Treasure Trail

by Morgan Brice

  The bedroom had a king-sized bed, which Ben appreciated. At six foot one and a solidly muscled two hundred pounds, he liked room to stretch out. He’d brought his own comforter and sheets, which automatically made the place feel more like home and less like a hotel. While he waited for Sean to get out of the bathroom, Ben unboxed the books and put them on shelves, along with a few small knick-knacks from trips to Vegas, New Orleans, and New York.

  A faded photograph in a frame lay in the bottom of the box. Ben stared at it, an image of him and his mom, on a trip to the planetarium at the Newark Museum for his eighth birthday. It hurt him to see the smiles on their faces, knowing how soon everything would go so wrong.

  Erin O’Connor had been a good Catholic girl from a strict home when she’d gotten pregnant in high school. Her family forced her to marry her boyfriend, who hadn’t planned on a wife and a baby on the way at eighteen. Patrick Nolan took out his frustration with alcohol and his fists. Ben remembered Patrick as a mean-tempered drunk who smacked them both around until he walked out and didn’t return. Ben had been ten at the time, and he was surprised his dad had stuck around as long as he did.

  Erin felt the shame of being a single mother, and the judgment of a priest who told her Patrick’s abuse was her fault. A divorce meant she couldn’t receive Eucharist. She’d seen Ben as her redemption, pushing him to go into the priesthood. When he had finally rebelled at seventeen, on the grounds that he had no calling and was gay, Erin considered it the final indignity and threw him out. He’d moved in with Aunt Meg and Uncle Stewart while he saved up enough money to go to Newark to join the police department.

  So yeah, he owed Aunt Meg. Big time.

  He took the photo out of the box and placed it face down on the shelf in the back of his closet.

  “All yours,” Sean called as he headed down the hall to the guest bedroom.

  Ben grabbed a towel and rummaged through his clothes to find something to wear. Newark was solidly a jeans and T-shirt city. Wildwood was board shorts and knock-off Hawaiian shirts. Cape May had a prep school vibe, a reminder of the Northeast money that had built the huge Victorian homes and flocked to the seaside at the turn of the last century.

  He finally picked a black polo that played up his green eyes and short dark hair, and a nicer pair of jeans he saved for going out. He liked the way they fit, even if he didn’t expect anyone else to notice. The shirt sleeves were short enough to reveal some of his tats, mostly Celtic designs and protective symbols that seemed like a good idea in a dangerous job. You can take the gay boy out of the Catholic Church, but you can’t take the Church out of the gay boy.

  The shower felt good, easing sore muscles from carrying boxes, and cleaning away the sweat. Ben was just glad to do the move in mid-May before it warmed up. He got out, toweled off, and paused when he caught sight of his scars in the mirror.

  Two pink, round scars that would likely never fade. He’d refused to wear a protective vest because he didn’t want to give himself away as an undercover cop. The traitor had done a good enough job doing that. Ben didn’t remember the worst of it, but Aunt Meg did. She was his designated next of kin, the ICE contact on his phone.

  Ben pulled on his clothes and gave himself the once-over. He was resigned to the faint lines starting at the corner of his eyes. He’d earned them, and felt lucky to have lived long enough to show his age a little.

  Ben ran a hand through his hair. Now that I’m not a cop or a PI, I could grow it out again. He’d kept his hair long when he was undercover, but he didn’t really want to be reminded of those days every time he looked in the mirror. The fade he sported worked with his thick dark hair, and it was simple to manage without a lot of fuss.

  “Are you ready? Since when do you take time to primp?” Sean teased when Ben walked out to the living room. One look at Sean, and he wondered why he bothered to stress about his clothing choices. Sean wore a T-shirt that strained across his sizable pecs and a pair of skinny jeans.

  “And you look like an extra from Real Housewives,” Ben shot back.

  Sean shrugged. “I may have been raised in Cape May, but I’ve always been more Wildwood at heart.” His phone buzzed, and he glanced down. “The guys are here. Let’s go!”

  Three men waited for them at the curb, next to a sleek red Camaro. “All right! You made it!” Sean greeted them. “Guys, this is my cousin Ben, the one I told you about.”

  The redhead looked Ben over. “The cop?”

  “Ex-cop,” Ben clarified.

  “Ben, this is Darius, Taylor, and Mateo. We have an apartment together up in Wildwood.”

  Taylor, the redhead, wore his curly hair long over skin so pale Ben wondered how he didn’t fry to a crisp working a beach job. Mateo was stocky with two full sleeves of impressively inked tats. Darius, tall, slender and dark-skinned, looked like the quiet one of the bunch.

  “Nice to meet you,” Ben said. “Do you all have food trucks?”

  They broke out laughing. “If I wanted to slave over a hot stove, I’d have stayed home and worked at my abuela’s restaurant,” Mateo said. “Are you kidding? I live for ink.” He showed off his sleeves. “I’ve got a good spot in the hottest tattoo shop on the boardwalk, but one of these days I’m going to open my own place. I figure if this loser can buy a truck, anything’s possible!” He shoulder-checked Sean, who pushed back playfully, and the whole group laughed.

  “I’m a bartender at Tahiti Tiki,” Taylor said. “The cocktail prices are high enough that we don’t attract the puking college kids. Better tips, too.” From the look on his face, Ben figured Taylor had worked his way up from places that drew a different crowd.

  “I’m a lifeguard,” Darius said with a shrug. “It’s boring until there’s an emergency, and then it’s boring again.”

  “Pretty much sums up being a cop, too,” Ben said. “But more doughnuts.”

  The Spike was about a mile away, but a pleasant ocean breeze and a clear night made for a nice walk. In a couple of weeks, more cars and pedestrians would crowd the streets and sidewalks. Cape May wasn’t a town for cruising. Nobody circled the block unless they couldn’t find the perfect spot to park their BMW or Tesla.

  Sean and his friends laughed and joked, with the kind of comfortable familiarity that came from long experience—and probably shared adversity, Ben thought. He hung back, feeling more like a world-weary older brother than part of the group, although they were all close to the same age. The four weren’t being overly loud, but they still drew a few disapproving looks from older couples dining on hotel patios, and Ben wondered if the diners were the kind to call the cops on anyone they thought didn’t look like they belonged. If so, it would be a mistake. Sean was born and raised in Cape May, and his parents had run the rental business for more than twenty years. He belonged, far more than any tourist.

  Will I ever actually belong here? Ben had grown up in Newark. For as much as the city was often the butt of jokes—not as much as Trenton, but often enough—he’d met a lot of good people and felt at home. Cape May was a tourist town, a little buttoned-up, but still welcoming to the LGBT community. Maybe with time, he’d find his place. Ben hoped so, because he had no intention of going back to Newark.

  “So Sean said you’re going to run the rental business, and spring him so he can keep his truck going full-time,” Mateo said.

  Ben realized he’d trailed the others, staying quiet, and appreciated the effort Mateo was making to include him. “Yeah. I’m trying it out for the season, and if it all goes well…we’ll see what happens.”

  Mateo nodded. “You’re smart to keep your options open. See how it feels. Me, I like the energy at the boardwalk. Always something going on.” He grinned. “And I don’t think there’s as much call for tattoos here.”

  “You’re probably right,” Ben agreed with a laugh.

  “I noticed your ink,” Mateo said. “You get that done in Newark?”

  “Yeah. I had a guy who did nice work. I gave him a lot of business.” />
  “That’s good, when you find someone you trust. The tattoo business, it’s all about trust. My customers, they have to trust me to keep things clean, so nobody gets sick. And they trust me not to fuck up their designs. Nobody wants a crappy tattoo.”

  “I’ve been thinking about maybe getting some more work done. If I do, I’ll look you up.” Ben didn’t think he’d be adding anything right away, but Rod, his regular artist, warned him ink was addictive. Ben hadn’t believed him then, but one look in the mirror when he was shirtless proved Rod had been right.

  “Do it. I’ll give you my friends and family discount,” Mateo promised.

  Ben couldn’t help sizing up his new companions, a side effect from all those years as a cop. Sean and Taylor were the extroverts, egging each other on, joking and laughing. Darius and Mateo chimed in now and then, clearly part of the group, but they weren’t quite as boisterous, or maybe they just were okay with playing wingmen and letting Sean and Taylor do their thing.

  Ben wondered how it would go when they got to The Spike. Sean had been bi—or maybe pan—since high school. He had no idea about Taylor, Mateo, and Darius, although if they were used to going out on the town with Sean, they clearly didn’t have a problem with Sean’s choice in partners. Ben had no intention of cruising the bar for a hookup, and he doubted the other men had that in mind tonight. That took the pressure off and made Ben relax, just a little.

  Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to lighten up. It’s been a long time.

  Ben shook off his thoughts, reminded himself that he was lucky to have family, a job, and a place to live, and decided that he would have a great time with Sean and his friends at The Spike tonight if it killed him.

  Three

  Erik

  After Susan went home, Erik got in the shower and washed away the stress of the day. He reminded himself that he had no intention of bringing his date home with him, let alone making out in a dark corner at the bar. He said he was open to friendship and seeing where it goes. So…that’s all I’m offering. If we hit it off, we’ll take it from there.

  Still, it had been a long time since he’d been on a date. He and Josh had been together for three years, and Erik had been seriously considering popping the question—before he found Josh popping Lee’s cherry. In the months since then, he’d kept to himself. But Susan was right. New town, new beginnings. And it wouldn’t hurt to make some friends.

  So he took a bit more care than usual with his blond hair. After he walked away from the fraud and forgery unit—an interagency collaboration between U.S. and European law enforcement entities—he let his hair grow longer on top. He’d kept it shorter to fit in with the agents, most of whom were ex-military. Erik hadn’t worn it longer since graduate school, so the style felt rebellious and a bit like reliving happier days. That, and Josh hadn’t cared for this style, but Erik thought it looked good.

  Screw what Josh thought. I’m over him.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

  Erik sighed. Both were a little true. He was long past wanting Josh back. But the hurt still felt fresh and sharp at the damnedest moments, usually when he thought he was finally getting his shit together. Maybe the best way to forget an old lover was by taking a new one. Erik had kept himself so busy tying up the loose ends of his old life and getting ready to move that he hadn’t had time to think. Nice coping strategy, an inner voice mocked.

  He refused to let his nerves—or the past—get the best of him. Erik went into his closet and found a navy button-down that brought out the blue in his eyes, and a faded pair of skinny jeans that showed off his ass. He didn’t intend to sleep with David, but it certainly didn’t hurt to showcase the goods.

  Erik had been to the restaurant part of The Spike on his first visit to Cape May, but that was during the winter, and the fire pit and outdoor bar hadn’t been open. So he knew where to head, and was glad that the bar was in walking distance, which meant he didn’t need to call for a ride. He tried to imagine what the town would look like once tourist season was in full swing. He’d gone to Myrtle Beach a few times on Spring Break, but Cape May had a totally different vibe. Erik looked forward to seeing the beach resort come alive.

  Maybe it’ll resuscitate me, too.

  He’d kept himself busy with a whirlwind of activity because he hadn’t wanted to face how empty Josh’s betrayal had made him feel. Sometimes, Erik was afraid he’d never feel anything again. Then a hint of excitement about Cape May and starting up the Treasure Trail blog gave him hope that, in time, he might find his way back to feeling passionate about something—and maybe, someone.

  The Spike opened onto the sidewalk with the enclosed restaurant on one end, the outdoor bar in the middle with its back to pedestrians, and a large sandy area on the other side. Fire pits, Adirondack chairs, a small stage for performers, and wooden corn hole games gave the bar the feel of a well-attended beach party.

  Erik resisted the urge to check his hair in the reflection of a darkened window as he approached the bar. His hands were sweating. Shit. I haven’t been this nervous since the first time I asked a guy out.

  “It’s just a drink,” he muttered to himself. “That’s all. No big deal.”

  Erik walked up to the outdoor bar and found a seat with an empty stool next to it. He checked the time on his phone and saw that he was five minutes early. That’s okay. Good to be on time, but not so early it looks desperate if he’s watching.

  He’d glanced out over the crowd and hadn’t seen anyone who matched the picture on the app. Maybe David liked to saunter in right on time. Erik forced himself to relax.

  “Whatcha drinkin’?” the bartender asked.

  “Give me the Cape May IPA,” Erik replied, having at least looked up the local brew. He preferred wine—and the area had some nice local wineries—but he didn’t want to look pretentious. And since he wanted to keep a clear head, cocktails and shots were out. Beer was neutral. I’m overthinking this.

  “You starting a tab?” the bartender asked when he brought the drink.

  “Yeah. I’m meeting a friend. Sure.”

  The bartender nodded and walked off. Just as Erik lifted the can, a man slid onto the stool next to him.

  “Can’t believe the traffic around here, huh?” the stranger said with a grin. He flagged the bartender like a regular and ordered a Dogfish Ale.

  “It’s practically bumper to bumper,” Erik replied, although only a handful of cars had passed on his walk to the bar.

  “Can’t wait to see what it’s like when the season starts. Hope it picks up.”

  Erik shifted on his seat to get a look at his new companion. Short dark hair, a bit of scruff, and bright green eyes made him catch his breath. Broad, muscled shoulders filled out the black polo, tapering to a trim waist. The edge of a pattern in dark ink showed just below the shirt’s short sleeves. Erik caught a whiff of burnt orange and cedar that went right to his groin Hot damn.

  “You’re not from here?” Erik had gotten the idea from David’s profile that he had lived in Cape May for a while.

  “Nah. Barely had time to unpack. I’m from Newark. Just here temporarily, helping out my aunt. You?” the guy said.

  The bartender brought the man his Dogfish, and he paid cash with a good tip. Maybe I shouldn’t have opened a tab. He doesn’t look like he’s planning to stay long. Shit. Did I manage to disappoint him already?

  “Here and there lately, but South Carolina originally,” Erik replied.

  The man snorted. “Oh, you’re gonna love the winters. Hope you packed your long johns. That sea wind’ll cut you to the bone.”

  “Well, at least the food is good,” Erik answered. He’d forgotten how bad he was at small talk. Still, David hadn’t run yet, so maybe he was doing all right. “I’ve eaten here a couple of times. Their breakfast is amazing.”

  The man leaned back and seemed to just now notice his new companion. Erik felt the stranger’s gaze rake over him like he could see every sin and desire. He fought a shi
ver at the appraisal that laid him bare. “Yeah? Good to know. I never turn down bacon.” His smile eased the tension.

  “Me, neither. So David, how does Cape May compare to Newark?”

  The handsome stranger startled. “I’m not David. I think you have the wrong guy.”

  Fuck. “I’m sorry,” Erik apologized. “I’m supposed to meet someone here, and you look a lot like his picture.”

  The stranger didn’t say anything, but Erik could practically see the pieces of the puzzle assembling in the man’s mind. Picture = dating app = hookup.

  “Ah, no. Sorry to disappoint.” He licked his lips as if the mix-up made him uncomfortable. “So, I guess I’d better free up the chair for your date. I need to go anyhow.” His discomfort vanished behind a smirk. “Hope your evening has a very happy ending.”

  With that, the man slid off the stool, grabbed his beer, and walked over to where four men waited near the corn hole game. One of the men slung an arm over the stranger’s shoulder and pulled him in against his side. Since all of the men were holding drinks, Erik guessed they’d been here for a while.

  He turned back to the bar, not wanting the stranger to catch him watching. Still, Erik thought the man didn’t quite seem to fit with his companions or the Jersey Shore tough guy who stood too close to be just a friend. Damn. He was hot—and just my type. Fuck. It’s like they say—all the good ones are taken.

  “Are you Erik?” The voice at his elbow nearly made Erik spill his beer.

  “Yeah. Are you David?” This time, Erik intended to be certain.

  “Yep. Sorry I’m late.” David scooted onto the stool and leaned forward to catch the bartender’s attention. “You got Nattie Light?” he called to the bartender, who was cashing out a tab.

  While David focused on getting a drink, Erik gave him the once-over. The picture didn’t exactly lie, but it was probably a couple of years old. A couple of hard years. David‘s wrinkled shirt and mussed hair suggested that he hadn’t bothered to make an effort to look his best. In person, there was an edge that didn’t come across in the photo.