Restoration 01 - Getting It Right (7 page)

“It was a mess, but the night of Doug’s accident, Ell tried to confront him and when that didn’t work, he lied and said he was cheating. He thought it would make Doug confess, but Doug didn’t. Ell’s a wreck because the last thing he ever said to Doug was a lie, and Doug never came clean about cheating, and he has no idea who this other guy is.”

“Does he
want
to know?”

James shrugged and stabbed out the unfinished cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. “I don’t know. Maybe yes. For closure or something.”

“I wonder if the guy knows about Doug.”

“Fuck him, whoever he is. This is killing Elliott.”

Nathan nodded, his expression solemn. Tentative. “Were you with Elliott last night?”

The question held no accusation, not really, but it was still laced with something more than bland curiosity.

“For a few hours. I went over after Doug’s mother told me about letting Doug go. Elliott was a mess, and he blurted out the whole cheating thing.”

“I can’t imagine finding out something like that. That someone you loved and trusted, who had fucking proposed to you, was running around behind your back.”

“They were going bare.”

It took Nathan’s straight-guy brain a little longer to assimilate that information and catch up to the importance. “Elliott and Doug were? Fucking hell, did Ell get tested?”

James’s gut rolled. “I brought it up this morning, when his parents weren’t in the room.

He said he hasn’t had time, what with everything else going on. I think he’s terrified and avoiding it altogether.”

“You don’t think Doug would put Elliott at risk like that, do you?”

“I never thought Doug would cheat, period, so what the fuck do I know?” A lot of bitterness leaked into that one. “Isn’t there some sort of saying about never really knowing people?”

“You can only know as much as people are willing to tell you.”

It was the perfect opening, and he lunged for it. “Then tell me about Thursday night.”

Nathan froze, and for one flash of time, he looked scared. Then he relaxed, shifting into what James always thought he must look like when questioning suspects. Loose shoulders, hands by his sides, expression calm. Only his eyes danced with emotion.

“What do you want to know?” Nathan said. “You got bad news. You got wasted. I picked your drunk ass up and dumped you on my sofa for the night.”

“I want to know what happened at your house, Nate. I only vaguely remember going inside, and then everything else is either a blur or a blank. We did shots?”

“A few. You also had a couple on your own after I went to bed.”

He didn’t remember that but it also didn’t totally surprise him. “And I probably got all morose about Price.”

“A little bit.”

Nathan’s clipped answers were the tell James needed to know Nathan was hiding

something. “So in between the shots and putting me to bed, did I kiss you?”

Analyzing people was usually easy. Years of experience and listening to anecdotes told James that when someone asked a straight man if another man had kissed him, they’d get one of two immediate reactions. The first was disgust and denial. Sometimes disgust was disguised behind humor, especially between close friends. The responder would say “hell no” and that would be the end of it.

The second reaction, if the answer was yes, was embarrassed humor. Brushing it off due to a drunken state. Making jokes about it like “I knew you always wanted me.” They’d laugh and go about their business.

Nathan didn’t give him either of those responses. The subtle tic in his jaw was followed by the narrowing of his eyes. In both of those actions, James saw a big fat
YES
.

“I kissed you.” James didn’t phrase it as a question this time.

And why did I do it when I was so fucking hammered that I don’t remember? I don’t
remember getting the one thing I’ve wanted since college and could never fucking have.

“Yeah, you did,” Nathan replied.

“Did you hit me?”

Nathan snorted, no amusement in the sound. “No. I started to kiss you back, and then I stopped it because…you were drunk. You were upset.”

Wait, Nathan had kissed him back? “How many shots did you have?”

“Two. I wasn’t drunk.”

James was starting to think
he
was drunk somehow. None of their conversation made any sense. Nathan was straight. “Why?”

“Why wasn’t I drunk?”

“Why did you start to kiss me back?”

Instead of answering, Nathan turned away. He braced his elbows on the guardrail and leaned forward, staring out over the street. James studied his profile, unable to figure out his friend’s body language. The therapist in him saw the defense mechanism of turning away, stalling for time while he tried to come up with a response to a question he didn’t want to answer. The hesitation set a burst of butterflies loose in James’s stomach.

Was this the moment when their friendship died?

“Nate?”

Nathan turned his head, and only his head. “Truth or dare?”

James shook his head to clear out the sudden influx of memories. Of a game of Truth or Dare played at a college party that led to a sixty-second kiss he’d fantasized about more than once over the years.

“Truth or dare?” Nathan repeated.

“Truth.”

“Did you have sex with Elliott last night?”

So not the question James expected. “Of course not.” And why did Nathan care if he had?

“Did you want to?”

“That’s two truths.” Childish response, but it was a childish game, and if this was how Nathan wanted to talk, they’d do it by the childish rules. “So does that mean it’s my turn to ask you truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Fine, he wants to play it cute.
“I dare you to tell me why you kissed me back on Thursday night.”

Nathan narrowed his eyes, clearly not happy at being outsmarted at his own game. “Why do you think I kissed you back?”

“No way, Nate. The dare was for you to tell me, and if you chicken out and take a truth, the question won’t change.”

He straightened and turned, crossing his arms. Defensive. “Fine. I kissed you back because you were in my arms, and you smelled good, and it felt right, and maybe the shots helped in the courage department, but it was like we were back in college and that first kiss was happening all over again. All of those same feelings were coming back, and I forgot who we were for a moment. It’s been two whole days and those feelings are still there, Jay. I keep trying to put them back where they came from, but they won’t go.”

Nathan looked absolutely terrified, as if he’d confessed to a horrible crime—or to something utterly life-changing. Those same feelings.

Oh my fucking God.

James saw Nathan in that moment. Really saw him. Heart on his sleeve, admitting to something that could forever change the balance of their friendship, as well as change how James saw Nathan himself. And by other people, and James didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know what to do with the fear and hope swimming in Nathan’s dark, dark eyes. Or the way the hands clutching his elbows were shaking. So subtle. So important.

Nathan had had feelings about their kiss back in college, only he’d bottled them up, pushed them aside, and then in a state of drunken weakness, James had gone and stirred them back up. Reminded Nathan about something he hadn’t mentioned in fifteen years.

“Your turn,” Nathan said in a hoarse whisper. “Truth or dare?”

I’ve got the ball. Do I throw it back, or take it and run?

Fuck the sports analogies. I’ve wanted him for years.

But he hasn’t wanted
me
for years. Has he? What if it’s a temporary thing, or a reaction
to me being upset on Thursday, and not really what he wants? It’s been fifteen years. He’s slept
with dozens of women. No one becomes gay overnight. I can’t trust this.

“Truth.”

Nathan swallowed. Hard. “What are you thinking right now? The absolute truth, Jay, please.”

“That this isn’t going to happen.” A knife speared him through the chest, and the surprise on Nathan’s face drove it deeper. “You’re my best friend in the world, Nate, but that’s all. I’m not attracted to you.”
Big fat fucking liar.
“I was wasted that night, and I wanted to feel good and you were there. The kiss happened, and I can’t change that, but it won’t happen again. It can’t.”

Surprise melted into red-faced shame. Nathan took a step back, hands falling to his sides.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Being honest?” Nathan’s eyes glittered, and he stepped back again, almost into the fender of a parked car. “That’s what this is, right? Us getting things out in the open. You getting your answers. You got them, so I’m going to go.”

I am an absolute shit.
“Nate—”

“It’s okay. I have to do some work tonight, so I’ll call you tomorrow or something. See how Elliott is doing.”

James sagged against the guardrail, unable to do anything except watch his best friend walk away like a kicked puppy. And he’d done all the kicking, goddammit. He’d always been fine with lusting after Nathan from a distance, but he didn’t want Nathan to want him, and now Nathan was saying he
did
want him.

Was Nathan gay? Bi? Gay for James and only James?

Labels don’t matter. He says he wants you, you want him back, and you fucking pushed
him away as if he was diseased. Good going, douche bag.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he asked the open sky.

Neither he nor the sky had an answer.

Nate hadn’t planned on heading back to work after leaving the hospital, but being around his colleagues on a Saturday evening was better than going home alone and letting his new wound fester. He’d never expected to receive such a blistering wound from James, of all people, especially after laying it all on the line.

Okay, maybe he hadn’t totally laid everything on the line, but he’d given James the bullet points. College moment that created feelings. Feelings he’d pushed aside and eventually learned how to ignore. Feelings that came crashing back Thursday night during a kiss that James had initiated. He’d verbalized things he hadn’t given conscious thought to in over a decade and what did James do?

James had thrown it back in his face, very bluntly telling him they’d never be more than friends because James didn’t see him
that way.
Nate had embarrassed himself beyond belief, but at least the secret was out. They’d have to dance around it for a while, until Nate worked through his damned feelings and the kiss became something they joked about, instead of a lingering weirdness.

He wanted to fast-forward to that time, like, now. He wanted those feelings to go the hell away.

Life didn’t work that way, so he lost himself in case files, poring over evidence and notes until his eyes burned with fatigue. No breakthroughs, but he needed the distraction from the disaster he’d made of his personal life.

Around eight, Officer Pfieffer appeared by his desk with an envelope in his hands. “Sorry to interrupt, Detective.”

“It’s fine.” Nate yawned, then stretched his neck. “What can I do for you?”

“Dr. Weston asked me to bring this up. She said you were waiting for it.”

Nate perked up. “The report on Mitchell Spokes?”

“Yes, sir.” He handed it off.

“Thank you, I was waiting for this.” When Pfieffer didn’t leave, he added, “I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

“Oh, right. Good luck.”

Pfieffer wandered off, and Nate resisted rolling his eyes. The young cop was taking the case personally, which suggested this was his first dead body. If he stayed on the force, it likely wouldn’t be his last.

Nate ripped into the medical examiner’s report, searching for a few specific notes. Time of death between one and two o’clock Friday morning. Cause of death was verified as trauma to the brain, due to sharp object puncture to the ear. Shape of puncture was inconsistent, which ruled out a tube-shaped or round device. Wound was slightly ragged, too, which suggested a rough exterior.

Ideas swirled in Nate’s brain, and he let the new information marinate there while he moved on.

Bruises on wrists consistent with restraints. Too even to be fingers, too smooth for rope, so likely a soft material of some kind. Bruising on the kneecaps consistent with hard kneeling.

Semen traces found in the mouth, stomach and anal cavity. No tearing or obvious injuries to the anus or genitals, but that didn’t necessarily rule out rape, considering how the guy ended up.

Fingernail scrapings found nothing. No fingerprints or DNA on the body.

The killer was careful and thorough.

He pored over the other details of the report, memorizing the important things. By ten thirty and with a lot of research on Google, he was pretty certain the murder weapon was a hand tool called a mini needle file. They came in a variety of lengths and shapes, some steel and some diamond coated. He printed out photos to show the coroner.

Even if he was right, there was no real way to trace the purchase of the tool. They were sold in hobby shops, online, on eBay. Without a suspect, finding the weapon was next to impossible. He couldn’t very well interview every hobbyist in Wilmington and get their alibi for Thursday night.

The shift change at eleven clued him in to how late it had gotten. Nate stared at the clock on the wall, waiting for fatigue to set in. Nothing. He was still wired, on edge, not ready to go home and give in to his swirling thoughts. He’d been accused of being a workaholic in the past, especially when a case unsettled him, but today had set a new personal record.

He wasn’t going to learn anything new tonight, so he went home. The moment he walked in the front door, he made tracks for his bedroom closet. He didn’t own a large collection of clubbing clothes. Most of them he’d tossed after he passed thirty and realized he’d rather spend a rare night off staring at the television than bouncing around a dance floor. He didn’t know how James still had the energy.

Nope. He was not thinking about James tonight. He wasn’t letting himself wonder if James was alone, or if he’d gone out. He definitely wasn’t thinking about that damned kiss.