Page 65 of Compulsion

“Max?”

I shrugged weary shoulders.

“I know you’re lonely. I know how that is. But it’ll come, I’m sure, one day.”

What will? I thought bitterly, though the bitterness wasn’t directed at Jack. What will come? Resignation? Amnesia? Comfortable celibacy? Jack surely didn’t mean true love. Only guys like Jack and Louis found that. I was glad I’d never faced more serious criminal charges, that Stewart’s murderer had been found, that the bad days with Peck and Baz had been laid to rest. But I still felt punished—and that it had been disproportionately harsh.

I’d been the man who was avoiding anything controversial in his life. And then proceeded to fuck it all up because of one handsome man’s nod to me over a drink at Compulsion. All I had left of that were painfully erotic dreams, a fading scar on my left cheek, and the soft touch of a cashmere sweater that I shamefully kept under my pillow most nights. Perhaps this was what a broken heart was like. Bloody well felt like it. Underlying every step forward, every success, every pleasure in life I had, there was a small, still, persistent ache inside.

And never any news from Seve. Even though that was what I’d demanded, wasn’t it? Time alone to sort out my life. Time for us both to put things straight. I suppose I thought he’d ignore me like he often had in the past. If this was growing up, I reckoned it was overrated.

But… didn’t I say that some things did change?

THE call came on an early Saturday evening, on—surprisingly—Jack’s mobile. He and Louis were experimenting with new pasta sauces in the kitchen. There was a hell of a lot of laughter and the occasional clatter of a dropped spoon, and I suspected that there was going to be nothing edible out of there for a while. I knew Louis was cooking in nothing but an apron and a pair of cutoffs that were the living embodiment of “shorts.” I also knew Jack was too easily distracted when it came to his boyfriend. But they were happy enough, and it left me free to brood while pretending to fix the scratchy reception on the TV in the living room.

I heard the trill of Jack’s phone in the background. The theme from CSI—it always made me smile. Then I heard the sound of his feet coming up the corridor. The door swung open and he stood there, staring at me. The look on his face was both tentative and excited. I also couldn’t miss the smear of tomato sauce on his cheek and the single string of spaghetti on his sleeve. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, and he looked almost guiltily flushed.

“It’s for you, Max.”

He handed the phone to me, then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. I was confused. There were people who rang me nowadays. For work, for the occasional night out. But no one rang me this late. And not on Jack’s phone. I put it to my ear.

“Max?”

The voice was as deep as always, that depth that curled my toes and spoke to the heart of my need. But it was quiet now. Maybe a little nervous.

“Seve? Shit. Where are you?”

“I don’t… let’s not say at the moment.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

There were some muffled noises in the background, but they gave me no clues. What else could I say? I sank down onto the couch again because my legs were suddenly weak. Nerve endings that had been cauterized for months sprang back to life. My gut churned, and not from hunger. “How are… how’s your mother? Are you still keeping a low profile?” There’d been a time at the start, when I first went to the police, that I thought they might be bugging my phone in case Seve contacted me. You know, him being a Medina and possibly tainted by association, to say nothing of secretly disposing of a dead body from his own kitchen. Jack had rather drily told me I was being paranoid, and when I saw how much was going on, I realized it was arrogant of me to think anyone was interested in my love life that way. And Seve never contacted me, anyway.

Of course.

So I pretended I’d stopped waiting for it.

“Mama is fine. We’re both okay. She’s going to do some work for the family business from… Spain.” Had he been about to say here? Was he still in Madrid with her?

There were a few moments of silence while I wondered what mobile rate Jack was on and if it was going to cost him a fortune if I just kept this line open for the rest of my life, listening to Seve breathing.

“I wanted to call you before, Max, but I wasn’t sure.”

I marveled that there was a time I’d never have heard those words from Seve Nuñez.

“I didn’t want to add to…. Did they give you a hard time?” His voice sounded halting, as if he’d been trying to train himself to be conversational. Trying to phrase words that would be appropriate. It hurt a little to hear Seve like that. I wondered what he’d been through since he left.

“Nah.” I smiled, though of course he couldn’t see me. “I mean, they charged me, but I haven’t had to go to jail. I’m seeing a probation officer each week and keeping on the straight and narrow. I’m Mr. Honest Citizen now.”

“You always were,” came the murmur.

“Look, Seve. About your uncle—the business… I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t be.” His voice was sharp. “Mama was angry and distressed, but she understands now that my uncle was wrong. It could not go on that way. Once she realized what was happening, she made sure my uncle was removed from the board. And she passed over the evidence they needed to pursue a case against him.”

“I know. I heard.” How much had Seve lost? Money, belongings, status? I had no idea how much was wrapped up in the business and how much might have been private. There was silence again, and I threw words into the gap like pebbles into a crevasse. “They found Peck, you know. He was—”