Drawing Closer (22 page)

because Carl wouldn't fucking shut up about what Charles had done and hearing the man's name

mentioned hurt him. Why couldn't Carl see that?

In the end, he'd just told Carl to fuck off for a while, give him space, trusting friendship to make

it something Carl could understand and forgive.

"Pack it up," he said, turning away from the newly framed painting. A thought occurred to him

Drawing Closer - 139

and he took his credit card out, wincing inwardly at the dent it was going to put in it. "And I'll

pay now."

"Oh? I thought--"

"I'll pay in full, now," Gray repeated.

Mr. Jackson cleared his throat. "I've already been paid for the framing, sir. He, that is, the person told me it had been arranged that he would--"

Gray put his credit card down on the counter with an audible snap. "Then I'd like to pay what's

left outstanding and I want a copy of the whole bill." He paused and then added under his breath.

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

Mr. Jackson flinched, flushed, and clucked disapprovingly, but he did what Gray wanted. Gray

glanced at the total and worked out how much he owed Charles. He'd be eating at Beatrice's as

many times as she'd let him, once he'd repaid him, but he'd manage.

"It's a pity it wasn't quite ready when the gentleman paid for the framing," Mr. Jackson said

diffidently. "He could have taken it with him."

"What?"

"Mr. Taylor? The husband of the lady running the benefit?"

"Drew?
Drew
paid for it?" Gray gaped at the framer, wondering why it made a difference.

"Oh…"

"Mm," Mr. Jackson said, looking a little smug, as if he'd scored a point. "A very polite

gentleman. Oh, yes, very polite."

Gray took the rebuke without comment; he supposed he deserved it. "Thanks," he said, waving

the bill. "For everything."

"Mm." He got a slightly cool nod. "Welcome, young man."

Okay, so he was going to have to earn his way back to 'sir'; he could live with that.

***

out of pocket over this; it's more than enough that you've donated your time and the materials. If

you send me the shipping bill, I'll take of that, too; I wasn't sure if you'd want to bring it here

yourself."

Drawing Closer - 140

"Drew, I can't let you do that."

"Is this going to be one of those tiresome arguments I always win?" Drew inquired. "Because I'm hellishly busy, you know. Margaret seems to have forgotten that I have an actual business to run

and decided to make me her gofer, and I'm sandwiching in my real work in odd, precious,

snatched moments. Like this one. Which was a hint. I've got a gem of a first edition here that I'm

supposed to be authenticating, and -- oh, never mind; you're not interested and although I'm still

annoyed with you, I can't be bothered to bore you."

"Annoyed with me? Why?"

There was a silence and then Drew chuckled dryly. "Oh, you little shit. Where do I start?"

Gray swallowed, anger boiling up. "What did you just--?"

"You couldn't have picked a better way to gut him and leave him to dry if you'd tried, you know

that?"

"Look, he's the one--"

"Shut the fuck up, Lochinvar."

"Don't call me--"

He rolled his eyes as yet another sentence was interrupted, clamping his lips tightly and just

letting Drew get it all off his chest. Let him rant if it made him feel better. Gray wasn't listening.

"I appreciate that you haven't known him long, but you're insane if you think Charles is capable

of anything that petty, that destructive, and more importantly, that plain stupid."

"It had to have been him."

Okay, staying quiet was harder than it looked.

"Which is exactly why it wasn't." Drew's voice was flat, uncompromising. "Even angry -- and he admits he was furious, and yes, I know, not his most shining of moments; he was a fool -- even

angry, he wouldn't have done that. And even drunk he wouldn't have denied it when it so clearly

was him."

"That makes no fucking sense."

Drew sighed. "Look, Gray, from what he tells me, if that friend of yours hadn't stopped him, he

might have done something. Maybe. We'll never know. Myself, I think the act of picking up the

Drawing Closer - 141

knife, scissors, whatever, would have been enough to jolt him out of it a moment or two later. He

wouldn't have gone through with it. Not Charles. But if he had, he'd have admitted it; why bother

denying it? And he'd have been trying to convince you he was sorry, not that he was innocent."

"It couldn't have been anyone else," Gray said stubbornly. "Carl left first and he doesn't have a key. Charles admits he locked the door so no one could have gotten in after he left. You do the

math."

"Charles didn't do it. And before you say anything, ask yourself why he'd lie to me about it when

I don't give a fuck about you or your painting."

"Thanks," Gray said, wincing. He still couldn't think about the loss of the painting without it hurting; it was partly symbolic, he supposed; he wasn't letting himself mourn Charles, but the

painting made a good substitute. And then there was the fact that it'd been one of the best things

he'd ever done and no one had ever got to really see it, not properly. "Thanks a whole fucking

lot."

Drew's voice softened. "Sorry. That wasn't fair. And from what Charles said about it, it was

good, very good. It's just not as important to me as he is."

"He hated it," Gray protested.

"No. He hated the idea of it being on display and the idea of someone buying it when it was so

very private a moment. He told me that when he saw it -- well. Let's just say, if you'd given it to

him as planned, he'd have said thank you in a way you'd have liked one hell of a lot." Drew made

an inquiring murmur into the silence that had fallen as Gray tried to process that. "Gray? Did

Carl know it wasn't the painting for the auction, just by the by?"

"Huh? Yes, he did."

"He didn't share that little piece of information with Charles, you know."

"What difference -- oh." Fuck. Because Carl had known why Charles was freaking and if he'd told him then there wouldn't have been any reason for Charles to destroy it. And Carl had left bruises

on Charles, trying to get the knife off him, when one sentence would have had Charles dropping

it -- one sentence--

"Yes," Drew said meaningfully. "Oh, indeed. Are you quite sure young Carl doesn't possess another key? Just out of interest?"

"I -- I don't -- I don't know."

"Send me the shipping bill," Drew said. "And you know, I'm expecting both you and Charles to be there on Saturday night as our guests, all smiles and reconciled, if you please, and, yes, it
is

Drawing Closer - 142

black-tie, so rent a dinner jacket, will you?"

The phone went dead and Gray tossed it down, trying to decide if he wanted to kill himself or

Carl more.

***

off, flinging accusations around. He was going to be calm, reasonable and…. tear Carl's fucking

balls off.

He paced around his studio, restless and muttering to himself, something he did when he was

alone because he liked talking too much to stop. When he realized that the one-sided conversation

was a litany of cursing -- inventive, but not all that useful -- he stopped.

Think. What was it all the detective books said? Means and motive? Could Carl have a second

key? He frowned, trying to remember if he'd ever lost one of the spares he kept, or if he'd given

Carl more than one. No… but when he'd asked for Carl's key back, making the request pointed

enough that even Carl couldn't blow it off, Carl had told him he didn't have it with him and had

returned it the next day. Getting a key cut took about four minutes at the hardware store in town.

Gray contemplated going in there and asking, but it wasn't likely they'd remember if Carl had

gotten a key cut or be willing to tell him if they did. People had astonishingly good memories in

books but in reality, Gray guessed he'd get a blankly suspicious stare.

And it wouldn't prove anything; Carl could always say it was for a key to his parents' house or

something.

Thinking about it, it made sense Carl would have kept one; having access to Gray's apartment

was just too fucking handy for him, wasn't it? And he would've figured that if Gray found out he

could sweet-talk him out of the ass-kicking he deserved.

And, yeah, he probably would have. Gray had always cut Carl a lot of slack. Always.

So, Carl could have had a key, could have slipped back once he saw Charles leave. Question was:

why? Why destroy something he had to know meant a lot to Gray? And it wasn't Carl's style to

be that sneaky. Except… Gray grimaced. Okay, maybe it was. The guy had spent months

bringing his girlfriends over here to fuck them and made damn sure Gray never caught on. Just

because Carl's technique on the football field was one of brutal full-frontal force didn't mean he

couldn't be a little more tactical off the field.

Still didn't explain why, though. Gray dragged up everything he could remember of Carl's

rambling conversations after it'd happened; he'd been tuning him out, so it was tricky, but there

was something… yeah.

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"He said you'd be leaving. Going to live in New York. He was so full of shit, Gray. I told him that.

Told him you wouldn't go away."

He tried that theory out in his head. Carl, freaking about Gray leaving, destroys the painting that

-- no, that didn't work; Carl knew it wasn't that painting that was going to supposedly make him

famous. Gray sighed. As if. God, wasn't he supposed to be the artistic dreamer? Charles and Carl

both with their heads full of fantasies… He was good, yeah, but not that good. He wanted the

painting to sell well to get money for the charity, but he wasn't under any illusions about being

catapulted to overnight success. A few orders, maybe, and if there was any good publicity it'd be

a little leverage to get Alise to include him in the Christmas show she had planned, sure, but that

was as far as it went.

He gave up. He was sure now that it had been Carl who'd slashed the painting to ribbons, hanging

limply out of the frame, but why was something only Carl knew.

He picked up the phone. "Carl? Hey, how's it going? Get your sorry ass over here, will you?

There's a beer waiting."

He sounded normal. He must have: Carl just traded a few insults and then said he'd be there in

thirty.

Gray spent most of them staring out of the window, trying to picture a life without Carl in it and

wishing he could believe getting Charles back would be as easy as seducing him had been.

***

chance to get his guard up, keeping his voice casual.

"Oh, you know that painting of mine? It's looking like it wasn't Charles who did it after all.

Wasn't you, was it?"

Carl stared at him, eyes wide. The lack of reaction and denial was damning. No way Carl

wouldn't have started yelling if he'd been innocent.

"Carl?" Gray asked tightly, feeling sick. "Need to know, buddy. Really do. Did you trash my painting or not?"

"I told you who did it." There was an undercurrent of pleading to that which closed Gray's throat with pity.

"No. You told me who you wanted me to think had done it." Gray took a sip of beer and wished

he hadn't. He couldn't swallow it. He forced it down, choking over it, and glared at Carl. "You've

got another fucking key, don't you?"

Drawing Closer - 144

"Gray…" Carl sounded lost, scared, the way he had when he thought he'd gotten Anna-Marie

pregnant at sixteen, the way he had when he'd come
this
close to getting kicked out of school for smoking pot at recess, dammit, right behind the gym where anyone could see him… "Didn't mean

to. Got to believe that."

Knowing for sure hurt worse than he'd expected, but he couldn't get angry, not the way he had

when he'd thought it'd been Charles. Which said it all, really; he expected Carl to let him down, it

was the way Carl was; Charles, though, Charles he'd trusted.

And now he could again. That was a good thought, something to hang onto.

"Just tell me why. Why that one."

Carl's face twisted in bewilderment. "I don't know! He just -- the way he looked at it -- kinda

turned on, but like he hated it -- I didn't want you to give it to him and see him act like that. I was

thinking about how you'd feel."

"Bullshit." Gray shook his head, feeling tired. "He liked it. He only freaked because he thought it was for the auction. If you'd just told him it wasn't, he'd have been fine. But you didn't. It was

too a good chance to get rid of him, right?" He took another drink, able to swallow it now, feeling calmer, colder. "You win. Any way it goes down, you win. You got to destroy a painting that

shows a side of me you can't deal with, and you probably thought once Charles and I split up,

his friend wouldn't want anything from me so I wouldn't be packing my bags and heading off to

the city any time soon."

"That painting -- Gray, I know it was just for him, but you shouldn't have painted it," Carl said earnestly. "I was just thinking of you, what people would think when they saw it--"