“Turn around,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Take me back to the Roosevelt.” In the rearview mirror, Ian glimpsed his reflection, drained of color. The eyes that watched him were robbed of hope. He wanted to understand. To lure him all the way to Venice only to hit him, a rejection that felt like a punch to the gut. Was it revenge? That was an Ian thing, not a Jake thing. Not even remotely. Had he changed that much? Held onto the bitterness Ian held onto for longer. He was flooded by shame and guilt, which he wanted to abandon. Now, he’d never make it go away. Not with Jake’s help.
He reminded himself he was a liar. How could he explain to Ricky that he lied for a good reason? Explain what Jake meant to him in the past. Tell Ricky he was his future with or without Grandpa’s ring.
Their adjoining rooms at the Roosevelt looked sparse compared to the New Year’s Eve party downstairs. Hard to believe that 1994 turned to 95 nearly five hours ago. He asked the driver to take the scenic route home, not out of nostalgia but so he could clear his head. So he could rehearse what to say to Ricky. He’d called the lobby to make sure he was still there. He was. At least he could count on Ricky–his rock.
Ricky had left the door between their rooms open, a good sign he’d cooled down after their argument. After the kiss. He could still taste the faint tang of champagne on his cheek from his boyfriend’s mouth. He could smell the sweet musk of CK One drifting from his bedroom. It’d been his modest Christmas present after he’d complained about the extravagant red, convertible Miata he’d give him for his 24th birthday last March. He reached for the light switch so he could change and climb beside him. An icy, blue glow from the other room stopped him. The way it flickered made shadows that danced on the walls. Ricky was still awake, watching TV. Nick at Night. Like back home.
Only he found him tuned in to the local early morning news. The ethereal glow spilling on his still, pale face. Ian was sure he heard him come in, but was ignoring him. He shook off the same chill he left behind at Jake’s bar.
“I’m glad you waited up for me,” he said, sitting beside Ricky, decked out in last night’s clothes.
“Not like I could sleep,” he sighed. He wasn’t angry. He stared at the television screen, which was muted, emotionless.
“I owe you a big explanation.”
“Everything closed at two. It’s Sunday. Is that why you took so long coming back?”
Ian shook his head for dear life. “I wasn’t coming up with a good excuse.”
“You kissed me in front of all those people. Out of the blue, then dropped me just as quickly.”
“You’ve asked me to consider coming out of the closet since we met.”
“You used me as a distraction while you made your getaway.”
“I kissed you.” Ian remained calm, even determined, as the gravity of what he’d done sank in. “I wanted to tell the world I was in love with Ricky Luna. It was about time.”
“Your agent? Did you tell him? He’s who you abandoned me for.”
“Ricky,” Ian said, clasping his hand, “I was with–”
On the gigantic TV screen, a news report, muted but frighteningly clear, closed up on the familiar neon sign he’d been reacquainted with earlier. The sleepy, uninhabited building was now full of activity as police lights flashed, emergency personnel descended, and the media stood by at a respectable distance. Ricky must’ve noticed how quickly he sweated up a storm. He turned the sound on.
The anchorman’s low, somber voice broke the silence. “Local authorities have confirmed the discovery of a body at Fantabulous! bar in Venice. Jacob Monk, 29, was pronounced dead at the scene. Police are investigating it as a possible homicide. Mr. Monk was an actor on Glock, Teen P.I., before becoming a bar owner and community leader in Venice, CA.”
Ian stopped breathing as he watched beside Ricky, who stayed silent. The tears spilling from his eyes spoke volumes. Nothing his boyfriend could say would ease his grief. The sick green flashes of Jake’s “FUCK OFF!” message attacked him from everywhere. It’s brutal elegance, a chilling epitaph for someone he loved once. As much as he loved the man next to him. As his dormant Glock instincts activated, he had a million questions beyond the obvious, selfish one. Did his overdue attempt to reach out to Jake in any way lead to his death? As his need for answers magnified, he saw another familiar sight on the screen. He was now Detective Beecroft.
He could never forget their old police advisor. William Beecroft was a rookie police officer who worked extra as their police advisor. Another Glock buddy, who his close friends called “Bee.” He’d been Jake’s, too, who always called him Jacob. It was more respectable. That was Bee. Above the board like Jake. Jacob. He was now in charge of the investigation. At least it was someone who once cared about them, like a father.
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