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CHAPTER TWELVE

Rav is still a little cranky when he gets home from dinner. He was planning to tell Ana about what happened with Jack, but he chickened out. Which suggests he’s feeling guilty about it, but why should he? He’s done nothing wrong. If he had, Howard would have said something. Well… something more definitive, anyway. Right?

Before he can start spiraling, his phone buzzes with a message that melts it all away.

MESSAGES

Jack Vale????????????????????????????????????????????????????????Now

Got something for you

It’s a link to a museum exhibition in the UK. Tapping it, Rav finds a photo of a sarod almost identical to the one hanging on his wall, with the same gilded floral pattern.

Mid-19th century, Uttar Pradesh. Some cool history in the description there, if you’re interested

Rav’s chest thrums. He hadn’t really expected Jack to follow through on his offer. It’s sweet of him, especially with everything he has going on right now. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

Extremely interested, thank you.

Call you in an hour?

It ends up being two hours and twelve minutes, not that Rav is counting. He grabs his AirPods; he wants Jack’s voice in his ear. “I wasn’t sure I’d hear from you before you left for Miami,” he says, congratulating himself on how breezy he sounds.

“You didn’t. I’m in the air.”

Rav closes his eyes, letting that rich tenor drip like warm honey down his spine. “I take it you’re flying private?”

“Yeah.” He sounds embarrassed. “We take trains whenever we can, but sometimes it’s just not possible.”

“Don’t worry, we all have our dirty little climate secrets.” Rav stretches his six-foot frame out on the sofa, arm tucked behind his head. “Now that I’ve salved your conscience, tell me honestly: Is it divine?”

“It’s comfortable, but it’s still a plane. Not my favorite thing.” Rav hears it in his voice, slightly tighter than it should be. “What about you, how are you holding up after Saturday?”

“Ten out of ten, would definitely kiss you again.”

He laughs. “Good to know, but I was talking about the other thing.”

“You mean the vicious mob? Fine, thanks. Apparently, I’m popular again.”

“Seriously, though. I saw the article in the Times. That must have been pretty scary.”

“It was disconcerting. But I don’t think I was in any real danger. It certainly doesn’t compare to what happened at the skate park, to say nothing of the Concord.”

Jack’s voice goes quiet. “Yeah, that was… I mean, it could have been so much worse, obviously, but in that moment, when we didn’t really know what was happening…”

“I can imagine. I was actually there that night, you know. Responding to the call.”

“Really? How come you never mentioned it?”

The bigger question is why he’s mentioning it now. It must be the last thing Jack wants to talk about. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. But at least it’s over.”

“Is it? He’s still out there.”

The words send a stab of guilt through Rav’s chest. Miller was right in front of him, and he blew it.

“It’s not just him, either,” Jack goes on. “There’s the guy who broke into my place, and the tongue guy… It’s so messed up. There have always been stalkers, but it’s just too easy now. Like, I’m pretty sure the details of this flight are already on social media.”

“We were talking about that today, actually. I’m wondering if social media might hold some clues to the Vanderford murder.”

There’s a pause. “I thought you were done with that,” Jack says.

“Officially, yes. But I’ve got a couple of new ideas that I’m looking into.”

“Okay.”

Another silence. Jack doesn’t seem too thrilled to hear Rav is still involved with the case. “Anyway, you’re right,” Rav says, pivoting back hastily. “About the dark side of social media, I mean.”

“It’s hard to feel safe anywhere these days. I’ve even thought about carrying a gun, but Mo says it’s not a good idea.”

“I understand the impulse, but I’m with Mo on this one. Using a firearm safely and effectively takes a lot of practice.”

“Well, that part I’ve actually got covered. My last bodyguard took me to the firing range a bunch last year, with the idea that I’d start carrying my own when I was ready. But Mo feels differently, and I get that. The neighborhood I grew up in was pretty rough back in the day, and I’ve seen what the streets look like when everybody’s carrying.”

“You’re originally from Atlanta, right?” As if Rav hasn’t memorized every line of Jack’s Wikipedia page, but it seems like a good way of changing the subject. Jack called him to relax, not rehash all the awful things going on in his life. “I have to say, you don’t sound like you’re from the South.”

“Do I not say y’all enough?”

“Do you ever say it?”

“Sometimes. What about you, how come you still sound like you just walked off the set of Downton Abbey ?”

“ Lies ,” Rav says with a startled laugh.

“When Ryan mentioned your dad was a lord, I thought, of course he is.”

“Ugh, please…”

“And when I found out your mom was an ex-model, I thought, of course she is.”

“That one I’ll take, thank you. But I reject the idea that I sound anything like His Lordship. My father has such a stick up the arse you can actually hear it in his voice.”

“Up the arse, huh?”

“I can’t bring myself to say ass ,” Rav says, exaggerating the nasal quality of the American pronunciation. “It’s far too flat. Arse has a proper curve to it, as a good arse should.”

“Seems like you’ve thought about this a lot.” Rav hears a clink of ice shifting in a glass, and he reaches for his own whiskey. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend Jack is here in the flesh, sharing a quiet drink. “But you’ve been in the States for a while, right?”

Rav hums assent through a sip of scotch. “I was actually born here. We lived in New York until I was two, which is when my parents split the first time.”

“The first time?”

“It’s a Greek play, Jack. Don’t even ask.”

“Sounds like it,” he says, laughing. “It would make great reality TV. The lord, the model, and their hot playboy son.”

“Playboy? I’m a little offended.”

“You’re the one telling strangers about skinny-dipping in penthouse pools.” He sounds more relaxed, and Rav flatters himself that it isn’t just the alcohol. “Besides, I’m talking about your pitch here. You’d want to play up the bad boy angle for TV, right?”

“You’d have me sell my soul and become part of the machine churning out… what did you call it? Opium for the masses?”

“So you’ve been listening to my music.” Rav hears the grin in his voice. He wonders if there’s anyone nearby to see it; whether Jack’s bandmates are wondering who he’s talking to. Remember that cop who almost arrested me for murder? I know, right?

“I may have heard a few snippets here and there,” Rav says archly. “Entirely in passing, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to catch your show.”

“You can come see us play MSG next month.”

“You’re coming back through?” To play Madison Square Garden, no less. Rav knew the Nicks were big, but bloody hell. “I thought you’d already done your New York dates.”

“Not yet. The Miami show is the official start of the tour. We always do a handful of smaller venues before we officially kick off, just to fine-tune things. Even then, it takes a while to really get into the groove, so the timing of the MSG show is perfect. That’s a place you want to get it right.”

“Because it’s New York?”

“In part. But that venue especially, it’s iconic. When Tommy and I used to daydream about making it big, it was always, ‘One day we’re gonna play Madison Square Garden.’” His tone turns wistful, and Rav knows he’s back in that auto body shop on Knickerbocker Avenue, a skinny high school kid with big dreams and a best friend who shared them.

“It must be hard,” Rav says. “Playing there without him.”

“Bittersweet, for sure. Hard is hearing his voice on an ad for a sports drink.”

Rav has seen that commercial. The song is from their first album, a tune called “Animal.” It’s about structural inequality and society reaping what it sows, and they’re using it to flog a bright green syrupy drink. Charlie Banks wasn’t kidding: Vanderford licensed those recordings to anyone and everyone. It’s not hard to understand why Jack despised the man.

“Thanks for that, Dick ,” Jack says bitterly. “At least it’s over now. We got our masters back, and Vanderford is…” The pause is just long enough to be uncomfortable. “Out of our lives,” he finishes. “Wherever Tommy is now, I hope that brings him some peace.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Tommy?”

“Only if you want to. I can hear how much he meant to you, and I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever had someone like that in my life. Were the two of you…?”

“More than friends?”

Fuck, why did he ask that? “Never mind, it’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay. And no, it wasn’t like that. For one thing, Tommy was straight. Plus, I just never thought of him like that. When I first met him, I was seeing someone, and by the time that was over, he was already like a brother.”

“You met at LaGuardia, right?”

“Someone’s been reading Wikipedia ,” Jack says, the grin back in his voice.

Rav feels his skin warming, as if he just got busted with a poster of Jack Vale in his locker. “I take it that’s not accurate?”

“Tommy is the reason I ended up in New York in the first place. You asked what he was like. I’ll tell you how we met, and that kind of says it all.” He pauses to sip his drink, or maybe he just needs a moment. “So, Tommy’s mom and his stepdad lived down the street from us in Atlanta, and he’d visit now and then. I’d see him around, shooting hoops or whatever, but we never talked. Then one day, I’m playing a show with this band my brother put together.”

“Hold on, I need context. How old were you?”

“Fifteen, I guess?”

“You were in a band at fifteen?”

“Just with some kids from school. The rest of the guys were seniors, but they wanted someone on keys, and I was the only kid they knew who could play. It was my first show, and I remember being really nervous. Then after, as we’re putting our gear away, this kid I’d seen around the neighborhood comes up to me and says, You should be in a band with me .”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Not even a Hey, what’s up .” Jack laughs. “So I say, I’m already in a band . And he says, Yeah, but they suck .”

“Wow.”

“ Not you, though , he says. You were the only one up there who knew what he was doing. And I’m this shy kid, and this is my big brother’s band, so I just stand there like a deer in the headlights while this super-cool kid with a Brooklyn accent tells me about this amazing school he goes to in New York, and how I should transfer there and start a band with him, because he’s going places.”

“He was confident.”

“He was a force of nature. He had this incredible, in-your-face charisma. I didn’t doubt for a second he was going places, and I wanted to be there. I was already pretty serious about music by then, but I was playing classical piano. The band was just something I did to hang out with the older guys. If you’d told me the day before I met Tommy that I’d end up here, I’d have laughed.”

“And the day after?”

There’s a long, long silence.

“You would have liked him, Rav.” Jack’s voice is a little wobbly.

“I’m sure I would have.”

Jack clears his throat. “You remind me of him a little, actually. The way you instantly own a room.”

Rav’s heart skips, but he keeps it light. “I hope that doesn’t mean you think of me as a brother.”

“Don’t worry, my thoughts are appropriately carnal.”

“I look forward to hearing more about that when you can speak freely,” Rav says, silently congratulating himself on the rescue. Breezy bullshit for the win.

“Yeah, private plane is kind of a misnomer. I’ve got a bit of space back here, but Sarah is looking at me right now with this smirk on her face like she knows I’m thinking about phone sex.” Ice shifts in a glass. “What about you, any brothers or sisters?”

“Oh no. My parents didn’t particularly want their first child; they definitely weren’t going to have another. Which is fine, by the way,” he adds hastily, before it can become awkward. “I never really pined for siblings. Family life was messy enough as it was.”

“I take it you’re not close?”

“My father and I barely speak, and my mum has always lived on the other side of the ocean. When I was in London, she was in New York, and vice versa. So.” He takes a swallow of scotch.

“They got back together, you said.”

“A few years ago. Out of the clear blue, or so it seemed to me. I didn’t even realize they were still speaking. She’s back in London now. I’ve no idea what she does there. She’s never taken much of an interest in my life, so I don’t feel obliged to take an interest in hers.” Rav swirls his drink in the bottom of his glass. “But enough about that. It’s terribly dull.” And embarrassing, and painful, and not what he wants to talk about right now.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t really get along with my dad, either. It’s one of the reasons I took Tommy up on his offer and moved to New York. After that, Mr. Esposito was kind of my surrogate dad. I even moved in with them for a little while—Tommy’s dad and his three brothers.”

“Goodness. That is a lot of male energy under one roof.”

“It was a lot of male everything. That whole house smelled like a jockstrap.”

Rav almost does a spit-take. “What?”

“I’m not even kidding. Tommy’s brothers were all into sports, and his dad was always at the garage, so there was no one to clean up after them. They’d leave their gym bags lying around for weeks, and—”

“Stop, you’re making me ill…”

It ends up being another marathon session. Even longer than the first call, and a lot more personal. Rav is acutely aware of how intimate this is. More intimate than a kiss, or even casual sex.

Which is terrifying . There’s a thousand reasons he shouldn’t let himself get in too deep, but he can’t make himself stop. He hangs up feeling high but anxious, like an addict already worrying about his next fix. Jack gets back into town at the weekend, and they’ve agreed to meet up.

It’s going to be the longest four days of his life.