16

Jadon

Jadon drove home on autopilot. His brain was dark except for the occasional misfire of neurons, and then fragments of the fight would glow in hypersaturated colors: Nico framed in the doorway, Nico flinching when Jadon slapped the door, Nico saying, You’re so scared of making the same mistake again that you’re killing yourself.

He let himself into the south city bungalow. The lights were off, the air stale. Over the last few days, he’d barely been here, but it was more than that. It had the empty, closed-up feel of an abandoned place. Somewhere nobody lived.

Turning on the lights—

You’re like a little kid who’s so afraid of the dark that you’ll burn the house down while you’re still in it just to have some light.

—seemed like too much work, so he made his way through the gloom. He kicked off his shoes in the bedroom. He lay on the bed. He caught a musty whiff; the sheets needed changing. Above him, the ceiling was faintly luminous, the glimmer of white plaster a long way off in the dark. From the neighbor’s house next door came the barely audible thump of a bass line.

He’d lost his temper; Jadon could admit that. He’d been trying to stay calm, trying to stay reasonable, trying to master his own mingling frustration and fear so that Nico, in turn, would also stay calm. Then, like the two most annoying fucking jack-in-the-boxes in the world, North and Shaw had popped up. Again. Like they always did. And then the professor had appeared, coming toward them like a homing missile, and the way he’d looked at Nico, the way he’d smiled.

Giving fuck-me eyes to a bunch of old men.

Jadon pressed his fists against his eyes. Yeah, that hadn’t been good. But he might have held it together, might have managed not to say what he was thinking—something along the lines of, Keep it in your pants, or I’ll cut it off—if he hadn’t gotten that text. The one from a patrol officer telling him that, the night before, another young man had been assaulted on campus.

He dug out his phone and called Cerise.

“No,” she said. In the background, Dhan’s familiar voice rumbled, and Cerise sounded like she was speaking away from the phone when she said, “I’ll take care of the pumpkins. Go change.” Then, her voice moving back to the phone, she said, “No. You are not allowed to cancel. You are not allowed to have an excuse. You are coming to this party. Dhan’s worked hard to make everything perfect.” Her voice cut away again, a kind of vexed love: “I said I’d do the pumpkins. Get into your costume!”

“What are you going to be?” Jadon asked.

“Alice and the Hatter.”

“Eh.”

“Thanks for the feedback. What are you going to be?”

“There was another attack.”

“Jesus Christ, Jadon. What is wrong with you?” Her silence vibrated for a second across the line, and then, in a slightly softer tone, she said, “I’m sorry. How bad?”

“Shaffer and Carney got it. He put the kid in the hospital. He’s getting bolder, Cerise. Escalating.” He managed not to say the rest, what he didn’t even want to think after he’d seen the pictures: He looks like Lang. Like Nico.

“He. You say that like you know who did it.”

Jadon didn’t say anything to that.

Cerise broke first. “Are we going over there?”

“No. I wanted you to know. I asked some of the patrol guys to call me if anything like this came in; that’s the only reason I heard about it.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice when he said, “Of course, the department will insist there’s no connection.”

“Are you going over there?”

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

Jadon laughed. “Not this time. They’ve got him sedated. I’ll see if I can get Shaffer and Carney to let me have a chat with him tomorrow.”

“And let me guess: you’re not coming to the party.”

You’re killing yourself.

“I’m worn out.”

“Jay, this is what we talked about.”

You’ll burn the house down just to have some light.

“I’ll think about it. Maybe a quick power nap.”

“You know, this isn’t about the captain. Not really.”

“What?”

In the wake of the words, the thud of the bass from next door seemed louder. Probably was louder. It had a way of doing that as the night went on, and Halloween was a night for parties.

“I meant what I said earlier: I think you need to pull yourself together. I think you need to make sure you’re not giving them anything they can use against you. But mostly, Jay, who the fuck cares what they think? I’m worried about you. We all are.”

“Thanks.” In the darkness, in the stillness, Jadon felt like he was floating. He wasn’t sure how many seconds passed before he said, “I’ll try to come.”

Cerise’s answer was a sigh. Then the call disconnected.

For what felt like a long time, Jadon lay there, staring up at the moon-glimmer of the ceiling. And then he got out of bed. He could add this to the list: socializing, finding time for recreation, setting firmer boundaries on his work hours. If he took cases home, if he worked them from his living room instead of his office, he could get almost as much done, but the captain wouldn’t see. He’d make sure he attended happy hours, department events. It could be one more thing he’d do. Perfectly. The voice sounded like Nico’s. Perfect Jadon Reck.

You’re killing yourself.

He showered. He even turned on the lights. The costume was ironic in that fork-twisting-in-your-intestines way, although Nico couldn’t have known: a red-and-blue top, Superman’s S replaced with the letter G. Supergay, of course. And then a navy suit, the white shirt unbuttoned so that the spandex top was showing. Fake glasses. He went back and forth on those—would they set Nico off? And then he remembered that didn’t matter, and he liked them, and he liked that they made him think of Nico, even if it was that fork-in-the-guts kind of way. He checked himself in the mirror. Perfect Jadon Reck, he thought, who couldn’t keep his temper, who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

When he started driving, it took him a few minutes to realize he wasn’t going to Cerise’s. Instead, he ended up outside a gingerbread house. The lights were on in the windows. An inflatable Frankenstein bobbed on the lawn, the drone of the motor audible when Jadon killed his engine. The sidewalks were empty; in Jadon’s neighborhood, the kids all went elsewhere for trick-or-treating. It looked like the same thing might be true here.

He knocked, and the door opened a moment later. North McKinney was big, blond, and usually trying a little too hard for butch, with the Red Wings and the Carhartt clothes and the nonstop shit-talking. It was hard to keep that in focus, though, when he was dressed as a cartoon tiger—an orange and black-striped onesie, fuzzy tiger paws on his feet, and, of course, a furry hood with cat ears pulled up over his mess of blond hair. He was holding a bucket full of candy, and he was beaming. At his feet, the puppy (no longer a puppy) barked and pranced until North scooped him up.

The smile soured into a glare when he saw Jadon and said, “Fuck me.”

“Cute costume.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? The first fucking trick-or-treater of the evening, and it’s Supergonorrhea.”

“Hi, North.”

North gave him a second dose of the glare and then bellowed, “Shaw!”

Shaw appeared a moment later as North retreated into the house with the dog. He was slender, and although he wasn’t classically handsome, the sharp features of his face were compelling. Enough time had passed since their breakup that Jadon no longer felt a pang. It helped that, tonight, Shaw wore a ridiculous blond wig and a red-and-black striped T-shirt.

“Supergoop! No, wait. Superguy!”

“Calvin and Hobbes? I thought Hobbes was supposed to be smaller.”

“I fucking told you!” North shouted from deeper in the house.

“And wouldn’t it have made more sense for North to be Calvin since he’s already blond?”

“See?” North appeared behind Shaw. “See? I told you!”

“He begged to be Hobbes,” Shaw stage-whispered.

“Like fuck! Now give Jadon a box of raisins and tell him to fuck off and quit wanking all over our stoop.”

Opening the storm door, Shaw said, “Come in.”

“Jesus Christ,” North said as he stomped away. It was less effective in the tiger slippers. “What did I just say?”

When North came back, he had a pumpkin ale from Schlafly, and a second bottle for Jadon. The bottle was cold enough to make the bones of Jadon’s hand ache pleasantly, and when he tried a sip, he was surprised he liked it—cinnamon and ginger and caramel, but not too sweet.

“We’re checking all the candy for razor blades,” Shaw said as he plopped on the sofa next to North. “North knew a kid one time who ate a razor blade, and it cut open his asshole when it, um, came out.”

Jadon looked at North.

“Hand to fucking God,” North said. “He had to wear diapers.”

“There’s no way that’s true,” Jadon said.

“I’m sorry we’re not all ass experts like you, you big poof.”

“You’re gay too!”

“But I’m not Supergay.”

“I knew it!” Jadon stabbed a finger at him. “I knew you knew what my costume was!”

North scowled and took a long pull of his beer. Then he flipped Jadon off.

“And we’re watching a scary movie,” Shaw announced as he opened a vanilla Tootsie Roll. A pile of wrappers suggested he was picking them out of the bucket. “Jung Frankensteins.”

“Young Frankenstein,” North snapped. “And it’s a comedy, fuckwit.” Then he looked at Jadon over his beer and said, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You look like shit.”

For a moment, the world had almost felt normal again: the shit-talking, the general upside-down sensation of being around these two, the rhythm and routine of their friendship. North’s question popped that bubble. Jadon’s mouth felt grainy with the sweetness of the beer, the taste of cloves overpowering now. He set the bottle on the coffee table and wiped his mouth.

“Hey,” Shaw asked, his voice quickening. He even abandoned a Tootsie Roll mid-wrap to grab Jadon’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

Jadon was surprised to find himself squeezing Shaw’s hand, as though he were holding on. A wave of emotion crashed over him, and he struggled not to go under, to keep his breathing slow and deep. “I, uh—I fucked up.”

He waited for the zinger from North, but all the blond man did was sit forward, both hands around the brown glass bottle, and watch. Shaw scooted closer and rubbed Jadon’s knee with his free hand.

“He’s not here, is he? I thought maybe—I mean, I guess you would have said something if he was.”

“Who?” Shaw asked.

“Nico.”

North shook his head.

“I didn’t even know Nico was in town,” Shaw said. “What’s going on? What happened?”

Jadon tried to start at the beginning, but he botched that too. He started with the fight, and then he had to jump back, and then he got sidetracked to the assaults on campus, and then he found himself talking about, of all things, Chuck Berry. North and Shaw mostly listened, although at one point, North left for a while, and when he came back, he had a couple of burritos on a plate and a glass of water. He handed all of it to Jadon. He had wrapped a napkin around the fork, and for some reason that little detail made Jadon almost start crying again, and he had to hold himself together as his voice tried to dissolve.

“Do you think he’s in danger right now?” Shaw asked with a glance at North.

North rose again. “I’ll call Emery.”

“I don’t know,” Jadon said. He cut one of the burritos with the side of the fork, and the smell of carnitas, smoky and sweet with cumin and orange juice and a million other delicious things, rose to meet him. His stomach rumbled, and he tried a bite. It was amazing—the blend of flavors, the meat and tortilla falling apart in his mouth. He ate several more bites. It seemed impossible that he could be eating, but then, it seemed impossible that he could be here, having this conversation, that anything from the last few days could have happened. Through another mouthful of food, he said, “I don’t even know where he is. That’s the worst part.”

Shaw made a soothing noise and rubbed Jadon’s knee some more. “It’s going to be okay. He’s upset, and you’re upset, and you’re going to work it out. Emery will call him, and then we’ll know more. He’s probably at a hotel, like you talked about. He’s probably hoping you’ll call him.”

“He’s not. He’s furious at me. And he’s right to be furious. I said—God, I said some awful things.”

North, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, said, “Give me a break.”

“North,” Shaw said.

“What? He’s being dramatic.” To Jadon, he repeated, “You’re being dramatic.”

“He feels guilty.”

“What’d he do? Tell Nico he was having a bad hair day?”

“You heard him. He said awful things. Really awful things. Like, monstrously awful. Like we wouldn’t even recognize Jadon, we wouldn’t even know who he was, if we’d heard the things he said.”

“I mean, they weren’t that bad,” Jadon tried.

“Bullshit,” North said over him. “Look, Jadon’s pretty—”

“Thank you,” Shaw said. “Finally.”

With a glower, North continued, “—but he’s got no substance, no fire. He’s like one of those American Girl dolls you beheaded.”

Some of the carnitas got stuck in Jadon’s throat.

“He probably said a four-letter word and immediately felt guilty and then apologized with, I don’t know, an Elizabethan sonnet.”

“Cunt,” Shaw proclaimed.

Jadon choked again.

“That was probably the word,” Shaw said.

“Well?” North asked, staring down at him with a mixture of disgust and pity. “What’s your hangup?”

“I don’t have a hangup,” Jadon said.

North snorted.

“I don’t! I lost my temper, and I said things I shouldn’t have, and now he hates me.” Memory ignited again, and he groaned. “Jesus, I called him their little rent boy.”

With a laugh, North dropped back into his seat. Shaw grinned and, when he noticed Jadon looking at him, tried to hide the smile.

“What?” Jadon asked.

“You’ve got it bad,” North said.

“No, I don’t.”

Shaw nodded. He was trying to look grave, but that smile kept poking out.

“I don’t,” Jadon said. “And even if I did, it doesn’t matter anymore, because I blew it.”

“Jay,” North said, his voice surprisingly kind, “bud, it’s okay. You’re a pathetic loser who’s as bad at dating as he is at solving cases, and you’re an ugly little toadfucker to boot. It’s not your fault.”

Jadon opened his mouth to volley something back, and instead, laughter came out. He tried to stop it, but it kept coming. North laughed too, a quiet rumble, and Shaw giggled into a pillow. The laughter rolled through Jadon like something had broken inside him. He reached for the water, hoping that taking a sip would help him calm down, but a fresh wave of laughter made him fall back on the couch, wiping his eyes.

When he finally calmed down, he felt better. Not good. But some of the tension that had been winding his body like a clock for the last couple of years had eased. His body felt looser, relaxed. His headache, which he hadn’t noticed until now, had faded.

“I think I’m in love with him,” he said. And he hadn’t realized it until the words were out of his mouth. “Or I’m falling in love with him. Or something.”

Shaw made a noise like that was the most adorable thing he’d ever heard.

“It’s not cute,” Jadon said. “It’s a disaster. I don’t know what to do. I’ve screwed everything up.”

North heaved himself out of his seat. “I’m going to try Emery again, since the miserable fuck couldn’t be bothered to answer last time.” He hesitated, as though considering something, and said, “You’re a good man, Jay.” Then he scrubbed a hand through Jadon’s hair—nearly wrenching his head off his neck and messing up Jadon’s careful styling in the process—and added, “Don’t fuck this up.”

Then he stepped into the kitchen. Shaw looked at Jadon with a familiar curiosity—intense, yes, but also bewilderingly innocent and open. After a moment, Jadon had trouble meeting his eyes.

“Want to talk about it?”

Jadon laughed. He found the beer again and drank. “We were always good at that, weren’t we? Talking, I mean.”

Shaw smiled, but he didn’t answer.

“I don’t know, Shaw. I don’t know what’s going on. Honestly, he’s probably better off without me; I’m such a mess.”

“A little less self-pity,” Shaw said, but his smile crooked to take the sting out of the words, “and a little more self-discovery. Oh! Maybe we should meditate together!”

Jadon rolled his eyes as he turned the bottle in his hands, but the words slackened the tension in the air. In some ways, this was why he and Shaw had worked so well together—all the things that people found weird (or that North rejoiced in as reasons for further bullying) had felt, for Jadon, familiar. Homey. Meditation, sage sticks, smudging, crystals. His moms had loved that stuff, and while Jadon’s life had taken him away from those things, they still had a place and a power that he recognized.

“I might—might—have started to lose my cool when Emery told him to call you and North.”

Shaw was practically quivering. “Emery told him to—”

But the horse was out of the barn now, and the words galloped out of Jadon. “And that’s such bullshit. I mean, here I am, not sleeping, not eating, staking out that goddamn dorm, and it’s like I don’t even exist. North and Shaw will take care of it. The way they always do.”

“Damn straight,” North called from the kitchen.

Shaw rolled his eyes. “Jadon.”

“What? Every case I touch, I hit a dead end, and then you and North swoop in and solve it.”

“Not every case.”

“Every single case.”

“No! You arrested those horny thieves.”

A laugh slipped out of Jadon, and he took another sip of the beer. “They were kind of hard to miss, fucking in the bed of the house they’d broken into.”

“But you still caught them! And you caught that guy who was, um, violating those goats.”

“A goatfucker,” North shouted. “Great job on that one.” And then, like he was speaking to someone else, “No, not you, you big goatfucker.”

Jadon took a longer drink.

“And,” Shaw said like someone who was worried he might be losing the argument, “every time North and I have solved a case, it’s because you’ve helped us.”

“Like fucking hell” came from the kitchen.

“Yeah, that’s definitely not true,” Jadon said.

“You’re a great detective.” Shaw scooted closer. “You’re a wonderful detective.”

The smile cut across Jadon’s mouth. It felt like the edge of a razor.

“Jay,” Shaw said softly.

“Except for Barr.”

Shaw shook his head. Tears brightened his eyes.

“You’re thinking it.” Jadon shrugged. “I’m thinking it. North is thinking it.”

“I’m thinking about how I’m trying to have a fucking phone call while you two fuckwits go down on each other verbally.”

“How do you go down on someone verbally?” Shaw asked.

“No, don’t ask—” Jadon tried.

Glugging noises came from the kitchen, and then, “Not you, fuckwit! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Shaw looked at Jadon. It was hard to separate out the mixture of what Jadon saw on his face there. Compassion, certainly, because Shaw was one of the most compassionate people Jadon knew. And pain, because the West End Slasher was one of Shaw’s scars—literally and figuratively. And something else, more complex. Shaw took Jadon’s beer and set it on the table. Then he took Jadon’s hands in his.

“Jadon, what Barr did—it was before you were his partner. Before you were even a detective. You can’t keep carrying that around forever. And before you say something silly like ‘I should have known,’ let me remind you that I was face to face with him, that I was as close to him as you and I are right now, and when I met him again, years later, I didn’t know.” Jadon opened his mouth, but Shaw spoke over him. “You are a good detective. When Taylor and Waggener came after you, tried to scare you—” Shaw’s eyes slid to Jadon’s chest, to where the scars were hidden by his shirt. “—you didn’t give up. You went looking for them. And you found the money. And you found the evidence that led back to them.”

“And they tortured the shit out of me. They grabbed me in the middle of the night and—” His throat closed: the cigarette burns, the cuts, the kicks and punches, the piece of pipe they’d used as a club, the broken ribs. The bag over his face like a caul, every time he tried to take a breath, the plastic sealing around his mouth and nose.

“And you got away,” Shaw whispered. He was clutching Jadon’s hands so tightly that they hurt, but the pain was stabilizing. Jadon’s next breath was easier. “And you survived. And you didn’t give up that fucking money to those murderous fucking monsters. And we got them because of you, Jay. Because you left us a trail. Because you were careful and smart and an amazing detective.”

Jadon shook his head, but the rush of tears was real, and for a moment, all he could do was battle the tide of emotion. He wrested his hands from Shaw and wiped his face. Snot made it hard to breathe through his nose, so he sucked in air through his open mouth. The only clear thought he had was that he was not going to cry in front of North McKinney.

As though summoned by the thought: “Jesus Christ,” North said from the doorway. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything!” And then, without missing a beat, “I gave him a motivational speech.”

“Oh, because that went so well for you last time.” To Jadon—and without any visible regard for what he must have seen of Jadon’s distress—North added, “He gave a forty-five minute ‘inspirational speech’—” He drew the air quotes with his fingers. “—to this lady at the courthouse.”

“She was so nice to me! She kept saying I had beautiful skin!”

“Because she makes dresses out of people, shit-for-brains! The handcuffs might have been a fucking clue! He kept saying, ‘You can do anything you set your mind to’ and ‘I believe in you’ and ‘If I can help you, I’ll do whatever I can.’ Thank God I was there when he tried to give her a business card with our home address written on the back.”

“Her name was Suzette,” Shaw told Jadon proudly. “She had pointy teeth.”

North made a noise of disgust and then looked at Jadon. “He already told you you’re a good detective, and I’m sure as fuck not going to say it again. So, what the fuck is the real problem?”

The lunacy was enough to help Jadon master the worst of the storm of emotions. He dried his face one last time, killed his beer, and was surprised at how easy it was to say, “My captain is trying to get rid of me. Not fit for duty, that kind of thing.” And then it all came spilling out: Cerise’s warning, the symposium, the cutting accuracy of Nico’s final comments about all the ways he’d avoided dealing with what mattered in his life. “I mean, is he right? Am I that fucked up?”

“No,” Shaw said.

“Yes,” North said.

“North!”

“What? He is. You are.” North adjusted his Hobbes hood. Then he said, “Look, Jay, you’re in a bad place. That’s not your fault; you’ve been through a lot. But you need to get some help.”

“You’re not fucked up,” Shaw said. “You’re hurt, and you’re healing. I think you’ve done a good job finding healthy ways to cope with what happened to you. But I think Nico might be right that now those mechanisms are starting to be not so healthy. And that means you need to keep adapting, learning new strategies, checking your priorities.” Shaw flashed a grin. “Plus North is jealous that you have abs.”

“I have abs, motherfucker,” North shouted. “Every fucking one of you harping on the same fucking thing. It’s called muscle. Muscle is denser than fat. That’s science.” Rounding on Jadon, he added, “And eating lentils every day and working out and then having a gym bro tsunami of diarrhea in the locker room, that isn’t healthy. You need to eat a balanced diet.”

“Eight servings of cheese isn’t balanced,” Shaw said in an underbreath.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Shaw said sweetly.

“I feel like I have to point out that I never said anything about diarrhea,” Jadon said.

“Yeah,” North said, “we read between the lines.”

“The point is,” Shaw said, “that it’s not fair that your captain is gunning for you. But that might not be the most important thing. The most important thing is, are you happy? Honestly, Jadon, the way you’re living right now—are you happy?”

A wet nose touched Jadon’s hand, and he flinched. The puppy—no longer a puppy—looked up at him, and Jadon smiled and scooped the dog up into his lap. After a few turns, the dog settled down, his head on Jadon’s thigh. Jadon stroked the soft fur, felt the warmth of another living body. He thought of all the nights he’d slept in a chair or in a car or in an empty bed. About what it had felt like, that one night (which felt like a million years ago) when Nico had pillowed his head on Jadon’s chest.

“I’m fine,” Jadon said, which he knew wasn’t an answer—and, in its own way, was. “I know there’s—there’s stuff I’m missing out on. But right now, that’s okay. I’ve got a job to do. It’s an important job. And yeah, I know, I’m replaceable, all that stuff. But it’s my job. And I want to do it well. I want to do it the best that I can, because I’ve let myself get distracted before, and it cost me.”

A quicksilver glimmer of pain crossed Shaw’s face and then was gone.

“That’s not what I meant,” Jadon said.

“I know what you meant.”

Jadon stumbled into the silence that came after, not sure what he was saying, only sure that it was better than the hurt he had seen on Shaw’s face. “It’s—I want a normal life. I want a balanced, happy, fulfilling life. I want a partner. Someone to come home to. But—but it needs to be the right person, and the right time. Someone who will understand I’m giving my best self at work because the job is important. And someone who will understand that it doesn’t mean I love them any less, even if I have to work late, even if I have to work weekends, even if I’m gone a lot. And I don’t know—I don’t know about Nico. He deserves someone who puts him at the center of their life. And even if I—” He almost said, again, love him. “—feel something for him, I don’t know that I can give him that.”

“Fuck doll,” North said.

For maybe the first time since Jadon had known him, Shaw choked on his spit.

“What?” Jadon asked.

Slapping Shaw on the back, North said, “You want a fuck doll. A sex doll. That’s great, Jay. That’s easy. You can get good ones in Japan, we’ll find you one.”

“I don’t—”

“Yeah, you do. Doesn’t bother you. Doesn’t complain. Stays home and is available whenever you need him. Doesn’t mind being second in your life. That’s a fuck doll, buddy. You get that and a maid service, and you’re set.”

By that point, Shaw had recovered enough to say, “North!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re—” Shaw grimaced. “Well, actually, he might be right.”

Jadon transferred the puppy to Shaw’s lap and stood. “Okay, I remember why I never come to you for advice.”

Shaw squawked—it was hard to tell, because Jadon only saw it out of the corner of his eye, but it looked like the puppy had bitten him and, for only an instant, appeared immensely proud of itself—and stood, dislodging the puppy onto the sofa. North immediately bent to check on the dog, saying, “Be careful with him!” The look on Shaw’s face made Jadon think of the lady who made dresses out of skin. Pointy teeth, indeed.

Cradling the dog to his chest, North gave Shaw a passing glare and then said to Jadon, “Life is a bitch, Jay. It’s not fair. It’s miserable. And relationships are hard as fuck, especially when one of you is a grown-ass man who gets jealous of a puppy.”

“He bit me! Jadon, you saw him!”

“I’m not saying I’m the expert, but I’ll tell you one thing: there’s no such thing as a complication-free relationship. You’re never going to find a person who’s going to take a back seat and give you all the benefits without any of the emotional commitment, without the compromises, without the sacrifices. If that’s what you want, then, yeah, I guess you should let Nico go, because it wouldn’t be fair to him. But if you’re tired of being the Million Dollar Man or a cyborg or whatever the fuck you are living off almond butter and oat groats, if you want an actual human life with an actual human man and an actual fucking chance at happiness, then nut up, buddy, and go tell him you’re sorry.”

Jadon stared at him. “That has got to be the worst motivational speech I’ve ever heard. That’s got to be worse than the one Shaw gave that cannibal.”

“It got better at the end,” Shaw reassured North, “when you got to the part about ‘nut up.’”

“Fuck you,” North said, “and fuck you. Fuck the pair of you, you old pocket wangs.”

Jadon rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how to put it into words, the way when he thought of Nico, he could feel the emotions building, feel the static charge that made the hairs on his arms stand up, feel himself rushing toward—something. And then a part of him balked, and he knew what that was: fear. A kid who’s so afraid of the dark. “Oh my God,” he said, unable to help the dismay in his voice. “I have to talk to him.”

North snorted.

At the door, Shaw kissed his cheek.

“Do not fuck this up,” North said.

“You’re going to do great,” Shaw said. “Call us and tell us how it goes.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Jadon said.

“Thank God,” North said and started to close the door.

As Jadon made his way down the walk, Shaw said, “You realize that I slept with Jadon, and Jadon slept with Nico, and Nico slept with Emery, which means by the transitive property, Emery and I are lovers.”

“By the transitive property,” North said, “that means you’ve fucked a goat.”

“Always a pleasure,” Jadon called over his shoulder.

The door slammed shut.

It was going to be an easy murder to solve, Jadon thought. Honestly, the judge and jury might even find North’s actions justified.