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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

It’s another five days before the truth about Ryan Nash hits the headlines, and it sets the internet on fire. The band puts out a statement asking for privacy in this difficult time—which of course the media ignore, multiplying outside the hotel until the police order them to disperse. Jack and Rav stay holed up in their suite, waiting for the storm to blow over. The rest of the Background tour has been postponed indefinitely, and after a great deal of agonizing, Jack and his bandmates have come to a decision. The New Knickerbockers are no more.

“It’s fitting, don’t you think?” Jack murmurs against Rav’s shoulder. They’re curled up on the sofa, watching old seasons of Top Chef and diligently avoiding their new phones. “The Nicks were born in an auto garage, and they died in an auto garage. There’s a nice symmetry to it.”

Rav kisses the top of his head. “The Nicks will never really die. They’re immortal, like the song says.”

“Do you think Ryan will be okay?”

“I expect he’ll serve time. How much will depend on the lawyers.”

“I was thinking more about his state of mind. He’s been carrying that secret a long time. Maybe now he can start to heal.”

Rav looks down at him. “You have an amazing heart, you know that? To be able to forgive him after everything he’s done.”

“I’m not saying I forgive him. I’m not ready for that, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him suffer.”

“He let you believe Tommy took his own life. He saw what that guilt was doing to you, and he just let it happen.” All those showy gestures of loyalty, his Jack is my brother s and I got you, mate s. It makes Rav sick.

“That’s the hardest part,” Jack says. “The accident… it came out of nowhere, and he panicked. But it’s hard to understand the choices he made after that.”

“I hope you can start to heal, now that you know the truth.”

“It’ll be a process. Tommy’s death might have been an accident, but that doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t there for him when he needed me. We were all struggling with this huge upheaval in our lives, but Tommy was drowning and we didn’t see it. I didn’t see it. That’s why I believed the story about him taking his own life. Self-care is important, but it can’t come at the expense of showing up for the people who need you, and that’s something I’ll always regret.”

Rav sighs. “Death and regret go hand in hand, don’t they? I don’t think you can lose someone close to you without feeling guilty about something .”

“Maybe, but I need to own my mistakes before I can move past them.” He shifts, looking up at Rav. “I will, though. Move past them. For the first time since Tommy died, I feel like I can get there.”

“Of course you can. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Jack’s mouth quirks. He thinks Rav is bullshitting him.

“I mean it. Do you know what was going through my head when you had that gun pointed at Erika? That of all the people she’d underestimated so far, this was her biggest mistake. I thought, this man was prepared to go to prison to protect a friend. He risked his life pushing that same friend out of the path of a bullet. He’s absolutely fearless when it comes to protecting the people he cares about. If she thinks he’s not going to pull that trigger, she’s a fool.” He cups Jack’s chin and looks him in the eye. “You saved my life. You are a total badass.”

“Right back at you,” Jack says, and kisses him.

Rav spends his thirtieth birthday in the most romantic city in the world—cooped up in a hotel room. Mags has come and gone, and Claudia and Sarah, too, so it’s just the two of them. Jack already gave Rav his present back in Cannes, but he buys another: a record player and fifty “essential” albums going back to the 1930s. The history of rock and roll, as curated by Jack Vale. They sip thirty-year-old Macallan and listen to music until the wee hours, Jack narrating his favorites with a passion and depth of knowledge that takes Rav’s breath away. It’s so sexy he can hardly keep his hands to himself, and by the seventies he gives up trying, tugging at the buttons of Jack’s jeans and backing him toward the bed as Mick Jagger croons about wild horses.

At some point, the needle hits the edge of the grooves, and the arm swings quietly back to its cradle. The record spins on, silent and unattended.

It’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

Rav deposits his suitcase by the door. “Rav goes to the airport, take two.”

“Let’s hope it goes better than last time,” Jack says, looking up from his guitar with a rueful smile.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come with me? I don’t like the idea of you being alone.” He would stay, but the department’s patience has run out. Family emergency or no, they want their detective back on the job.

Jack shakes his head. “The circus travels with me, remember? You don’t need that. Besides, I really need to see my family. I’m thinking of renting a cabin in the woods somewhere. Montana, maybe, or Wyoming. Someplace my folks can visit without being mobbed.” He sighs and peers out the window at the journalists gathered below.

“How many today?”

“Not many.” Bitterly, he adds, “Too busy hounding Tommy’s dad.”

It’s been that way since the news about Ryan broke. Nobody cares about the police incident in Cannes anymore, or the murder of Dick Vanderford. The story is Ryan and Tommy, and the “deadly rivalry” that claimed Tommy Esposito’s life. “Informed sources” are coming out of the woodwork to claim the two couldn’t stand each other; that Ryan Nash is an alcoholic; that Jack Vale had his suspicions about what happened that night but never told the cops. Reporters have been gathered outside the Esposito residence in Bushwick for days.

“I wish there was something I could do to take the heat off,” Jack says. “Tommy’s family has been through so much already, and now it’s being dredged up all over again. I just want to wave my arms and go, Over here! Come and get me! ”

“Well, if you really want to distract the T-Rex, it’s easily done.”

“How’s that?”

“Your publicist did a great job of keeping the details about Cannes out of the papers, but is there any point anymore? The Nicks are through. Ryan’s story is out there. Why not tell the rest? What happened in that auto garage is far more sensational than a three-year-old motorcycle accident. And you’re the star of the show, the badass who took Erika down. If you want to shift the focus to you, all you have to do is tell your story.”

Jack mulls that over. “But how do we do that without bringing you into it?”

“We don’t,” Rav says, ignoring the nervous flutter in his belly. “Every good story has a romance, right?”

“No way.” Jack shakes his head. “I won’t ask that of you. You’ve taken enough bullets for me.”

“It’s hardly a bullet. I’ll have some photographers following me around for a while, like last time. No big deal.”

“It won’t be like last time.” Jack sets his guitar aside and fixes Rav with a serious look. “Before, you were just a rumor. Twenty-four-hour clickbait. This would be a whole other level. They’ll dredge up everything. Every photo, every tweet, everything you ever wanted kept private. Your entire life in the public domain.”

“People are going to find out about us eventually.”

“Not like this. If we tell this story—the whole story—it’ll be front-page news.”

“That’s the idea. If we do it right, Tommy’s accident will be a footnote. With a little luck, they’ll leave his family in peace.”

Jack stares at him for a long time, visibly conflicted. “You understand, once that genie is out of the bottle, there’s no putting it back. Your life will never be the same.”

“I know.”

“I mean it, Rav. Everything will change. Forever.” There’s an edge to his voice, a hint of mounting anxiety. They’re in the fallout zone here, dangerously close to the source, but Rav steers them away with a confident smile.

“We’ve had this conversation, remember? You don’t need to shield me from your life. At least this way, it’ll be on our terms.”

Jack nods slowly. “So how do you want to do it?”

“I’ve got a friend at the Times. She’ll do the story right, but in the meantime…” Rav glances at his watch. Still a few minutes before he needs to leave. “Shall we give them a preview?”

They take the elevator down together. Jack’s got his windbreaker on, hood pulled up to hide his face as he walks through the lobby. Mo is waiting for them by the front desk. “You guys sure about this?”

Jack looks at Rav.

Rav looks through the glass doors at the journalists waiting on the sidewalk, and his stomach knots. For all his brave words, this is fucking terrifying .

“You don’t have to do this,” Jack says.

Rav threads his fingers through Jack’s. “No half measures.”

Mo heads out first, followed by the bellhop with Rav’s suitcase. The photographers recognize Jack Vale’s bodyguard, and by the time Jack and Rav join him on the sidewalk, they’re clustered in close.

Jack’s eyes are wet as he tugs his hood back. “I love you,” he whispers. “So fucking much.”

He reaches for Rav, and the shutters start snapping.

The kiss is all over Rav’s timeline by the time he lands at JFK.

NICKS’ FRONT MAN JACK VALE IN HOT AND HEAVY PARIS ROMANCE

IS IT LOVE? INSIDER SOURCE CONFIRMS JACK VALE COP AFFAIR “SERIOUS”

He’s got about a zillion messages, too. There’s Ana: So can i call him your boyfriend now? And Mags: You little scandal! call me ASAP . Various college friends he hasn’t heard from in ages. And, of course, Eva.

Don’t worry, darling, your father is on new blood pressure medication and I’m told it’s very effective.

Rav laughs darkly. Wait until His Lordship hears the rest of it. His head might actually explode.

He wonders who the “insider source” is. Mo, maybe, or Charlie Banks? Whoever it was knew just how to reel them in, using words like fairytale and storybook and love at first sight . It’s done the job: Rav scans the major tabloids, and there’s almost nothing about Tommy’s accident. It’s been pushed out of the headlines, at least for now. The only thing sexier than death is sex, especially when it involves a media-shy celebrity like Jack Vale. This is the first time he’s gone public with a romance, and the fact that it’s with a guy makes it that much juicier. It won’t distract the T-Rex for long, but this was just an appetizer; the main course is yet to come. Rav calls Carrie Campbell at the Times and sets her up with Jack’s publicist. “Thanks for this,” he tells her. “I know it’ll be a rush.”

“Are you kidding? If even half of what you just told me is printable, you’ve made my year.”

It’s on the front page the next morning. Below the fold, but still. Rav braces himself for the tsunami of media attention he’s about to get—not to mention the ball-busting at work.

As usual, the squad doesn’t pull any punches.

“Bro, could you be any more of an attention whore?”

“Damsel in distress is a good look on you.”

“Snooped on by your own CI. That’s some top-notch police work.”

And so on. Rav lets them have their fun. There’s only one voice in this peanut gallery he cares about, and he’s coming in for a hug. “Good to have you back, man,” Shepard says, slapping his back warmly. “Sounds like it was a close call in that garage.”

“As close as they come. She had us dead to rights. For a second there, I was sure…”

The whole squad room goes quiet. There are a few knowing nods from guys who’ve been there. Then Ayalew thumps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, but she didn’t know who she was messing with.”

“ Detective McDreamy ,” Jiménez says in Movie Trailer Voice, and everyone busts up. Jobs digs out a half-empty bottle of rye, and Ayalew fetches a bunch of crusty coffee cups from the sink, and while Rav does not love this idea, he reasons that the booze will probably kill whatever’s growing in there. Jobs metes out a splash into each cup, and they drink a toast to Detective McDreamy, which Rav supposes he’s stuck with for life.

A little later, Lieutenant Howard summons him to her office. “Interesting article.”

“I cleared it with the spokesman’s office—”

“That’s not why I called you in here. I just got off the phone with the Bureau. They’re doing their usual follow-up, dotting their i’s and crossing their t’s before they close the file. They mentioned you’d be hearing from them soon. There’s an opening coming up in CID. You’re encouraged to apply.”

Rav stares. “They’re offering me a job ?”

“It’s the closest they’ll come to admitting they were wrong. You’re the only one who saw through the smoke screen Erika Strauss was throwing up. They’re impressed.”

“I should have worked it out sooner.”

“There was a hell of a lot of noise drowning out that signal. What counts is that you stuck with it, even when it wasn’t yours to stick with.”

“Maybe, but I—”

“Take the win, Detective,” she says, gently but firmly. “You earned it.”

It’s high praise from Howard, and he feels himself smiling. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“Get out of my office.”

He settles back into his usual routine pretty quickly, and by the end of the week, it’s starting to feel like life has almost returned to normal, plus or minus a tabloid photographer or two. There’s just one more piece that needs slotting into place, and luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long.

Joe Miller turns himself in to the NYPD on the first of August. In keeping with his penchant for drama, he insists on doing it in a public place, on the waterfront in South Williamsburg, with Dick Vanderford’s building looming in the background. Carrie Campbell is there for the Times , along with a handful of other journalists. It’s Rav who takes him into custody, again at Miller’s insistence. Detective Trivedi is the only cop he trusts, or so he says; Rav reckons it has at least as much to do with wanting to be arrested by Jack Vale’s boyfriend.

“I told you,” Miller says triumphantly as Rav puts the restraints on him. “I told everyone that Tommy was murdered, but nobody listened.”

“It wasn’t murder,” Rav points out. “Ryan Nash was responsible, but it was an accident.”

“You keep telling yourself that, man.”

Rav lets it go. “You’re doing the right thing. It’ll go a long way with the DA, trust me.”

Miller swallows, his bravado fading. “You’ll speak for me at the hearing?”

“I’ll speak to the facts.”

“That’s all I ask.” Raising his voice for the benefit of the assembled journalists, he adds, “All I’ve ever wanted was the truth!”

You keep telling yourself that. He’s probably already pitching his memoir to publishing houses and fantasy-casting his Netflix movie. Whatever. As long as he’s out of Jack’s life, that’s what counts.

The uniforms start to escort him away, but Miller pauses and looks back over his shoulder. “Tell Jack…” His gaze falls. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

Rav nods. Then they put Joe Miller in a cruiser and drive away.

“It’s over. All of it.”

Jack is quiet for so long that Rav wonders if the Wi-Fi has frozen. “Some part of me didn’t think it ever would be. For a while there, it felt like Miller was some kind of cosmic punishment.” He gives himself a little shake, and then he smiles. “Feels like I can breathe again.”

“The fresh air obviously agrees with you.” His hair is longer, and the dark stubble on his jaw brings out the startling hue of his eyes. “I’m not usually into the feral mountain man look, but it works on you.”

“When in Rome, right?” He pivots his phone, showing Rav the incredible view of the Rocky Mountains behind him.

“Stunning. I’m envious.”

“You could come out for the weekend.”

“I wish. A new case just landed in my lap. I’ll be burning the midnight oil for a while.”

“Well, break a leg, or whatever it is you supercops say.”

“Thanks. What about you? Any plans?”

“I’ll probably stay out here for a few more weeks. It’s been good for me. After that… Sarah and Claudia and I are talking about starting a new project, but I’m thinking of touring on my own first. Nothing big, just some smaller US venues. I’ve been doing a lot of writing here, and I think it might be my best stuff yet. There’s just one problem.” He brings the phone close, his face filling the screen. “I miss you like crazy. I need to see you soon, or these will all turn into sappy love songs.”

Rav laughs. “We can’t have that.”

“When do you think we can manage it?”

“I don’t know. It’s a bit hard to make plans at the moment.” It feels bigger than he meant it to, that statement. Jack is on the other side of the country, and neither of them knows what comes next, and—

“That’s okay.” Jack smiles. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Rav says, smiling back at him. “Yeah, I think we will.”