The Losing Game (28 page)

“My office party is next Friday.”

“Are you up to going?”

“Yes. And I’d like to go with you, if you’ll come. I can bring a guest.”

Dante took Lucas’s wrist in his hand and kissed his pulse point. The skin was warm and smelled of the soap they’d used when they showered that morning. “Office parties. I hear they’re more dangerous than a war zone.”

“They can be.” Lucas pushed his fingers under Dante’s collar. “The only thing is, if I bring you, my friend Lily will be a third wheel. I don’t think she’d appreciate that on top of the ones she already has to use to get around.”

“Perhaps she can find a date?”

“No. She can’t stand most of the people we work with, and she wouldn’t subject anyone she likes to the most awkward night of the year.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Aren’t they all?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Lucas opened his thighs and drew Dante closer, enough to kiss his mouth. “Then you should come. Tick it off your bucket list.” He smiled all the way to his eyes. “It’s free booze.”

“Could I ask Lois to come with us? She doesn’t go out often, and she might enjoy the show.”

“Oh, yes. Lily will love Lois. Why don’t you ask her now, and I’ll check with Lily that she doesn’t mind?”

Dante was grateful—joyful, even—to see the smile return to Lucas’s face. Lucas’s happiness was tantamount to his own. He would do anything to keep it there.

LUCAS CLICKED
off his e-reader. He stood and stretched, both arms above his head, though the left didn’t extend fully and had to be coaxed every centimeter of the way. He’d slept poorly the previous night. The dull fuzziness of not being fully awake hadn’t gone with his morning coffee, or the one he’d had that afternoon.

The night before, a week after leaving, Richard Shaw and his wife had come home from wherever they’d been. Lucas ought to have felt relief. There had been no heavies sent in retaliation, no rude nighttime awakening, no threats to his well-being. The police had run out of leads. Lucas was in the clear. Yet he still felt like he was under a dark, heavy cloud.

The Okoros’ living room was in comfortable disarray. Two dozen Christmas cards crowded the wide marble mantel, more jostled with empty mugs and books and earbuds on the lamp tables. A sweatshirt, probably Kit’s, hung over the back of the smaller of the two sofas, and two pairs of shoes, one pair Lucas guiltily realized were his, had been kicked to the side of the doorway.

The sparkle of the lights on the tree, the smoky scent and sharp crackle of a log in the real fire, the allure of an open box of dried dates on the coffee table, and—Lucas reached for another—the taste of its syrupy flesh. All were reminiscent of the Christmases he’d had once, when his family had been alive. Not quite the same, though. The Okoros were more vibrant. More celebratory.

Lucas checked the time. Dante would be up from the shop soon, wanting a shower before they got ready for Lucas’s office party. Kit and Lois were probably down there too, though it wasn’t always easy to know where anyone one was in a house this size.

Kit was the smallest of the Okoros, but the biggest presence. When she wasn’t working in the shop or the stockroom or out until the small hours, she played her music loud and bounced from room to room like a pinball.

Lois, on the other hand, seemed to prefer to stay home. Now and again, she’d quietly appear, joining Lucas and Dante in the evening in front of the television or leaning around the door to offer a cup of coffee. She’d asked Lucas to show her how to make coffee in his espresso pot, and ever since she’d used it diligently.

A few days had turned into a week. Lucas had slotted contentedly into the rhythm of the Okoro house as if he was a part of the family. It occurred to him, that morning, as he angled past a sleepy Kit on his way to the fridge, that he hadn’t become as used to living alone as he’d thought. Nonetheless, Lucas was well enough to return home and look after himself.

Dante hadn’t broached the subject. Lucas knew he would have to mention it first. As well as the other thing that had been on his mind—

“Everything all right?” Dante hovered in the doorway.

“Oh. I didn’t see you there.”

“You were miles away. You’re not still worrying about Richard Shaw?” Dante picked up Lucas’s shoes and surveyed the living room, dropped the shoes, and made for the dates on the coffee table.

“Not worrying. No. I was just thinking,” Lucas ventured.

Dante looked happy, popping a second date into his mouth, and Lucas didn’t want to spoil his mood, but he’d have to bring it up sooner or later. “I’ll be fit enough to go back to work on Monday. I know it’s only for a day and a half, but it’ll be easier for me to get there from my house.”

“I can drive you from here. I don’t mind.” Dante went for his third date and replaced the lid on the box. He held the dried fruit contemplatively. “You can think about getting yourself to and from work when your office reopens in the New Year.”

Apart from a skeleton emergency staff that didn’t include Lucas, Excelsior shut down from lunchtime Christmas Eve until the first business day after New Year.

“I know you don’t mind, and I really appreciate how well you’ve looked after me.” Lucas chose his words carefully. “But I’d quite like to go home.”

The dates were pitted. Dante swallowed his like it had a giant stone inside it. “I like you being here, but if you want to go home, then you should. Can you wait until tomorrow?”

“I was thinking Sunday.”

“And you’ll come here for Christmas?”

“Yes, of course.”

Dante’s brow furrowed, in spite of his smile. “I was heading upstairs,” he said, as if he expected Lucas not to follow.

“I’ll come with you. I want to shave.”

And talk to you about Richard Shaw.

The bruises on Lucas’s face—on his forehead and jaw—had faded to a pale, dirty yellow. They didn’t hurt. With the growth hormones he’d taken to speed the healing in his shoulder, the hairline fracture in his jaw had also fused. Using an electric razor, Lucas could shave exactly as he always had. The marvels of modern medicine. Apart from the scar on his shoulder, it was almost impossible to see he’d been pummeled and shot a fortnight ago.

Upstairs, in the attic, Lucas and Dante moved smoothly around each other—as if they’d been doing it for months, not days. While Dante showered and Lucas shaved, they talked about mundanities: Lucas needed to buy new deodorant. Dante thought he might have torn a muscle in his back trying to rearrange some of the furnishings in the shop. Had Lucas heard? George Ezra was going to be doing a twenty-first anniversary tour.

Lucas had on his trousers and shirt when Dante emerged in a puff of steam from the bathroom, wearing a lemon-yellow towel around his waist. Dante in a towel was no less impressive than Dante in a suit. There was a man who made the clothes, not the other way around.

“Nice,” Lucas said. “I don’t mind if you go in that.”

“I’d be cold.”

“I’d keep you warm.”

Lucas put his hands on Dante’s chest. His skin wasn’t quite dry and had an irresistible, glossy sheen. Lucas would have been quite content to stay like that, with Dante’s arms around his waist, a glass of wine on the go (now he wasn’t dosed up with drugs) and a slow dance to some soft music….

Dante pulled at Lucas’s loose shirt cuffs.

“Do you have cufflinks?”

“Actually, no. I was going to ask if you had some I could borrow.”

“I have plenty. Come. Choose some that you like.”

Lucas picked out plain gold ovals, set with a diagonal line of mother-of-pearl. Dante slipped the gold posts through the holes in Lucas’s cuffs, turned the toggles to set them in place, and lifted Lucas’s knuckles to his lips.

“How about a tie?”

“You’ll have to help me with that too.” Lucas could probably manage, but he wouldn’t do a neat job. “Sorry. I hate being so useless.”

Dante clucked. “I want to help you. Do you have one? Otherwise, you can wear one of mine.”

Lucas had ties. He’d brought a couple of his own. Still, he said, “Would you pick me one of yours?”

Dante seemed inordinately pleased. He went to his wardrobe and pulled out a hanger with at least thirty ties lined side by side in neat horizontal rows of half a dozen. “Do you like this?”

“I love it.”

The tie was powder blue, plush, and the softest silk. Dante guided Lucas to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. He fastened Lucas’s top button, turned up his collar, and moved behind him. As their eyes caught in the glass, Dante kissed Lucas behind his ear. A hot, icy shiver ran down his spine. He gasped, and laughed.

“Not now.”

“I like seeing you blush.” Dante kissed Lucas’s neck. “You’re ravishing when you’re all hot under the collar. Now, crouch a little. I can’t see what I’m doing.”

Dante wrapped the tie around Lucas’s neck, tugging it gently into place. The silk whispered against the cotton around his neck.

“Maybe once your shoulder is better, I’ll tie your wrists to the bedpost with this. Or blindfold you with it.”

“Threat or promise?”

Dante didn’t answer, only smiled a secret smile. The backs of his fingers brushed Lucas’s cheek as he looped the tie and positioned the knot at Lucas’s neck. They lingered yet again at his throat, softly pinching the skin under Lucas’s chin before pulling the front end of the tie, tightening and centering.

“There.”

“Not quite.” Lucas took the rose pin that Dante had given him from his trouser pocket. “Would you pin this to the tie?”

Dante attached the rose pin, stood back, and admired Lucas before dressing himself. They looked a fine pair, if he said so himself—Lucas in grays and blues, Dante in black and burgundy.

Lucas didn’t want to spoil the mood, but somehow, it felt like the time was right to broach the subject of Richard Shaw, for the very last time.

“Before we go to the party tonight, I want you to drive me to Richard Shaw’s house.”

Dante visibly balked. “No. The deal was that you would stay away from him as well as him staying away from you.”

A deal you brokered without my consent.

Lucas’s hackles rose no matter that he’d promised himself he’d keep calm. “I know, but I need to see him myself. I need to do what I should have done in the first place. Sit down and talk to him.”

“What do you hope to achieve?”

“Closure.”

“What closure? It’s done, finished. Why can’t you let it go?”

“Because I can’t.” Lucas’s blush flared. He held back the urge to throw at Dante,
“You’re no better. When I told you not to kill Shaw, I sort of also meant for you to stay away from him completely.”

Lucas needed to be rational. Grown-up. He wasn’t going to keep his feelings to himself. He was going to explain, and Dante was damned well going to listen. “You know what? What
you
think, what
you
feel, what
you
need—all that matters to me. I should have hoped that what I think and feel and need matters to you too.”

“It does.” Dante spoke angrily. Spat the words more than spoke them.

As much as Lucas wanted to raise his voice, to jab Dante in the chest, and pierce that stubborn streak of his, he knew it wouldn’t work. He lowered his voice. “Please support me on this. I need to see him. This will be the last time. I promise.”

Dante was biting his tongue. He tightened his face into a scowl. “Very well.”

Okay, it wasn’t quite the loving, caring, assenting tone Lucas was hoping for, but it was a step in the right direction.

Lucas kissed Dante until his shoulders relaxed and spoke against his lips. “Thank you.”

Downstairs, Kit waited with her camera. Dante and Lucas stood side by side in front of the fireplace in the living room, Dante with his arm at Lucas’s back, Lucas leaning in.

“We should have one with Lois,” Lucas suggested.

Kit went to the door and hollered, “Lois! Come on! They’re waiting.”

Moments later, a patter-patter on the stairs and Lois entered wearing a sapphire-blue dress, a shimmering shift with short sleeves. In her hair, to one side, she wore a sparkling clip in the shape of a butterfly.

“Wow.” Lucas’s jaw dropped. “You look
stunning
.”

“My angel,” Dante said. “Give us a twirl.”

Lois turned a swift three-sixty and hurried to her father’s side.

“Nice, Lo-lo. Step in closer. That’s it.”

Kit took a dozen photographs. According to Kit, both Lois and Dante hated having their picture taken. This was an opportunity not to be missed. Kit took full advantage, making a show of painstakingly scrolling through every picture, critically assessing the quality of her work and the ability of her subjects to smile and keep their eyes open at the same time.

At last, she said, “You’ll do. Though they would have been nicer, Dante, if you hadn’t looked like you’re sucking a lemon.”

Lucas thought about admitting that was his fault, but he let it go. They needed to leave. He put on his sling over his suit, which he only need wear now if he was out and about, and draped his peacoat over his shoulders.

In the car, Dante icily availed Lois of the detour they were making on Lucas’s behalf. Her hand reached over the back of the passenger seat, and she gave Lucas’s right shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I hope he’s at least civil to you. But don’t expect too much, will you?”

“I’m not expecting anything from him. This is for me.” Lucas meant it. He expected nothing from Richard Shaw. The man had had his chance, and he hadn’t taken it. Lucas hadn’t been able to have his say, and he wanted to. He needed to.

The butterflies started when Dante pulled onto the end of the Shaw’s drive. The downstairs lights and presence of their car, plus one last look at the surveillance cameras, confirmed the Shaws were home.

Dante turned off the engine and unclipped his seat belt.

Lucas reached across and laid his hand upon Dante’s forearm. “Stay here. I need to do this alone.”

Dante was about to protest. Lois reached for his shoulder and said, “He’ll be all right. We’re right here. They’ll see us when they open the front door.”