by Kim Fielding
Jeremy paused just inside the door. “It’s not very romantic,” he said uncertainly, as if the issue hadn’t occurred to him before.
“I like it.” It smelled good, and Qay preferred it to someplace with tablecloths and soft lighting, where he’d no doubt feel awkward and ignorant.
He was rewarded with Jeremy’s blinding smile. “I’m glad. The food’s great and the décor is unpretentious.”
“You’re still a Kansan at heart, aren’t you?”
“Jeez. Maybe just a little. Although I’m not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
Once they were seated, they studied the menus. Qay realized that his stomach had settled and everything sounded appealing. He ended up ordering a shepherd’s pie, while Jeremy asked for a mac and cheese dish that managed to contain three different kinds of pork products. On a whim, Qay told the waiter he’d like a chocolate milkshake. Jeremy said he wanted the same.
After the waiter left, Qay said, “I haven’t had a decent milkshake in years.”
“Oh, you’ll be happy with this one. Maybe not quite as good as Mr. Hoffman’s, but a close second.”
Shit. Had Jeremy caught Qay’s wince? Qay tried for a steady voice. “Mr. Hoffman?”
“He owned the pharmacy in my hick town. There was a soda fountain there, just like in It’s a Wonderful Life, because that’s the way we rolled in Bailey Springs. And Mr. Hoffman made truly awesome malts and shakes.”
That was true. But Mr. Hoffman was also close buddies with Dr. Moore, way back when. He didn’t mind filling the dizzying array and volume of prescriptions that the good doctor wrote for Mrs. Moore. Or hanging out with the doctor in the evening and downing a whole lot of booze. And if the doctor’s only surviving son happened to make an appearance while Doc Moore was sloshed? Well, Mr. Hoffman didn’t bat an eye over a solid backhand or a healthy kick in the ribs. Hell, Mr. Hoffman once helped Dr. Moore set the son’s dislocated arm.
“Are you okay?” Jeremy asked, interrupting Qay’s dysfunctional train of thought. Qay imagined that his thought trains resembled the one Casey Jones drove in the Grateful Dead song.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just hungry.”
Jeremy nodded and leaned back in his seat. Their booth was a big one, but he dwarfed everything, as if he were a model made at a larger gauge than the rest of the world. “So you haven’t been in Portland for long?”
“About six months.”
“What brought you here?”
“Nothing specific. I’d passed through here a few times, and even though my head was pretty far up my ass back then, I liked the place. Now that I have my shit together—more or less—it seemed like as good a place as any to plant a few roots. How’d you get here?”
“College.” The corners of Jeremy’s lips lifted into a small smile. “I got a scholarship. And to be honest, it was as far as possible from home. Once I got here, I never left.”
The waiter appeared with their drinks. The shakes were too thick to drink with a straw, so Qay dug in with a spoon. “Fuck. That is good.” Then, knowing he was treading dangerous ground, he asked, “You weren’t happy in Kansas?”
Jeremy snorted loudly. “I was a short, fat nerd who got picked on a lot. And that was long before I was out. My parents…. They’re not horrible people or anything. I just think they’d have been a lot happier if Dad hadn’t knocked Mom up when they were in college. As for the town itself, it’s boring. I think the lack of excitement is partly to blame for the popularity of rumormongering. They have no empathy for anyone who doesn’t fit in.”
Qay almost told the truth right then. He really did. But then Jeremy licked his spoon, and the sight of his tongue made Qay’s belly clench and his mouth snap shut.
“So,” Jeremy said brightly. “Let’s repress the difficult childhood, shall we? It’s time for first-date stuff. Um, what’s your favorite movie?”
Repression it was. “Shawshank Redemption,” Qay said. “Fargo. Edward Scissorhands.”
Jeremy licked his spoon thoughtfully. “Acceptable. I prefer Raising Arizona to Fargo, though.”
Their food arrived shortly—it was delicious—and they talked easily about music and television shows and which movie stars they’d totally do, given the chance. Jeremy talked about some of his favorite outdoor spots and hesitantly suggested that maybe sometime they could go on a hike together. Quay tentatively agreed that it sounded like fun. Then he gave Jeremy a play-by-play of his philosophy exam, followed by a tirade against Stuart the asshole manager. Qay didn’t know if these were the kinds of things people usually talked about on dates, but he was having fun. Jeremy was too, judging by his laughter. Some of the earlier shadows had left his face.
Considering the amount of food they put away—including pie for dessert—the bill was surprisingly reasonable. Qay felt absurdly proud to pay it. He’d never treated anyone to a good meal before.
They strolled back to the parking garage via a route that bypassed the park but took them past a brightly marqueed theater and an exceedingly raucous bar. Jeremy again held the passenger door for Qay, this time adding a deep bow. But when he climbed into the driver’s seat, he didn’t start the engine right away. He seemed to be considering something. Finally he turned to Qay, who could barely see him in the darkness of the garage.
“Are you up for a little drive?” Jeremy asked quietly.
“Sure.”
Jeremy took them on a roundabout route out of downtown and up into the West Hills. They passed mansions that teetered on stilts, they drove through the expansive Washington Park, and they saw a lot of trees. Qay had never been in the hills before; he’d had no reason to, and transportation was slightly tricky. It was a pretty area. Sometimes the road had gorgeous views of the city lights below them.
He didn’t know if Jeremy had a destination in mind or was driving aimlessly. Either was fine with him. But then Jeremy pulled the SUV to the side and cut the engine. “Park’s closed to cars this time of night. I suppose I could pull rank and drive us in there anyway, but I don’t mind walking.”
“After all that food, walking’s a good idea.”
They sauntered hand in hand up the road until they reached the top of the hill. Most of the summit was covered in grass, although stands of trees ringed the area and a circular pavement with a low stone wall lay near the center. The place appeared to be deserted, maybe due to the chilly night. But as they stood within the stone wall, looking out at the city, Jeremy rested his arm across Qay’s shoulder, and Qay didn’t feel cold at all.
“Quite a view,” Qay observed lamely.
“Nothing like in Kansas, I can tell you that.”
Somewhat daringly, Qay leaned against him. Christ, Jeremy was so strong! Touching him, Qay found it easy to pretend that none of his troubles were important, that nothing was real except the very solid man at his side.
“This is nice,” Jeremy said after a while. “I like that you’re good at being quiet. Shit. That came out weird. What I mean is, you’re fun to talk to. But you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t think every minute needs to be filled with conversation, and that’s great.”
Qay was unused to praise and had to chew on this for a few moments. “I guess you’re easy to be quiet with.” Jeremy had such a large presence that words weren’t all that necessary.
“My exes didn’t think so. Fuck. I probably shouldn’t talk about exes on a first date, huh?”
“Go ahead,” Qay said with a soft chuckle. “We’re both too old to pretend we don’t come with baggage. Hell, I have a whole cargo jet full, and mine is a lot uglier than Donny’s.”
Jeremy tensed against him before sighing heavily. “Donny’s dead.” He said it so quietly that Qay thought he’d misheard.
“What?” He turned to look at Jeremy, who gazed resolutely at the skyline.
“He’s dead. Murdered. They found him floating in the Willamette last weekend.”
A body floating in a river. Qay’s dinner threatened to make a sudden reappearance. He swallowed hard. �
��Shit, Jeremy! And here I am, making you drag me all over the city on a date, and—”
Jeremy grabbed Qay’s shoulders. “Don’t. I want to be here with you. Looking forward to it was the only thing that got me through this craptastic week. Tonight’s been…. We ate at a diner and took a little drive, and it’s been amazing.” And he bent in for a kiss.
Oh God. Jeremy tasted like chocolate and berries. His lips were soft, and firm hands cradled Qay’s skull. He thrust his tongue into Qay’s mouth, but he wasn’t one of those assholes who needed to prove their manhood by drilling his tonsils. Jeremy had an agile and playful tongue, teasing Qay’s tongue and nuzzling his teeth. Qay felt dizzy, as if he were balanced at the top of the world, so he wrapped his arms around Jeremy for balance. And Jeremy must have approved, because even though he didn’t break the kiss, he managed a groan from deep in his chest.
Qay had no idea how long Jeremy’s dry spell had been, but his own had lasted eons. A beautiful man—a good man—touching him, wanting him, was almost more than Qay could bear. He’d expected so little from life, had received so little, but how could he have thought he could survive without human contact? Jeremy’s kiss sparked all the synapses that had once responded so eagerly to drugs. Qay’s mind sang, and as his cock filled and he felt Jeremy’s answering hardness pressed against him, Qay very nearly started ripping at their clothes.
But goddammit if the one little bit of his brain that was sane and responsible didn’t choose that moment to speak up. Don’t fuck him over, those bastard cells scolded. Don’t be Donny.
With his biggest show of willpower since he’d kicked drugs, Qay pulled out of Jeremy’s grip. The light was poor, so he squinted to get Jeremy into focus. He saw a muscular, handsome ex-cop with kiss-swollen lips—but he also saw the ghost of a shy little boy and the vulnerability of a man whose lovers had hurt him. And now one of those lovers was dead.
Qay had made a shitload of mistakes in his life. Lying to Jeremy Cox didn’t have to be added to that list.
“I have to tell you something,” he said.
He heard Jeremy’s breath catch. “Nothing good has ever come after that statement,” he said.
“I know.” Jeremy was going to abandon him here at the top of the West Hills once the words were out. Qay would never be able to go to P-Town again, which meant he’d lose his favorite coffeehouse and Rhoda, who was becoming a friend. All Qay would have would be the memory of a nice dinner, a pretty drive, and one earthshaking kiss.
No, that wasn’t true. He’d also have a little more self-respect because he’d know he’d done the right thing. Even if it hurt.
“Are you going to leave me hanging?” Jeremy asked. “Because I’m really a rip-off-the-Band-Aid kind of guy, and I’d rather be hit sooner than later.”
Qay backed up a little and bumped into the wall. He wasn’t trying to prolong Jeremy’s agony. He just couldn’t force his mouth to shape the right words.
“I’ve had Mr. Hoffman’s milkshakes,” he finally blurted.
Jeremy goggled at him, as well he might. It had possibly been the single most idiotic statement ever uttered by mankind. “What was that?” Jeremy asked slowly, as if he were speaking to a three-year-old who only understood Urdu.
“I’m…. Fuck. I’m from Bailey Falls too. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but—”
“Keith Moore.”
They stared at each other, equally dumbstruck.
Jeremy recovered first. “You are. You’re Keith Moore.”
“I was. Haven’t been him for a long time.”
Stepping back as if he’d seen a ghost—which, in a way, he had—Jeremy shook his head. “You…. The bridge. You died.”
“Keith Moore died. Qayin Hill was born.” And like all births, it had involved blood and pain.
When Jeremy’s expression hardened, Qay’s heart broke.
“You knew who I was before we met, and you never said a goddamn word. Was it fun playing me like that?”
“It’s not like that,” Qay said softly, unable to explain his cowardice or his efforts to deny the connection between the man he was now and the fucked-up kid he’d once been.
With a loud growl, Jeremy whirled around and stomped away. Qay waited for him to march back to the SUV and drive off. Their trip up to the hill had been circuitous, and Qay had no idea how to get home. It looked like he was facing a long walk.
But Jeremy stopped halfway across the paved circle. With his back still turned and his hands fisted at his sides, he called out, “Let’s go.”
A proud man would have refused. Would have disappeared into the darkness. But Qay had little pride, so he followed several paces behind Jeremy down the hill to the waiting vehicle. Jeremy did not hold the passenger door open for him, but at least he waited until Qay was belted into his seat before pulling away.
The drive back to downtown was a lot faster than the outbound journey. Not a word was exchanged until they were midway across the Morrison Bridge, and then Qay couldn’t help himself. “I’m sorry.”
Jeremy didn’t even grunt in reply.
No parking spaces were free in front of P-Town, so Jeremy stopped about half a block past the café. He kept the engine running and stared resolutely ahead. Qay took off the seat belt, opened the door, and started to climb out. But he paused with one foot on the pavement. “You grew up well, Jeremy. You deserve better than the Donnys and Qays of the world.” Then he slid out and shut the door. The SUV pulled away.
As Qay headed toward his apartment, he hoped he had the balls to make it the few blocks home without stopping for a drink.
Chapter Nine
JEREMY SPENT a good chunk of Monday in meetings with people from various city bureaus: Development Services, Planning and Sustainability, Risk Management, and of course Parks and Recreation. At issue was a developer that wanted to tear down a bunch of fairly decrepit old houses and defunct businesses in the North Macadam area to build high-density housing with extensive communal outdoor spaces. Almost everyone agreed that the project was a good idea in general, but contention existed over who should manage those open areas. Some of the parties thought the property should be held and controlled by the eventual homeowners’ association, while others wanted at least some of the space to be deeded to the city for parkland. Jeremy had no opinion on the matter, but since he and his rangers were bound to get involved to some degree whatever the outcome, he got roped into the meetings.
He fucking hated meetings.
But even as lawyers and other people in suits droned on, as PowerPoints were shown, as sheaves of paper were exchanged, and as gallons of coffee were consumed, Jeremy reflected that this was one of the best days he’d had in over a week.
The days following Donny’s murder had been nothing short of miserable. What felt like half the police bureau had wanted to question him—the same dull interrogation, over and over again. They’d gone through his apartment twice in search of evidence. Not because he was a suspect; Jeremy was certain nobody believed he had anything to do with Donny’s death. But the detectives had a faint hope that Donny might have left something behind that would solve the case. As it turned out, all he’d left were empty booze bottles, ruined clothes, and used medical supplies.
Worse than the police business, though, were the arrangements for Donny’s remains. His bitch of a sister refused to have anything to do with the planning, even though it was Frankl who spoke with her and not Jeremy. A gay ex-cop brother had been bad enough in her eyes, but a murdered gay ex-cop brother was just too much. That left Jeremy to decide what do with Donny’s poor abused body—the same body he’d once held close, had once made love with. Jeremy had eventually settled on cremation and no service. It would have twisted his heart to be the only one attending Donny’s funeral. He still hadn’t decided what to do with the cremains, which meant an urn full of Donny now sat in his living room, haunting him.
All week as he’d weathered that crap and shown up for work, he’d looked forward to his date wi
th Qay. The date had gone beautifully too. Qay was interesting. Funny in a dry sort of way. Smart. And he showed surprising depth of personality even in the short time they’d spent together.
And that kiss! It was bad form for the chief ranger to get naked in the middle of one of his parks, but Jeremy had been damned close to doing just that. It was as if touching lips with Qay closed some kind of circuit and activated every nerve in Jeremy’s body. He’d never before gone so quickly from possibly interested to desperately needing.
Until Qay admitted that he’d been lying to Jeremy all along. That had sent Jeremy’s hopes into a fatal tailspin.
On Sunday, Jeremy had exercised until he couldn’t anymore. Then he’d sat in his big, comfortable living room, staring at Donny’s urn, brooding over the wreckage of his personal life. He’d loved Donny but in the end had done nothing to save him from drugs and death. He’d seen promise in Qay, who’d turned out to be nothing but an illusion.
So by comparison, a day of meetings was a walk in the park. So to speak.
The final adjournment occurred just after five. “We’re heading out for a few drinks,” said one of the city attorneys, a tall woman with elaborately braided hair. “Join us?”
“Thanks, but I have stuff to take care of at home.” A bald-faced lie, but more socially acceptable than admitting he wanted to go home and wallow.
“Next time.” She threw him a wink. He didn’t think she was flirting with him; in fact, he vaguely remembered that she had a wife. Maybe he just looked like someone who needed a bit more social interaction. Which he probably did, if he were in the mood.
Battling rush-hour traffic on the way home did nothing to improve his disposition. He intended to go to the gym, work his muscles until they screamed, go home to nuke something for dinner, and crash. If he was lucky, he’d exhaust himself enough to fall asleep immediately.
