Art House

by Charley Descoteaux

  He shook his head and coughed out another sob.

  When Garrett fell forward, Chase scooped him up and carried him inside. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Gare.”

  Garrett hid his face in against Chase’s shoulder and talked, but Chase only understood a few words. He was more concerned with the blood and the way Garrett felt limp in his arms, aside from the way he trembled.

  On the fourth floor, Chase ran to the door, jouncing Garrett as little as possible, and kicked it. Kyle answered after another few kicks and moved aside immediately to let Chase enter.

  “What happened?”

  “He was out on the street, in the rain.” Chase felt like an idiot. What difference did it make that it was raining?

  Bran came out of the hallway, froze for a second, and then raced over. “Garrett, can you hear me? Garrett? Open your eyes if you can hear me.” He didn’t quite bark out commands, but the voice he used was obviously one that people obeyed. Despite how relaxed he’d seemed a few moments before, Bran sounded completely sober and hyperalert.

  Garrett looked like he struggled to open his eyes, and he flinched and groaned.

  “Don’t put him down. We’re going to the hospital.” Bran ran back the way he’d come and emerged from the bedroom holding his shoes.

  Chase started for the door, but Kyle told him to wait. Chase felt like a machine, like his mind had shut off and all he could do was hold Garrett and follow instructions. Bran stepped into his shoes as Kyle grabbed a throw from the couch and helped Chase wrap it around Garrett’s shivering body.

  The streets were still mostly deserted, so they arrived at the ER quickly and without incident. Garrett gripped his arm with surprising strength for a man who could barely open his eyes twenty minutes before. It broke Chase’s heart to let him go, but he wasn’t allowed to follow. One doctor, or nurse, or someone—Chase had no idea who they were and didn’t care—stayed behind to ask questions, beginning with what had happened.

  “I don’t know much. In the car, he said a man attacked him. Will he be okay?”

  “Did he lose consciousness?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Kyle rested a hand on Chase’s shoulder and squeezed, which was probably all that stopped him from repeating himself again or running through the doors after Garrett.

  By then Bran had finished parking the car and joined them. “His pupils were unequal, and he was light sensitive, so I thought it would be a good idea to have him checked out. As far as we know, he was at work in the West Hills this afternoon.”

  The man thanked Bran and disappeared through the doors where they’d taken Garrett. Even after the doors fell closed, Chase stared after him, his whole body aching with the need to follow.

  Kyle hadn’t moved his hand from Chase’s shoulder, and he squeezed again but Chase barely noticed. Kyle and Bran took him into the waiting room, and he paced for what felt like days, until a different person came out to tell them Garrett was being released. He looked small and pale in the wheelchair and was still trembling when Chase helped him into the back seat of Bran’s car.

  Garrett leaned heavily against Chase on the way up to the condo and didn’t say a word when they kept going through to the bedroom without stopping. Once Chase thought about it, he realized Garrett hadn’t said a word since he’d put him into the wheelchair at the hospital.

  Kyle followed. “If he feels any worse, wake us up and we’ll go back to the hospital. No matter what time it is, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Chase said as he helped Garrett into bed. He caressed Garrett’s cool, pale cheek and kissed his forehead.

  “Chase. A moment?” Kyle stood just inside the bedroom door, Bran in the hallway behind him. Kyle held his shoulders and shook him gently until he met his eyes. “He’s okay, Chase. The doctor said he’d be fine.”

  Chase nodded. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to collapse on the floor in a heap or take Bran’s car and go buy a crowbar to introduce to the side of the lawyer’s boyfriend’s head. “Tomorrow I’m going to the West Hills,” he whispered.

  “That’s not important right now. You take care of Garrett, and let us take care of that.” Kyle’s expression was kind, a little careful, but his eyes held a hard edge that surprised Chase. “I thought you had a reason for being vague in the ER…. I mean it, Chase, you’re not the one to confront him.”

  After a moment Chase nodded, thanked them both, and went back to Garrett. He sat on the bed, facing him.

  “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

  “No.” Garrett reached out and Chase took his shaking hand. “Come here.”

  Chase stripped down to his boxer briefs and helped Garrett out of his clothes before sliding into bed with him. They relaxed against the pillows, and Chase searched Garrett’s face, assessing his injuries. The doctor said Garrett had a concussion but that he didn’t think it was too serious. Chase’s experience with head injuries told him he should bring the wastebasket out in case Garrett got sick during the night, but he didn’t want to leave him alone to do it. His nose wasn’t broken, but until the swelling went down it was impossible to tell by looking. His left eye would probably be swollen shut by morning.

  After placing a few soft kisses wherever he could find a space that didn’t seem to be bruised or swollen or split, he clapped to turn off the lights, eliciting a groan from Garrett.

  “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

  IT CRACKED Chase’s heart every time he woke up to check on Garrett. He had to force himself not to wake him up just to ask how he felt—if his head hurt worse, if they needed to go back to the hospital. Garrett was a habitually light sleeper, so the fact that he hardly moved all night was frightening. Chase spent most of the night awake, hoping the doctor had been right, that Garrett would be okay, while his mind spun out scenarios where he wasn’t. Garrett didn’t even stir when Chase checked to be sure he was still breathing every few minutes.

  Garrett made it through that night and the three following without a word of complaint. If he was a little clingier than usual, that was to be expected, and Chase didn’t mind putting everything else on hold to take care of him. It was cliché, but he would have traded places if he could. Chase wished Garrett had left the bedroom, even once, but didn’t want to push. That never ended well.

  Late in the morning of day four, he realized Garrett had been in the bathroom a long time and called out, “Everything okay?”

  He only waited a few seconds with no answer before pushing the door open. Garrett was sitting in the corner where the tub met the wall, his head back and his eyes vibrating in their sockets. Chase slipped his hand behind Garrett’s head and would have lifted him into his arms if not for his low groan. It sounded like the word no.

  “What is it? Are you okay?”

  “Dizzy.” He panted and trembled, his head cold and sweaty. “Wait. Don’t move.”

  After another minute or so Garrett went limp, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Chase’s shoulder. He still panted, but Chase thought he heard more relief than fear in the sound.

  “Garrett?”

  “I’m okay.” He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. “Just got a little dizzy.”

  “You need help up?” Chase wasn’t sure what to do; give in to the urge to carry Garrett back to the hospital or wait and see what had just happened.

  “Not yet.” Garrett gripped Chase’s arm and squeezed. He felt shaky but not weak, so Chase waited. “Just need a minute.”

  Even after a few minutes passed, Chase stayed on the floor with Garrett, waiting. Relief mixed with the fear in his gut when Garrett turned his face up and smiled. His eyes had regained their focus, but he was so pale. And bruised.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Garrett still sounded a little breathless.

  Chase helped him up off the floor and took him back into the bedroom. Garrett protested but ultimately allowed himself to be put back to bed—on top of the made bed, which Chase saw as a large compromise on his p
art.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” Garrett made a halfhearted gesture of dismissal. Chase caught his hand in the air and held it in both of his own sweaty ones. “Just got a little dizzy.”

  “So that’s happened before? Why didn’t you say anything? Maybe you need to go back to see a doctor.”

  “No. It’s fine. It only lasts a minute or two. I looked it up. It’s normal.”

  “It’s—what do you mean normal?”

  “Goes with a concussion. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. I promise.” The smile Garrett aimed at Chase while he squeezed his hands didn’t shake at all, allowing Chase to relax. A little.

  GARRETT HID out in the bedroom for the next week. It made Chase anxious, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

  To be fair, he wasn’t exactly hiding. Garrett spent most of the time in bed but didn’t shrink from Kyle and Bran when they came in to check on him—on them—and bring food. What did seem strange to Chase, though, was that Garrett didn’t have one nightmare, didn’t flinch from his hand or from sudden movement or sounds.

  Not that I’ve tried to scare him.

  Garrett’s calmness in the face of, as he put it, getting his ass kicked, puzzled Chase. More than the suspicion he harbored that Garrett might have been relieved or even proud to have been punched out by that asshole. That attitude made Chase wonder, again, what life had been like with Garrett’s mom. Tiffany Frisch would never be one of Chase’s favorite people, and it had been obvious from the first week they met that Garrett was eager to leave his life with her. At the time Chase thought Garrett might have been more in lust with the idea of leaving her apartment than with him. Or at least as much.

  But Garrett hadn’t volunteered any information, and Chase hadn’t asked. To do so would have been inviting questions he didn’t want to answer.

  True to form, when Garrett left the bedroom, he left the condo entirely. Chase checked his phone when he woke up and found a text: CU at dinnertime. Thai? Greek? Mexican?

  The message was only two hours old, and Chase took another thirty minutes to consider whether he should ask. As soon as he hit Send, he cringed: Where are you? I’ll meet you somewhere for dinner.

  He’d meant to invite Garrett out to dinner—just the two of them—but the message sounded more like a jealous creeper checking up on his lover than something a romantic partner would send. If the shoe fits.

  In an hour he still hadn’t seen a reply, so he decided to get some work done and try again later. Only he was out of cad red and wouldn’t be finishing any canvases without it. It would be cheaper to order it online, but he didn’t want to wait, so he headed to Blick’s. The streetcar would have taken him almost to the front door, but Chase needed to walk. It hadn’t been long since he’d driven the pedicab, but already he felt himself sliding back into his old habits. He’d called and tried to quit the day after Garrett was assaulted, but the supervisor told him to take all the time he needed and then come back. The money was the only reason he said thanks and then hung up.

  I should just find a permanent day job. But I’m worthless at anything but painting.

  Driving the cab had been grueling, a job meant for a man at least ten and possibly twenty years younger, but it had been a good workout. He had been paid to exercise, and his tips always included a beer or three. If he had been tired most of the time, that was a small price to pay for the body he’d had. A little over a week and already it had started to soften. If Garrett noticed, he hadn’t said anything, but he wouldn’t. Too nice a guy to say “Hey, Chase, you’re looking older and flabbier than you were a few weeks ago.” As soon as it got too bad, Garrett would probably just leave.

  So Chase walked.

  Inside the store he picked up a basket even though his original intent had been to grab a single tube of cad red and go back to finish the last of the paintings for the three restaurants that let him hang there. Consignment wasn’t a bad way to keep food in the fridge, especially during tourist season, which seemed to have come early this year. The weather was crazy-warm and sunny and promised to get hot in a few days.

  Chase walked up and down the aisles, missing the comfortable feel of Art Media and the guys he used to know who had worked there, and pondering the weather, and found himself staring at high-end oils. Apparently somewhere so deep he’d been hiding it from himself, he wanted to paint someone’s portrait. Chase had worked in oils years ago, and not only for portraits. But after a particularly difficult stretch in which he could barely afford to eat regularly, he’d stuck with cheaper acrylics. They got the job done.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, Chase went for the Michael Harding oils in a familiar palette. He knew it was bad luck on the order of tattooing Garrett on his body, but he’d wanted to paint him since that first night they met, and Garrett had only gotten more handsome since. Chase’s heart pounded as he added a few more tubes of color and brushes to his basket and rushed to pay for it all. The total gave him a moment’s pause, but if he was going to start doing his own work again instead of spending all his time on landscapes meant to please tourists, skimping on materials was not the way to start.

  The guy behind the cash register almost looked familiar, but Chase didn’t know him. Too young. He’d been out of circulation for too long to know a guy who would probably think Garrett was old at twenty-seven. The cashier asked about his projects with a disinterested tone until Chase handed over his plastic.

  “Chase Holland? Really?”

  He laughed nervously. “Yeah.”

  “My dads have one of your paintings in their living room. The one with the dudes fucking in the tree. It’s cool.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Chase wanted to ask the guy to hurry and finish packing up his things but also didn’t. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had recognized his name. It hadn’t always been a novelty, but he’d veered off course somewhere. Back then, when he’d been on the rise—Chase had to halt his thoughts there, to school his expression so he wouldn’t laugh out loud in the kid’s face—every one of his paintings had contained a hidden gay couple in flagrante delicto. Even when the direct subject of the painting included a human figure or two, he still hid a couple somewhere.

  “What are you working on now?”

  “A portrait. What’s your medium?”

  “Acrylic mostly. Student, you know.” They nodded together. Obviously the kid wasn’t getting rich working in a retail store. “Say, if you’re free in a couple hours maybe we could grab a beer and talk about it.”

  The kid’s look said talking was probably low on his priority list. Chase guessed the kid would have let him buy the beer, though.

  “Not free, but thanks.”

  “I don’t see a ring.”

  Is this what getting cruised is like now?

  Chase shuddered but forced what he hoped was a friendly smile onto his face at the same time. “Not everyone who’s unmarried is free.”

  The kid shrugged but didn’t hide his disappointment at being turned down. Chase tried to hide the satisfaction that came on the heels of that realization.

  “Open invite.” The kid handed Chase his credit card and his bag. “See you.”

  Chase was tempted to say something friendly back but didn’t want to dick the kid around. He was cute and cool, but no sense in giving the impression of flirting back even if the ego boost was more than welcome. Instead Chase told him to have a good day and left. While he waited for the streetcar, he realized he was hungry, so instead of catching a ride north in the direction of the condo, he walked south toward a food cart pod with a good variety.

  When he got there he couldn’t decide what to eat, so he kept walking, thinking about the painting he would start as soon as he got home. A few blocks later, he saw men up on scaffolding, painting an advertisement for Colossal Media. The outline of a three-story-tall bottle of beer made him think about grabbing more than just a burger or a gyro, so it was definitely doing its job for the microbrewery.
As he got closer, something about one of the men caught his attention. He was slender and had a nice ass, and when he moved into a ray of sunlight, his hair lit up with an auburn halo.

  “Garrett?” Chase’s feet stopped on the sidewalk, and for a moment it felt like his heart had stopped too. But only for a moment. Chase ran into the parking lot next to the building where the men were working and stopped just shy of underneath the scaffolding, shouting Garrett’s name. Chase almost expected to see someone else’s face when Garrett turned around—please let it be someone else—but no. Garrett Frisch, the love of his life, was three stories up, standing on a two-by-four, just waiting for a dizzy spell to knock him onto the pavement below.

  “Garrett! Get the hell down from there. What are you doing?”

  “Chase?” Obviously he hadn’t expected to be seen. He looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. At least he’d had the presence of mind to grab on to something before he turned to look down.

  Before Chase could say anything else, a rather large man wearing coveralls and a paint-splattered baseball cap grabbed his arm. “Who are you, and why are you bothering Garrett?”

  “What? I’m Chase, his partner. Let go of me. I need to get him down from there.”

  “No. You need to back the hell off. And while you’re at it, you can explain why he looks like he’s been knocked around.”

  Chase looked up, but the scaffolding was empty. Striding toward him were the other two men who had been working on it. Garrett was nowhere to be seen.

  “Garrett!” Chase tried to find him, to go after him and make sure he was okay, but the rest of the crew surrounded him, holding him fast.

  It took a while for Chase to convince them he hadn’t put the bruises on Garrett’s face, and by then he was long gone.

  Chapter Four

  GARRETT HAD never been afraid to go through that door before, the door to the building where his best friend—best friend who isn’t Chase—lived. The building had a bad reputation for violence and drugs, but he’d never had any problems there. Not like the one he’d had in the West Hills two weeks before. He wasn’t sure which he felt worse about, that he’d left the condo and Chase—again—or that he would be showing up on Jess’s doorstep looking like he’d had his ass kicked. He hadn’t seen her for a few months—since the last time he’d run from his demons—but they’d been texting regularly, so he knew she still lived in the building. He only hoped his standing invitation would stay that way forever.