“You’re crazy,” the guy pronounced.
“Kid, you have no idea.” For some reason, Nathan started to laugh again, and he slumped to the ground. He missed a patio lounge and landed on his ass, but he barely felt it. The kid chose that moment to flee. Good riddance to him.
Nathan bent his knees and rested his head on them, wheezing for air. He tried to put his glass down, and the base broke. A shard cut his hand, and the rest of the glass rolled away with a dull clatter. Blood welled in the cut under his thumb, and it spilled in a fascinating sync to the pulse at his wrist.
Nathan didn’t feel drunk. Or he didn’t feel only drunk. He felt numb. Scattered. Broken. He sort of liked it, though, sitting alone, chanting his own version of prayer to the gods of destruction. Please oh please, let him stay in the cold, dark place where he didn’t feel anything. Reality was harsh, bright, and rough, but this was cloudy, soft, and gentle.
Nathan sighed. He breathed slowly and deeply. This wasn’t him anymore. The urge to run and hide in the temporary narcotic darkness wasn’t nearly so strong. This was the real Nathan breaking through the illusion with a crash and a slash.
Speaking of, he should probably do something about the river of red staining his shirt and cuffs, but he couldn’t quite manage. His shins throbbed, his head hurt, and his brain shouted at various parts to move, to fix, and to do, but nothing would obey.
The color, though, the bright red darkened in the dim of evening to maroon…
“Fury,” Nathan whispered. Reality was made of choices and decisions and broken hearts, it was true, but now it was also made of hope. Nathan started to get up, the fog lifting, and a white linen napkin covered his wrist.
“What—” Nathan gaped at Paul, who didn’t quite look at Nathan but dragged Nathan to his feet. The sides of Paul’s mouth were pulled down like an old man’s, and his shaggy eyebrows met in the middle over his nose.
“The hell did you do?” Paul asked.
“What are you—”
Paul jerked Nathan to one side and pointed violently at the open door. “What is that, Nate?”
“A door?”
“Very good. And do you know where it leads?”
“The living room?”
“Great room,” Paul corrected. “And do you remember where your sorry ass is?”
“My future in-laws.” Nathan was dizzy. He swayed and yelped when Paul steadied him by his injured hand.
“You want to put all that together for me now, friend?” Paul asked, tying off the napkin in a loose bandage.
Nathan swallowed and couldn’t answer for a long moment. “Did anybody…else…hear…?”
Paul’s expression went from pissed to bleak. “No. I don’t think so. I hauled an old couple out of there when I heard you start sounding like the Mad fuckin’ Hatter.”
“Old couple?” Nathan winced in two kinds of pain. “Umm, by any chance was he a bald, white-bearded man with a wife in orange?”
“Yeah,” Paul said, gruffly.
Nathan blew a breath. “That’s Greg’s brother. He couldn’t hear a bullhorn at five paces.”
Paul grunted. “She any better?”
“Not really.”
“Well…” Paul sighed. “Guess that’s something.”
“Guess so,” Nathan agreed.
“Nate—” Paul began.
“I’m sorry.”
Paul hesitated, shifted his weight, seemed to be considering if he could get out of this without asking what he was about to ask. Apparently, he couldn’t. “Was that kid just fuckin’ around or what?”
The lies were right there. Nathan could tell Paul that of course the kid was delusional, that it’d all been a clever, if drunkenly put together, plan to scare the idiot boy off a scent that never existed in the first place. Nathan didn’t think he could make it sound convincing on his own, but with Paul’s willful blindness, it might work.
Trouble was, Nathan kept seeing flashes of Fury heading away from the fighter’s ring, and he didn’t have his game face on. No, not at all. Fury was looking back at Nathan with that unguarded expression of pure honesty.
“No,” Nathan nearly whispered. “He wasn’t just fucking around.”
“Aw, man.” Paul despaired, his head falling backward and hands resting on his hips.
“I don’t know what happened,” Nathan tried again, but Paul roared behind closed lips.
“How do you not know?” Paul asked. “Does your ass go off by itself at night or something?”
“No, no, I remember those parts.” Nathan swallowed. “I meant…I never meant to get this deep in the lies, is all. I was pissed and lonely and I wanted—”
Paul held up a hand. “Don’t want to fuckin’ know this, Nate.”
“I get that. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re sorry. And so, you’re what, gay?”
“I am.”
“All gay? Like…all-the-time kind of gay? Like look-at-my-ass-in-the-shower gay?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Answer me, Nate.”
“Thought you didn’t want to know?”
“Oh, fuck me and fuck you!” Paul said with venom. “Is…are…you’re… Well, are you?”
“How many times do you want me to say it, Paul? I’m gay, I’m gay, I’m fucking gay.”
“Jesus Christ.” Paul stepped away as though Nathan had something catching. “Does Mr. Moore know what’s fucking his daughter?”
“What is going on out here?” Both men whirled, and Laura joined them on the back deck, slamming the door behind her. “People can hear you idiots all the way at the tent!”
“How could you, man?” Paul still backed away, shaking his head.
“How could
I
?” Nathan fumed, chasing after Paul. “How could you, asshole? You’ve got more girlfriends than your dick’s got inches, and you’re asking
me
how could
I
?” Nathan shoved Paul’s chest, and Paul staggered but shoved back. Nathan lost balance, found it, and started to swing.
“You two stop it.” Laura rammed Nathan first with her left shoulder, and she packed more force than Paul, who was twice her size. All she had to do was point at Paul, and he ducked his head like a scolded child. “Both of you are going to quiet down, and somebody is going to tell me what’s going on, and you’re going to do it right now.”
Nathan couldn’t speak around the seething injustice of it all, but Paul had his wits. “You might want to talk to your fiancé, here, Laura, about how much he likes certain members of the staff.”
Laura turned on Nathan. “You
didn’t
.”
“What?” And then Nathan understood. “Oh God, no! I didn’t fuck anybody here, Laura. It was weeks ago.”
“What?” Laura asked, strangling on her high pitch.
Nathan took a breath. “A waiter here knew me from the last time I was running errands. That’s all.”
“Did you say errands?” Paul asked. “Fucking errands?”
“Nathan,
really
?” Laura asked. “I thought you took care of this sort of shit.”
“Well, it’s not like this happens to me a lot, Laura, dear. Paul caught the kid trying to blackmail me. I sort of lost it, cut my hand, and then—”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Laura said.
“I wish,” Nathan muttered.
“Well, is he gone?”
“The waiter?”
“Yes, Nate.”
“Oh yeah. Long gone.”
“And I take it the plan didn’t go like he wanted?” Laura asked.
“Oh, hell, no. Think it was more of a spur-of-the-moment idea.”
“Fine.” Laura sighed and pivoted to glare at Paul. “But you had to let that shit go down with a witness, didn’t you, Nate?”
“Wait,” Paul said, catching up. “You know what he does behind your back?”
Laura’s smile was more dangerous than an unpinned grenade. “Paul, dearheart, why don’t we—”
“Oh sweet God, you do.” Paul laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “Shit, I’m out of here.”
“Paul,” Laura said with barely contained urgency.
“Oh no, lady. You and the fag do whatever you—”
“Fuck you, Paul,” Nathan said, and both Paul and Laura blinked at Nathan in what Nathan was pretty sure was shock. “Hell’s got a great joint for adulterous bastards who don’t appreciate what they have.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you there.” Paul put his back to them, heading for the stairs leading down to the yard.
Laura widened her eyes at Nathan. “What?” Nathan asked, distracted because his phone vibrated in his pocket.
“Go after him.” Laura all but stomped her size eight Manolos at him.
“Why?” Nathan asked, sliding buttons. It was a text from Fury’s phone but clearly wasn’t from the man himself.
Fury’s hurt. Get home.
“Why?” Laura echoed, practically vibrating with anger and fear. “Because if he tells anyone else, we’re screwed, Nathan, that’s—” Nathan ran past Laura, and she watched him go by. “Where the hell are you going?”
Nathan slid open the door and paused. “I have to go.”
“What?” There was that high-screech thing again. Nothing quite like it.
“Sorry. I… There’s… He…” Nathan stopped trying to explain himself. It would never do any good. “Sorry. I’ll call you.”
“Nathan!” Laura demanded, but Nathan trudged through the great room, which was empty, like Paul had said. That part, at least, had been nice of the guy.
“Nathan!” Laura bellowed. “Get your ass back here and help me!”
“Sorry, honey,” Nathan said to himself, waving and jogging out the front door, down the front steps, and across the yard to the street. Knowing there’d be a hundred guests and other vehicles, Nathan had parked his Corvette in the driveway of an empty house up for sale. He climbed into his car, dropped it into gear, and the Corvette roared past the noise ordinance sign at forty miles an hour over the speed limit.
Chapter Ten
Nathan started to use his key on his apartment lock, but the knob turned in his hand when he tried it. He stepped inside and found the Reverend Hutchinson sitting on the sofa and Hellabeth perched on the chair arm. The reverend wore jeans and a polo shirt. Hellabeth wore a leather vest, matching skintight pants, and boots up to her knees. She stood as Nathan entered, and her dreadlocks swayed.
“Where the fuck you been?” Hellabeth’s question was also an accusation.
“Out,” Nathan replied, for simplicity’s sake. “Where’s—”
“What happened to your hand, son?” the reverend—Matt, Matt was his name—asked.
“It’s nothing.” Nathan put a bloodstained, linen-bandaged fist behind his back. “Where’s Fury? What’s going on?” Nathan saw the bedroom door closed but heard low voices coming from the other side. He started that way, but Matt stopped him.
“It’s all right. Vicky’s in with him.”
“Vicky?” Nathan asked, dazed and dizzy. Damned champagne and emotional breakdown and getting caught bullshit.
“My wife’s a fine nurse, Nathan, I assure you. Come sit for a moment.”
Nathan stood at the bottom of a bone-dry well of patience. He refused to let Matt lead him to the couch. “What. Happened. To. Fury?” Nathan asked with the thinnest threads of civility.
“He went a little crazy on the third fight,” Hellabeth answered. “Took two men down fast, got some hits, gave some better, and then tried to kill the third fucker with his bare hands. Me and four guys had to get him off the man.”
Nathan put his hand on the bedroom door. “That’s not like him.”
Hellabeth laughed, eerily enough to put chill bumps on Nathan’s spine, but Matt put an arm around Nathan. “I know,” Matt said. “We all know.”
“Shows what you think you know,” Hellabeth muttered, but she said it with subdued pride.
“So why did he do it?” Nathan asked.
“That we don’t know yet.” Nathan allowed himself to be led to the couch and seated next to Matt, whose voice was soothing and commanding.
“Thought he’d been hurt bad,” Hellabeth said. “Dennis’s fights are always free-for-alls. No real refs or anything. Thought he’d been fouled and went berserk on the guy.”
“I’ve seen it happen more than once,” Matt said. “Men in pain attacking those who harmed them.”
Hellabeth didn’t look at Matt and continued to speak as though Matt wasn’t there or adding anything to the conversation. “Had that piece-of-shit medical guy look Fury over but didn’t find anything. Fury wouldn’t say nothing but ‘Take me home’ and your name.”
“My name?” Nathan asked, a cold bath dumping into his guts.
“Yeah.” Hellabeth gave Nathan the once-over. “So brought him here, called the preacher, told Matt to get the wife and come on over. Wanted a set of decent eyes on Fury’s injuries.” She sniffed and crossed her arms. “’Sides, Preacher calms Fury down. I don’t do that so much.”
“You do more than you think,” Matt said to Hellabeth, who kept staring stonily at Nathan.
“So you two living together now or what?” Hellabeth asked.
“Wait,” Nathan pleaded. “Just… hang on.” He rubbed his uninjured hand over his face, wishing like hell he hadn’t had so much to drink.
“I’ll get you some water,” Matt said as though reading Nathan’s mind. Matt got up and went to the kitchen.
“Well, are you?” Hellabeth repeated.
“Yeah, we… Did he say anything else?”
“Fury?”
“Yes, Fury.”
Hellabeth sniffed again, and she tweaked her nose like it was an old habit. An old habit with which Nathan was familiar. “No,” Hellabeth answered. “He said he wanted you. Just you.”
“Oh.” Nathan took the glass of water from Matt and drained it. Matt put Nathan’s injured hand on his thigh and started to unwrap it.
“How’d you get cut?” Matt asked, examining the wound.
“Glass,” Nathan said. “Should I go in there?” Nathan twisted and started to get up, to go to Fury. He wanted to help, but he kept stumbling over the idea that Fury might be hurt. “I don’t know what to do here.”
“C’mon.” Hellabeth lifted Nathan by the armpit like he was a ten-year-old and tugged him toward the kitchen. “Call Jay, would you, Preach? He’ll need to know about this shit for Tuesday, and I don’t want Fury having to tell it.”
“All right,” Matt said, and he shifted to pull a cell phone out of his pocket.
Hellabeth watched Matt dial, grunted, and kept dragging Nathan over to the sink. She turned on the tap, splashed the water a few times to check the temperature, and took Nathan’s injured hand by the wrist. Nathan tensed, ready to pull away, but Hellabeth was surprisingly careful when testing the edges of the cut.