by A. M. Arthur
“No, shut up, you didn’t do anything.” He got Jaime’s taped wrists free of the toilet, then yanked him up against his chest. He didn’t have enough arms to hold Jaime as close as he wanted, to cover him up from the world and keep him safe. Jaime buried into him, fingers clutching at his shirt, face pressed into his armpit. He didn’t cry, as if the tears were stuck somehow, unable to get loose while his body was still bound. Alessandro kissed the side of his head and held him, lost as to what to do next.
The noise from the running sinks must have blocked the sound of her entrance, because Shannon suddenly was in the stall door clutching a towel in both hands. “Holy shit,” she said. “What the hell happened?”
Jaime didn’t answer.
“I found him like this,” Alessandro said. He helped her tuck the old beach towel around Jaime as best they could when he was reluctant to pull away or move at all, even to get covered up.
“I’m calling the police,” she said.
“No!” Jaime’s head snapped up so fast he nearly clipped Alessandro’s chin. “Please, sis, don’t.”
“Bug, I have to. Look what—they tried—I don’t—not after the shop. I can’t look away, not this time.” She stepped out of the stall to make the call, her steady voice audible even over the rush of water in the sinks.
“She’s right.” Alessandro held tight when Jaime tried to pull away. “Whoever did this should be in jail.”
“I don’t know who it was. Didn’t see them. Where are my clothes?”
“We’ll find them. Jaime, what happened?”
Tears trickled down Jaime’s cheeks, and he didn’t seem aware of them. He blinked around the stall as though the answers were written on the walls. “I had to pee. I brought my books with me. I always bring them. Shit, do you see my bag? Is it here?”
Alessandro hadn’t noticed the books any more than he’d noticed Jaime’s clothes. “We’ll find the books, too, okay?”
Shannon came back with a penknife in one hand, her eyes and cheeks blazing with anger, and she set about hacking through the tape still binding her brother’s wrists and ankles.
“What happened when you got here, Jaime?” Alessandro asked.
“I was at the urinal. Someone came in wearing a mask.”
“What kind of mask?”
“Ski mask. Red, I think. He shoved my head into the wall. I think I blacked out.”
Alessandro inspected Jaime’s forehead. A small lump had risen just above his hairline to the left of center. “Jesus.” With the tape gone, he pulled the towel more firmly around Jaime’s shoulders.
“They taped up my eyes first. They were laughing like it was all a big joke. They were kicking me, and they took my clothes.” His voice was lost to a wheeze, and Alessandro held him tighter. Jaime snaked his arms around his waist and squeezed hard, as if he’d fall off the edge of the earth if he let go. “I was so scared, Alè.”
“You’re safe now. I swear.”
“I didn’t know what they were going to do.”
The need to protect what was his, and the bitter desire to punish those who’d hurt him, roared through Alessandro. He’d kept good hold of his temper for so long, and his control was slipping. “What did they do, babe?”
“Taped me up. Couldn’t move. They were trying to disguise their voices, talked weird, you know? Someone said to piss on the fag. I thought someone really did, but I think it was just water. I never smelled anything.”
Jaime didn’t look or feel damp. How long had he been stuck there, alone and terrified?
“Did they do anything else?”
“Called me names, then left. I thought someone would find me sooner.”
“The fuckers locked the door from the outside. No one could get in.”
“Shit.” He pressed his face against Alessandro’s shoulder and released a deep, long breath. “Please take me home.”
“Soon, babe, I promise.” He glanced at Shannon, who pointed over her shoulder at the running sinks and mouthed the word clothes. Great. “Jaime, what time did you pack up to come in here?”
“Around two, I guess,” was the muffled answer.
His temper soared. Jaime had been trapped like that for over three hours.
“Look,” Jaime said, lifting his head. “I’ll wait for the police, but can we do it outside? Please?”
“Okay, we can do that.”
Jaime’s clothes were soaked, so Alessandro yanked off his own shirt and helped Jaime put it on. They wrapped the beach towel around his waist. Shannon helped him limp out to her car while Alessandro stayed behind to collect himself. He glared at the piles of duct tape on the ground, at the soaked mess of Jaime’s clothes sitting in one of the sinks. He found Jaime’s messenger bag in the other stall, its contents stuffed into the toilet bowl. He saved what he could, but most of his handwritten notes were a soggy, ink-streaked disaster. The sight of Jaime’s work reduced to trash made a thick lump form in his throat. The lump rose, threatening to turn into tears.
Alessandro tamped down his grief and latched onto the anger simmering just below the surface. He wanted to hurt someone right now, and any target would do. Anyone except Jaime, who needed him calm and in charge. He could do that for Jaime, until he was home and safe.
Then he’d find Justin Maddox and kill him.
* * *
Jaime wanted to crawl beneath the seat of Shannon’s car and hide the moment the police car appeared. He’d never been overcome by such a bizarre blend of shame and anger, and he wasn’t sure which was stronger. He was embarrassed at what had been done to him, how Alessandro had found him. He was also furious that he’d let it happen, and that whoever did it would probably get away with it.
He’d had to pee. He’d packed up his books and took them with him to men’s room. He hadn’t paid attention to anyone following him or lurking around. He’d gone inside, headed for the urinal and then everything went gray. So many of the details were fuzzy, mixed up with his terror and confusion. He didn’t know if his attackers had meant to beat him to death, rape him or just have a laugh and go. That they’d done the latter didn’t make him feel better. He’d been humiliated, his head hurt, his body was sore, and he wanted to be left alone.
Instead two town cops came over and spoke to Shannon. Then they talked to him. He repeated his story as best he could, unable to look either of the cops in the eye. He recognized them from the bakery: Danziger and Walsh. Both older family men, went to church, probably thought the queer kid had it coming. As he reached the part in his narrative where he heard Alessandro’s voice calling for him, the man in question exited the bathroom.
For one instant, Alessandro scared him. He stood so rigidly, so perfectly in control that Jaime knew he was faking it. The fury he was trying to mask burned in his eyes and leaked out in the tight line of his mouth. The way his hands were balled into knuckle-white fists. He glared at the cops, then at the sky. When his gaze settled on Jaime, though, something changed. Softened. The tenderness that took over the fury made Jaime’s heart pound.
Alessandro was carrying a pile of things in his hands, including books and the messenger bad. Everything looked wet, and Jaime wanted to scream. Alessandro put the items on the front passenger seat of Shannon’s car, and Jaime forced himself to not stare at it or he’d probably burst into tears. All of his research and notes, gone.
He listened to Alessandro’s version of events as the cops gave him their full attention. The call from Shannon, finding his bike, his curiosity about the lock. Breaking into the bathroom because he’d heard Jaime’s feeble attempts at kicking the stall frame. Walsh was actively scribbling notes on a pad while Danziger asked most of the questions.
“Mr. Winters, did you see anyone here at the park today that you recognized?” Danziger asked.
“I don’t think so. I was here studying. I don’t usually pay a lot of attention to who else is around. People were at the playground, I guess.”
“The Donovans were here when I got here,” Shann
on said. “I asked if they’d seen Jaime around and they said no. But they might know who else comes to the park around two o’clock.”
“The Donovans?” Danziger said.
“Teresa and Bob Donovan, they live over on Kestrel Street.”
“All right, we’ll follow up with them. And we’ll ask around the park, see if anyone saw something suspicious.”
“My brother was attacked in broad daylight. Someone had to have seen something.”
“And we’re going to look into it.”
Jaime wilted. They didn’t think anything would come of it, he could tell.
“You could at least pretend you give a damn,” Alessandro snapped.
“Excuse me?” Walsh said. “Of course we give a damn, but given the circumstances of the crime—”
“He was attacked, beaten up and terrorized in a fucking hate crime, Officer. Those are the circumstances.”
Walsh flinched. “I meant given the details of the attack and apparent lack of witnesses, we’ll do the very best we can to discover the identity of the perpetrators.”
Hate crime. Piss on the fag. Jaime shuddered.
“In the meantime,” Danziger said, “I’d swing by the ER and get that head checked out. Don’t take a chance with it.”
Jaime groaned out loud at the idea of spending hours sitting around the emergency room just to be given pain pills compatible with his antirejection meds and then sent home.
“You’re going,” Shannon said. Her tone left no room for argument.
“Can we at least go home and get me something to wear first?”
“Of course we can do that, Bug.”
Maybe if he pleaded enough they could just stay home. His head hurt but he hadn’t actually been knocked unconscious, so he doubted he had a concussion. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed with Alessandro and feel safe for a while. It would be a long time before he could face this park alone.
“All right,” Walsh said. “We’ll have our people come down and check for fingerprints, but given that it’s a public restroom, it will be hard to find anything useful.”
“Dust the door lock,” Alessandro said.
“Thank you for that.” The response dripped with sarcasm. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you,” Shannon said.
“Alè?” Jaime asked.
He was at the car door, squatting down to his eye level in an instant. “Yeah?”
“Will you come with us to the house?” He almost added “and the hospital” but he still had hope of talking Shannon out of that particular trip. “Please?”
Alessandro hesitated, and then some of the burning rage in his eyes cooled. He almost looked guilty, but he hadn’t done anything except rescue Jaime’s idiotic ass. “Yeah, of course. Anything you need.” To Shannon he said, “I’ll follow you back.”
Jaime stayed in the backseat while Shannon drove them home. He was silently thankful that she didn’t pepper him with questions or with furtive glances in the rearview. She dealt with her fear privately. He’d seen it enough while he was sick. She’d go upstairs, lock herself in the master bathroom and quietly freak out where he couldn’t see her. God, he hated causing her so much stress. He’d given her enough over the years.
She didn’t have so much white in her hair because she frosted it.
And what about Alessandro? Alessandro’s anger had scared him. He’d gotten a glimpse of the angry boy that he’d heard stories about, that he only vaguely remembered from school. He trusted Alessandro to never take that temper out on him, but what about his attackers? What would Alessandro do if the cops did identify them? He needed Alessandro in his life, not in a jail cell next to them.
His head was throbbing by the time they got home. Alessandro pulled in right behind Shannon. He followed Jaime upstairs to his room. Jaime wanted to take a shower before they went anywhere but the headache was making him unsteady. He let Alessandro wrangle him into a set of clean sweats.
“Hey, Jaime, you okay?”
Jaime started to shake his head, then flinched. “Head hurts a lot.”
Alessandro pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Let’s get you checked out, okay? I need you safe and well.”
The sentiment of those final words weren’t lost on Jaime, especially the first three. They went down one step at a time to the first floor, and then they were heading back out. Jaime sat in the backseat again, this time with Alessandro next to him, holding him. He was vaguely aware of Alessandro calling someone to say he might not be home tonight, and that he’d call tomorrow with an update—probably Eunice.
“Fucking hate hospitals,” Jaime said as the emergency-room entrance loomed closer.
“Me, too, Bug,” Shannon said. “Me, too.”
Chapter Eighteen
Baker’s Dozen didn’t open on Friday morning—the first time the place stayed closed on a weekday since the day it’d opened. Shannon had made the decision while they were in the ER waiting room, and she called Rusty so he could put a sign up on the front door apologizing to their customers. She had also said she’d still pay Alessandro for the day. He said no way in hell.
Waking up without an alarm was a unique experience for Alessandro. More so to do it in Jaime’s bed, with the other man asleep next to him. They hadn’t gotten back from the ER until close to three in the morning, after waiting forever for X-rays and a few other tests, including an echo of Jaime’s heart. Alessandro didn’t understand why, exactly, only that they were worried about stress and him taking one of his pills later than usual. Once Jaime’s headache was under control and the doctors decided he was okay, he’d been discharged.
Alessandro glanced over at the alarm clock. Barely after eight, but his body was getting used to keeping earlier hours. He got up to use the bathroom. Jaime was still sound asleep, snoring softly, so he padded downstairs for something to drink. He wasn’t surprised to see Shannon awake and sipping coffee at the island.
“There’s more in the pot,” she said.
“Thanks.” He poured a mug for himself, then leaned against the counter. “I guess the cops haven’t called?”
“No.” She scrubbed one hand through her wild hair. “Alè, I need to be honest with you about something, because I consider you a friend and you mean a lot to Jaime.”
He clutched his hot mug tighter, unnerved by the flat tone of her usually very inflective voice. “Okay.”
“I got really mad at you last night.”
“You have every right—”
“No, no I don’t. I was mad for the wrong reasons. You have been so great for my brother. He’s happy, Alè, happier than I’ve seen him in years. He’s figuring out who he is, and I’m proud of him for that. And I’m grateful that you’ve been so wonderful to him.”
“I care about him.” The words slipped out so easily. “He’s been good for me, too.”
“I know, and I was unfair last night. Not to your face, but in my head. I was so scared and so mad at what happened to Jaime that I started blaming you.”
If it was Justin, then I am to blame. He kept that to himself, but it lingered right below the surface, taunting him.
Shannon traced her finger around the lip of her mug. “I kept thinking that if he’d never met you, then no one would know he was gay, and I know that was a stupid thing to think. You didn’t make Jaime gay any more than you made his eyes blue.”
“You needed someone to blame.” Alessandro shrugged. “I get it.”
“It still wasn’t fair.”
“If it helps to hear it, I forgive you.”
She smiled. “Thanks. Now it’s your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“We haven’t worked together long, but I pride myself on being to read people. Something besides what happened to Jaime is bothering you. Does it have anything to do with why you guys weren’t together yesterday?”
The question cut into him like a blade, even though her voice held no accusation, just curiosity. He’d been desperate to tel
l Jaime about his conversation with Claire. Now that Jaime was dealing with his own trauma, maybe Shannon was a better option.
“Do you know Claire Duncan?” he asked.
“Not well, but she comes into the bakery a few times a month.”
“Yesterday she admitted to me that her boyfriend, Justin Maddox, hits her.”
Shannon’s pale eyebrows rose. “Justin’s the guy she comes in with, right? They’ve been dating since you guys were in high school.”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus.” Her surprise melted into annoyance. “Son of a bitch. That family gets away with everything, don’t they?”
“Pays to have money.”
“I didn’t know you and Claire were friends.”
“We aren’t.” He shifted from foot to foot, careful with his words now. “I was talking to her about something else, and it kind of slipped out. I don’t think she meant to tell me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. On one hand, it’s not my business.”
“On the other hand, you’re a good guy and you don’t like seeing someone abused.”
“Yeah.” Unless someone was paying him to not see it.
“In situations like that, it’s hard to help someone if they don’t want to get out of the relationship. Sometimes interfering makes the abused person cling tighter to the person hurting them.”
Alessandro didn’t miss the hint of frustration in Shannon’s voice, or the look on her face—a look that spoke of experience. He didn’t know much about Shannon beyond the bakery and how well she’d looked after Jaime. “Justin has been a menace since high school. He’s hurt a lot of people.”
Shannon frowned. “Do you think he has something to do with what happened to Jaime yesterday?”
Yes. “I’m not sure. He doesn’t like me, and he was giving Jaime a hard time about us last week.” The idea of Justin hurting Jaime to get back at him made him sick to his stomach, and he didn’t want Shannon looking at him like it was all his fault. “More likely it’s the same asshole who painted the front of the bakery, and that sort of thing doesn’t seem like Justin’s style. He’s way more direct.”
