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“I do... care for you.” It surprised the shit out of me the words didn't literally get stuck in my throat. But he'd shared a piece of himself, and he deserved to hear my truth, even the one I hid from myself.

“I care about you too.” He inched closer and placed a hand over my chest. “I want this to work more than I've wanted anything.”

His eyes met mine, and the pure affection and passion in them didn't frighten me in the least. I ran a hand over the dark waves of his hair. We didn't rush to meet. We lingered, expelled several breaths on each other's lips before finally, slowly coming together.

The kiss was drawn out and sensual, a physical culmination of raw emotions I wasn't used to. We held on to each other instead of stroking or petting. We said more with our bodies than I could have put into words. More than I could have given him with anything other than a physical moment. So I showed him all I could. It was the least he deserved.

When Matthew pulled back, he said, “Richard's not like most men. To take this chance with us. To risk everything. It's rare. The way he goes with his instincts and trusts.”

“I don't know what he saw in me, but I'm beginning to understand how fortunate I am.”

“He saw you. You may not have thought you wanted this, but I think you needed us.”

“I think I did.”

He kissed me again, then stood and offered me a hand. “Let's tackle his fine body when he gets home. Let him make us feel relaxed, alive.”

I smiled, content in the knowledge Matthew understood what I'd meant. He'd been there with me.

“Fuck this.”

I slammed my laptop lid shut without an ounce of worry I might have damaged the damn thing.

My latest program, a simple time-card application for a chain of regional pet stores, kept generating errors, and after an hour reviewing lines of code, I gave up on trying to figure it out.

Something was seriously bothering me, and it had nothing to do with work.

It'd been a month since Richard and Matthew had attended one of Richard's work parties, and they were out together again. Without me.

I ditched my laptop on the coffee table and cursed at it again. I stretched out on the couch. Did I really want to be with them? Did it bother me to be left out?

Hell, yes.

I didn't want to give the admission much thought. Instead, I reached for my laptop bag and pulled out the brown envelope. I had looked at the pictures and photocopies from Maria Lammon too many times over the past few weeks, but I couldn't seem to stop myself.

The first time I opened the envelope, I flipped through the pictures as fast as I could, as though my father could see me via the printed images of him thirty-five years earlier.

I took a closer look as I went through them for what had to be the twentieth time. The relaxed, smiling images of my dad couldn't be the same man I'd grown up with. I never saw him smile, not like that.

I reached into my laptop bag and pulled out another envelope, one I'd held onto for years. I'd gone in search of it after first getting Maria's package. The photo of Tim and me had been taken at a dorm Halloween party, the day after we had sex for the first time. I had a goofy smile on my face, a match to the one on Tim's. We were pictured with five other guys, all of us holding up our middle fingers in salute to the photographer. I couldn't remember the names of the other guys in the photo. I rarely allowed myself the melodrama of looking at the only picture I had of myself in college, the only picture I had of Tim.

I held the photo next to the one of my father— two young college men. It was unnerving how much we looked alike. Weren't my mother's genes supposed to factor in there somewhere?

I set the pictures down and picked up the photocopied newspaper articles. Most were from the university newspaper, but a few were from the local city paper. Like the first one on the pile. A note was attached to the front.

Not something for your DVD, but I thought you might like to read the article. Maria.

I pulled off the sticky note and reread the story.

COLLEGE STUDENT OVERDOSES AT GRADUATION PARTY

Local college student Daniel Conner was found unconscious in a bathroom at an undisclosed residence on May 11. He had been attending a graduation party and was alone in the bathroom when he ingested a fatal dose of cocaine just prior to his discovery. A friend of the deceased, Johnathan Moore, tried to revive Conner until paramedics arrived on the scene. Conner was pronounced dead at 1:28 a.m. just after his arrival at Memorial Hospital. Police have ruled the incident an accidental overdose.

Five sentences. You'd think describing the end of a young man's life would take a few more words than that.

I pictured Matthew snorting a line of blow, having shot after shot forced down his throat. If he had died that night, would his newspaper story have read the same way?

I folded the paper in half and shoved it back into the envelope. I picked up the photos again, pausing at the one Maria had marked with another sticky note.

The shorter man in the middle is Danny Conner.

Just a kid. He looked younger than Matthew. He also looked happy, one arm draped across the shoulders of a younger version of Roger Vance, the other arm around my father.

What led Mark Summers to my father's college years and the death of Danny Conner? And if I was right and my father had something to do with his death, the real question was why? Why would Johnathan Moore risk his future? Maybe he didn't kill Conner, but maybe the time he spent trying to revive him wasn't as helpful as it could have been. Perhaps Conner knew something my father wanted to keep quiet. Something Conner had written in his journal.

If I wanted answers, I'd have to find that journal. Roger Vance may have been correct in assuming Mrs. Conner was deceased. What then?

I stared into Danny Conner's eyes.
Was my father really your friend?

I turned to another picture. Three men, the same pose, but the third man standing beside my father wasn't Roger Vance. My dad had one arm around Conner's shoulders and the other around the new man. Phillip Meade? Danny Conner didn't seem nearly as happy as in the last photo. He still had a smile, but it was subtle, a little sad the way it didn't quite curve his lips. I studied my father. The look in his eyes reminded me of the time he'd held a gun to my face. Was this where it started? Was this when he mutated into the vicious, hard man I knew?

I couldn't look away. I studied his slight, cocky smile, the way the university sweatshirt he wore bunched up on the arm he had around Phillip Meade, the way his jeans fit his frame too well. I pulled the photo closer and sat up. A small, curved metal object stuck out the top of his left pocket. A pocket watch?

I swiped the phone off the coffee table and dialed Maria Lammon's number.

“Oh, hi, Luke. Did you get the pictures I sent?”

“Yeah. I'm just now getting everything together. I wondered if you could help me identify someone.”

“Sure. Let me just get the album out so I know what you're looking at.” She was gone a minute. The more I looked at the object stuck in my father's jeans, the more convinced I became it was Danny Conner's watch.

When Maria came back on, I described the photo.

“Got it,” she said. “Oh, that's a good one. John was so handsome. He's still the most attractive man I know in real life— you know, from seeing him on TV.”

I ignored her comments and got to the point. “I know Danny Conner. The other guy next to my father?”

“That's Phil. I remember taking this picture. It's... it's the last one. Three hours later, Danny was gone.”

Bingo. Might as well go for broke.

“You said Danny had the coke in a silver pocket watch.” Not that she'd told me it was silver. “Is that it in my father's pocket?”

Silence.

“You still there?”

“That sure looks like it. But... Danny always had it. I think it belonged to his father. Why would John have it?”

“He picked it up that night, right?”

“But that was after. That part I remember. I told him later he should give it to the police or Danny's mom. He yelled at me to mind my own business. I'll never forget that. John never yelled at me. I think that's when I knew things were never going to be the same again. He was spending most of his time with Elizabeth and less and less with us. When he did get with any of us, it was always one-on-one. We just never were the same gang again.”

“You sure this was the night Conner died?”

“Definitely. I got the film developed months after the funeral. I remember sitting there crying as I flipped through the pictures. This was that night.” She paused. “Maybe Danny dropped it and John picked it up.” She was talking to herself. I let her continue. “Maybe he... well, he had to have given it back to Danny before we started playing pool. They were gone for a while before that.”

“Gone?”

“Yeah. Danny and John disappeared for half an hour. Then John came back and started a game of pool. Danny was in the bathroom. And then— why wouldn't John have said anything about the watch? At least to me.”

“Maybe he and Danny argued?”

“Argued? Danny? No. He looked up to John. I think they were off trying to get Danny to make a play for someone. John was always helping him out with girls. It explained the coke. You know, like maybe he had gotten shot down again and needed a pickup. I think he got shot down a lot. He never wanted to talk about his love life. Which was a shame. He was so good looking, so sweet.”

“Did you ever ask my dad what happened? Where they were?”

“No. After he yelled at that cop, no one wanted to push him into talking about that night.”

“What cop?”

“The one that questioned us before we left for the hospital. John got so mad at him. Well, we all did. He kept hinting that Danny was suicidal, that there was something wrong with him, which wasn't true.”

“What did he say to my dad?”

“They were in the other room, so I didn't hear. I didn't know what it was about until your dad's wedding. Phil, Roger, and I were seated together at the reception. We ended up talking about Danny. I mentioned that stupid cop, and Phil told us what happened. The cop called Danny a fag. Which was stupid. Danny was shy. Quiet. He wasn't gay. The cop was just an ass, you know. John never did stand for anyone talking shit about Danny.”

I stared at the photo again. The pieces were coming together, clicking in place like hitting the right numbers in a combination lock. Danny Conner was gay. I had no doubt.

Had he made a play for someone that night like Maria suggested? For my father?

I finally found my voice. “Thanks again for the pictures.”

“No problem. You let me know if I can help with anything else. I can't wait to see John.”

Too bad for her, I had no plans to put together any sort of celebration where my father was concerned. Perhaps I'd celebrate when I had him out of my life for good.

The front door opened as I hung up the phone.

I tucked the pictures in my laptop bag. “Hey. Have fun?”

“No.” Richard stepped into the living room. “People shouldn't invest money when they don't have a clue what the hell they're doing.”

“Nobody liked your investment plan?”

“Nobody would listen to me. I've never had such a shitty response.”

Matthew slid past Richard and headed toward the other end of the couch. He never looked my way. Before I could say anything to him, Richard yanked me off the couch and into his arms.

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “Missed you tonight.”

“Yeah? I uh... kinda wish I'd gone with you.”

His eyes lit up, and the frustration vanished. He dipped his head and kissed my neck.

I glanced at Matthew. He sat on the end of the couch, his gaze fixated on the floor. Richard rubbed his erection against my hip and whimpered a low groan.

“You want something?” I asked.

“You know I do. Been thinking about it all night. Matthew looked damn good. Could barely keep my hands off him.”

“He is pretty irresistible.” I expected to hear a sign of appreciation from Matthew. He offered nothing.

Richard kissed me. He tasted odd, different, but I couldn't put it all together before his mouth was gone. He stepped backward and tugged me with him. “Come on, kid. Let's go to bed.”

“You two go ahead. I'm gonna watch some TV.” Matthew dived forward, fumbled for the remote, and slumped onto the couch again, curling up in the corner.

Richard's hands tightened on my waist. “Matthew?”

“It's fine. Really. I know we have a deal. You guys can maybe find something to do so you don't break the deal, right?” He waved us off with a quick gesture of his arm.

Richard didn't make a move to leave.

“I don't feel well. Don't make a big deal about it.”

Richard released me and went to him. He laid the back of his hand against Matthew's forehead. “Are you okay?”

Matthew pushed the big hand away. “Yeah. Jeez, don't worry so much. Just don't feel well enough to get off. Okay?”

Richard sat in the chair opposite Matthew. The physical distance between them unnerved me. I wanted to go to bed and forget all about it.

The television sound was muted, but Matthew stared at the screen and nothing else. A tampon commercial— including a 3-D animation on the effective absorption power as compared to a competitor's product— came on, and Matthew kept watching it like it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. I sat next to him. He shifted a few inches closer to me, then stopped as if he'd moved out of instinct before he could remind himself he wasn't up for anything.

Richard spoke in a soothing tone. “What's wrong?”

Matthew gave up on the TV and hung his head. “I can't be with you tonight. I'm sorry.”

“Can't be with us or with me?”

“With you.”

Richard's mouth gaped open. “Why?”

Matthew fixated on the television again. “You had two glasses of whiskey and two beers.”

“Shit. I didn't think about it. I usually have a few drinks. That's why I take a cab.”