Pop didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”
Diego whispered, “I see exactly how you got so . . . you.”
Nash winked at Healey. “I am taking that as a compliment.”
Healey watched his brother’s occasional sly glances at his phone. Somewhere Spencer was out there missing Nash. Texting him. Healey was lucky Nash was the kind of brother to drop everything for family, but he didn’t want Nash to spend all his time stamping out the little bonfires in everyone else’s life at some unknown cost to his own.
At some point, Nash ought to have a life too.
Nash read him like the phone book, reaching out with one sneaker-clad foot to give Healey’s ankle a sharp kick.
“Don’t overthink.”
Healey sighed. Shot a look Diego’s way and found warm brown eyes regarding him thoughtfully.
“You okay?”
“Sure.” Healey nodded, eyes growing heavy. His head lolled and he drifted off.
When Diego’s phone gave a loud squawk, he woke again.
The film was over. Fjóla and Pop were no longer in the room. A glance at the clock on the wall said it was almost suppertime.
From farther away, productive cooking noises came from Fjóla’s sleek, small kitchen.
“Have a nice nap there, sunshine?” Nash asked.
Healey blinked. “Must have been more tired than I thought.”
“My stepdad sent a text,” Diego murmured. “He wants us to come down.”
“So there’s something to what Ford said?” Healey asked.
“From what I understand, Ford’s lawyers want to depose you, preemptively.”
Nash sat forward. “What does that mean, ‘preemptively’?”
“They want to find out what Healey will say if this goes to court in a civil trial.”
“I’m going to tell the truth.” Healey’s eyes stung. “What else would I say?”
Diego hesitated before saying, “One of the men from the truck chasing you suffered a traumatic brain injury. He’s still in a coma. Did you know that?”
He was going to be sick. “I—I haven’t followed the news to find out their condition, no. They terrorized us for thirty miles at high speeds. Can I get a glass of water?”
“I have pop, will this do?” Diego handed him his can.
Healey drank gratefully.
“Do we have to do this right now?” Healey asked.
“Ford terrorized you inside the car. If you don’t talk about that—”
“First I’ve heard of this,” said Nash. “What the fuck, man? What the hell happened that night?”
“I’ll talk when I’m supposed to.” He glared at Diego, who merely shrugged.
“Your family is probably exempt from the gag order.”
“Never mind that gag shit,” said Nash. “What is Diego talking about?”
Healey hesitated before admitting, “Ford wouldn’t stop when I asked. Wouldn’t let me call the police. It’s over, yeah?”
“What do you mean he wouldn’t let you call?” Nash visibly tensed. “How could he stop you?”
“He threw my phone out the window, okay?”
If Nash’d seemed shocked before, now he was furious. “Christ. Heals.”
“I see where your mind is going with this. It’s not—”
“That makes you some kind of hostage. Did you ask him to let you out?”
“Gee, no. I guess I didn’t think of it during the eighty-mile-an-hour car chase we were having with rednecks out to beat us into mochi.”
Nash blew like an angry cartoon bull. “I’m going to ignore your sarcasm in favor of—”
“Rational discourse?” Healey asked. “Since when can you even manage such a thing without jumping to—”
“I’m jumping to conclusions?” Nash thumped his chest. “Because I have new information you did not—”
“I didn’t see fit to share it because I knew you’d act like this.”
“Whoa.” Diego mimed cut. “Twin powers, de-activate. One person finishes his own sentence. Then the other one speaks. That’s how it’s done.”
Pop stood in the doorway, looking at all three of them with benign affability. He sighed. “It’s the first act of the screaming twin show. I know it by heart.”
“How does it end?” Diego asked. “Should we check for dueling pistols and remove any sharp knives?”
“It’s a three-act play.” Pop’s eyes lit with amusement. “In the first act they try to kill each other. In the second, they shift responsibility for any unfinished chores, and in the third act, they unite as a terrifying single entity to kill their common enemies. The end.”
“Happily ever after.” Healey said the words, but Nash initiated the fist bump.
Boom. Exploding fingers.
“This is fascinating,” said Diego. “Mami was my only blood relation. Is it always like that?”
“Twins may have something special.” Pop moved the empty popcorn bowl and sat on the edge of the coffee table, opposite. “These two share a brain.”
“I only have stepsiblings.” He turned to them. “You guys are echoes of your pop. Alike—both in looks and temperament, from what I can tell. It’s really interesting. Can I bring my camera over sometime? Take some portraits of the three of you?”
Pop lifted a shoulder. “Fine with me.”
From the kitchen Fjóla called, “I would love copies, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Nash nodded and Healey took Diego’s hand.
“I like being the center of your attention,” he told him.
Nash flipped his brother off. “You are an attention whore.”
“I know you are, but what am I?” Healey cranked up his middle finger. “Creak, creak, creak, creak.”
“Nash has a point.” Diego smiled softly. “Somehow, Healey always gets my attention.”
“Can I get some help carrying?” said Fjóla.
“Hold that thought. I’ll earn your attention later.” Healey said the words for Diego’s ears alone. He was so busy looking into Diego’s eyes, moving in for a kiss, actively stealing Diego’s breath to seal the deal—it wasn’t until he glanced up that he realized his pop and Nash had left the room. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Diego caught his hand. “Cecil wants us to come down in the morning. Friend of a friend has a corporate jet heading his way. We can catch a ride.”
“Wow. Really? That’s kind of overkill, isn’t it?”
“It’s empty. En route to pick up clients. And I’m sure there’s some kind of back scratching involved. Nobody does shit for free.”
“But—”
“I’ve flown in it.” Diego laughed. “It’s awesome, if that’s—”
“But tomorrow? That’s really quick.”
Diego’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. I thought you were worried. Wanted closure. If it’s too soon—”
“I didn’t say that, exactly.” But now that it was real, Healey wasn’t ready.
“If we go, you can talk things over with Cecil. He’ll be straight with you. Tell you what’s likely to happen.” Diego smoothed the worried lines between Healey’s eyebrows. “He’ll tell you everything you have to be worried about.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Healey’s gut clenched hard. “I don’t think I can do that.” Already his skin prickled with the sting of anxious sweat.
“Hey.” Diego’s soda-pop breath gusted over Healey’s cheek as he came in for a tender kiss. “You okay?”
“I wish.”
“You want me to call Cecil? Tell him forget it?” His expression softened. “It’s okay. You can fly commercial any time. There’s no pressure.”
Healey closed his eyes. He had to find out exactly how much trouble he was in and he dreaded it. He also dreaded seeing Ford.
Oh my God. Ford.
How could he face Ford? Had he really been single when he met Diego? Nominally, via Facebook, he was single. Technically they’d broken up, in pers
on, before that awful night. In reality they’d been drifting apart for more than a year before that. Why was it so hard to wake up without Ford’s head on the pillow next to his? Why did the scent of Thai food and weed still catch him on the raw? Make him long for things with soul-deep, full-body yearning, that he had barely tolerated while he had them.
The accident had been far worse—physically—for Healey than for Ford. He’d been in the hospital when Ford’s family had taken him away. No one had answered his calls except Beryl, and she’d given him no reason to think he and Ford would ever be together again. Quite the opposite. She’d told him to move on.
But he’d fucked Diego without getting his own post-accident closure with Ford. Without saying, Be well, and without offering real forgiveness, and after so many years—after all they’d been through—Ford deserved better from him than that.
But the gun. Oh my God. That fucking gun.
Healey shivered despite the warmth of Fjóla’s homey living room.
He could not forgive that gun.
It would have been a deal breaker for Healey, if he’d known of its existence. Not because he had any particular hatred of guns, but he had a healthy skepticism about people with mental illness and impulse control problems owning them. And he had certainly not known, not until he’d first seen the Baby Glock in Ford’s hand, that Ford would ever be able to obtain one . . .
In that moment, Ford had been . . . someone else. Someone Healey didn’t know and didn’t trust and didn’t like. The gun changed Ford’s DNA in a way Ford’s hypersexuality, depression, anxiety, and even his flashpoint temper and the violent rage that came with it had not.
Healey would not be a party to the kind of tragedy a gun could add to their lives.
Ford knew his stance on handguns, and still, Ford’d managed not only to get hold of one, but to turn it on him . . . Me.
The gun was a declaration of war.
Dizziness. Burning sweat. Ice-cold hands.
I can’t catch my breath.
“What?” Diego asked.
Healey shook his head. He couldn’t form the words.
Ford looked you right in the eye and threatened you with a handgun. Was it loaded? Was the safety on? How real was that threat?
“I can’t.”
No. No. No. No.
Their pop had taught them to treat every gun as if it was ready to fire.
He pointed it at you.
You could be gone now. A ghost.
Nash could be mourning your passing.
With a sigh, he made up his mind.
“All right. I’ll go. Thank you.”
Not-quite rain freckled the shoulders of Diego’s peacoat as two good-looking bodybuilder types carried him up the boarding stairs.
It was done matter-of-factly. Over in mere seconds. One gripped the arms of his chair and the other the wheels.
Together they made short work of a complication Diego dreaded every time he flew. Healey had offered a piggyback ride. Now he wondered if that wouldn’t have been (a) way more fun, and (b) less undignified.
On the tarmac, Healey snickered behind his back.
Healey didn’t have a mean bone in his body, but his funny bone seemed tuned to the key of awkward—being carried was awkward as hell. Bastard.
“If you tell anyone we know about this, I will end you,” Diego shouted. Narrow plane plus wheelchair equaled hot mess. Once he’d gotten himself comfortable in one of the attractive white leather seats, he nodded that it was fine for Healey to board.
Healey sauntered up the stairs wearing a tan trench coat over a suit and tie. He carried a leather messenger bag. This was professional Healey. Not date Healey, or busted-all-to-hell Healey.
This was Healey as his peers saw him.
This Healey made Diego’s knees go weak, the irony of which was not lost on him.
He glanced around, eyes lighting on the third passenger with some surprise, because apparently, there was a third passenger after all.
In fact, he . . . she . . . What did it matter with cats? Turned out to be the reason the plane was flying to Los Angeles in the first place.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is that?” Healey gasped.
Diego, who had already given their cabin mate the once-over, laughed. “It’s a cat.”
“That’s . . . a cat?” Healey gave a grimace.
“Yep.” Lashed to one of the seats in case of turbulence, a tiny gray inside-out monster with bat ears peered malevolently from behind the mesh of a sparkly white cat carrier.
“It’s still young, but yeah.” Diego leaned over to get another look. “Someone apparently needs their Egyptian Sphynx kitten in Los Angeles, stat.”
“Someone is flying a cat. In a private jet.” Healey glared doubtfully. “On purpose.”
That was not a question, but Diego answered. “Yup.” He glanced out the window, embarrassed to be part of such a thing. “People do.”
“I didn’t grow up with money,” said Healey, “but it’s not like Pop’s doing too shabby now. Ford’s family has legacy wealth. This . . .?”
Diego waited.
“This is why people should eat the rich.”
“Says the Stanford PhD. I know what your education cost.”
“And in terms of return on investment, the work I’ll be doing will help save our planet. What’s green energy worth to you? A couple hairless cats? A private jet? We have to start asking ourselves: what am I willing to give up in order for the species to survive?”
“Okay, wow. Not my plane. Not my cat.” Diego waved his hands helplessly. “But you’re hot when you talk green energy.”
Healey flushed.
“This jet was flying, with or without us. This little kitty—” he grinned at the thing “—has to get to LA. So . . .”
“Hello, gentlemen, and welcome aboard.”
The attendant’s warm smile was well-practiced but appeared sincere. She had blonde hair in a neat coronet of braids. A thin nose with a bump, like Meryl Streep. She was just as sleek and elegant as the jet itself. Diego had never met her before, but it’d been almost a full year since he’d last hitched a ride on this particular aircraft.
“I’m Olivia. Can I get you anything to drink while you’re waiting for lunch?”
Healey looked to him before asking, “There’s lunch?”
“Since you’re traveling with us today, I brought supplies. I can offer bruschetta topped with an heirloom caprese salad featuring fresh buffalo mozzarella as an appetizer, and your choice of grilled skate or peppercorn steak for your entrée. Garlic smashed new potatoes and caramelized Brussels sprouts. Sound all right?”
“Mm-hmm.” Healey’s lips compressed. With laughter? Or horror. Or some unseemly combination of both?
“Which sounds good to you today?”
“We’ll have the steak,” said Diego. The woman had to be a first rate chef to work aboard this aircraft. The owner—a production company executive whose last sitcom had garnered a planeload of Emmys—was known to be a gourmet cook himself.
And okay. Sure. It was ridiculous. But getting a ride on one of Cecil’s client’s planes—when he could—made traveling so much easier. Asking yourself if you should do something like that when it was on offer—whether taking advantage of someone else’s excessive lifestyle was morally and ethically right—was like asking if you wanted a pain reliever that worked.
Of course he was going to take advantage.
“Mr. Luz, your stepfather is a favorite passenger of mine. I always bring the Alquimia Reserva on board for him. Would you care to try it?”
Diego turned to Healey. “Say yes. It’s my favorite tequila. Aged three years. I can only have a thimbleful, because of my meds. But that shit’s off the hook.”
“You’ll enjoy it,” Olivia coaxed Healey. “It has notes of cinnamon and spices and a lovely fruity finish.”
Healey eyed her. “Everyone knows I dig a lovely fruity finish.”
Olivia smiled prettily. “You
will enjoy it. I’ll bring it and let you settle in here before we secure the cabin. We’ll have permission to taxi in no time. Back in a moment.”
The cat took that opportunity to give a screeching meow.
Olivia turned toward the carrier. “I haven’t forgotten you, Asphodel. I have the skate, grilled to order, and steamed liver dumplings.”
The cat appeared unmollified. It narrowed its eyes at all of them and hissed.
When Olivia left, Healey leaned toward Diego to whisper. “I am now positive this is an episode of American Horror Story.”
“Funny you should mention that show.” Diego had shared this very jet with one of the AHS cast members, the last time he’d flown.
An hour later, Healey had reclined his seat and put his feet up. He now sipped his second cut-crystal glass of the pricy tequila. He was obviously feeling it. He looked relaxed and happy.
Luxury looked good on Healey. Diego said something to that effect.
“Oh God. See? This is the problem with indecent wealth.” Healey sat up guiltily. “You get used to it so quickly. It’s addictive . . . How will I ever fly Southwest again, now that I know?”
Diego laughed. “You’re drunk.”
Healey gave a just-shy-of-sloppy grin. “This delicious tequila does seem a little strong.”
Diego checked his email. “Message from Cecil. Everything is all set. You’ll meet with Ford this afternoon. Cecil is sending a car.”
Healey rubbed at his beard shadow before setting his glass down with an audible clack. “I don’t know.”
Diego frowned. “Changed your mind?”
“Honestly? Whenever I think about it? I get this sick dread in the pit of my stomach.” He covered his gut protectively to illustrate. “My senses go on high alert. Even my skin prickles. That’s not normal, is it?”
“That’s anxiety.”
“Yes.” Healey yanked the pin from his too-long hair and raked his hand through it. The sight of him with those French cuffs lifted to his head, cuff links winking in the overhead lighting . . .
The scruffy, half-dead bastard who’d shown up on his doorstep turned out to be a seriously hot motherfucker. Everything, the suit, the plane, the fancy clothes, Healey’s full lips and arctic blue eyes . . .
Everything turned this moment into Diego’s favorite type of porn.
All Wheel Drive Page 26
