by Kim Fielding
Jeremy gave him a long look. “Let’s go somewhere, okay? I can piss and we can eat and… and we can talk.”
Maybe he was courting disaster, but Qay nodded. “All right.”
He thought Jeremy might take them to the restaurant where their disastrous date had begun, or maybe to P-Town. Instead, Jeremy drove deeper into Northwest Portland before parking under some enormous trees on Quimby. He led Qay to a diner that was even less upscale than Perry’s, but it was crowded, which was a good sign. Besides, nobody gave Qay’s work clothes a second glance. The host clearly recognized Jeremy. “Chief! Good to see you! It’s been a while.”
“Too long. Can you find a quiet table for my friend here? I need to see a man about a horse.”
The host—a pudgy young guy with cute dimples—giggled. “Sure thing.” He grabbed a couple of laminated menus and, still smiling, took Qay to a corner booth. “Something to drink?” he asked when Qay was seated.
A little chill remained in Qay’s bones, so he ordered a coffee. Then he pretended to study the menu and tried not to worry that Jeremy had changed his mind and ditched him. He was relieved when, a few minutes later, Jeremy slid into the opposite seat.
“I’m in the mood for breakfast for dinner. You mind?” Jeremy asked.
“No, it’s fine.”
“Good. Although to be honest, right now I’d give a kidney for a genuine home-cooked meal. I’ve been eating at restaurants all week.”
“Your personal chef is on strike?”
Jeremy scrunched up his face. “Been staying at a hotel downtown. Long story, and not why we’re here.”
Qay would have liked to hear that story, especially if it delayed a rehash of the unpleasant scene at Council Crest. But the host came by to fill their mugs with coffee and take their dinner orders. Qay asked for a bacon and cheddar scramble, while Jeremy opted for pancakes and sausage. “Which I’ll probably regret tomorrow,” Jeremy sighed.
“Why?”
“Because the fitness center at the hotel isn’t nearly as good as my gym, and exercising there sucks. Dragging myself across the river to my usual gym also sucks.”
“Why are you at a hotel?” Maybe Qay could still steer the conversation into less turbulent waters.
Pretending that the salt shaker was fascinating, Jeremy avoided Qay’s gaze. His mouth was compressed into a tight line and shadows lurked in his pale eyes. “Somebody broke into my place and trashed everything. Took a couple days just to get it cleaned up, and now I have a bunch of repairs to do. And shopping for new… everything.”
Fuck. “Are you okay?”
Jeremy gave him a quick glance. “I wasn’t home at the time.”
“And if you were, you’d have kicked their asses, I bet. That’s not what I meant. I mean….” Qay squirmed uncomfortably in the vinyl booth. “Emotionally. You’ve had a hell of a week. Me and Donny and then this.”
“This is Donny. The fuckers who broke in were probably the same ones who killed him. They didn’t steal anything—they were looking for something.”
“What?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Drugs? Money? The Holy Grail?”
“That’s—”
“Why’d you jump?”
Qay was startled enough to jerk back. And then it was his turn to be enthralled by condiments, only he fixated on the little bottle of chili sauce instead of the salt. “Because I wanted to die,” he finally murmured.
Which wasn’t the complete truth. His shrinks had pressed the matter: why walk nearly two miles to the Memorial Bridge when his household contained enough pills to kill himself many times over, when the kitchen was full of sharp objects, when his father’s hunting rifles were conveniently within reach? Back then, Qay had struggled to find the words to explain. If the fall from the bridge had been fatal, the Smoky Hill River would have washed his body far away, so Bailey Springs couldn’t imprison him even in death. The shrinks accepted that explanation, and it had been a true one. Years later, though, Qay realized he’d had another motive as well. That bridge was high. Before he died, he’d wanted to fly. Briefly, sure, but he had that fierce moment of exultation and freedom.
“That town could be hell,” Jeremy said, his voice pitched low. “I remember. But you were almost eighteen. What was so bad you couldn’t wait it out a little longer?”
“Like you did?” Qay said, sounding bitter in his own ears.
“I guess.”
“You had scholarships waiting for you. You had this damp little city ready to call you its own. I had nothing.” He’d been a loser who couldn’t pass tenth grade math, a delinquent, a nutcase who stole his mother’s pills and his father’s booze.
Jeremy reached over and settled his huge, warm hand atop Qay’s. “What was so bad?” But he knew already, or at least suspected. Qay could tell by his intense stare.
“Why do you even care?” Although Qay made his voice sound hostile, he couldn’t bring himself to pull his hand back. “I lied to you, remember? Played you.”
“You weren’t honest with me, and I was pissed about it. But then I got my head straight enough to realize that the universe doesn’t revolve around me. You don’t want anything to do with Keith Moore, so you pretended he never existed. You were protecting yourself, not trying to hurt me. So this is where that apology comes in. I’m sorry I had a tantrum. I reacted badly, and you didn’t deserve it.”
Qay could count on one hand the apologies he’d received in his life, so perhaps he could be forgiven for how he responded to this one. “What if the lie was because of you?”
Jeremy blinked and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the waiter appeared with their dinners. He didn’t bat an eye at the big man in the ranger uniform touching the hand of the scroungy-looking guy across the table. Qay could have fed a small army with the food on his plate, which smelled delicious. But he didn’t dig in, and neither did Jeremy, who’d been given pancakes proportionate to his size.
“Because of me how?”
After gently dislodging his hand, Qay shrugged. “You’re Captain Caffeine.”
“Captain Caffeine?” Jeremy said, bemused.
“You’re handsome and ripped. You have a cool job with a sexy uniform, and everyone knows you and calls you Chief. You drive a dictator car. You have great friends like Rhoda. You’re practically perfect in every way. I know I’m not much, but I am something, and I fought really fucking hard to get this far. I wanted you to see what I’ve made myself into. Not that piece of shit I was in Kansas.”
For a long moment, Jeremy simply gaped. Then he gave his head a slow shake. “There is so much wrong with that little speech you just gave, I don’t even know where to begin.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again as he puffed out a lungful of air. “Eat while I think about how to deal with that.”
Until he started digging into his food, Qay didn’t realize how hungry he was. Turned out he was ravenous, and the scramble was delicious. He shoveled forkfuls into his mouth while Jeremy did much the same. Jeremy could put away a lot of pancakes really fast. “Point one,” Jeremy said after swallowing a bite of sausage. “I’m so far from perfect it’s not even funny. Dead ex, remember? Burglarized apartment. Not to mention I’m forty-three—which is seventy-five in gay years—and single, and if you want to know what my love life has been like, well, I refer you back to the dead ex.”
“But I—”
“Point two! You are something. I saw that from the first. I can tell that you’re strong and you have a lot of pride, and fuck, I always knew you were smart. Even when you were flunking biology. I know a few things about addiction and mental illness, thanks to the job and poor Donny, so I have a crystal clear idea how hard you’ve worked to get where you are. I couldn’t do it, Qay. I’d just fall apart.”
He took a breath, shoved in more sausage, and talked with his mouth full. “Point three. You were never a piece of shit. Ever. Do you remember what I was like? I practically had punching bag tattooed on my forehead. You were one of the few people in t
hat place who didn’t treat me like crap. I, uh….” His speech stuttered to a halt and the fair skin of his face reddened. “This is embarrassing. You were my first crush.”
Qay couldn’t stop a smile. “I know. I knew back then.”
“You…. Really? I didn’t even realize what was going on yet.”
It had been sweet, one of the few solid anchors in Keith’s life. Jeremy was almost a foot shorter than Keith was back then, with corn-silk hair that hung in his eyes when it got too long, and an adorable smattering of freckles across his face. He’d sneak looks at Keith and his cheeks would color—just like they were now—and he’d fight to hide a goofy grin.
“I could tell. Didn’t feel that way about you ’cause you were young. But I liked you. Used to wonder how you’d turn out if you survived high school.”
“You hardly even spoke to me.” Jeremy sounded accusing, maybe even slightly hurt.
“Kept my distance. They treated you badly enough already. The last thing you needed was to be associated with me. I guess I could have had your back some of the time, but not always. Troy Baker and his gang of idiots, they’d have found you anyway and punished you twice as hard for being my friend.”
Standing back from Jeremy had been difficult. He could have used someone bigger and tougher in his corner, and Christ knew Keith was dying for one good friend. Maybe if he’d had that, he wouldn’t have jumped off the bridge. Or maybe he’d have dragged young Jeremy Cox down with him.
The waiter appeared with more coffee. “Can I get you anything else?” He cleared their plates, magically emptied. Qay had no idea how he’d consumed so much in one sitting.
Qay was going to say no, but Jeremy grinned. “We’ll split a cinnamon roll.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Qay said after their waiter had gone.
“They’re good. Besides, the way we’re tearing our chests open here, I think we deserve some empty calories.”
“That sounds like an argument Rhoda would make.”
Jeremy smiled. “I think I stole it from her.”
They sipped their coffee. Taking a rest, like coming up for a few lungfuls of air before submerging below the waves again. But then Jeremy nearly left Qay gasping with six quiet words: “I missed you after you jumped.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“Everyone gossiped, but nobody seemed to know the truth. I didn’t even know if you were still alive. I guess… I guess I kind of hoped that eventually I’d hear good news about you. I didn’t expect to run into you in P-Town, though.” He picked up the salt shaker and peered at it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. Qay loved watching his hands—they were big and wide, with long, blunt-tipped fingers and those small scabs on his right knuckles. His fingernails were slightly ragged. Definitely not a manicure guy.
He set down the salt and licked his lips. “What did happen? After the bridge? Besides Keith becoming Qay, I mean.”
“That… took a while. I hurt myself pretty badly. Internal injuries, broken bones. Once I was stable, my father shipped me to a hospital in Iowa, probably because nobody knew us there. After that, I spent a good long time in mental hospitals.” He laughed humorlessly. “I had issues when I went in there, but I was really nuts by the time I got out.”
“How did you get out?”
Qay gave him an evil grin. “I ran away. Yes, I am a genuine escapee from a loony bin. They caught me a few months later—I was living on the streets and easy to catch. But I was well over eighteen by then, and I fought commitment. My father tried to get me locked up again. For once luck was on my side. Judge let me go. I went far away and never looked back.”
That had been the last time he saw his father, who’d been red-faced with fury, his lips drawn back in the grimace that had terrified Keith as a child. But Dr. Moore couldn’t touch him that day in the courtroom, not with the judge and bailiff watching. It had been Keith’s only triumph over the bastard. He’d renamed himself that same afternoon.
“What happened with your parents after that?” Jeremy asked, as if he’d read Qay’s thoughts.
“No idea. That was our last contact.”
“Are they still alive?”
Qay lifted one shoulder. “Don’t know and don’t care. I told you. Their son died in the Smoky Hill River.” Well, their younger son had. Their older one died years before that, and in a considerably more corporeal way.
The cinnamon roll arrived—enormous, of course—and Jeremy paused with his fork hovering over the mountain of sugar. “Do you think we’ve unearthed enough of our skeletons this evening?”
“God, yes.”
“Then I propose we leave the rest of the bodies buried for now. We can always dig ’em up as we get to know each other better. Um, assuming you’ll forgive me for being an asshole and will want to know me better.”
Qay wanted that like his lungs wanted oxygen. He smiled and dove his fork under Jeremy’s to spear a chunk of sweet roll. “There’s nothing to forgive you for,” he said between chews. Because if Jeremy could talk with his mouth full, Qay had no intention of being Miss Manners.
They finished eating at last but lingered over coffee for a long time. Jeremy paid. “I’m driving you home,” he announced when they were back out in the stinging rain.
“You’ll have to cross over to the east side and come back again.”
“Big deal.” Jeremy opened the passenger door and gestured grandly.
As they crossed the Burnside Bridge, Jeremy settled a warm hand on Qay’s leg. “Don’t suppose you want to come shopping tomorrow? Furniture mostly, and a laptop. I’ll wait until I’m ready to move back in to get everything else.”
“I have to work,” Qay said with real regret. He’d never been furniture shopping—certainly not with an amazing man.
“That sucks. Then… the forecast says Sunday will be dry. Come hiking with me.”
“Hiking?”
Jeremy nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. We’ll do a nice easy one. Please? I really need to get out of town for a few hours, and I’d rather do it with you.”
Qay could hardly refuse that, especially when his belly was full and round and Jeremy’s hand was so comfortably heavy on his thigh. “Okay. Hiking.”
Jeremy’s smile made the promise worthwhile.
Qay directed him to his house, and Jeremy coasted to a stop in front of the driveway. “Nice place.”
“I have the basement. Not so nice.”
“Well, at least it’s livable.” Jeremy’s mouth quirked. “If you want a little more luxury for a few days, you can always come stay with me at the Marriott.”
Oh, shit. Qay had a sudden clear image of Jeremy—uniform off, body sprawled invitingly across a big hotel bed. Bad idea, he reminded himself. You’ll fuck things up. And because his desire not to screw up whatever time he might have with Jeremy outweighed his desire to just screw Jeremy, Qay shook his head ruefully. “I have to be at work at eight tomorrow.”
“I guess you better get your beauty rest, then. But I’ll pick you up at eight on Sunday, all right? Dress warmly.”
“Sounds good.” Qay dismounted from the SUV but paused before closing the door. He looked back at Jeremy, so big and competent behind the wheel of his oversized vehicle. “I really am sorry about the mess with Donny. And I don’t care how much shit has fallen on you lately. You’re still Captain Caffeine.” He slammed the door, waved to Jeremy, and headed to the basement.
Chapter Eleven
JEREMY WOKE up very early Saturday—alone in the big hotel bed. He felt refreshed after sleeping well for the first time in over a week. When he pulled back the curtains to look outside, he discovered a steady rain, the kind that formed shoe-soaking puddles and ran beneath jacket collars. He thought about Qay having to take two buses to work, only to be bullied by Stuart. And Jeremy had an idea.
He showered and dressed quickly, jogged down the hallway, bounced on his feet in the elevator, and hurried to the parking garage. Saturday morning traffic was light, so it
took very little time to drive to P-Town, which opened early. Rhoda wasn’t there, but Ptolemy was, resplendent in a hand-knit sweater and peasant skirt, a floral barrette in her hair.
“Your dissertation must be treating you nicely,” Jeremy said. “You look great.”
Ptolemy rolled her eyes. “It’s not. I’m trying to seduce it into cooperating.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” He held out the big thermos he kept in his SUV for when he spent a long day outdoors. “Would you fill this, please? And I’ll take a couple of those chocolate-looking things on the top row. To go.”
After filling the thermos, Ptolemy wrapped the pastries and slid them into a paper bag. She added napkins, packets of sugar, creamer cups, and wooden stirrers. Upon Jeremy’s request, she also tucked in two paper cups with sleeves and lids. “Saturday morning adventure?” she asked as she rang up his order.
“Surprise breakfast for a friend.”
“That cute dark-haired guy?”
“That’s him.”
She nodded. “I approve. He has big textbooks.”
Qay’s house was a short drive away. By then it was a little past seven, and Jeremy didn’t know when Qay left for work. He hoped he hadn’t missed him. There were no parking spots available, but nobody was driving on the street this early, so Jeremy idled directly opposite Qay’s door.
Qay had his head down when he emerged and didn’t see Jeremy right away. When he did catch sight of the SUV, his eyes widened. As he hurried through the downpour, Jeremy leaned over and pushed the passenger door open.
“What are you doing here?” Qay asked.
“Saving you from the discomfort of public transportation, just for this morning.”
The sky might have been dark, but Qay’s smile was brighter than August sunshine. “You didn’t have to get up so early on your day off.”
“Didn’t have to, but I did. C’mon. You can eat on the way.”
With a bemused grin playing around his lips, Qay fastened his seat belt. He seemed delighted with the pastry and even more so when Jeremy instructed him to fill a paper cup from the thermos. “I’ve never had a chauffeur before,” Qay said as he ate. “It’s nice.”
