Infected: Lesser Evils (55 page)

“Why the hell not? He is a man, right?”

This made Holden snicker, and he wasn’t sure why. Probably the pot, although Holden had thought something similar before. “Roan’s always been weird like that. Maybe all the cheating straight people he’s forced to tail got to him.”

“See, I think I’d enjoy the show.”

“Eh, no. Even if you do catch ’em in the act, imagine flabby white people who should probably never be naked making a really bad sex tape.”

“Eww.”

“See? If Roan hadn’t been gay before, that probably would have sent him over the edge.”

Scott briefly rubbed his leg against his, and Holden wasn’t sure if it was just an accidental gesture or a deliberate one. He decided to ignore it, just in case.

They watched the show, consuming about half the quart, before Scott asked, “So you don’t have a boyfriend now?”

“Nope. Why have sex for free when I get paid for it? That’d be like a plumber going around an apartment building unclogging drains as a hobby.”

The look Scott gave him was half-amused, half-incredulous. It probably struck him as unbelievably weird, which was fair enough. Holden didn’t expect civilians to understand. Up this close to Scott, he could see the stubble starting to come in on his face, like little slender metal posts beneath his skin, and for a moment Holden felt like touching his face to see if the stubble was really that hard. He managed to squash the urge. “You’ve never had a boyfriend? C’mon.”

“Oh, I’ve had one. Two, actually, but that was in high school.”

“Ah. So that’s where you got burned?”

“I never got burned,” he snapped, way too defensive. Scott’s eerie blue eyes lit up at that, behind their pot glaze, because he knew he’d caught him. Holden rolled his eyes, and admitted, “Okay, neither breakup was enjoyable.”

“The guy on the swim team?”

He shook his head. “He dumped me for a club kid, but no, that wasn’t the worst. After that, I got involved with another jock, Ryan, on the football team. He was even more closeted than I was, he had some manliness issues, and then he started doing ’roids to gain mass. Something happened, I’m not sure what, but he was afraid some of his teammates might be suspicious he was gay, so instead he told them he knew I was gay and they jumped me one day after baseball practice.”

“Jumped you?”

“Beat the shit out of me, calling me faggot and fudge packer and every gay slur you can find written on the Internet. Ryan made sure to break my jaw first, so I couldn’t rat him out as a fellow butt pirate.”

Scott looked as horrified as he could with a good buzz on, but there was also something stirring behind his eyes, that in-game look of his, one that spoke of an incredible intensity and an urge and ability to kill. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Once I was released from the hospital? Not much. My father made sure I didn’t press any charges, because the boys were all from good homes, and he knew I’d pissed them off somehow. So as soon as my jaw was unwired, I was just sick of all the bullshit, you know? The lies and hypocrisy. I told my parents I was gay, and that was the end of that. I was out on my ass. But I survived, ’cause I discovered that’s what I do best.”

“What’s his name?”

“Whose?”

“The guy or your dad’s. Both.”

Holden smirked. “You gonna go kick their asses?”

In spite of the pot glaze, something glittered in Scott’s beautiful eyes, tiny shards of broken glass. You didn’t see it a lot, but Holden suspected that while Scott was slow to anger, when he finally lost his temper, it was a horrific explosion. “Somethin’ like that.”

“If I wanted to kick their asses, I would. But my dad’s a pathetic piece of shit, not worth my time or yours. And as for Ryan, he doesn’t live in the state anymore, or at least I don’t think he does. He went to Montana or Wyoming—I can’t remember which, I always get those two states mixed up—on a partial football scholarship, and within two months he blew out his knee, I mean big-time. He lost his scholarship and dropped out of college, but I have no idea what happened to him after that. I don’t much care either. I’m just glad the fucker never got to play football for anybody. By the way, it’s official you know, I hate all you fucking jocks.”

“Does that include you?”

“I’m not a jock anymore. Even when I was one, I wasn’t much of one. I mean, how much of an athlete is a pitcher? I just had to throw shit; no one ever expected me to hit homers.”

“Did you?”

“What, hit a homer? Maybe once, but for the most part I was lucky to get a double.”

“So you a Mariners fan?”

“Fuck no. As soon as I stopped playing baseball I never saw a game again. In fact, I used to think watching a full game was kinda boring; it was only good to play. Most sports are that way.”

Scott’s smirk was oddly knowing. “Even my games?”

“I haven’t seen that many, I can’t judge.”

“Ooh, so cold.” As if to reinforce the point, Scott trailed his hand along Holden’s chest, and it
was
cold, from the ice cream container. Holden shivered a bit, even as he gently pushed his hand away.

“So what’s your deal? Any boyfriends?”

“Beyond Spencer, that Mormon lacrosse guy I told you about, I’ve never dated men. Women I date; men are just good for fucking.”

“Wow, what did Spencer do to you?”

Scott shrugged, glancing at the TV screen. “It wasn’t Spencer’s fault really, although that was pretty intense. I thought it would be okay since we were both interested in staying in the closet, but he had a shit-ton of issues, and it turned out he was a real basket case. I mean, he thought he was bad and evil and all that shit, just ’cause he liked guys, right? He wasn’t bi like me, he was full-on gay, and some nights I found myself trying to convince him that was cool, there was nothing wrong with being gay, for like, hours, and he was still messed up about it. I had to break up with him ’cause I just couldn’t take it, you know? I had issues, but not like him. He took it really hard… harder than I thought he would. I shoulda known, considerin’ how messed up he was.”

“What happened?”

Scott had another teaspoon of ice cream, delaying an answer. “He tried to kill himself, ended up in the hospital.”

“He lived?”

“Yeah. But I never saw him again. I tried, but… he didn’t wanna see me.” Scott let out a long exhale that could have been a sigh if he wasn’t so wasted. “And once I started getting into semiprofessional hockey, it just seemed easier to have anonymous hookups once in a while, with guys who didn’t know me or my name, and have relationships with women. It was easier.”

“And better for your career.” Holden wasn’t trying to sound bitchy, but he sort of did.

Scott either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Yeah. But as much as I think I’d like to have a girlfriend and a boyfriend at the same time, having one relationship is hard enough. I don’t know how anyone juggles two. It seems exhausting.”

“My clients manage okay, but I guess I’m not exactly the traditional boyfriend. I don’t demand they remember my birthday or take out the garbage.”

“When is your birthday?”

“Why?”

“I’m curious.”

Why would he tell him that? But why had he told him anything so far? The pot was making him chatty. “November 14. What’s yours?”

“January 28.”

“Ah, I missed it.”

“Nothin’ to miss. I had a black eye from getting a stick in the face, so I just got wasted with the guys. They took me to a strip club, but I found it weirdly depressing.”

“They are weirdly depressing, but usually you have to be sober to notice.”

They finished the joint and then the ice cream, falling silent as they watched the show with halfhearted, stoned attention. In spite of trying to tamp it down, Holden yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Damn it, I need to get going.”

“On what?”

“I’m finishing an open case for Roan. I caught a break, something happened down near the Marriott, and I know a lot of people there.”

“So you’re a detective too.”

“No, I just play one on TV. I don’t have a license, which I know Roan wants me to get. Maybe sometime.” Holden didn’t add that he only intended to get one if Roan died, and he had no idea why he’d decided that. A tribute to Roan? Roan wouldn’t be around to enjoy it, he would be beyond caring, so why the sentimental gesture? But that was just it—it was pure sentiment and nothing more. Still, Holden supposed he owed Roan for something, even if it was just for all the fun and unwelcome glimpses into his own humanity.

“So am I a hobby?”

Maybe it was the drugs, but Holden really didn’t understand the question. “Huh?”

“You said having sex for free was like a plumber unclogging drains for a hobby. So am I a hobby, or can I expect a bill in the mail?”

Oh yeah, he had said that, hadn’t he? His brain felt fuzzy, and he really wanted a nap. He probably ought to take a nap before he headed out anyways. “I’ve told you, if I don’t ask for the money in advance, I’m screwed. You’re not getting a bill.”

“Okay, so then… I am a hobby?”

“No.” Holden paused for a long time, trying to get his sluggish synapses to fire. “I don’t know what you are.” That was true, but didn’t he have his suspicions?

Holden was disappointed in himself, because he knew something was happening to him. He used to go through a bottle of gin maybe once a month or every two months, and now he was replacing it almost every week. He wasn’t an alcoholic, but he knew he was on the downward slide. And maybe he was just a little bit… lonely. Oh, he cringed to think of it, he valued his privacy and alone time, which you never got on the street, but… fuck, maybe it was a symptom of getting older. Sometimes he hated being alone, and gin made him forget, or at least not care. Was he really that pathetic? Oh, probably. It was embarrassing, but some people had it a lot worse.

If he had to theorize how he and Scott had ended up here right now, lust would be his first bet, and loneliness would be the second. Oh sure, Scott usually had a girlfriend, but he could never be completely honest with her, or with anyone else. Lying all the time had the side effect of leaving you lonely. Maybe that was Holden’s problem too.

Only too aware of the painful silence between them, Holden added, “You’re not my boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.”

“I don’t want one either. So we’re cool, right?”

He nodded, pretending he hadn’t noticed how quickly Scott had said that, like he was all too eager to go along with whatever he said. Trying to make him happy, or suddenly nervous about all of this? “We’re cool.” He stretched, trying to work the kinks out of his back (Scott was a big believer in a firm mattress), and suddenly felt a kiss on his chest. Holden scowled at him, but almost laughed. “What the hell are you doing?”

Scott gave him a half-grin that was all stony playfulness. “I just felt like doing that.” Scott then crushed his mouth against his, both aggressive and strangely tentative at the same time. He tasted of pot and ice cream, but mostly ice cream. It was kind of nice. “I felt like doing that too,” he said, kissing his chin and his neck.

“I don’t have time for this,” Holden complained, as Scott continued to kiss him, softly and slowly, down his throat and chest. Scott’s hands slid slowly down his sides, while Holden had a hand on Scott’s back, feeling his spine flex as he moved.

“Tell me to stop,” Scott replied, his breath tickling Holden’s stomach in a way that was both uncomfortable and erotic. He then kissed him above the belly button, still working his way down. Scott’s body was warm, his stubble was just barely tactile, and it shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. Holden was stoned or losing his mind, or both. “I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

Holden should have, it would have been better for everyone if he said it, but of course he didn’t.

Holden supposed he never did things the easy way, and why start now?

Crazy Woman Dirty Train

T
HE
good thing about being at the university hospital was Rosenberg was the queen bee, so whatever she wanted, she got. This was good for Dylan, because as soon as she dubbed Roan stable enough, she had a cot put in his hospital room, so Dylan could stay with him if he wanted. Since he found himself up at night after Roan had ended up in the hospital, unable to sleep and watching more cable television than was probably healthy, he’d ended up staying here ever since.

The cot wasn’t comfortable, and Roan’s machines bleeped loudly, but Dylan slept better here than at home in the house that wasn’t even his home. Rosenberg encouraged him to bring stuff in, to make it more like home, and while she didn’t say it was for Roan, it was. Just like she didn’t say he was in a coma, but he was.

At first it was deliberate. After Roan’s surgery, they’d induced a coma to reduce pressure on his brain and ease the healing process, according to her. Was it still an induced coma? Dylan doubted it. But it was better perhaps. After all, they’d shaved Roan’s head for the brain surgery, and he was sure Roan would hate it. But the funny thing was he already had dark red fuzz growing in, making a shadow on his scalp, and even one of the nurses had commented that was weird. “I’ve never seen hair growing in so fast,” the nurse, whom he now knew as Leona, had commented when she came in to check Roan’s vitals. But Roan had a fairly impressive beard too, and the last time Dylan had seen him he’d been perfectly clean shaven. It was the partial change of course, the one that had almost killed him. Since he knew Roan would hate it, he’d spent the afternoon carefully shaving his face. Dylan had never shaved someone else’s face before, but he thought he’d done a pretty good job.

Dylan brought Roan’s iPod, the book that Roan had been reading (well, one of them—he usually had more than one going, and you could find them scattered all over the house, with tiny scraps of paper sticking out of them, ad hoc bookmarks), a blanket from their real house, and he sometimes played Roan’s iPod for him, or read aloud from the book. It made Dylan feel better, like he was doing something, like he wasn’t completely useless. While Rosenberg encouraged this, said it was good for Roan, he did get complaints about Roan’s iPod. But of course he would. Sometimes Dylan wondered if Roan actually liked this music, or if he only listened to it to piss people off. Seriously, who had all the Mr. Bungle albums on their playlist and genuinely meant it?