4
Mid-morning, the Varsity Club house showed more of its wear and tear. The two-story white colonial was still a beautiful home, but it was easier to see the patches in the circular drive, and Theo spotted missing shingles on the roof and peeling paint on the columns that would have sent Cart into a frenzy of swear-word-laden home repair. Instead of the sheers Theo remembered from October, the windows were blank with thicker curtains—what he thought were probably blackout curtains. If the Varsity Club house was shut up for the season, or something along those lines, it made sense. On the other hand, it also made it hard to tell if anybody was waiting inside.
“The neighbor’s watching us,” Auggie said. He sipped some of his coffee and, obviously trying to control his self-satisfaction, added, “In case you missed it.”
Theo grunted and glanced over. The neighbor in question was a woman with enormous spectacles, her silver hair in pin curls, floating inside the fluffiest of robes. She was staring at them through the front window in the house next door.
“Maybe she’s hoping we’ll burn the place down,” Theo said. He took another bite of the breakfast bagel sandwich—good, but it wasn’t Big Biscuit—and through the half-chewed food, added, “She’s got to be sick of the parties.”
Theo finished his sandwich and the coffee Auggie had brought him—with just the right amount of cream and sugar. They ditched their trash before they started down the drive. He kept thinking about the coffee. It was both flattering and slightly unsettling that Auggie knew how Theo took his coffee. He didn’t know how Auggie took his coffee. That seemed like something a boyfriend would know. He could, for one vivid moment, see Ian rolling his eyes with the angels.
“How do you like your coffee?” Theo asked.
A tiny grin crept onto Auggie’s face.
“Yes, I noticed,” Theo said. “And it’s very sweet that you know how I like mine. Please don’t make me grovel.”
Mock outrage widened Auggie’s eyes, but the smile got bigger. “Do you want to guess?”
“Lots of sugar.”
“Rude.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Well, you’re not wrong,” Auggie said as they followed the side of the house, “but it’s still rude. To guess first thing like that, I mean. And there was definitely a tone.”
“Ok. Lots of sugar. Lots of cream?”
“Well…”
“Oh my God.”
“You only apologized once for last night, and this is, you know, revenge. But in a sweet, loving, boyfriendly way.”
Theo rubbed his eyes.
“You’re making that same face you made when I tried to get you to change your hair.”
“Because I don’t need a teeny-bopper undercut, Auggie.”
“I know. I love your hair. I just wanted to see if you’d do it for me, and it was so sweet that you pretended to consider it.”
“Do you know what? I was the difficult one when Ian and I started dating. I’m just realizing that.”
“Yes,” Auggie said. “Obviously. You’re still the difficult one.”
If there was such a thing as a choked silence that existed in a sweet, loving, boyfriendly way, then Theo was currently experiencing it.
The French doors on the back of the house provided a welcome distraction. It took Theo thirty seconds with his much-abused debit card to knock the latch out of place, and then the doors swung open. Auggie, because he was Auggie, tried to go first, and Theo caught him by the collar of the too-large coat and hauled him back. He wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure Auggie had one of those secret, invisible grins.
Inside, the house was warm, but not as warm as Theo expected—probably, the thermostat was set to keep the pipes from freezing. It was still a nice change from outside, especially after having sacrificed his coat to Auggie. The curtains blocked most of the light, so Theo found a switch and flipped it. Bulbs sprang to life overhead.
Without the party lights and the crush of bodies, it was an entirely different space: tall ceilings, open rooms that flowed into each other, catalog-set furniture in linen and teak and tufted, slate-colored leather. The air tasted stale and close, like this place had been mothballed and boxed up.
Theo had a harder time taking the next breath, and as they moved through the house, each breath was harder. It was exhaustion. It was the lingering fear. All his barriers had worn thin, and silence hung everywhere, thicker than the shadows, bearing down on them and muffling sounds that should have been normal—their steps, the rustle of clothing, Auggie chewing the cuff of one too-long sleeve. They moved from the kitchen to the breakfast nook, then through what someone would have called the family room or the leisure room, then the dining room, the study, the formal living room. When they started up the stairs, when Theo heard the sound of the carpeted steps underfoot, his heart slammed against his ribs, and he couldn’t seem to get any air.
He had come home to a house like this. Only when he had to, when something forced him away from Lana’s side in those first few weeks after the accident. The silence was like a hand around his throat. He had walked through the house he had shared with Ian and Lana, and it had smelled wrong and sounded wrong, and for such a small house it had been too big. He remembered catching glimpses of himself in mirrors and being startled, as though he had wandered into someone else’s life, and any minute now, they’d come around the corner. And then, when Lana was no longer in the hospital, there had been nowhere else to go. He had lain in bed under the eaves, in a stranger’s house, in this stranger’s life. And when it had gotten too bad, he would tell himself it was his knee, and he would get the prescription vial. In the end, there was always the Percocet.
A hand, warm and strong, caught his and squeezed once. For a moment, Theo didn’t know where he was. Then it came back to him: the pale, expensive surroundings of the Varsity Club house, Auggie’s worried face. Theo sucked in a breath. He didn’t want to read the whole question in Auggie’s eyes, but he sensed enough of it to nod, and after a moment, Auggie squeezed his hand again.
“Lattes,” Auggie whispered.
A sob wanted to rip its way out of Theo’s chest. For a moment, the hurt was new again, as though the years had been stripped back, along with all their padding. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to regulate his breathing. It had been months he’d been clean, months, and all of a sudden, the only thing he wanted in the whole universe was a pill. Just one. To take the edge off.
Auggie chafed his arm, still holding his hand. “And if you ever make a joke about this, I swear to God, I will tell everyone about the time you asked who, quote, ‘that nice lady’ was on TV, and you’ll get your gay card revoked for not knowing Cher. Ok, are you ready?”
Theo could barely keep up with the words, but they were a lifeline, and he dragged himself along them, away from the craving. He nodded.
“Kid temp.”
A wet laugh escaped Theo, and he wiped his face. “What?”
“I really like lattes, and yes, the super sugary ones, and I order them kid temp. And I know it’s going to be the hardest thing in your life not to make a joke about that, but please, for the sake of your gayness, fight the temptation.”
Theo laughed again, the sound stronger this time. He ran his arm across his eyes. When he looked, Auggie was watching him, that same question written in his eyes.
“Sorry,” Theo said. “It brought a lot back. I don’t even know why.”
Auggie nodded. The question was still there, but he didn’t ask it. Instead, he asked, “Do you want to wait—”
“No. Let’s finish this.”
Another nod, but Auggie didn’t let go of his hand. They moved through the bedrooms upstairs, through the master suite. The house had impersonal décor, impersonal cleanliness, impersonally empty drawers and shelves and closets. It was a great place for the football team to party, and it was probably really nice when a wealthy donor came back to visit, and, of course, the real value came from the social capital of belonging to a super special club in a small town like this.
They found nothing that would tell them anything—a half-used bottle of conditioner in the linen closet; a foil gum wrapper, wadded into a ball, that someone had missed next to the baseboard; in the master bath, an ad for a teeth-whitening kit had been folded into quarters and stuffed in the top drawer of the vanity.
“What are we even looking for?” Auggie asked. “And shouldn’t we be looking in the team’s little love nest?”
“I don’t know what we’re looking for,” Theo said. “That’s why we started here. If you think you know what you’re looking for, you miss all sorts of interesting things.”
“What interesting things did we miss?”
“That was more of a general statement, Auggie.” Theo was silent for a moment. “I wanted to come here because it all led here: whoever killed Harley and Sue, for some reason, they decided to stage Sue’s body here. That was a choice. They had a reason.”
“It would have been easy to get the body in without anybody seeing. They could have pulled into the garage, put the door down, and unloaded her. Nobody would have any idea.” When Theo gave a pointed look, Auggie said, “What? I’m just being practical.”
“After this,” Theo said, “no Dateline, no 20/20, no Forensic Files.”
“What?”
“You heard me. None of that shit.”
Auggie’s eyes got annoyingly innocent. “My virgin ears.”
“And,” Theo stressed the word, “there are other reasons to take a look at this place. That asshole Trace drugged you—”
“Or Andre. It could have been Andre.”
“Yeah, well, he also tried to pound my face in. And Jenice was freaked out. Scared to death.”
“So, what? You think she was in on it? They all were?”
“I don’t know what I think except that there was a lot of shady shit that night, and we’re months behind because I was stupid enough to think that we could walk away from this mess.”
They went back downstairs and let themselves into the garage through the kitchen. No signs of the fight remained except a slightly different color of paint where the drywall had been patched—Theo didn’t even remember it getting damaged in the fight. The door that led to the suite was locked, but this was one of those interior privacy button locks, and Theo got it with a screwdriver he liberated from the pegboard. He held on to the screwdriver as they started up the stairs.
“What’s that for?” Auggie asked.
“Nothing.”
“Do you think there’s somebody up there?”
“No.”
“Because there’s not.”
“I know.”
“So why do you—”
“Because,” Theo said, trying to keep his voice even, “this place freaks me out, and if someone jumps me, I’m going to stab a bitch.”
Auggie’s whole face went blank with shock. Then his eyes glittered, and he covered his smile with one of the floppy sleeves.
“That was for your benefit,” Theo whispered as they approached the door at the top of the stairs.
“I love you so much.”
Theo went first. The little suite, including both closets and the secret room, was empty. At some point, this had been a crime scene, but the police tape was gone, and no sign remained of fingerprint powder or evidence tags or whatever else they might have used to inspect the small set of rooms. Doubtless the Varsity Club had paid big bucks to get the place looking spic and span again. It would be a real shame if the football players were inconvenienced by the lack of a fuck room.
Today, the bed was stripped of its linens, and the bathroom was empty except for a stack of clean washcloths and a bottle of hair-and-body wash, the kind that most straight men considered the height of grooming and, possibly, the best thing since jerking off. The stench of decay and the overpowering air freshener that had been used to cover it up were gone now. Theo thought maybe he smelled paint, but that might have been his imagination.
When Auggie opened the coat closet to crawl inside the secret room, Theo stopped him.
“It’s empty,” Auggie said, and he lifted Theo’s hand from his shoulder, kissed his knuckles, and went first.
Theo flexed his hand and considered catching Auggie’s ankle and yanking him out of there. It was a quick thought, reflexive, but it was hard to shake off.
“Theo?” Auggie said from inside the room. “You should see this.”
Theo squeezed into the space with Auggie. Both of them avoided the corner where Suemarie had lain, which made the tight space even tighter, and finally they had to slot together, Theo pulling Auggie against him with one arm.
Auggie pointed at a hole in the drywall. Then he pointed to the exposed subfloor, where the plywood was scuffed. Theo understood: a tripod and a camera. When Theo moved closer and looked through the hole, he saw that the mirrored glass on the closet doors was only one-way—and he had a perfect line of sight to the bed.
After another moment’s consideration, he squirmed out of the tiny space. Auggie emerged a moment later, already fixing his hair.
“They were recording those girls,” he said. “Well, recording themselves with the girls. I guess we know what was on Harley’s laptop now. That’s what everybody wanted.”
Theo nodded. He opened his mouth. Then he stopped and tried to think of the best way to say it. He settled on, “Auggie, how are you doing?”
“Huh? I’m fine. I mean, it was creepy as fuck in that little room, but I had my big, butch boyfriend to take care of me.”
Theo figured he had to give it at least one more shot. “This isn’t too much for you? If you want me to finish up here…”
At first, Auggie didn’t pick up the trailing sentence. “What’s supposed to be too much for me?”
Theo rocked back on his heels. He looked away.
“Dylan?” Auggie asked. “Is that what you’re talking about?”
“All I’m asking is if you want me to handle this part.”
“I’m fine, Theo.”
Theo nodded.
“Dylan didn’t rape me.”
Theo wrapped his arms around himself. He couldn’t look at Auggie. Not in the eyes, anyway.
“He didn’t!”
“Ok.”
“I don’t even know why you’d say something like that. And if you hadn’t noticed, Theo, I’m fine. You’re the one who freaked the fuck out a few minutes ago. Remember that?”
“I don’t think—” Theo began, but before he could finish, a tread squeaked. He hadn’t heard footsteps, but the sound was unmistakable.
Some of the color bled out of Auggie’s face, and he looked around. Theo hurried to the window. He worked on the catches, got them undone, and raised the sash. The window resisted, but he got it up, and then he popped the screen out. It struck the side of the house as it fell, the sound distinctly audible.
Auggie was looking down at the drop. He worried the corner of his mouth and glanced over at Theo.
Theo shook his head and pointed to the side. The deck that extended from the master suite, which was technically also the roof of the back porch, came within a few feet of the window. Auggie looked at the distance and shook his head.
“I’ll swing you,” Theo mouthed, nudging Auggie.
“What about you?” Auggie whispered back.
Theo wanted to scream. It wasn’t about him; it was never about him. It was about Auggie, and it was about keeping Auggie safe. He decided to ignore the question, and he nudged Auggie again.
Grimacing, Auggie hooked a leg over the sill, shifting his weight to straddle the wall. He turned at the waist, and Theo caught him by the wrists and nodded.
“What about you?” Auggie whispered again.
Jesus Christ, Theo thought. You still don’t get it.
He indicated with his head for Auggie to slide out the window, and Auggie made a face again, but he lifted his remaining leg.
Behind Theo, the door flew open. Displaced air surged against Theo’s neck. The door hit the wall with a crash. Theo looked back.
An old white guy pointing a big gun at them shouted, “Stop right there!”
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