Cross Island Page 2

  Across the room, near the sofas, I saw the Rodriguez crew facing me. Don’t look, I told myself. Don’t fucking look.

  The thought repeated over and over, and yet I glanced over and found myself locking eyes with Michael. He smiled slightly. I hadn’t figured out what to do in return in the half a second it took for his husband to appear beside him. Nunzio wasn’t even paying me any mind, and yet the casual arm he put around Michael spoke volumes.

  Mine.

  Fuck you, Nunzio.

  I snagged Oli’s other drink and threw it back as everybody looked on. And because I really was a masochist, I was still watching Michael in my peripheral vision just enough to see him frown.

  “Now that the man of the hour has arrived,” Oli said, clearly speaking loud enough for everyone now filling the room to hear. “We’re going to say a few words. A very few words about Clive Baptiste before he leaves to go do his version of partying, which I’m pretty sure is picking up beautiful twinks who keen over tough cold-hearted lawyers.”

  “Oliver!” Caleb snapped. “For Christ’s sake.”

  Aiden cackled, slapping me on the shoulder with one of his meaty hands. I shook my head, vaguely amused at my ridiculous bosses even with the icy pit forming in my gut. They were a three-man variety show.

  “What Oli is saying is,” Aiden boomed, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Is that our man Clive has reason to go do his thing. He works hard, harder than any motherfucker I’ve ever met, and his work always pays off. Because of him, a case that could have taken years to put to bed was done in the past six months because he was relentless. So, for the first time since last spring, we can all take a deep breath. The man who put us at risk has been taken care of.”

  Leave it to Aiden Fairbairn, the ginger brawler from Rockaway, to make it sound like I’d had their former IT boy murdered.

  “What he means,” I said dryly. “Is that we received a judgement against the former QFindr employee who exposed the company directory for multiple claims relating to harassment, intentional infliction of emotional duress, and breach of non-disclosure agreements. Financially and career-wise, he’s ruined. His personal assets were sold, and he’s likely looking at filing for bankruptcy. The damages he will be paying to QFindr will be, as decided by the three men standing beside me, divided and paid out to the employees he directly harassed.”

  I wasn’t sure what the QFindr motley crew had expected from their employees, but there was only half-hearted clapping. At Caleb’s dismayed frown, a few people picked it up. Including Michael. Just what I wanted from my ex-lover. Pity applause. It was neither needed or wanted. I was more than accustomed to clients not being entirely satisfied with the outcomes of cases.

  “Well,” Aiden said awkwardly. “Go back to your drinks, I guess.”

  A few other people clapped again, and I glared at Oli and Caleb.

  “Are you satisfied?”

  “Not fucking really,” Aiden said, far too loudly. “Who pissed in their Captain Crunch?”

  “Nobody. But like I told Caleb—they wanted jail time, and I couldn’t make that happen.”

  “You couldn’t fuckin’ make it happen,” he raged, because that’s what Aiden did. He got loud and raged, whereas Caleb went internal and Oli got passive aggressive and snarky. “You’re not the fuckin’ DA. Or the grand jury.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Aiden. Most people don’t understand how the legal process works. All they know is I’m the attorney, and the bad guy didn’t go away, so I failed. It’s fine.”

  I shrugged like it didn’t matter. I didn’t want it to matter. But somehow—it did. Not because I was surprised or disappointed to not be getting my folk legend TV movie after all, but because that mortifying display had played out in front of Michael and his husband. “I’m leaving.”

  “Clive—” Caleb raised his hands. I expected an apology for making me endure this nonsense. Instead, he said, “Please consider having Stavros or Chester drive you home? You’re so high profile, and people have already been making threats—”

  “For God’s sake, Caleb, drop it.” For some people, alcohol caused them to lose their inhibitions. For me, it caused me to lose my filter. “I don’t need a bodyguard. What I need is a stronger drink and a break from these spoiled fucking ingrates who work for you. If I have to watch them babble incoherently about the media or politics or the law for another minute, I’m going to lose my shit.”

  Caleb dropped his eyes, Oli clenched his jaw, and Aiden honestly didn’t look like he disagreed. Behind them, Victor was watching me. I glared at him briefly before patting Caleb’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. Okay? But I can’t do this right now. Not with…” The words twisted into a knot, so I jerked my head in Michael’s direction. “I just need to go.”

  Caleb looked torn between trying to force another guard on me and offering to whisk me away himself. Because that was what he did. He was a fixer, and he liked to make everything better for the people around him. But I wasn’t his other friends. And I didn’t need his goddamn help.

  “I’ll call an Uber,” I said. “It will be fine.”

  He stopped arguing at that point, so I called it a win and made a beeline for the back exit. Perhaps Aiden had had the right idea. I’d just won one of the largest settlements in the country for a case of online harassment and doxing, and I needed to celebrate. My own way.

  ***

  Once the car turned onto the Cross Island Parkway, I opened Grindr and scrolled the pictures until I found a man who resembled Michael. The guy—Jack—didn’t look like him. Not really. He was Italian, paler, and not as pretty, but he had a similar haircut, the same kind of scruff, and dark eyes a poor enough sucker could get lost in.

  He also had a sweet smile that reminded me of Michael’s expression whenever someone did anything kind for him. It’d always surprised him, even when it shouldn’t have. Like birthday presents and Christmas. Good morning blowjobs and low pleas for him to stay home with me on snowy or rainy mornings. It was a lot harder for me to take a day than him, but he’d always smiled that smile right before saying no.

  He’d only taken off days to spend time with Nunzio.

  I’d tried to like Nunzio at first. Really, I had. He’d been funny and charming with curly wild hair and an infectious smile. Then, I’d caught his pining gazes and roving eyes one time too many, and everything had changed. I could tolerate a lot of things. Being forced to invite a tagalong who was in love with my boyfriend was not one of them.

  But Michael refused to believe me. Refused to take anything I said seriously, and I’d become the third wheel in my own relationship. Sometimes, I’d been the spare tire. I could clearly remember all the times they’d gone out to dinner or to a club, and it had never occurred to Michael to invite me. The times he’d been sick or upset about something related to his family, and he’d reached out to Nunzio instead of me.

  Then there had been the mind blowing realization that I wouldn’t be able to support him at his mother’s funeral since he was still closeted at the time.

  It’s okay. Nunzio will take care of me.

  Of course. Nunzio had taken good care of him. They’d holed up together for over a week. Then the drinking and nonstop partying together had begun.

  Suddenly, I remembered why I’d pushed Michael into dumping me. Why I’d invented a lie that would ensure he’d never consider trying to make things work. As much as I’d loved him, he’d been a terrible boyfriend. Disrespectful. Oblivious. And I would never get over the suspicion that he’d cheated on me during one of their many drunken nights out, even if he didn’t remember doing it. It was possible he’d never remembered, but they would get obliterated, and Nunzio had been lovesick for years.

  My low burn of desire for Jack cooled, and I closed the app.

  I didn’t need a stand-in for Michael.

  I didn’t need anyone.

  The cab pulled up in front of my house, and I got out without a word. The best part about Uber and
Lyft? No wait time before stepping out. Everything was done. I could excuse myself with a NY nod or grunt, and step right up to the absurd Tudor-style house I’d inherited from my grandmother. In reality, my parents had inherited it, but they’d already moved to Long Island, and nobody had wanted to deal with the property. They’d left it up to me—the only child.

  Sell it or keep it? Considering my grandma had been one of the first black homeowners in this racist-ass neighborhood, there was no way I was going to let them get rid of it. It would stay in our family until I died childless and alone. My parents had been proud. After I’d gutted the inside with the cold detachment of somebody with zero patience for sentimental value, and turned it into a slick bachelor pad, I think they’d actually been a little jealous.

  But it was mine. Mine alone.

  I’d wanted it to be mine and Michael’s, but—

  Nah. I was done going down that road.

  The Uber pulled away as I entered the low black metal fence surrounding the house and let it clank shut behind me. It was quiet for what seemed like miles around. So quiet I could hear the low warbling of someone’s TV, just loud enough to interfere with my own thoughts. They were watching Dateline, which meant it was about nine. Just enough time for me to go for a run then maybe hit the gym on the way back.

  Forget twinks and the many closeted tough guys of Whitestone. Working out gave me more peace than the usual crew of guys who wanted handjobs in their cars, or in the park. I was too old for that, and not trusting enough to invite anyone home.

  The idea of running simultaneously calmed me down and pumped me up. I pulled my keys from my pocket, scowling when they caught on the fabric of my pants, and opened the storm door. It squeaked the way it always did, but something changed in the air at that very moment. I didn’t hear anything in particular besides the drone and suspenseful music from Dateline, but the energy shifted in a way that drew my attention over my shoulder.

  The street was dark and still, but it felt like someone was standing nearby.

  Every hair on my body stood on end, and goose bumps crawled over my skin. A footfall echoed loudly behind me, and I turned fully to face the street. My rational mind knew this was the time when I should have started to panic. There was someone loitering on the block. I knew it like I knew my own name. And whoever it was, it wasn’t Shannon Down the Street’s too-old boyfriend. That guy didn’t come around until breaks in his college schedule.

  This was someone else.

  Someone who was likely proving Caleb right.

  Yet all I felt was calm intrigue. Would they come out? Try to rob me? Assault me? If so, they’d better have brought back-up. I may be a suit, but I was a suit who worked out nearly every day.

  “You need something?” I called into the night, setting my briefcase down by the door. “Maybe I can help.”

  No answer, and I would be damned if I made the first move and sought them out without confirming they were alone. I stood there, body tuned into the night, and waited for a response. Or a movement. Another shift that would indicate this person hadn’t slunk around a corner or hopped a fence. When a gate squealed across the street and footsteps jogged away, I knew that was exactly what had happened.

  I snorted in disgust and turned back to the door.

  They’d either punked out, or I was losing it.

  I started to open the door again and noticed the folded paper sticking out of the mailbox just as I turned the key. On a plain white sheet of printer paper, someone had written “Fuck you, mouthpiece” in block letters. It wasn’t the usual slurs and insults or barely coherent threats my colleagues had received, but it was somehow more chilling. They knew who I was, and what I did. They’d picked my name specifically. And it was personal.

  Cross Island, ch 3

  Chapter Three

  Victor

  There was nothing worse than living in somebody else’s apartment.

  It didn’t matter that I was paying half the rent, or that I was military clean after two years of living with my drill sergeant uncle in Chicago after getting out of Job Corps. The fact that I stayed to myself, kept silent, and never brought over dates should have made me a winner of a roommate. But I wasn’t.

  Why?

  After my sister’s boyfriend had moved into her fly-ass apartment in Jamaica Estates, I’d taken over his bedroom in a cramped apartment by the court house on Sutphin Blvd. Now, I was sharing space with Tonya Maldonado—former Marine and permanent hardass—and her girlfriend. They were more or less okay people to live with except for the fact that they fucked constantly.

  Constantly.

  There was no time of day that was safe to venture out of my bedroom. Late at night was out of the question most of the time since they both stayed up. Five in the morning should have been gravy but I’d just walked out to the kitchen to grab my protein shake and head to work, and had found Meredith slumped against the counter, head tilted back and moaning softly, as Tonya crouched on the floor in front of her.

  I glanced at the clock, swearing. I needed to get out of this fucking place, but I was held captive by Tonya’s need to eat Meredith out in the goddamn kitchen.

  My entire body was a cringe of mortification and irritation. Living here wasn’t sustainable. I needed my own place. The shitty part was that even with the decent salary I was earning, it still didn’t mean a single damn thing in the New York City housing market. Everywhere I looked was expensive as fuck except for the same neighborhood we were in—the one we’d grown up in—and I was frankly trying to get the hell up out of there.

  The hyper sexual new couple in the other room was just one bullet in a long list of reasons why South Jamaica was no longer the place to be for me.

  The clock ticked to 5:20, and I slammed my fist against the door. “Y’all done?” I sounded mean as hell when I raised my voice. I winced. “C’mon man, I gotta go to work,” I added, putting a plaintiff edge in it. “Your ass does too, Maldonado!”

  The apartment grew quiet. A minute later, someone kicked my door.

  I opened to find Tonya already heading down the hallway while tucking a dark gray T-shirt into her black pants. It was pretty messed up that she still looked edgy and professional in casual clothing whereas I looked like I was about to go get in a fight in the park in anything less than a suit. Or maybe that was just my head screwing with me. Or memories. Or all the people who still knew my face, and my old rep, in this neighborhood.

  “Sorry,” Meredith said from behind a gigantic coffee mug. She was wearing one of Tonya’s hoodies, blond hair falling to her waist. “We forgot you were getting up this early too.”

  There was no way that was true since me and Tonya tended to drive into the city together in her company car, but I appreciated Mere’s effort to pretend they cared about my comfort. It was their place. I was just squatting. I was lucky to be allowed to do so after my rocky past with Tonya and her friends.

  “No worries,” I said, grabbing my shake from the fridge. “Any idea why we’re being called in at the ass crack of dawn?”

  Tonya poured black coffee in a to-go cup, eyes still running all over her girlfriend. “Something to do with a new security detail,” she said without looking my way. “There was another incident last night.”

  “With who?”

  Tonya grabbed her leather jacket and threw it over her shoulder, casually badass and making me feel like a slob in my jeans, Timbs, and bomber jacket. “With the lawyer.”

  Meredith shook her head, looking down into her coffee. “I’m so sick of this.”

  “Same, but we’ll all get through it.” Tonya dragged Mere in for a quick kiss. “Love you, ma. Take the day and call me if you need anything.”

  Mere smiled. “Thanks, baby.”

  They were so mushy it was kind of disgusting. I jerked my chin at Meredith and walked out, moving past their affection and replaying the previous night at the QFindr party. I was regularly put on door duty for the simple fact that I was the newest of the guard
s in the company, and that was usually fine during regular business hours. The party had been a whole other ball game.

  Yeah, I’d been at the door, but I’d been at the door and forced to watch every motherfucker from the old neighborhood prance around all happy and queer and in love. While I stood there like a pariah with a neutral expression, the people who hated me had basically rubbed their happy lives—lives that clearly allowed them to forget the shitshow we’d grown up around—in my scarred face. They were over the past. I wasn’t. Knowing that drove me nuts.

  Besides my former… associates and enemies, the party had been full of well-to-do folks who worked at QFindr. The lawyer, Clive, had stood out from all of them because he’d been on the sidelines too. After months of working for the company, I’d realized he put himself in that position at every gala or party. He should have fit in perfectly considering how rich and sophisticated he seemed to be, but he continuously removed himself from the equation.

  And that admission about him not being as in love with the Rodriguez fam as everyone else? Real interesting. Especially because there had been moments when he’d gotten as tense and on edge as I’d felt while watching everyone mingle. He was a lot better at hiding it, though.

  All things considered, I knew the brutal truth was that I’d put myself on the outside of that clique years ago as an angry teen who’d picked fights with them out of jealousy and self-loathing. But Clive Baptiste? They seemed like his crowd.

  “What’s your problem?” Tonya asked once were in the car. “Walking in on me eating pussy freak you out that bad?”

  I sucked my teeth. “You’re annoying sometimes.”

  She snorted. “It’s a real question. Is the sex thing starting to be too much? I can’t help the thin walls.”

  “Yeah, but it’s your place. And it’s small.”

  “You pay rent,” she pointed out, glancing in the rearview mirror. “But you’re right that it’s small, and it’s not ideal for any of us anymore.”