EXCERPT: Ex Equals

Title: Ex Equals
Author: L.A . Witt

CHAPTER 1

Chris

  

6:42 P.M.

Only two minutes since the last time I’d checked my watch. Three since the time before that. Chuckling to myself, I rubbed my tired eyes. What was the worst that would happen if I showed up late? My students would write me up?

Ah, but consequences or not, eight years in the military had left me with a nearly neurotic need to be on time or early to everything. Last night, I’d barely slept, and when I did, I kept dreaming of being late to every one of my classes.

So far, in between sucking down as much coffee as I could get my hands on, I’d made it to every one of them exactly ten minutes early. It wasn’t like I had far to go; three of my classes were in one room, two were in the next room over, and they were about a two hundred foot walk from my office.

It was, however, my first day on the job. No sense slacking from the get-go.

Another glance at the watch.

6:45 P.M.

By now, the previous class would be out of the room, mine would be trickling in, and I wouldn’t look like a complete dork if I showed up. I stood, picked up my briefcase from beside my desk, and left. I stopped to lock the door, and couldn’t help pausing to grin at the sign on the window.

Chris Reuben—Math Dept.

There was just something cool about having my name on a door. Maybe not to anyone else, but after almost a decade as a uniformed drone and a few years of grinding through my degrees, there was a certain novelty about it. Rolling my eyes at my own thoughts, I pocketed my keys and strolled toward the classroom.

I’d been a nervous wreck before my first two classes, but now I was calm and cool. My other four classes had gone smoothly, so I was confident about this one. Algebra 101. Easy subject, easy curriculum. Plus it was a night class; several of my colleagues around the community college had told me the evening crowd was a hell of a lot easier to deal with. Instead of fresh out of high school kids, it was adults who had to cram in classes between their jobs and family life. They tended to take things more seriously.

I pushed open the classroom door and offered a quick glance and a smile to the eight or nine students who’d already arrived. As I arranged copies of the syllabus and all the other crap I needed to hand out on the table at the front of the room, more students arrived.

One woman who was probably in her mid-forties came up to me with a late enrollment form. I jotted her name down, took the carbon copy of the form, and slid it into my notebook under the roll sheet.

I scanned the room, counting heads. Twenty-one. A quick look at my roll sheet showed twenty-eight, plus there’d probably be more showing up with late enrollments. Not my largest class, but quite a crowd.

I looked up at the clock at the back of the room.

6:55.

Five minutes till go-time.

The door opened again, and I glanced up as three more students filed in. Two of them were Navy, probably from the base down the road. They must have come straight from work because they were still in uniform, and—

Oh. My. God.

The Navy had recently changed their everyday uniforms, shifting the utilities—which were a lot like prison blues—to blue camouflage. I wasn’t sure how effective blue camouflage really was unless they wanted a man overboard to be harder to find, but from an ogling standpoint? Oh yes, they did just fine. Cammies always looked good, and the deep blue had a tendency to bring out eyes in a way that would probably have this math teacher tripping over his words for the entire quarter.

Good thing I wasn’t enlisted anymore. Being in the closet had been bad enough when we were all dressed like prison inmates. This? This would have been torture.

The boys in blue took seats in the back row. Backpacks rustled, papers shuffled, pens rattled. More students arrived. Seats were filling quickly, so I did one last check to make sure I had everything I needed in the order I needed it.

6:59.

I resisted the urge to drum my fingers. With the late enrollments, I had a class of thirty-two now, but only twenty-six in front of me. Much as I didn’t like starting late, I figured I could give the stragglers until ten after, just in case anyone had difficulty finding the room. The campus layout wasn’t terribly intuitive, so students could be forgiven for being a few minutes late.

The door opened again, and when I looked up, my heart stopped.

So much for calm, cool, or collected.

There was no mistaking his identity. Even if I could have convinced myself to hide behind a veil of denial for a moment or two, the uniform—oh, Navy, why couldn’t you have stuck with prison blues?—had his name right there on his chest.

Hayes.

Justin Hayes.

My former shipmate.

My ex-boyfriend.

I blinked. My eyes flicked from his name to his face, and the lopsided grin told me the recognition was mutual. And, according to his glittering blue eyes, not unexpected.

I gritted my teeth. Tell me this is a joke.

“Chris,” he said. “How’s it going?”

I bit back my irritation, and forced myself to be completely, if grudgingly, professional. “Good. And you?” I extended my hand.

He shook it, sending lightning up my arm and into my spine. Fuck, why do you still have to be so damned hot?

“Doing great,” he said. “So you’re teaching now?”

No, I’m the fire marshal, and I’ve decided this room exceeds its max capacity by one. Get out.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, yeah. This is my first year.” Before he could say anything, I pulled back my sleeve to look at the time. “And it’s after seven, so I need to get things started.”

“Sure. Right. I’ll, um…” He gestured toward the back of the room. “Take a seat.” As he walked away, I forced myself not to watch him. I was not going to notice how good his broad shoulders looked in that damned uniform, and I certainly wasn’t going to think about how those boots might sound when they thumped onto the floor beside my bed. A bed. Someone else’s bed. After what we’d been through, his boots wouldn’t be landing beside my bed any time soon. I wouldn’t touch the son of a bitch with someone else’s dick.

Even still, damn him for still being gorgeous.

Fuck, I do not need this.

I took a deep breath and faced my class and ex-boyfriend. I’d survived four classes without my composure faltering even for a second, but now, before this one had even started, I was a wreck. I was all sweaty palms and jitters like a kid with stage fright.

But I had to bite the bullet and get through it, no matter what, so I took another deep breath, promised myself I could and would do this, and started the class.

“As I’m sure you probably all gathered by now,” I said. “I’m Chris Reuben, and this is Algebra 101. If you’re in the wrong class, or you don’t have TiVo to record the next few months worth of Grey’s Anatomy, there’s the door.” I gestured toward it, and the class responded with a reassuring ripple of laughter.

I handed out the syllabus, all the while pretending not to be aware that I was giving Justin my e-mail address, office phone number, and office location. Of course he could get that information fairly easily from the college website, but it still didn’t sit well with me.

While the copies of the syllabus were passed around, I stood at the podium again and continued the introduction to the class.

“Obviously we have some military among us.” I glanced at the two guys in uniform who weren’t Justin. “I’m former enlisted myself, so I know how the duty schedules and everything can be a hassle. If you have duty days that will interfere with attendance, you’re welcome to e-mail me that information ahead of time so we can arrange makeup quizzes, tests, and whatnot.”

One of the two in the back raised his hand.

I nodded. “Yes?”

“Our ship’s gonna be on work-ups for two weeks during the quarter. Will we be able to make up what we miss?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “I’m strict about attendance, but I’m flexible when it comes to military commitments, illnesses, and things of that nature. Just give me a heads-up whenever you’re able, and I’ll help you out as best I can.” I picked up my notes. “So, with all that out of the way, why don’t we get into the fun stuff that you’re all here for? Does everyone have a textbook?”

A murmur of affirmatives went through the room.

“If not, see if you can share one with someone sitting near you,” I said. “And everyone please turn to page twenty-two.”

For the sake of not overwhelming my students on the first day of class, I’d kept my lectures relatively short. When I wrapped up this lecture at half past eight, a full thirty minutes before class was scheduled to end, no one in the room was more relieved than me.

I closed my book and set my notes on top. “And that’s enough for one night. There’s no assignment this evening, but starting Wednesday night there will be assignments following every class. If you miss a class, assignments are listed on the syllabus. I’ll see everyone on Wednesday.”

My colleagues were right about one thing: students didn’t stick around after night classes. No one paused beside desks to socialize. No one pulled me aside to ask a question or see if they could swing by my office before they left. No one said anything except “good night, see you on Wednesday.” As soon as I gave the word that they were dismissed, people were gone.

I wasn’t far behind. I shoved everything unceremoniously into my briefcase, slung it over my shoulder, and retreated to the safety of my office. The door with my name on it was suddenly much too conspicuous, and as I shut it behind me, I caught myself wishing I could have had one of the offices tucked back in a corner. Maybe a shared one without any lettering on the door. But no, the offices were arranged to keep the various departments together, and the math department had prime real estate, front and center on the third floor. If Justin came looking for me, he couldn’t miss me.

And he had my office number on the syllabus anyway.

I dropped into my chair and rested my elbows on the desk blotter. Groaning aloud, I rubbed my forehead with my thumb and middle finger.

Justin. In my class. After all this time.

The memories didn’t have to come flooding back. They’d been there all along, every last one of them, floating at the edges of my consciousness like flotsam and jetsam just waiting to tangle with a rudder and throw me off course. After three years, I should have been over it. Up until tonight, I’d thought I was over it. But then he was there, and I was off guard, and the feelings were still there, and it hurt so goddamned bad to be in the same room with him.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was over it. This was just unexpected, that was all. Justin had caught me off guard. The ship had hit a wave, knocked me off balance, and it was up to me to right myself. I had to find my sea legs again, as it were.

I needed to find them quickly, too. With Justin as my student, I didn’t have a choice but to stand on my own two feet and teach my class like I’d never had sweaty, passionate sex with the blond guy in the back row. Like I’d never fallen in love with him, and never wound up hurting like hell when it was over.

Twelve weeks. Two classes per week. One class down, twenty-three to go. Five of those were exam days that only required me to sit back and make sure no one cheated, so only eighteen classes where I had to actually form coherent sentences. I could do this.

A knock at the door almost drove another groan out of me. I didn’t have to ask who it was.

“It’s open,” I said.

As the doorknob turned and the hinges gave the faintest squeak, I looked up. Just as I expected, Justin stepped in.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” I leaned back in my chair and folded my hands on my lap. “What do you need?”

He pulled a sheet of paper from his backpack, then slung the pack onto his shoulder again before handing me the page. “I just thought I’d bring my duty schedule by. You mentioned…in class…you know…”

“Yeah, I know what I said.” I held out my hand and took the paper from him. “You could have e-mailed it.”

“Well, opsec and all of that.”

I eyed him. “Since when is a duty schedule a matter of operational security?”

“Okay, maybe not. But, anyway.” He nodded toward the paper in my hand. “There it is.”

I set it on my desk without looking at it. “Anything else?”

“No, I think that’s it.” He fidgeted, but didn’t fidget himself closer to the damned door. Something furrowed his brow, perhaps some segue into a conversation I had neither the time nor the inclination to endure.

I beat him to the punch, and icily said, “I don’t suppose your ship is pulling out any time soon.”

He smirked. “Now you know that’s opsec.”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t ask when, to where, or for how long. I’m assuming you can tell me if the boat’s in the shipyard or doing work-ups at least.”

He shrugged. “Actually, I’m on shore duty. I’m with one of the support detachments on-base.”

“Must be nice,” I said through my teeth.

“Eh, losing sea pay sucks.” He grinned. “But it is kind of nice not to have to go to sea any time soon.”

“I’m sure.” I sat up and folded my hands on top of his duty schedule. Before I could gently and maybe a little coldly drop a hint that he was more than welcome to leave, he spoke again.

“You know, I was surprised to see your name on the class schedule. I didn’t think you’d be in the area. Figured you’d go back to the east coast after you got out.”

“Didn’t have any reason to go back.” I shrugged. “This is where the ship dumped me, so this is where I stayed.”

“How do you like it?”

I pursed my lips. “Justin…”

He put up a hand. “Hey, I was just curious how you’re doing.”

Exhaling, I rubbed my forehead. “Listen, I need to finish some things before I get out of here, and I’m exhausted. I’m just…” Not in the mood to even look at you unless you’re going to fucking kiss me. Wait, what? I muffled a cough. “I really need to get a few things done.”

“Right. Sorry.” He started to go. “I’ll see you in class on Wednesday.”

I barely kept myself from cringing. Every Monday and Wednesday night? For the next twelve weeks? Shit.

He reached for the door, but I stopped him.

“Justin, wait.”

He looked back at me, eyebrows up.

“One question before you go.”

He shrugged and took his hand off the doorknob. “Sure, go ahead.”

I moistened my lips. “What are you doing? Here, I mean? In my class?”

A lifetime ago, I’d loved that grin, but this time it just made me want to throw a textbook at him. Especially when he added a breath of quiet laughter and said, “Learning algebra.”

And with that, he was gone.

And I was alone.

Again.

EXCERPT: The Best Man

Title: The Best Man
Author: L. A. Witt

Walking through the front door of Wilde’s was like stepping into another world.

Seattle was blessed with numerous gay and gay-friendly clubs, and Wilde’s was one of the somewhat higher brow places: Live music, top shelf liquor, a strict dress code, low lighting everywhere except the dance floor. It was relaxed, but swanky, with leather booths and bow-tied bartenders. The music was just loud enough to warrant getting extra close to someone to talk, but not enough to leave a person’s ears ringing after they left.

Gulping back my nerves, I paid the cover and checked my coat. The atmosphere here was just subdued enough to keep me from shying away. This whole thing was intimidating enough without blasting music and wild lighting to assault the senses. Walking through the crowd, I couldn’t recall ever feeling quite so out of place. So lost.

A few times, I considered backing out and heading home, but since staying here meant not spending the evening at home pining over Craig, I convinced myself to face an intimidating night out on the prowl.

On the prowl. Christ, I don’t even know what I’m looking for.

A knot twisted in my gut as I headed for the bar for a little courage on the rocks. It was entirely too soon to even think about a relationship, so if I met anyone tonight, it was either casual sex or friendship. Glancing around at the guys getting close on the dance floor and even closer in booths, friendship was pretty much off the menu in a place like this.

I had never been particularly promiscuous. I wasn’t against casual sex on principle, it had just never been my thing. Craig had often ribbed me about being a serial monogamist, and maybe he was right.

But tonight, I told myself as I took one of the available bar stools, I would just see what happened.

A bartender materialized in front of me. “What can I get you?”

I gave the top shelf selections a glance to see if anything sounded good, then went for my usual. “Jack and Coke.”

He nodded and went about mixing it as I pulled my wallet out. I took my drink and he took the cash, and then I turned my bar stool enough to give me a wide view of the club and its patrons.

The place was crawling with attractive men, some of whom caught my eye and exchanged smiles—even suggestive grins—with me. But I didn’t know where to start.

Hi, I’m Jon, care for a fuck?

My name’s Jon. I’m emotionally fucked in the head right now but wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay.

I shuddered. This was just not me. What the hell was I doing? What was I thinking?

Maybe this was a bad idea. Oh well. At least I’m out of the house for once.

Sighing, I turned back around to face the bar, and my breath caught in my throat.

Leaning casually against the counter below the top shelf bottles was a different bartender. Even the club’s dim light didn’t detract from his striking, pale green eyes, and I couldn’t look away from him if I wanted to. He didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was staring, though. After all, he was looking right at me.

When I could finally look somewhere other than his eyes, I wasn’t disappointed.

The tux shirt perfectly emphasized his broad chest and shoulders, while the black cummerbund subtly drew my attention to his narrow hips. It seemed that everyone else on staff in this club was clean-shaven, but stubble heavily shadowed his angular jaw. Still, he didn’t seem out of place. He had a kind of classy, dignified air about him that let him get away with not shaving, even with a tux shirt and bowtie. As he wiped down a rocks glass with a white towel, I noticed then that his sleeves were unbuttoned and pushed partway up his toned forearms. He must have had some seniority if he could show up unshaven and with his sleeves rolled up so casually.

“Refill?” He nodded toward my empty glass.

“Uh, yeah, how about—” I looked down at my glass, trying to remember what the hell I’d been drinking.

“Jack and Coke?”

“How did you know?”

He smiled as he set the rocks glass down and dropped some ice into it. “I saw Zach pouring the first one. Figured you were a creature of habit.”

“Perceptive.” I folded my arms on the bar and leaned on them. “Anything else you figured out about me while I wasn’t looking?”

“Well,” he said, pouring what looked like more than a single shot of Jack Daniels into the glass, “I’m guessing you’re either new in town or newly single.”

My eyebrows jumped. The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement and he finished making my drink. When he set it on the bar, I started to pull a five out of my wallet, but he held up his hand.

“On the house.”

“Is the psychic reading free, too?”

He laughed. “The drink’s on me. As for the psychic reading, the only charge for that is that you might have to put up with my lack of conversation skills for a few more minutes.”

“I haven’t noticed anything lacking so far.” I lifted my glass.

“Likewise,” he said with a wink.

My cheeks burned and a second later, so did my throat. I was right, he definitely put more than a single shot of Jack into the drink. Just the way I liked it.

“So, what makes you think I’m either new in town or newly single?” I asked.

He rested his hands on the bar, his shoulders lifting slightly as he shifted his weight. Nodding toward the door, he said, “The ‘fish out of water’ look on your face when you came in.”

I shrugged. “Could just be that I’ve never been to this particular club.”

He shook his head. “I see a lot of new people come through that door who have obviously been around clubs, just not this one.” His smile turned into a cocky grin that suddenly made my drink taste like water. “But then there’s the people who come in looking like they’ve just arrived from another planet. And over the years, I’ve found that most of those have either just moved here or are trying to move on after a relationship.”

I raised my glass. “Very observant.”

“So, if it’s not too forward of me…” His eyes narrowed a bit as if he was trying to read between the lines of what I thought was a neutral expression. “Should I be welcoming you to the Emerald City, or buying you another drink to commiserate?”

I drained the last of my drink and rolled it around in my mouth as I set the glass in front of him.

“Sorry to hear it.” The amusement faded from his face as he pulled another glass out from under the bar and filled it with ice.

“Just make it a Coke this time.” My head was already light, but I couldn’t tell if it was Jack or… whatever his name was.

He nodded and topped the glass off with Coke.

“So if you’re commiserating,” I said. “I’m guessing you’re recently out of one too?”

“Ooh, yeah.” He grimaced. “Three years, and he picks up and walks away like nothing ever happened.”

“Ouch.” I sipped my drink. “I’ve actually been single for a while, just didn’t feel like meeting anyone right away.”

“Understandable,” he said. “It’s only been a couple of weeks for me. S.O.B. hasn’t even gotten all of his shit out of my apartment yet.”

“You haven’t done the ‘come and get it or I throw it out the window’ ultimatum yet?”

He laughed, but some of the humor disappeared from his expression. “I have. I think he just wants to make it as miserable as possible. Anything to draw it out, even if he initiated it.” He dropped his gaze for a second.

“I’ll bet I can beat that.”

“Try me,” he said.

“My ex came by tonight to tell me he’s getting married.”

His eyes widened. “How long did ago did you say you split up?”

“Six months.”

He whistled. “He doesn’t wait around, does he? Er, sorry, no offense.”

“None taken.” I put my finger on the end of my straw. “But it gets better.” Keeping my finger on the straw, I lifted it out of my glass and put the other end on my tongue. As I let my finger go so the Coke would come out of the straw, I noticed his eyes were following. When I ran my tongue around the end of the straw, his lips parted and he looked away, clearing his throat.

His cheeks colored. “So, um, what happened?”

“He wants me to be his best man.”

The bartender blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Maybe we should introduce our exes.” I paused. “Well, if they were both still single, anyway.”

He opened his mouth to speak, then glanced down the bar. “Shit, I need to take care of some other customers.” He looked at me again. “You going to be here a while?”

I am now. I smiled. “Not going anywhere.”

With a wink that made my head spin, he stepped away to see to his other customers. It was only when he was gone that I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Ever since I’d turned around, since I’d first laid eyes on him, I hadn’t drawn a proper breath.

I thought of the way he’d watched me with the straw and shivered. The way he’d looked at me when I first turned around. I wasn’t imagining it, was I?

As he tended to customers a few feet away, smiling and laughing politely with them, he cast me a quick look and his smile faded. It didn’t fade in the sense that he was suddenly embarrassed or annoyed by my presence or the fact that I was looking at him. Quite the contrary.

His eyes said nothing if not, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

My heart pounded. I knew nothing about him beyond his job and the fact that he was recently single. I didn’t even know his name, but I suddenly wanted to hear him growling mine in my ear.

We continued that way for a while, shooting the breeze while he was between customers. Every time he was sure that every glass and bottle on the bar had been filled, he came right back to me.

At one point, while he filled drinks, several more bartenders appeared and a few others left. Shift change, I guessed. When he caught sight of one of the newcomers, his expression changed. This time, it was annoyance. As the other bartender approached him, they exchanged a few brief and, by the looks of it, terse words. Then they disappeared into the back.

It was almost fifteen minutes before he came back into view, his jaw set and his eyebrows knitted together over narrowed eyes. He kept his eyes down as he approached me. Before I’d even said a word, he went about filling another glass with Coke. Glancing back the way he came, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“My boss is here, and he’s on the warpath today, so I can’t chat.” He put the drink I hadn’t ordered on a napkin, slid it toward me, and tucked the piece of paper under it. Then he met my eyes. “I’m off in an hour.” Tapping the bar beside my drink, he said, “If you want to talk someplace quieter, I can meet you there.”

With that, he turned to go.

“Wait,” I said.

He paused and came back, glancing over his shoulder and swallowing nervously.

“Do I have to wait until then to find out your name?”

He smiled. “Liam Sable. Yours?”

“Jon Beatty.”

“I’ll see you in an hour.”

EXCERPT: From Out in the Cold

Title: From Out in the Cold
Author: L. A. Witt
Publisher: Loose Id, LLC
Format(s): ebook

EXCERPT:

I hated the walk home from my grief counselor’s office, especially this time of year. It was the second week of December, and the evening was cold the way only a winter evening in Chicago knew how to be. That windy, dirty chill that threw grit in your eyes just before it climbed under your skin and into your lungs. Nights like this, only an idiot would walk anywhere he didn’t have to.

Especially when that idiot didn’t have to walk the fifteen blocks from his counselor’s office to his apartment with the “L” rumbling down its tracks below his feet and sometimes above his head.

I walked, though, because I still couldn’t get on the train. I hadn’t been on it in just over a year—God, has it really been that long already?—and didn’t see that changing anytime soon. My counselor told me again tonight not to push myself. That I would get there in time. How much time was anyone’s guess.

And I couldn’t smoke on the bus, so I walked. I made it about two thirds of a block before, wind be damned, I took the wrinkled pack of Marlboros out of my jacket. I pulled off my glove and freed a cigarette from the pack, then fished my lighter out of another pocket.

As soon as the smoke was lit, I shoved the lighter back into my jacket and my hand back into my glove. It was a pain in the ass, maneuvering a cigarette to and from my mouth with my fingers tucked into thick ski gloves, but the night was too damned cold for bare hands. Bring on some emphysema with a side of lung cancer, but fuck frostbite.

In between inhaling and exhaling smoke, I paused to cough a couple of times, wincing at the ashy bitterness on my tongue. I was slowly getting used to the taste, faster now than I had the last few times I’d taken up smoking. Usually I quit before I got used to it. This year I’d started early, and though it still wasn’t my favorite flavor in the world, it wasn’t so bad now. At least it tasted better than cold car exhaust.

As I walked and smoked and tried not to freeze my ass off, I let my gaze slide up the tall buildings towering above me, because looking at long-memorized buildings was easier than thinking about my conversation with my grief counselor. I’d been here almost a decade and wondered if I’d ever feel at home in this place. Chicago wasn’t like cigarette smoke, something that would choke me at first but eventually went in and out of my lungs with ease. This city was crazy. Buildings so tall they could step on you. Streets so long they could strangle you. The whole damned thing spread out so far in so many directions I sometimes wondered if it would fold in on itself and swallow me whole. Days like this, I wondered if it already had.

So leave already, Neil.

Right.

Leave.

And go where, exactly?

I flicked the spent cigarette into a pile of dirty snow and stuffed my gloved hands into my coat pockets. I buried my face in my parka’s high collar and walked a little faster.

The nicotine hadn’t helped. I was still as tightly wound as I’d been when I left Jody’s office. My mind was still scattered, my concentration all over the fucking place. I always felt so goddamned lost after an appointment with her. Sometimes I wondered why I kept going back, but being lost was better than…than whatever it was I’d felt before a coworker finally convinced me to make an appointment six months ago.

“It’ll take time, Neil,” Jody had assured me today and every week since June. “No one’s expecting you to have a handle on all of this overnight. Be patient.”

Said the woman who got to close her file folder at the end of our hour and be done with it while I went home and tried not to sleep so I wouldn’t dream.

I almost took out my cigarettes again, but I was only half a block away from home. If I started smoking now, I’d have to stand outside at the base of my apartment stairs while I finished it, and it was too cold for that shit. Maybe it was just as well I only smoked in the wintertime. Nothing kept me from staying out on my balcony and chain-smoking like a relentless, fume-flavored Chicago wind trying to freeze my balls off.

I crossed the last street and walked a little faster toward the stairs leading up to my apartment. A homeless guy shivered at the base of the stairs, huddled beside what looked like one of those green bags they issue in the military. Probably another vet who’d come back from a war—maybe Vietnam, maybe the Middle East; one seemed as likely as the other these days—and wound up on the streets.

I felt for him. I really did. I felt for all the people living on the streets, especially in this kind of weather.

These days I was also scared to death to engage anyone with whom I wasn’t already well acquainted, so I tucked my face a little deeper into my collar and started up the steps.

“Neil?”

I stopped with one foot hovering over the next step. Habitual fear made me want to run like hell into the building, but curiosity slowly turned me around.

The homeless guy craned his neck, looking up at me from under the bill of a Dodgers baseball cap. He had a good two or three days’ worth of stubble on his face, and he was gaunt, pale, and exhausted, but as soon as the streetlights illuminated his eyes, my heart stopped.

“Jeremy?” I hurried down the stairs, completely forgetting about the ice and nearly winding up on my ass for my trouble. I regained my footing, and when I had my feet beneath me, found myself eye to eye with Jeremy Kelley, my childhood best friend.

“Thank God,” he said through badly chattering teeth. “I was hoping you still lived here.”

“Yeah, I do. And—”

“Look, I know this is out of the blue,” he said quickly. “I can explain, but please, don’t—”

“Jeremy.”

He stopped, and his eyes were terrified as they locked on mine. I didn’t have to ask why. The last time we saw each other hadn’t ended all that well, and he probably wondered if I was going to leave him out here, though I hoped to God he knew me better than that.

I looked him up and down, wondering how the fuck he hadn’t died of hypothermia in military-issue boots, a pair of jeans, and a parka that wasn’t made for any winter north of the Mason-Dixon line. Whatever had sent him to my doorstep, he was desperate and in no shape to be out here another minute.

I gestured up the stairs. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze. Come on.”

He released a cloud of breath. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Jeremy reached for his bag. His hand was bare and bright red, and his fingers couldn’t quite grasp the frayed green straps.

“I’ll get it.” I pulled off my gloves and handed them to him. “Here, put these on.”

“Thanks.” He took the gloves and, with some effort and swearing, managed to get them on his hands.

I hoisted the heavy bag onto my shoulder. “Jesus, man, what do you have in here?”

The Jeremy I’d known most of my life would have had some sort of snarky retort or called me a pussy for groaning under the bag’s weight. This Jeremy just lowered his gaze and murmured, “Pretty much everything I have.”

I didn’t say anything. I gestured up the stairs, and we went inside. His gait was stiff and slow, probably from being so cold, but he didn’t seem hurt or sick. Still, I worried about him more and more with every floor the elevator creaked and groaned past on its way up to the fifth, and every step we took to my apartment door.

The bag’s strap bit into my shoulder through my parka, and I shifted my weight to balance it while I dug my house key out of my pocket. I found the key, put it in the door, mused silently to myself that this was what I got for not telling the landlord months ago that my deadbolt was sticking, and finally got the fucking thing to turn.

Inside I eased Jeremy’s bag onto my couch and turned to him as I unzipped my parka.

He hugged himself tighter, still shivering in spite of the heat in my apartment.

“How long have you been out there?” I asked.

“Awhile,” he said, obviously trying still his chattering teeth. He unzipped his jacket with badly shaking hands. “Listen, I hate to drop in on—”

“Dude, don’t worry about it.” I nodded down the hall. “If you want to grab a hot shower and warm up, I can put on some coffee.”

He met my eyes, and something in him deflated. No, relaxed. Like he’d been bracing for something and had finally dropped his guard. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

I held his gaze. “What did you think I would do? Just leave you out there?”

He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. “I just, after the last time…”

“It’s in the past,” I whispered, and I was sure he saw right through to the part of me that still thought about him like I did the sweaty night before we parted ways. “It’s in the past, which is where we should leave it.”

Jeremy swallowed. “Right. Agreed.”

And at least for now, the subject dropped.

He draped his jacket over the back of a chair, and after I’d started the coffee, I helped him with his bag. I showed him to the bathroom at the end of the hall, and while he got in the shower and the coffeemaker did its thing, I slipped out onto the balcony with my cigarettes. This was my eighth cigarette today, which was a lot for me. A hell of a lot. Especially this early in December. The annual bad habit, the one I always started on Black Friday as I counted down the days until I went home for Christmas, had started early this year. No surprise there, according to my counselor. At this rate I’d probably be chain-smoking by Christmas Eve. I wondered if I’d be able to kick it the week after New Year’s like I always did, or if it might hang on until February or something.

Whatever. I cupped my hand around the end of the cigarette to block the wind and flicked the lighter. I’d deal with quitting after I dealt with all the reasons I’d started again. Just like I did every year. This year more than any before it.

I pocketed my lighter, and for a moment I concentrated on nothing but taking in and releasing a few deep breaths of smoke. Once the nicotine had started working its magic on the very edges of my frayed nerves, I leaned against the half-rusted railing and looked into my apartment.

Jeremy and I had lost touch a few years ago, around the time he was going back to Iraq. Well, no. We hadn’t lost touch in the sense that we drifted apart and meant to stay in contact but didn’t. The silence of the last few years had been by design. Or at least, the first few weeks of it had been. I didn’t know that either of us thought it would drag on quite this long. I wasn’t really sure why it had.

But five years later, out of nowhere, he was here. Why now? And why at the bottom of my steps at eight o’clock at night when it was freezing cold outside?

My gut twisted into knots. Jesus, what if I had stopped to get something to eat? Or I’d gone back to work to put in some overtime? Or gone out drinking like I did last week, despite having to work at seven in the morning? How long would he have waited for me?

And why was he waiting for me?

He’d been in the military just about eight years now, since a few months after graduation, and last I’d heard, his second enlistment was for four years. So there was a good chance he’d just gotten out. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in about two days, maybe three, which happened to be how long it took to get from where his family lived in Florida to Chicago via train or bus. There were hotels, motels, and hostels all over this city, not to mention shelters if he was desperate, but no, he’d apparently come straight here from whatever mode of transportation had brought him into this godforsaken town.

Whatever had driven him here while he was dressed for anywhere but here, it wasn’t just an impromptu visit with an old friend. Something wasn’t right.

I had a feeling he’d also had neither the time nor the money to eat along the way, so I smothered my cigarette and went back inside. I opened the pantry and realized just how long it had been since I’d gone grocery shopping. My mother would have shit kittens if she’d seen how little I’d been eating over the last year. Of course, the minute I tried to tell her why, she’d have shut down and said she didn’t want to hear about it.

But I was hungry now, and Jeremy was probably starving. There wasn’t a lot in here, though. Money wasn’t exactly bursting out of my wallet these days, so hopefully Jeremy wouldn’t mind something simple and cheap. I could order takeout, I supposed. Maybe cut into those funds I’d put aside for my upcoming annual holiday visit.

As I grabbed a box of macaroni and cheese off the shelf, double-checking the date to make sure it hadn’t been in there too long, I wondered if I should have used my sparse bank account as a “get out of spending Christmas at home” card.

Sorry, Mom and Dad. Can’t afford to come visit this year. Counselor’s co-pays are eating me alive, and cigarettes aren’t cheap. Maybe next year.

Yeah, right. Like I’d ever live that down.

I checked the fridge to make sure I had butter and milk. Shockingly, I did, and they weren’t expired either. A pre-Christmas fucking miracle.

I laughed softly at my own silent sarcasm as I put a pot of water on the stove.

About the time the water had boiled and I’d added the noodles, Jeremy came into the kitchen. He had on a clean pair of jeans and a slightly wrinkled US Army T-shirt, and some color had returned to his freshly shaved face. His almost black hair was longer now than the last time I’d seen him. Still short, but definitely not army severe anymore.

And I still didn’t know why he was here. If not for the heavy circles under his eyes or the deep furrows between his eyebrows, I might have fooled myself into thinking he was just here for a visit. Except we also had a history that had kept us apart for almost five years, so “just a visit” wouldn’t be on his agenda or mine unless there was some hatchet burying involved. Or at least trying to stumble through an awkward conversation that was half a decade overdue.

“Coffee?” I asked.

Something in his shoulders visibly relaxed, and he nodded. “Please.”

I pulled a couple of cups out of the cabinet. “I figured you were hungry too. I hope this is…” I gestured at the pot.

“It’s fine, believe me. I’ll eat anything that’s in front of me right about now.” In spite of the worry and exhaustion in his eyes, he smiled. “Thanks.”

As I poured our coffee, I said over my shoulder, “You still take it black?”

“Black as I can get it.”

I handed him one of the cups of coffee. I preferred mine polluted, as Jeremy had always called it, and poured some milk into my cup before returning the carton to the fridge. Neither of us spoke for a long moment, just sipping our coffee and waiting for our food.

After a while he said, “Man, I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“You didn’t think I’d leave you out there, did you?”

Jeremy sighed. “Not really, but I kind of didn’t think my parents would either, so…”

My heart dropped. I set my cup on the counter with a dull tap. “Your parents found out, didn’t they?”

He wrapped both hands around his own cup like he still hadn’t gotten warm yet. “Yeah. They did.”

“You told them?”

“Nope.” One syllable had never contained so much bitterness.

I raised my eyebrows. “So…what happened?”

Jeremy ran a hand through his short hair. “They didn’t show up when I came home. They were supposed to meet me at the airport, but they…” His eyes lost focus. More to himself, he said, “They weren’t there.”

“You were coming to visit them?”

He shook his head. “I was coming home. To stay.”

“So you’re out of the army? Permanently?”

“Yeah. Few months ago I was coming up on my reenlistment date, and I just couldn’t do it. I…” He shuddered, fidgeting against the counter like he thought that might keep me from noticing, and cleared his throat. “If I put in another four years, I’d be over halfway to retirement, so I wouldn’t be able to justify getting out then, and I am not giving the army twenty goddamned years.” He drained his coffee cup like he was throwing back a shot of something much stronger. “Dad and I, we talked a few months ago about me getting out and coming to work for him. Figured that would give me a good ten or fifteen years before he retired so I could really get the hang of the company before he turned it over to me.”

“Sounds like a pretty sweet deal,” I said.

“Oh, it was.” He rested his hands on the counter and let his head fall back. “Should’ve been, anyway.”

“What happened?”

“One of my exes, this guy I dated a couple of years ago, saw on Facebook that I was getting out of the army.” Jeremy swept the tip of his tongue across his lips. “So he e-mailed me and asked if he could see me again before I left town. You know, for a couple of beers. I thought he just wanted to say good-bye since I was leaving, but apparently he wanted to get back together. I said no. He got pissed.” Jeremy sighed. “So he waited until the day I was flying home, and he dug up every e-mail we’d ever exchanged, and forwarded them to my parents.”

I cringed. “I’m guessing those e-mails were…”

“Yeah. That kind of e-mail.”

“Oh shit.”

Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck as his cheeks darkened. “So not only did they find out I was gay, they found out about some of the…” He paused, shifting his gaze to the narrow strip of floor between us. “They found out a few more details about my personal life than I would have wanted them to find out if they weren’t insanely homophobic.”

I grimaced. “No kidding. I’m guessing you called them or something when they didn’t show up at the airport?”

“Yeah. They told me to get a cab and give the driver any address but theirs.” He stared into his coffee cup as he thumbed the handle. “I don’t know anyone else in Miami, and I had just enough money for a bus ticket, so I came here.” He met my eyes, and the desperation in his was unmistakable. “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this. I just need a place to crash for a little while. While I find a job and get on my feet.”

“You know you don’t even need to ask,” I said. “My apartment’s not that big, but you’re welcome to it for as long as you need.”

He searched my eyes, a hint of skepticism deepening the crevices between his eyebrows. I thought he might ask if I was sure, and maybe reopen the subject we’d never even started to resolve five years ago, but he just lowered his gaze and whispered, “Thanks.”

I finished making our food and scooped the steaming macaroni and cheese into a pair of bowls. We moved from the kitchen to the living room, since my table was half-buried under mail and various other crap. I tried not to let my place turn into a stereotypical bachelor pad, but since no one else ever ate here but me, the table had become more of a storage space than an eating surface.

I was starving, and I could only imagine how hungry Jeremy was, so it was no surprise that there wasn’t much in the way of conversation until we’d both gone back for seconds and returned to the couch.

Jeremy set his empty bowl on the coffee table. “So I haven’t talked to you in a long time.”

Damn it. Apparently we are going there tonight.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” I cleared my throat. “I kept meaning to e-mail you or something, but…” But I don’t know where I stand with you. And even if I did, I’m lucky I can get my shoes on these days.

“Me too,” he said. “Life’s just been so…”

“Yeah.” My stomach twisted itself into a knot. “Life happens.”

“It does. How have you been?”

I looked into my bowl and absently chased a noodle around with my fork. “I’ve been…all right.”

Jeremy’s coffee cup clicked on the table. “Is that ‘all right’ like everything’s really fine, or ‘all right’ like you were after—”

“Don’t,” I said softly and met his eyes. “Please.”

Alarm pushed up his eyebrows. “Neil, is—”

“It’s really not something I want to discuss,” I said.

They rose a little higher. “That bad, huh?”

I set my jaw. “It’s not something I want to discuss.”

“Okay, sure. But if you need to, you know—”

“I know,” I said quietly. “Thanks. Just…not now.”

He didn’t push. Though I was sure he tried to hide it, he looked hurt, and I supposed I didn’t blame him. There’d never been anything Jeremy and I couldn’t talk about besides that last night we spent together. We’d carried each other’s deepest, darkest secrets for years—in some ways we were each other’s deepest, darkest secrets—and swore we’d take them to the grave if we had to.

But this time I just couldn’t go there.