“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why are you single?”
And that’s my cue.I reach for the door, and as I let myself out, I say, “Because, Sammy, I am oh-so-fucking smart.”
He watches me go.And when I’m halfway to my car, I look back.It’s too dark to tell, but I think he’s still watching.
That night, in bed, I can’t sleep.Again.It’s the old stuff, tonight.My brain replaying every fight with Darnell, all the ugly things we said to each other.The empty nights.Later, when things got worse, the catting around.What I don’t think about, what my brain is circling, is the red fingerprints on Lexi’s neck, and the way she looked straight ahead, and the stink of that microwaved red sauce.There wasn’t a radio at Lexi’s, but I can hear one playing in my head.AC/DC.He always played it loud when he really let loose.Now, as an adult, I don’t know why he bothered.
It’s an escape when I start thinking about Sam.Like slipping through a crack in my brain into someplace lighter and brighter.The fact that he’d stayed.And with that bullshit excuse.That he’d worried.The T-shirt tight across his shoulders.That hint of stubble on his jaw.The unruly smile he can’t quite keep tamped down.There’s not a lot about Sam that’s unruly; he works too hard, tries to keep it all under control, so there’s something about watching that smile unfurl despite his best efforts.
He’s also straight, I remind myself.And crushing on straight boys is not a cute look.
I finally decide what I’m feeling is, of all things, protective.He’s a nice guy.Sweet.Too sweet for his own good, probably.And I don’t even realize I’m falling asleep until this last burst of clarity as I’m about to drop under, and I’m thinking, What if he gets hurt?
10
Sam
When I finally get home, Gran’s out on a date, and so I’ve got the place to myself.I walk around for a while.Not doing anything—but I can’t sit down.I go to the fridge and look inside.I walk to the front window.I make my way along the hall to the back of the house, where Gran’s bedroom is.The only light is the lamp Gran left on in the living room, but it’s like I don’t even notice how dark it is.
He’s always running his mouth, I think, so that’s why nobody ever notices.He’s always in your face, so you think you see everything there is to see.Like you can’t miss anything because he’s always putting on such a big show.But I’m starting to think—to use one of Gran’s favorite expressions—I’ve been a horse’s ass, because I don’t think I know anything about him at all.I don’t think anybody does.Maybe Mr.Somerset.Maybe Detective Palomo, because they’re partners.But does anybody else in the department know a single real thing about Gray?
He doesn’t have a good relationship with his family.He told me that.But I’ve never heard him say anything about them, not where I could hear him.He said he founded WISP for a reason.But he’s never talked about that either.Everybody at the station thought it had something to do with the department initiative he’d been working on the year before—a safer sex program he collaborated on with campus security.A few guys who have been around longer, like Foley, said maybe all this stuff with WISP was because hehadto do it.Because of how bad things had gotten last year.But that’s not it at all.And nobody knows.
And tonight.How he’d looked.How serious he’d been.He’s always shit-talking, and tonight he’d been so quiet.It comes to me as I’m pacing, like I turn a corner too suddenly and it’s right there: he wasn’t upset; he was hurting.
What was I supposed to do about that?
The question snaps me out of whatever it is I’ve been doing.
I’m not supposed to do anything.It’s not any of my business.I need to pull off this Greek Life outreach, and then I’m done.
But he’s all alone.He said he thinks it’s better being alone.
And later, in bed, I think, It’s not.It’s not better.And I wish I’d said that to him.
In the morning, I’m brushing my teeth, and I’m making a decision.I told him I’d be his boyfriend.And I know it’s fake.I know it’s only to help him convince these donors he’s reliable.But the thing is, Dad always says, Do it right, or do it twice.I don’t know if that appliesexactlyto this situation—for some reason, my cheeks are red as I spit and rinse out my mouth—but I figure there’s something to it.If I’m going to be a fake boyfriend, I might as well be agoodfake boyfriend.
If that makes any sense.
So, that afternoon when I go in for my shift, I leave a box of protein bars on his desk in the bullpen.Detective Palomo is sitting right there, and she looks at me.She’s about as tough a lady as you’ll find, and she’s a good detective, and I guess if I make detective, I’m going to have to work with her because we’ll be colleagues.So, I manage to say, “Lost a bet.”
But I’m pretty sure I can still feel her eyes on me as I head to the locker room to change.
It’s almost nine, and the town is going dark, when I get a text from Gray.It’s a picture: a plate, with a fork and a knife crossed, and a little napkin tucked under the edge.On the plate is one of the protein bars.
I burst out laughing.Thank God tonight I’m riding alone.
I spend way too long thinking about what to text back, and I settle on not saying anything and liking the picture.
I figure that’s it, but then he texts:How’s the shift?
Alright.That doesn’t seem like enough, though, so I add,Pulled over Mr.Somerset again for speeding.His dad, I mean.
OMG.
