“No it isn’t,” Gray said flatly. “What’s up?”
Raiden frowned. “A car rear-ended me the other day.”
“What? What car? Did you see a fucking doctor?”
Jameson placed his hand on Gray’s arm to help calm him. He could see the protective concern that was flashing through his eyes, like another kind of fire licking at him.
Raiden leaned back against the wall. “Don’t overreact.”
“Fuck.”
“You remember that guy who was moving the fentanyl?”
Gray tensed up. “I told you to turn that one over to the officials!”
“We did!” Raiden said defensively, holding his hands in the air. “You’re right. That stuff needs to be taken care of properly, along with anyone who had a part in distributing it. It’s too dangerous to get out on the street. But Horatio and I were talking about it, and we figure we didn’t have tojustcall the police.”
Gray sighed. “Can I have another beer?”
“We just did some creative messaging,” Raiden answered as he crossed to the fridge.
“Creative messaging?” Jameson asked.
“Just some carefully placed flyers around the neighborhoods where he spends his time and one billboard we installed in the middle of the night. We thought it was appropriate to warn people that he sells bad drugs, you know? Make sure everyone could see his face, take a good look at him, and say, that’s the man who sells bad drugs.” Raiden flipped open his beer. “It was Horatio’s idea.”
“And he rear-ended you?”
“One of his guys.”
Gray stood there a minute, his arms crossed and his brow tightened. Despite everything else, Jameson couldn’t help but smile. It was just funny to see his guy step into this different kind of leadership role, turning into the responsible one.
His guy. Jameson shoved the thought aside, then rested his hand on Gray’s back. Raiden had possibly gotten himself in trouble, and Jameson wanted to be there to support Gray through it all.
“You’re just lucky it wasn’t worse,” Gray said. “You could have gotten yourself killed, you know that? Anyone moving that much fentanyl is a major player. And if they think you’re the ones that tipped the cops off?”
“They don’t know that we did the flyers or that we turned them in” Raiden said, then rubbed his thigh again with a wince. “They just caught us poking around one of their locations a couple weeks ago. They’re letting off steam, punching down at the little guys. I’m sure it’s all over.”
Gray grunted. “All right. But you’re showing me the damn leg, and if it’s bad, I’m dragging you to the doctor. Got it?” He turned to Jameson, then smiled. “You doing okay, beautiful? Do you need anything?”
Jameson darted his tongue across the bottom of his lip. There were a million things he wanted in that moment, but since arriving at the house, one thought had been front and center. “Could I just lie down for a minute? I’d like to rest in your room.”
Gray’s eyes popped open a little wider, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure. First door at the top of the stairs. Make yourself at home. I’ll come find you when I’m done?”
“Sure, thanks,” Jameson said, then kissed him on the cheek and ran away before Gray could change his mind.
He climbed the stairs, covered in brown carpet, stepped into the bedroom, then slowly closed the door behind him. The sun was on the other side of the house, and the room was dim with the light off. Jameson felt like he was creeping into an alien world, one he had been cut off from ever since he became famous. But when he traced his eyes over Gray’s collection of records and smelled his scent on a red plaid blanket, and spotted the battered old science-fiction novel by his bed, he felt like he was returning somewhere, too.
Like he had finally arrived where he was supposed to be.
Jameson fell backward to the bed, then curled up with a pillow. He imagined how many nights Gray had slept right there and smiled to himself.
He tightened his hands. If it weren’t for Pickles, he’d probably just try to abandon the mansion forever. Jameson entertained himself by lying there and imagining how to transform Gray’s house into a proper hideout. He could last there for ages, probably, with a secret hut in the woods or a converted lair in the basement.
Or right between Gray’s blankets, soft and warm on his skin.
As Jameson finally began to drift away to sleep, there was a light knock on the door, and Gray poked his head in. “I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed. Fucking finally.”
Jameson laughed and rolled onto his back. “I’m probably getting makeup on your pillowcase.”
