Page 115 of Something Like Hail

Noah entered the bedroom and tossed the keyon the bed.

“What’s that?” Felixasked.

“So you can lock the dooron your way out. And unlock it on the way back in. The spare roomis yours. Store your stuff there or move in permanently. It’s up toyou.”

Felix stared, his mouth agape. Then his eyeswatered up, but before he could speak, the buzzer rang.

“Sorry,” Noah said. “That’smy ride. I’ll see you later.”

He left the room, then doubled back for aquick kiss. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he felt Felix’shands trembling as they grabbed the back of his neck to draw him incloser.

“I really gotta go!” Noahsaid with a chuckle. After one more peck, he pulled away. He wasstill grinning when he answered the intercom by the front door.“I’ll be right down.”

His good mood lasted during the elevatorride. Not even seeing Tim again could shake it, although he wasreminded of the awkwardness of the situation, starting with theirtravel plans. Tim drove a polished black sports car, a DodgeChallenger, the kind of vehicle that young people wished to own butalmost never did and that older people owned while wishing theywere younger. Tim was somewhere in the middle, so Noah wasn’t surewhat the vehicle said about him. He grudgingly had to admit it wasa sexy car, and in that way, matched the driver perfectly.

Conversation on the way out of townconsisted of logistics. What was the best way of getting toGatesville? How did the process work when arriving? Noah asked ifthey could stop by a bank to get quarters, although he pretended itwas for their benefit so they could use the vending machines whilethere. “You can’t bring Starbucks with you,” he explained, “andyou’ll want something to focus on.”

“That bad?” Tim asked, eyeson the road.

“It’s like visiting thehospital. Nobody wants to be there. A short visit is enough, butyou’ll feel guilty if you leave too soon, because you know theother person doesn’t have that freedom.”

Tim was quiet, but he stopped at the bankthat Noah said he preferred. When they were on the highway again,he asked another question.

“Does he lookdifferent?”

“Ryan?” Noah shrugged.“He’s skinnier. At least the last time I saw him. It’s been ayear.”

“I’m picturing a lot oftattoos,” Tim said without humor. “On his hands and face. A shavedhead too.”

Noah snorted. “Not even prison could makeRyan cut his precious golden locks. I used to tease him about howoften he would check his hair.”

“So did I!” Tim said. “Halfan hour in the shower and then twice as long in front of themirror. I guess it wasn’tthatbad, but some days it felt like it.”

Noah eyed Tim discretely, trying to imaginewhat his life with Ryan had been like. He couldn’t, despite knowingso many details. He knew Tim had a big house, or used to, and thathe had found Ryan on the streets and taken him in almost instantly.Noah thought of Felix and wondered if he was making the samemistake. He didn’t have to search himself long to decide that hewasn’t. Maybe he was rushing things, but Felix was sweet. Noah hadseen none of the venom that would regularly seep out of Ryan topoison their time together.

“What made you change yourmind?”

Tim glanced over at him briefly, handsflexing on the steering wheel. “I loved him. Once.”

“So did I,” Noah said, notneeding further explanation. They shared the same obligation, borneout a few good memories tucked in between all the bad ones. “You’relucky. At least Ryan loved you back.”

“Lucky? When we’re notdriving, remind me to show you the scar the bulletmade.”

“That wasn’t the same Ryan.You know it wasn’t.”

“Don’t blame the drugs!”Tim shot back. “They might have brought that side out of him, butit’s still part of who he is. And he’s still responsible for hisactions.”

“I guess,” Noah said. Thenhe exhaled. “Sorry, this is just really weird for me. In my mindyou’ll always be, I don’t know, the other man. The one I couldnever compete with. Tim Wyman, the living legend. Ryan wasconstantly mentioning you.Constantly.I don’t think he did itto be mean. Maybe he didn’t even realize he was hurting me. I’dhave my arm around him, and just when I thought things were niceand cozy, he’d mention how much he liked your muscles, or howeveryone was jealous when the two of you went out. I wanted to makehim feel that way. I kept waiting for him to say those things aboutme, but he never did.”

“That sucks,” Tim said, hisbrow furrowing. “I know how it is when you feel like you can’tcompete.”

Noah scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“I do! Not everyone isimpressed by muscles or good looks. Some guys aren’t won over soeasily.”

If he was telling the truth, Noah couldn’timagine the man who had made Tim Wyman feel inadequate. He mustreally be something. They rode in silence as their tempers cooled.Noah wanted to steer the conversation toward the positive, becauseif they showed up at the prison feeling angry and hurt, it wouldresult in disaster. “Do you ever miss him?”

Tim thought about it before answering. “Notanymore. I got lonely enough a few times that I thought it would beworth putting up with his shit again, just to have someone around.Ryan could be fun. When he got into a good mood, he could light upa room. We went to this big dinner with a friend of mine once. Yourboss, actually, and Ryan was like a politician’s wife, eager tocharm everyone and win them over. He did too. People were jealousof me that night, but only because he was mine.” He grimaced.“Sorry. I’m not trying to rub salt in the wound.”