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Halloween arrived clear and balmy and mild, which was too bad: Casey really didn’t want any trick-or-treaters coming by his apartment. He hadn’t bought any candy, and had been hoping the weather would be bad enough to discourage them. It was funny, he thought, lying on the couch, flicking through the channels. Funny to still be in Bonard on Halloween, and funny to be at home instead of rushing around town, trying to find decorations, or a seamstress to hem Denise’s dress, or a tiny bow tie for Jasper, or whatever other last-minute bullshit her new party planner was currently having to deal with. Casey guessed he must be feeling especially magnanimous, because he sent up a brief prayer for whatever poor soul it was that had taken his place.

As it was, he actually had nothing on his agenda today. Maybe a face mask and a bath. Laurel had said something about hanging out with Chip and Melody later that night, but since Melody wasn’t drinking, he doubted it would be anything wild. Probably dinner and scary movies, which sounded fine to Casey.

The clock was inching past seven and it had gotten dark out. Right now, someone was probably setting up place cards at Landry Hall, or administering last-minute adjustments to Denise’s sunflower wall. In the kitchen, they must be mixing up bowls of punch and setting pumpkin spice martinis on trays and piecing together seafood towers. He had to admit, he kind of wanted to see it, if only out of spite. He was sure his successor’s decorations wouldn’t be as good as what he’d had planned.

There was a knock on his door. Laurel had texted that he and Melody were coming over, so he hoped that it was them, and not the beginning of a deluge of trick-or-treaters. But as it turned out, it was kind of both.

“Trick or treat!” Laurel and Melody wore matching smiles, and they were elaborately, magnificently in costume, shimmering beneath Casey’s porch light. Laurel was some kind of Roman soldier, in armor and a short little kilt that did everything for his legs, and Melody couldn’t be anyone but Cleopatra, dripping in gold, all hair and cleavage and eyelashes, a snake diadem on her head and her eyes ringed in kohl and electric blue eyeshadow.

“Damn, girl,” Casey said, impressed. “Save something for the rest of us.”

“Do you like it?” Melody asked. “We’re Antony and Cleopatra. Or, I guess, Liz Taylor and Richard Burton as Antony and Cleopatra. But without the multiple marriages or sexual tension.”

“I hope it’s not too much,” Laurel added. “We commissioned Mr. Petrowski. Did you know he makes costumes, for conventions and stuff? It’s his other-other side hustle.”

“It’s not too much,” Casey said, letting his eyes travel obviously over Laurel’s chest and bare thighs. “But why get so dressed up? I thought we weren’t going out.”

Laurel and Melody exchanged a look, and Casey knew that his quiet night at home had just flown out the window.

“We weren’t going to at first,” Laurel said, putting an arm around Melody. The gold beading on her costume clinked against his chestplate. “But Melody’s got something to celebrate.”

“Howie Bonard got arrested!” she cried, pumping the air with her fist.

“Oh, shit.” Casey was surprised it had worked. He’d been planning to make an anonymous call, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. “Did they search his car?”

“What?” Laurel and Melody looked confused, which made Casey confused, in turn.

“The drugs?” he prompted. “In his car?”

Melody frowned. “What drugs? He got arrested for enticing a minor.”

“Oh.” Now Casey felt disgusted, and a little silly for his attempt at vigilante justice. He’d done it on a whim, seeing Bonard’s car parked downtown, unattended, no one else around. He hadn’t really planned to tell Laurel or Melody, not wanting to get their hopes up and not sure if he was overstepping. But men like Howie Bonard never had to face any consequences in their lives, and sometimes it chafed. Sometimes somebody needed to step in and be a vengeful bitch. Just a little bit. “Well, there are drugs in his car. Yours, actually,” he said, looking at Melody. “I kind of forgot to flush them, and they needed to go somewhere.” He shrugged. “And like I said, that model of car is really easy to break into.”

“Jesus, Casey.” Laurel was staring at him, a little dazed.

He bit his lip. “I hope you don’t disapprove. It’s the last illegal thing I’ll do, I prom—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, because Melody was hugging him, in a cloud of perfume and hair and clattering jewelry, the snake on her headpiece leaving a divot in his cheek.

“Oh my God,” she said, squeezing Casey so hard that his ribs creaked. “That is the weirdest and possibly sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Laurel, if you don’t marry him, I might.”

“Well, I mean, it didn’t amount to anything,” he muttered, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal.” Laurel pressed a kiss to Casey’s temple. “And dangerous and stupid, so don’t do it again.” He had joined in the hug, and some last brittle thing gave way in Casey, his limbs growing loose and relaxed and his heart slowing. In the pale, anemic light of his front porch, squished between Antony and Cleopatra, he felt, strangely, like he finally belonged somewhere.

When the hug had started to get cloying and sweaty, Casey squirmed his way out of it, saying, “Well, where did y’all want to go?” He plucked at the front of his T-shirt, looking down at his own outfit. “Should I put on a nicer shirt? I feel awkward. You have such amazing costumes, and I’ve got nothing.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” Laurel said, smiling. “Your costume is in the car.”

*

That was how Casey ended up in a divey karaoke bar, wearing what he assumed was a historically-accurate toga and listening to Chip yell legal jargon over the music while Laurel and Melody sang their way through what seemed like Fleetwood Mac’s entire catalog.

Chip, who hadn’t been required to dress as a character in some sword-and-sandals epic and was instead wearing a low-effort attempt at a Freddy Kruger costume, was explaining to Casey that Lydia Callaway, who was just recently over eighteen, had come forward with texts Howie Bonard had sent her several years ago, when she was a freshman in high school. “The statute of limitations expired for Melody a long time ago, even if she’d had proof,” he said. “But not for Lydia. And she’s from one of the most prominent families in town, so it’s hard for a judge to just brush it off.”

“So what’s going to happen to him?” Casey asked.

“Not sure yet.” Chip sipped his beer. “He’s out on bail now, but he’ll stand trial. And maybe more girls or women will come forward, after Lydia. I’m sure there are more.” He was watching his friends on stage, and Casey followed his gaze. Laurel and Melody glittered under the lights, shards of green and red and blue dancing across them. They were stunning, drawing every eye in the room not just because they both could carry a tune (Melody had a decent enough voice to at least keep up with Laurel), but because they just were. Two captivating people, dressed like movie stars, being themselves without a care in the world. Casey would almost be jealous of their connection, except that it felt so good to see Laurel shining and happy.

“It was her and Kierra who persuaded Lydia to speak up,” Chip said, nodding toward Melody. “I’m sure of it.”

Casey took in the look of admiration on Chip’s face, the way his fingers tightened around his glass. It was hard not to admire those two, but he thought there might be more to it.

“So what’s your story?”

“Me?” Chip shrugged. “Divorce lawyer. Gets divorced himself, has a quarter-life crisis, buries himself in work. Embarrassing, and very common. Not much else to it.”

“No, I mean you and Melody. Is there something there?” he asked.

Chip sighed, shaking his head. “No. I think—I think I hoped there would be, for a while. But Melody needs to do her own thing, and so do I.” He glanced at Casey with sudden, sharp focus, and Casey had an impression of what he must be like in a courtroom. “I hear you and Laurel are official, though?”

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, the DJ’s microphone crackled to life, and his voice boomed through the bar. “Aaaand that was Laurel and Melody singing Landslide . Now I think Laurel’s got a special solo performance planned, is that right, man?”

Laurel, already sweaty and flushed under the hot lights, appeared to turn an even deeper red. “Uh, I do?”

“This one’s for you, Casey!” Melody shrieked into her microphone, before skipping off the stage and leaving Laurel there, looking like a deer in the headlights.

The chords of some jazz song started to play, and Laurel let out an audible groan, saying “Seriously, Melody? No pressure.” There were light titters from the crowd. Laurel started to sway uncomfortably to the music, not really in time with the rhythm, chewing his lip as he watched the lyrics begin to scroll down the screen overhead. Casey was a little worried for him at first; he could read the discomfort in the lines of Laurel’s body, the stiff way he held the microphone up to his lips. It was as if by losing his singing partner, he’d gotten all the confidence sucked out of him. Or maybe it was the song itself. His voice was shaky as he started to sing, thick with emotion.

“Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky. Maybe this time, he’ll stay…”

It was vaguely familiar, but Casey wasn’t sure where he recognized it from. It was sad for a love song, wistful and full of longing, and he wanted to tell Laurel that he didn’t need to worry. He would stay. He was tired of moving around, tired of running. His gaze was fixed on Laurel, trying to reassure him, to will courage back into him, and Laurel caught his eye, blushed, and flubbed a line. Then he recovered, laughing, and when he started to sing again, he sounded a little stronger, and then stronger still, and then he was off, hitting each note effortlessly like Casey knew he could, lungs opening up as his voice swelled and soared like a bird through the room.

He didn’t drop the mic when the song was over, though he could have, just replaced it politely in its holder and shuffled off the stage a little shyly, a grin on his face, hair in his eyes and cheeks on fire. Chip, Melody, and Casey were standing up, clapping, and some other people in the bar were clapping, too, but with less enthusiasm. Jazzy, melancholy ballads didn’t please the crowd as much as old standbys like Freebird and Margaritaville, after all, even when beautifully executed. As Laurel approached the table, Casey, a little caught up in the moment, flung his arms around him and kissed him. Somebody across the room wolf-whistled, and the DJ exclaimed, “Woah, I don’t remember that happening in Gladiator !”

“Holy shit.” Laurel was giggling, and his mouth tasted like Jell-O shots. “Am I shaking? I feel like I’m shaking. I love that song, but I can’t sing it. Melody…”

“You did amazing,” Casey said against his ear. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m all in, too, Laurel. I—“

“And now let’s welcome Chip, and—I guess Laurel again, with Friends in Low Places ! Wow, table five is putting on a regular concert tonight, ladies and gentlemen!”

Laurel pressed his flaming-hot forehead against Casey’s shoulder. “Are you kidding me?”

“Oh, I forgot that I signed you guys up for that one, too,” Melody said calmly. “Better get up there and save him, Laurel.”

“You’re kind of a menace,” Casey told her, as she scooted into the booth next to him.

She smiled, shrugging. “They’re used to it. But don’t worry, I won’t sign you up for anything. Not after the thing with Howie’s car.”

“That’s a get-out-of-karaoke-free card, huh?”

“A get-out-of-everything-free card, in my book. Well, except breaking Laurel’s heart. Which I’m sure you won’t.”

Casey shook his head. “Never on purpose,” he said honestly.

“Huh.” Melody studied him. “You’re realistic. That’s good, though. He’s kind of a dreamer. You might balance each other out.” She clinked her glass against his. “Water,” she explained unnecessarily, after taking a sip.

“Diet Coke,” Casey said, indicating his own drink.

“Yeah, Laurel said you don’t drink much.” Melody wound a strand of hair around her finger, looking uncomfortable, like she wanted to ask more.

“There are—problems with addiction in my family. And I don’t really like how it makes me feel.”

“Man, I wish I didn’t like how it makes me feel.” Melody tried to smile, but it was a little wobbly. She was still messing with her hair, pulling it tighter and tighter around her finger. “I really wanted a drink tonight. I had a little sip of Laurel’s vodka soda earlier, but then I felt so guilty.” She looked away, shoulders hunched.

“You’ll figure it out,” Casey told her. He was surprised to find that he didn’t feel very awkward, despite the topic. For some reason, people tended to confide in him, even people he didn’t know well. Maybe it was something about his face. Trying to make Melody feel better, he said, “You know, you never did tell me any of those embarrassing stories about Laurel.”

“Oh.” She laughed, surprised. “There actually aren’t that many. He was a good kid. He did have this weird Humphrey Bogart phase—”

“What are you two up to over here?” Laurel asked, sliding back into the booth. He and Chip had yielded the stage to a female Mario and Luigi duo, who were currently scream-singing Kelly Clarkson.

“Just telling Casey about your hardboiled detective days,” Melody said, with an angelic smile.

“Wait a second.” Casey’s mind was blown. “All that cyberstalking and investigating me was because you were into, like, detective movies as a kid?”

Laurel shrugged, a liquid smile sliding across his face. “Hey. Of all the dog weddings in all the world, you had to walk into mine. Or, I guess, my mom’s.”

“There aren’t actually that many dog weddings in—oh. Oh, it’s some ancient movie reference, isn’t it. Okay.” Laurel was laughing, whether at his own cleverness or at Casey’s lack of understanding, Casey wasn’t sure, and it seemed like the best way to shut him up would be to kiss him again, so Casey did, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him down into the booth.

*

The grass was cool under Laurel’s legs, and the night air was slowly washing the effects of the Jell-O shots from his head. It was a little weird to party with Melody when she wasn’t drinking, but it seemed like a net positive. Laurel had drunk far less than he usually would have, and they were finishing the night with an impromptu picnic of Teriyaki noodles, rather than bumming cigarettes off of strangers in an alleyway. Also, Casey was there, which was the most positive thing of all. The three of them sat in a circle on the lawn in front of the Bonard arch, passing takeout containers back and forth. Chip had gone home, citing an early morning, but it really wasn’t that late, Laurel saw when he checked his phone. Only ten o’clock.

“I still can’t believe that one girl kept trying to get Chip to sign her boobs,” Casey said, pinching a piece of broccoli between his chopsticks.

On second thought, that might have been why Chip had left early, and not because he had to work the next day. “He does do a mean Garth Brooks impression,” Laurel said.

“I can’t believe we got Casey to sing!” Melody exclaimed.

“You can’t really call it singing,” Casey protested. Laurel beamed at him, reaching out to rub Casey’s bare calf. He made for an oddly hot Julius Caesar; he could command Laurel’s army, that was for sure. Among other euphemisms. And at the end of the night, stone-cold sober, he’d agreed to the most adorably disorganized performance of Baby Got Back that Laurel had ever seen.

“I liked it,” he said. “You can sign my boobs, if you want.”

Casey raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? With what?”

“All right, you two,” Melody cut in, smiling fondly. “Save that for later. We’re in public.”

They’d been in public when Casey had kissed him, too, in front of the whole bar and probably at least a few people Laurel knew from high school, and Laurel was still riding high on the exhilaration of it, his body buzzing. He looked down the street. Downtown was quiet, but he could see the brightly-lit windows of Landry Hall just blocks away, peeking through the trees, and hear the faint strain of music. Maybe the Jell-O shots hadn’t worn off as much as he’d thought, because something chaotic and reckless was creeping into his head, whispering that he didn’t want the night to end. “Let’s crash the party,” he heard himself say.

“Laurel,” Melody said cautiously.

“Come on.” Laurel stood, dusting himself off. “We’re already dressed up, and Casey planned half the thing, anyway. He should get to see how it turned out.”

“I actually am curious.” Casey’s voice was noncommittal.

“I don’t know.” Melody made a face, chewing on the end of her vape pen. “Are you really sure you want to deal with your mom tonight? It’ll be messy.”

“It’ll be perfect.” Better, even, than he could have planned it. He turned to her. “It’s just like we talked about. A chance to show everyone up. Howie Bonard’s been arrested, so now everyone knows what a slimeball he is. You can walk into that party with your head held high, and no one can say anything.”

“They can say a lot,” Melody replied darkly. “I’m sure more than half the town still thinks he’s blameless. Or that she’s making it up.”

“Fuck them,” Laurel said. “Casey? What do you think?”

“Won’t it cause a scene?” he asked. “Denise will be pissed.”

“I know.” Laurel felt himself smile, but it was more of a baring of teeth. His heart was pounding, a giddy, foolish heat spreading through his limbs. He felt like he was about to climb up a cliff, or jump out of a plane. “It’ll be amazing.”

Casey took one last bite of noodles, then got to his feet. He gave Laurel a sly, indulgent smile. Playing the devil again, even though he was actually the best thing that had ever happened to him. “Well, I’m in. I want to see how bad these flowers are.”

Melody sighed. “Y’all.”

“Come on, Melody,” Casey said. “You have to admit, you look too good tonight not to rub it in people’s faces.”

She let out a surprised little puff of laughter. “You’re too convincing. Okay. Fifteen minutes, and that’s it.”