Infamous

by Jenny Holiday

  “Actually, I think you should get Avery and her friends who’ve been practicing that terrible Katy Perry song to perform. There is no way the rich and famous of Toronto can see that and not be inspired to open their wallets.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea,” Hunter said. “Andrea will love it. Will you accompany them?”

  Jesse laughed. “Sure. Let me have Amber look into flights and touch base with Andrea about the details.”

  “This is looking like it’s going to be the best gala yet,” said Hunter with what seemed like real happiness.

  A thought occurred to Jesse. “And will my duties include auctioning you to the highest bidder in the bachelor auction?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that aspect of things.

  Hunter quirked a resigned smile. “They will indeed.”

  Hunter was glad Jesse was away on tour. At least that was the party line.

  Things between them had gotten too . . . fraught. He pinned it on that kiss at the cottage so many months ago. Even though it had initially seemed like they’d gone back to normal afterward, Hunter was starting to wonder if they actually had. Because going back over it, it was kind of like there were two phases of his relationship with Jesse. Pre-kiss and post-kiss. Pre-kiss, they’d seen each other a couple of times a week for dinner. Then his straight friend had planted one on him, and all of a sudden they were all up in each other’s spaces? Their lives had become totally enmeshed. They hung out all the time. They told each other shit. Like the stupid bachelor auction—Jesse knew how freaked out Hunter was by it. And Hunter was in deep with Beth and Gavin. Not to mention examining Jesse’s bandmates for phantom bedbug bites.

  He was living in Jesse’s house, for God’s sake.

  It was like they were a couple without . . . the benefits that came with being a couple.

  So, yeah, a little break should have been just what this doctor ordered. Without Jesse around, sucking up all the available air simply by being himself, Hunter was free to do his own thing.

  Which was what?

  That was his problem.

  Because it seemed like, “his thing,” was a combination of falling back into the trap of working insane hours and obsessively checking his phone for texts from Jesse.

  “Hey.” Charlotte, a psychiatric nurse who was a regular at the Maple Leafs TV nights, caught up to him as he left the cafeteria.

  “What’s up?” He liked Charlotte. He didn’t have a ton of interaction with her at work, but from what he could tell, she was a great nurse—she was whip-smart and just the right blend of tough and kind.

  “Have you met the new night nurse in psych? His name’s Faheem?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I’m aware this is going to make me sound like I’m in junior high, but he likes you.”

  He choked on the coffee he was sipping. “What?”

  “Yeah, he’s hard-core crushing on you.” She smirked. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

  Hunter blinked, struggling to assimilate this astonishing news.

  “He’s adorable. He’s young—twenty-three or something. He must have graduated, like, yesterday, but he’s super competent. The kids all love him.”

  A twenty-three-year-old had a crush on him? Still stunned, Hunter opened his mouth to say something, but . . . what?

  It didn’t matter because Charlotte wasn’t done.

  “I don’t think it’s a match, though.”

  “Then why are you telling me all this?” he asked.

  “Because I can’t stand it anymore. You gotta either reject the boy or go out with the boy. He needs to stop talking about the idea of you two together. Everyone needs to stop talking about the idea of you two together.”

  “Why don’t you think it’s a match?” he asked, aware he was now the one who sounded like he was in junior high.

  “You know how straight people always try to match up all the gay people they know? Like, ‘Oh, look, you’re both gay—go off and have babies’? I think that might be what’s going on here.”

  Hunter laughed. “I do know.” Wait. What was she saying? “Do you know? Like, from experience?”

  “I do.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

  Well. If gaydar was a thing, Hunter had never had it. But still, he’d had a colleague all this time who wasn’t straight, and he’d had no idea?

  “Okay, so this kid— What’s his name? Faheem? Why is he not my prince charming? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with him. Like I said, he’s adorable. I just think if you’re in the market, which, for the record, I’m not presuming you are, you need someone who’s going to be more the yin to your yang, you know?”

  He raised his eyebrows, encouraging her to elaborate.

  “Not someone who’s going to take you to the bar across the street and talk your ear off about new techniques in SSRI dosing,” she clarified.

  “How do you know all this?”

  She shrugged. “I’m a student of the human condition.”

  “Okay.” He smiled despite himself. “What do I need, then?” Hell, she was a psych nurse. Maybe he could get some real insight here.

  “You need someone who’s going to force you out of your comfort zone.”

  Right.

  And, naturally, a text from Jesse arrived at that very moment. He could tell because he’d set up one of the new songs—“When You’re Mine,” his favorite—as Jesse’s custom ringtone. If Jesse could have a silly custom ringtone for Hunter, then he’d figured he could do the same for Jesse. He’d been careful, though, to choose an innocuous snippet of verse rather than the chorus. He didn’t need anyone thinking he was associating the phrase you’re mine with Jesse.

  Charlotte was still talking. “Basically, you need someone who’s going to force you to loosen up a bit. Shake you out of your usual patterns.” She winked. “That’s my professional opinion, anyway.”

  Hunter had been reflexively going for his phone. But he stopped. Pulled his hand out of his pocket.

  “You have my number, right?” he asked. “From those group texts about Maple Leafs night?”

  Charlotte nodded.

  “Give it to this Faheem kid. Tell him to use it.”

  Jesse checked his phone. He was in Atlanta. It was one in the morning.

  His last text, sent thirty minutes ago, was still marked Delivered.

  Not Read. Just Delivered.

  He stared at the single-word text.

  FaceTime?

  After that night Billy had made Hunter examine him remotely, Jesse and Hunter had kept up with the FaceTiming, rather than texting. One of them would usually shoot the other a text to confirm availability, and within minutes they’d be gabbing about that night’s set list, what was up at the hospital, how Beth and Gavin were doing, and so on.

  Then the delivery status on his text turned to Read.

  Finally. He grinned and smoothed his hair as he lay back on his bed and muted the TV.

  But nothing happened.

  Nothing happened for a good ten minutes.

  Then he got those dots, the floaty things that indicated the other person was typing.

  Can’t right now. I’m out. Maybe in like an hour if you’re still up?

  Jesse blinked. Sat up. Refrained from typing any of the questions swirling between his brain and his fingertips:

  You’re out at one in the morning?

  Where are you?

  Who are you with?

  What could he do, though? Hunter was a grown man. And, objectively, Jesse knew it was good for him to get out. When Hunter was out, he wasn’t working. Going out was good for him.

  In theory.

  He checked the Maple Leafs website. No game tonight.

  Damn.

  He had no other leads. No idea what Hunter could possibly be doing or with whom.

  But, again, what could he do? Certainly not ask about it.

  Anyway, the gala was the day after tomorrow. He would see Hunter in
person soon. So what did it matter whether he saw him on a tiny screen right now?

  He went to bed.

  And woke an hour later to the sound of “Bad Medicine,” his embarrassing ringtone for Hunter.

  He fumbled to turn on the light and answer the FaceTime.

  “Hey,” he said, then cleared his throat because he sounded like a frog.

  “I woke you. I’m sorry. Go back to bed.”

  “No. It’s okay. I’m up.” He ran his fingers through his hair. He’d fallen asleep with it wet, so it probably looked ridiculous. “You’re out late for a school night.”

  Hunter didn’t answer right away. His face formed itself into something halfway between a grimace and a smile. “I was on a date, actually.”

  “Well.” A strange buzzing started up in Jesse’s arms and hands. “Good for you.” Shit—that had come out sounding all snippy. He tried again. “How was it?”

  Hunter shrugged. “Okay. All the pieces were there.”

  “‘All the pieces’? What does that mean?”

  “Well, the Tinder thing didn’t really work out, right? This was the reverse. Someone from the real world. A guy I work with—Faheem. He’s a new nurse at the hospital. He’s smart, good-looking, in the market for a relationship.”

  “And those are ‘the pieces’?” Damn. It was harder than it should have been to keep that snide tone from creeping back into his voice.

  Hunter didn’t take offense, though. “Well, what else is there, really?” He laughed bitterly and rolled his eyes. “Though I guess after Julian, I should add: not a closet case. But that wasn’t a problem here. This kid is literally on the steering committee for Pride Week, and he’s founded a support group for gay Muslim youth.”

  “‘Kid’?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Way too young for you.”

  “Maybe.” Hunter shrugged. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter because, though all the pieces were there, there wasn’t a spark. I guess sometimes all the pieces don’t add up into the whole you’re looking for. I’m going to have to text him tomorrow that I won’t be seeing him again. Better to nip it in the bud now, because we have to work together. Our jobs don’t really overlap, but still.”

  Thank God.

  But Hunter looked so sad, dejected even.

  So Jesse said, “I’m sorry,” because that was what he was supposed to say. “Is this guy going to be at the gala?” He didn’t know what answer he was hoping for.

  “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it.” Hunter let loose a big sigh, like he was bearing the weight of the world, and Jesse’s heart twisted a little. “I just . . .”

  “What?” He hated seeing Hunter like this, all beaten down. It didn’t suit him.

  “I’ve been acting like I needed to change things up after Julian, after Montreal. And, yeah, I don’t want a closet case for a boyfriend—absolutely not. But I guess I’m realizing that I do want a boyfriend. I’m good at couplehood. I give good backrubs. I make good pancakes. It’s been three years, and . . .”

  Jesse closed his eyes. Hearing the longing in Hunter’s voice was hard enough without the accompanying visual. But with his eyes closed, he pictured a Saturday morning featuring those pancakes and backrubs, which wasn’t any better.

  “Which I guess means I’m going to have to start dating in earnest,” Hunter said.

  Jesse forced himself to open his eyes.

  “Which is, in turn, depressing.” Hunter rolled his eyes. “Because how often do you find someone who has all the right pieces but also gives you . . . that feeling?”

  “Not that often,” Jesse ventured. He’d never . . . Well, shit. He had to abort that thought because it wasn’t really true, was it?

  “I just want someone awesome to love me—publicly.” Hunter snorted, sounding like he was disgusted with himself. “Is that too much to ask?”

  “No,” Jesse said softly. He swallowed against a lump that had suddenly materialized in his throat. “No. That’s not too much to ask.”

  Jesse was excited as the taxi dropped him off at the gala. Stupidly excited. Even though he was wearing a goddamn bow tie.

  He was going to see Avery. Accompany her and some of the other kids as part of the performance. Hopefully sneak in a quick visit with Beth and Gavin tomorrow morning, before he had to fly back to rejoin the tour.

  And he was going to see Hunter.

  Jesse had never before come back from a tour and felt so much like he was . . . coming home. Which sounded like a sentiment that belonged on a Hallmark card, but there it was.

  The gala was being held in an old brick quarry at the bottom of one of Toronto’s ravines. It had been restored and transformed into a stunning event venue surrounded by reclaimed wetlands and trails.

  He was early, as instructed. He checked his watch. Actually, he was earlier than instructed. Probably on account of the whole “stupidly excited” thing.

  The venue was a cavernous converted industrial space covered by a soaring roof that must have been forty feet high, but aside from the roof, the space was open to the outdoors. Everything was draped with some kind of flowy white material, and workers were busy hanging up strings of lights that would look amazing when it got dark.

  “Jesse!”

  Andrea Bingham approached and kissed him on the cheek. “You look wonderful!”

  She said it with such over-the-top enthusiasm he suspected Hunter had prepped her to expect him to arrive in his usual slovenly state.

  “You have everything you need? I have an extra set of cue cards.”

  “I brought mine.” Jesse patted his breast pocket, which held the cards Andrea had couriered to him on the road. They contained his canned opening and closing remarks, and he’d added his own speech to the middle, as instructed.

  “Okay, great. We’re going to do a sound check in about fifteen minutes, but we won’t need you before that. Why don’t you have a stroll around the grounds? They’re really something. And it looks like it’s going to rain, so this might be your only chance.”

  “Is, ah, Dr. Wyatt here yet, do you know?” There was probably no reason for Hunter to be here this early, but maybe he’d been tasked with a job because he was on the planning committee.

  “I saw him somewhere around here,” said Andrea, looking around, and Jesse’s stomach did a stupid little dance.

  “It’s okay. I’ll find him.”

  He headed out to the back of the property, which was studded with a series of ponds that could be traversed via a network of boardwalks.

  And there Hunter was, leaning on a railing overlooking the farthest section of the ponds, his back to Jesse. He was leaning so his entire head was obscured, and he was wearing a tux rather than his usual work dress clothes. So technically, Jesse shouldn’t have been able to recognize him from this far away. He should merely have looked like a generic man in a penguin suit.

  But Jesse knew the curve of that spine. The angle created by that arm resting on the railing.

  He knew.

  He forced himself to walk slowly, to keep up a steady rhythm with the clicking of his shoes on the wooden planks. There were frogs croaking. Or crickets? Despite all his time at the cottage, he wasn’t good at this nature shit, but something natural was making noise in a regular pattern. So his footsteps were in symphony with those creatures.

  There was also his heart, which was not keeping time as neatly.

  He was close enough now.

  “Dr. W.,” he called when he was about twenty feet away, using Avery’s name for Hunter.

  Hunter turned.

  Jesse’s gaze locked onto those beautiful shimmery eyes, which were . . . crying?

  They were. Or they had been. Hunter tried to hide it—he swiped a hand over his face and then he managed a weak smile. “Hey.”

  “What’s wrong?” Jesse tried to tamp down a spike of adrenaline. Something was wrong with Hunter, and Jesse’s body automatically surged into fight mode.

  “Nothing. I got
some bad news today, but it’s okay. Hey, it’s good to see you in the flesh. How was your flight?”

  Jesse wasn’t having it. “Tell me what’s happened.” That had come out too strong. He gentled his voice. “Please.”

  Hunter turned back to the pond, but he answered. “Lost a kid today. Unexpectedly.”

  “Oh.” Jesse felt it like a spear, an icy blade slicing through his insides.

  “I wish I could tell you about him—he was such a great kid—but privacy rules . . .” He stopped talking and shook his head at the pond.

  Jesse hated not being able to see Hunter’s face. Hunter sounded more in control of his voice than he had earlier, but Jesse needed to see his friend’s eyes. He moved closer. Came to stand next to Hunter at the railing. He wanted to lift his hand, to let it float down onto Hunter’s shoulder, but he held back.

  “I should be used to this by now.”

  There was derision in Hunter’s tone. Self-disgust. Something inside Jesse snapped at hearing it, because that could not be allowed to stand.

  “No,” he said, and the force of it drew Hunter’s attention. His eyes were dry but troubled. “Not getting used to kids dying is what makes you such a great doctor. You get used to that shit, you’re not the same person anymore.”

  Hunter closed his eyes, made fists, and pressed them against his temples. “And now I’ve got to stand up in that fucking bachelor auction and smile and be a good sport while everyone titters over the gay doctor with the weird gray hair.” The fists came around and dug into his eyeballs. “Fuck.”

  Jesse was startled. Hunter didn’t swear much—not like this anyway. Not beyond a good-naturedly frustrated “damn it.” Jesse was the one who needed a swear jar.

  “Hey.” Jesse gave in to his previous impulse to lay a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. It was like petting a brick wall. He was holding himself so tight—his shoulders were scrunched up near his ears and his upper arms were jammed into his sides like he was bracing himself for some sort of impact. “Hey, hey,” he said again, using both hands on Hunter’s shoulders this time to force him to turn so they were facing each other.

  Jesse did what came naturally—he wrapped his arms around his friend. Hunter’s own arms were still bent at the elbow and pressed against his torso, so Jesse encircled all of Hunter in a great big hug.