Lonely Hearts Read online

  Safe and sound.

  Reminding himself Elijah was out of the woods, Baz returned to the reception. Howard Prince was in jail, and there was no way he could shoot an Acker and do anything but stay there. Except no matter how Baz reassured himself, the urge to shadow Elijah, to protect him, hadn’t faded away after the shooting.

  For now, however, Baz had an entirely different dragon to slay.

  As Baz returned to the reception, Damien nodded toward the rest of the upperclassmen Ambassadors leaving the banquet hall. “We’re going downstairs. Marius found a room we could use, where we can have some privacy. I have everybody but Aaron. You mind fetching him?”

  Baz spread his fake smile as wide as it could go. “Not at all.”

  He was glad for his sunglasses as he approached his friend, who was chatting with Giles and two Salvo members near one of the speakers. When Baz smiled, nobody knew the gesture didn’t make it all the way to his eyes.

  “Ambassador, you have one final performance of the year.” He ruffled Aaron’s hair. “Let’s go.”

  Aaron followed Baz out of the room. “Is something wrong? You look upset.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing I didn’t know was coming, anyway.”

  “But what—?”

  “You learned the Pink Floyd song, right? The one Damien handed out before the graduation ceremony?”

  Through the heavy tint of his sunglasses, Baz saw Aaron blink. “Yes, but what— Oh.”

  Yeah. Oh.

  The Ambassadors had been Baz’s lifeline since he joined as a freshman. They hadn’t given a shit he was gay—some, of course, were happy to hear it and had shown him a good time. They didn’t care about his senator uncle and crazy political family except to crack a few jokes about where was his Secret Service. They did care about his grim high school history and the reason for his disabilities, but they loved him enough not to bring it up, to help him move away from the past.

  The Ambassadors were everything to Baz. But once a year, they had to have this moment, when the graduating seniors sang their last song. This year the remainder of Baz’s first-year class would say goodbye—not Baz, because he’d put off reality as long as possible. He’d had an extra year to avoid the inevitable because anyone in music therapy or other five-year program was still with him, but that year was up. He couldn’t make time stand still completely.

  He couldn’t keep his Ambassadors around forever.

  They wove their way through the crush toward the basement of the marina, passing silent rooms, a small kitchen, a storage area. In the distance, Baz heard the other Ambassadors speaking in hushed voices.

  In the center of the room, Damien cleared his throat. “It’s been a hell of a year. We got six new amazing members. We gained a sister choir—and don’t think for a minute they’re not gonna kick your asses in any tournaments you enter together.” He squeezed Baz’s hand tight. “We had our scares. Our challenges. But we made it through. Every man here is a hero. A brother.” He let out a shuddering breath and lowered Baz’s hand. “I’m gonna miss each one of you like a fucking arm.”

  Baz told the tears to fuck off. “You’ve got a lot of arms, man.”

  Damien swung Baz’s hand, lifting it, a quiet acknowledgment. “Yeah. I do.” He pulled out a pitch pipe, blew the note and counted them in.

  For the fifth time in his life, Baz sang the graduating Ambassador brothers goodbye.

  The group had been singing “Goodbye Cruel World” at their final concert since the early eighties, when pulling a Floyd was current. The arrangement was pretty pedestrian, but it never altered. Maybe the original composers could have done better, but this wasn’t a moment for flash. This was sending graduating members home.

  Baz didn’t let himself dwell on that, not during the song. He pushed Damien up under his solo. He felt Marius beneath him, rumbling the basement floor of the bass section with a resonance no one would ever be able to replicate. Baz swelled with his brothers, with Aaron and Sid and all sixteen of the Ambassadors. He belted the last chorus with his whole soul, his heart. The final note hovered in the air, held until the last Ambassador ran out of breath. They kept still another four beats after, suspending the moment as long as they could.

  Then it was over.

  They embraced. They man-patted, they wept, they whispered promises to stay in touch, vows they all knew would be more difficult to keep with each passing day, until they were the old Ambassadors lingering alone in the homecoming crowd, grasping for their ghost of this moment, this time. Aaron and the other first-years had the same stunned look of horrible realization they all did when they were the newbs—comprehension that this was only the first goodbye, and someday it would be them singing their last note.

  If Baz could have gotten his shit together, this would have been his last call. Someday it would have to be. But the panic this thought instilled in him made his paranoia about Elijah’s safety seem a moderate worry in comparison, so he boxed the fear in the mental cell it had crawled out of.

  Baz deliberately left embracing Damien and Marius for last. He flirted with Aaron, teasing him about how he’d have to be Baz’s choir wingman now. He baited Sid about being the old man in the White House with him. He put off approaching his best friends as absolutely long as he could, but at last they found him, and the bastards hugged him together.

  “This isn’t goodbye.” Damien’s voice was gruff. “We’re only moving into the Cities, and I’ll be in town a lot until Stevie graduates in December.”

  Marius’s cheeks were already salt-streaked as he spoke in his calm, steady voice, so sexy he could seduce a nun. “I’m not moving out of the White House until the end of the month. And as Damien said, I’m not moving far.”

  Baz shut his eyes tight. “I know.” But Marius would be in med school. How much time for hanging out would he realistically have?

  Marius removed Baz’s glasses, bringing an uncomfortable wave of brightness that threatened a headache, but Marius had already pulled Baz in low, blocking out the light with his hands. “I’m not leaving you alone. I don’t give a fuck how you try and shut me out, you can’t. You’re my brother, and I’ve got your back. Damien and I both do. Always.”

  Marius’s and Damien’s vows couldn’t soothe Baz’s soul. They said they weren’t leaving, but they were. They were starting their real lives, ones where the three of them didn’t share a living room and a daily schedule. Damien was getting married. Marius would be right behind him as soon as a girl hooked him in the mouth. People moved on. Everyone did, eventually.

  Everyone but Baz.

  Damien clutched Baz’s head, kissed him on the cheek, sighed. “Enough. This isn’t goodbye, and we have a wedding to dance at. And one of us has to stay sober enough to drive to the hotel.”

  “Well, thank God that’s not me,” Baz quipped. “Though I suppose I have to audition a new driver soon.”

  Marius hooked his arm. “You still have a driver.”

  For now.

  Baz punched Marius in the arm, teasing him about how was he going to survive without Baz’s sick wheels. He did what he could to distract himself from the heavy truth. No matter what they said, this was the end.

  Distraction, however, never came cheap to Baz, and lingering with people he was about to lose did him no favors. He knew he should celebrate this last moment, drink up their companionship one last time, but he couldn’t. Every second with them now was a reminder they were almost gone. What he needed was a way to check out. He had a handful of narcotics and a few other pharmaceuticals in his car, which combined with the fifth stashed in the glove box would go a long way to smoothing out the jagged edges the evening had left on him. Sex would be good too—a rush, a release and a blissful crash. Except everyone at this wedding came with strings.

  The memory of Elijah’s naked gaze returned, but Baz shoved the thought away the same as he always
did. Elijah was off-limits. Baz wasn’t able to articulate why. He only knew it was the same kind of instinct as the one urging him to protect Elijah. Ignoring those impulses never came with pleasant consequences.

  Except tonight, something had changed. Tonight Elijah lingered in Baz’s mind like a cancer. Made his feet itch, sent him to the bar for four too many whiskey sours. Made him yearn for the pills and better booze in his car.

  Sent him out the door via the patio where he’d last seen Elijah.

  This time he didn’t tell Marius or Damien where he was going. He was too busy talking up a mental justification for seeking Elijah out a second time, preemptively staunching the panic he’d feel if Elijah wasn’t still standing there or somewhere else equally obvious. It kept mingling with the memory of that terrible gaze, sending his anxiety higher.

  His breath caught in exhausted relief as he saw Elijah huddled on the deck, staring out at the lake with the same hollow expression.

  Emboldened by alcohol, driven by a loneliness scraping the bottom of his soul, Baz sauntered over to Elijah with a rakish smile. “Hey, sailor. Care for a drink?”

  Chapter Two

  As Baz grinned at him and waited for a reply, Elijah, king of the acid quips and one-liners, could find nothing to say.

  Better yet, he completed his village-idiot look by letting his mouth hang open. Was this a joke? Would Marius and Damien pop out of the bushes giggle-snorting at how moronic Elijah was? Would he end up on the stage holding flowers, and they’d laugh as pig’s blood splashed on his head?

  With a chuckle, Baz plucked the flask from Elijah’s hand. “Whatever this is, it must be good, if you’re numb already. Mind if I give it a sample?”

  Elijah continued his impression of a potted plant. His erection thickened as he watched Baz’s Adam’s apple work against the whiskey, but this was as animated as Elijah got.

  Baz lowered the flask and spat, making a face as he wiped his mouth. “Holy shit, it tastes like rancid, hairy ass. What the hell is it, and how in God’s name are you swallowing it?”

  Elijah’s cheeks burned. “It was the cheapest.”

  Baz’s expression remained unreadable behind his glasses as Elijah chastised himself for finding infinite ways to be a tool in front of the one guy he wanted to impress. He tried to crawl into his trick head, the mental fortress allowing him to blow anybody and sleep like a baby after, but he couldn’t get there. All he could do was stew in the knowledge that the only thing he was blowing right now was the remotest prayer of Baz ever speaking to him again.

  What a fuck of a nightcap to the greatest shitshow on earth.

  Except Baz didn’t laugh, didn’t roll his eyes. He said, “I have an eighteen-year-old bottle of Oban in my glove compartment. It’ll ruin you for other stuff forever, but if you’re okay with that, I’m more than willing to share.”

  Baz was looking at Elijah the same way he had the day in the parking lot in March, his glasses knocked away and his shoulder bleeding out onto the snow as he regarded Elijah with the strangest cocktail of hope and relief.

  “S-sure,” Elijah replied.

  “Excellent.” Rakish grin in place, Baz held out his arm.

  Telling himself he finally understood why Carrie had gone with Tommy to the prom, Elijah tucked his slim hand into the crook of Baz’s elbow.

  They walked in silence around the marina to the parking lot, where Baz strode with purpose toward the farthest row. For a moment Elijah tried to guess which vehicle was Baz’s, then got completely distracted by a sleek red car tucked beside a copse of trees. It looked about two seconds old and slightly space-age. Elijah entertained a delicious image of getting fucked over the hood, imagining the fit the stuck-up middle-aged asshole who owned the thing would have if he knew a scrawny gay kid was thinking about using his midlife crisis as a fucking post.

  Except they kept getting closer to the car, until the only conclusion Elijah could reach was that this wet dream of a machine belonged to Baz.

  Baz grinned at Elijah. “Nice, right? I’ve wanted a Tesla forever. Got it last week. They were holding off until I got my ass together enough to graduate, but me taking a slug in the shoulder made them soft.”

  Tentatively, Elijah ran his hands over the frame. The car was sexy as fuck, largely because it was so quiet about it. “It’s incredible.”

  “I tricked out everything I could. I wanted the Model X for the Back to the Future doors, but I soured when I realized it’s more of an SUV. Plus my ceiling was $100k, and I’d get less bells and whistles with the X.”

  One hundred thousand dollars. This car costs one hundred thousand dollars. If Elijah had one hundred dollars, he felt dizzily rich. Of course, with his poor Elijah fund, he could technically buy this car. And feel guilty as fuck for wasting other people’s money. He ran his hand over the trunk, trying and failing to comprehend the gap in economics between the two of them.

  Baz beamed like a proud father. “I love the all-glass roof. With the performance package, it smokes down the road. Well—so I hear. Rides pretty great.”

  “You haven’t driven your own car?”

  “Can’t.”

  Elijah’s body locked up. “You—can’t? My dad—?”

  “No. I haven’t been able to drive since I was sixteen. In fact, I got in one good day and one godawful night before I was done for good. Your dad had nothing to do with this. But even if he did, it would have nothing to do with you.”

  That was a load of shit, but Elijah was so busy being relieved he wasn’t responsible for Baz not being able to drive his own car, all he could do was exhale in relief.

  Baz punched Elijah lightly in the arm. “You want to molest the outside a little longer, or you ready to sit in the cockpit?”

  Everything inside Elijah lit up. “You mean—drive?”

  “Not after your cheap whiskey and the good stuff I intend to offer you once we’re inside. But we can put it on the agenda for later. Go on. Get in the driver’s seat.”

  They were going to have a later? Elijah cast a sidelong glance at Baz, again wondering if he was walking into some kind of a setup. What the fuck is going on? You’ve acted as if the sight of me revolted you ever since you discovered we were attending the same college. Except for the time you saved my life.

  He couldn’t ask any of those things, though, because as soon as he went to open the driver’s door, he paused. “Um—where the fuck are the door handles?”

  Baz’s grin split his face as he kept walking closer. “They’re right there. The silver things.”

  “Yes—the silver things flush with the side of the car. How am I supposed to—”

  He stopped talking as the handles popped out.

  “They retract for aerodynamics. Also, because it’s bitching cool. Reappear when the keys get close.” Baz cracked the door and held it open for Elijah. “Your car, sir.”

  Elijah slid into the Tesla. The seats were butter. It didn’t just smell like a new car—it smelled like money. Money and geekery and excellence. He ran his hands over the steering wheel and ghosted his fingers over the huge glass panel on the dashboard between the wheel and the passenger side. It was almost a built-in iPad. It was dark at the moment, and Elijah itched to see it light up and blow his mind.

  “That’s the dashboard control center.” Baz gestured at it as he climbed into the passenger side. “Full touchscreen, controls everything. It has Internet too—all but video.”

  Elijah was about to ask for the keys, but he couldn’t see an ignition switch. “How do I turn it on?”

  “Put your foot on the brake.”

  Elijah did. The lights lit, the fan purred softly, but the car itself made no sound.

  “Never gets louder than this.” Baz gestured to the hood. “There’s no engine there. It’s in the rear, between the wheels. About as big as a breadbox. So in addition to the hatchback, we hav
e storage at the front end—they call it the frunk—where the combustion engine would be.”

  Elijah let out a sigh full of arousal. “Holy shit, this is so fucking cool.”

  “Oh, honey, this dog has so many tricks it needs a circus. You can raise and lower the suspension manually or let it adjust itself according to weight. You can manipulate how the sound comes out, so it’s perfectly situated around you as the driver or balanced between us.”

  Baz whipped through a dizzying array of features, all of them fifty times more decadent than anything Elijah would have ever thought to dream of, let alone expect to actually have in a car. Elijah was still hung up, though, on the first magic trick. “How did you start the car without a key?”

  Grinning, Baz pulled a black fob out of his pocket and dangled it between them. “This is the key. Just needs to be in the car. Pretty standard on new vehicles these days, but I like to think the Tesla’s is cooler. I don’t think many start by a foot on the brake. It turns off when we get out too, and locks itself after thirty seconds, sucking the door handles in.”

  Elijah had no idea magic keys were standard now. He thought of the 1996 Oldsmobile his parents had occasionally allowed him to drive, wondered briefly what had happened to it. Since his mother was in a mental institution and his dad in prison, neither of them could drive it right now.

  Baz opened the glove compartment and withdrew a bottle of golden alcohol. “Care for a drink?”

  Yeah, Elijah could handle a little oblivion. He accepted the bottle, and after a glance at Baz to make sure it would be okay, took a hit straight from the fifth. The buttery, smoky scotch played on his tongue, making goose bumps break out across his skin.

  “Whoa.” The taste kept exploding in his mouth, long after he’d passed it to Baz. “God, it makes me want a cigarette.”