Rhapsody for Piano and Ghost

Rhapsody for Piano and Ghost Z. A. Maxfield www.loose-id.com Rhapsody for Piano and Ghost Copyright © May 2011 by Z...

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Rhapsody for Piano and Ghost

Z. A. Maxfield

www.loose-id.com

Rhapsody for Piano and Ghost Copyright © May 2011 by Z. A. Maxfield All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. eISBN 978-1-61118-412-9 Editor: Judith David Cover Artist: P. L. Nunn Printed in the United States of America

Published by Loose Id LLC PO Box 425960 San Francisco CA 94142-5960 www.loose-id.com This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author‘s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC‘s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

*** DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

Dedication For Judith David with love and gratitude. I can't tell you how lucky I feel that you're here.

Chapter One Between art history and music theory, there was exactly enough time for a crash course in caffeine. Fitz liked to get the largest cup they had, a full thirty-two ounces, and fill it with one-half hot chocolate and one-half black coffee. He wrapped it in one of those sleeve things and moved down the line, scooting his leather messenger bag along the metal ledge until he came alongside the pastries. It was a tough job choosing between a hunk of cream-cheese-frosted carrot cake or one of those big bran muffins, but he finally made his move and went for bran, then stepped to the cashier to pay. Once he found a place to sit where he could eat his snack and fuel up, he looked around. Attending a private academy for the performing arts locally for a year had been his mother‘s idea; a kind of roll toward independence with training wheels before the decision would be made as to which university he should attend. To hear his mother talk about it, it was as if she were holding a sweepstakes. Many will enter; few will win. Her optimism about his future wasn‘t exactly contagious. Like all the other kids‘ mothers, Adelaide Gaffney insisted her son was a prodigy and that schools should line up to get a chance at him. But like most teenage boys, Fitz assumed she was dreaming at best or deluded at worst because he had always been a rather uninspiring student, except for music. Fitz had begged her to allow him a year off between the intense all boys‘ Catholic high school he‘d attended and university. This was the best offer he got, a compromise of sorts that would allow him time to adjust to being an adult. He‘d actually been quick to enroll, especially since Adelaide had just married husband number eight and planned to spend the entire year in France. Fitz had nearly ten months ahead with little in the way of responsibility or supervision and was finding he liked it very much indeed. If he was lonely, he only noticed it at moments like these, when he sat under an umbrella in the patio dining area, by himself at a table meant for a group of students. All around him, conversations swelled and receded like waves, peppered with exclamations and profanity. He wondered vaguely if it was because he‘d spent his formative years in competitive private school, with only his mother and his music teachers to interact with at home, but it seemed almost like everyone spoke in a foreign language. It only reinforced what he‘d worried about all along: If his mother was wrong and he wasn‘t special, he was just different. And different had never been, nor ever would be, a good thing at school. Different got you singled out by teachers and

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shunned by your peers—if you even had any. As far as Fitz could see, he was out of luck. Once he was done with his muffin, he took his coffee and headed for the music building, where he was likely to have to wait outside his classroom for a while until his teacher showed up, apologetic as always, with keys. No one could have been more surprised than Fitz was when a hand came down on his shoulder after he threw his trash away. ―Wait up.‖ Fitz turned to look directly at black words imprinted on a red T-shirt: EXPENDABLE. All right. Probably another pop culture moment where I’m going in without a clue. ―Hi, you‘re in music theory with Dryden, right?‖ ―Yeah.‖ Fitz lifted his chin so he could look into the face of the man who‘d stopped him. The first thing he saw was pointy hair. Like it had all been gelled up in the center to form a ridge on the top of a nicely shaped head. ―I am.‖ ―So am I.‖ That was followed by a fairly dazzling smile. Fitz blinked. ―I‘m Garrett. Garrett Fender.‖ ―Hi.‖ Fitz held out his hand, then realized it had a huge cup of coffee in it. ―Nice to meet you.‖ There was a moment or two of helpless fumbling and a lot of looking stupid before Fitz stopped trying to do something normal and gave up. ―I don‘t suppose you have a name?‖ ―Fitz.‖ He found he could still smile. That probably counted for something. ―Are you from around here?‖ Garrett asked, moving forward and then using his hand to sweep Fitz along, indicating they should head in the direction of their class. ―Yes.‖ Fitz followed him. ―I‘m… I live here. In LA.‖ ―I see.‖ Garrett smiled again. It was an amazing smile, slightly toothy, and Fitz was beginning to think of it as the DimpleMaster 5000. The perfection of each individual feature fought for dominance on Garrett‘s face, but there were no decisive winners. Fitz figured eventually Garrett would get around to telling him what he wanted. He‘d probably gotten something stuck on the bottom of his shoe and needed someone on whom to wipe it. That was the sort of thing Fitz expected from his classmates in general. Garrett continued, ―So since you live here you could tell me if there‘s anything interesting a guy could do on a Friday night.‖ ―I‘m probably not the best person to ask,‖ Fitz replied truthfully. ―Why not?‖ ―I don‘t go out much, really.‖ Or at all.


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―Guy like you?‖ Garrett slipped a hand behind Fitz‘s back, between his shoulder blades, and circled lightly with his fingertips. Fitz stilled. So far Garrett wasn‘t indicating his interest was anything more than idle curiosity. Was he? ―You should be going out often. You‘re young. You‘re hot. You dress nice. Why not?‖ ―Yeah, right.‖ Fitz looked down to cover the sudden heat in his cheeks. Sure he dressed okay. Clothes magically appeared in his closet whenever his mother came home from shopping at boutique stores. He was a walking GQ ad because she grouped things together and made him memorize what shirt went with what trousers and quizzed him endlessly with regard to socks and shoes. He had little doubt he could dress himself, but it was so much easier to let her do it, and it seemed to give her pleasure. Since Adelaide had been out of town, he‘d entered more revolutionary territory. He found comfort in the long black coats and tight jeans he got from the stores his mother never set foot in. He‘d studied all the kids in school and set his sights on dressing like the guys who wore eyeliner, lots of jewelry, and attitude. Like attitude was the new black. Since then Fitz had gotten his ears pierced and secretly coveted a tattoo. Fitz realized he hadn‘t spoken when Garrett‘s face fell. ―Whatever.‖ Garrett started to turn away. ―No, wait.‖ Fitz grazed Garrett‘s arm with the knuckles of the hand holding his coffee. ―I didn‘t mean it like that.‖ ―How did you mean it?‖ ―I don‘t know.‖ Fitz tried to come up with something. ―There‘s a ton of places you can go and listen to music. And there‘s no end of clubs around here.‖ Garrett leaned forward. ―Anyplace to go dancing?‖ Fitz nodded. ―Yeah, sure. There‘s dancing.‖ He wondered if he sounded confident enough that Garrett wouldn‘t be able to tell he‘d have to look all this up on the Internet. ―Anyplace I could dance with you?‖ Garrett eyed him boldly. All thought flew from Fitz‘s head and settled somewhere just south of his studded leather belt. ―Uh…‖ ―It‘s not a difficult question, Fitz.‖ ―Sure.‖ Fitz clutched the strap of his messenger bag tightly. He was beginning to regret the muffin and coffee because his stomach clenched a little. ―Yeah. There are places we could go.‖ Garrett dug something from a pocket in the front of his impossibly tight pants. When he took Fitz‘s coffee and replaced it with his phone, it was still hot from his body. Fitz‘s fingers stilled as he registered this fact, soaking it in with a vicarious sort of thrill.

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―I‘ll put my cell number in.‖ Fitz added name and number to the contact list and saved it. When he looked up, ready to trade it back, Garrett was drinking his coffee. ―Sweet and rich,‖ Garrett sighed, handing it back. Fitz blushed again, wondering if that was some sort of double entendre, if Garrett had come to a conclusion about more than just the coffee. Garrett leaned in and spoke in Fitz‘s ear. ―That‘s just how I like it.‖ Garrett‘s lips curved up in a barely there smile that most people would have to practice in the mirror. ―Listen, I have to go because of work, and I know Dryden gets all bent out of shape if you‘re absent to his class. When the sign-in sheet comes around, will you put my name down? Garrett Fender?‖ Fitz bit his lip. ―Do you think that‘s okay?‖ ―He‘ll never know the difference,‖ Garrett assured him. ―And get an extra copy of anything he hands out. Do you take notes?‖ ―Sure,‖ Fitz began. To his shock, Garrett leaned over and gave him a sloppy kiss on the lips like it was nothing. ―Thanks. You‘re a lifesaver. I‘ll call you on Thursday night—Friday at the latest—and we‘ll see what we can do this weekend.‖ ―Okay.‖ Fitz tried not to look around. He didn‘t care if anyone knew he was gay. He‘d been out since…well, since forever, pretty much. Adelaide had just assumed he swung that way and asked him outright around his fifteenth birthday. After a brief hesitation, he‘d nodded, and since then she‘d announced it wherever they went. He‘d never had to tell a living soul himself. School was different, though, because she wasn‘t there to trumpet the good news. ―See you.‖ Garrett lifted a hand to wave and rushed off so fast that Fitz‘s own hand, which had gone up to return the gesture, seemed to hang there in the air, having no real purpose, long after Garrett was gone. Fitz realized this and tucked it under his other arm. He didn‘t look around to see if anyone was watching, and when Professor Dryden came, Fitz followed the rest of the students into the room like always.

*** ―Oh my word.‖ Julian gripped Serge‘s hand in his. He peered into the garbage Dumpster behind the Hart and Hound, the old—and arguably notorious— Anglophile dive. ―That‘s terrible. Who on earth…? That‘s a perfectly lovely Armani jacket!‖ ―Trust you to be shallow,‖ Serge muttered. ―Certainly I‘m not blind, Serge.‖ Julian smoothed a hand over the wrinkled fabric, lovingly tracing the sleeve down to the ribbing on the cuff. ―I can see that it‘s last year‘s jacket.‖ ―I believe I was referring to the boy wearing it.‖ ―It‘s none of our business.‖ Julian bit his lip. ―Do you suppose we can take it?‖


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―I blame Les Mis. You‘ve become a grave robber.‖ ―There‘s ‗more of gravy than of grave‘ about this one, though.‖ He indicated the body that was lying amid a pile of food trash. ―Unless I miss my guess entirely, he‘s not dead.‖ ―Then what the hell do you think you‘re doing?‖ ―Give me a hand with this, will you?‖ Julian had climbed up on a wooden crate and was in the process of trying to tug the jacket off the young man‘s body and over the high side of the bin. ―It‘s heavy, and it smells.‖ ―He is and he does. I beg you not to lose your humanity entirely. I‘m certain at one point you must have had a shred of decency. What else could I have seen in you?‖ ―Let me think. It was 1924, and when we met, I was doing my famous plantain dance. Long before, I might add, anyone else did a banana dance.‖ ―You‘re rewriting history again.‖ ―I am not. I remember distinctly thinking of bananas and realizing I would need something far more substantial hanging about my waist if I were going to hide my manly charms.‖ ―Who. The fuck. Are you?‖ growled a youngish voice from inside the Dumpster. Its owner was clearly the worse for wear. ―Look what you‘ve done,‖ pouted Julian. ―You‘ve woken it up, and now I‘ll never get my jacket.‖ ―Fine. Take the jacket,‖ the voice barked. ―Just shut the fuck up. My head is killing me.‖ Julian leaned over and redoubled his efforts. ―There, did you hear that? He wants me to have it.‖ ―In that case…‖ Serge stepped up to the edge of the bin in an effort to help. ―Although how the word fuck—a perfectly fine old-fashioned expletive—has become the cultural equivalent of shalom, I will simply never understand.‖ An enraged face appeared above the blue metal lip like a demented, overly emotional Kilroy. Black hair that couldn‘t be natural framed a rather sweet face, striped with guyliner that ran in rivulets down cheeks so smooth they had to be—at best guess—maybe eighteen. A grimy hand with black lacquer on the nails swiped away tears. ―Shalom, little garbage boy.‖ Julian spoke the last words carefully and clearly, as if the boy were hard of hearing or foreign or both. ―And fuck you as well this very fine evening. May I have your jacket, please?‖

*** Serge smoothed the blanket over their sleeping charge. It had taken a long time to convince the young man to come with them, longer still to calm him down and persuade him it would be safe to bathe and rest. Now—finally—at nearly three a.m., he slept under the down comforter in their borrowed house. Julian sighed and

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peered down at him. Scrubbed clean and free of his attitude, he appeared to be a comely young thing. He hadn‘t said much about himself, which Serge didn‘t find particularly problematic. Julian was less enthusiastic about making him at home. ―He seems so peaceful when he‘s asleep. To look at him you wouldn‘t think he could be such an impossible toad when he‘s conscious.‖ ―He‘s a very young man. Barely out of high school,‖ Serge replied. The barest hint of an accent that had once been French still softened his voice. Julian responded to it as he always did, by melting a little, the rough edges of his personality smoothing out under its warmth. But not entirely. ―A boy who got himself sublimely pissed and thrown into the rubbish.‖ ―I think he was embarrassed and hurt. Do you think he‘s even old enough to drink? I did wonder.‖ ―He had a false ID.‖ When Serge arched a brow, Julian shot him a defiant look. ―I didn‘t take anything.‖ ―What else did he have?‖ ―Not much. Credit cards. Two condoms. A pillow pack of lube. A box of mints. Fifty-three cents.‖ ―Poor little man.‖ ―Not so poor he can‘t wear an Armani jacket.‖ Serge took Julian‘s hand in his and continued to look down at the boy. ―I wonder what his name is?‖ ―His license says William Jefferson Clinton.‖ Serge chuckled. ―He‘s a cheeky one.‖ ―Did we go to the pub especially for him?‖ ―I wondered if you were going to ask that.‖ Serge met Julian‘s gaze with something of a twinkle in his eye. ―Yes. I think so. His head is full of beautiful music. He calls to me.‖ ―I always know.‖ ―Of course.‖ Serge slipped an arm around Julian‘s waist, under the sweater he always wore in the evenings, even when it was a hundred degrees out. ―You are very clever, my love.‖


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Chapter Two Fitz didn‘t want to admit he‘d woken up during the middle of that conversation. He knew if he stayed too still, they‘d know he was faking, so he sighed and rolled around restlessly. He‘d jumped like he‘d been tased when he‘d felt that hand on his forehead though, and he didn‘t know whether they bought the act or not. He still wondered what the hell he was doing. His new friends had gone from trying to steal his jacket to taking him home for the night. And he had to admit it was a whole lot nicer than waking up in a trash container. They talked about him like he was a puppy they were going to adopt, and teased each other like they‘d been together forever. Fitz thought it was kind of sweet. Not like real people. He got up as quietly as he could, wincing when his feet hit the floor. He hadn‘t mentioned it to his new friends, but he must have wrenched his back when he‘d been thrown into the garbage, and it had hurt like hell ever since. He didn‘t show bruises easily, even though his skin was fairly light, but he‘d bet anything that in a few days he‘d look like bad fruit. He padded to the door and listened. Apparently his benefactors had gone to bed. The slighter one, Julian, who‘d tried to steal his coat, had taken the rest of his clothes to wash. For the time being, he had on someone else‘s sleep pants. They almost certainly belonged to a girl, though, because they were sky blue and covered with clouds and fleecy sheep. So why did they have girl clothes on hand? Maybe he didn‘t need to know. Serge and Julian appeared a little odd, but he doubted, given the way they dressed, that either of them would be caught dead in anything colorful. Even before they‘d pulled him from his none too elegant digs in the trash, he‘d noticed there was something different about them. They weren‘t just dressed differently. They were otherworldly. He‘d seen them in the dark at first, and they gave the impression they were monochromatic. Leached of color because of the way they dressed or the light from the mercury vapor lamps. He put it down to the fact that he‘d been messed up, because later he realized they simply dressed like old-style, black-and-white portraits, and compared to everything around them, it could be they just weren‘t very colorful people. When they‘d all arrived here at the house, though, his impression hadn‘t changed. They looked not just old but old-fashioned. As if they came from a different time. He wondered if they were models or something. They had haircuts that were buzzed up the back and longer on the top, parted severely but not slick with stuff

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like in the movies. Julian wore tweed trousers and a white button-down shirt with suspenders and a thick cardigan sweater, and Serge had on a charcoal suit with a vest. They had shoes with perforations and designs tooled into the leather. They both wore hats outside but hung them up on hooks in the foyer as soon as they entered the house. Very odd, and yet…it was impossible to picture them wearing anything else. Later Fitz heard them laugh somewhere—downstairs maybe—and crept from his room to have a look. He followed the sound of music: Strauss, ―Tales from the Vienna Woods.‖ Fitz could have played it in his sleep. Julian‘s voice could clearly be heard coaxing Serge to dance with him. Yeah, okay. They were colorful. Just…not in a visual way. Padding forward, Fitz peeked from the gallery in the hall leading to the stairs and saw them in the living room below. It was a large space, and uncluttered, so there was plenty of room to dance. Serge, whom Fitz had begun to think of as the quiet one, took Julian into his arms, and they began to dance like people in the old movies Fitz and Adelaide sometimes watched. Julian was graceful. Fitz had noticed a certain elegance in the way he‘d moved when they‘d walked here from the club. Julian‘s every movement was fluid yet controlled, as if any lack of restraint would cause him to whirl off and perform some complicated ballet moves. His long legs were strong. Fitz could see the muscles of his calves and thighs under the drape of his trousers. His back was strong and straight while his shoulders were… Fitz swallowed. For an older guy, he was hot. Julian held his head to the side a little, like he was Belle from Beauty and the Beast, and Fitz knew he‘d been trained to dance like that. That it was something to do with…line, maybe. Julian‘s was flawless. It was a pleasure to watch, so Fitz sat like a child at the top of the stairs and spied on them through the banisters. ―You still dance like a god,‖ Serge told Julian. He‘d removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing fine, strong forearms. His vest fit him snugly, accentuating broad shoulders and a trim waist. ―When I‘m in your arms, I quite forget everything else.‖ Julian acted coy. He flirted more than anyone Fitz had ever seen, and Serge ate it up with a spoon. ―Perhaps we should find something more modern than a Strauss waltz.‖ Serge broke away and left Julian standing there. A moment later, Fitz heard the music change to some old song about a skylark. ―Et bien,‖ Serge said low in his throat, as if the act of speaking French caused his voice to deepen. ―Viens avec moi, mon ange. Allons danser.‖ ―Oh, Serge,‖ Julian sighed. Serge pulled Julian to him again, this time more intimately. He slipped his hand around Julian‘s waist but dropped it low, to the base of his spine, pulling him in tight. His other hand pressed Julian‘s palm to his chest and held it there. Julian rested his head on Serge‘s shoulder. Fitz bit his lip. They were…amazing together. The contrast of Julian‘s light hair and Serge‘s dark; the way they rubbed their bristly cheeks together. It was an act as intimate as naked foreplay. Fitz shifted in his seat, stuck now, not wanting to


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rise from his perch because they might see him, and not really that thrilled to be sitting there watching because their mood was very clearly turning more romantic. Serge began to sing to Julian, a clear, lovely baritone voice that seemed to throb with desire. Wow. What wouldn‘t Fitz give to have someone hold him like that? The right someone, he clarified, not a guy who was going to try to get him high and then throw him into a trash bin because he refused to bend over in the bathroom… Before he knew it, Fitz was blinking back tears. Well, shit. Julian raised the hand he‘d had draped around Serge‘s neck and cupped the back of his head to pull him in for a kiss. And what a kiss it was. Fitz rolled his eyes. He would think two guys who‘d been together long enough to finish each other‘s sentences would have at least taken the edge off a little before then. But Julian kissed Serge like it was time to get off the amphibious assault craft and storm the beach at Normandy. And Serge…well, Serge just worshipped Julian. Like he‘d found the cure for cancer. And it went on and on, long after that skylark song was over and two more besides it, until something about nightingales came on and the two men were beginning to get touchy-feely. Jeez. By now Fitz couldn‘t tear his gaze away. He hoped to heaven he didn‘t have to wait until he was that old for some guy to want him like that. He was definitely going to have to head to bed before these two went any further, or he‘d cream himself. It helped to remember he was wearing some unknown girl‘s pajamas. He began to rise to his feet when a hush came over the room. The music had finished playing, but Serge and Julian still danced as though they heard it. ―Serge.‖ Julian tipped his head back to give Serge access to his neck. Fitz heard his moan—a low cry deep in his throat—when Serge bit down on the hump of muscle at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Both of Serge‘s hands slipped down to Julian‘s ass cheeks to hold him steady while they ground against one other. ―On y va?‖ Serge asked between kisses. ―J’en ai besoin, mon ange.‖ ―Of course, my lover.‖ Julian pulled back to answer him. ―I need you as well.‖ Fitz saw Julian leap into Serge‘s arms, and he wanted to hold up a score card or something, like a perfect 10.0 from the American judge, when Julian locked his ankles behind Serge‘s back and Serge took his weight without skipping a beat. They rocked together briefly, sinuously, and then Serge began to move. Fitz assumed he was heading in the direction of the nearest bed and had a moment of blind panic when he realized they might head his way, up the stairs. Instead they seemed to be going in the direction of the nearest wall, and Fitz‘s heart nearly burst with joy. His mouth went dry, and he was alternately besieged by excitement and shame. Ohcrapohcrapohcrap… Should he…could he watch?

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On the one hand, Fitz would be delighted to see these two in action. He‘d clearly underestimated the sheer, blessed hottitude that could exist between two weirdly handsome older guys. He and his dick were firmly and inconveniently engaged in an act of voyeurism the likes of which he‘d never experienced since Adelaide‘s second husband, Edward the Exhibitionist, went after the pool boy when Fitz was in second grade. But back then the idea of a man getting banged by another man simply didn‘t have the oompah it had for him now. He‘d thought someone was going to be injured, and he‘d been bewildered and hurt by Adelaide‘s abrupt and angry reaction when he ran to her and reported what he‘d seen. Alternately—and more unfortunately—there seemed to be no getting rid of the deeply inculcated shame of that Irish-kid-from-a-Catholic-school upbringing. So naturally, generations of guilt weren‘t wasting any time making him feel awful about watching virtual strangers get it on. What to do? Then his old guys did something so shocking that Fitz‘s brain shorted out like a rat had chewed through his power cord. When Fitz got up from where he‘d fallen to the bottom of the steps, he thought maybe he‘d imagined the whole thing. Or that he‘d hit his head on the way down instead of just tripping a little while trying to flee and sliding down on his ass. Because Serge and Julian had made their sexed-up, nugget-grinding way to the far wall of the living room, which was cream colored, wainscoted in white enameled paneling, and solid as…well…as any wall could ever be, and they‘d simply…disappeared through it. Poof. Gone. Fitz headed for the bedroom they‘d left him in and crawled back into bed. Fucking Garrett and his damn drugs. Fucking ecstasy. First he narrowly escaped getting his cherry popped in the bathroom of a damned club; then he woke up in a trash bin with some old English guy trying to yoink his jacket; next he hallucinated ballroom dancing and old guys making out and disappearing into thin air. He felt tears sting his eyelids but refused to give in to them. He needed a good night‘s sleep and maybe a quart of coffee in the morning and he‘d be good as new. Because shit. Poof, man. Nothing good could come of that.


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Chapter Three Fitz woke up and drew down into the warmth of the soft bed. For a long time, he didn‘t open his eyes. He didn‘t have the first clue where he was, but it was luxurious against his skin. There had to be a few hundred dollars‘ worth of Egyptian cotton and down on the bed, and a sort of flower-shaped nightlight with a bulb at the base had been wafting out the smell of brown sugar and figs all night. Farther off, he heard activity: pots and pans, water running, and the delightful, rich sound of men talking and laughing together. He smelled coffee and something like pancakes and decided to get up to investigate. The minute he set foot on the floor, the events of the evening before came back to him, and… Aw shit. He remembered the Dance of the Disappearing Old Dudes. Fitz wondered if he should simply grab his stuff and tear out the front door when the pancake smell teased at him again, along with something richer and meatier. He sniffed the air coming from the kitchen again, and without a doubt, he detected the aroma of cured meat. If there was bacon involved, he‘d brave the devil himself. Down the stairs he went. Peeking around the door into the kitchen, where all those marvelous smells emanated, he found Julian standing over the stove at the cooking island. Serge sat at the table, behind a newspaper. His hand reached out and pulled a coffee mug behind it with him. ―Have mercy,‖ Fitz said to no one in particular. ―This is like Happy Families, the homo edition.‖ Julian‘s spatula stopped in mid bacon flip. ―For a boy we found in a trash bin with two condoms, a pillow pack of lube, and false identification, you‘re a little sharpish this morning.‖ The paper came down. ―Julian.‖ ―No, Serge, he‘s being rude. Last I checked, a gentleman doesn‘t carry lube to be with a girl.‖ He went back to pressing the bacon flat. ―They make their own.‖ Fitz heard the distinct sound of a mug clattering onto a table and some colorful French cursing. ―Julian.‖ The paper came down again, and this time Serge folded it carefully. ―So tell me, little monster‖—Julian‘s voice softened into a familial sort of tease—―did you at least sleep well?‖

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―I—‖ Heat crept up Fitz‘s neck. It wouldn‘t exactly do to say I hallucinated for a while, but yes. Overall I slept well. ―I slept fine.‖ ―That‘s good.‖ Julian went about preparing a plate for him, piling it high with potatoes, eggs, and bacon. He handed it over and started a second with pancakes. ―You‘ll have to take your coat to the cleaners, but the rest of your things are piled in the bathroom across the hall from the guest room.‖ Fitz didn‘t hesitate to fork up a fluffy bite of egg. ―Thank you very much. I appreciate that.‖ ―If that‘s the case, I wonder if you‘d like to tell us what we might call you.‖ Serge leaned in. ―Try as I might, I can‘t bring myself to call you William Jefferson Clinton.‖ Fitz swallowed. ―Fitz.‖ He looked down at his food. ―People call me Fitz.‖ ―Short for Fitzgerald?‖ Julian asked. He nodded. ―That‘s wonderful.‖ Serge smiled. ―Fitz. It…‖ ―…Fitz.‖ Julian supplied with a grin. ―Busy fitz.‖ ―Fitz auf.‖ This from Serge with his fine accent. ―Popover.‖ ―One size Fitz all.‖ ―Are you through?‖ Fitz glared at them. They weren‘t eating anything. He supposed they‘d eaten earlier, but they‘d certainly put out quite a spread. He planned to do it justice. ―Thanks for the food, by the way.‖ ―Oh wait.‖ Julian went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of sliced melon. ―Here.‖ It was a beautiful melon, sliced with some sort of wavy cutter, like those ridged carrot coins they put in frozen dinners. For some reason, that melon tipped the scales, shifting the balance from way over on the take-whatever-you-can-get-whileyou-can-get-it side, to the why-on-earth-are-you-being-so-nice-to-me side. Once that fruit hit the table, the food in his mouth tasted like wood shavings. ―Look.‖ Fitz stopped short. ―I‘m really grateful you‘ve done all this for me, but I have to ask, why? I realize you found me in a garbage bin, but it‘s not like that‘s where I live or anything. I‘m not homeless or even remotely poor. I‘m not a runaway.‖ Serge sat back, and Fitz noted that even in this rather mundane moment, he reached for Julian, who shifted immediately closer to him. Fitz felt the warmth of that like a living thing; it lifted the side of his mouth into an unaccustomed smile, and he realized he liked these two, no matter how insane they appeared to be. Serge and Julian looked at one another. It seemed they communicated silently, because he‘d seen a slight nod of Serge‘s head, as if Julian had asked him for permission or approval for something. ―Maybe,‖ Julian said cautiously, ―you‘d like to tell us how you came to be where we found you?‖


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Fitz slumped. No one liked to share how stupid they‘d been. Yet it seemed to him that it might be okay to talk. Maybe he didn‘t want to hear Julian‘s take, but Serge—who seemed to be fairly patient—might let him tell his story without taking a shot at him for his naïveté. ―There was this guy, Garrett,‖ Fitz began. Already Julian‘s lips pursed. ―He was really nice to me. He was hot too. A little older. I thought we hit it off pretty well. He isn‘t from around here, so his parents aren‘t here to help him out when things get tough. We see each other at school mostly, and he really wanted to take me out but he didn‘t have much money.‖ The tiniest furrow appeared between Julian‘s expressive eyebrows. It wasn‘t even a fraction of a movement, but suddenly Fitz‘s throat burned and he couldn‘t finish. Serge urged him on. ―Did you give him money?‖ ―Yes.‖ Fitz swallowed. ―And you did get to go out, right?‖ ―Yes. He got me a fake ID, and we went to this club. But he gave me a pill to relax me, and then he kept giving me drinks. For a while, I felt great. Like I wanted to just throw my arms around everyone and be all like, I love you, man, but he kept working the crowd. When he got tired of that, he dragged me to the bathroom. He thought I‘d be into that. He wanted to do me right there, but it stank. I felt sick to my stomach because I had all those drinks and I hadn‘t eaten.‖ Serge laid a hand on his arm. ―I‘m so sorry.‖ Far from making any kind of crack, Julian‘s eyes welled up, causing Serge to pull him a little closer. ―It‘s all right.‖ Fitz went on as if it were. He shrugged. ―Live and learn. I puked, and that scotched the deal right there. I mean, how attractive, right?‖ ―Good for you.‖ Julian smiled. ―I hope you got his shoes.‖ ―Yeah, well, he pushed me back against the wall to get away from me, but I tripped and hit my head. Next thing I knew, I was in the Dumpster down the street and you were pulling my jacket off.‖ Julian studied his hand while he picked at a hangnail. ―It was a really nice jacket.‖ Serge buffeted Julian with his shoulder. ―Do you think you should be examined by a doctor? Did you feel…‖ Serge‘s face was flushed and grave. ―Were you assaulted, do you think? Sexually?‖ Julian bit his lip. ―I didn‘t even think to ask before you showered. If you‘ve been harmed in some way, then the evidence—‖ ―No.‖ Fitz picked up his fork again to give his hands something to do. These guys were so nice it made him feel worse. ―It‘s fine. I should have known better. Won‘t happen again.‖ Serge shook his head. As if Fitz weren‘t there, he turned to Julian. ―Why in hell do people always blame themselves when they‘re victimized?‖ Julian lifted his shoulders.

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―I was stupid.‖ Fitz pushed his eggs around the plate. ―Like I said, it won‘t happen again.‖ ―You simply gave your trust to the wrong person,‖ Julian said gently. ―I think we‘ve all had some experience of that.‖ ―Not me.‖ Serge gave Julian a squeeze. ―The only man I‘ve ever loved is right here, and I was very wise to put my faith in him.‖ ―But we have been betrayed, Serge,‖ Julian said seriously. ―And we know how much it hurts. Although revenge can be amusing.‖ Fitz grinned, but he still pushed his food around. Serge placed his napkin beside his plate. ―Why don‘t you go get dressed and we‘ll clean this up? Julian made enough for an army,‖ Julian pinkened. ―It‘s nice to have a young man to cook for again.‖ Fitz stood up and walked his plates to the sink, where he began to wash them. ―I‘ll get those.‖ Julian came up from behind. ―You just go.‖ Fitz was about to leave the kitchen when Serge stopped him. ―Should you call your parents? Won‘t they worry?‖ ―My mother is out of town.‖ Fitz headed for the stairs. ―I‘ll message her later that everything‘s okay if she‘s noticed anything out of the ordinary, but I‘ll need to get a new phone. I lost mine.‖ When Fitz left the kitchen, Serge folded his arms and waited. ―I‘m sorry,‖ Julian told him. ―All right? You were right. I was wrong. He‘s a nice, polite young man.‖ ―And you were very kind to him,‖ The implied good boy was probably not lost on Julian, who changed the subject. ―Look what I found.‖ He pulled a vintagelooking earthenware pot from a cabinet beneath the stove. At the top it was about thirteen inches across and seven inches tall. It had two handles on the rim and narrowed down toward the bottom. ―Oh.‖ Serge was delighted. ―My mother had one of those, almost precisely like that.‖ He took it in his hand, testing its weight. ―As a child, I always wanted to help her bring it to the table, but I was barely able to lift the ladle she used.‖ Julian peered inside it. ―It‘s in excellent condition. It can‘t be that old. Do they still make these?‖ ―I imagine.‖ Serge looked for a mark. ―This appears to be handmade. As long as anyone makes cassoulet, I imagine someone will continue to make the cassole. It‘s like holding a bit of my past.‖ ―Do you think Fitz would like cassoulet?‖ Julian hugged the bowl to himself. ―He might.‖ ―We‘d need fava beans and duck confit. Perhaps some lamb or veal…‖


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―Look at you, already planning meals. We can‘t just adopt him, you know. He has a family, and in case you‘ve forgotten—‖ Julian turned icy eyes to Serge. ―I haven‘t forgotten.‖ ―Then remember you might need to let go.‖ Serge tried to take the pot, but Julian dodged him. ―Surely you‘re talking about Fitz and not the pot.‖ Serge rolled his eyes. They tidied the kitchen together as seamlessly as they‘d done everything else. Julian washed and Serge dried, and when they were done and Serge slung the damp towel over his shoulder, Julian took it from him and used it to pull him into a little dance, using the towel to keep Serge with him as they stepped forward, chacha-cha and back, cha-cha-cha. Fitz returned. ―Do you two teach dance?‖ Serge stopped and pulled out from under the towel. ―Julian used to dance professionally,‖ Serge told him. ―And I must be Fred Astaire if I wish to keep him happy.‖ ―Who?‖ Fitz asked. Serge couldn‘t tell if he was teasing. ―He was a dancer from the American cinema. Sort of an odd-looking man—‖ ―With monkey ears and huge hands,‖ Julian interrupted, ―who made dancing look effortless. He was brilliant.‖ ―I was teasing. I know who Fred Astaire was. You two seem good at it. You could probably win contests or something. Are you expecting company?‖ Julian stopped, midstep. ―What?‖ ―I saw a car pull into the driveway before I came down the—‖ ―Zut,‖ Serge cursed, ―bien, allons-y vite, mon cœur.‖ Julian leaped into motion, shoving what remained of the dishes into the dishwasher haphazardly. Fitz might have thought Julian was simply trying to hide things, but since he seemed like such an efficient homemaker, it was probably just— ―Fitz, darling, would you be a chum and take this?‖ Julian handed him an upside down cone-shaped ceramic pot that was way heavier than it looked. ―Sure.‖ Fitz took it as Serge grabbed for his coat. Before he shoved his hand through the sleeve, Fitz caught sight of a tattoo, a number scrawled on Serge‘s forearm. It was scribbled, like it was written hastily by an unskilled hand. Shocked, Fitz reached out and clasped Serge‘s wrist, holding it steady so he could read it. ―Serge?‖ Fitz glanced up into Serge‘s face. Serge pulled his arm from Fitz‘s grasp and pushed it into the sleeve of his coat before shrugging it on the rest of the way. ―What—‖ ―It‘s nothing.‖

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Julian bit his lip. ―We should probably—‖ ―Yes, out the back. Follow us, Fitz.‖ Fitz wanted to ask questions, but Serge was hurrying away. ―But—‖ ―Allez, vite.‖ Serge insisted, so out the kitchen slider and onto the patio Fitz went, carrying Julian‘s giant, heavy earthenware bowl with him. ―Fitz.‖ Julian stopped him. ―You need to head for that back fence. It‘s low enough to climb over, but watch the bushes. They have thorns. On the other side is the park. Just head across to the main entrance, and you‘ll be on the road, and from there you can catch a bus or a cab.‖ ―Catch…? Where will you be?‖ ―We‘ll be right behind you, so if you‘ll just carry my cassole…‖ ―Julian.‖ ―Hush, Serge. He‘ll be perfectly fine. He‘s a strong, healthy young man. We‘ll be seeing you, Fitz. Please don‘t let people take advantage of you.‖ Serge looked at Julian and then skyward. ―Other people,‖ Julian corrected himself. ―Run along. We‘re right behind you.‖ Serge made a shooing motion. Still confused and doubly curious, Fitz took off, trying to find a place where he could get to the fence without having to climb through a bush. He looked back and saw Serge and Julian behind him. Whoever was out in front, it was probably someone they didn‘t want to see. He reached the end of the grass and wormed his way between two positively lethal bougainvillea bushes. They appeared to have been cut back fairly recently, thank heavens, or he‘d have more than a few painful scratches for his trouble. He stowed the ugly pot Serge had asked him to carry on top of the fence and hoisted himself up, but not before he caught his black T-shirt and tangled it on a rogue branch, tearing the fabric and bloodying his arm a bit in the process. ―Shit.‖ He turned to see where Julian and Serge were, but they were nowhere in sight. For the space of several heartbeats, he waited, assuming they‘d pop up on the wall somewhere at any moment, and they‘d all drop over to the other side together. More seconds passed…long ones where he looked around frantically and found no sign of life in the yard at all. The slider to the house opened again, and he expected either Serge or Julian to emerge. They must have realized they‘d forgotten something and gone back for it. ―Hey!‖ A woman shouted from the shadows under the patio cover. ―Hey, stop. You!‖ Fitz realized she was talking to him at exactly the moment he looked over his shoulder and realized Serge and Julian weren‘t coming, that they had abandoned him here holding the proverbial bag, or…bowl. ―Stop! What are you doing? You bring that back, or I‘m calling the police!‖


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Fitz didn‘t hesitate; he leaped to the ground, retrieved his pot from the top of the wall, and ran like a gazelle. The grass was soft under his feet, spongy and damp. He found a bike path and took it, dodging cyclists and boys on skateboards until he reached the park‘s main entrance. He kept running down the street in the direction that, based on the sun, made the most sense to him. He stopped only when he‘d put about a mile and a half between himself and anyone who wanted to call the cops on him, and glanced around. While he tried to get his bearings by looking up at the street sign, he heard the heavy, jangling sound of metal on stone. He turned to find a middle-aged, motherly woman was dropping a number of coins into his bowl. She had a kind, rather elfin face. ―Sweetheart, you probably ought to go to one of the shelters. You‘re bleeding.‖ ―Thank you.‖ He looked down, appalled. ―I…um…‖ Another man walked by and slipped in a dollar bill. At this rate he‘d be able to take a cab home if he could find one. He already had bus fare if he could figure out where he was. They‘d walked from the Hart and Hound, which had to be around here somewhere… ―There‘s a policeman across the street if you need help,‖ the woman whispered. Her concerned face wrinkled as she winked and left. Jeez. The last thing he needed was a policeman. Expecting to hear someone bark at him to stop, he headed around the corner as nonchalantly as he was able, away from the uniform and anyone else who wanted to help him. Julian and Serge had never returned his wallet, so he didn‘t have his ID. He had no cash or cards. He knew what he had to do in a situation like this, and if it had to be done, it might as well be now, and quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Fitz had to walk a couple more blocks to find a pay phone with a handset that hadn‘t been torn off. So many of them were gone, leaving behind twisted aluminum and bundles of exposed wire. He found one and picked it up, then began pumping some of the quarters he‘d gotten from his motherly benefactor into the slot, hardly remembering how to use a pay phone at all. Once he dialed, he had to wait a seemingly interminable time for the call to connect. And then he had to insert more change. On the fourth ring, just as he was about to give up because he didn‘t want to leave a message, someone picked up. A tired, angry voice growled, ―This had better be good. It‘s Sunday.‖

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Chapter Four Forty-five minutes after one of the more humiliating phone calls of Fitz‘s life, Ari Scheffield roared up to the curb in his silver special edition Porsche Boxster S. Shit. Ari had the top down, allowing the wind to blow his hair around as if it simply loved him and couldn‘t help itself. As always he arrived looking more like a runway model than a forensic accountant. His auburn hair blazed fiery under the bright sunshine, and the scruff of his morning beard winked like gold. He had on sunglasses that hid his eyes, but Fitz knew they raked him over, judging his every molecule and finding each one more unsatisfactory than the last. As he reached over to unlock the passenger door of the hot little car, Fitz would have bet good money that Ari knew he was attracting the attention of every damned person on the street. And that he loved every second of it. Ari slid the sunglasses down his nose with a fuck-you finger and frowned at him. ―Are you panhandling now?‖ ―No.‖ Fitz ground his molars together. ―I am not panhandling.‖ ―Jeez, Flitz. Your mom‘s been gone what? Three months? And already you‘re like some homeless—‖ ―It‘s not what it looks like, Ariel.‖ ―What it looks like is bad enough.‖ Ari waited for him to put on his seat belt and then gunned the engine, whipping out into traffic and firing the afterburners to blast through a perfectly orange light. ―Ha, ha.‖ Fitz settled for holding tightly to his bowl because the convertible didn‘t have a bar on the roof to grab. ―Just now you probably got your picture taken by the red light cam.‖ ―There isn‘t one in that intersection. Did you want to drive yourself home?‖ Ari asked smugly. ―Oh wait, I forgot. You don‘t drive. Why is that again?‖ ―You know why,‖ Fitz muttered. Every time he and Ari had to spend ten minutes together, his jaw snapped shut and he talked through his teeth. Situational TMJ disorder. ―I remember now. It was a small matter of your mother‘s Mercedes and a swimming pool, wasn‘t it?‖ Ari turned to him and grinned. There was probably fifteen thousand dollars‘ worth of orthodontia in that smile. Fitz had seen the pictures of Ari as a child, and at one time they‘d given him hope that his own shortcomings could be overcome by the absurd amount of money his mother was


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willing to throw at them. Now Ari‘s magnificently even, white teeth just pissed him off. ―Listen, liebling, when your mom left, she asked me to be on you like sweat, and I have to tell you, that‘s not really my best-case scenario.‖ Ari turned back to watch the road. ―I don‘t care where you were yesterday, but now that you‘ve gotten me involved, there have to be rules, you know?‖ ―What do you mean, rules?‖ Fitz had a very bad feeling about this. ―She‘s worried about you, man.‖ ―I‘m fine.‖ ―Yet here I am, picking you up because you have no cash, no phone, and you had no clue where you were.‖ Fitz remained silent. What could he say? Ari was right. Ari shot him another look. ―But I must say that‘s a very fine bowl.‖ ―It‘s a cassole.‖ Fitz cradled the solid bulk of the bowl in his lap. With every mile Ari drove, the previous night and the strange men Fitz had met seemed more like something from a dream. The view beyond the passenger door occupied Fitz‘s attention for a while. They sped past the many strip malls and coffee joints that made up his corner of Los Angeles, dog groomers with exclusive pet-treat bakeries, the brushless car wash/Internet café/four-star-fast-food places, and the Botox-in-a-box med spas that seemed to have mushroomed around his home over the years. He stayed silent until at last they pulled into his neighborhood and traveled the winding streets past hoards of men with lawn mowers and women pushing topof-the-line strollers. ―You can tell me if you‘re in some kind of trouble, you know,‖ Ari said as he pulled into the drive at Adelaide‘s place. ―We can talk about anything.‖ Fitz bit his lip and considered it. ―How long does ecstasy stay in your system?‖ Ari‘s shoulders tightened, and he looked away. ―Aw, shit, Fitz. At the very least, I didn‘t think you were stupid enough to get yourself involved in drugs.‖ ―Right.‖ Fitz hit the seat belt button, then grabbed his bowl and shoved his way out of the car. ―But I can come to you about anything.‖ ―Wait.‖ To his credit, Ari got out and rounded the car. ―I‘m sorry. I shouldn‘t have said that. But you know how I feel about drugs, Fitz. They make you stupid. Do you want to throw your whole future away?‖ ―It‘s not like that—‖ ―You have a gift, you know. Everyone in your life has made sacrifices to help you nurture that, but if you throw it away…that‘s just not okay.‖ Fitz didn‘t blame him for reacting that way. He‘d have said the same thing if the situation were reversed. Except it wasn‘t. It couldn‘t be. Ari would never let himself be talked into anything as asinine as the stuff that Garrett had gotten Fitz

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to do the night before. Ari was perfect. He couldn‘t get the paper in the morning without the neighbors breaking into applause. ―You think I‘m gifted?‖ Fitz bit at the apple of Ari‘s praise and regretted it immediately. Seeing his opening, Ari took it. ―Well…maybe just special.‖ Fitz turned on his heel and walked away. ―Stop.‖ Ari followed Fitz as he headed for the door. ―I‘m sorry. I don‘t know how long ecstasy stays in your system. Why?‖ ―I took something my friend Garrett said was X.‖ Fitz held his hand up in case Ari was planning to lob another insult. ―Don‘t bother. I know. It was a bonehead thing to do. I felt really awful when I was on it last night. I think I imagined some stuff.‖ ―Hallucinated, you mean.‖ That was as good a way of putting it as any. Except he‘d touched Serge when he‘d tried to read the tattoo on his arm, and he‘d felt as real as anything. As real as Fitz‘s own arm or the cassole he‘d been holding. Fitz clutched his pot tighter. ―Yeah.‖ Ari frowned and looked him over carefully. ―How much sleep have you gotten lately?‖ ―Not much.‖ ―Look, I promised to meet my friend Alex for brunch, but can I come get you later? Maybe we can have dinner?‖ Fitz immediately shook his head. ―No way. Why?‖ ―I promised your mom I‘d keep you out of trouble while she‘s in France.‖ ―Tell her you couldn‘t find me.‖ ―C‘mon, Fitz.‖ Ari at his most charming was lethal, and he knew it. He removed his sunglasses to reveal eyes so big, so green and luminous you could see them from space. Once again Fitz was on the receiving end of his engaging—if preternaturally perfect—smile. ―All right, but you‘re buying,‖ Fitz muttered. ―That‘s the spirit.‖ Ari clapped him on the back, and Fitz nearly went flying. ―See you later.‖ ―I‘ll text you.‖ Ari put his sunglasses on again and went back to his car, laughing at his own joke. ―Oops. I forgot. You don‘t have a phone.‖ ―Yeah, yeah.‖ Fitz turned away. ―I‘ll be here at four to take you to get a new one. Be ready.‖ ―Thanks.‖ ―What?‖ Ari called out. ―I didn‘t hear that.‖ He gunned his engine again and backed down the driveway before Fitz could respond. He wouldn‘t respond anyway. Why would he? It never failed that he looked like an asshole next to Ari. But in a


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way…? He‘d always been awed by the wretched man, like Fitz was one of those people in the rainforest who had never been touched by civilization and Ari was the first airplane to fly overhead. Fitz turned his attention to the keypad lock. His inability to keep track of his keys was only one reason Adelaide‘d had it installed. The fact that it could be opened by satellite came in handy in case she married someone who forgot the complex four-number combination to unlock it. He punched in his code and walked into their house. There was a large foyer with an eye-catching marble medallion on the floor, over which Adelaide‘s designer had placed a round table that always held a vase of spectacular, seasonal flowers. That table did double duty, much to Adelaide‘s horror, as a place for Fitz to drop whatever he brought in from the outside world. Julian‘s cassole finally found safe harbor among CDs, electronic equipment, flyers, mail, and all the other flotsam and jetsam of Fitz‘s forays out. When Adelaide traveled, there was no one to sweep it off into the trash bin every five minutes, so it piled up until Marguerite, who came in Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, could ride him about it. For a moment he stood in the foyer, simply glad to be home. Its grandeur always made him feel like the exception to the rule, the small, nearly raggedy boy inside the giant gilded cage. He half expected some huge, luxurious pet—one of Siegfried and Roy‘s white tigers—to pad down the sweeping staircase and eat him. Originally he‘d planned to shower and change, but he made his way to the kitchen instead, where he could scrub his hands. He hadn‘t realized how much he‘d yearned for the comfort of the single most important thing in his life until he‘d seen it from the entryway, waiting for him. His piano pouted, accusing him of ignoring it. Suddenly he couldn‘t get to it fast enough. The bench waited, pushed slightly askew where he‘d left it before his disastrous evening with Garrett and his odd experience with Julian and Serge. Back when he‘d still had a date with his crush to look forward to. It had taken nearly two months of cultivation, of Garrett‘s excuses and Fitz‘s reticence, of poor planning and worse timing, but they‘d finally gone on their date. All along Fitz had signed Garrett into classes he never attended and patiently believed Garrett‘s promises. All along he‘d listened to Garrett‘s excuses about not having enough money to get him through each week. Garrett always seemed so sure that if he just had a little cash, things would work out for them. Like an idiot, Fitz had given him money, and the rest—as they say—was history. It might have even been bearable if he hadn‘t had to ask Ari, of all people, for help. Fitz stood before the keyboard of his piano. With the precision of ancient muscle memory, he pulled the bench beneath him to the exact place he needed it to be to reach the pedals and still maintain correct posture. He rested hands lightly on the keys. With each silent touch, his fingertips feathered lightly over the surface of

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the instrument. It was a ritual of sorts, the foreplay of a lover coming home. When at last he began a series of arpeggios, it was an exercise, another ritual, to warm up his fingers first, then his hands, his arms, and the muscles in his back until the music flowed from every part of him, until every cell of his body was engaged. He remembered starting out so small his mother had to lift him to the bench. He still faced the instrument in exactly the same way. At that age, he‘d fancied the piano was a kind of entity. The Bösendorfer was no more an instrument than it was furniture; it simply existed in his living room, waiting, ready to play with him and for him—to add its unique voice to Fitz‘s long hours of practice in the special magic of bringing a long-dead composer back to life. There was a place to be shy. A place to be uncertain and nineteen. A place in his life where someone like Garrett could come along and mess with him because he was young and needy and naive. But here, seated as he was with his most important childhood friend, ready to worship at the altar of the composers who filled his heart with passionate fire, was not that place. Fitz‘s fingers flew, and he filled the room with music. Garrett saw a piggy bank. A guy you could bend over a bathroom sink or a loser you might throw in the garbage. Ari saw a helpless almost relative who needed a keeper. Heaven only knew what Julian and Serge saw when they looked at him. But at the piano, in Clark Kent fashion, he could tear off the teen loser disguise and become the music itself. It was easy enough to immerse himself in his practice. Time stood still, even as the shadows lengthened and stretched across the highly polished marble floors. He worked until he heard footsteps and looked up to find Ari staring down at him, arms folded. ―I knew I‘d find you like this, so I came half an hour early. Go shower and change.‖ Fitz‘s removed his hands reluctantly from the keys. ―I‘m sorry, I—‖ ―Lost track of time. I‘m not exactly surprised.‖ ―How did you get in?‖ ―I have my own code, remember?‖ Fitz looked down at his lap. Ari pushed a water bottle at him. ―Here. Drink. Do you sweat like that in competition? Must be hard on the tux.‖ ―Yes, I do. And yes, it is.‖ Fitz took a sip and realized how dehydrated he was. He chugged the rest of the bottle and tried to hand it back, but Ari simply looked at it. ―It‘s not an effortless thing to play Rachmaninoff, but you always make it look easy from the audience‘s perspective. That was brilliant.‖ Ari turned his back and left the living room. ―I‘ll be in the kitchen watching the news. Hurry up.‖


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For a moment Fitz stood where he was, gaping at Ari‘s back as it turned the corner. Brilliant? Frantically he pinched himself. Yep. It hurt like a bear. Fucking Garrett. Fitz knew he was probably still hallucinating, and that sucked big time because the following day he had school to do in the morning. How long did the shit Garrett gave him last anyway? Peer pressure. Didn‘t he know better? Never, ever again. Fitz ascended the graceful, curved stairway to wash up and change. Before Garrett, he‘d never taken so much as a cough drop recreationally. As soon as he stopped seeing odd things—disappearing ballroom dancers and Ari Scheffield behaving in an uncharacteristically human way—he was going to head over to St. Boniface and confess, and then he was never going to leave the house again.

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Chapter Five Fitz played with his new phone as he and Ari wove their way across town to Comme Ça, a West Hollywood restaurant that Ari said he‘d discovered a few weeks before. Once there, Fitz realized Ari must have made an impression on the host. There was a milling herd of people out front waiting for tables, but they were seated right away. It was a classic bistro, an enticing and aromatic French restaurant with atmosphere to burn. The crowd covered all the usual suspects, from young couples playing footsie, to old men dining alone with their wine, to families with kids cracking the crusty bread lids on the soupe à l’oignon gratinée and competing to see how far their cheese would stretch. The host led them to a small table in the corner and told them of the day‘s special dishes. ―What looks good to you?‖ Ari asked conversationally. He didn‘t look up from his menu, so Fitz felt perfectly justified to continue playing with his phone. ―I thought maybe steak frites.‖ ―Good choice.‖ When the waiter returned, Ari glanced up and asked him some questions about the appetizers. Fitz studied them covertly. The waiter wasn‘t immune to Ari‘s charm; he blushed a pleasant shade of pink every time Ari smiled. There was no hope for it. Both men and women fell like meteors for Ari. Fitz couldn‘t help but grin when Ari ordered the marrow toasts and oxtail jam. The poor man‘s Adam‘s apple bobbed in horror. He said, ―An excellent choice,‖ but Fitz thought maybe he was a vegetarian or something because he‘d paled a little. Good thing Ari‘d laid off the steak tartare or the guy would have fainted. Left alone while their server went to place their order, Ari pushed his menu aside and focused all his attention on Fitz. To reciprocate, Fitz reluctantly put down his new toy. ―You think that phone will be what you need in the long run?‖ Ari smoothed his napkin into his lap. ―It‘s actually much better than the one I had.‖ Fitz itched to pick it up again, but he didn‘t. ―It has a lot of nice features.‖ ―Here, let me have it.‖ Fitz handed it over and watched as Ari took his own phone out. He fooled with them both for a while. ―I put in my number on speed dial 3. I figure I probably come in at about number 666 on your list of people to call, but if you need anything…‖


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―If I ask you who you are and what you‘ve done with Ari Scheffield, would you be offended?‖ Ari handed his phone back. ―Come on. I know it‘s weird and we haven‘t exactly been best friends, but you can call on me for help if you need it. I proved that today, didn‘t I?‖ ―Because Adelaide tapped you to babysit me. That sucks.‖ ―She was worried, Fitz.‖ Ari toyed with his napkin. ―You‘ve been known to need someone to…balance things for you sometimes.‖ ―Yeah. Well. I think I teetered a little too far over the edge last night. I could feel that it affected my muscle control today. I can‘t believe I was that stupid.‖ Ari leaned forward. ―What made you do something like that? I know you know better. A glass of wine or some beer… I mean, you don‘t have to be a saint.‖ ―Don‘t worry, that was my one and only foray onto the wild side. I got suckered out of some money, I took a drug I really didn‘t even want to take, and I nearly got…‖ Fitz decided he didn‘t have to share everything with Ari. ―I hit my head, and my so-called friend threw me into a garbage bin behind the Hart and Hound.‖ Ari stiffened. ―Not much of a friend.‖ ―No. I don‘t suppose so.‖ Fitz wondered what Ari‘s frown meant. Whatever it was, he was angry about something. ―I admit I‘m not the sharpest person when it comes to making friends.‖ ―I‘m not surprised since you‘ve spent most of your life practicing the piano.‖ ―I know.‖ ―I sometimes wonder how fair it was to do that to you.‖ Fitz laughed. ―Nobody did that to me. The piano is the only place I want to be, really. Although lately…‖ ―Don‘t tell me. You‘ve been dreaming of trains, going into tunnels…‖ ―Shut up.‖ Fitz blushed and looked away when the waiter returned with Ari‘s hors d‘oeuvre. Three bones stood cut side up in the center of a plate dotted with what looked to be some sort of thick tomato relish. There were wooden paddles that Fitz thought were for the exhumation of the marrow, and grilled breads to eat with it. The waiter had gamely pasted a smile on his face and was inquiring what entrées they found tempting. They ordered, and Ari dug into his food. ―You want to try this? It‘s delicious.‖ ―Um, no thanks,‖ Fitz told him and took a sip of his water. ―I don‘t know what it is, exactly. I love bone marrow.‖ Fitz spewed all over the butcher paper-covered table, forcing the waiter to send over busboys to replace it. Ari‘s face had gone pink. ―What are you, twelve?‖ ―I‘m sorry.‖ Fitz wanted to make himself small. Maybe even disappear.

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―Maybe what we can do while Adelaide is in France is work a little on your cool. Get you some lessons in how to blend in. Hook you up with some friends.‖ Ari smirked. ―Do you want me to help you find a nice girlfriend?‖ ―Thanks, but no thanks.‖ Fitz was unenthusiastic. Didn‘t Ari know girl tunnels weren‘t the ones his dream trains went into? Hadn‘t Adelaide informed Ari that Fitz was gay? If not, Ari Scheffield was the only one on the planet still in the dark. ―It‘s going to be a busy time, what with school. I‘m sure I‘m not even going to be able to—‖ ―We‘ll make time,‖ Ari said imperiously, jabbing his little stick into that bone and then spreading the results of his efforts onto toast. Fitz‘s left eye tried to close while he watched, but he was uncomfortably aware that it wasn‘t very sophisticated to make yucky faces. Maybe if he acted more mature, Ari would leave him alone. ―Well, you have my number. Just send a text when you have some time, and we‘ll do something.‖ Fitz gave up a small smile. And I’ll be able to dodge you. ―Sounds good.‖ Fitz was saved from further conversation when Ari‘s phone rang. He looked at it and frowned, but put his napkin by his plate and stood. ―I have to take this. I won‘t be too long.‖ ―It‘s fine. Take all the time you need. I‘m not going anywhere.‖ ―No?‖ Ari tossed over his shoulder before he strode away. ―Oh yeah. You don‘t drive, do you?‖ Fitz bit his lip to keep from saying anything childish as he watched Ari‘s retreating back. Beside his elbow, the waiter cleared his throat. ―Can I get you more water?‖ Fitz gave a guilty start. ―Thanks.‖ The waiter picked up Fitz‘s glass and nearly flooded it because he was staring at Ari‘s ass. ―While he‘s gone, can I ask? Is he with anyone?‖ Fitz bit back the sharpish and juvenile suggestion that Ari was actually dining with someone. ―I don‘t know.‖ He shrugged. ―You‘d have to ask him.‖ Fitz wished he was privy to the waiter‘s thoughts when he left, because he wore a pitying look, as if Fitz‘s noncommittal answer hid some sour grapes. Yeah, right. I’m not exactly Ari’s date. Allez-y. ―What‘d I miss?‖ Ari tucked himself back into his seat. ―The waiter wants to know if he has a chance with you,‖ Fitz told him. Ari shook his head and laughed it off, digging back into his appetizer. Both men stayed silent through the main course, and if Ari thought it odd or uncomfortable, he didn‘t say so. Fitz had been eyeing a spiced pot de crème with some sort of pumpkin pudding and ginger whipped cream, and Ari ordered a cheese plate with port.


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Of course he did. ―How come I never knew what a food snob you are?‖ Fitz finally asked because he couldn‘t stand it any longer. ―I don‘t know. Your mother never cooks for holidays or anything, so I doubt we‘ve eaten that many meals together over the years. Have we?‖ ―No. I guess not.‖ Fitz let the silence build again. It wasn‘t exactly uncomfortable. They knew each other, had spent time together. They‘d lived under the same roof for a brief time and taken vacations together. Ari had kept in touch even when he‘d been out of the country. A certain wariness on Fitz‘s part was natural, the mixture of immaturity and envy, crowned with a dollop of hero worship. But maybe he was growing beyond that because he‘d relaxed and was even beginning to enjoy himself. Ari urged him to try a bit of some veiny blue cheese and a sip of port. Fitz shared some of his dessert. Eventually they sat with coffee, sharing that same companionable silence until Ari broke it. ―You don‘t find it easy interacting with people, do you?‖ Fitz felt his cheeks heat. ―No.‖ ―I don‘t get that.‖ Ari held his coffee cup with both hands as though seeking its warmth. ―I don‘t guess you would get it. I don‘t have a lot of practice being with people, and when I do, mostly in school and church, there‘s always something that sets me apart.‖ ―Yeah. That‘s called talent.‖ Ari leaned forward. ―You‘re a bona fide genius, Flitz. Why did you let someone play you? Why aren‘t the kids who want to be your pal sucking up and kissing your ass?‖ Fitz laughed out loud, and this time, fortunately, he had nothing in his mouth. ―I like your version of my life a lot better than I like mine.‖ Ari‘s gaze softened. ―Maybe all you need is a little confidence.‖ ―Yeah. Maybe.‖ Ari dropped some bills into the leather folder for the waiter and rose. Fitz followed, stretching his arms forward and back. ―You were drinking. Do you need me to drive?‖ ―After one glass of port? Hardly.‖ Ari put his arm around Fitz‘s shoulders, hooking his forearm around Fitz‘s neck affectionately. Fitz stiffened in shock, but eventually he relaxed and even enjoyed the warmth of Ari‘s body next to his. ―Besides, I‘m not insured for chlorine damage.‖ ―There were so many extenuating circumstances to that story.‖ Fitz let Ari drag him into the night air. ―Oh, don‘t even try. I know exactly what happened because my dad let me read the police report.‖ ―What?‖ Fitz was outraged. ―Isn‘t that privileged or something?‖

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Ari opened the door for Fitz and then closed it when he got in. He came around and sat heavily in the driver‘s seat, waiting before he keyed the ignition. ―I‘m family, and he‘s your lawyer. I was helping him with the case. Shit happens.‖ ―I don‘t exactly think of you as family.‖ Fitz honestly didn‘t think of Ari much at all when he didn‘t have to. ―You don‘t?‖ Ari glared at him. Maybe he was offended. ―I‘ve been in the figurative family pew for each and every one of your recitals since you were six, Flitz. Unless I was out of the country or something.‖ ―You were?‖ Fitz tried to recall specific concerts. ―I don‘t remember seeing you.‖ ―I don‘t always head backstage to say hello afterward if that‘s what you mean. I‘ve taken more than one date to those things. Usually we move on to more exciting activities, but yes. I don‘t miss your performances.‖ ―But why?‖ ―What do you mean, why?‖ Fitz was trying to get a handle on this new, emotionally available Ari. ―I mean, why do you bother?‖ Ari simply shook his head and put the car in gear. ―Are you always this dense? We‘re family, bonehead. I care about you.‖


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Chapter Six The ride home through the dark in the solid platinum cool of Ari‘s silver sports car was a tremendous rush. Ari put Chopin piano études into the CD disk changer, and everywhere they drove, they garnered attention. Fitz had seen nothing like it since he and some other musicians rented a limousine after a difficult recital and took turns pushing their upper bodies through the sunroof in order to scream at the top of their lungs. Ari‘s car provoked approval from drivers and pedestrians alike, almost everyone nodding their admiration and giving Ari himself the eye. No screaming required. Fitz felt all but invisible next to Ari, but that made it pleasant. Ari greeted the hungry glances of both men and women on the road as though it was part of his job to acknowledge them, the noblesse oblige of being beautiful and young and cool. Fitz went along for the ride as the invisible man, the sidekick. It was wonderful. He was loose and happy, basking in the radiant warmth of everyone‘s admiration as long as he wasn‘t at the center of it. Ari‘s tongue must have loosened from the port too, because on the way home, over the din of traffic, he told Fitz more about himself than Fitz had ever known. Somehow he‘d entered college at seventeen and got his bachelor‘s degree from UCLA in only three years. His master‘s in business administration, along with his CPA license, allowed him to work as a forensic accountant by the age of twenty-five. ―And believe me when I tell you,‖ Ari said over the chirping of a stoplight that was audible for the blind, ―in this day and age, if you‘re a guy who can spot a fraudulent investment scheme or, say, someone who‘s cooking the books to skim profit in an attempt to feast off the flesh of a company that isn‘t necessarily sick but that technology is making obsolete…? There are no limits to the number of jobs you can line up. I opened an accounting branch of the Scheffield legal firm, offering to consult for family law attorneys like Dad who needed someone to find hidden assets in divorce cases, but the next thing I knew, I was consulting for the Feds in cases of SEC-related fraud and Ponzi schemes.‖ ―That all sounds very fascinating,‖ Fitz said in a tone of voice that implied the opposite. ―We can‘t all be musical geniuses, Flitz.‖ Ari seemed stung, and he took a corner so fast that Fitz had to grab on to the door. ―I realize it‘s not Rachmaninoff, but in its way it‘s comparable. There are maybe a million tiny details to a fraud like the one I‘m describing, and they can go on for year after year after year. In tracking down the scheme, I‘m going through each and every seemingly unimportant line

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item of data and piecing together the whole from realigning the fragments of its parts. That‘s where I‘m the virtuoso, Fitz. When I do my job, guilty people are sent to prison, and sometimes I can help the defrauded get back their investments. At least I prevent the bad guys from harming people in the future.‖ Fitz fidgeted with shame. ―I‘m sorry, Ari. I didn‘t realize.‖ ―No reason you would. Accounting isn‘t as sexy as concert piano.‖ Fitz studied Ari‘s profile. No way. Did Ari feel they were in some sort of competition? ―At any rate, I‘m definitely in the right place at the right time to do what comes naturally. Numbers are absurdly easy for me. They simply—‖ Fitz felt the need to set Ari straight. ―The only thing sexy about what I do is the tux, and even then it‘s not exactly going to inspire anyone. Ari, when you walk through a door, people drop shit on the ground and stare. Yours is the face that launched a thousand wet dreams. Check it out.‖ He pointed to a compact car with a group of giggling girls in it that had stopped next to them at the light. ―See that? They‘re not talking to each other about my emotional rendition of the ‗Heroique.‘‖ A muscle in Ari‘s jaw tightened, and even on the dark street, there was enough light to see that his color deepened. ―Are you embarrassed by that?‖ Fitz asked. ―Do you want everyone to judge you by what they see on the outside?‖ ―No. Geez, I should hope they wouldn‘t.‖ ―There‘s nothing wrong with your outside. There‘s nothing wrong with liking someone‘s physical appearance either. It just doesn‘t have to stop at the outside, and it isn‘t what earns my money.‖ Ari turned down the street that led to Fitz‘s neighborhood and navigated the rest of the short way before pulling into Fitz‘s driveway. Fitz spoke without thinking. ―Anymore. That‘s it, isn‘t it? You hate that you were a—‖ ―Don‘t say it.‖ ―What‘s wrong with saying it? You were in a boy band. Tons of people loved your thirteen-year-old ass. There were pictures of you everywhere, in every teen magazine. Adelaide was always saying—‖ ―Yeah.‖ Ari snorted. ―I was huge in Japan.‖ ―Are you ashamed of it?‖ ―Not really. But there‘s more to me than that. I just want people to see the big picture before they judge me, is all.‖ Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful? Fitz didn‘t know what the hell to say to that. Even if they judged Ari, no one ever criticized him for anything. Or did they? ―Did they give you a hard time about that in school or something?‖


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Ari looked at him briefly and then took the keys from the ignition. ―Nah. It‘s nothing like that. When I was an undergrad, I had a couple of professors who made it harder for me than it had to be. I had to prove myself academically in a way that I doubt I would have if there hadn‘t been a ‗reading is fundamental‘ poster in the library featuring N0mad in all its hip-hop glory.‖ ―No one who ever saw that poster looked at your face.‖ Fitz had lain awake nights trying to get that particular image of his very hot used-to-be stepbrother out of his head. Ari‘s Japanese fans had called him the Golden Lion, and damned if it didn‘t apply perfectly. Ari‘s hand came out and cuffed him. ―Thanks for reminding me.‖ Fitz had his hand on the car door. He could have simply gotten out and gone inside. He could have. But he was secretly delighted with the way Ari was treating him, like a peer instead of a nuisance. The way Ari looked at him made his breath come faster. ―Do you want to come in for coffee or something?‖ Fitz asked. ―I don‘t know what. We just had everything.‖ ―It‘s early yet. Maybe we could watch a movie?‖ ―You want to?‖ Ari was hesitant. ―Yeah. Come on in.‖ They approached the front door together, walking up the lavishly landscaped, lighted path and onto the flagstone landing. Fitz keyed in the code number on his door, and Ari snorted softly behind him. ―Your code is your birthday?‖ ―Yeah. Wait. You know when my birthday is?‖ ―Just go inside, Fitz. We need to open the garage so I can put my car in.‖ ―Are you worried people will see you here?‖ Ari followed Fitz through the hallway to the kitchen, where he pushed the garage door button. ―Yeah. I don‘t want anyone to think I hang around with a geek like you.‖ Fitz followed Ari to the driveway, where he studied the sky. There were clouds rolling in from the northwest. They seemed to be moving fast, as if they gathered overhead to choke off the light from the moon. ―And also in case it rains.‖ Ari pulled into the garage and parked his car next to Adelaide Gaffney‘s sleek, handsome Mercedes E550. There was little else stored there. No sports equipment, no bicycles. No Christmas decorations in boxes or outgrown clothing or souvenirs of Fitz‘s childhood. Adelaide was a serial monogomist who had a penchant for collecting older men with money. In her defense, none of them minded it too much. She was witty and bright, looked fabulous twenty-four hours a day, and since her first two husbands died leaving her one step beyond filthy rich, she was pretty magnanimous about signing a prenup, provided it went both ways.

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All of Adelaide‘s energy went into two things: finding true love and seeing to it that Fitz grew into his talent. Sadly, in that order. Fitz opened the door into the house from the garage and led Ari to the kitchen, where he pulled bottled water from the fridge. ―You want anything else?‖ Fitz handed him one. ―No, water‘s fine.‖ ―Well, it‘s this way.‖ ―I remember.‖ Ari followed Fitz toward the back of the house and downstairs to the viewing room. ―I used to live here.‖ ―I know.‖ Fitz clung to his water bottle like a lifeline. ―What do you want to watch?‖ ―Do you still like slasher films?‖ As a kid Fitz had hated scary movies. Ari was willing to bet he still loathed them. ―No.‖ ―I was kidding.‖ ―I know.‖ Fitz made his way to a cabinet that held DVDs. ―We could watch DVDs or films from my dad‘s collection. Which do you prefer?‖ ―Something old, something new, something borrowed…‖ Ari searched through the reels of old films while Fitz pulled out possible DVDs. ―Something blue? No can do, Ari. I have nothing more titillating here than an R rating.‖ Ari lifted his foot behind him and tapped the back of Fitz‘s knee with it. ―Like I‘d want to watch porn with my baby brother.‖ Fitz complained, ―I‘m not your brother.‖ ―No. You‘re not, are you?‖ Ari pulled out some reels. ―What about a thriller? Or a mystery?‖ ―I‘m not a baby anymore either.‖ Ari studied Fitz for a minute. He wondered if Fitz knew arguing like that went a long way toward proving he could still act like a kid. ―I know. I was just teasing.‖ Ari softened his voice. ―How about Hitchcock?‖ Fitz took the film from him. ―Hitchcock? I love those. Vertigo or Notorious?‖ ―The one with Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak.‖ ―That‘s Vertigo.‖ Fitz pulled out the proper reel and prepared the projector while Ari stood by the light switch. When Fitz got it rolling, Ari killed the lights. The film played for a while, and the silence between them was deafening. Ari longed to fill it with something meaningful, but he realized he had no good place to start. It was true he‘d been going to Fitz‘s recitals and concerts—even if the family didn‘t go—since he could drive. Although why that should surprise Fitz was a


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mystery. What would really surprise Fitz is why he had never come backstage afterward. Why he‘d never introduced his dates to Fitz. It wouldn‘t surprise Fitz to know he was gay. But it might be awkward if he realized that—lately especially—a lot of Ari‘s dates had physical characteristics in common with Fitz himself. Would Fitz make the connection and be appalled? ―I can‘t believe how blue James Stewart‘s eyes are.‖ Ari broke the silence. It was a lame beginning, but someone had to say something. ―Yeah.‖ ―And I want that DeSoto. What a gorgeous car.‖ Ari watched for a minute. ―The scenes of him driving are obviously faked, but this film is a love affair with San Francisco. See through the back window?‖ ―I was just thinking that.‖ Ari took a sip of his water. ―But how can he get all hot and bothered over her?‖ ―Uh, hello? Kim Novak?‖ Fitz pointed out. ―I mean the character. He‘s supposed to be a cop. It‘s obvious she‘s delusional.‖ Fitz remained silent. ―Seriously. Suppose you saw someone throw themselves into San Francisco Bay.‖ Fitz nodded, warming to the subject. ―Then she wakes up in a strange man‘s apartment, naked, in his bed. She has to know he undressed her. The audience knows; we see her clothes drying in the kitchen. What stops her from running to the nearest pay phone to call her husband or the police?‖ Ari recalled a number of nights exactly like this one, where he and Fitz had watched films and argued. A private screening room made play-by-play commentary possible in a way movie theaters did not. Something about it felt like home to him. He was glad they could still do it, glad they had this in common at least. He‘d missed Fitz. More than he should probably let on. Fitz said, ―I have a lot of questions about Vertigo, starting with, why the cartoon Fantasia dream sequence? I can only guess that it‘s because Hitchcock wanted to play with animation.‖ Ari shrugged. ―I guess if you‘re Hitchcock, no one is going to second-guess you.‖ ―Not twice at any rate. My favorite is North by Northwest.‖ ―Cary Grant. Yeah. I always wanted to be him.‖ ―News flash, dude. You are him.‖ Ari turned to Fitz, surprised. ―What do you mean by that?‖ Fitz rolled his eyes. ―Ari Scheffield, pop star and forensic accountant. Beauty and brains, the entire package. All you need is a crop duster to chase you down. I can see it now: You‘re running down Mulholland Drive, looking behind you, with your expensive tie flapping in the wind.‖

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―Come on.‖ Fitz wasn‘t too far away to smack. Ari was relieved Fitz couldn‘t see him blush. ―Cary Grant.‖ ―You must know that.‖ ―Maybe,‖ Ari conceded. After a while, he said, ―You‘re different from what I expected.‖ ―Different how?‖ Fitz took a sip of his water and turned his attention from the film to Ari. ―I thought when I came to pick you up, that you‘d be more‖—Ari chose his words carefully—―arrogant these days.‖ ―Arrogant?‖ Fitz laughed. ―Me?‖ ―Yeah. You know. Because of the music.‖ Ari leaned in a little, as though they really were in a movie theater and he worried someone would tell him to hush. ―We haven‘t really talked since you were in what? Eighth grade? I‘ve mostly seen you on the stage. In passing at family things. I thought you‘d be spoiled. I expected an obnoxious, entitled teenager.‖ When Fitz opened his mouth to argue, Ari raised a hand to stop him. ―I‘m sorry. I don‘t think so now or anything. I just… Your mom made it clear from the moment we met that you‘re destined for Great Things. Most people who live like that believe it.‖ ―Most people aren‘t me.‖ Fitz looked away. ―No. You‘re entirely unlike anyone else, aren‘t you?‖ Fitz peered at Ari. Unlike anyone… Was that a good thing or not? Fitz cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the movie. When he was a kid, Adelaide had dressed him like a tiny adult. She‘d sent him to etiquette school and cotillion classes and taken him with her everywhere like some dog in a purse. He‘d been a walking, talking manifestation of her ambition for him and had only begun to fight for his individuality lately. Now he rocked his own look and rejected Adelaide‘s pretentious ambitions for him. At least the ones that didn‘t coincide with his. But after the night before, when he‘d been so spectacularly rebuffed by someone he thought cared about him, he realized he‘d only been trying on bits of other people‘s plans for him as well. Was he Adelaide‘s little puppet? Was he the budding concert pianist and composer? Was he the outsider with black nail polish and guyliner? Or was he simply lonely and tired of being on display? Fitz was so exhausted from trying to live up to other people‘s expectations that he had no idea what he wanted for himself. But maybe that wasn‘t entirely true. Maybe he could think of one thing he wanted. ―Uh, Ari?‖ Fitz said a little while later. ―You know, I never told you…‖ ―What?‖


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―Thanks for coming to see me play.‖ ―I really mean it when I say it was my pleasure, Fitz.‖ ―I wish I‘d known you were there.‖ Fitz stared straight ahead at Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak, as if they held the key to his thoughts. ―Why?‖ ―It‘s nice to believe someone cared enough to do that.‖ Ari poked a finger at Fitz‘s hand, and it got his attention. ―I care, Fitz. I should have said so before now.‖ ―It‘s all right. Maybe this is the perfect time.‖ Fitz felt Ari‘s eyes on him. ―You‘re lonely with your mom gone, aren‘t you?‖ Fitz nodded and glanced over. ―It‘s hard to imagine, isn‘t it? I mean, you‘ve met Adelaide, right?‖ Ari lowered his lashes, and Fitz couldn‘t take his eyes off them. They made a smudge of shadow high up on his cheeks in the dimly lit screening room. ―Thanks,‖ Fitz whispered. ―For a nice night.‖ Ari‘s didn‘t move away or speak. The way Ari looked at him was like nothing he‘d ever seen before. Ari seemed thoughtful and worried and slightly hesitant. Maybe even a little guilty. Fitz‘s attention was drawn to Ari‘s lips. They were full, slightly parted, as perfect as if they‘d been sculpted from marble by one of the great masters. Fitz wondered what Ari was thinking, what made him silent, until suddenly he realized he was holding his own breath in anticipation. His gaze flicked back to Ari‘s eyes. The entire trip took less than a second, but that odd look he‘d seen on Ari‘s face was gone as if it had never been there. For one brief moment, Fitz had dared to think…he‘d really believed he was a breath away from a kiss. From Ari Scheffield. Ari pulled back and then returned his attention to the film. ―Reel change.‖ Ari took a sip of water. Fitz looked up at the white screen. Film slapped metal as it went round and round, loose. Ari got the lights, and Fitz went to change the film reels. His cheeks burned as he worked automatically, removing the spent reel and replacing it with the next. Threading and looping the film and spinning the uptake wheel, toggling the switch to start up the machine again. When he was done and ready to tell Ari to kill the lights, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. For some reason he couldn‘t explain, he wasn‘t at all surprised to see Julian walk down the hallway past the screening room door, holding a sack from Gelson‘s Market protectively to his chest. He threw Fitz a little wiggly-fingered wave. Serge followed him at a discreet distance.

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―Did you see that?‖ Fitz asked Ari, knowing the answer before he got it. ―What?‖ ―In the hallway?‖ Ari shifted from where he stood by the light switch and peeked out the door. ―I don‘t see anything.‖ Serge lingered directly in front of Ari. He had a mild expression on his face, as if people always looked right through him. When Fitz slumped back down in his chair and Ari joined him, Serge followed them into the room. Ari‘s gaze went back to the screen. ―What are we watching, Vertigo?‖ Serge sat in a chair behind and to the side of Ari‘s, closer to the door. Fitz said nothing. His heart thundered, but he didn‘t dare say a word to Serge in front of Ari. At the very least, Ari would call Adelaide, and at worst they could have him placed in a mental institution. James Stewart was attempting to persuade Kim Novak that there was a perfectly reasonable scientific explanation for everything she was experiencing. Julian wandered in and sat beside Serge. Fitz heard their skin whisper together and knew Serge had taken Julian‘s hand in his. ―Whoa,‖ Ari complained. ―I just don‘t get how he can be attracted to someone who‘s mentally ill. He can see it; it‘s obvious. But he just keeps making lame excuses. Why would he do that?‖ ―Why, indeed?‖ Fitz said miserably.

*** Fitz waved good-bye to Ari from the sidewalk as he pulled out onto the street. He‘d barely driven away when Fitz heard Julian speak from where he was watching on the porch. ―He seems like a fine young man.‖ Fitz turned and saw Serge put out a calming hand. ―Fitz…‖ ―I‘m crazy.‖ Fitz trudged up the steep drive to the landing and walked right past Serge and Julian as if they weren‘t there. He went back inside his home and closed the door sharply behind him, getting a glimpse of Serge and Julian‘s shocked faces as the heavy wooden portal shut them out. He turned his back to the door and leaned on it heavily. That was enough weirdness for anybody for one day. He was tired and apparently suffering from delusions. That last half hour of the movie had been particularly tense, with Ari wondering aloud why no one ever ordered a psych evaluation for Kim Novak while Julian and Serge sat placidly behind them, enjoying the film. ―I‘m simply experiencing the prolonged effect from a drug I took, and I‘ll be perfectly fine in the morning when I wake up,‖ Fitz told himself. Serge and Julian stood by the table in the foyer, waiting for him to glance their way. Fitz gasped with shock. ―What the fuck?‖


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Julian leaned over to stage-whisper to Serge. ―Artists get so overwrought. Have you ever noticed?‖ ―None of your teasing, Julian,‖ Serge replied. ―So what are you here for?‖ Fitz asked finally. He still hadn‘t moved from his spot just inside the door. He was debating bolting out of it, into the street, maybe to head for a neighbor‘s house to call the police. Except he didn‘t know his neighbors, and what could he tell the police? Well, shit. ―Here for?‖ Julian glanced at Serge. ―I‘m not sure I understand the question.‖ ―Is there a treasure map to find? An unsolved murder? Is there a message you need me to give someone? Have I not kept Christmas in my heart as well as any man and better?‖ Fitz‘s voice rose. ―What do you want from me?‖ After a ringing silence, Julian turned to Serge. ―And you call me a drama queen.‖

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Chapter Seven Ari splashed water on his face and looked up at the bathroom mirror. Lunchtime couldn‘t come soon enough for him. He was imploding in the deposition, having a terrible time keeping his mind on business as he pulled all the financial facts of the case together and laid them out one by one. It didn‘t help that the attorney deposing him was dumb as a stump when it came to numbers and had to be walked through every little detail two or three times. How do people like that get degrees? ―Ari.‖ His father spoke from behind him. ―Don‘t let her play you. She knows she‘s pissing you off, asking about minutiae. She‘s hoping you‘ll stumble on some of the less important facts so she can impugn the big picture.‖ Ari‘s dad gave his shoulder a squeeze as he grabbed for a towel. ―It‘s working.‖ ―Nah.‖ Benjamin Scheffield laughed it off. ―You‘re doing great, but I can tell your mind is on something else. What‘s bothering you? I‘ve never seen your attention wander like that. I could tell you lost focus twice this morning alone.‖ Ari scrubbed the towel over his face. ―It‘s nothing. I got a call from Fitz yesterday. He needed a ride. Did you know Adelaide went off to France and just left him there by himself?‖ ―Fitz? He‘s nineteen now. He‘s in that arts school, Schillburn, last I checked. He‘s old enough to take care of himself. Not that he‘ll be able to. Adelaide really left him all alone?‖ ―Yes. He‘d lost his phone and had no wallet, no cash, no way to get home.‖ ―Maybe we should call her.‖ ―Hell no. That‘s like saying the name Voldemort.‖ Ari tried not to squirm while his father peered at him closely. ―I took him to Comme Ça for dinner last night. He needs a friend, not a jailer.‖ ―Ari—‖ ―If she was so concerned, she‘d be here instead of in France with husband number… What number is it now?‖ Benjamin shook his head. ―No. You wanting to help Fitz grow up is admirable, but Adelaide Gaffney will blow a gasket if she hears he‘s not putting one hundred and ten percent into his piano.‖


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―I just want to…‖ Ari slumped back against the counter. ―I don‘t know what I want.‖ ―Ari…‖ Benjamin frowned. ―He‘s brilliant when he focuses on his work. Absorbed, you know? But he‘s so completely out of his depth socially. He‘s a great guy. Funny and spirited, despite the fact that he‘s alone almost all the time…‖ ―Son, tell me you don‘t have a thing for my ex-wife‘s kid.‖ Ari said nothing. Lying wasn‘t something he did even if he could get away with it, but with his dad, with Benjamin Scheffield, human lie detector extraordinaire, it would have been a losing cause anyway. ―Holy shit.‖ Ari waved away his father‘s concern. ―I‘m not going to let it get that far, ever.‖ ―I have two words for you: Adelaide Gaffney. Do not. Go down. That road.‖ ―He‘s here in Los Angeles living in a seven-thousand-square-foot tomb all by himself.‖ ―Ari—‖ ―Fitz is fine as long as he stays home; he‘s totally protected. He has everything he could ever want or need, but the minute he steps outside, he has no clue what to do. The world is a tough place for which he is completely unprepared.‖ ―But what can you possibly—‖ ―Maybe I can watch over him. Some guy played him last weekend, and I think he was hurt. I can make sure no one else takes advantage. Outside of his music, he hasn‘t got a lot of life skills.‖ ―The question is, should he be distracted from that or should you leave well enough alone?‘ Benjamin pointed out. ―Should you leave him alone?‖ ―I found him on the street, Dad. He called me for help when he needed it. He‘s going to want to escape the prison she‘s set up for him eventually, and he‘s already touched my heart, whether he knows it or not.‖ ―Heaven help you if Adelaide thinks you busted him out.‖ ―I‘ll deal with that when the time comes.‖ ―All right. I hope you know what you‘re doing.‖ Benjamin sighed and caught Ari‘s arm. ―But right now you have to get into that conference room and spill every single thing you know about how our client‘s husband hid three million dollars‘ worth of assets from his wife. Your mind needs to be on that. At the rate she‘s going, the depo will go on for hours, which will cost her client and piss him off. Go show her she picked the wrong damned day to mess with my bean counter.‖

*** Julian poured Fitz a third cup of coffee even though Fitz tried to stop him. He couldn‘t get any words out around the thick, chewy French toast Julian had made for his breakfast. He couldn‘t stop eating. It was perfectly cooked—crisp on the

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outside, soft textured in the center, stuffed with cream cheese and orange marmalade, and finished with powdered sugar and crème fraîche. Heavenly. At some point in the middle of the night, Fitz had found peace. He‘d fallen asleep with the knowledge that his life had taken a dramatic turn down a road he‘d never imagined it could go. There didn‘t seem to be a reason to flail against the implacable truth. Shit happens. Julian and Serge had made themselves at home in his house, and the food was really good. He couldn‘t come up with a single reason to fight it. ―No one goes off to school with an empty belly while Julian Suttcliffe is in charge.‖ Julian bustled around the vast open kitchen wearing a white dish towel around his slim waist. Even though Adelaide Gaffney had never set foot in this particular room of the house, the space had been remodeled to be state of the art while still maintaining the look of the original architecture. Julian must feel as though he‘d landed in a culinary paradise. Serge, behind a newspaper, sat beside Fitz. He held coffee, but if he drank it, Fitz couldn‘t tell. It didn‘t seem to ever need refilling. Serge poked his head around the Calendar section. ―The boy will fall asleep in class if you stuff him, my love.‖ ―Men need fuel,‖ Julian said stoutly. He began to run water into the basin to wash the dishes. ―I‘ve made a little list of things we‘ll need for tonight‘s meal and left it on the counter, Fitz dear. If I could just have those by ten a.m. then—‖ ―I‘ll order it, or I‘ll ask Marguerite to bring it, but I don‘t know if I can get it by ten…‖ Serge spoke up. ―Julian. We can‘t simply move in here.‖ ―Why not?‖ Fitz asked between bites. ―Exactly.‖ Julian started to roll up his sleeves. ―We found Fitz. Someone went and threw him away, and I believe that makes him ours now, since we found him.‖ ―Julian, that is positively the silliest—‖ ―It‘s not silly; I‘m inviting you,‖ Fitz argued. ―No one lives here but me. Marguerite comes in three times a week to clean, but otherwise I live alone. This is as good a place as any for you to squat.‖ ―Squat?‖ Julian looked mutinous. ―I will have you know I took excellent care of those homes.‖ ―Let me guess.‖ Fitz pointed with his fork. ―You find an unoccupied property for sale, and you make yourselves at home there for a while. When the realtors come, you head out. When they leave, you get the run of the place again for a while. When the property sells, you move on.‖ ―Such a clever boy.‖ Serge motioned Julian over and put an arm around his waist.


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Fitz grinned. ―Someone likes to play house.‖ Julian blushed. ―I admit to enjoying a nice home. There‘s nothing wrong with that.‖ ―But if you‘re in one of those houses and you start rustling up grub, someone is bound to realize you‘re there. If you‘re here, you can stay. No one will notice anything you do. Except maybe Marguerite. She‘s smart. She‘s also superstitious, and I wouldn‘t be surprised if she kept a cauldron full of bats‘ eyes and frogs‘ tongues in our wine cellar. I‘d be careful around her or you‘re likely to find yourselves exorcised. Do you need to worry about that sort of thing?‖ Serge cleared his throat. ―Not that I know of.‖ ―Good. So stay here. No one will notice a thing. Except…Marguerite has never seen me even go near the kitchen except to microwave and use the coffeemaker. Must you cook?‖ Julian picked a crumb off his makeshift apron. ―Couldn‘t you tell her you‘ve developed a new interest?‖ ―Yes, but…‖ Julian pressed his advantage. ―Tell me you didn‘t find it delicious.‖ ―You know I do. All the more reason for you to move in here with me. I‘ll tell Marguerite I‘m taking an Internet cooking class or something. Try not to mess around in here when I‘m not here. I don‘t want you to scare her. I like her a lot. No teasing.‖ ―We would never.‖ Serge nodded. ―There is little we can do to affect a human being. We can act on things but not people.‖ Fitz recalled grabbing Serge‘s arm as they‘d left the house by the Hart and Hound. ―You felt real to me.‖ Serge shrugged, then put his hand on Fitz‘s. Aside from a peculiar, weightless warmth, Fitz felt nothing. ―We can‘t act on people. Just things. I don‘t know why. It has to do with intention, and—‖ ―Does this mean you‘ll stay?‖ Serge glanced from Fitz to Julian and back. ―Yes. Thank you. We‘d be pleased to stay.‖ ―There. Problem solved.‖ Julian turned to Serge. ―And you said you thought he was just humoring us. You can call that young man of yours and tell him that we‘re having cassoulet tomorrow night.‖ ―I don‘t think he really—‖ Julian waved his concerns away. ―I know men, and I know cassoulet. Trust me.‖ Fitz looked to Serge, who gave a Gallic sort of shrug. ―All right. I‘ll do it.‖

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*** ―I have the items that you requested.‖ Marguerite turned a searching glance toward Fitz. It wasn‘t the first time that morning she‘d cast a suspicious eye his way. Since she‘d come to work at the Gaffney household, he had learned a great deal about the taciturn brunette. She was a pretty, dark-eyed woman of about fortyfive with a no-nonsense demeanor under which she hid a festering pool of bitterness. He knew, for example, that underneath the scrubs and the mustard yellow rubber gloves lay a woman who had an advanced degree in chemistry from some former Soviet bloc country‘s premier university. He‘d loved Marguerite on sight because she had his mother completely fooled. How she‘d arrived in America was a mystery. Fitz liked to imagine she‘d come in some sort of botched mail-order bride scheme where she‘d poisoned her intended shortly after the wedding. She‘d been disappointed that she wasn‘t able to get a job in her field, but then it became clear that she could make more in three days as the Gaffney household domestic than she would have made as a high school science teacher, and her pragmatic nature took hold. Fitz didn‘t like to think of the hobbies that left her open to. Adelaide found her certifiably terrifying, but since she‘d been working there, the place had been spotless and run smoothly, and Adelaide Gaffney was nothing if not determined that good help should be rewarded, however terrifying the package it came in. After that, everyone overlooked the occasional Odd Thing. He‘d called her with Julian‘s list, and she‘d shown up that morning with bags of groceries. He could see he‘d piqued her interest. ―If you are learning to cook, you should buy farm animals and butcher your own meat,‖ Marguerite was saying now. ―The meat is fresher, and there is much I can use for sausages. No waste.‖ ―Thank you.‖ The hair stood up on the back of Fitz‘s neck. Was she teasing him? He‘d been on the receiving end of Marguerite‘s odd sense of humor more than once. ―I don‘t think we could eat that much, since it‘s just me here now.‖ ―Lambs are small. Ducks and geese could live out back. Think about it.‖ She removed a butcher paper-wrapped package from her earth-friendly jute shopping bag. ―I can make confit of duck for less outrageous prices. And I need to restuff pillows at home.‖ Fitz tried not to imagine what the neighbors would say if Marguerite were in the backyard chopping the heads off geese. ―I‘ll let Adelaide know when she gets back.‖ ―You are a good boy.‖ Marguerite smiled at him. ―If you like to cook, I‘ll teach you some traditional dishes from my country. For Christmas you can make a roast pig.‖ ―That would be something, wouldn‘t it?‖ Fitz imagined digging a pit in the pristinely landscaped yard for roasting meat. Did they cook in pits where Marguerite came from? She‘d staunchly refused to say what country it was. Who


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knew…? Maybe Adelaide would like a roast pig. She could invite a hundred of her closest friends, and they could fight over who got to carve that into pieces instead of doing the same to one another. ―Remove yourself. I‘ll clean the kitchen.‖ ―I‘m heading to school,‖ he told her. ―I‘ll wait for the cab outside.‖ ―Fine.‖ She didn‘t look his way as she loaded the dishwasher. ―Be careful what you bring home.‖ ―What do you mean?‖ For a minute, Fitz worried she could see the stupid drug he‘d taken written all over his face. ―You are a good boy. Don‘t be fooled by strangers.‖ Ah shit. She could read his fucking mind. ―I won‘t.‖ A horn honked in the driveway. ―Fine. Go.‖

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Chapter Eight Regardless of what it cost to take a cab to and from school, Adelaide had seen to it that Fitz never got a second crack at her car. It was just as well. Being behind the wheel completely traumatized him in a way he couldn‘t explain to anyone who hadn‘t had driving lessons from his mother, and he liked to walk. After class he often had the cab drive him halfway home and then he‘d walk off his restlessness in their neighborhood, up the twisted streets and into the hills until he was a little tired. Until he‘d taken the edge off his thirst for something new and could sit at his piano and work without wishing he were somewhere else. Which was odd really, because as soon as he truly found himself somewhere else, he always wished to be sitting at his piano again. Fitz had texted Ari about coming for dinner before leaving for school, but hadn‘t heard back yet. He leaned his head against the rear seat of the taxi. The driver was doing that rush/stop thing that taxi drivers seemed to enjoy, surging to a start by stamping on the gas pedal impatiently, followed by stopping with a jerk when traffic got the upper hand. Fitz watched people in the other cars and pedestrians on the street. He was ready to crawl out of his skin. Did anyone else ever have a twitchy feeling? Did anyone else feel trapped? Or did everyone just move along and do what they knew they should without any questions at all? Could people see discomfort on his face, like the world was too big, too bright, a scratchy blanket, prickling his skin and covering him up so he felt smothered? Briefly he looked at his hands again. The black paint on his nails was chipping. Lacquered nails looked stupid when he played, so he always made sure his nails were clean and manicured for performances and competitions. Since he was currently taking a bit of time off from both of those things, he could enjoy a harmless bit of paint. When he arrived at school, he paid the driver as he usually did, then got out of the taxi only to turn and find Garrett waiting for him. ―Fitz, holy crap. Am I ever glad to see you.‖ Fitz ignored him and walked past. ―Fitz.‖ Garrett fell into step beside him. ―What can I say? I think that must have been a bad batch of ecstasy. I don‘t even know what happened to me that night.‖ Fitz turned on him. ―I know what happened to me. You threw me— unconscious—into a Dumpster.‖


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―Man, I didn‘t even. I went to find help, and when I got back, you were gone. I think the bouncers did that after someone told them there was a passed-out guy in the john. I looked for you everywhere.‖ Fitz eyed him, trying to ascertain the truth. ―Really?‖ ―Dude, do you seriously think I‘d leave you in a Dumpster?‖ Unbidden, the word yes came to Fitz‘s mind. ―I woke up without my watch. The cash I had in my wallet was missing. Even my phone was gone.‖ ―You were robbed?‖ ―I guess so. If you don‘t have them.‖ ―I don‘t!‖ Garrett‘s face was the picture of innocence. ―Like I‘d steal from you.‖ ―Someone did.‖ ―It wasn‘t me.‖ Garrett gripped Fitz‘s upper arm hard, and they both stopped. ―I admit I put too much pressure on you, and I admit that I got pissed and shoved you away. But then you hit your head. That‘s bad enough. I didn‘t do that other shit. I went to find help. That‘s all.‖ Fitz took a deep breath. There was no way to tell if Garrett was lying. It was a cinch he wasn‘t telling the whole truth. But if Garrett‘s behavior was at least in part because of the drugs they‘d taken and he hadn‘t intended Fitz harm, who was Fitz to say anything? He‘d taken the damn drug too. ―Look, I probably just ought to tell you now that I‘m not into drugs and I‘m never going to be. If that‘s the kind of thing you‘re going to do—‖ ―No. I swear. That was a one-time deal. I didn‘t like it either.‖ Garrett tried on his brightest smile. ―I think I was just nervous.‖ ―Me too,‖ Fitz admitted. ―So you want to get coffee or anything?‖ ―I don‘t have time before music theory, but after…maybe.‖ ―I‘ll meet you.‖ Fitz took off for the music building. ―See you then.‖ ―See you.‖ Garrett loped off toward the quad with a backward glance and an irrepressible grin. Fitz hated to think what Julian and Serge would have to say. But Fitz had been known to make a stupid mistake every so often, so he thought he ought to cut Garrett some slack.

*** Ari received Fitz‘s text message while he was getting his skin peeled by the attorney deposing him, and it made him smile. It said Hey Food Boy. Tomorrow I’ll have a true authentic cassoulet in the oven and I’ll be willing to share it. 7:00 p.m. Bring wine. He fought the urge to text back from the stuffy conference room and put his phone aside until later. By the time the Anderson deposition was over—at three in the afternoon—he‘d more than made his nut. His father‘s client was well on her way

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to winning in the divorce wars, and he‘d pissed off one of LA County‘s best family law attorneys. Which meant in the long run, he‘d probably get to add her to his very exclusive client roster because she‘d never want to be on the other side of that table from him again. Huzzah. Let the word ring forth. Ari Sheffield is a bean counter to be reckoned with. ―You know‖—Ari‘s dad draped an arm around him as they walked from the conference room to his office—―I think I cried the day you told me you wouldn‘t be going to law school.‖ ―Oh man.‖ Ari braced himself for the old argument. ―I had a harder time with that than when you told me you were gay.‖ ―Way to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, Dad,‖ Ari said stiffly. ―No.‖ Benjamin frowned. ―Is that where you think this is going? No, son. I wanted to say I can‘t believe how well you handled her. You had ice water in your veins. I‘ve never been so proud in my life.‖ ―Seriously?‘ ―Sure.‖ Benjamin held his office door open for Ari, then followed him in. ―You know the saying ‗life is what happens when you‘re busy making other plans‘?‖ ―Yeah. Lennon?‖ ―Yes. You‘re a virtuoso bean counter. That was every bit as thrilling as watching you win a case would have been. I thought you knew how proud I am of the place you‘ve been carving for yourself.‖ ―Old habits die hard.‖ Ari blushed. ―Sorry.‖ ―So do old dreams. I admit I wanted to see you follow me into law. Scheffield and Scheffield. I had that picture in my head from the day you were born.‖ ―And I‘m sure you imagined a bunch of little Scheffields. I really wish I could have been what you expected.‖ Benjamin glanced at him guiltily. ―Yeah, I wish that too, sometimes. Things could have been easier for both of us. I admit that. But at this point, I wouldn‘t trade you for all the heterosexual lawyers in the world.‖ ―There‘s a joke there somewhere,‖ Ari said drily. ―Yeah, well. Maybe you‘re the punch line to mine. Probably you are. But I like a good joke as much as the next guy. Geez. I wish your mother were still alive to see you. You would make her very, very happy. Plus she‘d get to rib me about it all the time.‖ Ari‘s throat hurt. ―Thanks.‖ ―I can‘t tell you how glad I am that you never followed a single piece of my advice. I‘m on the hook for a late work night tonight, but let me buy you dinner tomorrow. We‘ll get a cigar afterward…‖


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―I can‘t, I…‖ Ari absently felt for the phone in his pocket. ―I‘ve been invited to Fitz‘s for cassoulet. Can I get a rain check?‖ Benjamin frowned. ―I don‘t suppose you‘ll begin following my advice at this late stage in the game, either. About Fitz?‖ ―No, I don‘t suppose so.‖ Ari suppressed a chuckle. ―Just remember you can‘t help Fitz if Adelaide turns you into a newt.‖ ―I‘ll remember.‖ ―Give him my best. If you want, when we celebrate your victory over my esteemed yet misguided and somewhat bitchy colleague, you can bring Fitz with you. I kind of miss him. He was a good kid.‖ ―I‘ll ask him.‖ Ari took his phone out and gazed at it before leaving his father‘s office. ―See you, Dad.‖ ―See you.‖ Ari left his father‘s office floating on a magic carpet of parental approbation, which, given that he‘d disappointed his father at almost every turn since he‘d hit puberty, was kind of a surprise. A good one, no doubt, but a surprise nonetheless. He got to his office and closed the door behind him. Unlike his father‘s elegant executive corner suite, Ari‘s own was nondescript. It was simple and modern, almost spare. Muted. Washed in smoky shades of green that passed for neutral sometimes when people got sick of beige, with a light-colored wooden desk and file cabinet. His only nod to decor was an attractive stone-topped credenza. A large apothecary jar containing a multilayered display of dried beans sat in pride of place at its center. Ari‘s mother would have liked that too. The painting above it was a landscape she‘d done of Red Rock Canyon, a splash of hot, vibrant color in an otherwise monotonous room. Ari missed her. Her warmth, her smile. He barely remembered her, and yet she sometimes still found her way into his dreams. His father missed her too, the wife that died when Ari was only six. No other woman had taken her place, although he‘d married three times since then. Once to Ari‘s first grade teacher, who had been caring and kind but not at all prepared for the demands Benjamin Scheffield‘s career made on his family. Once to a savvy law professor who had missed her early life in New York so much she‘d moved back, leaving Benjamin and their marriage behind. And once—inexplicably—to Adelaide Gaffney, who seemed to challenge and infuriate him and barely lasted more than three months before she was seeing other divorce lawyers behind his back, and not in a fun and spanky way. Privately Ari thought Adelaide Gaffney might have been his father‘s soul mate. The unstable and perfectly combustible relationship they still had proved she was at least his emotional equal. They had only to set eyes on each other to spark up either passion or aggression in their particular game of conjugal Russian roulette. Ari settled into his luxurious leather chair and texted Fitz back. I’ll be there. Cassoulet. Isn’t that roadkill and beans? The way you drive, ingredients should be no

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problem. He sent that and then hit Reply again. Oh. I forgot. You don’t drive… Heheh. Bringing wine and juice boxes for you, Junior. Ari.


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Chapter Nine The following afternoon when the cab dropped him off the first thing Fitz noticed was a delicious smell. It greeted him before he even had a chance to open the front door. He heard the television from the family room so he headed in that direction, putting down his bag and emptying his pockets on the table as he passed. That morning Julian had demonstrated the cooking of a cassoulet to Fitz as though it were high theater, from toasting the bread crumbs to browning all the different, succulent cuts of meat over a high heat on the stove, to deglazing the browning pan with tomato paste and wine. After that they layered everything lovingly with cut-up onions, carrots, herbs, and beans into Julian‘s pilfered earthenware cassole. Once complete, the whole massively heavy vessel went into the oven to simmer slowly for most of the day. There was some sort of traditional breaking of the crumb crust they‘d be doing as it neared completion, and on the whole, he was rather proud of their efforts. Now the entire house was perfumed with the most tangible result of their cooking: the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat and garlic and herbs. Fitz couldn‘t imagine anything better than coming home to that. Unless maybe it was coming home to people…well, almost people, in the house doing homely things when he arrived. It was such a shocking, Hallmark Channel tableau he nearly walked back out again to check if he‘d gotten the right house. ―How can he do that?‖ Julian demanded loudly when Fitz entered the room. Fitz looked around to see who Julian was talking to. It didn‘t appear there was anyone else there. ―How can who do what?‖ Julian turned and frowned. ―How can Luke abide that Brian person?‖ Serge walked through the door from the kitchen, a book in his hand that Fitz recognized as one of his mother‘s volumes of Pablo Neruda‘s poetry. ―You‘ll have to excuse him. He‘s watching his program.‖ Fitz glanced at the television and discovered it was tuned in to a soap opera. Rather than comment on that—because really, what could he say?—he sniffed the air. ―Smells heavenly.‖ Julian preened. ―It does, doesn‘t it? I needed more fresh herbs, but it turns out that your neighbor Peggy—the dentist‘s wife—has a formal herb garden in the back by her pool house and—‖ ―You met the neighbors?‖ Fitz asked.

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Julian looked at his hands again, something Fitz sensed he did whenever he was choosing whether to prevaricate or tell the truth. ―Not exactly. I realize it‘s possible that I frightened the gardener, but you can‘t serve a cassoulet without garnishing it; plus I wanted to make a marinated mushroom and olive—‖ ―I see.‖ Fitz wondered if they‘d be receiving a visit from Peggy. Whoever that was. ―The important part is that the cassoulet is in the oven and all we need to do is crack the crust a few times. By the time the scent of that dish permeates the neighborhood, no one will even remember the slightly exaggerated ranting of one agitated little gardener, will they?‖ Fitz started to speak, ―Slightly exaggerated—‖ Julian turned his back. ―Oh wait. Shh. My program is on again.‖ Fitz turned to Serge, who shrugged and gazed at Julian with a fond smile. Fitz‘s phone chimed, and he headed for the table in the entry to get it. It was so unusual for him to receive a call or text that he‘d gotten used to putting it there so he‘d never lose it. When he retrieved it, he checked his messages, and sure enough there was a text from Ari. Bringing wine and juice boxes for you, Junior. Ari. ―Good news?‖ Serge asked from behind him. ―Ari‘s usual teasing.‖ Fitz frowned. ―He‘s bringing wine.‖ ―I‘m glad he‘s coming, there‘s going to be a lot of food.‖ ―Maybe I should invite Garrett.‖ ―There‘s certainly plenty. But didn‘t Garrett treat you poorly?‖ Fitz contemplated his phone as if it knew what he should do. ―He apologized. He said he went for help and when he came back, I was gone. Someone else must have left me in the Dumpster.‖ Serge‘s expression was unreadable. ―Well, that is good news. He didn‘t put you in the Dumpster; he just stood by while someone else did.‖ ―I don‘t mean that I‘ve let him off the hook, but I wasn‘t any too sober myself.‖ ―I see.‖ ―I thought I‘d give him a second chance.‖ Fitz hesitated. ―Maybe he isn‘t such a bad guy.‖ ―By all means, give him that. But it‘s wise not to be alone with him until you know for certain, is that it?‖ ―Yes. If Ari‘s around, it‘s not like Garrett can mess with me, right?‖ ―That‘s excellent thinking, Fitz.‖ Serge smiled at him. Fitz would have liked to know what the light in Serge‘s eye meant just then. Julian spoke up without taking his eyes off the television. ―I for one would certainly like to see how your young Garrett behaves in front of the man who left here in that absolutely thrilling little car.‖


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―Okay. Maybe I will call him.‖ Fitz picked up his phone before he could change his mind. The important thing, Ari told himself superciliously as his Boxster limped through heinous traffic, is that someone provide Fitz with a good role model. Fitz clearly needed a friend or relative to guide him through the more murky parts of postadolescence. And okay, that might be a little difficult since Ari had purchased a bottle of red wine to go with the cassoulet and he had kind of a thing for Fitz. He reminded himself how easy it would be to forget his thing once he pictured Adelaide Gaffney. He could share his wisdom with Fitz, help him while he was home alone, and then fade into the background when he was no longer needed like…Gandalf or something. Leave him a little wiser, a lot cooler. Ari checked his look out in the mirror. Decidedly more bean counter than boy band tonight. He‘d gone so far as to wear a white button-down shirt with a tie, a tweed jacket, and jeans. He looked like someone‘s math teacher, not…whatever he was. He made his way through town as the sun set, and wound through Fitz‘s neighborhood just as the streetlights turned on. When he got to the house, it was a glittering showcase of landscape lighting and the entryway shone like a lighthouse. There was a beat-up Jetta in the driveway, and Ari parked next to it, wondering whose it was. He got out and made his way to the door, where he keyed the code and let himself in. Someone‘s voice, not Fitz‘s, crooned from the kitchen, a sweetish, unremarkable tenor singing some country-western song a cappella. ―You‘re the one I‘d love forever,‖ came the words. ―And forever‘s all I have to give…‖ Ari walked through the door and froze in midstride when he saw Fitz sitting on the kitchen counter with his legs wrapped around some…teenager, who was singing to him while he sipped a glass of red wine. ―You‘re my one-eyed love forever?‖ Ari said without the malice that had formed ice crystals in his heart. ―What kind of a song is that?‖ To his credit, the singing lothario stepped away from Fitz, and Fitz put his glass down and leaped off the counter. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright. Ari wondered what the hell that was all about. ―This is Garrett.‖ Fitz waved in the kid‘s direction, but he didn‘t take is eyes off Ari. He looked flustered and embarrassed and…was that anger? ―Garrett, meet Ari.‖ Garrett came forward and held out his hand. ―Pleased to meet you, sir.‖ As if he was addressing Fitz‘s dad, for heaven‘s sake. ―Hello, Garrett.‖ ―Garrett is in my music theory class.‖ Fitz shoved his hands into his pockets.

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Ari cut him some slack. ―Sorry, Fitz. I didn‘t mean to just barge in. Old habits die hard.‖ ―I know you have a code…‖ ―I tell you what.‖ Ari put the wine down on the counter. ―How about from now on I ring the doorbell and respect your privacy, all right?‖ Fitz‘s lashes lifted, and Ari saw gratitude in his eyes. ―Thank you.‖ Garrett seemed to realize he didn‘t have to declare his honorable intentions. He‘d picked up Ari‘s wine bottle to read the label. ―No harm done. Nice choice on the wine. I brought a Merlot, but I‘m afraid we‘re already well into that.‖ ―I try.‖ Ari pursed his lips. ―Did you know Fitz is underage for drinking?‖ ―Uh…‖ Garrett glanced at Fitz. Fitz said, ―Shove off, Ari. You know the house is full of booze, and I‘m sure you weren‘t exactly a teetotaler when you were my age and living in a frat house.‖ Ari sighed. This was definitely not going to go the way he planned. ―You said cassoulet?‖ ―Yes.‖ Fitz grinned. ―It‘s been cooking since early this morning. Plus we have a marinated salad, dressed green beans, and boiled new potatoes.‖ ―How very industrious. When did you learn to cook?‖ The blush that stained Fitz‘s cheeks seemed to worsen briefly. ―I wanted to learn while I was here alone. Marguerite has been helping me.‖ ―You‘re just full of surprises.‖ Garrett linked his hand with Fitz‘s. ―It smells fabulous, doesn‘t it?‖ ―It does indeed,‖ Ari agreed and turned back to Garrett. ―So you go to the Schillburn School?‖ ―Yes, I‘ve been there for nearly two years. It‘s been a fabulous experience, both professionally‖—here, he glanced at Fitz—―and personally.‖ Fitz grinned up at him like he‘d invented music. ―And what have you been studying?‖ ―I‘ve been working on composing. I write music, and of course I perform my own work. I‘ve made demos, and I‘m working on getting them out to all the relevant recording studios.‖ ―Fingers crossed.‖ Ari held up both hands, demonstrating. He shot the kid a grin that anyone who‘d ever been audited by him would know meant fines or jail time or both. ―Thank you.‖ They eyed each other briefly. Fitz cleared his throat. ―I‘ve got most everything ready in the dining room. I‘ll just get the cassoulet out of the oven if you‘ll take in Ari‘s wine and an opener.‖ Garrett picked up the wine with one hand and held the other out to usher Ari into the dining room. Ari went with him, watching in fascination as he assumed the


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role of host. ―We‘ll be in the formal dining room tonight. Fitz wanted to make a production.‖ Fitz jumped in before Ari could say anything. ―The room is huge, but it‘s nice to get out the china. I don‘t think we‘ve ever used it unless there were parties. It‘s pretty, though.‖ Adelaide‘s china was indeed lovely. On one end of the enormous dining table, three places sparkled with crystal and highly polished silver. Fitz had apparently decided on formal settings over an ivory tablecloth, adding candles and linen napkins. There was bread wrapped in a cloth in a chased silver basket, and the potatoes and green beans were arranged on platters. Fitz placed the large, homely cassole on a trivet as Garrett pulled his chair out. Fitz smiled his gratitude and sat, flipping a napkin onto his lap. Garrett and Ari pulled out their own chairs and then sat on either side of him. The room itself was dramatic, an elegant background of cinnabar walls and dark wood paneling over a parquet floor. Paintings of Victorian women hung on the wall in gilt frames. ―I‘ve always privately believed Adelaide must have been watching a Merchant Ivory film when she decorated this room,‖ Ari remarked. ―I‘m not sure she ever knew the room was here, actually.‖ Fitz grinned at him. ―You‘ve done a lovely job. It‘s beautiful. If the food is half as nice as the ambience, we‘re in for a real treat.‖ ―I‘m certain it is if Fitz cooked it. He‘s a man of many talents.‖ Garrett made a big deal out of fiddling with the wine Ari brought. He removed the foil and used Adelaide‘s fancy wine opener. He messed with the cork and swirled a small amount around in his glass, peering at it and sniffing it. Ari nearly asked if he‘d ever considered the stage. Fitz scooped stew onto Ari‘s plate and offered first the salads and then the potatoes, smiling with what Ari thought was nervous anxiety each time he passed a platter. Garrett finally filled all three glasses with a flourish and sat down to serve himself. ―Fitz tells me you‘re an accountant?‖ Garrett shook out his napkin and set it on his lap. ―Yes.‖ Ari wished he‘d never brought wine. Now he had to find a way to hide Garrett‘s keys or disable his car. The last thing he needed was a charge for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. ―That must be interesting. It‘s a wonderful change from everyone else we meet, huh, Fitz? All the artists, musicians, dancers, and actors.‖ ―I guess the Schillburn School isn‘t exactly full of accountants.‖ ―No. It‘s mostly serious music geeks like Fitz or people who have talent and are trying to work their way into the industry. But not everyone is going to be the next American Idol.‖

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Ari nodded. ―But you are, eh?‖ He was suddenly tremendously grateful he‘d never used his real name when he‘d been in the limelight. ―I know I‘ve enjoyed the Schillburn Ballet Company. Their dance troupe is very impressive.‖ ―You like ballet?‖ Fitz asked. ―I do. And I have a friend who studied at Schillburn and has since gone on to join the ABT.‖ ―Really? That‘s fascinating.‖ Garrett was alert and interested, brimming with charm and completely disingenuous. The words douche bag popped into Ari‘s head unbidden, and once they were there, they made a home for themselves with Garrett‘s picture on the wall. Fitz watched the banter but rarely participated, which gave him the appearance of a man watching a tennis match. His head swiveled back and forth as he listened to each of his guests in turn. Ari sized Garrett up. The kid drank heartily but barely took a bite of his food. And he was laying the phony sophistication on a little thick. He worked his charms like a twelve-gauge shotgun, blasting everything he had all-out to see who fell. More than once, he gave Ari a subtle signal that he was open to interest from him, but Ari ignored it. Not for nothing had Ari learned to play the oblivious accountant card. Fitz seemed oblivious for real. Ari assessed the wisdom of cracking both their heads together and leaving while they were unconscious. Fitz‘s cassoulet was perfectly prepared: thick with creamy white beans and rich with meat. The haricots verts were fragrant and tender crisp in a light herb dressing, and the potatoes boiled and sprinkled with parsley and fleur de sel. Fitz had apparently gotten some delicious bread somewhere. A few mushrooms and olives added bite and piquancy to the meal. The wine Ari had brought was a great choice, but each time he watched Garrett refill his own glass, he regretted it. The conversation suffered as many starts and stops as his trip over in rushhour traffic. Finally Ari was determined to force Fitz to speak if need be, by asking him direct questions. ―What did Marguerite say when you told her you were interested in learning to cook?‖ Fitz brought his napkin to his lips quickly, unable to quite smother a laugh. ―She was probably appalled but has adopted a wait-and-see attitude.‖ Ari shook his head. ―How long has she been with you?‖ ―Nearly seven years now.‖ ―Does she still do that spooky deadpan thing, where you‘re not sure if she‘s serious?‖


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―She does!‖ Fitz leaned forward, his eyes happy and unself-conscious for the first time since dinner began. ―She asked me if I wanted to buy farm animals for her to butcher. She said it would be economical.‖ Ari raised his eyebrows. ―What do you think?‖ ―I think she meant it.‖ Fitz lifted his glass to his lips and took a small sip of wine. Ari noticed he was taking it slow, and more than once he‘d put his hand over his glass when Garrett tried to top it off. ―More reason than ever to be afraid of Mrs. Danvers.‖ ―Mrs. Danvers?‖ Garrett asked. Fitz glanced over at Garrett. ―Mrs. Danvers was the scary housekeeper in an old movie. Ari used to joke that Marguerite had gone to the Mrs. Danvers Academy of Service.‖ ―I see. Still it must be hard to keep all this‖—he gestured around at the house—―tidy and running smoothly.‖ Fitz glanced around. ―I‘ll let you in on a little secret. I only ever spend time in my room and the living room, at the piano. The rest of the house goes largely ignored.‖ ―We watched a movie the other night,‖ Ari reminded him. ―Yeah. I guess I use the screening room sometimes.‖ ―You have a screening room?‖ Garrett‘s eyes shone. ―Seriously?‖ ―Yeah.‖ Fitz popped a green bean into his mouth. ―This is one of those houses.‖ ―You haven‘t given Garrett a tour of the house?‖ For some reason, Ari found that funny, especially since Garrett had been acting the cohost, until he realized Garrett had probably been too busy trying to seduce Fitz by serenading him in the kitchen or… Just how many times had Garrett been here, that he‘d never seen the house? What had he seen? ―I‘m afraid I haven‘t given Fitz much time to show me around.‖ Garrett‘s voice lowered. ―There are so many other things to do around here…‖ Ari‘s gaze went to Fitz. A pretty pink blush stained his cheeks again. ―Shit,‖ Ari cursed. ―What?‖ Fitz turned to him. ―Nothing.‖ He improvised by pulling out his cell phone and making a big show of checking his messages. ―I think I was supposed to give my father a call about the case he was working on. I‘ll just text him.‖ ―How‘s Ben doing?‖ Ari thumbed an innocuous message for his dad, something about having a nice dinner with Fitz, and sent it. ―He‘s still going strong.‖ ―That‘s good.‖ Fitz‘s brown eyes were warm. ―I like him.‖ ―I was deposed yesterday in a pretty acrimonious divorce case where I found a mountain of assets the husband had hidden. He said he was proud of me.‖

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―He did?‖ Fitz had to have been aware of Benjamin Scheffield‘s disappointment that his only son hadn‘t gone into law. Fitz‘s mouth softened into a smile, and Ari knew he understood. Something passed between them that made him feel warm and happy, even in the presence of Garret, whose fauxhawk tilted in whatever direction his head happened to be lolling, giving him the appearance of a lizard sunning itself. ―Yeah.‖ Ari smiled. ―He said it was at least as exciting as watching me win a case would have been.‖ ―It had to happen. He loves you so much. That‘s really good, Ari. You‘re a man any father would be proud of.‖ Ari lifted his glass to his lips and sipped his wine to hide how pleased he was by Fitz‘s praise. From the kitchen, Julian blatantly eavesdropped on Fitz and his guests. He turned to Serge, who leaned against the island with his arms folded. ―That pointyheaded boy out there is the bastard who left our Fitz in the rubbish bin. I can‘t believe you won‘t let me poison him. Not even just a little?‖ Serge didn‘t speak, but his face said it all. ―Oh, all right.‖ Julian walked to the pivoting door that led to the formal dining area and opened it outward a crack to peer through. ―But I don‘t have to like him. I regret I made a tarte aux pommes. I believe I shall hide the crème anglaise.‖ Serge came up from behind him and pressed a kiss to his neck, just behind his ear. ―That will surely teach him.‖ ―Ari‘s interesting. He‘s positively rigid with loathing.‖ ―That one is a good judge of character, I think.‖ Serge glanced around him. Fitz saw them, and they both offered a wave. Fitz put his wineglass down so hard the stem broke, and his wine soaked the white tablecloth. ―Did you cut yourself?‖ Ari demanded as he got to his feet, dabbing at the stain with his napkin. ―Are you hurt?‖ ―Dude.‖ Garrett stood as well but did nothing. Fitz backed away from the table and hurried toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, ―I‘ll go get something damp to wipe that up.‖ Serge pulled Julian out of the way just in time. Fitz pushed the door inward and entered without bowling them over. Fitz went to the sink and dampened a sponge. ―I thought you said you‘d stay out of sight.‖ Julian frowned. ―We were out of sight.‖ ―Then what do you call waving at me from the doorway?‖ ―We were out of their sight. I could stand in front of them naked and—‖ Serge cut him off. ―Do we make you anxious, Fitz?‖


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Fitz nodded. ―It‘s like having my mother in here, spying…‖ ―I see.‖ Julian‘s expression softened. ―I‘m sorry. I just wanted to see how your young men were enjoying the food.‖ Fitz sighed. ―Ari is in heaven. If you gave him a piece of stinky cheese he‘d be able to die a happy man.‖ Julian glanced at Serge. ―A cheese course. That would have been absolutely first-rate. Why didn‘t I think of it?‖ ―I have to go back.‖ Fitz hesitated. ―I‘ll clear the table and take in the dessert.‖ ―The coffee is ready to go—‖ Just then Ari nudged through the door with dirty dinner plates in both hands. ―Are you all right?‖ ―Fine.‖ Fitz busied himself with the coffee, placing the carafe on a large tray laden with cups and milk and sugar. ―I‘ll take that,‖ Ari offered. ―No, I‘ll get it.‖ Ari studied Fitz for a second. ―I thought I heard you talking to someone.‖ Fitz laughed a little too loudly. ―Since I live by myself, I guess I‘ve picked up some pretty bad habits. Usually there‘s no one around to hear me.‖ ―I get that. I guess I do the same thing when I‘m home alone. How well do you know Garrett?‖ ―I met him at school. He and I talked for a couple of months before we finally went out. Why?‖ ―He seems pretty familiar and—‖ ―What‘s wrong with that?‖ ―Nothing. I just wondered how long you two had been going out.‖ ―I don‘t have to hand my friends over to you for inspection, do I?‖ ―No, of course not. I‘m sorry I said anything. I was only asking out of curiosity.‖ ―Just because Adelaide asked you to check on me from time to time, it doesn‘t make you my keeper.‖ ―I know that.‖ Ari stiffened. ―I came tonight because you invited me. I thought you wanted me here.‖ Fitz bit his lip. ―Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I‘m not cut out for entertaining…‖ ―There‘s no need to be self-conscious.‖ Ari stepped toward Fitz and put a hand on his shoulder. ―You‘re doing fine. The food is delicious, and you‘re a good host. Relax.‖ Fitz glanced up at Ari, relief written on his face. ―Okay.‖

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―Now come on, you have guests.‖ ―I‘ll be out in a minute.‖ Ari headed back to the dining room, pausing only to wink at Fitz before he left. Fitz followed him through the door, backing out, carrying the coffee tray. As soon as he was gone, Julian began going through the kitchen drawers and cupboards. ―What are you doing?‖ Serge asked. ―I‘m looking for a way to illustrate to Fitz what an odious little pimp his friend Garrett is.‖ ―I believe pimp has changed meaning since you last used it, mon coeur. Now it‘s considered something rather au courant.‖ Julian turned from where he was digging through a drawer full of takeout menus, address books, and stamps to blink at him. ―Really? That‘s remarkable. How do you suppose that happened?‖ ―People are idiots. That‘s the only reason I can see for it.‖ Serge placed Julian‘s tarte onto a platter he‘d lined with a white paper doily, then slid a wedge-shaped silver pie server under it. ―Aha!‖ Julian cried triumphantly. ―What have you got there?‖ ―I found cash.‖ He held up two twenty-dollar bills. ―Which I‘m certain Garrett will steal from our host.‖ ―How do you know?‖ ―Because I would if I saw it and I thought no one was looking.‖ ―I‘m certain we‘ve spoken about—‖ ―Oh, of course I wouldn‘t steal from Fitz. But some things are hard to pass up, aren‘t they? And a twenty or two wouldn‘t be missed, probably, in a house like this one. It might have been in there for months. Years even.‖ ―What do you plan, then?‖ ―I‘m just going to put it back like this.‖ They heard Garrett speak from the other side of the door, ―I‘ll go look for some.‖ He entered the kitchen just as Julian closed the drawer so that a corner of the bill was visible above the wood. Julian and Fitz stayed out of Garrett‘s way while he went from drawer to drawer muttering, ―Teaspoons, teaspoons…‖ Julian nudged Serge firmly in the ribs when Garrett stopped short, eyeing the money. Several emotions flickered briefly over Garrett‘s face, even as he glanced around and took a quick look over his shoulder. Serge‘s eyes narrowed. Julian shook his head and went to intercept Garrett. There was an obvious flaw in his plan. If Fitz didn‘t see Garrett steal the money, it really would be no use to let him do it.


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―Julian.‖ Serge was a second too late to stop him. ―Naturally you take it black.‖ Fitz poured coffee into one of the delicate china cups for Ari. Ari glanced up at him. ―What do you mean by that?‖ ―You eat bone marrow and moldy cheese. Of course you like bitter coffee. I‘m surprised you don‘t just—‖ A crash from the kitchen was followed up by a howl. ―Ow! Motherfuck—‖

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Chapter Ten Ari rose from his chair. ―What the hell?‖ ―My hand.‖ Garrett burst through the door, gasping with pain. ―It‘s like it got caught in the fucking drawer, but I don‘t know how.‖ Ari headed for the kitchen. ―I‘ll get some ice.‖ ―One minute I was reaching in to get something, and the next it was like it…just retracted.‖ Fitz had a very good idea how that sort of thing might have happened. He offered a lame apology. ―I‘m so sorry. It‘s an old house. Odd things seem to happen sometimes.‖ ―It‘s fucking possessed.‖ Ari came back into the room with ice wrapped in a dish towel, and they persuaded Garrett to unclench his hand. There was some slight swelling but not too much. There was no obvious need for a trip to the ER, for which Fitz was grateful. ―I‘m so sorry,‖ Fitz murmured again once Garrett had seated himself. ―It hurts like a bitch,‖ Garrett moaned. ―I don‘t suppose you have something stronger than wine.‖ Fitz looked to Ari, who sighed. ―Give me your car keys. If you drink more, you‘re going nowhere tonight.‖ ―Fine.‖ Garrett dug into his pocket with his good hand and pulled out the key to his car. He shot Fitz a knowing smile. ―I wasn‘t planning on leaving anyway.‖ Fitz‘s heart sped up. He didn‘t look at Ari; he didn‘t have to. He could feel the disapproval radiating from him, but he had no clue why Ari should care whether Garrett spent the night. So what if he did? Ari probably wasn‘t spending his nights alone. A guy like Ari had to be dating. He could get anyone he wanted. If it was just the gay thing, well…that was a done deal. Ari could take it or leave it. ―I‘ll get you some brandy. Does Adelaide still keep the good stuff in the study?‖ Fitz nodded. ―I‘ll be right back.‖ ―Come here, you.‖ Garrett pulled Fitz toward him. ―I‘m wounded. I need TLC.‖ ―I can do that.‖ Fitz let himself be pulled into Garrett‘s arms, then sat half in his lap. Garrett‘s casual, physical displays of affection made Fitz‘s head swim. ―I could kiss it better.‖


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―Waste a kiss on my fingers?‖ Garrett leaned in and pressed his lips to Fitz‘s. He backed off with a light lick. ―No way.‖ Fitz‘s heart raced until all he could hear was the rush of his blood. His mouth went dry as he leaned toward Garrett again, this time taking control as he‘d always imagined doing, tilting his head and letting his tongue trace the seam of Garrett‘s lips to open him for a deeper kiss. Garrett‘s good hand came up to grip the hair on the back of Fitz‘s head. That hint of pain as Garrett‘s fingers tightened felt so good. Fitz savored the pressure on his lips, the slick slide of Garrett‘s tongue as it tangled with his. Their breathing became rapid puffs of air, gusting between them as they tasted each other. Fitz gave up a small moan when Garrett‘s hand shifted from the back of his head and began to insinuate itself under his pullover sweater to ghost over the bare skin of his back. He shifted in Garrett‘s lap so his jeans wouldn‘t strangle him and discovered Garrett was as affected by their kiss as he was. He smiled against Garrett‘s mouth and shifted again, deliberately, rocking his hips in a long, slow glide against the hard length of Garrett‘s erection. Garrett‘s head fell back, and he whimpered a little. What a rush. As Fitz shifted again to test whatever power he had over Garrett‘s body, a throat cleared behind them. Fitz jumped off Garrett‘s lap. Disappointment clouded Garrett‘s slightly unfocused eyes. He made a grab for Fitz with his good hand, but Fitz avoided it. Ari broke the awkward silence. ―I found some over-the-counter pain relievers, and you probably won‘t get into trouble with a sip of brandy. It‘s likely to make you sleepy, but it‘ll dull the pain.‖ ―Thank you.‖ Garrett reached up and took the snifter from Ari. Even to Fitz‘s untrained eye, there seemed to be an enormous amount of alcohol in that glass. ―Ari—‖ ―Maybe we should postpone dessert. Can we eat it later, after we‘ve digested dinner?‖ What was Ari up to? ―All right.‖ ―Great. I don‘t suppose I could suggest we take our coffee in the living room. You could play for us.‖ Garrett sipped at the brandy with obvious pleasure. ―Dinner and a show. That would be something.‖ ―Let me just get some coffee for Garrett.‖ ―I have what I need.‖ Garrett held up his snifter. ―Too bad we don‘t have cigars.‖ ―There‘s no smoking in—‖

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―I have cigars.‖ Ari smiled. ―I got some as a gift from a client recently. I‘ve been looking for someone to share them with.‖ Fitz argued, ―But there‘s no smoking in the house. It‘s a rule.‖ ―It‘s not like Adelaide can smell it in France. If you get into trouble with Marguerite, you tell her I insisted. I want to pull my car into the garage anyway. I won‘t be a minute.‖ While Ari was shifting his car, Fitz made himself busy clearing the table. Garrett didn‘t offer to help, but Fitz assumed that was because he was icing his hand. He made two trips to the kitchen and wasn‘t at all surprised that his irregular houseguests were making themselves scarce. ―Julian?‖ Fitz whispered, then waited to see if they would show themselves. ―Serge? Man up and—‖ ―Did you say something?‖ Ari‘s voice came from behind him. How did he sneak up like that? He appeared to be going through drawers looking for something. ―Just talking to myself,‖ Fitz murmured. ―Again.‖ ―Maybe you need to get out more, Flitz. Let me know if you start answering, okay? I‘m sure Dad can draw up the papers to have you committed.‖ ―Ha, ha.‖ ―That‘s what I love about you: your witty rejoinders. I keep a diary, and tonight I will be sure to write: Today Fitz said, ‗Ha, ha.‘ Do you keep matches?‖ ―In the cabinet next to the fireplace.‖ ―Ah. That‘s…strangely efficient.‖ ―Efficient is likely the name of Marguerite‘s familiar.‖ Ari barked a genuine laugh. ―Now that was funny.‖ Fitz grinned. ―But only because it‘s probably true.‖ ―I‘ll get the coffee tray and meet you in the living room.‖ ―I‘ll be there in just a minute.‖ ―Need to finish your conversation with yourself?‖ Ari moved toward him, forcing Fitz to step back against the counter. His gaze bored into Fitz‘s, making him feel about three years old. ―You look freshly kissed, Fitz.‖ Fitz felt his cheeks heat. ―So?‖ ―It‘s not a bad thing. It looks good on you.‖ Ari continued to look his fill, unnerving Fitz but making his heart flutter at the same time. ―It makes your eyes very bright.‖ ―That‘s me,‖ Fitz said stupidly. ―Bright eyes, bushy—‖ ―Sometime you‘ll learn when to shut up,‖ Ari whispered. He was so close that once again, any infinitesimal movement on Fitz‘s part—even leaning in the merest fraction of an inch—seemed like it would cause their lips to touch. Surprise held Fitz still, and the moment passed. Ari turned on his heel and went back through the pivoting door.


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Fitz sagged against the counter. ―For an accountant, he‘s a rather emotionally intense young man,‖ Julian said. Serge chuckled. ―And enormously attractive, if you like that sort of thing.‖ Fitz clutched at his heart with both hands. ―Don‘t do that.‖ Julian tilted his head coyly. ―Which? Spying, sneaking up, or telling the truth?‖ Fitz let his fingers dance over the keys as he played his favorite of Chopin‘s many nocturnes. If it seemed odd to see Julian and Serge drift into the spacious living room to listen, it was only because of the way Ari and Garrett looked right through them as if they weren‘t there. For a brief time, he ignored the musical notation and played it as if it were a waltz. Serge opened his arms to Julian—who fell into them without hesitation—and they began to dance together so effortlessly that Fitz eventually found himself playing on autopilot, watching each lift and brush and dip of their bodies, mesmerized by Serge‘s strength and Julian‘s grace. A quick check on his living guests found Ari‘s mood was definitely festive. And why wouldn‘t it be? He was ruining Fitz‘s night, getting Garrett shit-faced and letting him smoke a cigar as though it were a cigarette, watching without comment as he pulled the dreadful miasma into his lungs and laughing when Garrett turned green and headed for the bathroom to puke. A few minutes later, Garrett returned, considerably paler and with wet hair. He veered away from where he‘d been sitting next to Ari on Adelaide‘s creamcolored velvet sofa and sank into a supine position on the matching love seat. Fitz stopped playing and closed the lid of the piano with a bit more of a bang than he intended. Serge and Julian disappeared, just winked out like a television image. ―Ari, you did that on purpose.‖ ―I did nothing at all.‖ Ari stood and came over to the piano in his stocking feet. Argyle socks made his feet look oddly vulnerable. Somehow he managed to look evil and innocent at the same time. ―What is it that you imagine I‘ve done?‖ ―I don‘t think Garrett is used to smoking cigars, and—‖ ―He said he wanted a cigar, and I merely provided him with one. If he‘d asked me, I‘d have instructed him how to smoke it properly. There is a right way to cut and light a cigar, and he wasn‘t interested in learning it. There‘s a right way to puff it, but he smoked it like a joint. I can‘t be blamed for that.‖ ―Maybe he was too embarrassed to tell you he didn‘t know how. Couldn‘t you have cut him some slack?‖ Ari dug a toe into the highly polished marble floor. ―I guess I could have.‖ Fitz got up and went to the cupboard next to the fireplace where his mother kept a throw or two. ―I know he‘s kind of…‖ ―A poseur?‖ Ari suggested. ―An obnoxious know-it-all?‖ ―Pot, meet kettle,‖ Fitz mumbled.

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―Garrett and I are nothing alike.‖ Fitz sighed and pulled out the first thing he found, a rust cashmere blanket just big enough to cover Garrett. ―He thinks he‘s a little smoother than he is. But he‘s been nice to me. He talks to me.‖ ―Well, in that case, let‘s make him grand marshal of the Rose Parade.‖ As Fitz walked past Ari, he bumped him with his shoulder on purpose. Then he covered Garrett gently. Soft snores puffed from Garrett‘s lips. In repose, he was far more endearing than he‘d been for most of the evening. ―He comes off like an asshole sometimes, but I don‘t think he had the nicest family when he was growing up. He‘s at Schillburn on a scholarship, and he doesn‘t have much support from home. He likes to perform because…I think he needs attention. You know?‖ Ari said nothing to that. He went back and got his cigar, which had gone out, and his lighter and ashtray and took them to the piano. Fitz coaxed Garrett onto his side in case he needed to be sick again. Heaven forbid. Marguerite might not mind entrails in the kitchen, but if there was puke on the couch, she might butcher him in the backyard. He sat back down one the piano bench and watched Ari. ―Something you‘d like to hear?‖ Fitz asked. ―What about…‖ Ari frowned and leaned both elbows on the instrument. ―Do you ever play anything more modern?‖ ―Like what? I can play some Coldplay or something. You want to sing? I haven‘t forgotten that you were a—‖ ―Don‘t even say it.‖ ―Boy. Band. Booty shaker.‖ Ari dropped his head into his hands. ―Aw shut up, Fitz.‖ ―I‘ll bet all the girls still chase you when you shop at the Galleria—except now they have kids of their own. Grandkids even.‖ ―Have your fun. I wasn‘t even considered the cute one.‖ Ari surprised Fitz by sitting down next to him. ―I think it‘s great that you got that whole boy band thing out of your system before growing up to be a total nerd. You know that, right?‖ Ari shrugged and fingered the keyboard. He played a light, sweet arpeggio—a high little bit of music that rang in the silence like the tinkling of bells. ―I forgot you play,‖ Fitz admitted. ―I don‘t, compared to you.‖ Fitz got up and went around the bench to trade places with Ari, nudging with his hip to scoot him over on the bench. ―Here, you play something. I‘ll add harmony.‖ Ari frowned at him. ―But no pressure. What should I play? ‗Heart and Soul‘?‖ Fitz shuddered. ―Please not that. Something classy.‖


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Ari started a song Fitz recognized vaguely from the musical Wicked. After a minute, he started playing along. He was able to add a high harmony during the chorus while Ari played the melody. ―I know this one.‖ ―Yeah.‖ ―Can you sing it?‖ Fitz asked. ―I‘ll bet you can‘t play and sing at the same time.‖ ―You‘d lose.‖ Ari smirked. He started over, this time singing along while he played. His voice was both familiar and surprising to Fitz. It was more mature, deeper, and richer than it had been in his boy band days. It had a resonance and a sweetness that he hadn‘t demonstrated then. Plus in Adelaide‘s marble showcase of a living room, it was like singing in the shower. The notes reverberated off the floor and the walls to create a kind of echo. Fitz held his breath after Ari finished. He wasn‘t sure what he should say. He wasn‘t the only gifted musician in the combined Gaffney-Scheffield bull pen. After a brief pause, Ari started playing something else that Fitz didn‘t recognize. As Ari began to sing that one, something about a dying romance, Julian and Fitz reappeared to dance. It was an aching, lovely tune, sentimental and romantic. Julian and Serge wove their way around the room, gazing into one another‘s eyes as if they were the only two people alive. When the last trembling note of the song faded away, Fitz cleared his throat. Ari sighed and shot him a slightly embarrassed smile. ―Do you still dance?‖ ―Sure. When I go clubbing or something.‖ Ari‘s hands fell to his lap. ―I watch that ballroom dancing thing on television sometimes.‖ ―Ah.‖ Ari nodded. ―Everyone is crazy about ballroom these days because of Dancing With the Stars. They tried to get me to go on it, but I declined.‖ ―Really, why?‖ Ari shook his head. ―That‘s not who I am anymore.‖ Fitz tried to hide his disappointment. ―Oh.‖ ―Why?‖ ―I guess I want to learn and I thought if you knew—‖ ―Oh, that‘s different. I love to dance. I just don‘t want to do it in front of the unforgiving American public.‖ Ari apparently wanted to exorcise his past like a demon, but why? He clearly enjoyed singing and dancing, and he was a natural—always the center of attention. Yet he was determined to throw his hip-hop dancing teenage persona away. Given Fitz‘s recent experience with being thrown away, it wasn‘t hard to sympathize with Ari‘s erstwhile inner pop star. ―Maybe sometime you can give me some pointers. Teach me a step or two?‖ ―No time like the present, Flitz. Let‘s do it.‖

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―Really?‖ ―Sure. What do you want to learn? Cha-cha? Merengue? Salsa? Lambada?‖ Ari managed to make each one of those sound like a porn flick title. ―I don‘t know. Just…let‘s dance like how they did in those old movies my mom loves.‖ ―Ah. I know what you mean. Let‘s see,‖ He headed for the entertainment center—a series of cabinets Adelaide had had built in so they weren‘t obvious—then opened the door to the one that held the radio. ―Maybe we can find something on one of those easy listening stations.‖ ―Mother probably has them all programmed to play Enya and Yanni. Or Christmas carols. I can‘t remember hearing anything else ever come out of those speakers.‖ ―Here‘s something.‖ Ari found a station that played a marginally danceable tune. ―Come over here where there‘s some space.‖ Fitz did as Ari asked without comment. It wasn‘t a bad idea because, unlike Serge and Julian, he couldn‘t simply melt through furniture and walls. Ari held his hands out, and Fitz stepped back. He hadn‘t really given this as much thought as he should have. There was taking Ari‘s hands, for one thing, and later on maybe letting Ari put an arm around his waist. He wiped his hands nervously on his jeans. ―Maybe this wasn‘t such a good—‖ ―It‘s fine, Flitz. Everyone gets nervous the first few times. Come here.‖ Fitz stepped forward, trying to find his mental balance because he knew for sure he‘d need it while he groped around for its physical counterpart. ―Is this all right?‖ Ari nodded. He stood, holding Fitz‘s hands in his. Fitz looked down at their feet. Ari gave his hands a shake. ―You get that you‘re supposed to look at your partner‘s face and not his feet, right? But for right now, let‘s learn a basic box step. I‘m going to lead with my left foot. If we‘re dancing together, what does that mean for you?‖ ―I go back with my right?‖ ―Bravo. You got it in one.‖ They stepped together. Fitz bit his lip and followed along. ―Now I‘m going to the side, then together. That‘s half my box. Then we step back, again.‖ ―Ah.‖ Fitz stepped to the side, together, then back. He agonized over each move, and he wondered if he shouldn‘t just quit and try to find a studio where he could take lessons. ―It goes forward, side, together, back, side, together. And look, we‘ve made a box.‖ They tried it several more times. Fitz finally shucked his shoes because he got tired of watching the pained expression on Ari‘s face when he came down on a stocking-clad toe.


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―One more time. You‘re getting the hang of it.‖ ―I am not. I think I‘m a hopeless case. Mother had me in cotillion class once, and they sent me home in disgrace. They begged me to stick with piano and give dancing a pass.‖ Ari frowned. ―Anyone can dance. It‘s just movement to music. Maybe you‘re overthinking this?‖ ―I don‘t know how I could be thinking at all. I can‘t walk and chew gum at the same—‖ Ari pulled hard on one of Fitz‘s hands, bringing them closer together. Fitz felt Ari‘s other hand snake around his waist. ―Don‘t think, Fitz. Look me in the eye and just move.‖ Fitz couldn‘t help shivering. His eyes found Ari‘s green ones. Yeah. ’Cause looking right in Ari Scheffield’s eyes could make this easier. He pressed his lips together. ―Okay, now we just do what we‘ve been doing, only we stop thinking about it. I compliment your…jacket.‖ ―And then you‘d say, ‗Stop stepping on my feet.‘‖ Fitz pursed his lips again. Ari favored Fitz with a blinding smile, and he missed a step. ―It‘s not rocket science, Fitz. Just move with me, all right?‖ Fritz found it a little hard to breath, but he did as he was told. The heat radiating from Ari‘s chest seemed to warm him too, right up to his cheeks, which he was sure were on fire. It took a while for him to relax, but they continued scribbling their box shape on the cool marble floor. His knees softened a little with practice, and he noticed Ari telegraphed the moves he was going to make by leaning or with a gentle press on Fitz‘s back. Sometimes the trunk of his body swayed in the direction they were heading even before it was time to move their feet, and Fitz just naturally went with him. As long as he didn‘t take his eyes off Ari‘s, as long as he didn‘t think, it worked perfectly. Until the song changed. Fitz got discombobulated and stepped back, embarrassed. ―Don‘t worry. That‘s a different style of dance. It‘s a rhumba, which has a different tempo. Want to try it?‖ ―I guess.‖ Ari took Fitz‘s hand and said, ―Sure you do. Stand next to me, here. Now this step, forward, side together, and back, side together is just exactly like the other step we did, except it goes slow, quick-quick, slow, quick-quick, slow, quick-quick. Got that? There‘s a little more hip action here. More attitude, yeah?‖ Fitz did a little stumbling around but finally got the rhythm right, and Ari took him in his arms again. When that song ended, Ari found another radio station that played mostly Latin songs, and they danced for what seemed like a long time. Sometimes Ari altered the steps subtly or the rhythm changed. Fitz didn‘t care. It

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didn‘t take him long to realize Ari was a strong enough dancer to take a novice out on the floor and make it look and feel wonderful. After that he just let go, and the result was magic. Julian and Serge said nothing. They just flashed him an occasional smile as they danced past. ―I like this. I think I can do this.‖ Fitz let himself drift wherever Ari wanted him to go. ―Don‘t sell yourself short, Fitz. You couldn‘t be the musician you are without having some moves.‖ Fitz knew he didn‘t deserve any credit. ―Says my big brother.‖ Ari‘s brows drew together slightly. ―I‘m not your brother.‖ ―Right. I know that. You‘re not my brother by blood but—‖ ―Fitz.‖ Ari‘s face was mere inches from Fitz‘s, and his arm tightened until their bodies touched. Fitz had to stifle a gasp of surprise when he felt the iron of Ari‘s erection pressing insistently against the wood he‘d been trying to hide all night. ―I am not your brother.‖ Fitz froze. Oh, there was a second when momentum carried him an inch or two, but mostly, even though Ari‘s body kept dancing, Fitz‘s stayed frozen in one spot. Which is not to say that he was unmoved by finding Ari‘s very hard cock pressed up against his. He simply had no idea what to think and no clue how it made him feel. Except, of course, the obvious. He wanted to die. Fitz nearly shrieked. ―What the hell?‖ Maybe that wasn‘t so smooth. ―What?‖ Ari had finally dropped Fitz‘s hands but hadn‘t backed up entirely. Just enough to put a sliver of space between them. Just enough that if Fitz looked down, he knew he‘d see the evidence of their arousal growing toward one another like some kind of voracious vines. Fitz glanced up and discovered a flush of furious color on Ari‘s cheeks and an equally unsettling erotic challenge in his eyes. He had to swallow before he could speak. ―Does this kind of thing always happen when you dance with someone? No wonder you wouldn‘t go on Dancing with the Stars.‖ Ari‘s shoulders sagged. ―No, this doesn‘t happen… Fitz. Don‘t be a tool, please. It‘s just a normal, natural—‖ Just then, as if on cue, a horrible sound rose from the couch at the far end of the room, the sound was like all the demons of hell trying to break free at once. Fitz made the sudden discovery that he was a sympathetic puker and clapped his hands over his mouth.


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―Oh fuck.‖ Ari reached out and spun Fitz around, but not before he saw a geyser of something thick and awful shoot from Garrett‘s mouth. ―You go. I‘ll get this.‖ ―Why would you do that?‖ Ari blanched. ―I made the offer in haste. You‘d better run the hell along so I can repent in leisure.‖ Fitz didn‘t hesitate. For more than one reason, he ran until he‘d reached the safety of his room and slammed the door behind him.

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Chapter Eleven Ari found everything he needed in the kitchen and braced himself to clean up the mess. While he was sponging the couch, he stopped briefly and wondered—not for the first time—just exactly why he was cleaning up Fitz‘s boyfriend’s puke. He felt perfectly fine leaving Garrett retching into the toilet bowl of Adelaide‘s pristine slate blue powder room. Who wouldn‘t? Garrett was a turd, a poseur, and a cad, if Ari knew anything about men—and Ari knew plenty about men. He knew, for instance, that some men wouldn‘t hesitate to come on to a hot underage boy for sport. He knew money or fame invariably changed the power equation. He knew genius couldn‘t protect you from a broken heart. And he cursed himself for revealing his attraction to Fitz. Over the previous months, he‘d tried to make sense of his feelings, and he still felt squidgy about them. Fitz‘s intelligence, his smile, his laughter, his quick wit, his loyalty. All those things hung in the balance against his youth, his innocence, and the fact that he looked up to Ari as a brother. In the past, every time they‘d seen one another, even after Fitz had come of age, Ari had managed to keep his feelings hidden. Until now. Damn, damn, damn. After Ari cleaned up the love seat and covered it with towels, he helped the limp and odiferous Garrett up off the bathroom floor and settled him back down to sleep again—on his side because who knew if he had anything left to purge? Garrett shouldn‘t have to die just because he smelled loathsome. Ari patted Garrett‘s shoulder. ―There‘s a special place in paradise for me now, my repulsive new friend.‖ ―Hm? Fitz? C‘mere,‖ Garrett murmured sleepily, hooking his arm out and trying to pull Ari into a kiss. ―Your cousin‘s hot.‖ ―Ah, shit. What could it hurt to smother you, just a little?‖ Ari broke away. ―Sleep now.‖ Ari took his cleaning gear back to Marguerite‘s broom cupboard and got started on the dishes. ―Will you look at that? He‘s doing the dishes. He‘s the perfect specimen.‖ Julian clutched his heart. ―And he can dance like a dream.‖ Serge lounged in a chair at the breakfast table and looked on with interest as Ari filled the dishwasher. ―And here I thought I was the perfect—‖


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―You know what I mean.‖ Julian sauntered to the kitchen table, where Ari‘d left his folded coat. ―I don‘t suppose he‘d mind if I made certain he has his keys…‖ ―Don‘t you dare.‖ Julian frowned. ―But it‘s such a remarkable little car. Do you remember the roadster we borrowed from that French photographer during the student uprising of ‘68?‖ ―Of course I do. You were a terrible driver.‖ Serge caught Julian‘s hand just as it was about to dip into Ari‘s pocket. ―I believe you can control your impulses here if you try.‖ Julian flopped down onto Serge‘s lap with a sigh. ―If I must.‖ ―What did you think of the evening?‖ Julian smiled brightly. ―Dinner was a triumph.‖ ―It was. I believe Ari in particular enjoyed it very much.‖ ―Garrett returned it. The sod.‖ ―I am afraid Ari rather helped that situation along.‖ Serge caught Julian‘s hand in his and pulled him closer, insinuating a hand under Julian‘s shirt and smoothing it over the skin of his back. ―Serves Garrett right, though. Did you see how he was pawing our Fitz?‖ ―Fitz didn‘t seem to mind.‖ ―Only because Garrett was nice for a few minutes when he wasn‘t eating Ari up with his eyes or calculating what it would be like to live in a place like this one.‖ Julian put his hands on Serge‘s chest, kneading the strong muscles with his fingertips. ―That one‘s loads of trouble. I wish you‘d let me do something about him.‖ ―Your plans always backfire.‖ Serge put both arms around Julian and rocked him gently. ―Have a little faith. I‘m certain Garrett will show his true colors, and Fitz will be suitably deterred.‖ ―You‘re probably right as always, my love, but I reserve the right to intervene if I feel it‘s necessary.‖ Julian pressed his lips to Serge‘s and shifted to straddle his lap. He twined his fingers in the short hair on the nape of Serge‘s neck and breathed him in. ―Oh, lover. How do you do it?‖ ―Do what?‖ Serge cupped Julian‘s face and dotted his jaw with kisses. Julian arched his back and pressed their growing erections together. ―How do you make me want you more with every passing day?‖ ―Julian,‖ Serge murmured against his lips. He slid his tongue along Julian‘s full lower lip, seeking entrance, asking for nothing less than surrender. Julian accommodated him, opening up, sending his own tongue out to duel and taste and tease the contours of Serge‘s mouth. This heat between them, this perfect compatibility of desire and fulfillment they shared had been there from the moment they met, when Julian had emerged from the stage door of a seedy German cabaret to find Serge dressed as if he‘d just come from the opera beneath a finely tailored overcoat and white silk scarf.

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While all the other Johnnies had leaned indolently against the dirty brick wall, perusing the chorus boys and pinching them like chocolates to see what they were made of before taking them home, Serge had eyes only for Julian. He had worn his heart open like a book, and Julian, who‘d never been bothered by the need to read anything more on a man‘s face than a willingness to buy dinner, had stopped to take a closer look and seen everything he‘d ever wanted. Serge had taken his breath away then and never given it back. Julian pushed back. ―You should probably go check on Fitz, mon coeur.‖ Serge blinked. ―Yes…only now I need you. Are you going to play the flirt tonight, then run away?‖ ―Later, my darling.‖ Julian trailed fingers gently down the side of Serge‘s face and rose gracefully to his feet. ―Surely we should make certain Fitz is all right?‖ Serge stood and adjusted himself. ―Of course. You‘re right, of course.‖ Ari snapped the dishwasher closed, oblivious. Serge headed out of the kitchen but turned back before he cleared the door. ―Are you coming?‖ ―Yes, my love, in a minute, all right?‖ Serge sighed, then nodded and left Julian to make off with Ari‘s car. Once the coast was clear, Julian sped from Fitz‘s house, through the winding neighborhood streets and out onto Sunset Boulevard. He zipped along with the top down and the radio playing—wind in his hair—and discovered it was true. The little Porsche was everything he‘d imagined and more…

*** Someone tapped lightly on Fitz‘s door. ―Coming,‖ Fitz answered with a heavy sigh. ―I‘m here.‖ Fitz opened the door to his room self-consciously. It wasn‘t cluttered, but it looked lived-in. It held an antique sleigh bed, a small wooden secretary, and an elaborately carved armoire. Shoes lay scattered on the floor. CDs and DVDs were stacked in piles. Fitz often dropped books wherever he‘d been reading them. He sat back down in his black leather office chair, where he‘d been watching a video of Cyprien Katsaris playing a Chopin sonata on YouTube. ―Are you all right?‖ Serge asked. ―Yes.‖ ―I thought maybe you were upset. You left rather abruptly.‖ ―You saw?‖ Fitz gestured for Serge to sit where dove gray linens lay tangled with a russet comforter on the bed. Serge nodded. ―What happened between you and Ari? Yes, I saw.‖ Fitz turned his face away. ―I‘m an idiot.‖


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―You are?‖ ―I probably seem pitifully ignorant to him.‖ ―Why should that be?‖ ―Because he‘s Ari! Adelaide‘s favorite role model for me since I was in elementary school. Our family was mostly a mess, and then along came Benjamin Scheffield and his son, Ari, who was classy, talented, and intelligent—even then. Everything‘s always been so easy for him.‖ ―Has it?‖ ―Yes.‖ Fitz closed his laptop. ―Everything he touches grows or makes money or wins awards. His blessings fall from the sky, and I‘m just—‖ ―You‘re what?‖ Serge asked. ―You‘re a world-class musician in the making, from what I‘ve heard. What more do you want?‖ Fitz kicked away from his desk, pushing his chair back, rolling across his room on the hardwood floor. ―You wouldn’t understand.‖ Serge startled Fitz with a surprised laugh. ―Oh, would I not?‖ Fitz flushed. ―I guess I shouldn‘t assume.‖ ―No, you shouldn‘t assume. You have a gift, Fitz, as did I. When I was your age, I resented it very much. My parents were rigid perfectionists, and my teachers were demanding, petty tyrants. Do you imagine Ari has never been in the same situation? Is he not gifted as well, and therefore subject to the same high expectations?‖ ―But he makes it look so easy. He‘s completely out of my league.‖ Serge shrugged. ―Maybe.‖ Fitz picked at a bit of thread that hung loose from the seam of his jeans. Serge crossed his arms. ―He‘s doing your dishes right now.‖ ―Great.‖ Fitz slumped. ―Doesn‘t he have one single solitary flaw?‖ ―I feel very certain he does. Maybe if you talk to him, he‘ll let you in on it.‖ Fitz‘s gaze was fixed on his hands. ―What if you simply ask him?‖ said Serge. ―If you think he‘s so blessed, you should ask him what he dreams about. You should ask him what he‘s afraid of.‖ ―You make that sound so easy.‖ ―I admit there are easier things than honesty.‖ ―What about Garrett?‖ ―What about him? Last seen he was comfortably sleeping.‖ ―Ari played him.‖ Serge smiled. ―Ah. Maybe. Does that bother you?‖ ―Garrett‘s the only one who takes the time to talk to me at the conservatory.‖ Serge nodded. ―And you‘re a loyal friend. Loyalty is good.‖ Fitz glanced around. Speaking of which… ―Where‘s Julian?‖

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―He‘s gone off somewhere. He‘ll be back. What are you going to do about your guests?‖ ―Ari will probably go home, and Garrett…‖ Fitz didn‘t want to face Garrett, but there was no good way to ignore him. He was downstairs. Presumably he‘d be there in the morning too, when it came time to get up and make breakfast. And wouldn‘t that be an awkward way to start the day. Yeah. Well. Things were going fine, and then you got drunk and threw up on my stuff and passed out. ―Everything looks better in the light of a new day.‖ Serge patted Fitz‘s arm. ―I doubt whoever made up that saying considered applying it to hungover boyfriends.‖ Serge‘s smile was quick and brilliant. ―True, true.‖ ―Can I ask you something?‖ ―Certainly.‖ Fitz rolled his chair closer to the bed. Serge sat on the edge, hands folded, waiting. ―How‘d it happen, between you and Julian? I imagine back when you were… It wasn‘t easy, was it?‖ ―Ah.‖ Serge closed his eyes as if he were trying to picture it. ―When I met Julian…‖ ―You don‘t have to tell me if it‘s too personal.‖ ―No. I‘m just…‖ A small smile played on his lips. ―Berlin in 1924 was very accommodating if one knew where to go. I worked as a musician, and on an off night, I attended the theater with my mother and some friends who were visiting from France. She was playing matchmaker, and I couldn‘t stand the simpering girl she was pushing on me. I was very rude and broke away from them. I told them I was heading out on my own and they shouldn‘t wait up. I went to a club to drink, a cabaret, and I discovered Julian dancing there in the chorus. I was so enchanted I went back every chance I could get to see him. In a crowd of average boys, he was as bright as a shiny coin. I was one of the youngest violinists with the Staatskapelle Berlin, and I could see he was young too and blessed like me with a talent that made him stand out. I used to go after performances to see if I could catch him leaving the theater at the end of the show. I felt I simply had to meet him. One day I made up my mind to speak to him—no matter what—so I took a vast bouquet of white roses with me to hide behind.‖ ―Did you talk to him?‖ ―As I recall, I pushed the flowers at him and stared mutely for several seconds, after which he took pity on me.‖ Serge chuckled. ―So you see, I am no stranger to the mercy date.‖ ―Julian loves you.‖


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―At the time, I believe he simply wanted to see if I would feed him. He was a very skinny boy who danced like a god. Like there was no gravity to hold him to the earth and no limitation of physics that could be visited upon him.‖ ―So he was hot.‖ Serge cuffed Fitz lightly. ―In a word, yes. Hot. And not at all a ‗good boy.‘ Which reminds me, I should probably confess—‖ ―Fitzgerald. Algernon. Gaffney.‖ Ari‘s voice interrupted whatever Serge was about to say. Footsteps could be heard as he thundered up the stairs. ―You‘d better not have done what I think you‘ve—‖ The door opened abruptly, and Ari careened into the room. ―What?‖ Fitz swiveled his chair around. ―Motherfuck.‖ Ari stopped when he saw Fitz. ―My car‘s been stolen.‖

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Chapter Twelve ―What?‖ Fitz blanched when Serge disappeared from sight. It wasn‘t going to be so easy to get used to that. ―My car is gone from your garage. I thought—‖ ―You thought I‘d taken it? What would make you think something like that?‖ Fitz crossed his arms. ―I wouldn‘t take your stupid car.‖ ―Garrett is asleep, and you‘d run off. I actually hoped you‘d taken it, because now I have to call the police and file a report.‖ ―It wasn‘t me.‖ But if I had to guess… ―I‘m sorry.‖ ―Don‘t be stupid.‖ Ari raked a hand through his short hair. ―Aw, man. Maybe right now she‘s in a chop shop, and heaven only knows what someone will do to her.‖ ―My phone is in the pocket of my jacket.‖ Ari headed for Fitz‘s bedroom door. ―Let‘s go.‖ Fitz‘s brain stalled out. ―We should probably look in the garage again.‖ ―I think I would know if my car was in the garage. It wasn‘t there.‖ ―How can that be? Did you leave the garage door open?‖ ―Of course not. Why would I go to the trouble of putting my car in the garage only to leave the door open? It‘s wide open now, though. Whoever took the car left the door rolled up.‖ ―But…couldn‘t the door have opened by some freak coincidence? Someone else‘s opener on the same frequency maybe?‖ ―So you think my car saw its opportunity and escaped?‖ Ari peered at him closely, and damn, just like that, Fitz knew Ari had inherited Benjamin Scheffield‘s bullshit detector. ―What do you know that you‘re not telling me?‖ ―Maybe whoever took it will bring it back.‖ Ari loomed over him. ―Fitz, you little bastard, if one of your friends took my car…‖ ―I don‘t even have friends. How should I know who took your car? I just think we shouldn‘t be…‖ The light of comprehension came over Ari‘s face. ―Is this because you‘re underage and you don‘t want the police to see that you and Garrett have been drinking?‖


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Fitz grabbed at that, relieved. ―Yeah. That‘s it exactly.‖ ―I don‘t like the idea either since I‘m the one who gave you the wine, but my car has a GPS tracker and the sooner we call the police, the sooner we‘ll find it. She‘s special to me, Fitz. I‘m attached to her.‖ Fitz gave in. ―You should call from the landline downstairs.‖ Fitz didn‘t tell Ari that was the one place in the house you couldn‘t hear a car drive up. ―All right. Thank you.‖ Ari turned and ushered Fitz from his room. When they got to Adelaide‘s study and turned the lights on, Ari picked up the phone. ―Wait. Let‘s take a look in the garage and see if there are any clues.‖ Ari hesitated. ―For someone who claims to have no idea how this could happen, you‘re acting freakishly suspect. We need to call the police and let them do their job.‖ ―I‘ll make coffee,‖ Fitz whispered when Ari waved him off.

*** Ari passed the sleeping Garrett on the way to the kitchen after calling the police. It would almost be worth it if Garrett had stolen his car, if only to have him gone. Ari‘s anxiety level peaked when he entered the kitchen and saw Fitz leaning over the counter, palms flat, head down, as though he were trying to brace himself for more unpleasantness. Ari cleared his throat, and Fitz jumped. After a few seconds, Fitz turned around, holding up two mugs of coffee. ―Here. Black, right?‖ ―Thank you.‖ ―I have creamer for mine.‖ Fitz went to the refrigerator and got it. ―Garrett still asleep?‖ ―Yes. Apparently he can sleep through anything. I put him on his side.‖ Fitz didn‘t meet Ari‘s eyes. ―Thank you.‖ They sipped their coffee in silence for a while. Each tick of the clock was more awkward for Ari until he finally set his cup down and stepped into Fitz‘s space. ―Fitz. Look at me.‖ Fitz lifted his chin, but his hair covered his eyes. That was classic Fitz, halfhidden, half-defiant. ―What?‖ ―I‘m sorry if what I said…what I did while we were dancing crossed a line. I swear I didn‘t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.‖ ―Let‘s just forget that.‖ Fitz made to turn his back again, but Ari caught his arm, gently turning him back around. When his head dipped, Ari caught his chin to prevent that too. ―Okay, as long as it doesn‘t change things.‖ ―It won‘t.‖

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―I feel like it already has. That‘s the last thing I wanted, I‘m just—‖ The doorbell rang. Fitz broke away and started for the door. ―They‘re here.‖ ―I‘ll get it.‖ Ari walked quickly to the foyer and opened the door to two uniformed policemen. A black-and-white patrol car sat at the curb in front of the house. The man across the street waited on his porch in sleep pants and a muscle tee, arms folded, waiting to see what was going on. Dogs had started to bark. ―Mr. Scheffield?‖ ―I‘m Ari Scheffield,‖ Ari told them. ―I called about my car?‖ ―Yes. I‘m Officer Stanton, and this is Officer James.‖ Stanton had a notepad and pen, and James simply stood by with his thick arms folded. ―Make and model?‖ ―I told the operator on the phone it‘s a 2004 special edition, Porsche Boxster S. Silver. License plate reads R—‖ ―Romeo Echo Sierra Charlie Hotel Echo Foxtrot.‖ ―Yes.‖ Ari nodded. ―R-E-S-C-H-E-F. Have you found her? Is she okay?‖ The officers looked at one another. ―Who?‖ ―My car. I call her—‖ Ari read the grim expression on their faces and assumed the worst. ―Oh no. Don‘t tell me. They smashed her up. She‘s all in pieces or…‖ Ari swallowed. ―Please don‘t tell me they killed her.‖ Stanton glanced at James and back to Ari. ―Mr. Scheffield, your car is in the garage.‖ ―What?‖ Ari was so shocked he turned to Fitz, who stepped up beside him and steadied him by putting a hand on his arm. Ari pulled away. ―What? That‘s not possible. I was out there myself just before I called you and—‖ ―There‘s no mistake, sir. If you‘d like to come see,‖ Officer James finally spoke. Unlike his physical appearance, his voice was warm and friendly. ―It‘s right there.‖ Ari charged past the policemen to look and—sure enough—his Boxster sat there, right next to Adelaide‘s Mercedes. ―I swear it was gone. I was out here, and it was absolutely, positively not there.‖ Officer James put his hand on the hood lightly, as though he was afraid of leaving prints. ―Hood‘s still hot. Someone has been driving it.‖ Both officers turned to look at Fitz. ―Were you in the house the entire time?‖ Fitz nodded, and Ari spoke on his behalf. ―He was inside with me. There‘s another guest also inside but asleep on the couch. I can vouch that both men were inside while the car was gone.‖ Officer Stanton put his pen away and closed his notebook. ―It looks like it‘s just a case of joy-riding teens.‖ ―That‘s impossible. How did they start it without setting off the alarm, it‘s—‖ Officer James leaned in and picked something up off the seat. ―These?‖ ―My keys? How did my keys…?‖


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Officer Stanton frowned. ―It looks to me like someone stole your keys and took a spin in your ride. But the car is back, and it doesn‘t appear damaged. In the future, I suggest you keep the garage door closed.‖ ―I know I closed the garage door.‖ ―Maybe one of your brother‘s friends—‖ ―He‘s not my brother,‖ Fitz corrected at the same time Ari said, ―He has no friends.‖ Ari winced when he realized how that must have sounded. Too late he checked out Fitz‘s face and found an unhappy look on it. ―I mean, none that would steal my car.‖ ―Well, that‘s pretty much all the advice I can give you. Lock your doors.‖ ―What about the person who took the car?‖ ―I really don‘t think we have enough evidence that a crime has been committed here. But if you want to file a report, we can check the traffic cams and see if your car was seen anywhere and who might have been driving.‖ Ari thought Officer Stanton was humoring him. ―I guess that‘s not necessary.‖ Officer James told him, ―Look at it this way: This was a very positive outcome for your girl there.‖ He jerked his chin toward the car. Ari nodded. He was still shaken up. ―Thank you.‖ ―Good night, sir,‖ Officer Stanton offered, while Officer James only waved. ―I am going out of my fucking mind.‖ Ari turned and bumped into Fitz. ―Your car is back.‖ ―Yes.‖ Ari chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. ―Could you go inside and shut the garage door so I can see for myself that it closed?‖ ―Are you planning to stay?‖ ―Well. I…‖ Ari felt sucker punched. Was Fitz trying to get rid of him? ―I guess there‘s no reason for me to stay now that my car is back.‖ ―No…‖ Fitz looked back at the house. ―Let me just get my jacket then.‖ Ari headed back inside, leaving Fitz on the driveway, staring up at the stars. Once inside, Ari took a few deep breaths and tried to shuck off his disappointment. It wasn‘t like he‘d planned to stay late, but Fitz was obviously in favor of him going home. That was…not what he‘d hoped. After he put his coat on, he went back outside and found Fitz in the same place, standing with his hands in his pockets, still looking up. ―See anything good up there?‖ ―There‘s too much ambient light for that.‖ ―I guess I‘m off then.‖ Fitz looked so alone the muscles of Ari‘s chest compressed his heart until he almost moaned. He‘d blown it. He‘d absolutely and completely ruined any chance he

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had with Fitz, who now saw him as a child molester. ―Fitz, I‘m sorry about earlier. If you could find a way to forgive me, I didn‘t mean to make you feel—‖ ―What do you think you made me feel?‖ Fitz peered up at him through his hair. Damn it, Ari wanted to see his face. ―I…‖ Ari swallowed. ―I must have embarrassed you? Or confused you? I‘ve been like an older brother for most of your life even though we didn‘t live together, yet now suddenly we‘re playing dueling dicks and—‖ To Ari‘s utter amazement, Fitz laughed out loud. Ari clenched his hands at his sides. ―Can you let me in on the joke?‖ ―Maybe you do have a flaw or two.‖ Fitz stepped into Ari‘s space, and Ari froze where he was, terrified to make a second mistake. ―What do you dream about, Ari?‖ Ari‘s voice deserted him. He barely whispered the word, ―What?‖ ―What do you see when you look at the sky?‖ Fitz blinked. ―Someone told me to ask you that, and it got me thinking.‖ Ari gave up a small smile. ―When I look at the stars, I think of when we were kids and I left for Japan. You said you were glad it was Japan and not Australia because then at least we‘d still have the same stars.‖ ―I said that?‖ Fitz asked, clearly surprised. Ari nodded. ―You may not remember, but there was a time when we used to be close.‖ ―Almost like real brothers, huh?‖ Fitz joked. Ari shrugged. ―Something like that. You seemed really unhappy when I traveled.‖ ―Things got a little lonely back then. You were just about my only friend.‖ ―I know, and that‘s why I always looked for things to bring back for you. That‘s why I sent you postcards. Back then everything I saw made me think, I wonder if Fitz would like that.‖ ―I remember the cards. Adelaide used to read them to me because your cursive sucked.‖ Fitz‘s smile widened. ―You bought me the kaleidoscope. I loved that thing. I still have it.‖ ―That was an art piece. One of a kind.‖ Ari was surprised Fitz remembered. ―It‘s cold out here.‖ ―Is it?‖ Ari shrugged and glanced down at his keys. ―I guess I‘ll see you sometime soon?‖ Fitz tugged his hoodie around himself. ―I guess, sure.‖ ―You‘re a really good cook.‖ ―Thanks.‖ Fitz smiled. ―I‘m trying to learn, so…I need the practice.‖


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―Yeah?‖ Ari‘s heart beat faster. He couldn‘t read anything on Fitz‘s face. ―Yes. I guess you should come back again.‖ ―Anytime. I‘m heading out.‖ Fitz followed Ari to the garage and waited by the entry door while he started up his car. Over the roar of the engine, Ari shouted, ―Be sure to close the garage and lock up after I‘m gone.‖ ―All right.‖ Fitz nodded again and shot Ari a thumbs-up sign. Ari backed out and spun the wheel to make his way into the street. While he watched, the garage door closed. Fitz waved until Ari couldn‘t see him anymore. He put his car into gear and roared off down the street. Absurdly he almost felt the presence of the other driver there. It was as if he‘d left a little of himself behind to mock Ari, marking where he‘d been, proving that anyone could take the car any time they wanted. He hadn‘t checked his mileage, so he didn‘t know how far whoever took it had gone, but he hated the thought of someone else using his girl for even one mile. And Fitz… Fitz was inside Adelaide‘s house with Garrett, the last of the fauxhicans. Ari‘s mood soured even further. When morning arrived, Garrett would be there, ready to put the moves on Fitz. Ari didn‘t notice a yellow light until it was too late, and snap, the red light cam caught him pounding his fist against the steering wheel of his car. ―Aw…shit.‖ Chastened, Ari drove the rest of the way to his place without incident.

*** ―Julian.‖ Fitz held his sides and tried not to blow out his spleen like an overinflated tire, but he was laughing so hard it hurt. ―You should have seen him.‖ ―I did see him. He was apoplectic with shock.‖ Julian‘s hands fluttered over his face, hiding his glee. ―I felt a little bad when that nice Officer James found Ari‘s keys in the seat, though.‖ Serge didn‘t appear to find the theft of Ari‘s car funny. ―That was a very poor way to treat a guest, Julian. I trust you‘ve gotten that out of your system?‖ Julian pressed his lips tight around a smirk. Serge gripped Julian‘s arm and led him toward the kitchen door. ―I‘m so sorry, Fitz. I‘ll see to it that Julian is less impulsive. I‘ll remind him that he is a guest here as well.‖ ―I will try to be good, darlings, I promise.‖ On the way out the door, Julian dropped something into the wastebasket. He glanced back at Fitz and winked. ―I‘ll hold you to that.‖ Serge propelled him forward. Fitz murmured, ―Good luck with that.‖ ―Who are you talking to?‖ Garrett asked, coming up on Fitz from behind.

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Chapter Thirteen Hands. Fitz fought Garrett, whose hands were inching their way down the back of his jeans. And OMG…breath…holy cow. ―Garrett, would you like to clean up before I call you a cab? Or do you want to wait until you get home.‖ ―Cab? No, baby, it‘s early still and we‘re finally alone.‖ Fitz blinked his watering eyes. ―Look, I‘m sure…‖ ―It‘s cute that you invited a chaperone, but now he‘s gone and I want you. Do you have any idea how hot you looked tonight?‖ ―I—‖ Garrett effectively trapped Fitz against the kitchen counter and ground suggestively against him. Fitz kept his face turned away and blinked his watering eyes. ―Dude, go get cleaned up. You‘ll find everything you need in the blue bathroom downstairs. You were in there earlier, remember?‖ ―Got it. Yeah.‖ He smiled his lethal, pretty smile again. Garrett pulled Fitz in for a gentle hug. He avoided an exchange of breath before heading out. ―I must reek. Back in a flash.‖ A month ago a moment like that one—without the stench of alcohol, cigars, and vomit—might have been Fitz‘s dream come true. He liked Garrett. Garrett had been nice to him. Then Ari had come along with his good looks. With his sophistication, beautiful music, and lousy cigars. Damn Ari Scheffield anyway. Fitz headed for the living room and sat down at the piano, plunking out a few desultory arpeggios. In minutes he was immersed in Liszt‘s ―La Campanella,‖ a Paganini-inspired piece that required complete concentration. Fitz didn‘t hear Garrett come in until he put his hands on Fitz‘s shoulders, causing him to jump. ―Oh fuck.‖ Fitz dropped his hands to his lap and rested his forehead against the lacquered surface of the instrument. ―Don‘t do that. You scared the crap out of me.‖ ―I‘m sorry, baby. I thought you heard me come in. You must have been concentrating so hard you were oblivious.‖


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Garrett sat down on the bench, winding his arms around Fitz‘s shoulders and lipping the back of his neck. Any other time, it might have felt perfectly nice, but Fitz needed to think. He shrugged Garrett off and tried to come up with a good way to deal with him. ―Look…I have to spend tomorrow morning working on this piece and—‖ ―What the fuck?‖ Garrett pushed him back. ―I thought you liked me, Fitz. I didn‘t think you were the kind of guy to tease without eventually coming across. Was I wrong about you?‖ Fitz frowned. ―I don‘t know what your definition of eventually is, but—‖ ―Now, baby.‖ Garrett‘s hands seemed to be everywhere at once, and he nuzzled the base of Fitz‘s throat. Yeah, okay. That felt damned good. Fitz‘s cock nudged his zipper, and Garrett took advantage by pressing a deep, hungry toothpaste kiss to Fitz‘s lips while he brushed Fitz‘s cock with the backs of his fingers. He pulled away slightly. ―Now is eventually, when we‘re alone and you‘re hot for me. I want to get with you, now.‖ Fitz wished Garrett would shut his mouth and use it for something better than cheesy lines, so he pressed his lips back to Garrett‘s. As long as he wasn‘t thinking about Ari, Fitz had enough confidence to open up and let Garrett push his tongue inside, but he was breathing so heavily he had to stop for a second. Garrett opened his eyes and brushed Fitz‘s hair back off his face, tucking it behind his ear in a gesture Fitz found both touching and embarrassing. ―You really are just a baby, aren‘t you? It makes me want to eat you up.‖ Fitz put his hand out and held Garrett back. ―It‘s not like I‘ve never done anything.‖ ―What have you done, hm?‖ Garrett plucked at the button on Fitz‘s jeans until it came undone, then started to slide his zipper down. ―Bet you like to touch yourself. Did you ever let anyone else touch you?‖ ―Uh, yeah.‖ Fitz rolled his eyes and nearly lurched off the piano bench when Garrett‘s fingers found his dick. ―Of course I have.‖ Once, at music camp. When he was sixteen, on a dare. And he would have much preferred it to have been the girl‘s brother. Plus there‘d been a bunch of make-out sessions over the years with different guys and some terrific dry humping with a Canadian cellist named Nick, who wouldn‘t go any further than that because he didn‘t believe he was gay. Their sessions had always begun as tickling and wrestling and ended up in strained silence next to one of the camp‘s coin-operated washing machines. The friction was hard on his dick, and the outcome was tough on his supply of quarters, but he could never talk Nick into anything more. When he returned home that summer, he‘d lost his chance. So no. He wasn‘t that experienced. And yes. He wanted to be. Who the hell wouldn‘t? And just because Ari Scheffield thought Garrett was a poseur didn‘t mean he actually was.

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It irritated the fuck out of Fitz that although Ari had gone, he was still in some way in the room with them. And his nonpresence was killing the mood. Fitz rose from the bench and did up his jeans. ―Look, it‘s been a long night, and I have a big day tomorrow. Maybe we can save this for later, huh?‖ Garrett‘s face tightened. ―Sure.‖ He refused to meet Fitz‘s eyes. ―Anything you say. You‘re the boss.‖ ―Don‘t be like that. I just need time to think.‖ ―No. I get it.‖ He straightened his clothes and ran his hands through his wet hair, shaping it into its familiar point. ―You just wanted to invite me over and play lord of the manor. Thanks for everything. Call me when you need to make your cousin jealous again, all right?‖ ―What the hell are you talking about? The last thing Ari would be jealous of is any boyfriend of mine.‖ Fitz didn‘t want to examine how that made him feel too carefully. ―He isn‘t even my cousin, and he‘s so far out of my league that it‘s not even funny.‖ ―Yeah. Maybe. But it‘s not like you‘d turn him down, am I right?‖ Fitz didn‘t answer. ―Well. That‘s just fucking fantastic. Good luck with that. You‘re going to need it.‖ That stung. Just as Fitz was about to say something—anything—to salvage the situation, the doorbell rang. Fitz passed a sullen Garrett on his way to answer. He fixed his clothes and grimaced when he realized he had a dark, wet spot on his light-colored jeans, obviously the result of arousal. ―Shit.‖ He brushed at it with his hand before he opened the door. Ari stood under the porch lights. When he stepped into the foyer and got a good look at Fitz, the frown on his face deepened. ―I thought you had the code?‖ Fitz asked the first question that came to him. Ari shot a pointed glance at Fitz‘s jeans. ―I thought it best not to intrude.‖ ―Oh that‘s… No.‖ Fitz glanced back at Garrett, who stood fuming behind him. ―I was just going to call a cab for Garrett.‖ ―Aren‘t you in luck, then, since I can give him a lift.‖ ―Oh. Okay.‖ Silence between Ari and Fitz lengthened until Garrett spoke. ―Is that why you came back, Scheffield? To see me off the premises? Make sure I don‘t steal the family silver—or anything else?‖ Fitz heaved a sigh. ―Garrett—‖ Ari walked past them and peered into the living room. ―No, actually, I realized I must have left my phone here. It‘s not in my jacket pocket where I thought it was. Have you seen it?‖


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―Your phone?‖ Fitz asked. ―I can‘t imagine what I did with it, but I was upset about the car and when the police came…I guess I didn‘t think.‖ ―The police were here?‖ This was clearly news to Garrett. ―Yes. Someone took my car.‖ Garrett looked at Fitz. ―What the hell?‖ Ari shrugged. ―Whoever took it brought it back. No harm done.‖ Fitz added, ―You were asleep at the time.‖ Garrett watched Fitz and Ari suspiciously. ―What else happened while I was asleep?‖ ―Nothing much.‖ Ari glanced at Fitz. ―I see.‖ Garrett pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and gave it to Ari. ―Why don‘t you call your number so we can get this show on the road?‖ ―Garrett.‖ ―Shut up, Fitz.‖ Garrett stomped to the front door and opened it. ―I‘ll wait outside for you, Scheffield.‖ ―Okay, just a second.‖ Ari dialed his number and listened for his phone‘s ringtone. ―I really am sorry to have interrupted.‖ Fitz tried not to be defensive. Given the stiff tone of Ari‘s voice, it wasn‘t easy for him either. ―It‘s all right. Garrett was just leaving.‖ ―It looks like he got the job done.‖ Ari‘s jaw was tight, and he kept his eyes down. ―It‘s ringing. Can you hear anything?‖ ―No. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Got the job done.‖ ―As long as you two were finished. I don‘t mind giving him a ride home, but I‘d hate to have to wait in the driveway for him if you two still needed to get off.‖ Ari headed for the kitchen. ―I think I hear it this way.‖ ―Look, Ari, you‘ve got it—‖ Fitz stopped when he heard Ari‘s ringtone coming from the trash. Ari stepped on the foot lever to open the lid and then leaned over to dig around in the stainless steel bin. ―Got it. Here it is. How the hell did it get in there?‖ ―Don‘t look at me. I didn‘t put it there.‖ But I have a pretty good idea who did. Ari held his phone up. ―Look, I don‘t know what‘s happening here but—‖ ―You probably just dropped it by mistake.‖ ―Into the trash?‖ Ari shook his head. ―I don‘t think so. I think you and Garrett have been up to some stupid pranks, and I think you must have someone else involved as well.‖ ―I never.‖ ―Yes, and while we‘re on the subject of things you never, you might have had a laugh with your little boyfriend, taking my keys, my car, and my phone like you

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were starring in some teen revenge fantasy, but enough is enough. I told your mother I‘d look out for you, and I‘ve done exactly that. But I‘ll be sure and tell her you‘re doing fine on your own.‖ Fitz hated the hurt in Ari‘s eyes. ―Wait.‖ Ari put his hand out to brush the hair back off Fitz‘s face. ―I had some fantasy of my own, I guess. You‘ve grown up to be a terrific person full of beautiful music. If I hurt you in some way…‖ ―No, it‘s not like that.‖ The ubiquitous teasing light in Ari‘s eyes had been extinguished, and it hurt Fitz‘s heart that it was gone—even indirectly—because of him. ―You‘ve got it all wrong.‖ ―Anyway, I never believed you could be cruel.‖ With that, Ari turned on his heel and walked out. Fitz slumped against the door. It didn‘t surprise him at all to hear Serge‘s voice behind him. ―What has happened here?‖ Fitz turned to find Serge looking perplexed and Julian positively pale with guilt. ―Ask Julian.‖ Fitz gestured toward him. ―It looks like maybe he knows.‖


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Chapter Fourteen Fitz got himself a coffee drink and sat at a table on the patio at Starbucks. The morning rush hour traffic had come and gone under the typical LA winter morning. Mist spattered from a foggy blanket of gray weather that had—so far—failed to burn off. For once it was Fitz skipping music theory class. He‘d tried Ari‘s phone several times, texting and calling directly, and he‘d got no answer. It put him in a foul mood, so he kept his head down and his earbuds in. For a change, it suited him perfectly to be the odd man out. He was flipping through the tunes on his iPhone when a single, perfect red rose materialized between his hands and his face. Fitz glanced up to find Garrett frowning down at him. ―I‘m sorry.‖ Fitz didn‘t bother to take his earbuds out. ―For what?‖ Garrett sat down next to him and flashed the Dimplemaster 5000. Fitz tried to brace himself for disappointment when Garrett made whatever request he planned to make. ―For everything. I‘m sorry I got drunk. I‘m sorry I was a little jealous. I‘m sorry that I‘m not as perfect as your cousin—‖ ―Will you pay attention? Ari is not my cousin. He‘s the son of a guy my mother married a long time ago.‖ ―What he is,‖ Garrett argued, ―is a hard act to follow. Maybe I crashed and burned, but I felt stupid next to a guy like him. The alcohol made everything worse.‖ Fitz still didn‘t take the rose. ―Look. Let‘s just forget it ever happened, okay?‖ ―Not until you forgive me.‖ ―Garrett—‖ ―I thought I blew it with you because when Ari came back, it was like you‘d planned it. I thought maybe you were up to something, the two of you, and that you‘d played me.‖ ―There seems to be a lot of that going around,‖ Fitz remarked dryly. ―I heard him accusing us of taking his car. What does he think? I astral travel?‖ ―He accused me of having more than one accomplice.‖ ―Yeah, right. Who would that be?‖ ―‘Cause guys are just beating down the door to get next to me.‖

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―That‘s not what I meant.‖ To his credit, Garrett seemed angry on his behalf. ―Don‘t put words in my mouth. I‘m here, aren‘t I?‖ ―Sorry.‖ Fitz lowered his gaze. ―And in the future, it might be smart to only invite one guy who‘s into you to dinner at a time.‖ Garrett‘s smile was back and dazzling. So was his confidence. ―Ari‘s not into me.‖ Fitz wasn‘t so ready to capitulate. ―Are you saying the way you behaved is my fault?‖ Garrett shook his head. ―Not at all. I‘m just saying that the next time we go out, or stay in for that matter, I want your undivided attention.‖ Fitz finally held his hand out for the rose and held it up to smell it. Its fragrant, dark petals felt like velvet against his skin. He knew his cheeks were turning equally red and lowered his gaze. ―Thank you.‖ ―You‘re welcome. This morning‘s funds were such that I had to choose between coffee and your flower, and your flower won. Do you mind?‖ Fitz shook his head. ―Sweet‖—Garrett picked up Fitz‘s coffee and took a healthy swig—―and rich. Just how I like it.‖

*** Benjamin Scheffield poked his head inside Ari‘s office at a quarter to one in the afternoon. ―You‘re not eating lunch?‖ ―I thought I‘d work through today. If I get hungry, maybe I‘ll have a sandwich sent over.‖ ―Something wrong?‖ Ari looked up from his keyboard as his dad entered the room. ―No. Nothing.‖ ―How was dinner with Fitz?‖ ―Delicious. Fitz is turning out to be an excellent cook. He has fairly questionable taste in friends, but he‘s doing fine.‖ Ari put his head down and started typing again. ―So…it went well?‖ ―I wouldn‘t say that.‖ Benjamin sat down in one of Ari‘s chairs. ―What would you say?‖ ―I would say that Fitz is becoming quite the prankster.‖ ―Is that good?‖ ―No.‖ Benjamin said nothing. Ari was glad he let it go at that. The silence lengthened between them. ―I‘ve been thinking of playing some poker next weekend. We could find a tournament in Vegas. Take in a show. Maybe one of those Cirque things?‖


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Ari shook his head. ―If you want to continue grinding your clients‘ thieving spouses under the heel of my conservative lace-up oxfords of justice, I need to work. By the way, you‘ll be happy to know that women are just as devious as men. I‘m getting a pretty clear picture of your magazine editor‘s wife here, and it‘s not pretty.‖ ―Good to know.‖ Benjamin absently toyed with his tie. ―Ari…‖ ―Yes?‖ ―Are you sure what you feel for Fitz isn‘t guilt?‖ Ari stopped what he was doing. ―What do you mean by that?‖ Benjamin leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair and rested his head in his hand. ―Let‘s face it. Adelaide is never going to be nominated for mother of the year. And since you lost your own mother, it‘s only natural that you and Fitz formed a bond when you were younger. But if you start off a relationship with someone because you feel sorry for them—‖ ―Let me put your mind at ease.‖ Ari‘s smile was rueful. ―Fitz isn‘t the uncomplicated creature we thought he was. And there‘s no relationship. Just friendship. He has someone else.‖ ―As long as you‘re all right. I don‘t want you to get your heart—‖ ―I‘ll worry about my heart‖—Ari held up his hand when his father might have argued further—―and other people‘s money, all right?‖ Benjamin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and nodded. He got up and left Ari‘s office without another word. Ari stopped what he was doing and looked at his phone. He had several voice mails and a number of texts, all from Fitz, none of which Ari had answered. It‘s not that he was holding a huge grudge or anything, but the axis of Ari‘s world had tilted with Fitz‘s lies, and some part of him that trusted things, some portion of his faith in his ability to judge people had been contaminated by Fitz‘s gamesmanship. It wasn‘t the end of the world. But it had hurt more than he‘d thought possible. Fitz had disappointed him in the most fundamental way, and it had blindsided him. Until he had a grip on what he planned to do about it, he wasn‘t even going to contemplate answering Fitz‘s messages. Ari shut his phone away in a drawer and buried himself in his work.

*** Garrett and Fitz raced from Garrett‘s car to the front door, where Fitz keyed the code to get in. ―I can‘t believe you‘re blowing off class like this.‖ Once they were inside and Fitz had closed the door, Garret caught him and pushed his back up against it. Garret laughed, nipping at Fitz‘s throat. For all Fitz pretended to try to get away, he certainly didn‘t mind. ―Hey…‖ He playfully pushed Garret off him when he felt something crunch lightly under his foot. When he looked down, he was puzzled to find the floor was

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gritty. Given that he‘d seen Marguerite‘s car outside, that was almost alarming. Marguerite and grit were like…incompatible in the extreme. Garrett glanced down and lifted his foot. ―What is that?‖ Fitz bent down and picked up a few grains. ―Salt? Maybe Marguerite was using it to clean something. She‘s all eco-friendly, so she doesn‘t always use commercial cleaners.‖ ―Come here, you.‖ Garrett grabbed the back of Fitz‘s shirt and hauled him in for a kiss. Fitz let himself melt under Garrett‘s knowing hands and savored Garrett‘s coffee and chocolate taste. The raspy two-day growth of scruffy beard felt nice and scratchy against his skin. Garrett pulled back. ―Got any beer?‖ Fitz shook his head. ―No. I have soft drinks, though. Iced tea.‖ ―We could raid your mom‘s liquor cabinet again.‖ ―We came here because I need to practice.‖ Fitz‘s skin felt a little too tight when it came to things like that. Garrett liked to drink more than he did; that was a fact. But it didn‘t mean Fitz had to go along. He didn‘t meet Garrett‘s eyes, but he‘d managed to say no, at least. ―I don‘t drink during the week.‖ ―Okay then. I can see I won‘t get you to shirk all your responsibilities today.‖ Garrett sighed. He hooked a hand around Fitz‘s neck and pulled him in for another swift kiss. ―Let‘s make some coffee, and I‘ll hang out while you play. Maybe when you‘re done, you can play with me.‖ ―That sounds like a deal.‖ Fitz smiled, wishing he weren‘t so pathetically grateful. But he was. ―Can I explore the house?‖ ―Sure, downstairs anyway. The upstairs is all just bedrooms.‖ Fitz took Garrett by the hand and led him to the kitchen, where they found Marguerite. ―Ah, here she is. Hi, Marguerite.‖ Marguerite didn‘t acknowledge them for a minute. She was standing on a step stool working, wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. A fully loaded chamois tool belt hung low on her hips. She was actively hammering something high up on the wall. When she finally turned to face Fitz, he saw that she‘d hung up a garlic braid. She came down and dusted her hands. ―Hello.‖ ―This is my friend, Garrett.‖ Garrett smiled and held out his hand. ―Hello.‖ Marguerite stared at Garrett for a long time. She dug into one of the pockets of her tool belt and came up with a garlic bulb, which she handed over to Garrett. When he took it, she seemed satisfied and held out her own hand. Garrett gave the garlic to Fitz. Marguerite took Garrett‘s hand and gave it a single firm pump. ―Hello.‖ Garrett shifted from foot to foot and finally glanced back at Fitz. ―So…‖ Fitz addressed Marguerite. ―Everything okay?‖ Marguerite‘s brows rose. ―Sure. Why not?‖


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―Okay, then. I‘ll be in the living room practicing, and I‘ve said Garrett could look around downstairs, maybe go to the screening room and watch something.‖ She nodded and then left the kitchen. ―That was odd,‖ Garrett remarked. ―I mean, you and Ari said she was strange, but—‖ ―That was odder than usual,‖ Fitz agreed. ―The family room has the television and some old video games as well.‖ ―Fine. Maybe I‘ll just listen to you though. Like a private concert by my very own sexy piano dude.‖ ―All right.‖ How strange. Fitz tried to remember if he‘d ever had someone over to simply hang out. He also wondered how much work he‘d get done with the mischievous Garrett around. ―I‘ll make coffee. If you‘re hungry, look around and get whatever you‘d like to eat while I‘m working.‖ Garret made himself at home. He found some crackers in the cupboard and cheese in the fridge. Some grapes and cookies joined them on the plate while Fitz filled the coffeemaker. Garrett trapped Fitz against the counter and kissed the back of his neck briefly while they waited for that last puff of steam that signaled the coffee was finished brewing. ―This is fun.‖ Fitz squirmed when Garrett nuzzled his ticklish spots from behind. Garrett pressed his swollen cock against Fitz‘s ass and slipped his hands under Fitz‘s T-shirt. ―Oh.‖ ―Fitz.‖ Garrett‘s voice was husky and moist against his ear. ―Hot, hot Fitz.‖ One of Garrett‘s hands searched out Fitz‘s nipple, and the other headed beneath his waistband into his jeans. Fitz let out a shuddering breath when Garrett‘s clever fingers found his cock. They wrapped around him and pulled gently, while Garret‘s thumb dug slightly into the tip, causing Fitz‘s knees to buckle. ―Ah, Garrett.‖ ―Like that?‖ Fitz nodded, dry-mouthed and incapable of speech. He couldn‘t believe they were doing that, standing there totally making out with Marguerite in the house somewhere. And it didn‘t even bear thinking about that Julian and Serge could be roaming around or watching them, right at that moment. But Fitz dropped his head back on Garrett‘s shoulder and sighed, melting because at last…at last there was a hand on his dick that wasn‘t his own and he wanted to simply let go and burst right there. He wanted to stop thinking and feel and spatter cum all over his mother‘s cherry wood cabinets. ―I think I‘ll send you off to your piano with something to think about.‖ Fitz discovered he liked his nipples stroked but not pinched. He liked it when Garret dug into his piss slit a little but not with his nail. He moaned aloud when

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Garrett ran the tips of his guitar-calloused fingers over his glans, and pressed his face into Garret‘s sweaty neck when he was close. All the while, Garrett listened to him, to his every sound, giving him more of what he needed and abandoning what didn‘t work, and the only way it could have been better is if they shared it, if they were both naked and in Fitz‘s bed, maybe, so he could feel the steel of Garrett‘s erection as more than a tantalizing yet just-out-of-reach stimulation against the crack of his ass. ―Are you close, Fitz? Are you going to let me make you come?‖ ―Yes.‖ Fitz hissed between harsh, panting breaths. ―Yes, yes.‖ ―Do it,‖ Garrett said against Fitz‘s temple. His hand gained speed, and at some point, it wasn‘t a matter of if. Fitz was going to come. He‘d become boneless and liquid and rushed like a spill of water over the last rocky fall, heading for the open sea of bliss. Bright, sharp sparks of pleasure struck his spine and reverberated throughout his entire body, dancing behind his closed eyes, curling his toes and buckling his knees. ―Let me see you come, baby.‖ ―Shit…oh fuck. Uhn.‖ Garrett had to take Fitz‘s weight when he shot, his release dripping down his belly as it ran over Garrett‘s fingers. ―Garrett.‖ ―Shh, baby.‖ Fitz shivered, nudging his face into the place where Garrett‘s neck and shoulder met. ―That was so hot.‖ Garrett‘s cocky smile tickled the skin of Fitz‘s jaw. It had to be cocky because Garrett was chuckling softly near his ear. ―My Fitz. I could just eat up your little virgin ass.‖ Fitz sighed. ―You won‘t hear me complain.‖ ―I‘d better not.‖ ―You want me to…uh…‖ Fitz barely had the strength to move, but he was game if Garrett was. Then Marguerite‘s scream rent the air, followed by a crash in another part of the house. They leaped apart. Fitz charged up the stairs with Garrett following on his heels. They found Marguerite on her knees, trying to sweep up shards of a mirror that had scattered everywhere. She‘d cut herself, and there was blood pooling on the hardwood floors. ―Marguerite. Are you all right?‖ ―I‘m fine,‖ Marguerite answered without looking up at him. ―Fine.‖ There was a box on the floor where she was working, filled will all sorts of things: garlic, mirrors, devotional candles, and something herbal that smelled like Thanksgiving. Fitz ran to get a towel from the linen closet and returned to pull Marguerite to her feet. He had an awful feeling he knew exactly what she was up to. ―What happened?‖ Fitz turned around and saw that Marguerite had been affixing mirrors to the bedroom doors with double-sided sticky tape.


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―I dropped a mirror. It‘s nothing. Will you bring a broom?‖ Fitz turned to Garrett. ―Do you think you could go get it? It‘s in the long cupboard in the kitchen?‖ ―Got it.‖ Garrett started off downstairs, and for a second Fitz watched him go. He peeked at the cut on Marguerite‘s hand. It was a long gash and, to Fitz‘s inexperienced eye, looked deep. He wasn‘t an expert, but he‘d have to see to it she got it looked at. He made sure there was no glass on her hand and then pressed the towel to the wound. Marguerite was stoic but pale. She avoided looking at him, and Fitz glanced down. He realized he hadn‘t even really cleaned up after he‘d… ―Is something bothering you?‖ he asked. Because if nothing else, Marguerite had never had trouble speaking her mind. ―Because if something‘s bothering you, you know you can tell me, right?‖ ―You know,‖ she accused, still refusing to look up at him. Fitz wasn‘t sure what he should say. ―If something has scared you—‖ ―You must be careful what you bring home. Not everything is as harmless as it seems.‖ ―I take it you don‘t mean Garrett.‖ Marguerite rolled her eyes. ―Once you bring in one thing from the other side, mark my words, other things will surely come.‖ ―I really don‘t know what you mean,‖ he lied. ―But I‘ll help you with all this if it makes you feel better.‖ Marguerite drew herself up to her full height. ―There is nothing for you to worry about. I will see to it that the people in this house are safe.‖ ―All right.‖ Fitz hardly knew what to say. ―But you need to go to the ER for your hand. When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?‖ ―Last year.‖ Fitz was surprised by this; he didn‘t know when he‘d last had one. It must have shown on his face, because Marguerite continued. ―I stabbed myself with broken fishing spear.‖ ―Well okay then. I guess you won‘t need another one today. But you should still go to the ER. You‘ll probably need stitches.‖ Garrett returned with the broom, and they finished cleaning up the mess together. It seemed that every time they got anything started, something came up, and not in the fun way. Fitz watched Garrett, who was trying so hard to be the kind of guy who helped out, and wondered what he‘d be like when he realized he was about to be deprived of an afternoon of fooling around. Fitz helped Marguerite down the stairs. ―Let‘s go. I can call us a cab.‖ ―I can drive,‖ she argued. ―You‘re awfully pale. Maybe I can drive?‖ ―You would take Adelaide‘s car without permission?‖ Garrett offered, ―I can drive you in my car.‖

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Marguerite frowned but looked down at her wrapped hand. Blood seeped through, blooming red against the white towel. She nodded. They hurried Marguerite out to the Jetta. She sat in the passenger seat, and Fitz got into the back. ―Thanks so much, Garrett,‖ Fitz said sincerely. ―Marguerite, it‘s going to be okay.‖ ―You‘re a good boy, Fitz.‖ She sighed and put her head back on the headrest. When they got to the hospital, Fitz elected to stay and Garrett took off. They‘d eyed one another, knowing things had changed between them. Fitz knew he was blushing. Garrett‘s smile was a little more predatory. ―I‘ll call you,‖ Garrett said. ―Maybe we can get together tomorrow?‖ Fitz nodded. He still had to do something about Ari. Maybe he‘d try going over to Ari‘s office at lunch. It was bad enough that Julian had taken Ari‘s car, but if Ari thought Fitz was in on some joke at his expense… ―I need to do something during the day, but tomorrow night?‖ ―Sure. Count on it.‖


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Chapter Fifteen Fitz approached the enormous glass and steel structure that housed the expansive offices of Scheffield, Timmerman, and Radcliffe, wearing his edgiest clothes like armor. He‘d thrown caution to the wind and lined his eyes and painted his nails. His hair was its blackest black, and it obscured most of his face. Sleek and shiny in the front, it looked like he‘d barely escaped from a weed whacker from the back. He‘d ignored Julian and Serge‘s advice to go in stealth and avoid a scene. To Fitz, anything less felt like selling out. Plus, wearing a virtual costume gave him confidence, allowing him to adopt a new, more daring persona, like when he donned his formal wear and took the stage to play. In one sense, Fitz was excited and anxious. Even a little turned on. He felt powerful. Combined with the heady euphoria of Garrett‘s attention, whatever Fitz had begun to unleash inside himself was waking up, nosing around, and hungry for exactly the kind of adventure a confrontation with Ari represented. Fitz‘s fledgling attitude entered the building with him, and it helped. The man he wanted to be didn‘t care if Ari didn‘t answer his calls. The man he wanted to be wasn‘t going to accept Ari‘s indifference unless and until Fitz had the chance to set the record straight. He made his way from the elevator onto the firm‘s floor with a vague notion of where Ari‘s office might be, based on his memory of visiting the place when he‘d been a kid. There were a few logical places to look, but first he had to approach Eileen Reid, the sentinel at the gate of the partners‘ suite of offices. He had to take his hat in his hands figuratively and ask. She might not even recognize him. He had changed a lot since the last time he stood before her. ―Fitzgerald.‖ How was it that she looked exactly the same after ten years? Benjamin Scheffield always called her his pocket dragon; she was a tiny, dollwoman with bobbed red hair that never looked quite real to Fitz. She cultivated an impassive face and a long memory for Fitz‘s office-behavior transgressions. Eileen didn‘t smile, but it was obvious she was pleased. The very air vibrated with her emotions, as they always had, even though her demeanor gave nothing away. If Eileen liked you, the office felt inviting. If she didn‘t, the temperature could drop twenty degrees in a nanosecond. She peered at him. ―What a pleasure to see you again. So very grown-up. I see we‘re enjoying a phase?‖

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―Possibly.‖ Fitz shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. ―Did you want to see Benjamin? I‘m afraid he‘s in court today, dear.‖ ―Ah no. I was hoping to find Ari.‖ ―Ari?‖ One perfectly arched eyebrow rose. Probably she worried his outfit would collide with Ari‘s usual sartorial resplendence and combust, taking the office with it. ―Yes. I need to talk to him.‖ ―I‘m sorry, dear. Ari‘s gone to lunch with some of his colleagues.‖ ―I see.‖ That wasn‘t in his plans, damn it. ―Have you tried phoning him?‖ ―He‘s pissed at me,‖ Fitz admitted. Eileen flinched. ―Don‘t be vulgar.‖ ―Sorry. He‘s not taking my calls because of a misunderstanding. Do you think you could tell me where he‘s having lunch? It‘s important.‖ ―I don‘t know if I should do that, Fitzgerald. They‘re celebrating the resolution of a particularly difficult case. It was largely due to Ari that it had a positive outcome.‖ ―I have his number. I‘ll text him from outside the restaurant and ask him to meet me.‖ Fitz wasn‘t sure that would work, but he‘d try it. ―All right. I believe you.‖ She tapped a perfect, natural fingernail on the immaculate surface of her desk. ―They‘ve gone to Más Malo, on Seventh and Grand. He told me not to expect him back this afternoon.‖ Fitz could see she still had reservations about giving him that information. ―I swear I won‘t do anything to embarrass him.‖ She didn‘t look like she believed him. ―That‘s an excellent plan.‖ Maybe she thought he couldn‘t help but embarrass Ari, given that he was going through a ―phase.‖ ―I won‘t bother him. I just need to tell him something. I‘ll be discreet.‖ He turned to leave. ―Fitzgerald.‖ Her voice cracked over him like a whip. The hair on the back of Fitz‘s neck stood up. He glanced back anyway. ―Yes?‖ ―It‘s always a pleasure to see you. Please remember me to your mother, and if you‘re performing locally, would you be kind enough to let me know? I enjoy your recitals very much.‖ Fitz couldn‘t help but smile. ―I can do that. Thank you, Ms. Reid.‖ ―Thank you.‖ Dismissed, Fitz returned to the bank of elevators.

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Ari grinned at Caleb Vo and Alex Maclane, two of the newer barracudas from Scheffield, Timmerman, and Radcliffe. They had just settled a tough celebrity divorce case with a financial settlement in favor of their client, the wife, to the tune of several million dollars. ―To bean counters.‖ Caleb lifted his shot of añejo, and Alex and Ari did likewise. ―Hear, hear,‖ Alex said. Ari took their praise. It didn‘t hurt his ego that he was the youngest man there. They‘d all worked very hard on the case, but when it came to finding the husband‘s assets, he‘d done all the heavy lifting. Ari had suggested the place because its sister restaurant in Silverlake was one of his favorites. He‘d eaten roasted chicken with mole poblano. Caleb and Alex both got some spicy lobster dish. And oh, now they‘d moved on to dessert: Casa Noble single barrel añejo. No limes or salt would be necessary for this particular tequila; it was sweet, smooth as butter, and went down like molten gold. They were sipping it like after-dinner brandy—on top of the bright, fresh biancos they‘d been shooting with their meal. Más Malo was a treat on its own, a historical building with a beautiful vaulted plaster ceiling that looked like the frosting on an elegant wedding cake. It was gorgeous, and they‘d enjoyed an extremely good—and decadent—meal. For his part, Ari was trying to take it slow. He wasn‘t quite the drinker these two were. He foresaw an enormous headache in his future if he kept up with them— Alex especially, because he seemed to have a hollow spot for alcohol and a cool head. Ari wasn‘t yet at the stage where he needed a keeper. Caleb made it known in an appropriately subtle way that they could be sharing more than a cab later if Ari was inclined to take their celebration to a more private place. Not with a guy from work, though. Too bad. ―Thanks.‖ Ari‘s cell beeped, and he fumbled to get it out of the pocket of his suit coat, which he‘d put over the back of his chair. Fitz. ―Oh wait.‖ Ari read Fitz‘s text message. Don’t ignore me. I need to talk to you. Frowning, Ari carefully constructed a message. Having lunch with coworkers. Later. He laid his phone down on the table and picked up his drink again. While he sipped, it signaled he had another text. Now. I’m outside Mas Malo. Ari spoke aloud. ―No.‖ He typed Good for you. No. ―What is it?‖ Caleb asked. ―Booty call?‖ ―Hardly.‖ Ari debated ignoring the next message, but curiosity got the better of him. I took a cab here. I’m not leaving until you hear what I have to say. I‘m sorry I ever got you that damned phone, Ari thought. Good luck with that Ari thumbed and sent.

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A few minutes later, Caleb leaned over to Ari and whispered, ―Oh fuck. Will you look at that.‖ ―What?‖ A frisson of something chilling inched down Ari‘s spine like frost, and he knew. He turned around to find the host seating Fitz at a table adjacent to where Ari sat with his friends. Fitz took off his long black overcoat and draped it over a chair. He self-consciously rearranged the scarves he had wrapped around his neck before accepting the menu with a smile. The host kept talking while Fitz rolled up the sleeves of his nearly translucent lawn shirt. He wore several silver rings on his fingers, and his wrists were encased in thick, braided leather bands. His black leather pants were cut so low that when he turned to slide into his chair, Ari got a peek at his treasure trail, a barely there arrow of Fitz‘s naturally brunet fuzz that dipped below the buckle of a wide, tragically hip, studded black belt. Who the fuck dresses you, Fitz? Boy Toys R Us? Alex looked on in curiosity, but Caleb was voracious, his hot gaze devouring Fitz whole. Fitz picked up his phone and toyed with it. Caleb asked, ―Do you think he‘s pierced anywhere besides his ears? I‘d give good money to find out if those nipples are—‖ ―Gawking at the locals, are we? He‘s a little young, even for a conscienceless snot like you.‖ Ari‘s phone beeped. Fitz‘s text read I’m not here to embarrass you. No, you want me to embarrass myself. Ari looked up at Caleb and Alex to see if they were bothered by his many texts. It seemed the tequila had dulled their curiosity though, because they were sitting back, their faces blank and happy. Ari sneaked a quick peek at Fitz, who appeared to be completely engrossed in the menu. He pulled his phone down between the tablecloth and his lap and typed You can’t embarrass me without embarrassing yourself. The waiter chose that moment to bring Caleb‘s dessert. Ari‘s phone beeped. Wanna bet? Shit. Caleb moaned over his flan. ―Good?‖ Alex teased. Caleb shot a sly glance at Ari. ―My dessert‘s delicious. Want to try a bite?‖ Caleb waving a bite of vanilla custard, dripping with caramel, proved too much for Ari to resist. It was bad form, but he took it right from Caleb‘s spoon—not exactly a business lunch best practice. He checked Alex out to see if he needed to apologize. Alex held his hands up. ―Hey, whatever. We‘re drunk. Just don‘t start playing footsie.‖


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Ari had to put his napkin back to his lips to hide his laugh. ―It‘s not like that, Alex.‖ At this, Caleb nudged Ari‘s foot with his. Ari‘s phone beeped again, and he read Fitz‘s text discreetly. Why not just drink champagne from his shoe? Ari ground his teeth. ―Something wrong?‖ Caleb asked. ―No. It‘s just family stuff.‖ Alex grinned. ―That, my friend, is why my family doesn‘t have my cell number.‖ ―Not a bad idea.‖ Ari took another sip of his drink while Alex signaled the waiter for three more. Ari argued, ―I don‘t know—‖ ―I‘ll take a cab if I need one. I‘m going clubbing later anyway to burn it off.‖ Alex was already bouncing in his chair at the thought. ―You can call someone to come get you, right?‖ Caleb leaned into Ari‘s space and spoke into his ear. ―We could take a cab together.‖ Ari gave a slight negative shake of his head and hoped Caleb would understand. ―I‘m sorry. I don‘t get with guys at work, especially now that I‘m with my father‘s firm.‖ Caleb didn‘t look too disappointed. ―Too bad. If ever, though, huh?‖ Ari breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. ―Sure.‖ He raised his glass and downed the small amount of golden liquid still in it. Ari got another text from Fitz. Look at me. He shot back an answer. No. Another beep. You will. Ari typed Will not and sent it. Again a beep. I will make you look at me. Ari hissed out a curse and typed Bring it. ―You bastard,‖ Alex said as the server set down their drinks. ―You‘re sexting someone, aren‘t you?‖ ―No.‖ Ari shook his head. ―Not at all. I swear it.‖ ―Put it away then.‖ Ari wasn‘t sure what Fitz planned to do if he didn‘t answer. It didn‘t bear thinking about. He held his phone in his hands and stared at it for a minute, thinking. Caleb tapped Ari‘s arm. ―Does baby boy over there look old enough to drink to you?‖

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Ari turned to find the waiter putting three shot glasses down in front of Fitz. ―What the hell?‖ ―He looks about seventeen.‖ ―How do you suppose he got served?‖ Alex asked. ―Fake ID?‖ ―Probably. No waiter is going to serve him without carding him.‖ Fitz gave no sign that he was even aware of the three men watching him. He lifted one of the shot glasses and tossed the golden liquid in it back. He made what Ari thought of as a tequila face and then licked his lips. Caleb gripped Ari‘s arm. ―Oh my fucking G—‖ ―Stop staring. You look like some pervert.‖ Ari peeled Caleb‘s hand off. ―Alex, help me out here. Leash your lawyer pal.‖ Alex shrugged. ―Not that it will work, but here goes. Caleb, that kid is barely out of high school.‖ ―He has to be twenty-one to drink. Besides. I like them young and trainable.‖ Caleb slapped his napkin down on the table. ―I‘m going over there.‖ Ari stopped him when he would have gotten to his feet. ―You will not. Sit down.‖ ―Are you kidding?‖ They watched as Fitz shot his second drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and relaxed visibly in his chair. He raked his hair out of his eyes, and Ari could almost feel its texture, how soft it would be beneath his fingers. The waiter approached Fitz, and the little monster had the nerve to shoot him a radiant smile. The waiter soaked it up like sunshine, damn him, taking a minute to chat Fitz up before moving on. Fitz very visibly checked out the man‘s ass as he left. ―Shit, Ari.‖ Caleb aimed a frustrated kick to Ari‘s ankle. ―What more do you need?‖ ―Stop it, Caleb,‖ said Alex. ―What is wrong with you, Alex? I don‘t need another conscience.‖ ―You do if you don‘t have one of your own.‖ Fitz shot his third tequila. Ari wanted to kill him. At least he wouldn‘t be driving. As soon as he got Fitz alone, Ari was going to raid his wallet and rid him of whatever fake ID he was using. This is how you get yourself into trouble, Flitz. ―Oh fuck me, is he coming this way?‖ Ari looked up just in time to see Fitz walking toward their table. Ari braced himself. Fitz glanced Ari‘s way and did a double take. ―Hey. I know you. Weren‘t you in that boy band a billion years ago? What was it…? Gonad?‖ ―N0mad,‖ Ari ground out. ―It was N0mad.‖ Fitz nodded. ―Right. With a zero instead of an o.‖


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Caleb never took his eyes off Fitz. ―How hilarious. I‘m afraid I won‘t be responsible if that gets back to the office, Ari.‖ ―Sorry, man.‖ Fitz shrugged. Dark brown eyes twinkled when they met Ari‘s and oh holy hell. Fitz was looking for trouble in the worst way. He said, ―You weren‘t the cute one back then, but you grew up hot.‖ Then Fitz looked straight at Ari while he leaned over to cup Caleb‘s cheek— right there in the middle of the restaurant—and kissed him, hard. Caleb responded with enthusiasm, deploying hands and a pretty inquisitive tongue. Ari could tell it had gone further than either of them intended when Fitz pulled back, flushed and loopy looking. His eyelids hung at a sexy half-mast, and he smiled like a debauched angel. It had only lasted a bare few seconds, but Fitz had every eye in the place on him. Ari snorted. Caleb wouldn‘t have pushed Fitz away. No red-blooded gay man would push Fitz away. But he could have at least put up a token struggle. As it was, he sat there with a stupid expression on his face long after Fitz backed off and sauntered past their table. ―You fucking hound dog.‖ Alex watched Fitz go. Caleb smirked. ―Tell me you wouldn‘t hit that.‖ ―I would not hit that,‖ Alex said amiably. Caleb got up and straightened his tie. ―Well, I‘m ready to. Wish me luck, boys.‖ ―Down, Fido.‖ Ari reached out for him and pulled him back into his chair. ―That‘s Benjamin Scheffield‘s former stepson.‖ ―What?‖ Caleb turned a shocked face to him. ―Are you fucking kidding me?‖ ―Nope. That is Fitzgerald Algernon Gaffney, son of wife number three out of four—and my erstwhile stepbrother—Fitz.‖ ―Your stepbrother…? Ew.‖ Comprehension had dawned for Alex at some point. Caleb still stared at the bathroom like the last boat to leave Manchuria before the Japanese invasion was behind the men‘s room door. ―The piano kid?‖ ―The musical genius.‖ ―Your stepbrother,‖ Alex repeated. ―Don‘t remind me.‖ Ari sighed. ―My once-upon-a-time stepbrother.‖ ―Why the hell didn‘t you say something?‖ ―It‘s‖—Ari bit his lip—―complicated.‖ Beep. Fitz sent a text from the bathroom. From the bathroom? Made you look.

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Chapter Sixteen Ari dropped four fifty-dollar bills, enough for his meal and bar tab, a generous tip, and whatever Fitz owed for his drinks, on the table. He told everyone he was leaving and—much to Caleb‘s disappointment—did not invite him along when he went to collect Fitz. When Fitz emerged from the bathroom, Ari frog-marched him out of the restaurant, stopping only to allow Fitz time to grab his coat. In sullen silence, they headed down the sidewalk toward an adjacent garage where Ari had parked. Fitz‘s whole little show had intrigued and aggravated Ari to the point that when he got Fitz into the elevator and keyed the floor number, he shoved Fitz up against the wall. ―You got what you want. Now let‘s have it.‖ Ari patted Fitz down, unable to find any trace of a wallet. He was buzzed enough to enjoy running his hands over Fitz‘s ass and groin immensely, and from the feel of things, Fitz enjoyed it too. After a minute, he realized there was no possible way Fitz‘s wallet was in his pants, which fit like a second skin and had no pockets. ―Hand it over.‖ Ari was loud, even to his own ears. Fitz‘s eyes expressed shock. ―What exactly is it?‖ ―Your fake ID.‖ Ari snatched Fitz‘s coat away from him. For the life of him, he couldn‘t seem to stop acting like a bear, crashing around as he found his footing with this newer, more confident Fitz. Was it only a week ago that Ari vowed to help him with that? He‘d succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. ―I know you have one.‖ ―I used to. But I lost it.‖ Ari felt through Fitz‘s pockets and shook out his coat. ―No way that waiter serves you without a fake ID.‖ Fitz had the brass to smile. ―He didn‘t serve me. Well, he did but not alcohol.‖ ―Fitz, I swear, if you lie to me one more time—‖ ―That‘s just it, Ari. I don‘t lie to you.‖ Ari shot Fitz a killing glare. Fitz flushed. ―Not about anything important, anyway. I‘m sorry about your car. That… The person who took your car was someone I know, playing a prank. I gave him a ration of shit for it. He won‘t do it again. But I didn‘t have anything to do with it beforehand, or your phone.‖ Ari peered closely at Fitz. ―Is that true?‖


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Fitz took hold of his coat and tugged. Ari let go. ―If nothing else, do you think me clever enough to mastermind something like that?‖ ―Now that you put it that way…‖ Fitz pushed at Ari‘s shoulder. ―You couldn‘t argue the point just a little?‖ They arrived at their floor, and Ari stepped out of the elevator. Fitz followed him, this time without coercion. ―I‘m sorry I didn‘t believe you the other night, Fitz. But I still want that fake ID. Hand it over, or I tear you apart looking for it. Even if you don‘t drive, you can get yourself and whoever serves you in serious legal trouble.‖ ―That‘s what I‘m trying to tell you. The shot glasses? That was a prank. The server just put iced tea into three shot glasses for me when I told him I wanted to play a joke on you.‖ Ari stopped. ―What?‖ ―I told him you were my stuffy ex-boyfriend and I wanted to make you pay for dumping me like a piece of trash. I tipped him well and he—‖ ―You—‖ Ari fought to keep himself from smiling. ―You bastard.‖ ―I‘m not very sorry. It was really fun watching you and the Brooks Brothers cruise me. Who were those guys?‖ ―Lawyers.‖ They got to Ari‘s car, and he stood there for a minute, gazing at it. Then he looked back at Fitz and made a sudden decision that he hoped he wouldn‘t live to regret. ―This is awkward.‖ ―What?‖ ―I‘m impaired.‖ Ari shuffled his keys from one hand to the other. ―I‘ll call us a cab, Ari.‖ Fitz pulled his phone from his coat pocket. ―We can have the driver drop me by my house on the way to your place.‖ ―No. You drive. If the air doesn‘t clear my head, I‘ll sleep it off on your couch.‖ Fitz‘s expression was priceless. He looked both horrified and lit up with longing. ―No way in hell I‘m driving your precious girl-slash-car. That‘s gotta be the worst idea I ever heard. What if I get into an accident?‖ ―I trust you. Adelaide may have clipped your wings, but the DMV didn‘t. You have your license with you?‖ Fitz nodded. ―In my coat pocket.‖ Ari gestured for Fitz to catch his keys and waited until Fitz was ready before tossing them. ―Here.‖ Fitz missed the catch, and Ari‘s keys slid under a compact pickup truck parked just adjacent. While Ari entertained serious second thoughts, Fitz dove between the two vehicles and scooted far enough under to retrieve them Fitz got back to his feet, holding them up. ―See? You are out of your mind.‖

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―Maybe.‖ Ari opened the passenger door after Fitz unlocked it remotely. ―But I‘m not Adelaide. And I don‘t plan to become her anytime soon, so you probably won‘t end up at the bottom of a pool.‖ ―You know what happened, then?‖ Fitz got into the driver‘s seat but sat, keys in hand, without closing the door. ―I told you I read the police report, plus I know your mother.‖ Ari pitched his voice higher. ―No, Fitz, there, turn there. Left, no, right. No…that way. Slow down. Watch that car. Don‘t get too close. Now, turn now…‖ Fitz covered his ears. ―You sound exactly like her. You can stop anytime.‖ ―She used to do that to my father too. At least once a day, he told her to shut up or he‘d make her walk. You fell asleep as soon as the car started back then, or you‘d remember.‖ ―She always drugged me with Dramamine on the off chance I‘d get carsick.‖ Ari turned to him. ―No.‖ ―Yeah.‖ ―Jeez. You know what, though? I liked her in spite of all that.‖ ―She should be barred forever from teaching anyone to drive, but believe it or not, I like her too.‖ ―That doesn‘t make it easier, I‘ll bet,‖ Ari said quietly. ―Fire her up, Fitz. I have faith in you.‖ Fitz stared at the keys in his hand. ―What are you waiting for?‖ Ari asked. Fitz pressed his foot to the clutch pedal as he shifted the Boxster into reverse. He turned to see behind him, bracing himself with his hand on Ari‘s seat. Ari had his head tilted back and his eyes closed. The long column of his throat was exposed, perfectly vulnerable, and Fitz thought he‘d never seen a more beautiful man. A man who had faith in him. Easy to see where his childhood hero worship had come from. He navigated the parking garage, following the signs, turning and driving down one ramp and then negotiating the next, until they reached the parking kiosk. Ari handed Fitz money, and he paid the fee. After that he turned right out of the garage and poked his way along the street, gaining more confidence as he got used to Ari‘s car. He‘d learned on both an automatic and a manual transmission, but he‘d always thought the manuals were more fun to drive. Even more fun because Ari gave no instruction. In fact he said nothing at all. He simply leaned forward in the passenger seat, relaxed and happy while he played with the radio. Fitz waited at a red light while Ari made his way from R&B to jazz to hip-hop, finally lighting on a radio station that Fitz knew played hits from the nineties. It only surprised Fitz for a minute when Ari started singing along. Fitz shifted back


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into first and took off when the light turned green, focusing all his concentration on the road, determined to live up to Ari‘s faith in him. Traffic was already backing up and cars blocked intersections between lights, even though it was only three in the afternoon or so. The downtown streets were gridlocked as usual, but Fitz was patient and prudent. Once Fitz reached the winding but relatively uncrowded streets that led to his house, he glanced over at Ari and happiness washed over him. He wished he could keep hold of the feeling— could put his hands around the emotion and capture how he felt. Maybe put it in a jar and save it for some time when things didn‘t go his way, because this was it: Fitz‘s perfect moment. Ari draped his arm over the seat behind Fitz‘s shoulders and sang along to the radio. Once, Ari‘s voice had been called pure and sweet by music critics, who lauded his work with N0mad, giving him high praise for his perfect pitch and ability to create memorable harmony. Maturity—and now drunkenness—brought sex appeal to the party, and with the top down on an unseasonably warm day, there were few people on the street who couldn‘t hear it. Ari seemed completely oblivious to the attention he was attracting. He drummed, shifted, bounced, and waved his hands in time to the music. Every time Fitz caught a glimpse of him, his whole body was thoroughly, musically engaged, and it made Fitz smile. What did Ari want with him? Fitz sneaked a glance at Ari‘s profile again as he sang along to a particularly sad, bluesy tune by some indie rock band. Only one word came to mind. Whatever it was that Ari wanted, Fitz wished he could say it. Yes. Fitz sat frozen in the driver‘s seat of Ari‘s Porsche and Ari, well…he‘d shut up finally because Fitz turned the radio off. Fitz waited for his heart to stop pounding, When he looked at Ari, he saw that Ari was looking back at him. ―We made it,‖ Fitz said stupidly. He sat there without taking the keys from the ignition. ―See?‖ Ari gave Fitz a silly grin. ―I knew you could do it. People always underestimate you.‖ Hey. ―Do they?‖ ―No. Not like…‖ Ari froze. ―I didn‘t mean it that way. I just mean Adelaide always…‖ Fitz shrugged. ―Don‘t bother. I know what she sees when she looks at me.‖ ―I‘m sorry, Fitz.‖ Ari‘s eyes held more regret than was necessary under the circumstances. Suddenly Fitz didn‘t want to be the object of Ari‘s pity anymore. ―I‘ll tell you a secret, if you swear you‘ll never tell anyone. Not even your father.‖

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―Okay.‖ ―Adelaide treats me like that because I never give her a reason to treat me any other way. Any rare moment of visible maturity on my part would ruin my lifestyle completely.‖ Ari‘s eyes widened. ―You sneaky bastard.‖ ―I‘d only end up at Juilliard or someplace like it, living in a hundred square foot room with some orchestra-geek overachiever and a mountain of homework. As it is, I have the run of Adelaide‘s place, Marguerite, and a healthy allowance. I‘m not saying I‘m worldly or anything, or even that smart. I just like things the way they are, so I don‘t rock the boat.‖ ―Ah, Fitz.‖ Ari let his head fall back against the seat. ―You have always been one of my favorite people on Earth.‖ Fitz‘s face heated. ―That‘s just the tequila talking.‖ ―It‘s true though. In vino veritas. Why do you think I‘m here? I go to the concerts. I come when you call. I put up with your obnoxious poseur friend.‖ Fitz was stung. ―Leave Garrett out of this.‖ ―At least you‘re not still seeing him.‖ Fitz frowned. ―Er—‖ Ari stiffened. ―Fitz, you aren‘t still hanging around with Garrett, are you?‖ ―Garrett apologized to me. Tell me you didn‘t egg him on, trying to make him look like a jerk.‖ ―That‘s true. It wasn‘t that hard.‖ Ari held his hand out for his keys, and Fitz handed them over without thinking. ―I wasn‘t as nice as I could have been, but—‖ ―He said he was sorry, and I‘m not going to stop being his friend because he made a mistake.‖ ―But how many times—‖ ―Let‘s not talk about Garrett, okay? He‘s my friend.‖ Ari‘s jaw tightened. ―And he didn‘t do anything to you,‖ Fitz reminded him. ―All right.‖ Ari nodded to the kitchen door. ―In you go then.‖ ―What do you mean?‖ Ari jerked his head at the house. ―I mean, I might not be as impaired as I seemed. I paced myself during lunch. I never drink as much as those guys do, although it might seem like it. And for the record, I don‘t let alcohol do my talking for me.‖ ―Then you mean—‖ ―I might be guilty of a little harmless subterfuge myself, every now and again. Get inside, Fitz. I‘m sure you have work to do, and I can still go back to the office and prepare for the next case Dad‘s got me working on. I‘ll probably have to work over the weekend to get everything done.‖


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Comprehension dawned. ―What were you thinking? You weren‘t even drunk, and you still let me drive your—‖ ―You did fine. No need to blow it all out of proportion.‖ Fitz got out of the car and shut the door as Ari vaulted lightly from the passenger seat to the driver‘s side. ―Are you sure you can drive? I swear, if you get into an accident after that lunch of yours…‖ ―I‘m sure. I‘d never take a chance with other people‘s lives.‖ ―Or your own I hope.‖ Fitz stared down at Ari with an unfamiliar feeling— something like wonder—bubbling up inside of him. ―But then…why?‖ Ari‘s golden lashes lowered fractionally. ―I told you. I have faith in you.‖ With that he started the Porsche‘s loud engine and backed down the driveway. Fitz‘s heart thudded almost painfully in his chest as he watched Ari drive away.

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Chapter Seventeen Fitz entered the kitchen that evening to find Julian balanced on Marguerite‘s step stool, cutting a bulb of garlic off the braid she‘d hung. Fitz called out, ―Hey there.‖ ―You look like you did when we met.‖ Fitz realized that even though he‘d changed out of his leather pants and put on jeans and a soft hoodie, he still wore the nail polish and eyeliner unless he‘d smudged it off. ―I went to see Ari today.‖ Fitz nodded to Serge, who was reading some fat leather-bound book from Adelaide‘s fat leather-bound classics collection. ―I always thought those must be blank. That they were in Adelaide‘s study for looks, since I‘m pretty sure she‘s never read them. Can you confirm they have actual words in them?‖ ―This one does.‖ Serge put it down and Fitz saw that it was Moby Dick. ―I read this as a boy. It‘s still too long.‖ ―You should try the skinny leather-bound classics collection then. That one has Kafka‘s Metamorphosis and Fitzgerald‘s Gatsby. Hemingway‘s A Farewell to Arms.‖ ―That‘s awful. What would we do without arms?‖ Julian came down and broke the garlic bulb open in his hands. ―This is so fresh. I wonder where she gets such fresh garlic.‖ ―Speaking of Marguerite, you didn‘t…do anything to her, did you? She seems to be a little on edge, and she hurt herself yesterday.‖ Julian got Adelaide‘s bright red Dutch oven out of the cupboard. He had a number of things on the counter: chicken pieces, dried herbs, lemons, and white wine, all items from the long list he‘d given Marguerite to bring from the grocery store. ―I had nothing to do with that, although I am enjoying the way the light bounces off all the mirrors in the upstairs hallway. It was awfully dark up there.‖ Fitz got himself a soda from the refrigerator. ―She said she fell from the stepladder and landed on the box with the mirrors, but she was quiet about what led up to her newly acquired penchant for DIY.‖ ―She might be sensitive to us,‖ Serge offered. ―Some people are.‖ ―Some people think they can hear the stars burn.‖ Julian used the flat of Adelaide‘s big chef‘s knife to crush the cloves of garlic, before chopping them finely.


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―She‘s not going to be here for a week or so while her hand heals, but I need to know that when she comes back, she‘ll be safe.‖ ―We were very careful to avoid her,‖ said Julian. ―We‘ll look out for her in the future,‖ Serge promised. ―What are you making?‖ Fitz tried to tell himself that he wasn‘t interested only because he‘d found that cooking made such an excellent excuse to invite Ari over. ―Chicken and rice. Can you do the onions like I taught you?‖ ―Sure.‖ While Julian browned the chicken, Fitz got another knife and cut his onion in half. He then sliced it into little crescentlike slivers. They worked companionably, although silently, while Serge read. Fitz watched Julian carefully, determined not to waste a minute of his ongoing private school for the culinary arts. After Julian achieved a nice golden color on the chicken, he removed the chicken pieces, scooped up the garlic and chopped onion, and added them. It hadn‘t taken long at all for delicious smells to start permeating the air. Minutes later the pot sizzled with the addition of wine and herbs for deglazing, and the chicken went back in to cook slowly with stock and some rice. That seemed fairly simple and straightforward compared to the cassoulet, with its rich ingredients and famously shaped vessel. Chicken and rice was something he could do anytime, and it didn‘t require a forklift to get it into the oven either. Fitz was emotionally attached to Julian‘s damned pot now, though. He‘d placed the cassole, once they‘d cleaned it, on the breakfast table to hold fruit, and the more he lived with it, the more he‘d grown to love its sturdy simplicity and its timeless, raw beauty. While dinner cooked, Fitz meandered up to his room. Once there, he glanced around. The space felt different, somehow; it seemed scaled down. Tighter. When had this room he occupied in Adelaide‘s house grown so small? Seeing it with new eyes made him recall his childhood in a different light as well. Fitz‘s memories of childhood were disjointed. Many of them featured long, sterile days spent pretending, and the thing he‘d pretended the most was that he was content. He‘d aped the adults around him, done what they‘d asked of him, and watched the small hand on the clock go around and around, sixty times each hour, one thousand four hundred and forty times each day, day in, day out. When he played the piano, he‘d escaped, breaking up those monotonous minutes, multiplying the ticking of an ordinary clock by the number of beats per minute he‘d programmed into his metronome and letting the music inside his heart flow out of his fingertips. He‘d experienced long flights of fancy—even joy—while he played, but music came with exacting teachers and hours of practice, recitals, and rigid expectation. The times when he was genuinely happy—really, really happy— were few.

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In retrospect any bright splashes of color in his life, especially when he was young, had been Ari‘s doing. Fitz dug around in his closet, behind plastic boxes and containers of old clothes, and found a large shoebox with maybe a hundred brightly colored postcards in it. They were from major cities all over the world, in Europe, Asia, Australia, and both Americas. Some were faded, but some held the original color. They had fantastic stamps and postmarks and represented the three or four years during which N0mad had toured internationally. They‘d often been accompanied by small gifts, wrapped by Ari‘s personal assistant in brown paper and then covered with plastic packing tape, but always addressed in Ari‘s painstaking printed hand. The gifts had usually been things Ari was drawn to, or things he thought Fitz would like specifically. Mostly they were interesting toys, working mechanical cars or windups. Ari had sent him nesting dolls from Russia, authentic Argentine bolas, bobby whistles, and a die-cast London cab. And the kaleidoscope, which still held pride of place on his bookshelf. It was wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, about thirteen inches in length, with flat, round disks at the end that turned smoothly, rotating the mirrors and shifting the bits of glass inside for an endless, wondrous show of color and pattern. Fitz went to the shelf and picked up the kaleidoscope. He held it to his eye, listening for the familiar clacking rain stick sound as he turned the dial. A tide of some warm emotion washed over him—exactly as it had when he‘d first received the piece. Ari had always been out there somewhere, and he‘d cared enough to send these things to the boy he had to know idolized him. He‘d been patient. He‘d had faith. And when the chips were down, when Fitz didn‘t have much to look forward to, even when it seemed he had nothing, he‘d always had the next day‘s mail delivery. At the time, he‘d believed Ari was exercising his largesse, showing off, using his kid brother as an excuse to buy trinkets to impress his father. He‘d even thought Benjamin Scheffield put him up to it because he‘d known even then they felt a little sorry for him. But now that he‘d gotten to know Ari a little better without the twin chasms of childhood and pecking order between them, he wondered if Ari hadn‘t simply understood him back then—whether he might have somehow guessed that a quiet, private show of brilliant patterns of color and light would be exactly what Fitz needed. Fitz picked a random postcard from the stack. Dear Fitz, It’s raining frogs here in Tokyo. We’re headed for Singapore next. You would not believe how crowded it is. Everywhere you go, anywhere you look, there are a million people. Vast seas of humanity and no one I recognize. No one I can talk to except the guys and the crew, although I’m trying to pick up some Japanese. I can’t see the sky here, but don’t worry. I know it’s there over both of us. Look up if you get a chance,


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Ari Fitz lay on his back in bed and looked through his kaleidoscope. Maybe he held Ari‘s postcard next to his chest with a certain nostalgic fondness, but certainly he hadn‘t pressed it to his heart. Was it sentimentality or foolishness that made Ari‘s friendship seem like a lifeline—even now? When his phone rang, Fitz‘s heart jumped just a little. For a fraction of a second, he entertained the fantasy that it might be Ari. But why? Garrett was his boyfriend. Right? Garrett. ―Hello?‖ Garrett‘s voice was accompanied by a thousand other sounds—loud music, glasses rattling, maybe even video games. ―Fitz. Baby, this place is so boring. Can you come?‖ ―It‘s late, and there‘s school tomorrow.‖ ―But it‘s not like we need to stay awake in class. Come on, we‘re only going to be young once. Do you still have your ID?‖ ―Yeah.‖ He hadn‘t exactly lied to Ari about that. He‘d lost it but gotten it back, along with a pretty tough-love sort of glare from Julian and the admonition that it fooled no one. ―Will you come? I want you here.‖ ―I guess I can come after I eat dinner.‖ ―Dinner?‖ ―It‘s already cooking. You want to join me? It‘s chicken and rice, and it smells—‖ ―Dude, I‘m hammered. You‘ll have to meet me here ‘cause I can‘t drive. We might have to take a cab back to your place after. Is that okay?‖ Fitz swallowed. He knew what that would mean. No untimely interruptions from Ari, no accidents that required immediate attention and a break in the action. Unless the entire world conspired against him tonight, nothing would stand in the way of what Fitz knew Garrett wanted from him. Is that what I want? It wasn‘t difficult for him to remember how Garrett‘s clever fingers felt wrapped around his cock. ―Sure.‖ Hell yeah.

*** After he‘d eaten his dinner under the watchful eye of his two spectral houseguests—he imagined telling Garrett about Julian and Serge but realized how crazy it would seem—Fitz put his napkin down and picked up his plate. Serge was already rolling up his sleeves to start the dishes. Fitz admired the easy way Julian

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and Serge divided up chores. Serge read while Julian cooked, and now while Serge cleaned up, Julian poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table with a sigh. Their easy familiarity touched Fitz—deep below the mildly discontent, teenage face he showed the world—where he held onto wild dreams and deepest longings. It felt like family, which he had long since acknowledged that he‘d never had, and the kind of loving relationship he worried he‘d never be able to find. Julian and Serge had been quiet, especially after he‘d informed them that he would be going out to meet Garrett at another dance club. They worried about him, and it touched him, made him smile when they weren‘t looking. Somehow he‘d acquired ghostly gay surrogate parents, and they fussed over him. Julian‘s entire body tightened with disapproval. ―Are you sure this is wise? The last time you went out with the boy, he left you in a rubbish bin.‖ ―He didn‘t do that. The bouncers threw me in there. Garrett said—‖ ―We know what he told you,‖ Julian said shortly. ―We also noticed he didn‘t rush around looking for you.‖ Fitz flushed. ―You don‘t know that.‖ Fitz put his plate on the sink and turned to leave. Serge laid a restraining hand on Fitz‘s arm. ―Julian is only concerned for you.‖ He slid a few dishes into a sink full of soapy water and then handed Fitz a towel. ―I know that. And I‘m grateful, really. But I‘ve been on my own since Adelaide left. Now I‘ve got you and Julian, and Ari is back in my life. It‘s a little weird.‖ Serge scraped the leftovers into a bowl and started on the dishes. No matter how much food Julian made, Fitz was the only one to eat it. He‘d be eating chicken and rice for breakfast and lunch, except Julian would probably cook for those meals too. At the rate they were going, he was going to have a bulging refrigerator and an ass to match. ―It‘s not our intention to tell you what to do.‖ Serge handed over a clean, rinsed plate, and Fitz dutifully dried it. ―What is your intention?‖ Fitz asked. Really he should have been more insistent when he asked before. Did ghosts show up for a reason, like in the movies? Or did they just hang around for free room and board? Would they stay after he moved on to university, or would they follow him, like the hitchhiking ghosts at Disneyland‘s Haunted Mansion ride? ―I intend to finish these dishes and then go read the rest of my book.‖ Serge‘s usual caginess wasn‘t going to deter Fitz this time. ―Come on. You didn‘t just drop into my life because Julian wanted my jacket. If that was the case, you‘d be long gone, right?‖ When Serge said nothing, Fitz looked over at Julian, who shrugged. ―This is a pretty nice place.‖ ―There are a million nice places.‖ Fitz couldn‘t help the feeling that their presence had something to do with him specifically. ―Do you know something I don‘t know?‖


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―Doubtless there are a lot of things we know that you don‘t.‖ Serge handed over a platter and a couple of serving utensils. ―I should hope so anyway.‖ Fitz took them but forged ahead anyway. ―Don‘t fob me off with a nonanswer. I heard you talking about me.‖ Serge stopped what he was doing. ―What?‖ ―That first night, when you thought I was asleep, Julian said you went to the pub for me. And you said my head was full of beautiful music.‖ Julian slid his chair back. ―See? He‘s a cheeky one. I said that then too.‖ ―Yes, you did.‖ Serge resumed his work on the dishes. ―To be entirely truthful, I don‘t know why we‘re here. Something about you calls to me.‖ ―I‘m not something shiny that you picked up off the street.‖ ―But if the shoe fits.‖ Julian snorted. ―Fitz. Makes me laugh every time.‖ Serge smiled and dunked another plate. Fitz was about to question them further when he noticed the tattoo on Serge‘s arm as it flexed and twisted beneath the surface of the water. Without thinking, he reached down and wiped a cloud of soap bubbles free. Serge‘s smooth golden skin bore a series of numbers tattooed in ugly black ink. Bile rose in Fitz‘s throat. He knew exactly what that meant. ―Serge. I saw these before. Do they mean what I think? Were you in a concentration camp?‖ Serge brushed his hand away. ―That was a long time ago.‖ Fitz turned to Julian, who rose from his chair and crossed the kitchen. ―Julian? Did you—‖ Julian lifted his sleeve and showed that his arm was bare, unmarked and pale against Serge‘s darker one. Serge took his hand, and they laced their fingers together. Fitz felt sicker still. That told its own story, as nothing else could. Fitz finally found his voice. ―What happened?‖ Serge shook his head. ―It hardly matters now.‖ ―I want to know. Tell me.‖ Julian eyed Serge, who nodded. ―I told you I met Serge in Germany in 1924. We had to leave Berlin in 1933. We fled to Austria, but then in March of 1938, the Germans occupied that as well. Then we fled to France. I wanted to go to America, but Serge was worried for his mother and returned with her to France. We should have seen the writing on the wall. He should have come with me at least as far as England, but his mother wouldn‘t leave her family home…‖ ―Oh jeez.‖ Fitz felt a chill of foreboding all over his body. ―The Germans occupied France in 1940. Serge was circumspect. But I was flamboyant and…I was proud. I was angry at him for being so obstinate. At the time, I saw his determination to remain with his mother as a betrayal of me. I was so selfish.‖

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Serge gave Julian‘s hand a squeeze. ―It was a very difficult time for us all, mon coeur.‖ ―I left for England alone in the spring of 1942. I believed he would follow.‖ ―Julian sent me furious letters. Big, bold, handwritten accusations of infidelity and lack of gentlemanly virtue.‖ Julian hid his face in his hands. ―I‘m still so ashamed. I gave them to friends to carry, and he wrote back private notes or occasional postcards couched in the most innocuous language should they be intercepted. But then…they stopped coming in the fall. I got word that Serge‘s entire family had been arrested and deported. I was appalled. I was safe, but my lover would suffer such indignities—what I didn‘t know would be atrocities.‖ ―I‘m so sorry.‖ Tears burned Fitz‘s eyes, and he let them fall. ―The main thing is Serge and I are still together, and we always will be. Nothing can come between us again.‖ ―But—‖ ―This is old news. And you have a date with Garrett.‖ Serge let Julian pull him into an embrace. ―You should get ready.‖ ―Should I go?‖ Fitz whispered, suddenly afraid, as though their tragedy could somehow touch him now that he knew of it. ―Do you want to?‖ Julian asked. ―I promised.‖ Julian took Fitz‘s towel from him. ―Take off. We‘ll be here when you get back. Mind, if he does anything stupid again, phone Ari or—‖ ―The police,‖ Serge interrupted. ―If something happens, don‘t be afraid to call for help.‖


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Chapter Eighteen Fitz stepped out of the cab on Sunset Boulevard and into another universe. The line to get into the club snaked down the block, and people in it looked disgruntled, as if they‘d been waiting a long time. But almost as soon as Fitz rose to his full height, Garrett appeared behind him and hauled him into a hug, hustling him into the club at the front of the line with a nod to the doorman. ―Let‘s get you something to drink,‖ Garrett shouted over the impossible noise of the place. He shoved his way through the crowd easily, and Fitz slipped through in his wake like a drafting cyclist. ―What do you want?‖ ―Just soda.‖ Fitz looked around. Bodies writhed on the dance floor, and huge video screens throbbed with color and abstract shapes. He wished he‘d brought earplugs. How uncool was that? ―I thought this place would be bigger.‖ ―There‘s more upstairs. It‘s a zoo on the weekends. This isn‘t so bad tonight.‖ While Fitz waited for his drink, someone groped him from behind. He looked back but there didn‘t appear to be anyone there—or rather, there were so many people he couldn‘t tell who had groped him. Great. Fitz shouted, ―What do you do in a place like this?‖ Garrett shrugged and shot him a smile. ―Hang, mostly. Meet people. Party.‖ Fitz nodded. ―Do you want to dance?‖ ―Maybe later.‖ Garrett scanned the room. ―I need to find someone first. I told her I‘d meet her, and she should be here soon.‖ ―Yeah? Someone from school?‖ ―Nah, someone I used to work with.‖ Fitz tried not to do that standing-around-head-bobbing thing. He wasn‘t entirely comfortable in clubs, and since their last experience had been so disastrous, he felt even more out of his depth. ―You look nervous. Don‘t be, okay? It‘s just a club.‖ A dark-haired girl in big D&G sunglasses staggered into Fitz, spilling his soda. She barked an embarrassed laugh and apologized. He moved so she could get to the bar. ―I‘m not nervous.‖ Fitz brushed droplets of his drink off his jeans. ―Look…‖ Garrett turned Fitz so they were face-to-face, wedged close by the crowd. He spoke directly in Fitz‘s ear. ―I know you said you didn‘t like E, but I have some and it would help you relax.‖

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Fitz nearly shouted. ―No. I don‘t do that shit.‖ ―I won‘t let anything happen to you this time. That last time was a big fucking mess.‖ ―I know that. It‘s just not my thing. I hated the way it made me feel, and I don‘t want to go there again.‖ ―At least let me get you a beer.‖ Garrett kneaded muscle at the top of Fitz‘s shoulder, and it felt so good. ―You need to relax.‖ ―It‘s okay. Just keep that up and I‘ll be fine.‖ Fitz turned his back, and Garrett obliged by pulling him in and gripping both shoulders in his hands. Fitz leaned back into Garrett‘s touch, soaking up the physical contact. ―That feels so good.‖ Garrett‘s voice in his ear was throaty and teasing. ―C‘mon. It‘s time for Babyfitz to loosen up.‖ When Garrett nuzzled the back of Fitz‘s neck, Fitz forgot that he was in the middle of a club, that the rave-y techno dance mix wasn‘t really his thing, that it was so loud he could feel the beat inside his heart. He melted under the tickly-good sensation of a moist tongue on his skin. The hair on his arms stood up, and his cock nudged against his zipper. ―Aw fuck it. She can wait. Dance with me.‖ Garrett didn‘t wait for an answer. He walked Fitz before him like a marionette, through the crowds and out onto the dance floor. Caught in the crush of the immense crowd, Fitz stood nonplussed, trying to get his bearings. People ground against one another all around him. There was nothing for it but to join them. Several of the men had their shirts off, and they gyrated around him, dripping with sweat. To his surprise, Fitz found the pungent smells— cologne and alcohol and man—interesting at first and then enticing. As he began to sway with the music, Garrett gave him a thumbs-up and a jerk of his chin, a you-go smile that warmed him and settled his nerves. Fitz didn‘t know how to dance that way at all. But Garrett made it easy, grabbing Fitz‘s hands and lifting them high, pulling him in, pushing him back away, grinding on him until he was short of breath and light-headed. After a while, he got into it, made a few uncertain moves on his own, and was rewarded by attention from a couple of other guys who danced by. Soon he and Garrett were flowing together easily, just as he‘d done with Ari. It was possible that Ari and Garrett were right. He could do this. Fitz‘s ass, encased as it was in tight jeans and normally not exactly one of his more wildly moving parts, was creating a scene. And fuck, he was hard. Garrett was teasing him, swooping in and touching, grinding and rubbing him in exactly the right places. He wasn‘t hiding it well either. And after a couple of songs, it didn‘t matter. It was heady. Dirty. More than one person grabbed for him, and he let himself drift in the sea of skin and bones, of


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hands and cocks and lips that sometimes smiled and sometimes pressed against his skin, licking his sweat like they were tasting him. Garrett grabbed him by the hand and dragged him off the dance floor. They went through the back, past the kitchen, and out through a long tunnel. Fitz thought they were heading to the bathrooms, but Garrett kept going and turned into a dark hallway, beyond pay phones and the service entrance, out onto a loading dock in back, behind the trash bins and under the fire escape from the upstairs floors. There were already several men there, in pairs, giving and getting blowjobs. Garrett pressed him up against the rough brick wall. ―Where—‖ ―Babyfitz. You are so hot. Let me just…‖ He opened Fitz‘s zipper with a practiced movement and tugged Fitz‘s cock out of his jock. All Fitz could do was grip the rough surface behind him and stand there, stunned. He tried to drag in a lungful of air. His jaw dropped open and his eyes rolled back in his head as a tidal wave of sensation washed over him. Garrett was a fucking revelation. His hand flew over Fitz‘s dick, wringing his very last thought from him. It was practiced and quick, but it was damned good. Fitz wasn‘t going to split hairs when a man was jacking him off. He closed his eyes. ―Ah fuck, Garrett.‖ Garrett could make him come just like that, on his feet, nearly fully clothed. ―Come for me, Fitz,‖ Garrett whispered next to his ear. ―Just go off for me— like a bomb, baby.‖ Garrett‘s words made Fitz catch fire like a stray spark hitting a ball of dryer lint. Any control he had over his body snapped. His hips jerked, and his head dropped back against the wall. Release was a foregone conclusion that flooded him with pleasure, a liquid heat that oozed beneath his skin—just as thick and sticky as the cum that pulsed into Garrett‘s hand. ―Ah…yeah.‖ Garrett pulled him into his arms. ―Just exactly like that.‖ Fitz let Garrett rock him. He reached for Garrett‘s jeans and started to undo the button and zipper—not as easily as Garrett had, but he was getting the job done. Garrett raised his hand to his lips and licked Fitz‘s cum off his fingers, one at a time, holding Fitz‘s gaze, mesmerizing him. Then finally, when Fitz couldn‘t believe how long it had been since he‘d taken a breath—when he was light-headed from lack of oxygen—Garrett kissed him, sharing the intimacy of his own flavor on his tongue. Fitz clung to Garrett, holding on to his shoulders, boneless and pliant, until he realized Garrett was gently pushing him down. Fitz blinked. ―You want…‖ He couldn‘t say it out loud, but he reached into his back pocket and fumbled for his wallet.

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Garrett stopped Fitz when he retrieved a condom. He blocked Fitz‘s hands when he held it up, accidentally knocking Fitz‘s wallet to the ground. It opened, and several receipts and cards flew out. They both bent to pick up the mess at the same time, and they bumped heads. The sound was loud enough that Fitz was sure others heard it. He grabbed his forehead. ―Ow,‖ Fitz complained. ―Oh jeez.‖ Garrett rubbed his forehead but gallantly picked Fitz‘s wallet up and put his cards back. ―Thanks.‖ Garrett gave it back to him, laughing. ―All that pain and trouble to get a rubber? For a blowjob?‖ Heat suffused Fitz‘s face. ―I have to. I couldn‘t without—‖ ―Okay by me. It‘s your taste buds. I despise latex.‖ Fitz lifted his shoulders. Garrett took pity on him and slipped the condom over his thick, red cock. ―If you weren‘t so hot, that would have been a mood killer, Babyfitz.‖ ―Don‘t call me that.‖ Fitz glanced around. No one paid them any attention. Between the sucking sounds and the grunts and groans of men getting off, there wasn‘t really much to pay attention to. Fitz traded places with Garrett and started down onto his knees. ―Wait.‖ Garrett kissed him, and again the flavor of his cum mingled on their tongues. ―This is your first time, huh?‖ Fitz thought about lying—but no way. He‘d give himself away from the first lick, and that would be worse than admitting it. ―Yeah.‖ ―Anything you do is good, yeah? No teeth,‖ Garrett said softly. ―All I have to do is watch my cock disappear into your sweet mouth, and I‘ll be good to go. I won‘t even last long enough for you to get any practice.‖ ―I‘ll try practicing over time, then,‖ Fitz answered. Garrett‘s fiery kiss— coupled with the way he held Fitz‘s head between his strong hands—took Fitz‘s breath away. ―Go, baby.‖ Garrett pushed him down. The closer he got to the ground, the fouler the place smelled. It reminded him of being in the Dumpster, rotting food and urine, but then Garrett pushed Fitz‘s face into his groin and there was nothing but the enticing smell of sweat and man, a hint of which he‘d been getting on the dance floor, but concentrated by a thousand times, essential and pure. He inhaled, taking it deep, deep into his lungs. Gravel bit into his knees. Without even thinking about it at all, Fitz dipped below Garrett‘s latex-covered cock and mouthed his balls, his open mouth hot and wet, tasting…teasing… ―Ah fuck. Fitz.‖


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Fitz stretched the delicate skin of Garret‘s ball sac with his lips, then held the tender skin in his mouth and suckled at it. He pulled off and blew on it, giving Garrett a little shudder. Garrett took his hair in a tight grip, and Fitz found he liked that. He liked the control he had when he pulled Garrett‘s balls into his mouth, one at a time. He could lick and suck them, stretch and snap at them, and all the while Garrett went ape shit, gripping the wall and moaning mindlessly. Fitz could have done it forever, nuzzling into the deep creases of hot skin between Garrett‘s thigh and his pelvis. But Garrett had other plans for him. ―You fucking tease.‖ Garrett‘s voice was hoarse. Fitz lifted his lashes to see if Garrett was really angry, or if he was just in the moment. Garrett‘s head was thrown back, his mouth lax. He looked happy enough. Yeah. In the moment… Nevertheless, Garrett moved impatiently, pulling his balls away and pressing his cock against Fitz‘s mouth. ―Suck me, baby.‖ Fitz pulled back. He gave his upper lip one last swipe of his tongue and then let Garrett press in. ―Uhn.‖ Garrett‘s grunt was garbled, like he was swallowing his tongue. ―Yeah. Just like that. Suck that.‖ Fitz sucked. He let Garrett in, then wrapped a hand around the base of Garrett‘s cock. His eyes burned a little when Garrett went too deep. He tried a few licks around the head and up the veiny bottom, but for the most part Garrett seemed to like hard sucking and as much penetration as Fitz would allow. So he sucked hard and went along for the ride. At some point, drool dripped off his chin. He used his free hand to cup Garrett and fondle him, unable and unwilling to give up the feeling of control inherent in having hold of a man‘s balls. He sneaked a finger past them to a hot, damp strip of smooth skin and stroked it, inching toward Garrett‘s hole. He got lost in the different textures he found, from tight balls to smooth perineum to the wrinkled, puckered skin of Garrett‘s anus, all of which he‘d imagined, peered at in mirrors, touched on himself, but never held in his hand, never had at his fingertips. And shit, Garrett was cursing and gasping for air. All his muscles were bunching, and his legs were trembling hard. Garret‘s hands left Fitz‘s head, and Fitz bobbed on his cock, sucking harder, fully in control at last. When Fitz glanced up again, Garrett had taken a popper bottle from his pocket and held it to his nose. Fitz ignored it, although he wished Garrett wouldn‘t do it. From what he‘d heard, it meant that Garrett was ready to come. He wished he had the stuff to take Garrett there without the need for drugs, but he‘d think about that later. Garrett took a deep breath in and gave a strangled shout, and Fitz felt the cock in his mouth tighten and warm. He gripped Garrett‘s ass with one hand and

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tried to keep Garrett from shoving that cock all the way down his throat with the other. Garrett moaned and put the amyl back in his pocket. He gripped Fitz‘s head again, this time to still him. ―Shit, baby. You‘re a natural.‖ Fitz pulled off Garrett‘s dick and simply held on to it with his hands, not knowing what Garret had in mind, whether he should remove the condom from Garrett‘s cock or…? Garrett peeled the condom off but continued to hold Fitz‘s head against his groin. Fitz smelled his cum and the sweat of his exertions, and he loved it. He pressed his face into Garrett‘s thigh and licked the skin there. Garrett‘s cock give a last nudge against his temple. ―Look at you, Babyfitz,‖ Garrett whispered. ―What a hot little fucker you turned out to be.‖ Fitz smiled and nipped at his leg again, conscious of the fact that he might now have cum in his hair. Because yeah, okay. Even that was hot. Garrett finally pulled Fitz to his feet. He dusted the dirt off his knees. Garrett‘s smile was wide and happy, and Fitz felt like the hottest guy in the world. He followed Garrett back into the club, wondering if it could ever get any better than that.


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Chapter Nineteen Fitz stood next to Garrett, waiting his turn for the bathroom sink. While he washed his hands, he ignored the men all around him. The image in the mirror didn‘t look any different, except for maybe the smile on his face, which was entirely too smug. Maybe even loopy. He‘d have to keep that look off his face when Julian and Serge could see. He didn‘t want to even think about what Ari would say if he saw it there. Garrett hugged Fitz from behind as he reached for the button on the hand dryer. While he rubbed his hands under the noisy flow of air, Garrett spoke in his ear. ―Happy?‖ Fitz turned his head to beg shamelessly for a kiss. Garrett obliged him for a while, then used his body to herd Fitz from the tiny room. Once they were in the hall, Garrett took Fitz‘s hand and laced their fingers together. Fitz might have been walking on a cushion of air for all he felt his feet. The closer they got to the music, the giddier he felt. ―Dance with me?‖ Garrett shouted over the music. Fitz nodded and allowed himself to be tugged out onto the floor. A couple of the guys who had been eyeing Fitz earlier gave him knowing looks. Fitz blushed and dropped his gaze. Garrett again took his hands, and they danced. Fitz was still weak-kneed from messing around, so he felt like he was flopping a little, less controlled. He didn‘t figure it mattered much, considering how shit-faced half the other dancers were. He concentrated on Garrett, on touching him and making sure he didn‘t forget who‘d just blown him. They were smiling and joking around when someone bumped Garrett hard from behind. ―Dude.‖ Garrett turned, irritated, but his face went from perturbed to radiant in an instant. ―Oh fuck. Baby Cakes. Where‘d you come from?‖ A blonde woman wearing little more than a tank top and a tiny slip of fabric for a skirt grabbed Garrett around the neck and hung there for a minute too long. She leaned in so close to Fitz that he smelled both her perfume and her breath, which could have ignited a fire in wet wood. Garrett threw his arm around Fitz and pulled him into their little circle. ―Fitz, meet Courtney. We went to high school together.‖ Courtney‘s highpitched giggle stripped the protective coating from Fitz‘s nerves when she turned to him. ―Hi, Fitz.‖

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She turned away before Fitz even had a chance to react. Her head swung—like a bobble doll—back to Garrett. ―What have you been doing? I didn‘t know you were here in LA even.‖ ―Yeah. I‘m at Schillburn.‖ Garrett seemed happy to see her. ―I can‘t believe I ran into you. What are you doing here? This place is such a snooze. But then I found you, you big doll.‖ Courtney practically climbed Garrett, and for a minute all three of them were off balance. She took on a petulant tone. ―So slow. I need a little something to make it more fun. You wouldn‘t by any chance…?‖ ―Sure.‖ Garrett pulled her off him. He turned to Fitz and launched his most dimpled, dazzling smile. ―I‘ll be back in a second, Babyfitz. Don‘t start anything good without me.‖ Fitz grinned. ―I‘ll be here.‖ He watched Garrett and his friend head away back to the bathrooms, and while it raised all kinds of red flags, Fitz tamped down his anxiety and made his way to the bar to order himself a cold soda. While he was there, he looked around at the crowd. Mostly they were college age and trendy. The ratio was about two to one, male to female, and while a lot of the men were together, there were plenty of straight hipsters hanging around and a few lesbian couples—at least he thought so. It was hard to tell because girls sometimes put on shows for the straight guys and hooked up with them later. ―Hi,‖ someone shouted at him. Fitz turned to find the dark-haired girl with the sunglasses he‘d seen earlier. ―I haven‘t seen you here before.‖ Fitz spoke equally loudly. ―I haven‘t been here before.‖ ―Do you go to school around here?‖ ―I go to Schillburn.‖ Fitz saw she was drawing a blank. ―The music conservatory.‖ She nodded then, but she didn‘t look any more dialed in. ―Ah.‖ ―It‘s an arts school.‖ ―Like…a high school?‖ Fitz laughed that off. ―No. Not a high school.‖ Something must have attracted her attention from the dance floor because she smiled brightly and waved in that direction, then strode off, calling back, ―M‘kay. Bye.‖ Fitz nursed his soda for a while. He tried calling Garrett on his cell, but it went to voice mail after a few rings. He waited a little longer, until his drink was gone and the ice had melted, and tried again. That time, it went directly to voice mail. He switched to texts, thumbing Where are you? and then hitting Send. A guy that Fitz recognized as one of the men from the dance floor came over. He glanced around, and Fitz thought he might have been looking for Garrett. Fitz lifted his shoulders, as if to say, who knows?


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―Don‘t tell me Fender left a guy like you all by yourself.‖ He nudged another couple aside so he could stand next to Fitz. He held his hand out. ―I‘m Frank.‖ Fitz shook Frank‘s hand and grinned. ―Fitz. I‘m not all by myself. You‘re here. And about seven million of our closest friends, huh?‖ ―You don‘t like it?‖ he shouted over a crowd of men yelling from the dance floor because the DJ fired up a particularly popular song. Fitz cringed and said playfully, ―What‘s not to like?‖ The guy leaned in and yeah, it was official. Men smelled good. Even when they smelled bad it was kind of…good. ―What are you drinking? Want another?‖ ―No, it‘s just soda. I‘m sure Garrett will be back any second. He just had to go and see a friend.‖ The man‘s head bobbed several nods before he spoke. ―Sure. Well. Maybe next time, then. Yeah?‖ Fitz nodded. While the guy hurled himself back out onto the dance floor, Fitz looked around for Garrett‘s distinctive pointy hair. What Ari had referred to as his fauxhawk. There were several men wearing their hair just like it wandering around, but Garrett was nowhere in sight. Fitz frowned. He pushed away from where he‘d been standing next to the bar and headed toward the men‘s room. He felt like an asshole, checking the bathroom like some jealous boyfriend. If he hadn‘t felt out of place—completely out of his element—he wouldn‘t care where Garrett had gone, but as it was, as his anxiety level rose, he realized if he couldn‘t find Garrett, who had ostensibly gone off to give some girl drugs, his absence could mean trouble of an entirely different kind. Garrett wasn‘t there. Fitz made his way around the club. He found out that there was not only a dance floor downstairs but another one upstairs, where there were tables reserved for people who wanted bottle service. There was no sign of Garrett either there or in the upstairs bathrooms. Fitz wandered back down the stairs and out to the smoking patio but found no trace of him. Outside, the line was now long enough to wrap around the block, and he checked out the area directly around and even behind the club where they‘d made out earlier. Several people tried to talk to him, but he mostly ignored them. They seemed to lurch up and say clever things loudly—as if they were doing performance art. Fitz guessed they were just trying to start harmless conversations, but he wasn‘t interested. He was out of his depth, irritated, and scared. Where the hell had Garrett gone? Fitz checked his phone again. No calls. He went back through the entire club, this time quickly, almost desperately, and finally panicked when he came up empty again. Once more he tried Garrett‘s cell phone. When he got no answer, he knew it was time to give up and call for help.

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*** Ari began the lengthy process of lighting his Dominican cigar correctly and ordered an Islay. Charlie Clement, a friend from school who had a great palate and expensive taste, had called at the last minute and invited him to have a drink in a private cigar lounge in Pasadena. Even though Ari had a ton of work to do and Fitz on his mind, he planned to enjoy everything the evening had to offer—including Charlie if he was on the menu. Ari didn‘t plan on pining for Fitz alone. ―How did you know I needed this so badly? This is great.‖ ―We all need a little something now and again.‖ Charlie‘s extra-white smile fairly glowed. He was the best-looking guy in the place, and that was saying something. Ripped, dressed in designer everything, impossibly fine, he had two days‘ growth of beard—just enough to make him look like the undercover narcotics cop he played on a television soap opera. As always, a number of pretty girls hung off him like jewelry. ―Go get me another beer, honey,‖ he told one of them, giving her firm ass a pat. She giggled and clickety-clacked away on stiletto heels that were so thin they were nearly invisible. Ari raised his glass to the unchosen, who glanced after her with envy. He offered a toast to whatever gods forced Charlie to play straight in public. ―Are they making women more beautiful every day, or are you just the luckiest son of a bitch in the world?‖ Charlie‘s smile widened impossibly, but his eyes held Ari‘s for a little too long. Message received. ―I am the luckiest son of a bitch, and these are goddesses, not women.‖ ―They are indeed.‖ The tip of Ari‘s cigar was finally glowing evenly—a neon red moon in their dimly lit corner of the lounge to reward his patience—and he took it between his lips to draw the first few lovely puffs. He was fluent in subterfuge when he had to be, but the way Charlie looked at him made his heart quicken and his blood head south. The server was in the process of putting his whisky down on their table when his phone rang. Charlie frowned. ―Work?‖ Ari looked at the caller ID and spoke to Charlie before taking it. ―Fitz. My…I don‘t know what. Our parents were married when we were kids.‖ ―Stepbrother?‖ Ari shook his head. ―Hey, Fitz. What‘s up?‖ Fitz‘s voice wasn‘t easy to understand, and the background noise was intense. All Ari could make out was, ―Garrett left with…the bathroom…I can‘t find him…hour… I‘m scared, Ari.‖ Ari was on his feet before it even registered how rude that might be. He told Fitz to stay on the line, and then turned to Charlie and apologized. ―Charlie, what


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can I say? I‘m sorry, but somebody left my…Fitz in some bar and I think I should go see that he doesn‘t get into trouble.‖ ―Aw, man.‖ Charlie tilted his head and shrugged. ―Next time, Ari.‖ Ari nodded. ―You bet. Next time it‘s on me. Thanks for inviting me, yeah?‖ Charlie stood and reached for him. Ari went easily into his arms and nipped his neck, just a little, playfully, under the cover of that embrace. ―I wanted that fine ass,‖ Charlie hissed in Ari‘s ear. ―You owe me.‖ ―I‘m looking forward to paying off that debt. You have no idea how much.‖ They broke apart. ―Call you soon.‖ ―Soon, then.‖ Ari headed out. As soon as the doors closed behind him, he put his Bluetooth earpiece in. ―Fitz? Are you still there?‖ ―Yeah.‖ The background noise was still appalling. ―I‘m here.‖ ―Well, step outside so I can hear you, for heaven‘s sake.‖ ―All right. Hang on. I‘ll be out in a sec.‖ Fitz sounded a little more than perturbed. Ari gave the ticket to the valet and waited. Predictably Fitz‘s call dropped while he was making his way through the club. Ari waited patiently. No doubt Fitz would call back. Just as the valet drove up with his car, he heard someone shout his name. He turned to find Charlie, striding from the lounge without his usual entourage. Charlie waved at him. ―Wait up.‖ Ari waited while the valet got out of the car and handed over his keys. ―Did I forget something?‖ ―Yeah, me. I want to go with you.‖ He leaped over the door and into the passenger seat. Charlie wasn‘t a huge star or anything, but Ari understood he might not be looking for publicity that outed him. Ari got into the driver‘s seat and looked around briefly. ―My car only seats two.‖ ―Once we find your kid, I‘ll take a cab back. I‘m too drunk to drive anyway.‖ Ari lowered his voice. ―All right, but in the spirit of full disclosure, I don‘t know where I‘m going yet. It‘s probably a gay club; there could be drugs involved. I‘m out…‖ ―Who says I can‘t help a friend find his lost stepbrother? I‘ll just get my picture taken banging some chick publicly next week and all will be forgotten. I‘m known to be an equal opportunity horndog, or have you forgotten?‖ ―How could I forget?‖ Ari laughed. He put on his seat belt and then sped out onto Colorado Boulevard, heading for the freeway.

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―Fitz‘s call dropped. I‘m waiting for him to get back to me to tell me where the fuck he is. Apparently his boyfriend abandoned him, and now he‘s scared. I don‘t know what he needs me for unless the little prick took his wallet or something.‖ Charlie grinned at him. ―These kids today.‖ Ari sighed. ―I shouldn‘t be judgmental. He‘s probably a perfectly nice kid except this isn‘t the first time he‘s left Fitz in the lurch.‖ ―Nobody‘s good enough for my kid sister. I guess you have the same problem, huh?‖ ―Something like that.‖ Ari didn‘t want to admit his problem might be a bit more complex. His Bluetooth chimed to let him know he had an incoming call. ―Scheffield.‖ ―Ari?‖ Fitz could be heard—at last—although now there were traffic noises in the background. ―Talk to me.‖ ―Garret and I were just—‖ ―Tell me where you are first.‖ Fitz gave him the address and the name of a club Ari knew fairly well. ―Got it. I‘m on my way. What happened?‖ ―I don‘t know. Garrett was here one minute, and then he went off with some girl and never came back.‖ Ari rolled his eyes. ―You called me because he left you in a club? Take a cab home, Fitz. Call me in the morning.‖ ―It‘s not just that. I think he was going to‖—here Fitz‘s voice dropped so Ari could barely hear it—―get high. Or sell something maybe. I don‘t know. What if the police picked him up? What if he got hold of something bad and OD‘d? What if he‘s in trouble and I just go home and—‖ ―Are you certain he would come back if he was all right?‖ Ari asked brutally. ―Are you certain he wouldn‘t just leave you if he got a better offer?‖ ―Fuck. You.‖ Fitz‘s voice cracked. ―Never mind. I‘ll find him my—‖ ―No. Don‘t hang up.‖ Ari tried to sound earnest. ―It‘s better to find him than to worry. I get it. We‘ll look for him. We can ask the staff, and if it comes to that, I have some contacts in the LAPD. If anyone was picked up around there, I can find out.‖ ―Thank you. I love you, man. Really.‖ Ari‘s heart took a brief time-out and then started beating again. Close. But maybe not exactly what he‘d hoped for. ―Me too. Hang on.‖ Ari removed his Bluetooth earpiece and tossed it onto the console. Charlie cranked up the radio and started singing with the Black Eyed Peas.


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Da da dee da da dee ah… He laid his hand over Ari‘s, rubbing his thumb along the palm. ―It‘s a terrific night for a wild goose chase.‖ Ari had to laugh. ―Yes. It is.‖

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Chapter Twenty Fitz nearly groaned aloud. One thing he knew about Ari Scheffield was that if he walked up to the velvet rope of a dance club—whether he knew anyone there or not—the lines and crowds that ordinary mortals face would melt like so much cotton candy in the rain. And the same went for the man who accompanied him. Maybe even more so. Whoever he was, he looked preternaturally tan, like it was a vocation with him, and he appeared even more perfectly dressed than Ari. At least more packaged. He was probably industry, where packaging was an art form and the men and women, the art. Sure enough the doorman knew Ari‘s friend by name, and they shook hands convivially while Fitz shoved his way through the crowd that had gathered to watch them. He heard someone mutter something about daytime television but couldn‘t place Ari‘s friend‘s face. Fitz figured he must be famous for something when a few cell phone flashes went off. He got close enough to hear what they were saying, but Ari still hadn‘t seen him. ―Go right on in, Mr. Clement. Good to see you again, sir.‖ Ari raised an eyebrow and looked around. ―Hope you‘re okay with this. I‘m sorry if you get unwanted attention.‖ ―It‘s fine, Ari; my publicist can spin anything,‖ Clement reassured him. To the doorman he said, ―My friend Ari here is looking for his stepbrother and a friend of theirs who seems to have gone missing. Have you had any trouble tonight?‖ ―Nope, not outside the usual. Dragged a couple of semipassed-out guys from the bathroom a few minutes ago and put them in cabs, and there were some little dance floor altercations. Everyone seems to have moved on or mellowed out.‖ ―Ari.‖ Fitz waved to get their attention. ―Over here.‖ Ari looked relieved to see him. What did he think, that Fitz couldn‘t handle going out in public? Ari waved him over, and he reluctantly entered the huddle. ―People are taking pictures…‖ he murmured. Ari‘s friend clapped him on the back with a meaty hand and drew him closer. ―Welcome to my world, Fritz.‖ Fitz didn‘t bother to correct him. He nudged closer to Ari, who said, ―Here you are. Did you find him?‖ Fitz shook his head.


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―We‘ll figure something out.‖ Ari put his hand on Charlie‘s shoulder. ―Fitz Gaffney, this is my friend Charlie.‖ ―Pleased to meet you.‖ Fitz saw that Charlie could fire up his own version of a winning smile when he needed to. ―Likewise.‖ Charlie stepped into the club and immediately raised his voice to compensate for the noise. ―We should talk to the bouncers and check the private VIP rooms.‖ Fitz frowned. There were private VIP rooms? Given that Garrett might have been up to something illegal, he wouldn‘t exactly be thrilled to have the club‘s immense bouncers looking for him. ―Maybe we should look around again, though, rather than involve—‖ Charlie motioned over one of the beefy staff members. All eyes looked to Fitz. ―Do you have a picture?‖ ―No.‖ The staff member identified himself as Ed and held out his hand. Ari took it, and they shook. Ari turned back to Fitz. ―Might he have gone club hopping without you?‖ Fitz didn‘t know. ―I—‖ Charlie picked up Fitz‘s hand and checked his wrist. He didn‘t have the required wristband to drink. ―Is he as young as you are? That might limit where he‘d go around here. Or does he have a fake ID?‖ Fitz‘s gaze flew to the bouncer. He was suddenly extremely grateful he hadn‘t used his fake ID to get in, but he lied anyway. ―He‘s legal to drink.‖ Ari frowned. ―In that case isn‘t it possible he just went for a drink somewhere else? There are a ton of clubs and bars around here.‖ Charlie put an arm around Fitz‘s shoulder and knuckled his hair. ―We‘ll look for him, kid, but if he‘s a dirtbag, he may have simply gone looking for more seasoned company, if you know what I mean.‖ Ari pulled Fitz from Charlie‘s grip. ―Fitz, take the main floor, I‘ll take the second, and it‘s a long shot, but if someone could check the VIP lounge…?‖ ―That‘s my department.‖ Charlie grinned his fat-cat smile again. The bouncer invited Charlie to follow him, and he collected admirers of both sexes along the way. By the time they reached the stairs, he was practically holding court. Fitz left Ari and Charlie to check their domains and made his way around the crowded club once again. It was entirely possible he and Garrett had been looking for each other and crossed paths several times without connecting. He checked the bathroom again—checked all the usual places—and ended up back at the bar, where he found Ari talking to the bartender.

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―Charlie has Ed calling around to the other local clubs. You‘re lucky he‘s here. He can charm the stars from the sky. If there‘s been trouble tonight, the club staff always knows even if the patrons have no clue.‖ ―What do you mean trouble?‖ ―If anyone was assaulted, if they‘ve had problems with drugs or a fight and had to call the police. Anything like that. They might not be too forthcoming, but they always know.‖ Fitz tapped on the bar impatiently. ―We don‘t know he even left here. Why would he leave? He said he‘d be back in a second and—‖ ―Face it, Fitz. If he was selling drugs and just disappeared, he‘s probably either gone where the action has taken him or he got himself in a jam.‖ Fitz saw the logic of that. ―I guess…‖ ―I‘m going to go deaf in here. While I can still hear you, tell me exactly what you guys did this evening.‖ ―Garrett and I were here together for a while. We danced. Fooled around a little. Then he saw a friend of his from high school, and they went off because she‖— he leaned in and spoke in Ari‘s ear—―wanted something. I don‘t know what, but Garrett said he could hook her up. I assumed he meant E because he told me he had some on him. Anyway they left and he said he‘d be right back, but he never came.‖ ―What do you mean, fooled around a little?‖ Ari asked. ―Were you getting high? If you let him talk you into doing ecstasy again, I swear I will kill you myself and save Adelaide and those stupid, fucking drugs the trouble.‖ ―No, it was nothing like that. We were out back. You know?‖ Fitz tried out a face that conveyed the other type of fooling around. ―And then…‖ Ari looked faintly sick. ―You sat at the bar and waited while your drug-dealing boyfriend took some girl outside? Have I got that right?‖ Fitz expelled a breath. ―Forget I asked. You wouldn‘t understand. I‘m sorry I bothered you. Go back to your celebrity friend and bask in your collective glory.‖ He turned away. ―Stop. Right. There.‖ Ari gripped his shoulder. ―You don‘t get to interrupt my evening and then blow me off.‖ ―You shouldn‘t have said you‘d come if you were just going to ride me. I can call Adelaide for that.‖ ―Then why didn‘t you? Oh yeah. Right. Because she doesn‘t give a fuck.‖ Fitz‘s gut clenched as if Ari had kicked him. He pressed his lips together tightly and turned away so Ari wouldn‘t see if he lost it and started to cry. Ari‘s hand tightened on his shoulder, and Fitz wrenched it painfully from his grasp. He walked as fast as he could—without bowling anyone over—past the bar to the back, heading for the exit. Ari was right behind him, shouting at him, but given the noise level, what he said was mostly drowned out.


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Fitz burst out into the alley and pulled out his phone. He hardly even knew what he was doing when he called the landline at his house. He knew it was stupid. No one was there except Julian and Serge, and with tears stinging his eyes and burning his throat, he probably couldn‘t talk even if they answered. He braced himself against the wall and listened to it ring. Yeah. Adelaide didn‘t give a fuck. Truer words… ―Fitz? Whatever are you doing standing out here by yourself?‖ Julian‘s British accent struck Fitz‘s heart like a crystal bell, and a note of pure relief reverberated throughout his body. The words hadn‘t come from the phone, which was playing Adelaide‘s crisp, precise voice mail message. Fitz walked forward, and when his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw Julian on the other side of the trash containers. He hurried over, glancing back as he went. Ari didn‘t seem to be bearing down on him just yet. ―Julian.‖ ―What‘s all this then?‖ Julian frowned. He grasped Fitz by his chin and asked, ―Are you crying? I must say this makes two rubbish bins too many.‖ Fitz glanced around. All the shadows had couples in them. ―Can we find someplace to talk?‖ Julian started walking. ―Let‘s head for the street. There must be someplace around here where a gentleman can get a nice refreshing cup of tea.‖ ―Hurry. Ari‘s looking for me.‖ Julian peered at him. ―Don‘t you want to see him?‖ ―He‘s really angry.‖ Julian gave a delicate shiver. ―How thrilling.‖ ―I told him Garrett left me sitting—‖ ―Brace yourself, sunshine. Here he comes.‖ ―Can he see you?‖ ―No one can see me but you.‖ Julian stepped back when Ari caught up. ―Fitz, wait. I‘m sorry. That was‖—Ari raked a hand through his hair—―that was so unnecessary. I‘m sorry.‖ ―It was true.‖ ―Of course it‘s not true. Your mother simply isn‘t—‖ Julian motioned toward the street and strode off. Fitz followed him, forcing Ari to keep up. ―My mother shouldn‘t have had children. Even she said as much. It isn‘t her forte.‖ ―That doesn‘t make it all right for her to put you aside like a toy she got bored with.‖ Julian frowned at this.

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Fitz rubbed his face with both hands to cover the pain Ari‘s words caused him. He smoothed his hair back, but as soon as it sifted through his fingers, it immediately fell into his eyes again. ―Maybe you could stop helping me now, Ari.‖ ―Ah shit. Fitz. I didn‘t mean it that way. I‘m angry on your behalf. I wish you‘d had a mom like mine. Even though I only had her for a few years, I‘ll never forget her. I miss her all the time.‖ ―Ari—‖ ―You deserve better. I‘m trying to be your friend.‖ ―I don‘t want to disappoint you anymore.‖ Fitz turned and started walking again. ―And I need to find Garrett.‖ Ari‘s face darkened with contempt. Fitz froze. ―There it is again. All it takes is the mention of his name and it‘s laissez les bad times rouler. Why are you on his case all the time?‖ ―Because he‘s abandoned you. Twice. Hell yes. Call me disappointed. I expect better of your friends, and I‘m worried sick for you that you don‘t.‖ ―I don‘t have that many friends.‖ ―Then at least make them good ones! Choose someone loyal and accountable.‖ ―I‘ll get my magic wand, and you start taking names, all right? Let‘s line up all the people who want to get with me. There‘s Garrett, and that‘s fucking it. I‘m shy, damn it. I don‘t make friends easily. And I don‘t want to lose the one that I‘ve actually got.‖ ―But—‖ ―If he abandoned me, then that‘s fine. Lesson learned. But if he needs help, even if it‘s because he‘s made stupid choices, even if it‘s all his own fault, I still need to find him and help him. That‘s not about him; it‘s about me. That‘s who I need to be. I have to be the kind of friend I want, right? You said it yourself—loyal and accountable.‖ Julian applauded. ―Hear, hear.‖ Ari sighed. ―I‘ll help you look for him,‖ he said finally. ―Not because I give a shit about him, but because you‘re already exactly the kind of man I want for a friend.‖ That stopped Fitz in his tracks. His voice was hoarse. ―Really?‖ ―Of course.‖ Ari rolled his eyes. ―It was ever thus, you bonehead. I‘ve always been your friend.‖ ―Thank you.‖ Fitz covered his emotional response to those words by taking out his phone. His cheeks burned. No messages from Garrett. He got to the sidewalk on Sunset and pushed the button to cross. ―Garrett wasn‘t in the club. I thought I‘d check the parking garage across the street. I think I‘d recognize his car.‖


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―All right. We‘ll go together. Safety in numbers. I don‘t suppose I need to tell you that people occasionally get assaulted around here.‖ ―People get assaulted all over LA.‖ ―Yes. But you‘re vulnerable to hate crimes in and around WeHo.‖ The light turned green, and they stepped off the curb. ―People leave clubs drunk or they‘re fooling around and don‘t pay attention to their surroundings. Easy pickings.‖ ―I guess.‖ Fitz entered the parking garage. ―It‘s going to be a nightmare searching for one little car in this place.‖ Julian said, ―I know what Garrett‘s car looks like. I‘ll have a look around.‖ Fitz didn‘t respond but watched Julian disappear around a corner. ―Speaking of fooling around, I hope you‘re using protection.‖ Fitz turned in shock. ―What?‖ Ari went on. ―That‘s common sense, Fitz. And regular testing. Are you using protection?‖ ―That‘s hardly important right at this minute.‖ ―But you agree to do it? To get tested regularly and always use protection?‖ ―Sure.‖ Fitz started to walk away. ―Yes. Whatever.‖ ―Don‘t whatever me. You told me you were fooling around with Garrett in an alley.‖ ―And I suppose you and Charlie have a bungalow at the Chateau Marmont which is oh so much better.‖ ―I found Garrett.‖ Julian appeared behind Ari. ―Third floor, you‘d better take the lift.‖ ―This way.‖ Fitz took off. Once he got to the elevator, he pushed the call button. ―Wait, what are you doing?‖ Ari followed him. ―Third floor,‖ Fitz said simply before he slipped in and selected their floor. ―How the hell do you know that?‖ ―I‘m psychic,‖ Fitz told him. What did it matter what he told Ari? Ari didn‘t seem to listen anyway. ―Fine. Why do I feel like you and Garrett are playing me again?‖ ―Because you‘re an asshole?‖ Fitz postulated. When the door opened, Fitz was the first out. He looked for Julian, and when he saw him, there was something about his body language that made Fitz hesitate. He realized he might not want to know what Garrett had gotten up to. Given Julian‘s folded arms and stiff posture, he was probably not going to like it. ―Ah jeez.‖ Fitz slowed down. So much for Garrett needing his help. When he got to Garrett‘s car, all he could see was condensation and heads in silhouette. The car was full of people, like clowns in the circus. They were stacked on one another‘s laps, drinking and smoking dope. Garrett, his Baby Cakes, and some guy Fitz didn‘t

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recognize were squeezed into the corner of the backseat facing him. They had a bottle of something they passed between them. As soon as Garrett saw him, the mellow expression on his face faded and a look of surprised recognition took its place. ―Babyfitz.‖ The car‘s windows muffled the sound. People grunted and screamed as he scrambled over them to get out. Eventually the back door opened and he fell out, sweaty and gasping for air at Fitz‘s feet. Fitz just stared at him. ―Did you forget you told me to wait ‗a sec‘ and you‘d be back?‖ ―No, but I know you don‘t smoke and I figured you‘d rather we did it without you and then come back when we—‖ ―How fucking thoughtful of you. Why didn‘t I just stay there and wait then, after that first hour passed? What was I thinking?‖ Garrett seemed unable to process Fitz‘s anger. He turned to Ari. ―Dude. I didn‘t know you were here. As you can see, there‘s not a lot of room, but—‖ ―You total fuckwad.‖ Fitz turned on his heel and walked away. ―Come on, Julian.‖ Garrett and Ari chased after him. Garrett asked, ―Who‘s Julian?‖ Fitz shot back, ―My imaginary friend.‖ Julian bristled. ―I beg your pardon.‖ While Ari and Garrett gaped at him, he looked directly at Julian. ―You don‘t have to stay. I‘ll be home in a bit.‖ ―We could steal Ari‘s car,‖ Julian suggested. ―I saw where the valet parked it.‖ ―As tempting as that sounds, no.‖ Fitz punched the elevator button with his finger. It felt so great he kept on punching it until the car came. ―Fitz—‖ Garrett and Ari started to get in with him. Fitz held his hands up to ward them off. ―Stop right there, both of you. Get your own fucking elevator.‖ ―Well played, my dear,‖ Julian said as the doors began to close. Fitz grinned. ―Thanks. I thought you‘d think so.‖ Ari‘s jaw dropped, and he looked like nothing so much as an angry puppet with the curtains closing over his face. At the last second, he shouted, ―Is now a good time to tell you I told you so?‖


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Chapter Twenty-one Fitz‘s fingers flew. No one has to drop a house on my head to make a point. His body ached from the hours of practice. The days ground away. He thought it must be Sunday afternoon. Julian and Serge nagged him at intervals to feed himself. He made sure to stay hydrated. He‘d slept, probably more than he actually needed to. Garrett had called, rambling about something—that he was in a really tight spot and could use some help—but Fitz turned his phone off, vowing to answer only the landline, and even then only if Adelaide were hit by some sudden maternal urge and phoned him. He hadn‘t answered his door, although several times Garrett stood outside it, pounding with his fist. A neighbor had called the local private security, and that small whiff of law enforcement had been enough to move Garrett along. Julian spoke from where he sat, curled up with Serge on the couch. ―Enough. What the hell is that you‘re playing?‖ ―‗Jardins sous la pluie.‘ One of Debussy‘s etampes.‖ ―Stop, for the love of heaven. You‘re giving me a headache.‖ Serge shifted Julian and kneaded his shoulders. ―Perhaps if you play something more…‖ ―Tuneful?‖ Julian supplied, getting up. ―Something that doesn‘t sound like a thousand ball bearings rolling down a copper pipe?‖ Serge swatted Julian‘s behind. ―You might venture out today, Fitz. Explore some rainy gardens of your own.‖ Fitz had pulled the drapes closed and left them that way, so he had no idea what the weather was like. ―Is it raining?‖ ―Yes, as you no doubt would have heard and seen if you hadn‘t been in here creating your own soggy, maudlin—‖ ―What Julian means is, yes, it‘s raining.‖ Serge gave Julian a hard stare. Fitz considered this for a moment and then continued playing. ―Every young man should go out in the rain and drink coffee. Get pink-cheeked and wet. Meet someone and fall in love. Garrett was a pig, and you are well rid of him, unless you need bacon. What‘s wrong with you already?‖ ―What‘s wrong with me?‖ Fitz closed the lid on the piano so sharply Julian and Serge jumped. ―I‘ll tell you what‘s wrong with me. I‘m an idiot. I trust total losers

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and get burned. I stand in the corner at parties. I‘m stunned when perfectly nice people talk to me, and even if I try to open my mouth, all that comes out is garbage.‖ ―Nonsense.‖ Julian folded his arms. ―You are a perfectly normal young man.‖ Fitz ignored him. Serge came to stand next to the piano. ―You‘re young. You must accept that growth can sometimes be painful—‖ ―It‘s not just that I‘m young. It‘s that I‘m no good at this stuff. Garrett calls me and says come, so I go like a damned donkey, and then when I get there he leaves me and goes off with some girl to get high. Why didn‘t I see that coming? If I‘m supposedly so smart, why didn‘t I—‖ ―Who the hell are you talking to, Flitz?‖ Ari, stood in the doorway to the living room, wet from the top of his head to his leather boat shoes. He came into the room while unwinding a scarf from around his throat. ―And why haven‘t you answered any of my calls?‖ ―How long have you been standing there?‖ ―Long enough. Don‘t tell me I have to add psychotic break to my long list of observations, because when I call Adelaide—and I‘m going to have to call her eventually—‖ Ari broke off. He must have seen something on Fitz‘s face, because instead of continuing, he simply opened his arms. ―Ah hell. Come here, Fitz.‖ Fitz ran to him. They came together so hard it rattled Fitz‘s teeth, but it felt so good he wrapped his arms around Ari‘s waist and buried his face in Ari‘s thick wool coat. Ari pulled him in like he was catching something precious. ―What is it?‖ Fitz shook his head. He didn‘t want to talk. Ari smelled of rain, damp wool, and some sort of cologne that was vaguely citrus scented—green and earthy. Like good things growing and open sky. As dazzling as he was to look at, Ari felt like heaven. Strong. Solid. He cupped the back of Fitz‘s head and held him there, safe, for countless seconds. ―Can‘t you talk to me?‖ Ari whispered. ―Maybe I can help.‖ ―Aw, man.‖ Fitz didn‘t want Ari to see him crying. ―Can I just stay here for a sec?‖ ―Sure.‖ Ari huffed a laugh. It wasn‘t awkward. It should have been awkward, but Fitz discovered Ari‘s arms were exactly what he‘d needed all along, and it couldn‘t be wrong to take the time to savor them, because Ari didn‘t seem to be in any hurry to let him go. Eventually Ari prodded him. ―This has to be about more than Garrett‘s stupidity. Talk to me.‖ ―It‘s okay.‖ Fitz shook his head and backed away. Ari gripped his shoulders, keeping them physically connected but also holding on in some indefinable emotional way that warmed Fitz‘s heart.


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―When I came in, you were shouting at an empty house. That‘s…not okay.‖ ―Sometimes I‘m a drama llama. It‘s nothing.‖ ―Did Garrett hurt you?‖ Fitz looked down. ―No.‖ ―Because if something happened… If Garrett didn‘t take no for an answer or…‖ Fitz raised his gaze to Ari‘s troubled one and shook his head. ―It‘s nothing like that.‖ Ari searched his face as if he could read the truth there. As if Fitz might be hiding something. ―I swear it‘s nothing like that.‖ Ari sighed. ―Garrett played you. I understand that. That must have hurt a lot.‖ Fitz let his shoulders slump. He smelled coffee and wondered if Julian had seen Ari coming and fired up a fresh pot. ―Come on. Let‘s get some coffee.‖ Ari removed his coat. ―That sounds great. I‘m soaked through just from running up the driveway. It‘s really coming down out there.‖ ―Do you want to put the car inside?‖ ―If that‘s all right. The top is up, of course, but—‖ ―But she‘s your girl. I know.‖ Fitz headed for the kitchen with Ari following. Once there he got down mugs and poured coffee. He added creamer to his but left Ari‘s black. When he turned, Ari had put his coat over a chair and waited patiently. ―Adelaide keeps the spare remote in the menu drawer.‖ Fitz jerked his chin toward the drawer he meant. ―You can take it if you like. You‘re not exactly a security risk since you already have a code to get into the house.‖ ―I worried you might have changed those door codes since you‘d gone incommunicado. You really scared me, Fitz.‖ ―I‘m sorry.‖ ―Is Garrett making a nuisance of himself?‖ ―He tried to see me a couple times. He‘s not going to beat the door down.‖ ―Are you absolutely sure of that? If you‘re scared, we can try to get a restraining order.‖ ―Oh hell no. It‘s come nowhere near that.‖ ―That‘s good. Just don‘t engage and you should be fine.‖ ―The problem is me.‖ Fitz dared to say what was on his mind. ―What?‖ ―If I‘m feeling lonely or—‖ ―Lonely? Twice he‘s abandoned you when you were out together. How can you get lonelier than that? When are you going to stop—‖

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―Whoa.‖ Fitz raised his hands to call for an official time-out. Ari folded his arms and glared. ―Don‘t tell me whoa. You can‘t stop answering the phone just because of some asshole. If he calls you, you‘ll simply have to learn to say no.‖ ―It‘s not that simple.‖ ―What‘s not simple? Just. Say. No. Because if you don‘t now, then when? When you get bashed because you‘re by yourself trying to figure out how to get home? When you overdose because he gave you something and you thought it was safe to trust him? When he tries to talk you into going bareback? When will you say no?‖ ―Now. I‘m saying no now because you don‘t get to make me feel worse.‖ Fitz‘s eyes grew hot with tears. ―Fitz.‖ Ari‘s eyes held nothing but compassion, and Fitz despised him for it. ―I‘m not like you, okay? I‘m a social moron. I‘m taking classes in a music conservatory instead of going to a real school. I‘m not terribly smart, I‘m not gorgeous, and I don‘t have some successful recording career to fall back on in case my MBA doesn‘t work out.‖ Ari put his coffee down and rubbed his face with both hands. ―So what? Now you‘re going to hole up in Adelaide‘s house like the phantom of the fucking opera and watch while everyone around you gets on with their lives? You‘re going to give up on yourself and everything you have to offer anyone because of some pretty poseur?‖ ―Yes. That‘s exactly what I‘m going to do. I‘m good at one thing. One. And I‘m going to stay here where it‘s safe and I can enjoy it. I don‘t need anything else. Just music. That‘s what I have to offer. That‘s all I have to offer.‖ ―Ah shit. Sweetheart.‖ Ari moved suddenly, catching Fitz by surprise and enfolding him back in the warmth of his embrace. ―You‘re only nineteen years old. You have no idea what you have to offer. I‘m sorry Garrett was such a jerk, but I swear…I swear that you‘re worth more than a thousand Garretts.‖ Tears clogged Fitz‘s throat. ―I don‘t know. Maybe I‘m just not—‖ ―Just shut up, Fitz. Shut up and wake up. You‘re not the only one who ever felt alone or afraid or inadequate. You‘re not the only guy who ever fell for a nice smile and a bunch of lies and got his heart stomped.‖ Absurdly Fitz felt Ari‘s lips pressed to his forehead. That shut him up, all right. He was stunned into silence by this new Ari who held him in strong arms and kissed him like— ―I promise you, Fitz. You‘re only at the beginning, yeah?‖ Ari cupped Fitz‘s face between both his hands and held him there. ―Someday someone is going to fall into those big brown eyes, and when they do, they‘ll see exactly what I see. A heart full of beautiful music and a sweet, gentle soul. Someone I‘ve known all my life and never grown tired of. Someone whose only flaw is that he doesn‘t see himself the way I‘ve seen him. The way everyone should.‖ Fitz searched Ari‘s face, waiting for the punch line.


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―What?‖ Ari asked irritably. ―I‘m not allowed to see you as a man? What does Garrett have that I don‘t have?‖ ―Ari…‖ ―I‘ve waited for-fucking-ever, Flitz. Watched over you, put up with your teasing, and come running every damned time you called me for help.‖ ―I don‘t—‖ ―When do I get to be a man and not your one-time-for-three-months stepbrother?‖ Ari‘s gaze held Fitz‘s. ―I showed you how much I want you the other night. You felt it too, damn it. I know you did. That wasn‘t some residual buzz or Garrett‘s leftover mojo. You wanted me just as much. I can wait as long as you need me to, but only if I know there‘s a chance.‖ Fitz held his breath. This was Ari. Golden, beautiful, so brilliant it hurt Fitz‘s eyes to look at him. But if Fitz listened to him, the man he‘d believed forever beyond his reach, if he reached out a hand and tried to grasp what he longed for and dreamed about, he‘d draw back nothing but ashes. Ari was too much. Too hot. Too important to Fitz to take a chance. Except Ari looked at him like he was the only man in the world. His green eyes were troubled—even pleading. ―Tell me there‘s a chance you could love me, Fitz.‖ Fitz pulled his head out of Ari‘s grip. ―You‘re so far out of my league. Don‘t try to add my heart to the pile. Please…just don‘t.‖ ―I‘m not out of your league, you moron. You own me. You always have.‖ Ari tilted his head. He wore a sad, wry smile and snorted. ―The pile.‖ Fitz gazed at Ari, stupefied. For real? Was he for real? ―Are you playing with me? Because if you are—‖ Ari dragged Fitz back into his arms, and this time he didn‘t stop until he‘d pressed his mouth to Fitz‘s. Fitz‘s mind went utterly blank. Ari tilted his head, slanting his lips and blocking Fitz‘s surprised gasp. His tongue slipped out, demanding entry. Instinct alone made Fitz open for him. Whatever caution Fitz had exercised, whatever made him hesitate was swept away by the sheer giddy relief of finally having Ari‘s lips on his. He catalogued sensation: the scrape of unshaven skin against his upper lip, the accidental bump of noses, the teasing, tasting, and fundamental penetration of Ari into his open mouth, which echoed like sonar somewhere deep in his gut. The delicious thrill of that first incursion reverberated all over Fitz‘s body in ways he‘d never imagined. It weakened his knees and caused his heart to stutter. His cock throbbed like a kettledrum against Ari‘s hard thigh. Fitz relaxed, pliant and willing. He melted for Ari as he never had for Garrett, with whom he‘d been

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unable to give up control. Moreover, because it was Ari, Fitz was light-headed with longing. He pulled back only when it was imperative to breathe. ―Ari.‖ ―I‘ve got you.‖ Fitz stood on tiptoe, his arms wrapped so tightly around Ari‘s neck he wondered how the man could still take in air. The first sharp edge of panic flooded him with doubt. ―What do I do?‖ he asked. Ari‘s face softened. ―Whatever you want.‖ Fitz pulled back. ―But—‖ ―Really, Fitz. You can do whatever you want. Or I can…‖ A delicate blush stained Ari‘s cheeks. ―Do whatever you want, that is.‖ Fitz‘s mouth dropped open and—entirely unbidden—hours of watching amateur porn passed over every brain cell he could lay claim to. He had to choose something? ―You look like your brain just melted.‖ Ari‘s lips twitched. ―Oh, my fucking G—‖ ―Come with me.‖ Ari took Fitz by the hand. ―I‘m going to get out of my wet clothes while you think.‖ ―Okay.‖ Fitz let Ari lead him to the stairway. He tried not to notice Julian and Serge, who stood by the table in the foyer watching them with what looked altogether too much like paternal pride. Ari squeezed Fitz‘s hand when his attention wandered. ―After that we‘ll just see what comes up.‖


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Chapter Twenty-two Fitz leaned against the wall—staring—while Ari undertook the toughest test of manual dexterity in his life: unbuttoning his shirt. A combination of things made it difficult. He was cold. His shirt was damp. The buttons were tiny. And his hands were shaking. And Fitz…Fitz just stood there, holding up that wall. Like leaning was his thing, but at any moment he could explode into random action, maybe go running down the stairs and out of Adelaide‘s house, never to be seen again. Fitz‘s eyes were impossibly wide, with inky pupils eclipsing the dark irises. Was that fear? Was it arousal? Or was it some combination of the two—along with curiosity, anticipation, and embarrassment thrown in for good measure? Ari could well imagine, extrapolating from his own experience. His shirt hit the floor with a squelch as he toed off his shoes and then lifted his feet to pull off his socks. One side of Fitz‘s mouth lifted fractionally into the barest hint of a smile. Good. That was good, wasn‘t it? Ari‘s nipples pebbled from the cold, and his hands found his fly. He undid the button and heard Fitz‘s indrawn breath. Ari kicked off his jeans and stood, naked except for his briefs. He held still for a minute, uncertain what to do. Somewhere in the heat of the moment, he‘d assumed Fitz would come to him. Maybe touch him or something, but Fitz remained where he stood, as resolutely immobile as a piece of furniture. Ari began to wonder if he‘d miscalculated…and if so, how badly. Began to wonder too whether he could get out of this day with his dignity intact. ―You‘re so beautiful,‖ Fitz whispered when he finally, finally stepped away from the wall. ―So…‖ Fitz‘s slow walk forward was torture. Ari‘s nerves and the cold combined to make his entire body tremble. Gooseflesh rose on his arms and legs, while his face was flushed and his cock…well. That was hard enough to cut glass. ―…so Ari,‖ Fitz drawled. ―Indescribable.‖ ―Please.‖ Ari hated himself for begging when he was worried that anything he asked for, anything he might want from Fitz, was too much. Too soon. The only way he could justify being with Fitz was to let Fitz take the lead. But would Fitz do that? Could he? Fitz was, after all, barely more than a boy.

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Maybe God would never forgive Ari for pushing, but he lifted his chin and invited Fitz anyway. ―Please,‖ he urged again. ―Touch me.‖ Fitz grazed Ari‘s side, from hip to armpit, with the palm of his hand. Ari sucked in a shaky breath. Fitz‘s gaze met Ari‘s, but his lashes lowered quickly. He must have seen Ari‘s cock jerk. When his eyes met Ari‘s again, they held the light of discovery. Apparently it occurred to Fitz that he could look his fill, touch, taste, and experiment. That he could do whatever he wanted because Ari was willing and there and his. ―I have faith in you,‖ Ari whispered. ―Just like your car.‖ Fitz nodded. ―You‘re built for style and speed and prestige.‖ He fitted both his hands to Ari‘s pectoral muscles, just above the nipples, and slid them up to Ari‘s shoulders. They rested there for a while, and then Fitz ran them up the slim column of his throat and back down to his chest. At last Fitz‘s fingertips grazed his nipples. Ari‘s head swam. ―Ah.‖ He breathed a sigh, the first of many, if Fitz were going to tease him like this, one delicate sensation at a time, one breathtaking, featherlight touch after another. Fitz thumbed both nipples. Then his hot mouth captured one, and Ari closed his eyes in bliss, shuddering all over. ―Ah, Fitz. You‘re killing me here.‖ ―Hm?‖ Fitz started to lift his head, but Ari stopped him, arching into him, gripping his hair to maintain the delicious suction that seemed to pull all the nerves in Ari‘s gut and his heart in tempo with the lapping of Fitz‘s slick, smooth tongue. ―Don‘t stop.‖ Fitz nudged forward and slid his arms around Ari‘s waist, gripping his buttocks while he mouthed each of Ari‘s nipples in turn, leaving hot, moist trails of saliva that dried and cooled Ari‘s hot skin. Ari stayed where he was, practically dangling from Fitz‘s hands, weak-kneed and giddy. He pulled Fitz into a scorching, openmouthed kiss and couldn‘t get enough. Not close enough or hard enough. Not deep enough to satisfy his need for Fitz. ―More.‖ Ari spoke against Fitz‘s lips. ―I need…more.‖ Fitz pushed Ari backward while nuzzling his neck. The backs of Ari‘s knees hit the mattress, and Fitz forced him down, then half lugged, half knee-walked him across the bed till his head rested on the pillow. At that point, Fitz stretched all along Ari‘s body and fitted his hips into the cradle of Ari‘s thighs. Ah, jeez, the feel of him. Ari wrapped Fitz in his arms, and they wound their legs together. He breathed in the apple scent of Fitz‘s shampoo and felt his heart thud through the thin T-shirt


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he wore. Suddenly Fitz rose to his knees to pull his shirt off, yanking it impatiently over his head. He attacked his jeans with the same determination, rolling off Ari briefly to remove them—causing an oooph to issue from Ari‘s lungs—then rolling back on when they both wore nothing but their underwear. Ari smiled faintly at that last tiny barrier between them. It wasn‘t much, but if Fitz needed it… ―It would be all right if you‘ve changed your mind. If this isn‘t what—‖ One of Fitz‘s eyebrows rose to form a perfect arch of incredulity. He pulled the waistband of his briefs away, and his rigid red cock bounced gently in the air. Ari sucked in a breath. He‘d never seen anything quite so beautiful. His Fitz, rigidly erect, a little supercilious, a little scared. He reached out and cupped Fitz‘s cheek and said the first thing that popped into his head. ―Bet you didn‘t see this coming.‖ Fitz laughed out loud, and just like that, he was all over Ari. A kissing, squirming, undulating mass of untried boy, digging his cock into Ari‘s hip because he wanted something but he didn‘t know how to ask for it. Rather than slow him down, Ari merely shifted, fitted their bodies together, and gripped Fitz‘s ass tighter. He ground his own cock against Fitz‘s again and again until he heard a soft, surprised cry and felt Fitz shudder in his arms. Ari tightened his hold on Fitz while gasps and grunts of pleasure gusted against his skin. Ari hurtled toward his own release, as unmistakable, unstoppable, voracious electric vines of solid pleasure grew from the base of his spine to his cock and throughout his body. His belly warmed with each splatter of cum between them. Fitz‘s whole body went slack, his pleasure-drunk face beaded with sweat. Ari swiped a lick of Fitz‘s temple and buried his nose in the damp mass of Fitz‘s black hair. Fitz sighed. ―Ari…‖ Ari pressed a kiss to Fitz‘s forehead. ―Yeah?‖ ―You forgot to put away your car.‖

*** Fitz hardly dared to move while he listened to Ari‘s breathing grow deep and even—rhythmic and slow—a long intake of air followed by an exhalation buildup that plumped his cheeks and forced its way from his lips with a tiny puff. That had to be the single most endearing thing he knew about Ari to date— that in sleep he wasn‘t perfectly in control; that some silly sound might emanate from his otherwise princely person. Earlier Ari had gone to put his car in the garage. He must have stopped in the bathroom on the way back, because he returned with a warm, damp hand towel. While Fitz cleaned cum off their skin, Ari kissed his belly. He‘d applied such tender

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nuzzling and sweet kisses that Fitz hardly knew how to react. After that Ari had stripped off his jeans, gathered Fitz in his arms, and promptly fallen to sleep. Fitz tried, but it was impossible for him to relax. Every sound Ari made, every movement fascinated him. He didn‘t want to miss a thing. He‘d discovered early on that he could pick up Ari‘s hand and it would link fingers with his. He knew now if he slid his foot down Ari‘s calf, Ari would wind a leg around him. The strange factor, the utterly new and different experience of sleeping with a grown man—a human being that reacted in response to Fitz‘s every move—dazzled him. Fitz circled the sensitive bud of Ari‘s nipple with his fingertip, and Ari‘s eyes fluttered open. ―Can‘t sleep?‖ Fitz shook his head. His mouth had gone dry from sheer blessed breathlessness. ―Anything I can do to help? Rub your back?‖ Fitz nodded. He braced on his elbows and turned. Ari‘s hand smoothed over the muscles on Fitz‘s shoulder and neck. When it stopped, Fitz nearly asked why, but a second later he felt Ari‘s lips on him, caressing the skin just behind his ear. Ari‘s other hand snaked around to capture his balls. ―I feel…‖ Fitz trailed off when Ari bit him. The hand on his cock formed a direct line to the speech center of his brain and shut it down. ―Oh. Ah…‖ ―What?‖ Fitz dragged a breath in through his open mouth. ―I feel melted inside.‖ Ari‘s hard cock nudged Fitz‘s buttocks, and he pushed back without thinking. ―Mmnh.‖ Ari lowered Fitz to his stomach and shifted his weight so he could stretch out along his back, tip to toe. His cock dropped between Fitz thighs and slid forward to leave damp kisses on the skin behind Fitz‘s balls. Fitz could do little more than exhale as Ari found his rhythm in a parody of fucking. It felt like heaven, Ari‘s body topping his, insistent and heavy. Fitz had the thought that it couldn‘t be doing too much for Ari, so he tightened his muscles, squeezing Ari‘s cock with his butt cheeks and thighs, and was rewarded with a groan and a tightening of Ari‘s hand, which still held Fitz‘s cock. From there it wasn‘t difficult to imagine fucking that hand, lifting his hips to draw back, and shooting them forward again to feel the tight grip wring him until he‘d made a sticky pool of precum on his sheets. Soon he was moving with Ari, rising with him and letting Ari‘s thrusts drive his hips down so hard—shoving his cock into Ari‘s fist so forcefully—that the tension in his groin built to a point where he hardly knew what was happening to him. He soared, his orgasm imminent, a singing, urgent message from his body to his brain to just let go. ―Ari.‖ Fitz bit his forearm. Bright pleasure exploded throughout his body even as Ari cried out. A flood of sticky warmth dripped from his ass crack to his balls as


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Ari‘s hips stuttered through several final powerful thrusts, each one made slicker by his release. Fitz closed his eyes and dropped his head down. Ari laid his head on the pillow beside him. Their panting breaths were still loud to Fitz‘s ear. Ari‘s cheek nestled next to Fitz‘s. ―Can I stay over?‖ ―Y—‖ Fitz‘s voice didn‘t work so he had to swallow and try again. He shifted Ari‘s weight off and rolled to his side so they faced each other. ―Yeah. Sure.‖ ―Does this feel too weird?‖ Ari asked. ―Everything feels weird lately.‖ Ari‘s brows drew together. ―Good? Bad?‖ ―Just strange.‖ Ari‘s gaze dipped to Fitz‘s lips, then back up. ―I know it‘s strange. I need to know if us being together is okay.‖ ―It‘s a little late in the game to ask that, Ariel,‖ Fitz teased. Ari‘s expression was wry. ―It‘s easier for me to think after an orgasm or two.‖ ―It seems strange to be with anyone.‖ ―I see.‖ Ari drew back. He ran a hand lightly down Fitz‘s arm and laced their fingers together. ―I might have rushed things.‖ ―It‘s not like you hurled me in here and deflowered me.‖ ―I know. But picture me trying to tell Adelaide that.‖ ―Oh yeah. Well. You said it yourself. She doesn‘t give a—‖ Ari squeezed Fitz‘s hand. ―I can‘t tell you how much I regret saying those words. Adelaide is your mother, and as much as she can love anyone, she loves you.‖ ―I know that.‖ ―I love you too, Fitz. I really do. I can‘t remember ever not loving you.‖ Fitz tried to respond but couldn‘t. It wasn‘t that he felt nothing. On the contrary, Ari‘s words slammed into him and he was incapacitated by all the emotions that followed, filling him until there was no more room for bones or blood, air or lungs or internal organs. His heart felt compressed—it squeezed against his rib cage so hard—it would surely pop out and leave a heart-shaped hole where it had been. It might take him months to sort out everything he was feeling right then, but there was one thing he knew for certain and he didn‘t hesitate to say it. ―You‘re a beautiful man, Ari.‖ Ari paled. Too late Fitz realized he shouldn‘t have said anything at all unless it was the right thing. Ari was already shutting down because he‘d heard the word beautiful and equated it with looks when physical appearance was the last thing Fitz had even considered when he said it. Ari was going to need more than that, but Fitz wouldn‘t have it to give until he had time to think.

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Fitz finally said, ―We should get some sleep.‖ Ari rose and slid his legs over the side of the bed. ―Wait. Please don‘t go.‖ Fitz grabbed for Ari‘s hand and pulled him back. He‘d seen Ari come and go more times than he could count, but this would be the first time Fitz was forced to acknowledge what—deep down—he might have known for a while: Ari had captured Fitz‘s heart and would carry it with him when he left again. So yeah, if he‘d blown it, he was not letting go until he had a chance to make things right. ―I thought you were staying over.‖ Ari frowned. ―I was only going to get another towel.‖ ―Oh.‖ ―I‘ll be right back.‖ Fitz let go and relaxed. Apparently he hadn‘t blown his chance to say the right thing—and he would figure out what that right thing was—eventually. For now Fitz hoped Ari would gather him up, along with all his doubts, his fears, his confusion, his love, his longing, and his hopes, and pull him into a warm embrace so he could sleep. ―Fitz?‖ Ari‘s spoke from the door. ―Thank you.‖ Fitz smiled back. ―Thank you.‖


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Chapter Twenty-three Fitz straddled Ari in the kitchen chair. He had one arm around Ari‘s neck, his feet dangling inches from the ground while he forked up bites of French toast from his plate. He‘d been lying in bed, listening to the rather homely and soothing sound of Ari in the shower, when he smelled Julian cooking something. Panicked, he dressed in record time and raced down the stairs so he could pretend to be there in the kitchen making breakfast when Ari emerged. It was impossible to imagine how Ari would react to the news that Fitz had ghosts living in his house. In the bright light of a new day, it didn‘t seem necessary to rush into telling him about that either. Julian and Serge made themselves scarce as soon as Fitz skidded into the kitchen, giving him privacy for a morning-after without gawkers. ―Open.‖ Fitz held out a tantalizing bit of custardy bread for Ari, who wrapped his lips around the fork and drew it off. Maybe Fitz shifted a little more than necessary on Ari‘s lap, because he felt the faint stirring of Ari‘s cock beneath his ass. He grinned. ―Rise and shine.‖ Ari wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in for sticky syrup kisses. Fitz‘s cell phone chirped again, and he cursed. He‘d taken it off silent mode at Ari‘s urging, but by the look on Ari‘s face, he regretted it. ―That‘s three times. Is it Garrett again?‖ ―Yes.‖ Fitz reached over, picked up his phone, and checked the screen. Another missed call. Between text messages and missed calls, Garrett had already contacted him five times, and it was barely nine a.m. ―Check your voice mail. Find out what he wants.‖ ―I checked while you were in the shower. He says he needs to talk to me. He wants to come over, but I‘m having too much fun to call him back.‖ ―Maybe you should.‖ Ari took the phone and glanced at it as though it would tell him more than Fitz did. ―I‘ll see him in school. I think that might be better.‖ Fitz stirred the food around on his plate. Ari frowned. ―Do you think he‘ll make a scene?‖ ―Of course not. I just don‘t feel like sharing…this.‖ Fitz gestured to the way they were wrapped around each other.

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―But maybe it would be better if we‘re together when you talk to him so that he can see for himself that there‘s nothing but friendship for him here.‖ ―I‘ll think about it. Right now we‘re eating breakfast, which is the most important meal of the day.‖ He pressed his lips to Ari‘s for another syrupy kiss. Ari shook his head. ―Just check his latest message and—‖ ―Later.‖ Fitz punctuated that with a slow roll of his hips, and Ari‘s eyes drifted closed. ―Yeah. Okay.‖ Ari let out a sigh. ―Later.‖ Fitz had just forked up another bite when the doorbell rang, followed by what sounded like the pounding of a fist. ―What the—‖ ―I think Garrett‘s patience just ran out.‖ Rising, Ari picked Fitz up by the waist and allowed him find his feet before letting go. ―Aw, man. Do we have to answer?‖ Fitz put his plate down. ―Let‘s get this over with. It doesn‘t have to be unpleasant. Be kind but firm.‖ ―Ari—‖ ―Seriously the longer you hide, the worse this will get. Just man up and answer, all right?‖ Fitz nodded. ―All right.‖ Fitz followed Ari to the front door. Once there Ari gave Fitz‘s shoulder a squeeze, but he stepped back so Fitz could take care of his business. It was sweet that he wanted to stand by and offer his support if it was needed, but all Fitz wanted was a short, civilized confrontation and then breakfast. Because yeah, breakfast with Ari—coffee and French toast and kissing—was his new favorite thing. He wasn‘t about to let Garrett come along and spoil it. One thing that never crossed Fitz‘s mind was the possibility that Garrett, covered in bruises and blood, would tumble into the foyer like a rag doll seconds before someone shoved a gun into his face. ―What the hell?‖ Ari stumbled back. Two men Fitz had never seen before pushed their way into Adelaide‘s house and shut the door behind them. They looked old. One had brown curly hair in an almost mullet that hung over the collar of his plaid flannel shirt. The other one, a dirty blond with severe acne scarring and terrible, rotting brown teeth, held the gun to Fitz‘s face, then Ari‘s, then back to Fitz‘s—as though he couldn‘t make up his mind. Back and forth it went. Twitchy. Flannel Shirt Guy looked uneasy but pulled his own weapon from his waistband and trained it on Ari. ―I got this one,‖ he said. Twitchy leveled his gun so it pointed right between Fitz‘s eyes. ―Hey.‖ Ari raised his hands. ―Just take it easy. All right? Nobody wants—‖ ―Shut up.‖ He advanced, never taking his eyes off Fitz. ―Which one of you is Fitz?‖


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―I am,‖ Fitz answered. He glanced Ari‘s way. Ari didn‘t even blink. ―Fender says he‘s your boyfriend. Looks like he was lying.‖ Flannel Shirt Guy delivered a vicious kick to Garrett‘s ribs. Fitz flinched. ―Don‘t.‖ ―We won‘t hurt him, Richie Rich.‖ Twitchy‘s foul breath gusted in Fitz‘s face. ―Not if you give us what he owes us.‖ ―Owes you?‖ Ari asked, stepping forward. ―If it‘s money—‖ Flannel Shirt lifted his arm and smashed his gun into the side of Ari‘s head—a hard strike right to the temple. Fitz screamed and reached out, but Twitchy grabbed his T-shirt in a tight-fisted grip. ―Steady there, boy.‖ Ari had fallen to the marble floor next to Garrett and lay unmoving, pale and still. Blood trickled from a cut near the outside of his eye socket. Twitchy turned on his friend. ―What did I tell you?‖ ―He was coming at me.‖ ―You had the gun, you asshole. He ain‘t gonna do nothing when you got a gun, and now he‘s a problem.‖ ―He ain‘t coming at me no more either. Just get what we came here for and let‘s get the fuck out of here.‖ Twitchy turned back to Fitz. ―Looks like it‘s just you and me. Your boy Garrett there took merchandise without paying for it. Our boss Angel says he‘s gotta pay up or go.‖ ―What?‖ Fitz‘s heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear. Move, Ari. Move just a tiny bit so I know you’re okay. Where the hell were Julian and Serge? ―Your boy likes to play the big man. He took something from Angel without askin‘ and said a lot of shit about how you was gonna give him the money to pay for it. But you ain‘t been answering his calls. Angel says enough is enough.‖ ―What does he owe you?‖ Fitz asked. ―I‘ll pay you. I‘ll get you whatever you want. Just leave my friends alone.‖ ―Two thousand dollars.‖ ―What?‖ ―You heard me. Two thousand. And we‘re gonna need a collection fee, so we‘re gonna have to make that three grand. You got that kinda cash?‖ ―No. Of course I don‘t. There‘s some jewelry. Electronics. The house is full of—‖ ―I ain‘t fencing your shit. Garrett owes cash, and cash is what you‘re gonna pay.‖ ―I don‘t keep that kind of—‖ ―What about at the bank? Rich kid like you? You gotta have something stashed away at the bank.‖

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Fitz nearly lowered his hands, but an insistent jab of Twitchy‘s pistol stopped him. ―I can‘t get that from the ATM.‖ Fitz was already thinking that as soon as he was at the bank they‘d be safe, he could tell someone what was happening and— Twitchy grabbed Fitz‘s hair and yanked his face so the muzzle of the gun pressed against his cheek. ―Come with me,‖ he ordered. ―My friend here is going to stay with Garrett and your other guy. If you‘re a good boy and get me the cash, they live. If not, you‘re all dead.‖ Flannel Shirt Guy complained. ―Why do I gotta—‖ ―Stay here. If I ain‘t come back in a couple hours with the cash, kill them both. Meet me where we talked about, at the bus station.‖ ―But—‖ ―Do what I say or I‘m going to have to tell Angel you ain‘t got the stomach for this shit.‖ Flannel Shirt Guy‘s brows drew together. ―All right. I better find a way to tie these two up. Don‘t want no one to play hero.‖ Twitchy dug the gun into Fitz‘s cheek. ―Be straight with me, kid. If you‘re thinking of playing me, you‘ll never see your friends again. You can get the money?‖ Fitz nodded, swallowing hard. ―Good. That‘s real good.‖ Spittle flecked Fitz‘s face. Twitchy yanked him by the hair and pulled his head back until his dead eyes swam and the stench of his breath nearly brought up Fitz‘s breakfast. ―‘Cause I‘ll gut you if you‘re lyin‘.‖


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Chapter Twenty-four Fitz‘s hands shook visibly after Twitchy dragged him to Garret‘s Jetta and shoved him into the driver‘s seat. He thought about running while Twitchy went around to get in on the passenger side, but rejected the idea. Twitchy would come after him, and he wouldn‘t stand a chance. Twitchy held the gun on Fitz and gave him the keys. ―Drive to your bank. You‘re gonna get my money. I don‘t have to tell you what will happen if you fuck this up. I don‘t got a whole lot to lose at this point.‖ Fitz nodded. He smoothed his hands over his wrinkled shirt and absently patted the pocket of his jeans to reassure himself that his wallet was there. He started up the car, then eased it out of the driveway. Twitchy pressed the muzzle of the gun into his ribs. ―Don‘t even think about causing an accident.‖ ―I‘ll do what you want, all right? But I don‘t know about this. If I try to take out a large amount of cash, the bank will probably want to get in touch with Adelaide…‖ ―Who‘s Adelaide?‖ ―My mother. Anything over a certain amount, and the bank will require her signature as well as mine. They‘ll have to fax her. She‘s in France.‖ ―What‘s your limit?‖ ―I don‘t know. Probably not that much.‖ ―Then I‘d say you‘re fucked, huh, boy? Or stalling.‖ ―You don‘t believe me?‖ ―Do your job, and you‘ll be back with your pals in no time.‖ Twitchy‘s smile didn‘t quite reach his lying eyes. Fitz ground his teeth. ―I am trying to tell you there‘s a flaw in your plan.‖ ―Shut up and drive, boy. Don‘t make me tell you again.‖ Fitz stayed silent as he wound through his neighborhood. Once he made it to Sunset, he didn‘t have much excuse not to go to the first of the many, many banks that lined the road. He had several branches to choose from. He had to pick one soon or Twitchy would know for sure he was stalling. ―Your buddy sure picked the wrong guy to knock out. My friend Ari could have probably gotten you ten times what you need. He‘s an accountant for a law firm, and they keep cash in the safe at all times.‖

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Twitchy humored him. ―You don‘t say.‖ ―Sure.‖ Fitz nodded. Maybe he could talk Twitchy into going back for Ari, which would be a huge load off his mind. Knowing Ari was hurt and in the hands of some sadistic bastard made Fitz sick inside. ―Their clients are big-name entertainers and politicians. They get sued, extorted, kidnapped. When a client has to get hold of some untraceable cash, who do you think they call?‖ ―Right, kid.‖ ―You don‘t believe me?‖ Fitz shrugged. ―That‘s why small-time guys like you litter the prisons while stone-killer celebrities walk. You don‘t have connections.‖ ―Ticktock, little cocksucker.‖ Fitz clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. I need to think. Oh fuck, I need to get us out of this alive.

*** Ari‘s head was going to burst. Whatever was inside it felt like it was swelling like a sack of microwave popcorn. Soon his head would explode and the pain he was currently experiencing would be over. Waves of nausea caused him to open his eyes and look around. The task lighting in Adelaide‘s bright kitchen was cruel, and blinking did nothing to help his blurred vision. Shit. He was tied to a chair with packing tape and kitchen towels, and Garrett was next to him, also tied but unconscious. When Ari turned Garrett‘s way, his head throbbed. Rustling noises caught his attention, and he turned to see the man who‘d hit him earlier rummaging around in Fitz‘s fridge. His heart contracted when he realized what had happened, then sank when he looked around and Fitz was nowhere to be seen. ―Where‘s Fitz?‖ Flannel Man spoke. ―He‘s running an errand.‖ ―I hope to fuck he keeps on running.‖ ―You better pray not. If he don‘t get back here in two hours, I got orders to kill you.‖ Ari shivered. He wasn‘t stupid. Men who let them see their faces weren‘t likely to keep them alive after they got money anyway. He hoped Fitz knew that. ―You picked the wrong person. Fitz doesn‘t have access to very much money, but I do.‖ Flannel Man frowned at him. ―He said he did.‖ ―What‘s he going to say?‖ Ari asked. ―He‘s going to say whatever he thinks you want him to say.‖ ―If he don‘t have it, you‘re dead.‖ Ari shrugged. ―We both know I‘m dead anyway, right? We all are.‖ This was met with silence. Fuck.


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Ari had no plan except—maybe—to change the equation. If he could get Flannel Man to untie him, if he could come up with something the man wanted more than he wanted to wait for his pal, if Ari could overpower him and be ready when Fitz returned… There had to be something he could do. ―Look. I have my car here, and I can get you money. You want to hang around waiting for some guy to maybe split some cash with you, or do you want what I can get you and you take my car and go. No questions asked.‖ ―I ain‘t making no deals.‖ ―If you‘re gone before they get back, it‘s all yours. The car, the money…freedom. What‘s to stop your friend from deciding he wants Fitz‘s cash for himself?‖ ―He would too. He‘s a greedy son of a bitch. That ain‘t his money, though. It‘s more than his life is worth if he steals from Angel. Just look at your friend there.‖ Ari turned to see Garrett‘s battered face. They‘d worked him over thoroughly. He should have been in the hospital. ―Only if Angel can catch him.‖ Flannel Man scratched his head. ―If I‘m gone, he‘ll kill your friend Fitz sure as shit.‖ ―Like I said. He‘s going to kill us anyway.‖ Ari could read the indecision on Flannel Man‘s face. The lure of cash, the possibility of freedom. His fear of his friend and this Angel character. The way he kept looking toward the front of the house. Sweaty, anxious glances that grew more frequent as time passed made Ari think he was considering it. ―He‘ll kill you too, probably. Sooner or later.‖ A door slammed somewhere in the house, and Flannel Man jumped like he‘d been hit with a downed power line. In a second he had his gun drawn, pointing it at Ari. ―What kind of shit are you pulling?‖ ―Nothing.‖ Ari held his breath. ―Who else is here?‖ Flannel Man pressed the nose of the gun under Ari‘s chin. ―Don‘t lie to me, you fucker.‖ ―No one is here. That was probably the wind.‖ ―I said don‘t lie to me.‖ Flannel Man backhanded Ari. Lights danced and flickered behind Ari‘s eyelids. He blinked, but the vision in one eye remained hazy, either from the blow to his head or the blood that dripped from the cut near his eye, which stung like a bitch now that it had been reopened. For a long, crazy moment, Ari held his breath, certain Flannel Man would shoot him then and there. ―No one is here. Just us, unless Fitz and your partner are back.‖ Ari caught movement from the corner of his eye. Turning his head was agony; it seemed his brain bobbed on a sea of fluid, and it took a while for it to catch up and

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process what his eyes were seeing. When Ari was finally able to focus, a man stood before him. Up that close, Ari saw the fine white pinstripes in the expensive fabric of this new man‘s double-breasted suit. Ari glanced up to see he wore a crisp white shirt and silk tie. Ari raised his gaze again and gaped at the wide, soulful brown of his eyes. The man laid a gentle hand on Ari‘s shoulder. There didn‘t seem to be any weight to his touch—only warmth. If this was Flannel Man‘s boss, it was an unbelievable irony. That anything so beautiful could be a drug-dealing killer… ―You‘re the boss?‖ Flannel Man grunted a laugh. ―No, I ain‘t the boss. Would I be here babysitting your sorry ass if I was the boss?‖ Ari looked from the new man to Flannel Man and back. ―So who are you?‖ ―I‘m a friend of Fitz.‖ The man spoke with a hint of an accent. French maybe. ―I‘m Serge.‖ ―Who the fuck are you talking to?‖ Flannel Man shoved the gun under Ari‘s chin again. Ari squeezed his eyes shut. The man with the softly accented voice spoke. ―He does not see me.‖ The gun dug into his skin, and he answered, ―No one. Head injury.‖ Flannel Man pulled the gun back. ―Damn right no one. You‘re fucking crazy. Don‘t try to freak me out. I‘ll just kill you and tell Wes you tried to get away.‖ Serge stood with his hands behind his back. ―Julian is with Fitz.‖ Ari kept his eyes shut and tried not to think about this new, convincing hallucination. ―What? You ain‘t gonna offer me money no more?‖ ―Would it help?‖ Ari spoke through clenched teeth. ―Nope. But it‘ll be fun to see how willing you are to beg.‖ At this Flannel Man nudged between Ari‘s legs. He shoved his filthy groin at Ari‘s face. ―And what you got on offer.‖ ―Don‘t.‖ Ari tried to pull back, but Flannel Man held him by the hair. He ground the unmistakable bulge in his jeans against Ari‘s face. ―Or what, faggot. I ain‘t got nothing against getting off while I‘m waiting on your friend to come back. If you‘re real good, maybe I‘ll talk Wes into letting you do your boyfriend again before he kills you.‖ That cruel laughter was silenced by a sudden, massive crash upstairs. ―The fuck was that?‖ Flannel Man yanked on Ari‘s hair again. ―Don‘t you do nothing, hear? I‘ll be back, and if I find out you tried anything funny, you‘ll be begging me to kill you before I get done.‖


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Ari heard footsteps leave the kitchen and cracked an eye open. Garrett was still unconscious, and the new man, his hallucination, leaned one hip against the counter. ―Searching the house should keep him busy,‖ said Serge. ―I don‘t understand.‖ ―Fitz will bring the money.‖ ―He‘ll try, but the bank won‘t give it to him without his mother‘s authorization. They might give him a grand. I hope to God he doesn‘t come back.‖ Ari fought past the pain and the nausea to answer. He knew this might be his final hour on earth, and instead of spending it with his father or Fitz—the two most important people in his world—he had to be content to hallucinate some natty thirties film character. ―Fitz will never abandon you. It isn‘t in his nature.‖ ―Here‘s hoping you‘re wrong and Fitz turns out to be an asshole.‖ Ari glanced up. ―Just this once.‖ ―I once hoped for the same thing.‖ Serge unclipped the cuff link from his shirt and lifted his jacket and shirtsleeve to reveal numbers tattooed on his skin. His smile was fond rather than grim. It confused Ari. Surely something like that ugly symbol—the officially sanctioned theft of a man‘s dignity, of his humanity—etched right into his skin… Ari felt sick. Serge tapped the tattoo. ―You know what this is, then? I once entertained the fantasy that a known proclivity for self-interest—and the knowledge that I would suffer far more if my lover Julian should suffer with me—would keep him from coming to my rescue and possibly sharing my fate.‖ ―I see.‖ ―Do you? I didn‘t. I imagined that I‘d fallen in love with an ordinary human being, a frivolous, lighthearted, even silly man.‖ ―Fitz knows I‘d put him first. He‘ll do what he can, but he won‘t just blindly—‖ ―My lover quite surprised me, and I believe yours will too. If nothing else, Julian is with him, and Julian‖—Serge grinned—―can surprise anyone.‖

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Chapter Twenty-five Twitchy gripped Fitz‘s arm tightly and pulled him from the car. ―Here‘s how it‘s gonna be. We‘re gonna go in there together, and I‘m gonna be standing right next to you until you get my cash. Got it?‖ ―That’s not going to look suspicious at all.‖ Fitz pulled his arm out of Twitchy‘s grasp. ―I told you. I‘m not sure I can even get that amount of money, but I‘m for sure not going to have any luck with you standing next to me looking like you‘re holding a gun on me.‖ Fitz sized up the armed security guard while Twitchy glanced around before opening the door to usher Fitz into the busy bank lobby. Fitz went to fill out a withdrawal slip. He had to elbow in between a mother whose child played with cars on the floor and a businessman who was holding an animated conversation on his cell phone. There were security guards inside the bank as well, standing at attention, probably hoping their toughest job for the day was to appear menacing. Fitz hands were sweating so much he could hardly grip the pen. ―Well. This is another fine mess…‖ Julian nudged in to stand next to Fitz as soon as his previous neighbor gathered up her child and headed for the line. Fitz froze. ―He can‘t see me. No one can see me but you.‖ Julian‘s fingers drummed on the counter. ―I need to tell you a story, so take your time writing that. Mess one up, start over. Your nervous friend has no choice now but to wait. He can‘t harass you in here without the guards being suspicious, and he‘s counting on hostages to keep you in line.‖ Fitz gripped his pen and scratched out something he‘d written just so he could tear it up, toss it away, and get another form. He turned to find out where Twitchy was. The man shot him a glare that should have killed him on the spot, but Fitz turned back and started over, withdrawing his wallet, making a fuss of looking up numbers, generally stalling. ―I can‘t antagonize—‖ ―Now is when you listen, Fitz. I‘m here to help. I faced the devil himself to free Serge when the Nazis held him. This is child‘s play.‖ ―Where were you when they came? Couldn‘t you have just grabbed something and knocked them out?‖ ―It doesn‘t work that way. I can act on things, not people. People have free will.‖ Fitz pointed out the obvious. ―You slammed Garrett‘s hand in a drawer.‖


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―Only because he was reaching into it at the time.‖ The color high on Julian‘s cheek told Fitz there was more to the story than that. ―I can only move things. People move themselves.‖ ―So drop something big on his head, for fuck‘s sake. Then we can go home and save Ari and Garrett from his trigger-happy friend.‖ ―I can‘t.‖ Julian‘s hands stilled. ―I really can‘t. It‘s all about human intention and action and consequence. Don‘t you think I would if I could?‖ Fitz turned back to Twitchy, who mouthed ticktock. The look he shot Fitz was icy, accompanied by dead, cold eyes and a feral, sharklike baring of teeth. ―Trust me, Fitz.‖ Julian had never appeared more solid, more serious, more real to Fitz than he did just then. ―I‘m a very, very loyal friend. I won‘t let you down, but you need to trust me.‖ ―Please.‖ Fitz‘s tightened his grip on the pen. ―Just tell me how to help Ari and Garrett.‖ ―Life is a dance. Follow my lead.‖ Julian‘s gaze held Fitz‘s, and the hint of mischief Fitz had always seen there glowed like the heart of a flame. Fitz nodded his assent without really understanding. ―All right. I trust you.‖ ―Excellent. What are we waiting for?‖

*** Ari watched his hallucination check on Garrett. ―Concussion probably. He shouldn‘t be sleeping like this.‖ ―Wake him up, then. He‘s not my favorite person right now, but I don‘t want him to die or anything.‖ ―I can‘t. Can you not nudge him a little?‖ Ari tried to hop his chair over. ―Not easily.‖ ―Try.‖ Serge frowned. ―He needs to be woken at intervals.‖ ―I don‘t suppose it‘s harmful, talking to a figment of my imagination in a crisis.‖ ―I‘m as real as you are. Julian will help Fitz to rid himself of the man who took him, but we need to take care of the problem here. Your man is not quite as murderous as his friend is. He‘s brutal, but I believe he‘d rather beat you than shoot you.‖ ―That‘s reassuring.‖ ―Nothing is certain except that Julian will protect Fitz and return him to us.‖ ―Who exactly is Julian?‖ Serge smiled. ―Julian is my partner. It was he who took your car. I‘m sorry about that. He‘s…capricious.‖ ―I see.‖ Ari frowned. He took my car. ―Do hallucinations often have partners?‖ ―Time is short. Scream as though you‘re being killed.‖

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―What?‖ ―I said scream.‖ Ari screamed. Desperate, he let loose the most bloodcurdling, teen-slasher-flick scream anyone had ever uttered and waited to see what Serge would do—besides lift an eyebrow in surprise. Serge disappeared at about the same time Ari heard the thundering of footsteps down the stairs. By the time Flannel Man skidded into the kitchen, furious, Serge was creating a scene of such powerful chaos neither Ari nor his captor would ever forget it. Drawers opened and things flew out: silverware, towels, knives. Utensils like ladles, choppers, and cake cutters landed on the floor and skittered around. Flannel Man froze and gaped in horrified fascination as one of the towels landed on the stove and a burner ignited, causing it to catch fire. Smoke billowed. Plates and glasses tumbled from the open cabinets to smash on the ground and send shards of pottery bouncing like BBs. The smoke detector shrieked to life, and then the hardwired household fire alarm joined in. Ari decided to scream again. He kept on screaming because if that was all he could do, then he‘d be damned if he wouldn‘t at least do that. Flannel Man pulled his gun from his waistband again but clearly had no idea where to shoot. When the trajectory of the tornado of falling, flying objects appeared to be heading his way, he took off running with Serge in pursuit. Ari heard the front door slam; then Serge reappeared. He toed broken crockery and glass out of his way as he walked across the kitchen, and then he got out a fire extinguisher and calmly put out the fire. Ari blinked his watering eyes. ―You couldn‘t do that before he hit me in the face with a gun?‖

*** Fitz had no idea what Julian planned. He finished up his withdrawal slip and got in line. Twitchy stomped over to stand next to him, and Fitz waited, holding his breath. ―Say something. Make polite conversation,‖ Julian ordered. Fitz frowned but turned to Twitchy. ―Do you have some preference for the denomination of bills I—‖ ―Not to him,‖ Julian said. ―To me.‖ ―O-o…‖ Fitz voice failed him. He cleared his throat and tried again. ―Okay. What do you want me to say?‖ Behind him in line, a college-age girl carrying a backpack gave him an odd look. ―Nothing, man.‖ ―I wasn‘t talking to you,‖ Fitz told her. He pointed to the space Julian occupied. ―I was talking to him. My friend Julian.‖ Julian smiled and said, ―Excellent.‖


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I have to trust Julian. I have to trust Julian. ―What the fuck are you doin‘?‖ Twitchy snarled in his ear. ―Do you want to get someone killed?‖ Fitz turned on him. ―Don‘t mess with me. I‘m here with him.‖ Again he pointed to where Julian stood. Twitchy didn‘t like that at all. But he didn‘t appear ready to draw his gun and cause a scene. Fitz turned back around, but Julian was gone. ―Julian?‖ The people around him pulled back, including Twitchy, who clearly didn‘t like what was happening but couldn‘t do anything about it without drawing undue attention to himself. The look in his eyes promised retribution, but he didn‘t pull his gun. ―Don‘t look at me like that.‖ Fitz pushed a little further, bolder now that he could see the doubt and anxiety clearly written on Twitchy‘s face. Maybe Twitchy realized that, at least at that point, he had more to lose than Fitz did. Fitz turned around in a full circle, and with every eye in the place on him, he shouted, ―Where are you, Julian? Come back. Don‘t leave me here alone.‖ Fitz almost enjoyed himself. Oh sure, he was so fucking scared that after this was over, he‘d probably vomit food his ancestors had eaten, but for right now he‘d stopped everyone in the entire bank in their tracks. Except the security guards. One of them was on his radio, while the other—the more massive of the two of them – was looking their way. Suddenly handfuls of deposit and withdrawal slips flew into the air like confetti, and the ropes that delineated the line shook as their posts toppled one by one. People shrieked and ran, giving Fitz and Twitchy a wide berth. The guard broke into a run, while his buddy was trying to direct traffic, urging calm. Julian danced across the floor like Fred-fucking-Astaire, tossing and knocking over everything that wasn‘t nailed down. Books sailed through the air, and purses fell to the floor. A man who had left his stainless-steel laptop case on the ground next to his feet abandoned it in the confusion. Julian slowed long enough to pick the case up. He clung to it for a minute, as if he were trying to decide whether to slide it across the floor in a mind-boggling display of autolocomotion or steal it and make himself a Facebook page. He chose to slide it, and it skittered, twisted, and twirled until it came to a graceful stop at Fitz‘s feet. Julian then performed several beautiful—even breathtaking—pirouettes, stopping just long enough between each one to push all the monitors in new accounts over. It was a shame no one else could see Julian dance. Fitz had a sudden blinding flash of why Serge might have fallen in love with the boy from the chorus. He was incandescent. Someone had to have triggered a silent alarm, but by the time security was on the move toward Fitz, so was Twitchy. He‘d apparently decided to cut his losses,

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and he caught Fitz by his T-shirt and yanked him around so they faced one another, toe-to-toe. Fitz feared that any second Twitchy would pull his gun and Bad, Bad Things would happen. He didn‘t even think about what he was doing. He simply picked up that laptop case and hefted it in his hand for a second to get a feel for it. Then wham, he caught Twitchy on the side of the head as hard as he could with it. Twitchy went dropped like a rock. ―That man‘s got a gun,‖ Fitz yelled at the top of his lungs and pointed, just in case Twitchy was able to withstand that blow to his head and roll over to come up shooting like in the movies. ―He‘s got a gun.‖ In reality, however, Twitchy lay there, not even twitching. He looked like a sack of rags, knocked out and sporting a profusely bleeding scalp wound from his rendezvous with the briefcase‘s sharp hinge. Fitz foresaw a new problem there. No doubt Twitchy would wake up in prison and start suing everyone involved. Adelaide will kill me. The dust and debris settled, and Fitz looked around. As soon as he‘d said the word gun, everyone hit the deck except Fitz and the security guard, who now lunged for him and took him down in a slow-motion, stuntman special, flying tackle that had to have been inspired by some Bruce Willis movie. It knocked all the air from his lungs, and he might have lost consciousness because he heard someone say something he didn‘t comprehend…followed by dirtbag. Everyone is industry in LA. ―He‘s the one with the gun,‖ Fitz complained from beneath about two hundred seventy-five pounds of really quite attractive— ―Tell it to the police when they get here. I don‘t know how the fuck you did that, but you‘re going down, punk.‖


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Chapter Twenty-six Fitz sat in the interview room at the police station watching Julian stretch. ―I haven‘t performed for an audience like that in a while. Of course some things you never lose if you‘re a professional, and they always said I was at my best when I was required to improvise. Did you see those pirouettes? Every one of them was a jewel.‖ Julian gripped the back of the chair on the opposite side of the table with one elegant hand and bent his knees outward into a low dip, arm outstretched beside him. He brushed the floor with the tips of his fingers and drew his arm out in front of him, then up, to arch over his head as he rose onto his toes. It seemed as if some invisible string pulled him toward the ceiling, connected to his hand and his head and running down through his spine, it was so straight. Then he flung his arm out to his side and dipped back down again in one impossibly fluid, graceful motion after another, the repetitive nature of which was making Fitz a little sick. ―Dude. Do you think you could sit?‖ Fitz gripped the table with both hands. The shock of having a gun shoved into his face was wearing off, leaving him jittery and oddly displaced. They‘d ushered him into the back of a police car in handcuffs, and now he had to sit in that squalid room waiting for Benjamin Scheffield or one or of his office-minion legal beagles to come get him. Fitz only had Julian‘s word that Ari was safe, and he found he wanted far more than that. He wouldn‘t be satisfied until he could see Ari‘s face and touch him, throw his arms around Ari‘s solid body and hear his voice. Whatever had happened the previous night, wanting to see Ari‘s face when the shit hit the fan was a welltraveled road for Fitz. Whether he‘d ever admitted that or not. Julian sat before him in the chair that Fitz imagined the police interrogator would use when his attorney arrived. Silence stretched out between them. Fitz finally asked the question that had been nagging him since they‘d come from the bank. ―What did you mean when you said you faced the devil himself for Serge? Did you really free him?‖ Julian‘s smile was perfunctory, and the light in his eyes just died right there— as if he‘d never had the vibrant glitter in them when he‘d been dancing. ―There were so many military camps in France, it was almost a joke. They sent Serge and his mother to Drancy in Paris at first, la Cité de la Muette. There was despicable,

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terrible irony in that—the city of the silent ones. Almost right away, Serge‘s mother died from pneumonia.‖ Fitz shook his head. It was startling to meet this new, serious Julian and more surprising still to reconcile him with the lighthearted chef or the dancer or the man who took Ari‘s car for a lark. ―I can‘t imagine.‖ Julian finally sat heavily in the chair opposite Fitz. ―Because it‘s unimaginable. I can‘t remember the actual events. Only desperation of that nature could have made me return home, hat in hand, to see if my family would help me. I felt so sure that if I could make them see the situation, the mistreatment of their fellow human beings, they would do something, even though they‘d given me up for a bad job years before. Blood is thicker, I thought…especially blood of the English blue variety. We were fighting for our lives against the Germans, and I thought they‘d side with me.‖ ―Did they?‖ Julian shook his head. ―They said I‘d asked for my fate and Serge would be no great loss to the world.‖ Tears gathered in Julian‘s eyes, but he pinched the bridge of his nose and they didn‘t fall. ―Under the circumstances, I didn‘t feel very wicked when I relieved them of my grandmother‘s jewelry and a fairly decent portrait of one of my horse-faced ancestors, which happened to be painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds.‖ Fitz‘s brows rose. ―You what?‖ Julian‘s smile returned momentarily. ―A triumph, that. I nicked a few other trifles on the way out. Small things: snuff boxes, cigarette cases. I left more than a hole in a gilt picture frame for my parents to remember me by that day. I changed my looks and started using my given name again. After that I charmed, bribed, bargained, and frankly shagged my way across Europe playing the wild English aristo infatuated by all things German. No one connected me with the dancer I‘d been. Then I got to Poland. I thought I could use the Reynolds and the jewels to pay for Serge‘s freedom. I was led to believe it was in the bag, as they say. I was so close. I got so close…‖ Fitz waited. ―What happened?‖ ―Predictably I was instructed to meet with the man who‘d promised to free Serge, a minor official—a pencil pusher in charge of prisoner accounting or some such thing at Monowitz work camp—at night. He brought Serge with him, and for the first time since we‘d parted, I felt my heart beat. I breathed without pain.‖ Fitz dreaded the rest. He hated the way Julian told the story, devoid of emotion. He finally asked, ―What happened?‖ ―That dreadful pig of a man laughed at us and called us schwuler, pawing through everything I‘d brought to trade with his thick, dirty fingers. Then he shot us both right there, on the spot. Serge first, just to see me suffer, and then…‖ Julian shook his head and slapped both hands on the table, shocking Fitz. ―Pop. Pop.‖


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―Shit.‖ Fitz covered his mouth, and tears spilled from his eyes over his cheeks, fat drops that hit the tabletop unchecked. Julian rubbed his face with both hands. ―I dragged us back from the dead. My heart was so strong, filled with such righteous fury. I‘d fought so hard. I vowed I would not let go of Serge, ever. He brings me peace.‖ Julian sighed. ―I hardly know what happened after that, only that I wasn‘t about to let that be the end of our story.‖ Fitz put his head down on his hands on the scratched industrial table and sobbed. He felt the warmth of Julian‘s hand in his hair even though he couldn‘t feel Julian‘s touch. ―Nor would I let a perfectly odious waste of skin like that ghastly man or his friend be the end of yours.‖ ―Thank you,‖ Fitz whispered. ―Oh my God, thank you.‖ ―Your story is just beginning, my darling boy. Enjoy it.‖ The warmth that lingered in Fitz‘s hair faded, and he realized he was alone in the interrogation room. Footsteps approached, and an officer arrived with Ben Scheffield in tow. ―At last. Jeez. Here you are. I made Ari go to the ER, but he‘s blowing up my phone.‖ He glanced at the officer who held the door open for both of them, then held out his hand to usher Fitz from the room. ―You need to come with me right now.‖ ―Is Ari all right?‖ Fitz rose so fast his chair screeched across the cracked vinyl floor. ―Can I go?‖ ―You‘re free to go. We‘ll need a statement, but for now you should probably be checked out by a doctor.‖ As Ben Scheffield walked him out of the building, he cautioned Fitz not to say anything to anyone about what happened, to let him do the talking, especially to the press, who were lined up waiting, not because Fitz was important but because the story that was circulating was a big fucking deal. Fitz could hear them working on their lead-ins and had to laugh. It wasn‘t every day that winds attributed to a microburst—a localized weather anomaly—happened on the inside of a bank on Sunset Boulevard. A few reporters looked ready to approach, but Ben Scheffield had an expression he wore for just such occasions, as if he controlled the airwaves themselves, and it did not bode well for anyone who planned to jam a microphone into his face. To those few who politely inquired, he offered a terse, ―No comment.‖ That was enough for everyone; it had to be. Ben Scheffield wasn‘t a man you fucked with. ―Adelaide will have to be told,‖ Ben said as Fitz opened the door of his Mercedes-Benz S-Class tank. ―And she‘s not going to be happy.‖ ―I know.‖ Fitz got in and dutifully seat belted himself into the passenger seat. His mind was still on Julian and his tragic story. He wondered if Julian‘s good-bye

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was final. The thought of that made his heart feel empty. ―I don‘t want to talk to anyone right now.‖ ―Your place is trashed. Apparently a weather anomaly‖—here Benjamin used air quotes despite the fact that he was driving—―occurred in Adelaide‘s house at about the same time one occurred at the bank, only in Adelaide‘s house, there was a small kitchen fire and it set off the alarms. The fire department arrived to find Ari and Garrett tied to chairs.‖ Fitz winced. ―How much of the placed burned?‖ ―Hardly anything. The fire was out by the time the fire department arrived on scene.‖ ―Wow.‖ Fitz turned his face to look out the passenger window as Ben nudged out into the gridlock of afternoon traffic. ―That‘s good anyway.‖ ―Yeah. It’s just great.‖ Benjamin sighed. ―Are you ever going to explain any of this? Weather anomaly my ass. What the hell happened at that bank?‖ ―I don‘t know what happened. I was there because some crazy-ass drug dealer friend of Garrett‘s wanted me to get him cash. He had a gun.‖ ―That, my dear boy, is called armed robbery, kidnapping, and extortion. And when Garrett gets out of the hospital, he‘s going to be charged as an accessory if I have anything to say about it.‖ ―Don‘t do that.‖ Fitz turned around to look at his one-time stepfather. ―He‘s just a fuckwad who got in too deep.‖ ―He brought monsters to your door, and they nearly killed my son.‖ A muscle jumped in Benjamin‘s jaw. ―Not negotiable. I‘ve scouted out a lawyer for him. He‘ll try to get the kid a deal. Rehab and probation. But he‘s got to be held accountable.‖ Fitz pressed his lips together and said nothing. ―That‘s better than what Adelaide will do to the boy if she ever gets hold of him. You can thank me later.‖ ―I guess.‖ ―About Ari,‖ Benjamin began tentatively. ―How come he happened to be involved when all this went down?‖ ―He was there, that‘s all.‖ Fitz turned back to the window, mortified now that Benjamin Scheffield was attempting to pry information from him. That never ended well for anyone. ―I don‘t want to be nosy, but he‘s my kid.‖ ―He stayed the night.‖ ―I see. I guess that means you two—‖ ―Okay, that is just none of your business.‖ Fitz folded his arms. ―It‘s fine with me, if that‘s what you‘re worried about.‖ ―That‘s one of my biggest fears put to rest.‖ ―Fitz—‖


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―This is mortifying. I suppose you‘re going to tell Adelaide?‖ ―And have her stick more pins in her Benjie Scheffield voodoo doll than are already there? Hell no.‖ Fitz contemplated the countdown on the walk signal. Five…four…three…two… ―She loves you. She always has. I think you‘re her soul mate.‖ ―That must be why she keeps marrying all those younger, hotter guys. It keeps me from twigging to her true feelings for me.‖ ―Eventually she‘ll slow down.‖ ―That‘s what I‘m afraid of. I‘ll try to have all my fun now, in preparation.‖ Benjamin drove in silence until he pulled into the parking at the Ruth and Harry Roman ER. He got out and handed his key fob over to the valet. Cedars. What else would there be but a valet? Benjamin opened Fitz‘s door and leaned his head in to coax Fitz out. Fitz blinked up at him. He wasn‘t as blasé about Adelaide as he appeared to be. ―You love my mother too. You‘ll end up together when you‘re old, like Mr. Skeffington and that bitch Bette Davis played. I‘ll say good luck with that right now.‖ Fitz unfastened his seat belt and left the vehicle. He had to practically run to keep up with Benjamin‘s brisk no-nonsense stride. ―Come on. Ari‘s waiting.‖

*** Ari was indeed waiting. He was sitting in the actual waiting room, having been seen and discharged. The second he saw Fitz, he stood and started across the room. Fitz ran to him without thinking, caught up in the moment, and flung himself into his arms. Ready or not, here I come. After the drama of the day they‘d had, after the fear, the violence and chaos, he wrapped his arms around Ari and clung to him. Ari gathered him up and clung right back, rubbing his bristly face against Fitz‘s cheek and pressing his lips to Fitz‘s temple. ―It‘s good to see you, Flitz,‖ Ari said hoarsely. ―Damn. What a fucking nightmare.‖ ―I was so scared.‖ ―Me too. And my head was killing me. I saw something really bizarre. I still don‘t know what was real and what—‖ ―I know.‖ Fitz ran his hands up and down Ari‘s arms. ―It probably seemed pretty inexplicable at the time but—‖ ―There was this man. I thought—‖ Someone shouldered them aside. ―I beg your pardon. May I get through?‖

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Fitz realized someone was trying to squeeze by them at the same time Ari pulled him over to the side where they would be out of the way. ―Thank you very much.‖ Serge winked. ―You.‖ Ari gaped at him. ―Of course me. Who were you expecting? Fitz, I hear Julian was silly—as usual. He tells me that it was the finest performance of his life. I would like to have seen that. I imagine it really stunned his audience?‖ ―Did it ever.‖ Fitz nodded his head. ―I‘m sure he‘ll be happy to tell you about it as well. At great length, probably, and with reenactments.‖ Julian appeared at Fitz‘s elbow. ―I was amazing. If anyone could have seen me, they would have had to shade their eyes. I was dazzling.‖ Ari closed his mouth, and his expression became shuttered. He leaned in to Fitz and whispered, ―You see them?‖ Fitz nodded. ―So…‖ ―So, Ari.‖ Serge put his arm around Julian. ―It‘s all good, as they say. If you don‘t mind, Fitz, we‘ll bid you adieu. Hospitals make Julian nervous.‖ Julian shuddered. ―Too many ghosts.‖ Serge gave Fitz a last, caring smile and winked out, taking Julian with him. Ari‘s grip on Fitz tightened. ―I think I need to go back to neurology now.‖ ―I‘ll explain later if I can.‖ Fitz pressed his cheek to Ari‘s and simply breathed him in. Ari wasn‘t his usual, fastidious self either. He stank of sweat and fear and acrid smoke. Ari cupped the back of his neck, and Fitz stayed there, his nose pressed to Ari‘s skin, homing in on the very essence of his scent and finally letting go of the anxiety that had gripped him. Ari trembled. ―We‘re okay. Making a scene, but…‖ ―Shh.‖ Fitz hushed him. He was content to be held, and he didn‘t care if the entire world watched.


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Chapter Twenty-seven Fitz surveyed the damage. Adelaide‘s kitchen felt exploded; there wasn‘t a drawer that hadn‘t been emptied, a plate or a glass left unbroken. The cabinet doors hung askew, smoke damage coated the ceiling, and fire retardant covered the stove. Chairs had been overturned. Upstairs, a linen chest and a large armoire had fallen somehow, marring the plaster walls. On top of all that, the house echoed with an emptiness so complete it seemed to freeze his heart. Ari and Benjamin had both left after Fitz insisted he wanted to be alone, and Julian and Serge were nowhere to be found. For the first time in his life, he found being alone was highly overrated. He couldn‘t even remember why it had seemed so important, so essential to face the house by himself. Was it that he didn‘t trust Ari‘s feelings for him so he shied away from them? Was it that he was shocked, and going to ground in his childhood home to lick his wounds and heal made a mad kind of sense? Whatever it was, he was over it. Adelaide‘s house was cold and lonely, worse by far now that he‘d experienced a night of passion – even love—in Ari‘s arms. He climbed the stairs to his room and went to the window, holding a glass of white wine from some random bottle he found in his mother‘s cellar. It was late and clouds obscured the sky. As wines went, it was tasty, and he‘d nearly finished the bottle. It still didn‘t warm him. He‘d found no relief from the relentless cold that had plagued him since he‘d seen Benjamin and Ari drive away. Instead of a pleasant buzz, the wine seemed to generate an aching sense of loss. It was so acute he could hardly think without the burning throat and sting of imminent tears. He fingered the phone in his pocket for the hundredth time. Picking up his coat and winding a scarf around his neck, he slipped the strap of his messenger bag over his head. Without knowing exactly what he was about, he headed out the door. Fitz passed familiar houses in the quiet darkness. The only sound he heard was the noise his feet made as they tapped along the sidewalk. He walked for a long while, finally coming out on Sunset Boulevard and into the shock of a city full of color and light and life. For a time, he stood there, watching. Cars and trucks passed by. Lights changed. Police sirens and an ambulance lent their noise to the cacophony. How could he feel so alone when this…this chaos of people and noise and industry was going on all around him? How had he failed to grasp that if he jumped into the swirling stream of humanity, he‘d get lost inside it, alone, forever? And why did that thought scare him more than having a gun shoved in his face that morning?

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Fitz‘s feet picked up speed, and before he knew it he was jogging, holding his phone to his ear, and calling for a taxi. He knew exactly where he wanted to be, and he knew he‘d be welcome. While the immensity of LA swirled around him, he headed straight for the one place—the one person—he‘d always called home.

*** Ari padded across the polished wood floor. His head was still fuzzy from sleep interrupted by the ringing of his doorbell. When he looked out the peephole, Fitz stood there. What the hell? Ari fumbled with the dead bolt and opened the door without remembering to unlatch the chain. ―Wait,‖ he said as Fitz started to push inside. He got the device undone after a few seconds and as soon as there was space for Fitz to get through, he hurled himself like a rocket into Ari‘s body. ―Shh…shh…shh,‖ Ari soothed. Fitz was unquestionably upset, and Ari searched his sleep-confused mind for why. Besides the obvious. ―What happened?‖ Fitz gripped Ari‘s sweatshirt and buried his face in the juncture of Ari‘s neck and shoulder. Ari wrapped his arms around Fitz and held him tight. ―So cold,‖ Fitz said. ―I‘m so fucking cold, Ari.‖ Since he was wrapped in a coat and scarf that hardly seemed possible. Ari cupped his chin and tilted it up so he could see Fitz‘s face. Red-rimmed eyes blinked back at him. ―I‘m an idiot. I should never have left you alone.‖ Fitz shook his head. ―No, that was me. I told you—‖ ―I shouldn‘t have listened to you. Adelaide‘s place is a crime scene, for heaven‘s sake. Come in to the kitchen.‖ ―No.‖ Fitz wouldn‘t let him go. ―My fault.‖ ―Have you been drinking?‖ Fitz nodded. ―Wine.‖ ―Damn it, Fitz. You are underage and—‖ ―Don‘t.‖ Fitz pushed away to unwind his scarf and unbutton his coat. ―Not tonight. Lecture tomorrow.‖ Ari couldn‘t take his eyes off Fitz‘s. Something in the way Fitz was looking at him made his heartbeat stutter. ―All right.‖ ―I don‘t want to be alone in Adelaide‘s house anymore. I‘ve known it all along. I guess it just took something as colossally stupid as Garrett nearly getting us killed to remind me. That‘s not home, Ari. You‘re my home.‖ ―Me?‖ Ari barely breathed. Fitz hung his coat on the rack by the door and dropped his scarf. He was pink-cheeked from the cold and damp with sweat. ―How many times have you been my refuge, my rock, the color in my life? It‘s always been you, Ari, and I was just too stupid to see it. After today I wanted to go


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home so badly. I wanted to feel safe. I just didn‘t realize where home is. I left Adelaide‘s place and started walking. I didn‘t know where I was going at first. I just headed out, and when I hit Sunset, I ran.‖ ―Yeah?‖ ―Well. Until I got a cab.‖ Fitz grinned and walked toward Ari. He started to undo the buttons on his shirt. ―Suddenly I knew exactly where I was going. The only place I want to be.‖ Ari‘s swallowed hard. He swept the waterfall of hair from Fitz‘s eyes and tucked it behind his ear. ―Tell me. Say the words.‖ ―When I thought we were going to…‖ Fitz swallowed hard. ―When I thought there was no time left, it was like a bomb went off in my heart, and my whole being was filled with one thing. I love you, Ari. As long as you want me, I want to be with you.‖ ―I love you too.‖ Ari‘s voice was hoarse when he whispered, ―What does that mean, exactly, ‗be with me‘?‖ Fitz let his shirt whisper to the floor. ―I don‘t know what I‘m doing, Ari. I can‘t say I have any experience. I just want you.‖ Ari took Fitz by the hand and led him toward the bedroom. He hesitated before taking Fitz inside, turning and giving Fitz a chance to think. ―I liked holding you last night. It doesn‘t have to be anything more than that until you‘re ready.‖ Fitz pulled away. ―I don‘t want you to just hold me. I want you to be the guy who takes me…home. Is that too… Is that wrong?‖ Ari let out the breath he‘d been holding. Brown eyes met his gaze and nothing was hidden from him. Not the vulnerability, not the frank admiration, not the wariness, or the love. It was all there. All for him. And if ever he wanted to get everything exactly right, if ever each and every move mattered, it was with Fitz. ―No. Of course it‘s not wrong. As long as it‘s what you want.‖ ―You said you belonged to me, Ari. I want you to make me yours.‖ Ari closed his eyes as passion made his heart race. ―But no pressure, huh?‖ Fitz flung himself against Ari‘s body hard enough to overbalance him into the nearest wall. ―Ari. Please,‖ Fitz begged. ―I won‘t be stupid anymore. I‘ve loved you since I was five. I don‘t know why you want me, but as long as you do, I‘m yours.‖

*** Ari led Fitz to the bed in a way that only Ari could, a graceful glide across the floor that was more dancing than walking. He lit candles and turned on music, and when he undressed, his body shimmered in the glow like he‘d been gold leafed. He crawled to where Fitz waited, and moved against him, powerful and lithe, using his hands to warm and caress, even as he undressed Fitz the rest of the way. Fitz caught his breath every time Ari‘s lips curved up into a smile, and when Ari‘s fingers grazed his skin, he shivered—but not from cold. Ari skimmed a palm over his nipple and followed up with his mouth, tasting and teasing the bud until

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Fitz arched off the bed. Fitz dug his fingers through Ari‘s silky hair and held his head close, begging for more. That smooth, silky tongue traced his skin, across his breastbone, then to the other nipple, tugging, pulling, drawing an invisible line taut between Fitz‘s chest and his cock, and just when he imagined he couldn‘t feel anything more, Ari cupped his balls and he shuddered all over. ―So responsive,‖ Ari whispered. Fitz tried to unstick his dry mouth to answer, but it was impossible to do anything except lie there and feel. The way Ari moved against him, the rasp of his sandpapery jaw against the sensitive skin on Fitz‘s chest, the way the hair on Ari‘s legs crinkled when Fitz moved his feet up and down the thickly muscled calves. The scent of Ari‘s skin, the tang of sweat and shampoo, and even the vague aroma of some kind of alcohol on his breath added to the sensory overload that threatened to overwhelm Fitz. Ari‘s hands roamed over him as if he wanted to map out and memorize every square inch. ―My head is swimming.‖ ―Good.‖ Ari rose above him, dropping kisses on his brow. One hand lazily caressed Fitz‘s cock and balls while Ari stroked his hair with the other. Ari circled his finger in the slick pool of precum on Fitz‘s belly and went to put it in his mouth. ―Can I taste you?‖ ―I…‖ Fitz swallowed hard. ―If you‘re asking if you have permission—‖ ―No.‖ Ari‘s tone was serious. ―I‘m asking you if it‘s safe.‖ ―I sucked Garrett off once, but I used a condom.‖ ―That‘s it?‖ Fitz nodded. ―He only ever jacked me off with his hands. There‘s never been anyone else.‖ Ari slid down and nuzzled into Fitz‘s package. ―I‘ve been dying to do this.‖ Fitz arched when he felt Ari‘s mouth on his dick for the first time. That hot, wet tongue teased at his glans and traced the sensitive underside of his dick until Fitz throbbed with need. He‘d been swamped with sensation before, but now he wondered if he‘d just black out, especially when Ari took him in all the way and Ari‘s throat caressed the tip of his cock, squeezing and milking it until his balls drew up tight. Ari backed off, and the sensation was gone, but Fitz had nearly blown in Ari‘s mouth. Just the thought made him gasp and clutch at Ari‘s sheets. ―Ari.‖ Fitz didn‘t know what he was asking for, but Ari knew and would give it to him if he asked. ―Please, Ari.‖ Ari drew off Fitz‘s cock long enough to moisten his fingers, and when he returned to his task, suckling each of Fitz‘s tender balls in his mouth one at a time, he circled and tapped the puckered skin around Fitz‘s anus. Fitz froze when he felt Ari‘s fingers at his entrance, and Ari‘s lashes lifted. Then he raised his head.


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Ari had one long-fingered, elegant hand on Fitz‘s cock, one poised over Fitz‘s most intimate skin. He asked, ―Are you sure, Fitz? If you‘re not, it‘s all right. We can—‖ ―I‘m sure,‖ Fitz whispered. He had no voice. His mouth hung open, and he sucked in air when Ari‘s finger invaded him gently. He didn‘t take his eyes off Ari‘s green ones. The pupils had bloomed like black ink stains and nearly eclipsed the irises. When Ari‘s finger was in to the second knuckle, Fitz shifted, and it slid in a little farther. Ari moved his hand slightly, and pleasure made Fitz gasp in surprise. ―Oh, ah…‖ Fitz‘s whole body rang like a bell for a moment. ―What?‖ Ari drew Fitz‘s cock inside his mouth and did it again, and this time Fitz‘s spine rippled like he‘d been zinged with a pleasurable electric shock. His heart thundered. He rocked urgently between Ari‘s hand and his mouth, gaining momentum, and suddenly he was coming, draining into the moist cave of Ari‘s mouth, and being fucked by not one, but two of Ari‘s fingers. While he came down from the shock and pleasure of his most intense orgasm ever, he held Ari‘s head between his hands, against his skin, digging through Ari‘s thick hair and holding on. Ari pulled off when Fitz was limp and crawled up to lie beside him. Fitz captured him and held him close. Fitz sighed. ―That was…‖ ―All right?‖ Ari spoke against the skin of Fitz‘s neck. ―Are you kidding? That was amazing. I never imagined anything could be so intense.‖ Fitz pulled Ari up so he could see his face. ―You‘re amazing.‖ Ari grinned down at him and pressed his lips to Fitz‘s. He tasted his own spunk, and it sent a thrill straight from his brain to his balls. His cock lurched a little in response. Ari‘s hard cock gave an answering throb against his thigh. Without saying anything, Ari urged Fitz over onto his stomach, and just as he had before, he nudged Fitz‘s knees apart and pressed between them. Fitz couldn‘t help the thrill of anticipation as he lifted his ass to Ari, offering it as surely as if he said the words take me out loud. Ari knelt behind him. ―Are you sure, Fitz?‖ Fitz‘s heart hammered, and the blood rushed in his ears. ―Never more so,‖ he managed to answer. Maybe he was scared, but this was Ari. He trusted Ari more than he trusted anyone, and somewhere along the way, he‘d grown to love him. Whatever happened between them in the future, this was absolutely, positively right. ―Yes.‖ Somewhere Ari found lube and a condom, and when Fitz sent him a questioning look, Ari merely shrugged and said, ―Always when I…‖ Fitz nodded, then let Ari push a pillow beneath his hips. Ari began with his hands, a soothing, sweeping featherlight massage that raised all the little hairs on Fitz‘s skin, barely more than a tickle but enough to send the blood south to pool in his groin again.

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―Look at you,‖ Ari murmured in wonder. ―Nineteen years old and nearly ready to go again.‖ Fitz pushed his face into the pillow, embarrassed to be so blatantly horny. ―Don‘t.‖ ―You‘re so beautiful, Fitz. I‘ve watched you from the audience when you play and wondered what it would be like to have you, all that sharp focus and intense concentration—that bright spirit—in my life, in my bed, beneath my hands and mouth exactly like this.‖ ―At your mercy,‖ Fitz teased. ―Maybe.‖ ―I am‖—a wave of hot longing flooded Fitz, and he panted—―I am at your mercy, I mean. Right now. I want…‖ Ari‘s tongue trailed down Fitz‘s spine, and everywhere it went, it left a strip of cool. It was impossibly arousing. Fitz squirmed and arched, losing his mind as that slick tongue slid into the crack of his ass and down, down, to the place where Ari‘s fingers had been, to lick and tease and nip at the skin there. When that slick muscle entered him, he thought he would fall apart completely. ―Ari.‖ Fitz was shocked. He‘d seen this but never imagined anyone would ever— Ari opened him with his tongue and a thumb, and Fitz moved mindlessly against them, moaning out loud when Ari added another thumb and played him like an instrument. ―Oh… Uhn. Ari… Shit yes,‖ Fitz hissed. ―There. Right there.‖ Awful disappointment flooded Fitz when those thumbs disappeared, but then in the very next instant, Ari covered him with his big body and that cock nudged up against his hole, right where Fitz needed it, pushing in, deeper and deeper, stretching and filling him until he was wide open and pushing back, arched and wanting everything Ari had to give. ―Oh fuck, Ari.‖ Fitz lifted and rocked back as Ari claimed him. He groped for Ari‘s free hand, and when he found it, they laced their fingers together. They rose and fell like they were dancing, like they knew every step there was to make and had perfected it and now all that was left was the joy of performing it. Fitz had a fleeting thought of Julian and Serge and wondered if they experienced the same kind of magic together. Ari groaned and drove himself into Fitz. Fitz moaned and pushed back. When at last Fitz shuddered into his second climax of the night, the way his body clenched and shivered seemed to pull Ari over the edge with him. Ari clung, whispering praise and endearments into the damp hair that clung to the nape of Fitz‘s neck. ―I love you, Flitz,‖ Ari breathed against Fitz‘s sweaty skin. ―Always. Always…‖ Fitz would have liked to say something back, but exhaustion was pulling at him, and he found he couldn‘t even reply. For an answer, he pushed deeper into


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Ari‘s arms –so tightly into Ari‘s body that it felt like he‘d crawled into a cave inside Ari‘s heart—and fell fast asleep. Ari took Fitz‘s hand as they pulled into the garage at Adelaide‘s house. The morning had dawned in a spectacular fashion. The rain had chased the smog from the basin until all that was left was a brilliant blue sky dappled with thin fleecy clouds, arching to meet snowcapped mountains in the distance. The neighborhood looked exactly as it had when Fitz had left it the night before, but everything felt different. ―Are you sure you‘re ready to do this?‖ Ari asked. Fitz nodded. ―Benjamin said he‘d contact a cleaning crew but I have to be here to let them in and tell them where things go. Has he contacted Adelaide yet?‖ ―No. He‘ll call her after the dust settles. There‘s nothing she can do about this from France anyway.‖ Ari paused. ―Let‘s go. There‘s no point in prolonging the inevitable.‖ ―All right.‖ Fitz got out and closed the car door behind him. He turned just in time to see Ari watching him from the driver‘s side of the car. There was a new something in Ari‘s eyes, knowledge and need—a hunger that made Fitz flush. He let his own desire show and got a sweet, hot smile in return. Ari came around to collect Fitz and together they headed for the door. Fitz started to turn the doorknob, but he hesitated. ―What is it?‖ ―The kitchen is a disaster.‖ Fitz lifted his gaze to Ari‘s. ―I left last night because it doesn‘t feel safe anymore.‖ Ari reached out and brushed a lock of Fitz‘s hair behind his ear. ―If you like, we can change the locks and the codes. Have security make rounds more often.‖ ―Nothing is really safe, though, is it? You just have to hope for the best and…‖ Fitz bit his lip. ―No. Nothing is guaranteed. I know that can be scary.‖ Ari cupped the back of Fitz‘s neck and pulled him in for a tender kiss. ―But we‘ll handle this together. If you want I‘ll call the office and tell them I can‘t come in today. We‘ll get the place sorted out. I won‘t leave until you‘re comfortable.‖ ―I don‘t need you to do that. I just have to‖—he turned the knob and entered— ―find my feet again so…‖ Fitz trailed off when an utterly unexpected and delicious smell hit him. Coffee… And was that ham? Mozart‘s clarinet concerto competed with the tinkle and clank of glass as Serge swept a mountain of broken crockery and barware into a pile in the corner of the kitchen.

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Fitz and Ari stood stunned into speechlessness when Julian turned to scowl at them from the stove. ―There you are at last. It took hours to salvage the place enough to cook, but I‘ve got the eggs Benedict almost ready. Wash up in the blue powder room, and I‘ll serve on the patio.‖ Fitz glanced at Ari, who blinked once or twice before he shrugged and said, ―Okay. We‘ll be ready in a sec.‖ Fitz laughed out loud. He doubted Ari would have been so quick to accept the presence of Julian and Serge if they‘d come home to microwave breakfast burritos. ―Foodie slut.‖ ―I am,‖ Ari conceded. ―Allez vite.‖ Serge arched a stern eyebrow. ―Hollandaise waits for no one.‖


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Epilogue ―All right.‖ Fitz lifted the lid on a pot of boiling water and closed his eyes. ―Just do it, Marguerite. No point in prolonging the inevitable.‖ Marguerite ruthlessly dropped two large, live lobsters into the pot. Fitz slammed the lid down over them, half expecting to hear their tiny cries for help. ―Delicate feelings have little place on a table full of meat. It‘s not consistent.‖ ―I know. I just don‘t like the idea.‖ ―You know what to do about that?‖ Marguerite arched an eyebrow at him while she set the timer. ―Eat fruit and don‘t let the world do your dirty work.‖ ―I know. I bought them, didn‘t I?‖ He had looked at the frozen lobster tails and realized Ari would tell him he could taste the difference, whether he could or not. ―I‘m getting better. I boned a chicken yesterday.‖ She grinned at him as only evil housekeepers can. ―I asked you not to share your private—‖ ―Shut up.‖ He buffeted her with his shoulder. This new camaraderie with the mysterious Marguerite was probably the oddest change he‘d made to his life since he‘d been thrown into a Dumpster and reclaimed by ghosts. He was learning to cook, and in that they‘d found an uneasy alliance, because half the time she cooked spectacular, restaurant-quality foods and the other half…well… At least she hadn‘t painted the doors and lintels with the blood of lambs. He didn‘t know if Marguerite‘s charms worked. But some of them stank. ―When I was a child, I thought the lobsters at the supermarket were pets. Adelaide used to say, let‘s go to the petting zoo, and we‘d head for—‖ ―Jeez, what a boring day.‖ Ari walked in through the door from the garage, resplendent from a day in court. ―And that means something when an accountant says it. Whatever you‘re cooking smells great.‖ Fitz had baked bread, so of course the kitchen smelled great. The two loaves currently sitting on cooling racks represented his highest culinary achievement to date, the maiden voyage of a sourdough starter he‘d begun a couple of weeks before at Marguerite‘s urging. Now the entire house smelled like he‘d opened a bakery. ―Dinner‘s almost ready.‖ Ari was already divesting himself of his coat and tie. ―What do you need me to do?‖

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―I‘m making a salad.‖ Fitz pulled out the components of his salad and began the process of making a vinaigrette in a recycled jelly jar. Marguerite assured him it could double as an aphrodisiac and be worn as a cologne. He didn‘t always take her seriously anymore. ―I‘m leaving now.‖ Marguerite demurely wiped her hands on a towel. She had her own live lobster to kill at home later. She picked up her purse and waved off his efforts to help her carry the box her creature was trying to fight its way out of. ―I have it.‖ ―Thanks for your help.‖ Fitz stopped what he was doing. ―See you.‖ She waved and headed for the front door. When they heard it close behind her, it seemed more than unnaturally quiet. ―Alone at last.‖ Ari slid up behind Fitz and kissed his neck. He‘d rolled up his sleeves, and his strong, bare forearms tightened deliciously around Fitz‘s waist. ―Are we celebrating something special?‖ Fitz hesitated briefly before answering. ―I got my letter of acceptance from UCLA.‖ ―Yeah? That‘s great.‖ Ari turned him around and beamed down at him. ―But when did you decide against going to New York?‖ ―Juilliard is cool and all. But…‖ Ari‘s brows came together. ―This isn‘t because of us, is it? I told you, you need to decide where to go based on what you want. I‘m all in for you, whatever, even if it means you leave. We can handle it.‖ ―I want to go to school here in LA. It‘s home.‖ ―Adelaide will implode. She always assumed you‘d be heading to Juilliard.‖ ―I already told her. And yeah. It could have gone better. She‘s happy that I‘ve picked someplace—at last—but she believes I‘m staying because of you and I‘ll be sorry in the long run.‖ ―Are you absolutely certain that you won‘t be?‖ ―I‘m certain. But sometimes I wonder…‖ Fitz lidded the jar and shook it to emulsify his dressing. He kept his eyes on that so he didn‘t have to look directly at Ari. ―This thing between you and me, it‘s great. Don‘t get me wrong. I‘ve never been this happy.‖ ―But?‖ Ari frowned, and Fitz could see he braced himself for whatever was coming. Fitz wanted to tell him not to worry, but that wouldn‘t be fair. ―But I‘m nineteen years old.‖ Fitz stated the fact and then continued in a rush. ―I don‘t know what the hell I‘m going to end up doing. I know what I‘m feeling now, but I‘m not sure—not one hundred percent absolutely, guaranteed sure—what I‘ll be feeling tomorrow or five years from now. And words like long-term and big decisions aren‘t exactly…my thing. Yet.‖ Ari shot Fitz a relieved smile. ―That‘s okay.‖


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―Yeah?‖ Fitz wrung his hands. He had trouble sometimes, saying the right thing. ―It is?‖ ―Sure it is. I don‘t need guarantees. Who guarantees anything anymore? People get together and break up all the time.‖ Ari laid a gentle hand on Fitz‘s shoulder, and it calmed Fitz. ―I love you. But you can take your time. I‘m not going anywhere. Anyway I‘m so hot you won‘t be able to help yourself.‖ Fitz pulled a face. ―Listen to you.‖ ―No seriously. I‘m all that. You don‘t stand a chance.‖ ―Ari—‖ Ari sighed. ―I know what you‘re trying to say, Flitz. Things change. People grow. Time will tell. Right now is what matters, and the future will take care of itself. Just know this: I‘ll always be there for you, okay? No matter what. Even if things change, we‘ll still always have each other.‖ Fitz sighed and pulled Ari in for a full-body hug. ―I hope this never changes.‖ ―Me too, Fitz.‖ Ari‘s lips found Fitz‘s in a thrilling kiss, tender and full of promise. Fitz opened to him, sweeping Ari‘s full lower lip and tracing the sharp edges of his even white teeth with his tongue. Ari dug his fingers into Fitz‘s hair and tightened his grip, even as Fitz tucked his fingertips under the waistband of Ari‘s trousers. Ari broke their kiss and nuzzled Fitz‘s ear. He planted tiny, sensuous kisses and licks on Fitz‘s sensitive skin and followed the tendons down the column of his throat. ―Smells great,‖ Ari whispered, then sucked up a small mark. ―Ah, Ari,‖ Fitz moaned. Ari gripped Fitz by his belt and pushed him against the counter by the sink. He slid his hands down Fitz‘s back and gripped him tightly by his hips. Their kisses grew more desperate. ―Fuck cooking.‖ Fitz blinked. ―I—‖ The lobster timer shrilled in the relatively quiet kitchen, and they broke apart. ―Oh shit.‖ Ari made his way to the stove to turn it off while Fitz braced himself and peered into the pot. Bright red, check. Curled tails, check. Fitz glanced up at Ari. ―I think they‘re done.‖ ―Get a platter.‖ Ari found the tongs and snapped them playfully in Fitz‘s direction. One good thing was Ari had gone to some restaurant supply store and replaced everything that had broken during the robbery with first-rate tools. They‘d organized them together so everything was easy to find. Fitz pulled a new white platter from the open cabinet and set it on the counter. ―Once these bad boys are out of the water‖—Ari pulled them out and set them down to cool—―it‘s time for dancing.‖

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Fitz glanced up at him in some surprise. ―Dancing? Dinner is just—‖ ―You don‘t have time to dance one lousy dance with me?‖ Ari put the platter on the table and struck a pose. ―Make time.‖ ―I guess.‖ Fitz pushed Play on a tiny remote, and the brand new iPod dock Ari‘d gotten him came to life. They‘d made several playlists of different types of dance music for him, so he dialed up one of his favorites. ―Ah, rhumba.‖ Ari took his hand. ―The dance of flirtation.‖ Fitz allowed Ari to draw him close, rocking for a second while they found their rhythm together. Ari‘s mad dance instructor persona had become something of a joke between them. ―The dance of penetrations…‖ Ari snapped his hips forward, and even though he tried to hold it back, Fitz let loose a high-pitched, silly laugh. ―Oh tee-hee, did you just giggle?‖ Ari asked. ―Because when we dance, there is no giggling allowed.‖ Fitz‘s focused on Ari‘s awesome green eyes. ―I‘m sorry. I‘ll try to do better.‖ ―See that you do. The dance, she is serious business.‖ Ari led Fitz past the kitchen door and down the hallway, picking up speed until they were in the living room, where they could let loose if they felt like it. ―Serious Business. Got it.‖ ―Come to me, Fitzgerald.‖ Ari gave Fitz‘s hand a tug, and he stepped back into Ari‘s arms, back into the Latin rhythm as if he were stepping into a dream. As if he and Ari had been dancing together forever. Ari surprised him by saying, ―We really should consider going on the same-sex ballroom dancing circuit.‖ Fitz nearly tripped over his feet. ―You‘ve got to be kidding me.‖ ―Actually I think it would be fun.‖ ―I thought you didn‘t want to pursue ballroom?‖ ―Just because I don‘t want to go on some reality television show doesn‘t mean it wouldn‘t be fun to explore dance as a sport. As a matter of fact, I‘ve always wanted…‖ When Ari didn‘t finish, Fitz asked, ―What?‖ ―I always wanted a lover who would ballroom dance with me.‖ Fitz felt his cheeks catch fire. ―But I‘m no dancer, Ari. Not like you. We could never compete with those people who do dance sport, because they‘re both great dancers. You could only carry me so far.‖ ―It‘s something we could pursue together. I‘m not interested in winning competitions. I just want to dance with you. Think about it anyway. Fun. Exercise. Social life.‖ ―It does sound cool. But why do I think you aren‘t as mellow about competitions as you pretend to be?‖


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―Duh. Because you know me?‖ Ari twirled Fitz under his arm. ―I think you‘ve got the goods if you can simply relax.‖ ―Yeah?‖ ―Of course you do. You‘re poetry in motion.‖ Fitz wagged his eyebrows. ―Poultry in motion? Does that make you a chicken— ‖ ―Don‘t even say it. I‘m already getting a crap load of that cradle-robbing shit at work from Alex and Caleb. By the way, they told me to tell you hello.‖ Fitz glanced toward the kitchen. ―Our lobster is probably getting rubbery.‖ ―One more minute isn‘t going to hurt.‖ ―If it does, Food Boy, you‘ll probably be the only one who can tell, so if you think you can complain about—‖ ―Oy.‖ A British accent interrupted from next to Fitz‘s elbow. ―Look at them, Serge, arguing like a couple of married OAPs already.‖ Julian and Serge materialized to dance beside them. Serge leaned over to whisper, ―Are you having a lovely time?‖ ―Yes, I am.‖ Fitz‘s hit him with his brightest smile. Things were perfect. Well…practically perfect. Scary, but perfect. Right now is what matters, and the future will take care of itself. Julian spoke. ―I think Ari‘s idea has tremendous merit. And not just because I‘m something of a dazzling dancer myself.‖ Serge tried to rein Julian in a little. ―My lover wears modesty so well, don‘t you think?‖ ―I‘m dead serious here.‖ Julian stopped and faced Fitz and Ari. ―Serge and I found each other, and it was brilliant. But life can be unpredictable, even tragic. Serge is the music that fills my heart and animates my body. Serge is my soul.‖ Serge was visibly moved. ―Julian.‖ ―We nearly lost each other,‖ Julian whispered. ―I know.‖ Fitz said, as he put both arms around Ari. He and Ari looked into each other‘s eyes. ―Every time we dance, I feel like the luckiest man in the world.‖ Julian bowed over Serge‘s hand, kissing his knuckles like he was some sort of prince, but with such tenderness it brought hot tears to sting Fitz‘s eyes. ―Me too.‖ Fitz turned to Ari. ―I‘m never going to take a dance with you for granted.‖ Ari smiled. ―Then…shall we?‖

Loose Id Titles by Z. A. Maxfield Blue Fire Crossing Borders Drawn Together Family Unit Fugitive Color Rhapsody for Piano and Ghost What Child is This? The ST. NACHO’S Series St. Nacho’s Physical Therapy Jacob’s Ladder

Z. A. Maxfield Z. A. Maxfield is a fifth generation native of Los Angeles, although she now lives in the O.C. She started writing in 2006 on a dare from her children and never looked back. Pathologically disorganized, and perennially optimistic, she writes as much as she can, reads as much as she dares, and enjoys her time with family and friends. If anyone asks her how a wife and mother of four manages to find time for a writing career, she'll answer, ―It's amazing what you can do if you completely give up housework.‖ Check out her website at http://www.zamaxfield.com.

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