by K. C. Burn
“I’m not saying they were saints, because they weren’t. But those younger kids? They were the ones who were bullying me and Kyle. Rob and Wyatt didn’t give a damn about giving younger kids a hard time just for sport. Only the ones who they thought were giving me and Kyle a hard time. And when they went after kids their own age? Well, they never really learned how to deal with frustrations in an appropriate way.”
Drew would be forever thankful that his grandma, not his father, had been mostly responsible for his upbringing. His brothers hadn’t been so lucky.
“Fuck, Drew.” Cliff was completely exasperated, but the cold anger was gone. “You’re not going to make me like them, you know. And dammit, I don’t want to be grateful that they protected you.”
“You don’t have to like them.” Although he’d be happier if Cliff did. “You just have to not arrest them because they pissed you off. Please, let it go.”
Cliff nodded, took a deep breath and maneuvered them so he was holding Drew’s hands.
“Did you get some sleep?”
“Yeah. A couple hours. I wasn’t sure I’d see you again tonight.”
Cliff’s voice dropped. “I wanted to make sure you ate. I kinda left last time without making sure you did.”
Drew’s cheeks heated at the memory of just what Cliff had had in his mouth during his last break. Drew lifted the lid of the pizza box. “There’s enough pizza for all three of us. You, uh, must be hungry too.” Neither of them had had lunch when Cliff had been back at the house.
“Mmm. Yes. Starving.” The growly sound of Cliff’s voice left Drew in little doubt about what he was hungry for. “Too bad you’ve got company. Didn’t we say something about a treatment every four to six hours?”
Drew gasped, and his cock, which he’d thought had been completely inert, plumped up at the teasing.
“Shh. Kyle will be out soon. Are you…do you want him to know?” Drew wasn’t sure he did, no matter what Cliff said. Admitting to a brief fling would be devastating when he was already feeling physically fragile.
Cliff pressed his lips together and let Drew’s hands go. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Right about what? Drew didn’t know what conclusion Cliff had drawn, but he didn’t think he liked it.
Kyle bounded out of the bathroom, and Drew realized he’d been in there a long time. Too long—he’d obviously been giving them time alone. Unfortunately, Kyle’s well-meaning absence didn’t have the result he was hoping for. And Drew couldn’t even find out what Cliff was pissed off about now, not when he didn’t know how much Cliff wanted the entire town to know. Hell, he couldn’t even ask that in front of Kyle, in case the answer was “nothing.” The town took too much interest in everyone’s sex lives as it was; he didn’t need them all to know about an extended one-night stand, if that’s all Cliff saw it as.
“Are you joining us for dinner, Cliff?” Kyle’s voice was syrupy sweet, and Drew was grateful he hadn’t called Cliff Officer Hottie.
Cliff’s nostrils flared, and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Didn’t take a psychic tarot reader to see his obvious indecision, and Drew suddenly realized that Kyle wasn’t even supposed to be around this weekend. Guess they’d have to say his plans fell through, even though Kyle’s plans were actually going better than anticipated, the sneaky asshole.
The radio clipped to Cliff’s pocket crackled to life, calling him back to duty.
“No, thanks. I have to go. Multi-car pileup on the freeway. They’re calling in all available officers.”
“I’ll see you later?” Drew couldn’t help the plaintive tone that escaped. They needed to talk; Drew wouldn’t be happy leaving things all weird and unsettled.
Cliff’s expression softened, just a bit. “Don’t wait up for me. I’ll still have to head out to the Phantoms set after the crash is cleared up. I’ll see you in the morning. Promise.”
Drew gave him a little smile. At least Cliff wasn’t running out on him. He’d have to be content with that, even though he might not be able to sleep a wink tonight.
“Be careful.”
“Always.” Drew managed to avoid giving Cliff a good-bye kiss, just barely.
Drew watched through the kitchen door as Cliff strode to his car in the alley, flipped on his lights, and sped away. With a little sigh, he turned back to Kyle.
“You two are totally doing it, and you didn’t tell me!”
Shit.
Drew grabbed a slice of pizza and jammed half of it in his mouth to avoid confirming or denying Kyle’s assumption. He wasn’t sure he could believably lie to Kyle, and yet he didn’t know how to respond.
Kyle copied him, chewing on a slice while he waited, staring intently.
“You can’t tell anyone.” Drew couldn’t help looking around furtively even though there was less than zero chance of someone overhearing them in his little kitchen.
“I don’t care about that, but surely you could have sent one little text that said ‘we’re doing it.’ I thought we were friends!”
“It just…happened.” Drew tried manfully to stop himself, but one more word popped out. “Twice.”
“No fucking way. Are you just dying? How was it?”
Kyle’s pitch was edging into painful territory.
“I can’t… I don’t feel right talking about it.” Mostly because he didn’t want to discuss how wonderful it was, only to have Cliff move out tomorrow because of…whatever had put that sour look on his face right before he had to go back to work.
“What? Why not? This is the most exciting thing to happen to you in…ever.”
Sad thing was, Kyle was probably right.
“Can we just give it a break, Kyle? I just…I just want to enjoy it for now. No pressure for it to be more.” Lies. But he knew admitting anything would only make it more painful, and definitely more humiliating, when it all crumbled into dust.
Kyle pouted. “Fine. But only because you’ve been damaged. You feel up to watching a movie tonight? Or did you just want me to head home after dinner?”
Drew considered his energy level. “Let’s watch a movie. But I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stay awake for the whole thing.”
With his mouth full, Kyle didn’t bother speaking, just lifted his shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. They’d been friends long enough that Drew knew Kyle didn’t care one way or the other.
* * * *
Pizza eaten, Drew and Kyle snuggled together on Drew’s narrow bed, a bag of gummy bears between them for dessert. In Drew’s tiny house, it was the only place to watch television, and without a car, it was harder for Drew to get to Kyle’s place, which wasn’t much bigger anyway. If there had been one more bedroom in the place, he and Kyle would have been roommates.
“I’m not lying in Officer Hottie jizz, am I?” Kyle looked around suspiciously, like he was going to whip out a UV light and get all CSI on Drew.
“Oh, shut up. We changed the sheets.”
Kyle laughed and picked up the remote, but before he could press Start, Drew put a hand on Kyle’s arm.
“You know, it’s kinda weird about that accident.” Drew didn’t look directly at Kyle, but his peripheral vision was pretty decent. He knew damn well that Kyle was staring at him, but he’d only talked himself off the proverbial “I’ve got a traumatic brain injury” ledge, and he was afraid if he saw any fear on Kyle’s face, he’d be right back there in a swirl of anxiety.
“Okaaaaay. Sure. Not the first time there’s been a pileup there, though. Remember that time they had fog and a wildfire at the same time? That shit was bad.”
“You don’t think it was weird?”
“Not really. You know it could have been a localized downpour. It’s Florida. Blinding rain one place and sunny and hot only a few miles away. The tourists just don’t have enough experience in that kind of rain.”
They sat there for a few moments, Kyle’s finger resting on the Start button, before Kyle cleared his throat. “And why do you think it’s weird
?”
Drew’s stomach flipped. Had to be some sort of weird coincidence.
“No reason.” He continued to stare fixedly at the television, despite its distinct lack of movie playing.
Kyle knew he was full of shit, so he just waited expectantly.
“It’s just… I did a reading today for a tourist passing through.”
Drew explained about the unusual readings he’d had, for both Mrs. Gillespie and Lisa. Saying it aloud sent chills down his spine, and his mouth dried out. Facing the possibility that something important had shaken loose in his brain terrified him. Brain surgery was expensive. Mental disorders, with medication and therapy, were expensive. How was he going to cope?
Finally he found the courage to look at Kyle, whose stunned expression didn’t give Drew any hints about whether or not he should call an ambulance or have himself committed.
“Well? Have I completely lost my mind? Bleeding on the brain? Aneurysm?” Drew didn’t know how he’d forced those words out, because he was almost certain there was something medically wrong. Underneath his substantial health worries was the tiny niggling fear he was going to lose Cliff over this. A boyfriend should be the least of his concerns right now, but he didn’t want to face that loss on top of everything else.
Kyle’s eyebrows lifted, and he shifted on the bed so he was fully facing Drew, cross-legged. “Whoa, hold on there. Are you in pain?”
“Of course I’m in pain! I’m stitched up like Frankenstein’s monster and have two black eyes.”
Kyle flapped his hands. “That’s not what I meant. Is it worse? Different? What about blurred vision or nausea?”
“No. It’s better, actually.” Not that Kyle was a medical professional by any stretch of the imagination, no matter how many episodes of House he’d watched. But the questions were reasonable, and the fact that Drew didn’t have any of those symptoms eased the band around his chest just a bit. Didn’t mean he didn’t have some sort of medical or psychological problem, but maybe it wasn’t an emergency.
“Well, you’ve got a source in the police department. Use it. Find out if Mrs. Gillespie was involved.”
Drew blinked at Kyle, trying to make sense of his words. No matter how many times he turned them over in his mind, he couldn’t quite get them to resolve.
“I’m sorry—I’m going to talk to Cliff about this?” Because doing so would only prove he was out of his fucking mind.
“Sure. Rule out that possibility.”
Drew scrunched up his nose. “Rule out what possibility?”
“That you’re actually psychic.”
Okay, now Drew did feel a little light-headed. “What the fuck are you talking about? There’s no such thing as psychics.”
“What about your grandmother?” Kyle looked so earnest, so calm.
Maybe Drew really was having some sort of break from reality and was going to snap out of it, only to find himself restrained to a hospital bed somewhere. Or maybe he was in a coma and the stuff with Cliff had all been a figment of his imagination.
“My grandmother wasn’t psychic. She had intuition, was great at reading people’s nonverbal cues, and made some insightful predictions based on a lifetime of experience. She capitalized on that and taught me everything she knew.”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know. She knew I wasn’t going to New York if I didn’t give up that part. She even knew which knee was going to get blown out. If I’d listened to her, it’s possible I might still be dancing.”
“What are you saying? And why haven’t you told me this before?”
Looking slightly ashamed, Kyle averted his eyes. “She came right out and told me to quit the part I’d been given. Told me there was going to be a screw-up that would cost me my career. I didn’t believe her. That part in Chicago was going to be my big break. I never told you, because I had no proof of anything. And I know you, Drew. You need proof.”
The chills were back, more intense than before. There was no way his grandma could have known a careless stagehand in another city was going to leave a smear of grease on the stage floor, causing Kyle to slip, taking the brunt of the injury while protecting his dancing partner from the fall. No way.
“But…you don’t believe in psychics and ghosts.” Drew couldn’t let it go. He did need proof, and no one had ever provided convincing evidence to the contrary. Even his interest in watching Phantoms had been solely for the presence of Brett Cavanagh. Certainly not for the questionable evidence Brett provided to prove the existence of supernatural events.
Kyle popped a couple of gummy bears in his mouth. “Until your grandma warned me, I didn’t believe in psychics, no. But I believe in ghosts.”
Drew’s world wobbled. Was he the only one in this town who didn’t believe in the supernatural? Underneath the shock, a hint of betrayal lurked. Kyle had been lying to him all this time.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Kyle flicked a gummy bear at his chest. “Ghosts make perfect sense. Remnants of energy, strong emotion, remaining behind. Nothing malevolent or sentient. Just…shadows. Echoes. How else do you think I make those ghost tours so creepy? Because I believe the ghosts are there, and I’ve learned how to scare the shit out of tourists with them. And psychics, well, the brain is still largely untapped. Unexplored. I believe both ghosts and psychic phenomena could exist. Could have a scientific basis.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Drew thought about Kyle’s words. Choosing to believe as Kyle did would ease his mind a bit, but deep down he was still concerned about a medical problem.
“Shouldn’t I go get checked out? Medically, I mean? Rule out…damage?”
Kyle shrugged. “So here’s the way I see it. If you’re damaged, I don’t think it’s life threatening. And yes, you could go to the hospital now or make appointments with specialists in the morning. But you can easily rule out one possibility—for free—tonight.”
“I must be brain damaged, because that actually makes sense.” Somehow it did, although he wasn’t sure if he’d be more relieved or less if it turned out Mrs. Gillespie had been involved in the pileup. “Do you know where they’re filming tonight? Probably that’s the best place to talk to Cliff.”
Kyle huffed and tossed another gummy bear at him. “Do I know where they’re filming? Of course I know where they’re filming.”
Drew should have known better. Kyle was a gossip maven. Mostly because he worked with kids and teens. Their parents blabbed about shit in their kids’ hearing, not realizing that the kids were going to discuss the more interesting gossip with their peers, and for some reason, the gay dance teacher was virtually invisible when those kids got talking.
“You’ll take me out there?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, are you going to tell me all about Officer Hottie?”
“Not yet. Not until I can talk to him.” Drew just hoped that Cliff had forgotten to be mad at him when he and Kyle crashed the film site later.
Chapter Fifteen
Kyle pulled to the side of the road, just before the turnoff to the Somerset estate. Drew stared in dismay at the trucks that blocked the drive, undoubtedly parked that way on purpose.
“It’s obvious we aren’t welcome. They’re never going to let us just walk right in. After all, they must have some sort of bouncers or something besides Drew and his partner.” This was a stupid idea, and he couldn’t believe he’d let Kyle talk him into it.
“They might. You never know. Besides, don’t tell me you don’t know another way onto this property. A way to Cliff’s house that isn’t so obvious.”
Drew went from the icy cold of panic to the heat of embarrassment so quickly he thought he might pass out.
“What are you talking about?”
“C’mon. Back in high school. Surely you ‘explored’ part of this property as a way to check up on Cliff.”
“I wasn’t a fucking stalker, Kyle.” At least, not to the point of staring into the windows of North’s…or rather, Cliff’s house. Or
at least, not often. The best way to the back of the house from where Drew had lived was to cut through the Morales property, then through the edge of the fenced-in swamp-conservation area to the Somerset estate. He hadn’t done it often, because the swamp preserve was crawling with gators and the high school principal, Mr. Morales, hated all Drummonds. If Drew had been caught, Mr. Morales would have skinned him alive. The hatred hadn’t exactly abated since the man became mayor, either, and if Drew ever had been tempted to step off the straight and narrow, the mayor would have had his business shut down within seconds.
“Uh-huh. Whatever,” Kyle said after an insultingly long pause.
Drew stared out of the window even though there was very little to see in the night-darkened shadows of the trees lining the Somerset property.
“Even if I did know, we don’t know where they are on the property.” The front of the property was easier to get into, but the front lawn was also much more open, much more visible to people looking out windows.
Kyle snorted. “Are you fucking kidding?” He pointed through the windshield. “All we have to do is follow the bat signal.”
Drew stared up into the sky in the direction Kyle was pointing, where a whitish glow lit up the treetops deep in the Somerset estate, looking for all the world like lights at the high school’s football field. He wasn’t sure why all the Phantoms episodes looked like they’d been filmed through night-vision goggles when apparently they brought in enough lighting to signal the space station.
“Okay, I guess we can find it, but seriously, Kyle, I’m not sure I’m up to tramping through the woods in the middle of the night.” And that had nothing to do with his fear that he was going to make a complete ass of himself. Aside from the fact that his energy reserves were still easily exhausted, he and Kyle weren’t equipped for mucking about in the woods in the dark. Kyle might have a flashlight in the trunk, but neither of them was wearing hiking boots or long pants, both of which were vital if they were going to stumble around and possibly come across a snake or two. And that was assuming no gators were taking a stroll on the property. There was no way Drew was cutting through the conservation area after dark. No fucking way. He had no intention of deliberately wandering into gator territory if he could help it.
