Safe House

by Charley Descoteaux

  A tall shadow fell across the table, and Kyle looked up into the dark eyes of Tim Tate—Eric’s husband, and the guy Kyle had wanted to dislike but just couldn’t. It had been a relief when his torch for Eric finally went out and he could stop carrying it.

  Derek leaped to his feet, grinning. “Right on time, as always.”

  Tim nodded at everyone sitting around the table and then headed for the kitchen.

  “Come on, Shimmy. Let’s go.”

  Kyle had already risen to his feet, and he followed Derek more out of habit than any love for the nickname. But he knew if he made a comment—any comment—he’d be Shimmy for the rest of the long weekend. Derek was still his best friend, so he could overlook it. Once. Kyle didn’t pay much attention to where they were headed until they’d walked through the kitchen, crossed the porch, and stepped onto the short dock that extended over the river. Derek unlocked the little boathouse, and Kyle perked up. He’d always wondered what was in there and why Eric and Nathan hadn’t done anything with it.

  The old door creaked open like something out of a horror movie, and inside was the answer to why it wasn’t used. The building was full of old-fashioned wooden kayaks, one- and two-person rowboats, oars, and assorted ancient and crumbling life jackets. The scent of dust hung in the stale air but wasn’t accompanied by smells of droppings or death, so he followed Derek inside. Almost behind the door was a workbench—a strangely clean workbench with a cleared and dust-free path leading to it. But Kyle didn’t have a chance to think about who would have cleared a path to the workbench or why before Derek turned to him, a broad grin on his handsome face.

  “Pick one. We’re hitting the river, man.”

  “On one of those death traps? No, thanks.”

  “Aw, come on. They’re sound.” Derek stepped up to a rack of kayaks that could have been props for an old movie and patted one. “I took this one out last fall, but nobody would go with me. I can always count on you, though.” Derek wiggled his eyebrows, and before Kyle could fully process what was happening, Derek lifted one with faded blue paint from its place on the rack. “If you fall in, I promise to fish you out and save your pretty ass.”

  Kyle shook his head but found himself lifting the slim boat that had been beneath Derek’s. Both were clean enough that it was easy to imagine they’d been used within the past five years, and they seemed sound. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Derek laughed and walked out with the boat held over his head as though he knew what he was doing.

  Kyle followed, a little less coordinated but managing well enough. He tried not to think about how waterproof his clothes were not. The day was mild and as far as he knew no rain was expected—they could be that lucky. “Where are we getting in?”

  Derek stopped and tipped his chin toward the river. “Right here. We’re paddling upstream until we get to Devil’s Lake.” He looked completely serious for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Come on.”

  He resumed walking toward the parking lot, and Kyle followed, but not very closely. They found Tim standing impatiently beside his truck.

  “Tim’s going to drive us up to the lake.” Derek slid his kayak into the truck’s bed and stepped back so Kyle could do the same. “We’ll paddle around a little, and then we can ride the river back here. It’s one of the shortest rivers in the world, and it’s all downhill, old man.”

  Tim frowned at them. For a moment Kyle was afraid he was angry, that maybe they’d damaged the truck.

  “Did you just call him ‘old man,’ Derek?”

  “I did. And he is. Don’t let the pretty face fool you—he’s pushing fifty.” Derek patted the boat and walked toward the cab. “Don’t you have to be back at the job?”

  Tim shook his head but wore the ghost of a smile. “Okay, get in.”

  Kyle chose not to fight that particular battle, but technically he wouldn’t be pushing fifty for another few years—okay, two, if “pushing fifty” meant being forty-nine.

  Tim slammed the tailgate closed and shouted to them, “Wait a minute. You’re not going out there without life jackets.”

  Kyle turned back and was treated to the sight of Tim leaning over the side of the truck bed, which pulled his jeans tight around his ass. He was still staring when Tim straightened with two bright life jackets in his hands.

  “These belong to my brothers. Try them on so we can be sure they’ll fit over your jackets.”

  Before anyone could make a comment about the brightness of the life jackets (or Tim’s brothers, who were hot but very straight and a little squeamish about all the gay), footsteps running across the porch caught their attention. Alex stopped at the top of the steps and frowned at them. Nobody moved while she stalked down the steps with purpose and intent. She stopped in front of Kyle, but he didn’t expect her to meet his eyes, so he didn’t try for it. Alex had never liked him, and he didn’t have to wonder why: jealousy. Completely unfounded, which she’d undoubtedly heard from Derek—it would only sound fake and weird coming from him. He wanted Alex to like him, but bringing up the fact that he’d fucked her husband—even inadvertently and with no plans to do so again—wouldn’t make that happen.

  Alex stopped in front of Kyle, barely outside of his personal space, and said, “I figured you’d say no, and this wouldn’t happen.”

  “Me? Why would I rain on the parade?” asked Kyle. Alex slowly looked up and into his eyes. Even though she wasn’t happy with him, the acknowledgment felt like a positive step in their burgeoning relationship. “You should come.”

  Alex froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “No, thanks. You goofs can go play in the freezing water by yourselves.” She turned to Tim. “I can’t believe you’re enabling this.”

  Tim shrugged and tossed the life jackets back into the truck bed. “Eric was afraid Derek would really try to paddle upstream.”

  Derek stepped up into the open passenger door of the truck and bounced a little. “Are we going? Honey, you can still come if—”

  “You weirdos have fun. If you catch a cold, don’t expect me to bring you chicken soup.”

  Derek bounced the truck again and wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ll need you to bring me more than that.”

  Tim’s face smoothed out completely except for a twinge of pink on the apples of his cheeks. Kyle remembered Paulie’s assessment of Tim’s expressions—the less he shows, the more he feels. Why he couldn’t just laugh along with everyone else was a mystery to Kyle. But he wasn’t always the most talkative person either, so he let it go.

  They sat on either side of Derek, who could barely contain his enthusiasm for the trip. He practically bounced in the seat the whole way, obviously proud of himself for thinking of everything.

  Derek knew Kyle well—well enough to know he was far less likely (as in, not at all) to go on an adventure that they would have to drive back from. Kyle tried not to, but he couldn’t keep from thinking about why. The memory no longer hurt the way it used to, but even that hurt in its own way.

  Kyle’s mother had died after a skydiving trip almost exactly twenty years before. She and a few of her friends had jumped from the plane and landed safely. She’d e-mailed him a picture of herself in a field with a rainbow parachute on the ground behind her. He’d been at work in his cubicle, and he’d replied immediately: You’re nuts, but I love you anyway. And on the way home, half of the group, including Nella Fortin Shimoda, had been killed on the highway.

  “So, man.” Derek bumped shoulders with Kyle. “Wait until you see this lake. It’s not huge, but it kind of wraps around this peninsula-type landmass where there’s a campground.” He turned to Tim, who might have flinched. “Is the campground open this time of year?”

  “Yes. But—”

  Derek turned back to Kyle and grabbed his wrist as though he were trying to jump out of the truck and needed to be stopped. “The website says there are bald eagles that nest nearby. We can paddle around and see what there is to see, then hit the river back. Maybe invest in
some new, lighter kayaks come summertime. And wet suits.”

  The drive to the lake was a short one. Before long Tim was pulling off Highway 101. The place seemed deserted, which made sense on a Sunday afternoon in February, and so quiet it creeped Kyle out. The silence felt strange after the crashing of the waves and the streets of Portland. It made the skin on the back of his neck feel prickly, but he sloughed it off and got out of the truck.

  Kyle had expected a sign welcoming them to the park and campground, but they pulled into a gravel parking lot and stopped. He was working on how to phrase the question when Tim spared him.

  “This is the boat launch. You can put in here, head north, and get to the lake. You’ll come back this way to hit the river.” Tim pointed back the way they’d just come. “Unless you want a ride back to the camp.”

  Derek shook his head, smiling, and pulled the tailgate down. Before he pulled his kayak out, Tim pressed a plastic bag against Derek’s chest.

  “You don’t need a hand condom to pet my chest, Tim.” Derek winked, and Tim’s cheeks pinked again.

  “For your phone.”

  Kyle had a second of panic when he thought about dropping his phone into the lake. Then it sounded like a decent idea. Not that he would ever do such a thing, but he could fantasize about it a little.

  Derek pulled a plastic bag with a float attached from the pocket of his waterproof jacket. “I’m way ahead of you, Tate.”

  Tim made a gesture inviting them to get their kayaks out of his truck, but he looked impressed. He made sure they each put on a life jacket and then drove off. Kyle had a moment to hope he wouldn’t be getting too wet, and all too soon they were negotiating the transition from land to water.

  Neither was completely dry by the time they’d gotten the hang of it and were gliding away from the gravel shore, but the exertion warmed Kyle up enough that he didn’t care. Derek was more than a decade younger, but even his enthusiasm didn’t get him much distance on Kyle. They’d always been fairly evenly matched physically, and apparently that carried over to kayaking.

  They paddled around the lake a few times, but it got cold faster than they expected. Kyle fought to keep from snickering when Derek tried to pull the zipper on his coat closed. The collar of his jacket was already covering his chin. So it was no surprise when he suggested wrapping up their adventure.

  “How about we give that river a shot?” Derek’s voice might’ve been shaking a little.

  Kyle shrugged, and it turned into a shiver. “Sure.” He followed Derek, who seemed to know where he was going—Kyle had gotten turned around and couldn’t figure out which way was which. “You’ve done this before, right?”

  Derek kept paddling and looking straight ahead.

  Kyle struggled but managed to pull even with Derek’s boat. “Hey. You’ve done this before, right? Tell me you’ve done this before and lived to tell about it.” He expected a joke and a smile but got a nervous chuckle and a sheepish grin instead.

  “Um, yeah. Sort of. The river was pretty low, but how different can it be?”

  They reached the river, and Kyle’s heart thumped unevenly a few times. The river looked wide and long and rough. “Why are you trying to kill me, man?” Kyle tried to chuckle but found he didn’t have enough air.

  “We can get out and call for a ride if you want.”

  Unsure whether Derek wanted to do that or was flipping a bit of shit, Kyle decided he wasn’t going to chicken out. Not this time. He’d given up every sport and physical activity he’d ever been talked into trying, except hiking—okay, Portland pub crawls. While he was growing up, his father hadn’t wanted him to play sports anyway, and avoiding them had become a habit. After over forty-some-odd years, it was a habit he’d never seriously questioned. Being a natural klutz had something to do with it, but maybe it was time to push that boundary before it was too late and his body couldn’t do it even if he tried. All he had to do was stay in the boat and let the current do the rest.

  It’s not rocket science.

  Derek’s kayak was swept into the current, and he whooped—hopefully not in terror. When Kyle’s followed behind a few seconds later, he knew it could have gone either way. Any sound he would have made probably wouldn’t have sounded as happy. The river carried them toward the ocean, picking up speed as they went. He tried to keep to the center, behind Derek, but had no clue whether that was a good idea. One thing he knew—hitting the rocks lining the banks definitely wouldn’t be a good idea.

  At least the river was short, so it didn’t take long before Kyle saw the bridge leading to Buchanan House. It looked lower than he would have thought, and as they got closer he worried about clearance. And when they could get off the river and go hang out in front of the fire—preferably with a drink or two.

  They passed under the bridge without incident, and Kyle did his best to steer toward the bank. Controlling the direction of the kayak wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be, but it did swing away from the center of the river. As long as his speed remained constant, he should reach the shore ahead of the slight bend coming up and the rocks that seemed to be forcing the river to turn away from the camp. Kyle grinned. It wasn’t often he applied principles he’d learned on the way to his engineering degree in real life.

  Derek shouted something—or maybe he was just having fun—but as soon as Kyle turned to see where Derek was and what was so much fun, he heard a splintering, ripping sound below him. The kayak jerked, sending him tumbling half onto the bow. Derek was shouting but Kyle couldn’t make out any words, and then a wall of water rushed up to slam into his face.

  Kyle untangled himself from the remains of the boat and coughed up river water. He looked up in time to see the rocks rushing toward him. For a second that seemed to stretch out far too long, he knew it was really his body hurtling toward the rocks and that there was nothing he could do to change his trajectory. He threw his left arm up to shield his head, and then the world became pain and swirling water.

  Chapter Eight

  BRANDON SAT at his desk at the station, trying to get caught up on paperwork but not having much luck in forcing his mind on task. His current internal monologue centered on why he’d hidden out at his Mom’s on his days off instead of going back to the camp and pursuing Kyle. He and Minnie had both enjoyed the conversation and the cribbage, and her garden had needed attention she wasn’t up to giving it anymore, so at the time it hadn’t seemed like hiding out. But hindsight forced him to question his motives.

  Why? A hookup is a hookup, and that’s all it was, all you wanted. Wrap your mind around that, Smith.

  Maybe the fact that he’d been staring at the same empty space in the same accident report form for at least the last ten minutes said otherwise. He didn’t really care about a fender bender on the 101 (since there had been no injuries), or even clearing the mountain of crap (reports, important reports) from his desk.

  Not for the first time, he thought about retiring. He almost had enough time on the job to collect his full pension. But what would he do? As attractive as hanging up his uniform for good sounded, he wasn’t qualified to do anything else. Over the past few years, he’d spent so little of his off hours actually staying off the clock that he had no idea what would happen once he retired. He made a mental note to discuss it with his mother… sometime… and turned back to the report in front of him. Moments later the phone rang, and he sighed in relief as he picked it up, answering with his standard greeting. “Smith.”

  “Brandon? Hi, how are you?”

  “Fine, thank you.” He searched his mind for a face and name to go with the voice but came up empty. They’d dialed directly to his extension, so he felt the end of his patience creeping up on him. Who did they think would answer my phone? “How can I help you?”

  “It’s Eric. Out at Buchanan House? I… well, we…. I’m not sure if you’re the right one to call about this, but there’s an abandoned car in our parking lot. I’ve never seen it before, and all the guests le
ft last night.”

  “Is anyone inside?”

  “Oh. I don’t know. I can go check.” Eric’s voice quavered the slightest bit, and Brandon bit back a caustic retort. He wasn’t in the mood to go hold someone’s hand through a noncrisis. Before he could tell Eric to go ahead and do that or give him the number of the nearest garage with tow service, he realized he resented Tim’s husband—anyone who’s happily married, if I’m being honest here—not Eric personally. That snapped him out of jerk mode and back into Officer Brandon Smith. Better than being an asshole, but not quite as much of an adjustment as he would have liked.

  “No need. I’ll swing by and take a look. Maybe the car wouldn’t start and the owner is walking toward the garage now.”

  Eric thanked him and didn’t point out that if the car belonged to a guest, they would have tried to start it the night before. That thought hit Brandon as he got into his patrol car, and he moved a little faster. There was probably a good explanation for why an abandoned car was sitting in the lot outside Buchanan House, but his training and experience forced him to think about all the bad ones. He obeyed the speed limit, but only because arriving any other way would probably add unnecessary fuel to Eric’s alarm.

  Brandon crossed the bridge and groaned out loud. He parked beside Jason’s car and hurried to check inside, breathing a sigh of relief when it was empty. It was a school day, but Brandon didn’t think about that until he’d already placed the call to Jason.

  “Coach?” Jason’s voice squeaked. Running footsteps on gravel were clearly audible in the background.

  “Jason. Why is your car in the Buchanan House parking lot?”

  “Shit. I mean, sorry. I—”

  “Do you have practice after school today?”

  “Yeah. Coach, listen, I—”

  “We can talk after practice. You’re lucky the proprietor called me and didn’t just have it towed.”