Long Way Home by Carolyn Gray (10 page)

Rolling his eyes, Gev went back into his room, grabbed his cell, and patted Screech on the

head. The cat growled. Gev slid on his light jacket—it was a bit chilly this morning, though the

day looked nice enough. Perfect for a run. He pulled a ten out of his wallet and stuffed it into his

jacket pocket.

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“I’m not running far today, but I’ll stop for coffee at Manny’s.”

Chad’s eyes lit up. “Bring me back a scone? Two?”

Gev slid one leg over the window ledge. “As if I wasn’t going to already.”

Chad patted him on the head as he bent down to go the rest of the way out. “You’re a good

boy, Gev. Beyond me why some handsome, intelligent man hasn’t seen that.”

Gev snorted. “Because handsome, intelligent men are handsome and intelligent. Intelligent

enough to know you’re far hotter than I am—and easier.”

Chad laughed. “True.”

“Don’t lock it, in case you fall asleep or something.”

“Okay, no problem. I’ll leave it cracked.”

“Not much, though. Don’t want Screech to get out.”

“Where is she? On your bed?”

“Yup. Take her if you want. Except she’s in a pissy mood. Going now.”

“She’s always in a pissy mood. Okay, have fun.”

Chad pushed the window down, leaving a two-inch crack at the bottom. Gev stuffed his

cell in his pocket. Annoying. He walked around the side of the house, past their driveway. A

sweet black Harley was parked in front of Chad’s car.

He jogged lightly down the sidewalk, which, at this time of morning—not even seven on a

Monday—was quiet. There were a couple of people walking out to their cars, but only one

looked headed to work—Frank Hodges, who owned a construction company. He waved to Gev.

Frank was a nice guy, as was his partner. They had three kids, all in high school, all girls.

His neighborhood didn’t cater to the typical Dallas employee—or family, either, for that

matter. There were few kids about. The bus didn’t come for another hour, so those houses were

probably just waking up.

Quiet mornings like this were fine with Gev. That was another reason he ran every

morning—not just to keep fit, though he knew that to be a good dancer, with a long career, he

had to take care of his body, his stamina especially. Too often he’d seen good dancers become

mediocre—like Chad had—from an excess of living. It was a tragedy, really, because he had a

great deal of talent.

Chad was a natural partner, whereas Gev had to work hard at it. Very hard. For Chad, it

was no more strenuous than a yawn. More than one of the girls had tried their best to talk Chad

into not quitting, because dancing with him—when he was on—was amazing. But it had been

useless to try to talk him into staying with the company. When Chad made up his mind to do

something, he did it.

They had that in common. Gev broke into a run.

Long Way Home

43

Chapter Seven

The coffee shop was up ahead. He was a little tired today, Gev realized as he slowed down

to an easy jog. Six hours of sleep—much of it restless—combined with the performance having

started a bit late had taken a toll. So instead of his usual route, he’d decided to run around the

block once, then head for the coffee shop.

It felt good running so early, and it didn’t take him long to reach his destination. His corner

of the city was coming to life. The early cafés were starting to open—he passed Maria’s Eats,

and Maria herself waved from the window as he jogged by. Pity Lee hadn’t stuck around. Gev

would’ve liked to have taken him there.

Gev could smell the coffee shop before he saw it. He dropped to a walk, breathing deeply,

letting his heart fall into a slower rhythm. He hadn’t broken a sweat yet either, which was good.

Manny always made a face whenever he came in all sweaty from an extensive run.

Gev held the door open for a couple of women as they were going out, then slipped inside.

Manny was busing one of the tables, whistling to himself. “Be right with you,” he said without

looking up.

“No hurry.”

Manny looked up then, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “Hey, there,” he said, lips pursing

as he gave Gev the once-over. “Mm-mm. Gev, love, you lookin’ good this fine morning.” He

plucked at Gev’s shirt. “For once.”

“Not dripping with sweat, you mean?” He shook his head hard at Manny, rewarded with a

shriek.

“Cut that out now, boy.” He glared at Gev, then swiped the table again, making a
hmph

sound before heading back to the counter.

Gev followed him. “Sorry, sorry. Scones done yet?”

“Something wrong with that nose of yours?” Manny breathed in, closing his eyes, a

blissful expression on his face.

Manny’s shop always smelled like scones, but Gev breathed in, the smell making his

stomach rumble. “Smells done.”

Manny opened his eyes and stuck his hand out, palm up. “Two? Six bucks.”

“Six?”

Manny wiggled his fingers. “Everything’s gone up. Butter, sugar, me…”

Gev rolled his eyes. “You wish. Use lard instead of butter?” He laughed at Manny’s

sudden horror.

“You’d best be teasing me. Nothing but the best for my customers.” Manny poked him.

“Even you.” His gaze shifted past Gev’s shoulder.

Gev turned and watched as several men in suits got out of a car across the street.

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“Oh yeah, look at the pretties. Good, they’re coming in here.” Manny smoothed his hair

back. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous, as always.” Gev declined to tell Manny about the streak of flour on his cheek.

He pulled his ten out and handed it to Manny. “Three of them, please, and I don’t mean those

three guys. I’ll leave them to you. Three scones. One for me; two I’ll take in a bag.”

“You’re no fun. You need to drop the celibacy bit. It’s not working too well for you.

Drink?”

Gev ignored the jab. Manny couldn’t fathom why Gev wasn’t one for the quick hookup,

and explaining to him was useless. Lee’s face flashed in his mind. If only. He looked up at the

menu board, skipping over the richer coffees. He had one of those only now and then, and only

off-season. “Peppermint tea, large, in a to-go cup.”

“Living large today?” Manny snatched the ten. “You owe me a dollar. You can pay me

back tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” He leaned against the counter as Manny made the tea.

The door opened, and Manny’s eyes lit up. “Watch this, youngster, and learn,” he said,

shoving Gev’s tea to him. Manny moved around the counter and sauntered over to the three suits

to take their order.

Gev carried his tea to a table, amused at his friend, and was dunking the tea bag when the

door opened again. He looked up, happy to see one of his friends walk in. “Trish, hey,” he said.

“Hey back at you. Good morning, Manny,” she called back to him.

“The usual, love?” Manny said.

“You got it.” Manny waved at her and bent back to his task. “How you doing, Gev?” she

said, ruffling his hair.

“Great.” He stood and hugged her. “When’d you get back? How was the cruise? Where’s

your woman?”

Trish kissed his cheek as she released him. “It was incredible! We got back late last night.

She’s sleeping in, made me come fetch some scones.”

“Same here for Chad.”

“At least he doesn’t withhold love and affection for not obeying.”

“No, no, I’d never willingly put myself at his mercy.”

She patted his face. “Smart lad. I’ll call you in a couple of days, after we’ve settled in.”

“That’d be great.”

“Good.” She turned toward Manny, who had finished with the three slightly bemused men.

They huddled together over their coffee, looking more and more uncomfortable. It annoyed

Gev—and Trish too. She caught his gaze and rolled her eyes. “Homophobia, alive and well even

in the gayborhood.”

“Manny will work on them.”

“Scones are ready!” Manny called out, banging his oven shut.

Gev grabbed his tea and followed Trish up to the counter.

“Here you go, Gev. And an extra for taking me to meet those ballet boys of yours.”

Long Way Home

45

“When did I promise that?” Gev said, taking the bag. At Manny’s pout, he darted for the

door. “Thanks, Manny. See you both later.”

“Call you later,” Trish said.

He raised his bag in salute and nodded as Manny turned his attention to Trish. “And how

many for you today, oh lovely world traveler…”

Gev left them to their discussion over scones and exited the coffee shop. Heading for

home, he let his thoughts turn back to Lee and their talk. Not that Lee had talked much; mostly

it’d been Nick. The guy was a real chatterbox, especially when Lee had excused himself to go to

the bathroom.

Then the words had poured out. But it was funny—it didn’t seem like Nick really knew

Lee all that well. Where Lee went when they weren’t touring, rehearsing, writing music, was

apparently as much a mystery to Nick as it’d been to Gev.

It was sad. He crossed the street, taking a cautious sip of his tea. Gev wished he’d had a

chance to talk more with Lee. Of course, now that they’d met again, there was no reason why he

couldn’t. There was no chance Lee would ignore him now.

Gev turned the corner to his street and walked across the grass to his house. He moved

toward the door, then grimaced, remembering the jammed lock. Annoyance flittered through

him, but he shook it off and started around to the side—then stopped, confused. There was

something strange… The door was open slightly. On the welcome mat his sister had bought

them—it had a cat that looked like Screech, who never welcomed anybody—was a plastic card

about the size of a credit card. He picked it up and turned it over. Just plain and white. Strange.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder while taking a sip of his tea. The scones still

smelled warm and delicious, and he kind of hoped the biker wasn’t there. He wouldn’t mind

scarfing two scones down this morning, he was so hungry.

But no, the massive, ugly boots were still there. Chad was an idiot.

“Chad, scones,” he called out into the quiet house. Nothing. He started to close the door

behind him, but before he could, Screech zoomed past him so fast he nearly stumbled. “What the

fuck, cat? Hell.” It always took an hour or so to entice the damn cat back into the house. Great.

Chad could find her—the price of Gev fetching his scone for him.

“Hey, Chad,” he said as he walked toward his friend’s room.

He stared at the mud on the hallway carpet. Damn. That hadn’t been there earli—Gev

stilled. Looked up. The door to Chad’s room was open. A stench unlike he’d ever smelled before

drifted out, souring his mouth. Smelled like shit, more than that. He grimaced. Why was mud

streaked on the carpet? Maybe he hadn’t noticed it earlier, talking to Chad, because the carpet

wasn’t exactly pristine beige anymore.

When he got closer, he realized something that registered ever so creepily within his

conscious mind. Something that changed everything.

It was blood.

Gev straightened, confused. Blood and… Then he saw it—on the bed, the walls, the…

“Oh shit,” he whispered as he stared at the very dead man sprawled on his back on Chad’s

bed, a gaping wound in his chest.

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He dropped the scones and the tea. “Chad!” He tore down the hallway. “Chad, where the

hell are you?” He looked at the window; it was still mostly closed, as he’d left it. “Chad?” He

stood still, outside his own room. No way.

He walked into his room but knew what he would find. Chad. Dead. Blood everywhere.

Gev’s hands started to shake. His gut roiled. He gagged. “Fuck, oh fuck, no fucking—”

Get the hell out, idiot!

Gev backed up, forced himself to turn away. There was no way Chad was still alive. In his

bed. Chad’d gone to
his
bed, to sleep. And now he was dead.

In his bed.

* * * *

mostly. But every time he closed his eyes, even for a brief second, he saw the biker, his pale

white skin slashed and bloody, guts spilling out. That’d been the smell, of course. No wonder

Screech had run.

“Here you go, babe.” Manny handed him a cup of coffee. After calling 911, Gev hadn’t

known who else to call. “This’ll set you to rights, and don’t go complaining about the calories.

You’ve had a fright, and you need a strong cup of joe. Fully leaded.”

Gev took a sip. It was harsh, bitter, yet sweet and hot and tasted damn good. Manny also

held a bag. Gev’s stomach clenched. “I don’t think I can eat right now.”

“Well, when did you eat last? Before your performance? I know how you are.”

“No, I actually went to IHOP last night. Had some pancakes.”

He and Manny watched the activity together—cop cars blocking the street, some with

lights still flashing; yellow crime-scene tape being stretched across the front perimeter of Chad’s

house.

Or what used to be Chad’s house.