Safe House

by Charley Descoteaux

  “I don’t know what I’ll do now, Mom.”

  “You’ll drive to Portland and relax for the next week or two, is what you’ll do now.”

  A shiver raced through Bran’s body. Less than three weeks, and then he would go back to the doctor for his follow-up appointment. The only thing he wanted to do less than keep that appointment was report for work at the station.

  They sat in silence for a little while. Bran poured them tea, and the cap remained closed on the bottle of Crown Royal. Finally Minnie gave Bran’s arm a little squeeze and stood. She excused herself to the bathroom, and when she returned she cleared the table.

  “I can get that, Mom.”

  “What class does Kyle have right now?”

  Bran checked his watch. “Anatomy.”

  Minnie smiled, and after a moment Bran mirrored her expression. For the most part. “Go. Don’t think about what you should be doing instead, or what might happen in a month or a year from now. Just go. Have dinner with your young man and just live.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  She laughed softly. “Once I know you’re on your way to Portland and not to rescind your retirement, I’ll be fine. Text me when you get there.” Minnie kissed his forehead and held his cheek in her hand. “I love you, honey. It’s past time your life revolved around your own happiness—not mine, not the city’s, yours.”

  “You don’t mind if I let it revolve around Kyle’s, I hope.”

  “That sounds like the perfect way to ensure your own.”

  BRAN STOPPED at his apartment and packed, grateful neither of the men who roomed with him were there. They wouldn’t understand why that particular accident had been the last straw for him. To be honest, he wasn’t completely sure he understood himself. He’d seen tragedies involving sons losing fathers too young, families ripped apart or irreparably damaged, and had stayed on the job. Maybe he was getting too old to keep going out there knowing what he could be called upon to face.

  Maybe this is why full pension kicks in when it does.

  Or maybe the difference was that he had somewhere else to go now, a real chance for a different kind of life. He filled the trunk of his car with just about all of his clothes and the possessions he couldn’t live without, and felt almost as though he could fly, so much weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  He checked the time. Since he’d missed Kyle’s break between classes, he decided to head east and call him later once his Basic Life Support class was over.

  The drive was blessedly uneventful. He didn’t see so much as a fender bender, nor even hear a siren in the distance. Bran played the radio a little too loud and wished he felt loose enough to sing along. He didn’t have a voice like Nathan’s, but he could carry a tune.

  Maybe I’ll join a gay men’s chorus. Or find something else to do just for fun—something with no socially redeeming value whatsoever.

  Bran laughed out loud. It sounded a tad bitter, and he still felt tense and sad, but it was a start—a step in the right direction.

  Traffic in Portland was thick and the city unfamiliar, and it took a while before Bran could find a place to park and get his bearings. The garage he pulled into happened to be within walking distance of Kyle’s building, so he set off on foot. If I’d planned ahead, I could have gotten closer or maybe arranged to pick him up after class.

  On the way, Bran tried to call, but it went right to voice mail. He didn’t leave a message, but as soon as he closed the connection he wished he had. Their usual time to talk wasn’t until late, and he had no idea what Kyle might have planned for after his classes. Bran crossed the last street and looked up at the building. Older, probably built in the early twentieth century, but it seemed to be in good shape. For no reason he could pinpoint, Bran hesitated. Should I go up? Should I try to reach Kyle first?

  Paralyzed by doubt, he stood on the corner for a few minutes before going inside. Rationally Bran knew he wouldn’t be turned away, that Kyle would be glad to see him, but the part of him that was still shaken by the morning’s events wasn’t convinced. He took the stairs to the fourth floor and found the correct numbered door, then hesitated again. When he finally managed to knock, it took a long time—and two more tries—before someone answered. The man wore only paint-splattered cutoff jean shorts and held two artists’ paintbrushes.

  “Hey. You’re…. Damn, sorry, come in.”

  “Bran.”

  “Bran. Sorry. Chase.” Chase pulled the door open and gestured Bran into the condo. “Hold on a sec, let me put these away.” Chase walked down a hallway, talking over his shoulder. “I thought you were—well, I thought someone locked themselves out. I almost didn’t come to the door.”

  The living room looked midcentury mod, but in a comfortable way. Bran wondered if the burnt orange couch and low wooden coffee table had belonged to Paulie’s parents. Two brown leather chairs were more recent, but not exactly new. Someone had decorated at one time, perhaps, but the room looked cozy and eclectic, and Bran wanted to sit down and never leave. Chase’s voice didn’t carry well from the rear of the house, but it rose in volume as he came back down the hall. Now he wore a T-shirt with the “Portland Oregon” sign printed on it, the jumping deer’s nose a bright red—but when he got closer, Bran saw the words read “Puddle Jumper.”

  Clever.

  “Is Kyle expecting you? He’s usually here by now. I bet the bridge went up and trapped him on the east side.” Chase straightened the coffee table, sweeping a bunch of papers full of sketches into a pile like they were playing cards.

  “Um, no. I hope it’s okay—”

  “Yeah, of course. Do you want a drink?” Chase went toward the kitchen without waiting for an answer, so Bran followed. The kitchen was thoroughly modern—he saw an espresso machine, a fancy mixer, and a couple of other appliances he wasn’t sure about.

  Chase turned and laughed. “We have beer or iced tea, or I could make you a coffee. I’ve had way too much espresso today already.”

  He did seem severely overcaffeinated, his eyes a little too wide and his voice a little too loud, but, man, was he handsome. His hair and goatee were longer than they had been the last time Bran had seen him, and the dark circles under his eyes did nothing to minimize how attractive he was. The simple fact that Chase was attractive made Bran more uncomfortable than it should have.

  Clearly I don’t need any caffeine, I’m wound up enough already. Chase has a man and his name isn’t Kyle.

  “Sorry to interrupt. Were you painting?”

  “Yeah. No problem. I can use a break.” He looked at the microwave and swore under his breath. “Yeah, I started working at four this morning, so a break is overdue.” Chase held up two beers, but Bran shook his head, so he put one back.

  A little voice cautioned Bran not to drink, not to take for granted that he’d be staying. “A glass of water sounds good.”

  Chase gave him a funny sideways look, then took a glass down and filled it from a pitcher in the refrigerator.

  “Make yourself at home. What brings you to Portland?”

  “Nothing in particular. Well, I wanted to talk to Kyle.” Bran sat in one of the leather chairs, and it was even more comfortable than it looked. He could’ve fallen asleep right there, so he scooted to the edge, took a coaster from the stack on the table, and rested his glass on it. “What are you working on?”

  “A commission, actually. One of the paintings I sold through Puddle Jumper—the restaurant Paulie created?—they asked for a companion piece. It’s a landscape, but kind of surreal.”

  Chase chatted on about his painting and a beer festival he was looking forward to and didn’t seem to mind that Bran’s contributions could barely be counted as responses. He seemed hyper but not manic, happy to have company after working all day. He had just asked Bran if he had a favorite microbrew when they heard a key slide into the lock.

  Chapter Sixteen

  KYLE STEPPED out the front door of the college and contemplated his options
for the rest of the day. Almost two weeks had flown by since his life had changed, and he kept feeling a mild surprise when some things, mundane and everyday things, stayed the same. Five in the afternoon, mid-August, and he had nowhere to be for two days. A lot of studying to do, though, and Bran would be working both days, so no going out to the coast. To hell with that—I can study anywhere. I’ll have to talk to him about it tonight. Not in the mood for any of the food carts in the neighborhood, he headed west in the general direction of the condo. He took the footpath on the lower deck of the Steel Bridge, enjoying the sunshine and light breeze as much as possible with most of his mind out on the central coast. Kyle wondered what Bran was doing, if he was safe, if he was thinking about him.

  They’d been talking at least once a day—usually twice or more—and in three days, Bran would be coming out to stay at the condo for his weekend. He sounded nervous about it but said it was only being so far away from Minnie, and Kyle had no reason to doubt him.

  On the west side of the bridge, Kyle hopped on a streetcar that would take him to one of his favorite food-cart pods in the city center. He loaded up on Greek food—gyros, lamb shawarma, dolmades, falafel, salad, hummus, and baba ghanoush, with a side of pita. The idea had been to get enough to share with Chase and Garrett, but if they weren’t home when he got there, all bets were off. Kyle’s stomach rumbled, and he practically swooned with hunger. He walked the few blocks to the condo nibbling on a triangle of pita. He’d just spent most of the day studying anatomy and basic life support, and his break going over things in his physiology text, and that left him with a serene kind of fatigue that wasn’t unlike the way he’d felt after a particularly fine day as a chef.

  When Kyle got off the elevator, he thought he heard voices inside the condo. He listened as he walked down the hall but didn’t hear anything else. He slid his key into the lock, and the door opened.

  “What took you so—oh, wow, did you go to the Greek cart?”

  “I did.”

  Chase stepped aside and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he did.

  Kyle moved farther into the hall, giving Chase a gentle push. “Is Garrett around? I picked up enough—” When he reached the space where the short hallway opened onto the kitchen and living room, Bran stood. For a moment that stretched long enough for Bran to skirt the coffee table and walk across the carpet, Kyle blinked in surprise. As Bran neared, Kyle pushed the large bag of food toward Chase, trusting he would take it and not let it fall to the floor.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I—”

  Kyle closed the last of the distance between them, hooked a hand around the back of Bran’s neck, and kissed him. He’d meant to kiss him hard and walk him backward to the bedroom immediately—empty stomach be damned—but something about Bran’s expression and the tension he radiated cut the kiss short.

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’m happy to see you. Is everything all right?”

  Bran rested his hands on Kyle’s waist, kneading gently. “After you eat, can we talk?”

  Kyle’s stomach clenched painfully. The thought that Bran had driven three hours just to say it was over didn’t seem as ridiculous as he would have hoped. Bran was a nice guy—he probably wouldn’t dump anyone with a text.

  “Um… let’s talk now.”

  “Is there somewhere we can go?”

  Chase left the kitchen and grabbed Kyle’s arm. He held out two to-go containers, and Kyle took them automatically. “I’ll be in my room working. With headphones on.” He smiled sadly and then left.

  He thinks I’m about to get dumped too.

  “Let’s go into my bedroom. It’ll be more private, in case Garrett comes back while we’re talking.” Why does the word talking sound so ominous?

  Kyle led and Bran followed. It all felt so formal and awkward, Kyle felt like he might never eat again. “What’s wrong?”

  Bran sighed, pacing the length of the room and back. “This isn’t the way I pictured your room would look.”

  “Really? How did you picture it?” Kyle moved a stack of books and papers aside and set the food down on his desk. It still smelled delicious, but he noticed Chase had kept the gyros. Kyle peeked into the top box and found hummus and pitas. He didn’t want to watch Bran be disappointed in the way his personal space was decorated.

  “More… I don’t know, mellow?” Bran looked at the bright amethyst curtains and bedspread, the desk and bookcases packed to overflowing with books, folders, and papers. He looked everywhere but at Kyle.

  “Bran. What’s going on? Did something happen?” When Bran didn’t answer right away, Kyle turned to the hummus, but then he had a horrible thought. “Is Minnie okay?”

  “She’s fine.” He was definitely upset about something, though.

  “Your appointment wasn’t today…?”

  “No. Not until the end of the month.” Bran took a step toward the window, and Kyle thought he’d pace again, but he just stopped in the middle of the floor.

  Kyle closed the food container and approached him. Bran looked so sad and afraid that Kyle felt both of those things right along with him. “Come and sit down.” Kyle pushed the pillows on his bed—all five of them—against the wall and reclined. At the last minute, he kicked off his shoes.

  “It’s stupid, really.” Bran’s gaze swept down Kyle’s body and back up to his face. “I….”

  Kyle held out a hand, and after a few seconds, Bran allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed. Kyle wrapped his arms around him and felt tremors coursing through his body. “You can tell me. It’ll be okay.”

  Bran rested a hand on Kyle’s hip. He took a deep breath and said, “I retired.”

  “Today?”

  “Today. And I don’t—I mean….” He tensed even further, and his breathing sped up.

  Kyle waited.

  “I mean, there was always this little part of me that was surprised, that kept asking why in the hell I thought I had any business being a police officer. But now…. I’m a fifty-year-old man with no idea what I’m going to do. What do I do now?”

  Kyle didn’t jump right in to answer, in case Bran had meant it rhetorically and intended to continue. When he did reply, it was with a whisper. “You can do anything you want to do.”

  Bran shifted on the bed. Then he did it again.

  “If you’d rather get up and pace, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

  Bran got up and slowly paced a line from the bed to the window. The room wasn’t very big, and that was the longest path open for pacing. Kyle felt a swell of pride that he’d known what Bran needed.

  “It’s true, though. You can do anything. Spend all your time coaching, or get your teaching certificate, or take up kayaking.”

  Bran turned to him, one eyebrow raised and a queasy grin on his face.

  “Or you could never leave this room and be my sex slave.” Kyle couldn’t keep a straight face, but it didn’t seem appropriate to laugh either. He could have laughed out loud if not for Bran’s pallor.

  The elation he felt didn’t seem quite right, but he couldn’t deny it. Kyle had worried every day that something would take Bran away from him before they even had a chance to get started properly. It could be anything—a drunk driver or a robbery gone bad, a sinkhole on Highway 101 or a school shooting in which Bran was the hero who saved all the kids but didn’t make it out himself. Kyle’s imagination had supplied countless scenarios. Any and all of them seemed perfectly plausible, even inevitable. The sudden absence of that constant worry left him a little giddy even before he realized Bran had come directly to him after retiring—which led him back to the question of what had happened to prompt Bran’s retirement, and his tension, which still hadn’t decreased. If anything, he was even more tense now than he’d been out in the living room. As much as he wanted to let the question go, to hold on to that giddy feeling and shut everything else out, Kyle knew he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to do what was best for Bran. And he wanted that more than what he wanted for himself. “Why to
day? What happened?”

  Kyle moved to stand in front of Bran and rested a hand on his shoulder. He seems fine, except for that haunted look in his eyes. He fought the urge to run his hand down over Bran’s chest—to touch him, yes, but also to make sure he wasn’t hiding an injury, or just to assure himself Bran was really there. He knew what it would look like, though, and he didn’t think a physical advance was what Bran needed just then. Later, maybe. Later, yes, definitely… but not yet.

  Bran started to tremble even more violently, and Kyle took his hand and led him to the bed. When Bran’s stomach rumbled, Kyle softly kissed his forehead and brought the food containers and set them beside him before beckoning to Bran. Bran just gazed at him for a long moment, then smiled the tiniest bit as he crawled across the bed to sit beside Kyle. Bran didn’t speak until their hands were tightly clasped and resting on Kyle’s lap, Bran’s head on his shoulder.

  “This morning, a little boy was playing in his yard. He ran out into the street before his mother could grab him, and into the path of an oncoming car. The car swerved and went off the road into a ditch, where it hit a tree. I didn’t see the little boy, but I saw the car fly into the ditch. A father and his son and daughter.”

  Kyle rested his head against Bran’s and squeezed his hands. He braced himself but didn’t even consider asking Bran to stop. He needed to talk about this with someone, and Kyle wanted to be the one he turned to. For anything—for everything.

  “I was sure the father was gone. He… the boy was in the front seat. By the time I got down to the car, the ambulance was already close—I could hear them, but that kid…. He just stared at his father, crying while his father bled, while his sister screamed in the backseat. While he didn’t…. They’ll all be okay, but I didn’t know that until hours later, after I made it to Mom’s. I was sure that father wasn’t going to make it to the hospital. That his two kids had to see that, would have to remember that they were there…. I couldn’t—I knew I couldn’t do it anymore, so I left.”