Page 34

ENCORE

The last notes of “Pretty Parachute” have long since faded away, but the crowd is still singing, the triumphant oh-oh-OHs of the fade-out chorus rising and falling under the gilt ceiling of the Concord Theater. Rav wouldn’t have thought anything could match the atmosphere of the MSG show last year, but there’s something about the intimacy of this smaller space that makes the experience incredibly special.

“Wow,” Jack says when the chorus finally dies away. “Y’all are spoiling me tonight.” He waits for the cheers and whistling to pass. “I mean it, truly. I’ve been all over the place these past twelve months, but New York”—he pauses for another swell of cheers—“New York, you still feel like home.”

Someone in the crowd calls something out to him. Rav can’t hear what they’re saying, but Jack nods. “That’s true,” he says into the mic. “And yeah, it was a rough ride there for a while. But New York gave me something, too. Something amazing.” His gaze sweeps the VIP area and finds Rav, and he points. “That guy right there.” The spotlight hits Rav full in the face, and it’s blinding .

“Oh shit,” Ana says, and starts laughing. Will is laughing too, throwing his arm up against the glare.

Jack’s grin turns mischievous. “Y’all wanna meet him?”

“Don’t you dare , Vale,” Rav hisses. Jack can’t hear him, but he can bloody well see the look on Rav’s face.

“They wanna meet you, Rav. Come up and say hi.”

“No,” Rav growls, but Ana is pushing him, and Will too, shoving him toward the stage, and the crowd is parting to make way and then Mo is there, reaching for him from the no-man’s-land between event security and the stage. Rav gives the bodyguard a pleading look, but Mo just winks and says, “Sorry, man, the people have spoken,” before boosting him up onto the stage.

Rav spends thirty very long seconds giving his boyfriend the stink eye while the crowd whistles and cheers. Jack grins, perfectly aware of how mortified Rav is and enjoying it altogether too much. There’s nothing to do but play it up, so Rav jams his hands in his pockets and strikes a playfully irritated stance, and when Jack finally walks over and tips the mic toward him, Rav says, “You’re a bastard.”

The crowd loves it. They cheer and laugh and call out all sorts of nonsense, and by rights Rav should be proper annoyed, but Jack’s smile in that moment could light up the world and it’s impossible to be anything but squishy looking into those eyes, so he just shakes his head and pulls Jack’s head into a kiss. The crowd goes crazy again, and Rav sweeps into a mocking bow and walks off stage.

“Detective Rav Trivedi, ladies and gentlemen,” Jack says, still grinning. Then he signals to the drummer and they kick into “Tornado.”

Rav spends the last couple of songs backstage, nursing his dignity over a scotch, and by the time he makes his way back to the mixing desk, it’s time for the encore. Jack takes the stage alone, perching on a stool with his guitar. The crowd goes quiet as he plucks out the first few notes, and Rav’s breath catches as he recognizes the tune.

All those little moments I recall / Hang like pictures on my wall / The truth just out of frame / Gallery of my shame…

He’s never performed this song before, and Rav can hear the trepidation in those first notes. But somehow that only makes it more poignant, and as Jack loses himself in it, the audience is swept along with him, holding up their phones and bathing the auditorium in a cool blue glow. “In the blinding storm / I couldn’t see / I see you now / I hope you’re free…” He sings so beautifully it hurts, and when he reaches for the high note—sad and sweet, his voice scattering like smoke—Rav feels the prick of tears behind his eyes. He knows what this moment means to Jack, how long he’s waited to sing what was in his heart. I hope you’re free too, love , he thinks.

After the show, the usual VIPs gather backstage. There’s talk of decamping elsewhere for an after-party, but Jack has other ideas. He does his rounds with lightning speed, and then he’s herding Rav to the car. Rav assumes they’re going back to the hotel, but instead they turn east toward Gramercy Park. “Where are we going?”

“There’s something I want to show you.”

The car deposits them at the curb on East Seventeenth. A few passersby do double takes as Jack Vale mounts the steps of a brownstone with magnificent bay windows. Rav follows him inside, and his jaw goes slack as he takes in the gorgeous interior. Parquet floors and nineteenth-century moldings, sumptuously patterned wallpaper and bold velvet furnishings. To the left, a walnut staircase curves gracefully to the second floor; at the foot of the hall, an elegant archway hints at the sprawling square footage beyond. “I didn’t realize there was a boutique hotel on this street,” Rav says.

“There isn’t. It’s a private residence.”

Rav looks at him. “You’re renting it?”

“For six months. I figured since I’m going to be in town more often, it would be nice not to have to stay in a hotel all the time. After that, who knows.” He shrugs self-consciously. “Maybe it makes sense for me to buy a place.”

“Here? In New York?”

“Yeah. I mean, no pressure or anything, I just—”

Whatever else he was planning to say is lost in the sort of kiss that really ought to come with its own dramatic swell of music. Rav has half a mind to scoop him off his feet and carry him straight up to bed, but a troubling thought holds him back. “Are you sure you want to do this? After everything that’s happened to you here?”

Jack shrugs. “Like I said earlier, there have been a lot of lows in this town, but a lot of highs, too. I never really loved LA, and I haven’t lived in Atlanta since I was a kid. I’m not sure where home is anymore, except…” He puts a hand on Rav’s chest. “This is home.”

Rav doesn’t know what to say. He’s no poet like Jack; he can’t put into words what’s in his heart. He rests his forehead against Jack’s, and he doesn’t say anything at all.

There’s a fireplace in the main room, and a pair of comfortable-looking sofas. Jack builds a fire while Rav acquaints himself with the contents of the bar, and then they settle in, whiskeys in hand, watching the fire rustle and snap. Or at least, Rav is watching it; Jack is watching him. Rav meets his eye, and they stare at each other for so long that Rav finds himself contemplating the precise curve of Jack’s eyelashes.

“Your eyes are the color of amber,” Jack muses.

“What?”

“Your eyes. They’re the color of amber.”

“The color of amber is amber. You don’t actually have to say the color part.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re pedantic?”

“It’s come up once or twice.”

“Or honey. Dark honey.”

Rav narrows his amber/dark-honey eyes. “Are you writing a song? Right now, in your head?”

“No.” He laughs. “Maybe.”

“We’ve talked about this. No sentimental love songs. Your rep as an edgy rock star would be ruined.”

“Maybe I should reboot my brand. I could pull off an Ed Sheeran vibe, don’t you think?”

“Dear god.”

“Hey, if you can change up your life, I can, too.”

“Who says I’m changing up my life? I’m thinking about it, that’s all.”

“You’re more than thinking about it, if those law school applications I saw in your kitchen are anything to go by.”

Rav gives him a wry look. “A blanket thief and a snoop. Anything else you’d like to disclose?”

“Does that mean you decided to pass on the FBI job?”

“For now. There’ll be other opportunities, if I decide to go that route.”

Jack sets his empty glass aside. “So what now? A new master plan?”

“Let’s call it a strategic review for now.” Rav sips his whiskey while Jack nestles into the curve of his shoulder. His eyes are just starting to close when Rav says, “Are you sure it doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“You’re talking about uprooting your life, moving across the country for me, and here I am being wishy-washy about my future.”

“I think it’s great you’re considering your options. Besides, you’ve spent the past year being there for me. It’s my turn.” He yawns expansively. “You’ll figure it out, and in the meantime, that’s what this place is for. We can nest here for a while. Get a dog or something.”

Rav snorts into his whiskey. “Do I strike you as a dog person?”

“That’s the cool thing about relationships, though. You never know where you’ll end up. If I think back to how this all started, with a couple of cops interrogating me in my hotel room… Who could have imagined we’d end up here?”

Who indeed? Some days, Rav still has trouble imagining it.

“We’ve got options, and we’ve got each other,” Jack says sleepily. “That’s enough.”

Rav has never been enough before. Not for his parents. Not for himself. But he believes Jack when he says Rav is enough for him. This, he reckons, must be what it is to feel safe.

You’re reminding me what that feels like , Jack told him once, but it’s the other way around. Jack is the one reminding him.

Outside, dawn is breaking. Rav watches the sun come up, a new day spreading its orange wings over the city. If New York is anything, it’s possibilities. Possibilities and people, just like Jack says. Rav doesn’t know how they fit into that yet, but it doesn’t matter.

This, right here, is enough.