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  “Sure. I’ll put it on the table so you can use it after your shower.”

  Spenser helped Duon to his feet and led him to the small bath off the living room. Laid out a towel, a washcloth, a change of clothes. Noted how Duon’s gaze lingered on the socks, which were indeed thick and cozy-looking. Spenser put a large glass of water on the tank of the toilet too, after he showed Duon how to work the old-fashioned taps.

  “Take your time, okay?” He gestured to the old-fashioned lock. “The door locks. Just turn this knob here.”

  Duon kept his gaze on Spenser as he clutched the towel. “Thanks.”

  “No trouble at all.” Spenser waved goodbye, shut the door, and went to the kitchen.

  He stood at the sink, rigid, barely breathing until he heard the shower running. Then he let out a breath and went to the table, crouching beside Duon’s garbage bag.

  It was the smell that got him. Not a stench, not an odor, only a smell. The kind Spenser had caught on a few of the children when he was a student teacher in a public school in Minneapolis. The smell and the memories it brought had made him take a lower-paying job at a private school in hopes it meant he wouldn’t encounter the scent again. Now here it was, blooming out of a plastic bag, taking Spenser to places he’d never wanted to return. The smell of unwashed things marinating on a dirty floor. Of a body sweating a little more than it should, of nervousness and fear. Of clothes aired in the out-of-doors on the body of a boy who didn’t want to go home.

  Or maybe his discomfort had nothing to do with any of those things. Maybe it came from something else, and Spenser’s murky memories filled in the rest. Memories involving hastily packing a black garbage bag of his own.

  Holding the edges of Duon’s garbage bag tight in his fists, Spenser wept quietly for about three minutes. He made silent vows, hatched plans, and outlined stratagems for what he would do if, in fact, Duon was right and his grandmother didn’t want him, if there was nowhere else for him to go. If Tomás didn’t turn out to be the savior Duon was hoping he would be.

  If Duon turned out to be exactly like Spenser after all.

  After shutting the bag and tucking it under the chair where Duon had left it, Spenser blew his nose, dried his eyes, and busied himself with making dinner. But the smell of the bag lingered, as did the memory of Duon’s too-sharp, weary gaze as the bathroom door closed between them.

  While his boss got ready to go on his first-anniversary dinner date with his husband, Tomás Jimenez argued with his mother on the phone as he dry-mopped the dance floor, sprayed down the mirrored walls, and disinfected the barre of the Dayton’s Bluff Parker Dance Studio. “No, I don’t need a new sweater, Mama.”

  “But they’re on sale. Only two dollars. In a nice blue. It would bring out your eyes.”

  “I don’t need a sweater. Save the money, okay?”

  “You would look handsome in this, and I want you to have it.” She sighed. “I’m going to buy it. You’ll wear it to church. If you ever go again, God save your soul.”

  Tomás rolled his eyes but scuttled his frustration, because he knew from experience it wouldn’t do him any good. “Mama, I need to go. I’m still at work. I need to finish up.”

  “I left your plate in the oven. When will you be home?”

  “As soon as I finish up here, which will happen a lot faster if I get off the phone.”

  “Don’t be rude.” He heard a rustle of hangers in the background as she sifted through racks of clothing. “We’ll still be out when you get home. When we finish here, we’re going to the other thrift store on the east side of St. Paul. The baby needs new clothes. Oh, I meant to tell you this morning, but you left so early. We have the kids tonight.”

  Wonderful. This meant his sister was still on her fun bender, out partying while he worked himself to death. Not the time or the right person for that fight. “Okay. Tell Dad to be careful driving.”

  “Of course. He’s always careful.”

  “I’ll see you at home. And don’t buy the sweater.”

  “I’m buying the sweater. I love you, mijo.”

  “I love you too.”

  When Tomás hung up and tucked the phone in his pocket, he saw his employer had come out of the dressing room. Laurie Parker smiled wryly at Tomás. “Your mother, I assume?”

  The entire conversation had taken place in Spanish, and his parents were the only people Tomás spoke to in that language, so it was an easy guess. Though the loving exasperation in his voice while addressing his mother probably gave him away more. “Yes. She’s buying me a sweater. And making sure I know I have dinner in the oven.” He waggled his eyebrows as he gave Laurie a proper once-over. “Looking good, boss. Ed won’t know what hit him.”

  Laurie waved the compliment away, but Tomás knew the flattery was appreciated. “He should be by any minute. He’s running late, he said. Has a surprise.”

  The trepidation in Laurie’s voice was endearing. He and his husband kept each other on their toes, and Tomás wasn’t ashamed to admit he was jealous. “One year already. Seems like yesterday I met you and you were getting ready to go to Iowa to get married.”

  Laurie stopped fussing with his tie and leaned on one of the support pillars at the edge of the floor. “I didn’t expect everyone to remember, but they had a big banner at Halcyon Center this morning. My mother sent flowers, and Ed’s parents gave us a lovely card. Duon left a gift for me too. A ream of paper, with a note explaining that’s what we get for a first-year anniversary. I won’t tell him I can see the hole exactly where he took it from in the supply cabinet.”

  Tomás leaned on his mop handle. “When did he stop by? I didn’t see him in class tonight, which surprised me.”

  “I assume it was earlier today, when I was still at Halcyon. I’ll have to ask Effie. But you’re right, it’s odd he wasn’t around.”

  “I’ll check on him tomorrow. Make sure everything’s okay.” Tomás picked up his cleaning supplies and carted them to the closet. He had his mouth open to ask Laurie about the next day’s classes when something in the trash caught his eye. “What’s this?” He pulled out the flyer, then swore. “Hell, who brought that in here?”

  Laurie glared at the paper as well. “Someone had taped it to the door when I arrived.”

  Tomás buried the flyer in the trash once again, but the green-and-blue-on-white image was burned in his mind. Vote Yes: Marriage Equals One Man, One Woman. “This is what, the fifth one this week?”

  “Yes. I assume someone knows a married gay man owns the studio.” Laurie pressed fingertips to his temple. “I’ll be so glad when the election is over. I can’t run to the store for a gallon of milk without passing a million signs to VOTE YES or VOTE NO on the way. To say nothing of the newspapers, ads, and Facebook posts.”

  “What happens to your marriage, if it passes?”

  “I don’t know. I would like to think nothing, but I honestly have no idea.” Laurie folded his arms over his abdomen. “I worry about our insurance, if it were to pass. I have Ed on mine, and you know how much health care need he has. If they pass this and for some reason I can’t carry him…”

  Holy shit, yeah. That would be bad. Tomás squelched the sick feeling in his gut and did his best to appear breezy. “You’ll find a way to work it out. And thank God for the health-care law. At least you have a backup.”

  “I suppose.”

  Laurie didn’t seem reassured, and it was clear this was a heavy concern for him, one that dwelling on it didn’t help. Tomás changed the subject. “Where are you going for dinner?”

  “La Belle Vie. And thanks to Ed’s surprise, we’re nearly late for our reservation.” On cue, Ed’s car pulled up out front, and Laurie relaxed, glancing at Tomás. “Would you mind closing up before you go?”

  Tomás waved him away. “I’ve got this.”

  He locked the door behind Laurie and finished securing the studio for the night. The building had a security system far more sophisticated than Laurie’s other studio becau
se of the neighborhood it was in. While the St. Paul studio was where Laurie’s heart was, the classes in Eden Prairie brought in the money that kept this place going. The instructors over there made more money as well, and Laurie had offered Tomás a job there several times. But Tomás liked the students here. They were, by and large, his kind of people. Far more nonwhite faces. The Dayton’s Bluff studio attracted a wider swath of socioeconomic status too. Some classes were over half students present because of a scholarship. But they all had heart.

  No, this was the studio where Tomás wanted to be.

  But because he took the pay cut to be here, he had not one job, not two jobs, but three jobs, and only enough time between them to shovel food into his face and get a few hours sleep. His coworkers, the ones who didn’t know his full story, all scolded him for working so much. Ed and Laurie had been at the front of that line, until Tomás’s meltdown last spring when he’d gotten drunk and confessed it all. It was shortly after this discussion when Laurie had expanded Tomás’s hours and increased his salary as much as he could, and Tomás didn’t let himself be proud about it, simply accepted the extra cash.

  Once the studio was locked up for the night and the alarm set, Tomás drove home. He lived in East Midway, in an ancient four-story apartment building overlooking University. He’d lived there since he was eight, before the construction had begun on the Metro Green Line, before the sex shop had closed. When he and his sister were young, his mother insisted on walking them to school because the neighborhood was bad. Now it was partially gentrified, to the point that every year they were nervous the landlord would sell and their rents would go up, or they’d be kicked out entirely because their grim three-bedroom spread would become shiny new condo space.

  It was still his familiar shithole for now, and as he turned into his parking lot he saw the even lower-rent building across the alley had a huge VOTE YES sign in the front yard. In the streetlight it practically glowed. Tomás curled his lip at it. He was pretty sure the place was owned by the guy who kept getting sued by the ACLU for refusing to rent to refugees.

  God, sometimes the world made Tomás so tired.

  Thinking of the ACLU dragged up the nagging thought that Tomás did need to call the lawyer tomorrow. And his sister, to have it out with her about chasing potential new boyfriends instead of finding a job. Of course, she wouldn’t answer when she saw his number. He needed to call Duon too and make sure he was all right. But first he was going into the apartment and eating his plate from the oven in blissful silence. For at least a few minutes nobody was going to need him. Maybe he’d crawl into bed before his parents and the kids came home, and he’d get an almost decent night’s worth of sleep for a change.

  Except he wasn’t halfway down the dimly lit hallway when the door across from his apartment opened. Tomás stood straighter and smiled at the cute white guy who lived across the hall. He was ninety percent sure the guy was gay, because every time Tomás made eye contact, the man blushed like a wallflower hoping someone would ask him to dance.

  But today the white guy didn’t smile back, and his blush was more of a flush from being stressed. In fact, he seemed upset.

  “Tomás?” The man held out his hand. “Hi. I’m your neighbor, but I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced. I’m…Spenser. Spenser Harris. I live…here.” He gestured awkwardly at his door.

  God, but this guy was adorable. Tomás wanted to wrap the guy up in a blanket, soothe him, then climb into bed alongside him. He held out his hand. “Tomás Jimenez. Nice to meet you.” When his flirtatious tone failed to settle Spenser, Tomás became serious too. “Is something wrong?”

  Spenser ran a hand through his straight, light-brown hair, which was styled in an artfully messy way Tomás’s dark curly hair would never tolerate. “I…don’t know how to explain, to be honest. I suppose you could say I had something of a surprise when I came home. Someone was here, in front of my door, someone who knows you. Hurt. I’ve done what I can to calm him, but he’s asking for you.”

  Tomás held up his hands. “Hold on. Slow down. Who is looking for me? Who’s hurt?”

  “Duon. Your friend Duon is in my apartment. Sleeping on the couch, waiting for you. His cousins beat him up, and his grandmother kicked him out.” He frowned. “Or he ran away. I’m not entirely sure.”

  Tomás sagged, staring stupidly at Spenser. Worry tangled with weariness and shock, though to his shame, his predominant emotion wasn’t an eagerness to help but rather a sense of exhaustion. I can’t take on anymore. Pushing this thought aside, Tomás drew an unsteady breath and forced himself to stand straight. “It’s okay. Thanks for taking care of him. I’ll move him over to our place and figure out where to go from here.”

  Spenser held up a hand. “There’s one other problem. It’s fine for him to go with you, since he clearly knows you, but he’s been badly beaten. And I’m a teacher, which means I’m a mandatory reporter.”

  Tomás stilled. “Mandatory reporter of what? To whom?”

  “Of child abuse, and possibly neglect. The beating was done by his cousins, and it was his grandmother who kicked him out. I don’t have a choice. I have to call DHS.”

  Tomás could only blink at Spenser until disbelief gave way to quiet rage. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  Spenser stood straighter, jutting out his chin. “This is a serious situation. I can’t send Duon home to be hurt again. Maybe it will work out with his grandmother, maybe he’s wrong and she’s worried for him, not glad he’s gone, but if not—”

  Goddamned white people. The thought of what this asshole’s searching for a savior cookie would do to Duon and possibly Tomás’s family made him tremble with rage. “Whatever the hell is wrong with Duon and his family, bringing the Department of Human Services into it isn’t going to fix shit. I can take care of this, but you can’t—”

  “You don’t get to figure out where to go from here, and neither do I.”

  Oh Jesus Christ. The sick feeling in Tomás’s stomach curdled into full-on dread. White boy wasn’t cute at all, not anymore. He was a meddling monster determined to wreck everything. “You have no idea what it means, calling in DHS. You have no idea what you’ll do to Duon.” To me.

  “I do, actually.” Spenser looked about as weary as Tomás, but he had steel about him as he gestured to the closed door of his apartment. “Why don’t you come inside, and we can all work together to get him through this situation?”

  Tomás thought fleetingly of his promised dinner waiting in the oven. Of the silence in his apartment, the soft solitude of his bed. Of his parents and his nieces and nephew, who were due to come home any moment. Then he thought about Duon huddled in this stranger’s apartment.

  Nodding, Tomás gathered his mental forces and followed Spenser inside.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Spenser was a meddling asshole, but Tomás had to admit he had a cute apartment.

  Technically it was the same apartment as the one Tomás lived in, but the difference between the two was more than one less bedroom and a mirror-image floor plan. Only one person lived here, instead of the three members of the Jimenez family. Of course if the kids and sometimes Alisa too were staying with them, as they often were, there were six or seven people in their tiny space.

  Additionally, Spenser was neat as a pin. Tomás didn’t have to open the cupboards to know everything would be exactly in its place, probably labeled. There was no dirt, no dust. No stains on anything. There were rugs on the floor, and they all matched. The kitchen and the rooms he saw through the doorway had a clear color scheme and a distinct sense of design. It was clear Spenser had put thought into how he laid out his rooms. The table had place mats, a runner, and a bowl of artfully arranged fruit. The place smelled of food too. It wasn’t the food Tomas’s family ate, but it made him hungry all the same.

  When Tomás caught sight of a familiar form, battered and still beneath a knit throw on the living room couch, all thoughts of food and quiet, charming apartmen
ts fled. Duon. What in the hell were they going to do about Duon?

  Spenser spoke to Tomás, keeping his voice low and his gaze fixed on the boy in the other room. “He fell asleep while I was making dinner. He doesn’t have head trauma, I don’t think, but he’s sleeping so soundly he has me worried. I wonder if I should have checked for a concussion.”

  Tomás didn’t know about concussions either. He thought about texting Ed, then remembered the anniversary dinner. “Do you have Internet? We can look it up.”

  “My phone.” Spenser tapped at a smartphone screen. His furrowed brow eased as he read. “No. I don’t think he does. The only thing fitting is slurred speech, but I could tell it was because of his split lip and sore face.”

  Jesus. Duon was beat that bad?

  Spenser rubbed his arms self-consciously in the uncomfortable silence. “Can I get you something to drink? Have you eaten? I made enough chicken and rice to share.” He busied himself in the kitchen, pulling plates from a cupboard and moving a kettle from a back burner to the front. “I’m going to make some tea too. Enough for everyone. He might not drink it, but it’s nice to hold something hot.”

  Probably Spenser was nervous, and this puttering was his way of deflecting. He gave Spenser a second to fuss in a cupboard overflowing with boxes of tea, then dragged them gently to the whole reason they were dithering in his kitchen in the first place. “Can you walk me through this? How he got here, what’s happened so far?” He wanted to get up the guy’s nose about DHS again, but he decided to go gingerly. Spenser hadn’t called yet. Maybe he could talk him out of it.

  Spenser indicated the still-silent living room. “I came home and found him curled up in front of my door. There was blood all over the hall—not puddles or anything, but…well, I cleaned it up. I took pictures first, though, in case.”

  In case of what? “You said he was waiting for me?”