking pepped Hazard wouldn’t have been surprised to see the kid run straight through a plate-glass window. “My name’s Toby. What can I—oh, hey, Nico.”
Hazard looked up in time to see Nico’s face turn red, and it was obvious that he was struggling not to slide under the table.
“Hey, Toby.”
Toby’s gaze slid toward Hazard and held a moment too long.
“Can I fucking help you?” Hazard said.
Nico groaned.
“Sorry, I’m Nico’s friend. And you must be Detective Hazard.”
“No,” Hazard said, turning back to the menu.
Toby glanced between them like his head was on a swivel.
Nico groaned again. “Toby, I want, um, this Blanc de Blancs, ok? Draft. And—Emery, what do you want?”
Hazard was still having trouble focusing on the menu; every time he tried to read, his mind would slip back to the look on Somers’s face when he’d said, I’ve got plans.
“Emery?”
He shook his head, his face heating even more.
“Oh my God,” Toby whispered with something approaching glee.
“He wants this Abraxas, barrel-aged, ok? And mozzarella sticks. And potato skins. And—a couple of orders of hot wings.”
“Six or twelve?” Toby asked.
Hazard could sense Nico looking at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to engage.
“Twelve,” Nico finally said with a note of desperation.
“Hot, medium, or mild,” Toby asked, swishing his hips to lean against the table and look down at them.
“One hot, one mild. Come on, Toby, we just need a little space.”
“Oh,” Toby said, swishing his hips again. “I’m sorry, sir. I hope I didn’t bother you, sir. I’ll just go put this order in and get your drinks, sir.”
As Toby twitched his twinkie hips toward the kitchen, Nico groaned and laid his face on the table.
“Marcus is going to kill me. Actually, that might not be so bad. This is so embarrassing.”
Hazard dropped the menu, glad he could stop pretending, and stared out the window. People moved past in a steady stream; this part of the city was a mixture of commercial and residential, all of it new construction, and had regular foot traffic.
“I’m sorry,” Hazard finally said. “Look, this was nice of you, but I didn’t realize I’d be putting you in a bad spot. We can go.”
Nico didn’t lift his head, but he did roll it to one side, staring up at Hazard through shaggy hair. “What’s going on?”
“What?”
“Who are you really?”
“What are you talking about?”
“A real, genuine apology? Who is this guy I’m sitting across from?”
“Very funny.”
But Nico sat up then, smiling, and he didn’t seem too bothered when Toby came back and made a production of fussing over them and their drinks and the table, taking as long as humanly possible. Nico barely even seemed to register him, and when Toby left, he was swishing like a cat with its tail in a mousetrap.
“So you’re really different with him, huh?”
Hazard inched closer to the glass; he rested the back of his hand against it, grateful for the cool. The answer spilled out of him, a low ripple he couldn’t dam up. “We’ve been through a lot. I think I’m different in general. But yeah, I guess I’m different with him. I’m sorry; I know I didn’t always treat you very well.”
Instead of an outburst, though, Nico waved a hand. “Neither of us acted very well sometimes. But sometimes we did, right? I mean, it wasn’t all bad.”
Hazard nodded. “Why are you dating Marcus?”
In the middle of a drink of his beer, Nico started coughing and choking, and then it took him almost a full minute to settle down and wipe his mouth. “Oh my God. Why are you asking?”
“Because he’s an asshole. I don’t think he’s good for you. And I know you can do better.”
“Yeah, funny thing about that,” Nico said and took another drink of beer.
“What?”
Nico stared at him blankly.
“What’s funny about that?” Hazard prompted.
“Well, obviously I can’t do better. You remember Chase? The barback? I screwed everything up with him. I always screw things up.”
“You’re a great guy—”
“No, I don’t want to do that.” Nico leaned in, suddenly speaking rapidly. “Hey, can I say something? I know it’s totally out of line. I know I don’t have any right. But I really need to say it, ok? Here goes: everybody in town is talking about you guys splitting. A lot of people think it’s because he’s getting back with Cora. I mean, nobody who knows either of them personally has said that to me, but it sounded weirdly . . . believable. And, I mean, honestly, I was happy in a petty-as-all-get-out way. But then I started thinking about it, and that’s why I came over tonight. To talk. I just—I just wanted you to know that I know what that feels like. How shitty it feels when something else comes into your relationship and suddenly you’re not the center anymore. How you can’t even compete with it, because it’s so much bigger and more powerful than you.” Tears slid down Nico’s cheeks, and he wiped them away. “And I’m not saying it as some kind of jab about us. I’m not trying to start a fight. Anyway, you’re not broken up, so I guess it’s silly. But I still wanted to tell you. I don’t know. I guess because you look so sad.”
Hazard watched him continue wiping tears. “Nico, what happened between us, when John and I—”
“I know,” Nico said with a blubbery laugh, wiping the words away. “I told you, I’m not saying it—oh man, I don’t even know why I said it, ok? I just started thinking about you, and I thought you should hear that. It hurts. You’re allowed to let it hurt.” He took a couple of deep swallows of beer and then wiped his mouth again. “Anyway, it’s pointless because you said you guys are fine. And I feel really awful right now, so I’m going to go. I’ll just leave some money and—”
<
br /> “Nico, come on.”
But Nico was crying harder than ever, throwing bills down, and then he walked jerkily toward the exit, checking Toby with his shoulder in his haste. Toby shot him a nasty look, steadied the tray of fried food, and then carried it over to Hazard.
“What’s your boyfriend’s problem?”
Hazard looked up at him.
Toby turned the color of old cheese, squeaked, and scurried away.
Hazard stared at the food in front of him, thinking about Glennworth Somerset weaseling into the heart of his relationship with Somers, pushing Hazard to the fringe. Displacing Hazard. So it was clear who mattered most to Somers. What mattered most. Hazard sat there for a long time, thinking. And then he went home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MARCH 27
WEDNESDAY
7:18 PM
SOMERS PLAYED HIDE-AND-GO-SEEK with his daughter after Hazard left. She was only three years old, and he had a pretty good track record of winning. Not tonight. He stumbled down the empty hallways of the house, his bare feet slapping the wood, and he’d laugh and call Evie’s name, making a big production out of opening doors and racing in violent bursts, the floor shuddering, to let her know he was looking. And Evie would giggle and call to him—the whole concept of hiding was a little wobbly still—and he’d have to act surprised when he finally dragged her out from wherever she’d been hiding: behind her bedroom door; crouched under the bottom shelf of the linen closet; once, when even Evie must have realized she hadn’t chosen the best spot, from inside the toy refrigerator that accompanied the play kitchen. She couldn’t quite fit, and her fat legs poked out like drumsticks.
But Somers’s rhythm was off tonight. He’d be halfway down the hall, roaring like a monster while she giggled, and then memory would force its way into his brain like a jackass kicking through a barn door. Nico’s face, for example. He’d be roaring, monster-style, and then he’d see Nico’s face when Hazard took him by the arm, Nico’s face incandescent at Hazard’s touch. And then the big, stumbling monster steps became real stumbles, and Somers would crash up against a door jamb, his chest hurting so badly that once he sat down and flexed his arm, checking for numbness, wondering if this was the Big Kahuna—at thirty-five.