“Which just means we don’t have to subpoena financials,” Luis poked a finger in my forehead. “And we can trace the others involved.”
Oh. “Well, okay then!” I glared across the station at Del. “Why are we here?”
“Why are you still yelling?”
Because I was fucked. I was royally totally incomprehensibly fucked. “Because I fucked up,” I replied, voice lowering. Even Marco was giving me a pitying look, and he had to partner with Del, the skeeze of the whole department.
“Yup,” was all Luis said.
Nice. No sympathy there. I had to grin, desperate though it was. “Kiss it and make it all better, daddy?”
“Tell me again why I put up with you?”
“I always let you drive?”
“That’s so you can stare at my cock.”
“I hear gay men are allergic to polyester and bad fashion. Your cock will always be safe.”
By the time we were at our cars, our banter had significantly reduced my panic. Folding his arms over top of the opened car door, Luis pointed his key at me. “Go see Angelica. You’ll feel better.”
“She’s not taking my calls, or emails, or texts.”
“That’s why you go see her.” He climbed into his car and drove off, leaving me to mull over that piece of advice. Or was it an order?
Revelations and Bruised Egos
How did it work to be gay and still be moved by how beautiful Angelica was? Even in her old college sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt she retained her elegance. Only the dark circles under her eyes gave me any indication she was suffering. It felt longer than four days since I’d seen her. A whole lifetime of revelations lived in the span of this week.
From behind the open door, a frame of music mournfully surrounded her. I barely refrained from wincing at the lyrics. “Can I come in?” I asked, hoping I sounded as contrite as I felt.
To my surprise, Angelica tried for a smile. Her lip trembled upwards and then twisted into a grimace. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Please?”
She stared past me, out onto her front lawn, eyes glazing and then tearing. The fact that I’d never seen her cry made me reach out. I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head, pulling her into my embrace. “We weren’t even that good together,” she laughed, hugging me back. “Can’t think why I’m this upset.”
“I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to come here.”
She muffled another genuine laugh into my shoulder. “Austin Glass selfish? What else is new?” Her hands snuck under my jacket and flattened against my back. They were so small and warm.
“Ouch,” I smiled through the melancholy. “Want my gun? I’ll go get it for you.”
“Ask me again in ten minutes,” she said, taking a deep breath and pulling away. I dropped my arms, feeling the urge to fidget with my tie. A sudden recollection of Sister Francis’s ruler slapping my fingers had me jamming both hands in my pockets as I stepped inside.
The main entry hall with its marble floors and vaulted ceilings was meant to be intimidating. Angelica often brought opponents here, leaving them standing there while she pretended to be engaged in a phone conversation. Fortunately, I was already too anxious to let it affect me as I followed her into the house.
She took me to the bar, which was diagonal to the sunken living room, and stepped behind it. “Bourbon, neat?”
“A double if I’m going to be here ten minutes. I want to be numb if you decide to shoot me.”
“I do want to shoot you some days,” she admitted tiredly, setting the glasses out and pouring slowly. “It’s just so…you. Most days I want to shoot myself, for thinking I could change you from the asshole that leaves women at the altar.”
“Honestly, Angel, I’m not panicking about the wedding. I know you still think that, but that’s just not it.”
She took a dainty sip, licked her lips and leaned across the bar, avoiding eye contact. “I went online to these websites that Jessica said might help. Would you believe there’s a small cult of women in my situation?”
“Women with douchebag fiancés?” I drew circles along the rim of the glass, waiting for when, or if, she’d face me.
“Women left by gay men,” she clarified. “Most of them kept blaming themselves. Saying things like, ‘I should have known, he would only have sex a certain way’ or ‘He kept hiring the same contractor who didn’t know how to build anything’. All I could think was, ‘Not my Austin. No one would guess’.”
“Least of all, him,” I said quietly with a smile. That’s when she turned to me, frowning.