Something Like Thunder (55 page)

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An invitation. A long rectangle of glossy card stock. A sepia image of a broken-down car mere yards from a sign that read
Detroit City Limit
. The photo was exceptional, but the name on the back really caught his eye. Kelly Phillips. Nathaniel turned the card over and over, even carried it with him from room to room. He kept rereading the information on the back, despite having it memorized. A photography exhibition at a local gallery, the date and time, and a brief biography of the artist. That was all. No personal message, no hand-scrawled words. Nathaniel didn’t know what this was about, but finding the man who did wasn’t difficult.

“What the hell?” he demanded, tossing the invitation on Marcello’s desk.

His boss glanced at it before sliding it back toward him. “The Eric Conroy Gallery is run by Tim Wyman. He chooses which artists are exhibited and handles invitations. Perhaps you should speak with him.”

Nathaniel plunked down into a chair. “You saw the artist’s name?”

“Of course.”

“And you expect me to believe you have nothing to do with this?”

Marcello placed a hand over his chest. “I gave you my word! Since that time have I ever tried steering your ship toward more romantic waters? Have I even suggested you take a stroll along the beach?”

“No. You haven’t.”

“Precisely.” Marcello leaned back in his chair and considered him. “Were I in your situation—one of the greatest loves of my life inviting me to see his art—I would leap at the opportunity! A public space isn’t ideal for getting—ah—reacquainted, but I never let that stop me before. Will you be attending?”

Nathaniel shook his head, but said, “How could I refuse?”

The week before the gallery opening was pure stress. Nathaniel worked out every other day, feeling presumptuous for doing so, and hours were lost at work imagining scenario after scenario. In many of these daydreams, Kelly ran to him and gave him a hug, refusing to let go again. In others Kelly was cordial, introducing his husband to Nathaniel before moving on to other guests.

No matter what the evening brought, Nathaniel intended to look his best. The day before the exhibition he got a haircut. He also bought a new shirt for the tuxedo he planned to wear. It was too formal for a gallery opening, but Kelly had always liked seeing him wear one, calling him James Bond and making jokes about concealed weapons. Nathaniel made sure his shoes were polished, his teeth flossed and brushed. After showering, he glanced in the mirror and decided to leave the scruff, remembering how he would sometimes use it to tickle different parts of Kelly’s body. Then he dressed and, pulse racing, drove across town to the gallery.

He made sure he wasn’t the first to arrive, walking slowly along the sidewalk and peering in through the windows. Quite a crowd had gathered already. The main room of the gallery was full, as were the two wings off to each side. He spotted Kelly, who was grinning like an idiot while talking to a handful of young women clearly enamored with him. They weren’t alone. Nathaniel stood and stared at his former boyfriend. He looked fantastic, like not a day had gone by. Hell, he positively glowed, which only confirmed that Kelly had been fine during their time apart—had thrived even, judging from his current success. The invitation must have been courtesy and nothing more. Nathaniel had decided to leave when Kelly looked away from his conversation and scanned the room with a flicker of disappointment.

No matter how innocent Kelly’s intentions were in inviting him here, Nathaniel supposed it would be rude not to make an appearance. One more insult added to all the injury he’d already caused. With this in mind, he entered the gallery. One of the waiters recognized him—the same staff that was used for Marcello’s charity events—and made sure he was offered a glass of champagne. He took one to appear casual. Seeing that Kelly was still occupied, he began browsing the photographs.

Hungrily. Nathaniel had relied solely on Layne’s reports to tell him where Kelly had travelled and what he’d been doing, but now he could see it all for himself. Rural farms of the Midwest, animals crowded into their pins. Children playing hopscotch on a city sidewalk, protesters marching in the background. A car show attended by people wearing sweatpants and logo-emblazoned T-shirts, a stark contrast to the polished perfection of the vehicles on display. Nathaniel experienced it all through Kelly’s artistic vision. He moved to one of the wings, lost in the imagery. The photos were exceptional. He had known Kelly was talented, but now that skill had refined and matured. The photos echoed passion, an extension of Kelly’s personality—emotional and raw.

He was wandering toward the main room when instinct caused him to look to his left. Their eyes met just before he passed through the doorway, Nathaniel pausing there and leaning against it for support, glad he could no longer be seen. The experience had been too intense, a fleeting moment of contact after an eternity of nothing. He waited, expecting Kelly to come after him, to seek confrontation. When this didn’t happen, Nathaniel forced himself to start moving again. Kelly was in the main room, cornered by someone with a camera. A fellow enthusiast? No, a reporter, one who would keep him busy.

Nathaniel walked to the opposite wing and browsed more of the photos, his attention torn away occasionally by people he knew. Tim Wyman, who seemed to be negotiating a sale. Marcello, who was encouraging one of the waiters to sneak a glass of champagne. Or two, as it turned out. And William, the guy who had left Kelly broken-hearted. His presence here was unexpected. And unwelcome, considering the implications. Evidently the interview was over because Kelly was at William’s side, giving him a tour, confirming what Nathaniel had feared. Kelly had come home and decided to make peace, tie up all his loose ends, including old flames. He wasn’t seeking reunion. He was seeking closure. Nathaniel turned away, spotting one of his own loose ends in the crowd.

Jason Grant. Always ushering in the end and proving that nothing lasts forever. Nathaniel’s relationship with Caesar. Interrupted by Jason. Twice. Kelly’s relationship with William. Ended by Jason. Maybe him being here now was proof that their stories had finally come to an end. One last goodbye before they all went their separate ways.

Or maybe not all of them, because Jason glanced in William’s direction, eyes shining. Then he noticed Nathaniel staring and offered a smile. They had never spoken about the past, never admitted their shared history. Pretending seemed pointless now. Why deny the war when standing amidst the ruins? Nathaniel moved through the crowd to reach him.

“I remember you,” he said.

Jason nodded. “I’ve been a waiter for a few of Marcello’s parties. We talked once, when, uh—”

“Marcello let you borrow one of his rooms,” Nathaniel supplied. “I remembered you back then too.”

Jason froze. “What do you mean?”

Nathaniel chuckled. “I knew who you were. And I’m pretty damn sure you remembered me.” He offered his hand. “We both survived the Hubbards and their son. That much we have in common.”

Jason took his hand gingerly and shook. “Why didn’t you say anything back then?”

“And ruin your fairytale night with your lover?” He glanced over to where William was. “It’s nice to see you two still together. Gives me renewed faith in love.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Jason squirmed a little. “This might be a weird question, but do you hate me?”

Nathaniel put on his best grumpy face. “Why, just because you almost ruined my chances of getting back together with Caesar? Or because you were instrumental in him getting caught by his parents again, making it harder for us to see each other? Or maybe because you slept with him, even when you knew he and I were together?”

Jason was breaking out in a sweat. “That about sums it up.”

Nathaniel dropped the act and clapped him on the shoulder. “All water under the bridge. In fact, what you did made it easier to finally leave the guy. I even thought of you when Caesar showed up last month.”

“Last month?” Jason said incredulously. “Wait, you’ve seen him recently?”

Nathaniel nodded. “He rolled into town four or five weeks ago. Had a big sob story about his parents cutting him off and needing a place to stay. I was dumb enough to let him, but after a few weeks of him trying to get back in my pants, I decided I’d had enough. Nothing he could say or do would ever make me take him back. Not after what happened in college.”

Jason shook his head. “Wasn’t Caesar living on the East Coast?”

“Yeah. He said he came all the way to Austin just to be with me. Said the same thing on my voicemail the other night. I don’t think I deleted it.” Nathaniel dug out his phone and started pushing buttons. “Want to hear his voice again?”

A few seconds later, Caesar was speaking with a slight slur.
I came all this way just to be with you. I’m still here, and it’s not working out, but I can’t bring myself to leave. Please. Just call me back. Talk to me. I know we can make this work.

Nathaniel watched Jason’s face as he listened, expecting an eye roll. Instead Jason appeared angry, like he’d heard the exact same story. Recently. “You’ve seen him too, haven’t you?”

Jason frowned. “Where do you think he’s been staying?”

“Oh,” Nathaniel said. “I didn’t realize—”

Jason spun around and stalked toward the exit. Nathaniel stared after him a moment, then looked to William and Kelly, who were deep in conversation. Did that mean Jason and William were no longer together? Or that Kelly and William were an item again? The only certainty was that Caesar was still a hustler looking for his next trick. Thank goodness Nathaniel had kicked him out before making the same mistakes. It wasn’t too late to prevent another. He’d been a fool to think Kelly still wanted him. Clearly that wasn’t the case.

Nathaniel took a cue from Jason and escaped through the exit, breathing in the fresh air as he headed down the sidewalk. He realized he was still carrying the glass of champagne, but soon found someone to hand it to.

“Are you heading to the office?” Marcello said, puffing from his effort to catch up. “Oh, what an absolute disaster!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The mascara contract!” Marcello brandished his phone. “Didn’t you get the message?”

Nathaniel peered at the screen and tried to read, which wasn’t easy while Marcello was waving it around. “Just tell me what it says,” he snarled in frustration.

“The French are backing out. I think we’ve been sniped by a different firm.”

“That’s a seven-figure contract!” Nathaniel shouted, his panic rising along with his voice. “I worked my ass off to secure that deal! What happened?”

“I don’t know, but we’ve got to act now. I’ll say my goodbyes and meet you in the office right away.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Not in France, it isn’t! Soon it will be morning there, and I suggest we commit ourselves to staying up and getting this fixed. Have you been drinking? Should I send for a car?”

“No,” Nathaniel said, handing him the champagne glass and swearing. “And if I was drunk, this news would have sobered me up. What a fucking night.”

“I’m afraid it’s just beginning. I’ll see you soon.”

Nathaniel nodded and strode toward his car. At least this crisis would help chase thoughts of Kelly from his mind. During the drive he tried to recall every relevant telephone conversation and email, wondering if something important had been lost in translation. Nathaniel was still shaking his head in disbelief when he stepped into the elevator and punched in the code for Marcello’s office. When the doors opened, he strolled in to turn on the computer and stopped short.

Low lighting, candles, and a bottle of wine chilling on the table next to two wrapped presents. A trap. Part of him felt relieved, those seven figures returning to his spreadsheets. Marcello had only lied to get him here. Nathaniel spun around, expecting to find Kelly tied up in one corner. He wasn’t there. Not yet. The elevator was no longer responding; Marcello controlling it remotely—a feature of the security system Nathaniel had installed himself. He jabbed at the button anyway before turning to face a camera in one corner of the room.

“It won’t work,” he said. “If you have any love for me, you’ll let me go right now, because this is going to kill me.”

The camera stared back stoically. Nathaniel groaned and went to the table, picking up the bottle of wine and immediately recognizing the vintage, the very same he and Kelly had shared when they first met. Then he fingered the two presents, the card of the first addressed to him in Marcello’s elegant handwriting.

What is thought lost can still be recovered. The past can be a gateway to the future. I do this for love, with love. Marcello.

He was wrong. Nathaniel wished he wasn’t, but the past no longer belonged to this world. He tore at the wrapping paper to find a black-and-white photo, a sliver of time that would remain trapped forever. The two young men running beside each other couldn’t be reanimated, color restored to their skin, nor would the dog leap from the frame still wearing that gleeful expression. Zero was at home in an empty apartment. That was the world of today. Nathaniel opened the tag of the other present, his fear confirmed when he saw Kelly’s name.

Nathaniel set the framed photo on the table and covered it with the wrapping paper. Then he patrolled the room, blowing out candles, turning off the subtle music, and cranking up the lights. He called a technician to get the elevator operational again. While waiting he took off his tuxedo jacket, undid his bowtie, and rolled up his sleeves. An hour later he finally accepted he was stuck here and sent a text message for someone to take care of Zero because Kelly was probably too smart to fall for one of Marcello’s tricks. And if he did? Nathaniel stopped pacing to consider the possibility. If Kelly did show up, if there was hope…