Something Like Thunder (39 page)

“I’ll hurt you,” Tim said easily. “If given a chance. I can’t promise I won’t because it’s inevitable. I’ll try my best to avoid it, but I don’t think it’s possible to love someone without hurting them in the process. You can’t shine a light without casting shadows. Ugh. Don’t make me get cheesier than that.”

Nathaniel managed a laugh, but he quickly grew serious again. “Are you sure?”

“If there’s an exception to the rule, I’ve never witnessed it.” Tim crumpled the foil into a ball and successfully tossed it into the nearest trashcan. “Put it all behind you. That’s the best you can do. Brooding won’t help. I’ve tried that. It won’t change anything. Set it all aside as much as you can and move on.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Nathaniel asked. “Is that why you’re here tonight?”

Tim leaned back and laughed. “Busted! I’m here because I know Benjamin would want me to be. If I ever meet him again—and I don’t think that’s going to happen—he’ll make a sad face if he finds out I’ve been alone for all these years. Not that I’m totally alone. He made sure of that.”

“Meaning?”

Tim looked embarrassed as he reached into his pocket and took out his phone, holding it up for Nathaniel to see. Behind all the icons of the main menu was an image of a bulldog with its head cocked. “I’m one of
those
people.”

Nathaniel whipped out his own phone and brandished it. “I’m one of those people too.”

“Nice!” Tim said. “That’s a Husky, right? What’s her name?”

“Zero, and he’s a nightmare on four legs. What about yours?”

“Chinchilla,” Tim said. “She’s my little Mexican princess.”

“I thought bulldogs were British.”

“She’s got a Mexican soul,” Tim insisted. “Breed has nothing to do with it.”

They talked dogs, the conversation becoming much more lively. As they made their way to the movie theater, the topic of ex-boyfriends was mostly forgotten. Only when a computer-generated rat filled the screen, running around a kitchen while cooking, did Nathaniel’s attention start to wander. Maybe Tim was right, maybe it
was
time to let go of the past. What easier way to do so than moving on? He reached into the dark, finding Tim’s hand, their fingers intertwining. And it felt wrong. Caesar’s hands were longer, his fingers thinner, and while Nathaniel didn’t truly want to feel them again, he also didn’t want to get used to a new pair of hands that—chances were—he’d have to forget again too. What were the odds that the guy sitting next to him was the right one, that any relationship could survive all the trials and temptations of life? If Nathaniel kept trying, kept searching, maybe eventually he would find the right guy, but that meant having his heart crushed over and over again. How much of him would remain when he finally found his soul mate? Would he still have any love left to give?

He moved his hand away, reaching for his drink. Even after he sucked on the straw, he didn’t set it down again. He made sure his hand was occupied for the rest of the movie. Afterwards, he drove Tim home. They discussed the movie on the way, Tim talking about another man from his past who had loved to cook and how much he missed that. They had that much in common. All either of them had for company were faithful animal companions and memories of other people.

“Do you want to come inside?” Tim asked when they pulled into his driveway. “Meet the dog?”

Nathaniel hesitated.

“That’s not code for us sleeping together,” Tim prompted.

Nathaniel laughed nervously. “Okay. Just real quick. I need to get back to Zero before he has an accident.”

Chinchilla met them at the front door. Tim led the way through a sprawling first floor to a backyard, complete with swimming pool, so she could go potty.

“Does she like the water?” Nathaniel asked.

“No!” Tim said. “Bulldogs can’t swim. I mean they
can
if they have to, but there’s a good chance they’ll drown. They don’t do well with running either, which sucks because I like to jog. Occasionally I’ll let her run with me to the end of the driveway and back. She thinks it’s a big deal.”

Nathaniel laughed.

Tim’s sparkling eyes met his. He must have seen something there because he grew somber. “We’ve been really honest with each other so far,” he said. “That goes against all conventions for the first date, but since we’ve already broken that rule, there’s no sense in stopping now. So what do you think? You and me. Are you feeling it?”

Nathaniel considered the question. “I like you, and I’m sure you’ve never ever heard this before, but you’re smoking hot.”

“Thanks,” Tim said, but he didn’t smile, already guessing what was coming.

“I’m too messed up. I’m not willing to take any chances. You’re right that I need to put the past behind me, and that’s what I plan on doing. But that doesn’t mean I’m open to the future.”

“I understand completely,” Tim said. Then he grinned and winked. “Quickie?”

“I can see why you and Marcello are friends,” Nathaniel said. “I think I’ll head home before you manage to seduce me.”

“Smart move.” Tim walked him back through the house and stopped on the front porch, but neither felt any tension. They both knew there wouldn’t be a parting kiss. “If you ever need a sympathetic ear or just someone to dog sit, give me a call.”

Nathaniel nodded his appreciation. “You’ll regret that offer when you meet Zero, but thanks.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Nathaniel replied. “And remember, if you do meet Benjamin again, you’ve only got two strikes. That last one didn’t count.”

Tim laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * * * *

“Is everything prepared for the charity ball?”

Nathaniel glanced up from his desk in surprise. A visit from Marcello was rare. Usually Nathaniel was summoned to the office upstairs. His boss glanced around the room, as if confused by the small space. Or maybe he was looking for a wet bar that wasn’t there. He came prepared though, an open bottle of champagne in one hand.

“I couldn’t find the damn glasses,” Marcello said, settling down in a chair.

“That’s because I hid them along with the champagne. I don’t know how you managed to sniff one out and not the other.”

“I’ve been told that I have a gift.”

“And soon you’ll have a shortage. Those are for the ball.”

“I’m not the slightest bit concerned,” Marcello said, waving a hand vaguely. “You always take such good care of my balls.”

Nathaniel grimaced. “Yet another mental image I’d like to carve out of my brain.”

“Speaking of balls,” Marcello continued unabashed, “Tim will be at this one. You know that, right? I don’t want any jealous behavior because he’s moved on.”

“We went on one date two years ago,” Nathaniel said.

Marcello blinked. “Has it been so long? Where does the time go?”

“In there,” Nathaniel said, nodding at the open bottle.

“Then we better get it out again.” Marcello took a hearty swig. “I need a favor. Are you busy?”

“I need to get the guest list approved so the invitations can be sent out today. Otherwise there won’t be anyone at the charity… event.”

“Excellent,” Marcello said as if not having heard him. He set the bottle on the desk. Apparently he was staying. “I need you to do some research for me. Find out everything you can about a certain individual.”

Nathaniel sighed and grabbed a pen. “Does this person have a name?”

“William.” Marcello made a face and patted himself down until he located his phone. Then he read from the screen. “Townson.”

“Okay,” Nathaniel said. “How soon do you need this?”

“I can wait,” Marcello said. Then he leaned back, looking around the room pleasantly.

Nathaniel glared at him. When that didn’t help, he started typing on his computer. “What are we looking for?”

“He’s secretive about his past. That’s very frustrating to a young man I met recently. Bright as a spark. In fact, we need to discuss some of his ideas soon. For now, I’m eager to play Cupid, and as I said, this William isn’t very forthcoming about himself.”

Nathaniel paused in his searching “Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to know about his past.”

“What difference does that make? Come on, what can you tell me?”

Nathaniel focused on the task. Twenty minutes and one champagne bottle later, the printer next to his desk was whirring out the essential documents. He handed these to Marcello, who flipped through them. “Well well,” he said musingly. “Nasty business. Still, I see no reason for hiding what was essentially an accident.” He sat upright. “Did you see his boyfriend? How striking!”

Nathaniel’s eyes flicked back to the monitor. The newspaper article was about a car wreck, the two victims still in high school. One was William Townson, who appeared to be the consummate boy next door. The other was Kelly Phillips, whose sly smile looked like it could cut through steel. He was indeed very fetching. Judging from the comments found on one site, the two were dating openly, which led to all sorts of ugly speculation about what exactly had caused the accident. “The kid lost a leg. It would be a miracle if his face made it out unscathed.”

“That’s not always a bad thing. Did you have a chance to see Tim’s scar? I think he likes to show it off. Why else would he walk around his house shirtless when he knows I’m peeping in the windows?”

“It was one date,” Nathaniel reminded him. “Our clothes remained on.”

Marcello peered at him. “I understand the words, but you’re not making sense.”

“Anything else?” Nathaniel asked pointedly.

“One of these articles is just an excerpt. Do you think you can track down a copy of the paper? I like the cheap and tawdry feel of newsprint.”

Nathaniel sighed. “I need a raise.”

“Done. Maybe we should look into this Kelly Phillips. Put him in front of a camera and see if he’s always that photogenic.”

“If he is, it’s bad news for the guy hoping to hook up with William.”

Marcello shook his head. “Nonsense. Love is a revolving door. The only trick is timing when you step in.”

Nathaniel scowled. “I have a lot to do.”

“Of course! Thank you for your help. You’ve been very kind.”

Nathaniel watched him leave. Then he looked back at the newspaper article—at Kelly—before he closed the browser window and got back to work.

* * * * *

Nathaniel enjoyed organizing charity events. Over the past few years, he had watched Marcello spend ridiculous amounts of money on cars, clothes, and vacations. He binged on food and drink, engaging in frequent illicit activities, as if unaware of his own mortality. And yet this pattern of indulgence extended to charities as well. All of Marcello’s questionable personality traits were balanced out by his drive to help others less fortunate than himself, which quite frankly included almost everyone else on the planet. Arranging these events could be a logistical nightmare, but Marcello always swept in and became directly involved. Nathaniel had once seen him talk a contributor into changing his generous five-figure donation into six figures instead.

Nathaniel looked forward to each such event, but this one was difficult. The concept had him intrigued: a shut-in to support those who were unable to leave their homes due to illness or disability. Nathaniel had worked with the production wing to create films that helped expose their plight. That had been fun. Dealing with building codes or health and safety regulations invoked by shutting a bunch of rich guys in a ballroom for one hour—that wasn’t so enjoyable. Nor was replacing the caterers when they pulled out at the last minute, or this stupid request of Marcello’s to allow William and his suitor to sneak off together during the shut-in. They would be masquerading as waiters, which seemed ridiculous and unnecessary. Nathaniel intended to put them to work regardless. He wouldn’t allow them to stand around being idle.

“Is everything going according to plan?” Marcello asked.

Nathaniel looked up from his list. The kitchen was a buzz of activity with him in the center like a queen bee. Or like someone who just had a hive fall on his head. “The lead bartender informed me—now instead of yesterday—that one of the deliveries didn’t arrive. So it’s either an evening of virgin cocktails or I need to run to the store.”

“No need,” Marcello said. “You can raid my private pantry. There should be sufficient supplies there to get us through the night.”

That would save time. Marcello’s home was a few turrets short of palatial. Who else had a ballroom and professional kitchen in one wing of their home? The first time Nathaniel had visited he had gotten lost. Literally.

“Do you have a moment?” Marcello said, gesturing to one of the hallways.

“No. I need to play drill sergeant to these waiters.” All around them were shirtless men dressed in formal slacks and bowties, most of them socializing instead of preparing for duty. One was currently rolling a joint, which set his teeth on edge.

“Tim will take over from here,” Marcello said. “He’s on his way. I figured you have enough on your plate, and he’s very experienced in such things.”

“At playing waiter? I know he runs the Eric Conroy Foundation but—”