Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

M onday morning alarms sucked, especially when there wasn’t much of a weekend to speak of. Tracey rolled over and slapped at the offending sound, but he was too out of it to connect with the snooze button.

Jon pinned him to the mattress while reaching for the phone with a much steadier hand. His warmth enveloped Tracey in their cocoon of covers. The beeping stopped.

“Mmm.” Tracey grabbed Jon’s arm and wrapped it around himself, burrowing into the pillow.

Jon chuckled sleepily in his ear and threw a leg over his hip for good measure.

This was Tracey’s favorite part of the day, just beginning to stir and realizing the night had been a good one, no startling awake in the wee hours with the ghost of burned rubber in his nose or shattered glass and gunshots in his ears.

Jon’s warm weight felt nice, too—soothing and in control rather than a clammy dampness and rapid breathing that came with sometimes covering him to shield him from an unseen danger.

Nightmares were less frequent for both of them, though not entirely gone. Jon had also described new layers of complexity in his. Sometimes he chased an old foe, and sometimes he stood as the lone soldier against an invisible yet terrifying enemy. He seemed more unsettled by them than the ones where he threatened past devils. Tracey understood. It was hard to counter the unknown and nebulous.

Not today, Satan. Tracey grabbed Jon’s hand and threaded their fingers. The arm tightened, and for the briefest of moments, he considered calling in sick and convincing Jon to do so as well. Ignoring his pressures, his leg, his unease of late and playing hooky with his boyfriend sounded nice.

But no, that was irresponsible, especially when they had a fresh case. He would never dream of it anyway. Not when there were people in the crosshairs of a potential serial killer so phantom, he didn’t even pop up on law enforcement’s radar, let alone for the predator’s target population.

Over the weekend, they’d gotten up to speed on the other jurisdictions’ victims.

Dalton Lewis was the first man killed in Chicago. He was an out gay man fresh from grad school, and had just landed his first professional job at a marketing firm downtown. While his case was still open, initial investigative inquiries had followed a path to the local kink community. Many of Lewis’s friends corroborated his belonging to fetish groups. Investigators formed a preliminary opinion his death was possibly the result of an inexperienced partner too scared to come forward, though they’d initially gone hard at his ex-boyfriend. Friends were busy pointing fingers at a multitude of others, so Unit 4 was planning several phone calls to unravel the gossip from facts, especially now that some time had passed since Lewis’s death.

The second victim, Malcolm Irwin, was also a Chicagoan, which was when Sarena’s initial instincts had begun firing after conversations with the Illinois field office liaison, Mike Kelley. Irwin, too, was a submissive, and so initially, the focus narrowed to the BDSM community.

However, Malcolm Irwin’s friend group had looked nothing like Dalton Lewis’s, and there was zero overlap despite the kink community being a relatively small one. Irwin’s friends had insisted that he was committed to his Dom, who had been distraught at the news of his death. The pair, by all accounts, had been a shining example of safe, sane, and consensual in the BDSM community, and they were highly regarded by everyone who knew them.

They practiced ethical non-monogamy, and one of their boundaries was that any time they played with others, they informed their partner of their plans, and the sex was always vanilla. Malcolm’s submission was only for Paul, his Dom. Paul had told detectives that Malcolm had informed him of a planned hookup with someone from Smoldr, but that it was a one-off and shouldn’t have been anything kinky. He was as shocked as anyone to learn that Malcolm had been gagged and had GHB in his system. An enormous part of their boundaries were that they never engaged in any sort of kink play, like gagging or breath play—the strangulation—with someone else, and never while impaired. Ever.

He hadn’t even known Malcolm liked chemsex. Investigators, however, had discovered through past conversations in Smoldr that Malcolm had enjoyed GHB with previous no-strings-attached partners.

Wyatt Powell in Atlanta had been the third victim, followed by Ethan Wright in DC.

As the case details began their parade through his mind, he found his mental footing. The weird unease that had plagued him through the weekend went quiet. A welcome reprieve that made playing hooky with Jon seem like a bad idea.

Brain now firing in work mode, Tracey slipped from the bed to go shower, ignoring Jon’s sound of protest. He silenced the snooze before it could go off again, and went to ready himself for the office. Work he could throw himself into. Work he was good at. Work meant he didn’t have to think about his leg, or his dreams.

Jon’s presence beside him at the kitchen counter was subdued while they gathered their things to begin their day.

“Everything okay?”

“What? Yeah.” Tracey secured the lid on his travel mug. “Just feel like my cylinders are firing and I’m ready to go.” He went out to the car before Jon was finished pouring his coffee.

A few minutes later, Jon joined him. Except for the morning traffic report and low music, they didn’t say much.

The weekend spent watching interviews of those closest to the out-of-state victims meant their team had a good idea of where to begin filling the holes in their information.

Dalton Lewis and Wyatt Powell both had small traces of DNA from the perp recovered from their bodies, Lewis from a bite mark on his upper arm, and Powell from his neck. Sarena called the medical examiner’s office in D.C. to ask them to reexamine Ethan Wright’s body, and especially his neck, for touch DNA, just in case there was a sample that could be gleaned.

While the examiner was agreeable, they passed on more good news: while Sarena had first reported that Wright’s body had been so thoroughly wiped down that there weren’t any biological traces or other distinctive fibers besides those found in his mouth from the washrag, they’d also thought there hadn’t been any fingerprints. However, under an alternate light source, the examiner had discovered a partial print on the back of Wright’s left knee. It was not the best quality, and it didn’t get a hit in AFIS, the FBI’s fingerprint database. However, there were enough points to compare to a suspect when they developed one.

It was another layer tying the cases together. If they could match the DNA between Powell and Lewis, and the fingerprint from the Powell scene to the one behind Wright’s knee, the only link missing would be to Irwin’s crime scene.

Malcolm Irwin was strongly tied to the cases by the circumstances of his death—he’d been murdered in a similar manner, had GHB in his system, and was also a known submissive.

So far, everything tracked.

Tracey had begun stacking the information into a preliminary profile.

Their suspect was outwardly controlled. He met most of these men in the semi-public setting of the motels without attracting attention. Hell, he’d gotten in and out without setting off alarm bells at all, even after killing the victims.

The ability to walk away without showing signs of having just committed murder took an enormous level of self-possession.

Like the level of cool Curtis Donnelly exhibited during his interview?

Technically yes, but Tracey didn’t think Donnelly was it, despite not being one hundred percent forthright. Did it matter that Wyatt Powell was killed in a private residence? Donnelly was a tough call.

The team spent Monday chasing information, cultivating forensics data, gathering crime scene photos, and speaking to local investigators for impressions from observation of the bodies, scenes, friends, and relatives. While the photos weren’t as good as being present, they’d provide enough insight to make behavioral observations.

It was a lot of desk work and talking on the phone. Tracey didn’t mind it, but he still preferred fieldwork, despite how badly their last assignment had gone for him.

He clicked through photo after photo of the crime scene for Dalton Lewis.

“God, he almost looks like he fell asleep and didn’t wake up. Except for the neck bruises.” He hadn’t been speaking to anyone in particular. Sarena and Perry were absorbed in their work, and Jon was… off somewhere. Tracey had a vague memory of him chasing conversion therapy leads.

Sarena glanced over from comparing autopsy reports. “Yeah, there are a lot of bodies that seem that way until you look closer. That and their ages give away that these aren’t natural causes.”

“Makes me more positive with every case that I’m going out on my own terms.” Perry’s nonchalance disguised the punch of the words.

“What do you mean?” Tracey wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

“Death is a cruel endgame. We all want to go peacefully in our sleep, right? But who really knows, and the not knowing is the worst part.” Perry remained glued to his monitor, scrolling through files. Tracey wondered if he was really seeing what he was looking at though. He sounded kind of far away. “If we get sick, it could be painful and drawn out. If we get hurt, like in a car wreck, it could be quick but agonizing. It could also be way sooner than we expect. So unless death takes me by surprise, I have mine planned out.”

Sarena peered at him between the monitors. “How are you gonna do it?” She sounded more curious than horrified.

“That’s my secret until the day I die, thank you very much. I don’t want anyone deciding it’s not the death I should have.”

Tracey frowned. “Who would decide that? And why?”

Perry shrugged. “My loved ones, maybe. People who might not want me to go out my way, who may want me to stick around longer than I’m prepared for. Whoever. I believe in the right to die, so I really don’t want to mess that up.”

“Fair enough.” Sarena sat back and returned to her reports.

“And you’re just okay with that?” Tracey stared at her.

She shrugged. “Who’m I to say he can’t? I’m no one’s authority. Plus, I grew up Catholic, so I have all kinds of conflicting beliefs about death and the afterlife. I’m all messed up about it.” She chuckled and waved a hand by her temple to indicate a scrambled brain, but her voice carried just enough of an edge, Tracey wasn’t sure she was entirely joking.

For the rest of the day, he pondered the conversation while flipping through scene photos and trying to work up his preliminary profile of their phantom serial killer.

“We’ve got a match!” Sarena slammed down her phone with a triumphant whoop.

This time, Jon was back, and he immediately rounded their desks to look at her screen. “What match?”

She dismissed her screen. “Not this. That call was fingerprint analysis. The Powell scene print from the primary bathroom faucet matches the partial found behind Ethan Wright’s knee. There’s no name from AFIS, but Powell’s killer is Wright’s killer.” Sarena swiveled her chair back and forth, her grin wide and self-satisfied.

“Let’s hope the rest of our testing goes so well.” Jon resumed his seat, his posture a little straighter.

Tracey felt it, too. It was methodical. Clues becoming puzzle pieces, clicking into place. Soon, they’d have a picture. Soon.

“ H ere, taste.” Jon held a wooden spoon, hand cupped beneath to catch drips.

“What is it?” The burst of richness bloomed across Tracey’s taste buds, layered with subtle sweetness followed by delicate herbs. Then he caught red wine behind everything else.

“Bordelaise sauce for the steaks.”

“Wow, you’re going all out.” Tracey licked his lips, trying to decide if he liked the aftertaste.

“Is the wine still too strong? I can’t figure out if it’s balanced yet.”

Tracey held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Maybe a smidge? It’s really good apart from that. But I have no idea how you’d fix that.”

“That’s okay, I have a trick or two up my sleeve.” Jon kissed his cheek, then dug in the fridge for the magic ingredients.

“Do I have time to shower?”

“Maybe only a quick rinse. Brian and Tristan will be here any minute.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

Jon pulled more food from the fridge. “Nah. I’m just going to chop some veggies for a quick salad and fix this sauce.”

“Okay.” Tracey shuffled out of the kitchen, passing the table, which was already set with nice plates he hadn’t seen before, cloth napkins, and tapered candles in tall glass holders. Jon had even threaded the napkins through wooden rings and put the rolled up tubes diagonally across the plates. “Fancy.” He said that bit under his breath as he slowly ascended the stairs.

Being an out couple to Jon’s friends had sounded really good at first. Facing it now was surprisingly daunting. Part of him was intrigued by the type of people Jon would befriend. Was that what bothered him, that he couldn’t anticipate what he was walking into? He prided himself on reading people, but Jon was such an enigma, he couldn’t picture the sort of people he would choose as friends. He had no idea what to expect of Brian, and by extension, Tristan.

Who was Jon’s best friend really? He’d called him a drinking buddy, but he knew they were close. Was he a stuffed shirt type who liked classical music and knew more than his fair share about the history of theater or, God forbid, politics? Or maybe he was a wine or whisky connoisseur. Or was it whiskey, and what was the difference? Tracey wouldn’t understand the conversation because he had no clue about those things.

Jon had also been off-kilter the last few days. He’d said it was the difficulty of the conversion therapy angle and Ethan Wright’s double life.

Tracey had been unsettled for reasons that had little to do with their case. Patrick Byrne’s outrageous flirtation right in front of him had showcased—quite starkly—his flare for jealousy, and just how much of his career was on the line by dating Jon. Was he ready to face that music, should it play to the wrong people? Did he really want to sign up for that, especially when other parts of his life weren’t peachy, namely his leg healing too slowly?

This whole date night was meant to uncage them both. At least, Tracey hoped it would, but maybe he was putting too much pressure on it.

The weekend spent working in Jon’s family room rather than the office—Tracey policing his every move and expression—had highlighted exactly how hidden they were. The point was driven home with Perry and Sarena in their space.

Relax. Even if Brian is some kind of super cultured, extraordinarily intelligent, and well-read person, any friend of Jon’s will be interesting, not intimidating.

Besides, Tracey was no slouch. He may not know drinks or the intricacies of politics, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t ask smart questions. Brian was a bartender, not an astrophysicist. He talked to people for a living. It was part of his job. There was no reason to be nervous.

Out of time for a decent shower, he shed his work clothes and stared at his side of the closet, clueless on what to wear. The ringing of the doorbell interrupted his mental spiral over that. He’d officially run out of time.

He settled on the black jeans his best friend Grayson had called his “pulling” jeans, and a short-sleeved button-down with tiny gold flamingoes over a generic gray t-shirt. A bit whimsical so he didn’t take himself too seriously while also not being too casual given that Jon had made bordelaise sauce .

He needed to call Gray soon. Suddenly, the best friend-shaped hole in his life ached the most it had since he’d moved.

Finger combing some product into his hair at the last second, Tracey decided he was as good as he was going to get. Hopefully he appeared carefree rather than sloppy with his deliberately messy hair and trimmed beard. He wanted this to go well. Cologne spritz, and done. Nothing left but to go be out .

Descending the steps, he caught a glimpse of a blond man sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, his boyfriend standing beside him, arm draped around his shoulders.

They burst into laughter as Jon pointed a pair of bamboo salad tongs at the blond man and said, “Brian. Behave yourself.”

Brian was muscular and had a very white, wide smile. He pulled off the artfully stubbled look with ease. Tristan was tall with a slender build, his dark hair longer on top and curly. He had one dangling earring and his blunt nails were painted black. Both men were dressed very casually, in jeans—Brian’s had rips at the knees—and open button-downs layered over a tight shirts that made it clear they were fit.

Tracey let out a sigh of relief at how much he’d been overthinking things. This will be fun. Relax .

When he entered the kitchen, he was barely cognizant of his limp, and his smile was wide and genuine as he held his hand out to their guests.

“Hello! You must be the famous Brian I’ve heard so much about.”

Everyone turned to him, and Brian stood. Tracey was surprised to have almost six inches on the guy. But what Brian lacked in height, he made up for in presence. He bro-gripped Tracey’s hand and pulled him into a shoulder-bump hug, clapping him hard enough on the back to be startling.

“I think you mean infamous. It’s about time I get to meet you, Tracey. I was starting to think Jon was keeping you all to himself.” Brian let go and gave him an obvious down-up. “And now I see why.” He turned to Jon. “I very much approve.”

Tracey darted a glance at Jon, who rolled his eyes and sidled over to put an arm around Tracey’s waist. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Jon was staking his claim.

“Brian. I said behave.” He kissed Tracey’s cheek. “Please don’t let him overwhelm you.” Then he glared at his friend. “Brian can be very over the top sometimes, but he’s a gentleman at heart.” The last bit was clearly a warning.

Tracey felt his smile turn brittle. Don’t alienate the one non-work friend Jon has. Don’t alienate the one non-work friend.

Tristan stepped forward before Brian could voice a rebuttal, giving Tracey a much more subdued but friendly handshake. “Nice to meet you, man. Thank you for inviting me, too. It’s nice to meet the people Brian talks about all the time.”

Tracey smiled, some genuineness creeping back in. “Of course. To be honest, I’m really glad you both could be here. I’ve only lived in D.C. for a couple months, and I haven’t met anyone outside of work. I need friends who aren’t coworkers. Don’t get me wrong, the team is great, but variety is the spice of life, right? I want to have friends who aren’t in my life based on their resumés.” The others laughed with him.

“What can I get everyone to drink?” Jon rubbed his hands together, his smile a little lopsided, like he knew Tracey felt awkward but he found it endearing.

Brian pointed to the bottle on the island. “You had me bring a Cab Sav. Uncork that fucker so it has time to breathe before the steaks are done. But for now, I’ll have a bourbon highball.” He grinned. “It’s not often other people make me a cocktail. I take advantage wherever I can.”

“I’ll just have a beer. I’m easy.” Tristan rested his arm around Brian’s shoulder.

Brian grabbed Tristan’s ass. “Damn right you are.”

Tristan narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend but said nothing.

Hmm. So maybe it’s not just me feeling off-key. Tracey, oddly, found comfort in the realization. Was Brian as unnerved about these intros as he was?

“Ginger ale or lemon juice, Brian? I have both.” Jon stayed polite, pointedly ignoring his friend’s crassness.

Brian cocked his head and cleared his throat as if the message had been received from both men. “Look at you, Mr. Bartender. Ginger ale please.”

“I need to run to the basement for the bourbon. Tracey, do you want your usual?”

“Yes, please.” Tracey’s favorite drink, an Arctic Circle, was made with vodka, ginger ale, and lime juice, so it worked nicely with Brian’s drink.

“Follow me, Tristan. You can come choose your poison from a few different beer options.” Jon stopped at the open basement door.

“Oh, uh. Sure. That’d be great.” Tristan disappeared down the stairs after Jon.

“And then there were two. I suppose I’ll open the wine since Jon’s playing gracious host.” Brian went right to the utensil drawer and extracted the corkscrew. “How are you liking D.C. so far?”

So Brian knew the kitchen well enough he didn’t have to search for the appropriate drawer. Interesting.

“To be honest, I haven’t explored much. Work keeps us pretty busy.” Tracey hesitated, not sure how much Jon had told Brian, nor how much of his gunshot recovery he wanted to open up about. But the point of this evening was to make friends, so he swallowed the instinct to be tight-lipped. “Since I’m only just off the crutches, I’ve been slow getting out. Not the most auspicious beginning.”

Brian looked up while twisting the skewer into the cork with expert precision. “That’s right. Jon was vague about the details, but he said you were laid up for a bit. He was worried though. That was very obvious.”

Tracey studied Brian as he put more attention than necessary on the wine. He didn’t pry, which raised him in Tracey’s estimation and made it easier to be forthcoming.

“Jon’s been great. It was his suggestion I stay here for the last few weeks, actually. My townhouse is three stories, lots of stairs, narrow everything, and I’m barely unpacked. Boxes everywhere. You don’t realize how much you rely on a limb until you can’t use it, especially a weight-bearing one. My recovery would have been a nightmare without his help.”

Brian smiled as the cork popped out. He pushed the bottle to the middle of the island where it could breathe in peace. “Most people don’t get to see Jon’s generous side, but for those who do, it runs deep. You’re a lucky guy, Tracey.”

He couldn’t stop the smile breaking across his face, and it surprised him how much that soothed his doubts. “I’ve really liked being here, too. Not just because it benefits me. It’s been fun spending time with Jon. Other than keeping us a secret, he’s easy to be with.”

“Keeping you a secret?” Brian put the corkscrew back and retook his stool at the island.

“Work. No fraternization. It complicates cases, we shouldn’t be on the same team, and Jon’s our team lead, so he’s technically my supervisor-slash-mentor. It’s inappropriate.” He made finger quotes. “But not once has he pressured me about us. If anything, I got frustrated with him in the beginning for being too cautious.”

Brian nodded. “That sounds about right. He’s not one to let others risk anything for him. But can I ask you something?”

Tracey nodded. “Yeah. I can’t say I’ll answer if it’s too personal, since I only just met you, but I’ll try.”

“Fair enough. Does being secretive bother you?”

“Kind of? I mean, I’m only just figuring out that I’m into men, too. So I’m not jumping up and down to lead a Pride parade. But keeping quiet about my personal life at work is harder than I expected.

“I’m the new guy, so people make small talk, ask about my family, my background, my home life. It’s eye-opening not fitting the normal relationship mold anymore.” Tracey shook his head ruefully. “But it’s part of why we’ve invited you and Tristan for dinner, aside from Jon wanting me to meet his friends. We want to be a couple wherever we can. That way, work is the only place where it’s a secret. Maybe then it won’t feel like a prison.”

Brian dropped his hand, his knuckles rapping lightly on the marble countertop. His brows furrowed. “So if we’re in on your secret, that means we can’t say anything in front of your coworkers.”

“That’s right.” Jon emerged from the basement with two liquor bottles tucked under an arm, and his fingers curled around a pair of bar glasses. Behind him, Tristan held a cardboard six-pack carrier with assorted beer bottles and a single bottle in the other hand. “You’re part of the conspiracy, and you can’t say anything to Perry, Sarena, or Ron next time we’re at The Glass for drinks.”

Groaning, Brian smacked his forehead. “What have you done? That’s a lot of pressure.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the bartender version of a priest at confession time. People always tell you their secrets. I’m sure you can handle it.” Jon mixed the drinks, then plucked one of the beers for himself, put the remainder in the fridge, and pulled out the platter of steaks. Clicking the grilling tongs twice, he gestured at his bottle. “Tracey, do you mind bringing my beer out to the patio?”

A chill had settled in under a darkening slate-gray evening sky, but Jon had set the heat lamps going earlier when he’d preheated the grill, so the backyard patio was comfortable without a jacket. Crisscrossed strands of white lights gave off a warm, romantic glow.

The steaks sizzled as Jon lay them on the grill while everyone found seats on the comfortable outdoor furniture. He took his beer from Tracey, leaning over for a kiss before sitting down so close they touched from shoulder to knee. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Jon shrugged. “Bringing my beer. Being patient with me. Keeping me company in this big, lonely house the last few weeks.”

Heat suffused Tracey’s cheeks at such an honest answer in front of guests. “You’ve been helping me. Not the other way around. It’s your patience dealing with my injury and… everything.” There were many layers between them Tracey didn’t want to bring up in front of the others. Not just because he didn’t know how much of their common demons—like the nightmares—Brian knew about, but he also didn’t want to split himself that far open during his first meeting with Jon’s friends.

He focused on their guests side-by-side on the opposite two-seater. “How did you two meet?”

Tristan’s smile widened. “Brian and I are part of a very extraordinary club.”

Brian chuckled, then took a quick sip and shook his head, like he was amused but also a little embarrassed. Tracey had a hard time imagining Brian could be easily embarrassed by anything.

“Club? Like a gym or something?”

Jon tilted his beer toward Brian. “I don’t think I’ve even heard this story.”

Groaning, Brian put his glass on the low wooden table beside him. “Okay, fine.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he addressed Tracey. “What you have to understand is that the bartender lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to easy relationships. Many of my exes swore in the beginning they were fine with my late hours, my flirting for better tips, and customers throwing themselves at me for free drinks. The partners I did the best with were the ones who were okay with open relationships.”

Tracey wanted to ask if he and Tristan were open, but he figured that wasn’t any of his business, and he didn’t know how to phrase it without sounding like he was asking , asking.

Brian must’ve seen his curiosity, but all he did was pick up his drink and sip, his unoccupied hand landing on Tristan’s knee.

Tristan’s eyes twinkled. “Anyway, one of Brian’s exes had the habit of introducing his situationships to each other even if they weren’t all aware of how ‘open’ their relationship with him was.”

Tracey’s eyes widened. “He was cheating?”

Brian gave Jon an approving look. “He’s quick.”

“Told you.” Jon squeezed Tracey close while more heat bloomed up his neck. He wondered how often Jon and Brian talked about him.

Tristan kept his narrative going. “It blew up in the ex’s face, though, because when Brian and I met, it didn’t create the catfight he hoped for. Instead, we felt a serious spark and realized how rude the ex was. We iced him out and created our own relationship with better boundaries.”

“Much better.” Brian lifted his face toward Tristan in obvious invitation. Tristan obliged with a short but tender kiss.

Tracey turned toward Jon to whisper, “Is it really awful that I want to ask so many questions right now?”

Jon’s eyes danced. “That’s normal, but be careful what box you’re opening. Brian has zero issues with oversharing. Proceed carefully.”

“Jesus, Jon, you weren’t kidding when you said he wears his earnestness on his sleeve.” Brian laughed as he rattled the ice around in his drink, then drained it.

Jon leaned forward. “Another round for everyone?”

Their guests made affirmative sounds.

Tracey finished his drink to hide mild embarrassment and held out his glass. Jon went inside, leaving Tracey alone with the other two.

“It’s okay, you can ask.” Brian was sincere and only a smidge wolfish.

“So, the ex. What happened to him?” Tracey figured he could start with something relatively safe.

“Oh, we both blocked him.” Brian seemed unbothered. “He’d already friend-zoned me because he hated my job, like so many before him. But he was super pissed Tristan took the trash out first instead of waiting to be discarded.”

“Wow, he sounds like a jerk.”

“He is. But he’s someone else’s problem, now.”

“So how long have you been together?”

Brian seemed hesitant and shot a glance through the sliding door where Jon was visible mixing more drinks. “Um, I think Tristan and I got together officially at the beginning of August. Just about three months now?” He looked to Tristan.

“That sounds about right.” Tristan confirmed. “We met for the first time at that horrible July fourth party where Chet invited too many of his harem for a different kind of fireworks and to make sure he’d get laid that night. That was where we discovered the truth.”

Brian snorted. “Yeah. Then we hooked up a couple of times and decided we had smokin’ chemistry.” They talked as if they were in a bubble and no one else was around.

Tracey almost didn’t want to interrupt, but Jon returned with fresh drinks and broke the spell anyway. As he resettled after turning the steaks, Tracey shifted, opening his mouth, then deciding against saying more and closing his mouth with a small head shake.

Brian smiled. “It’s okay. Ask.”

Glancing at Jon, who gave him a slight nod, Tracey sighed. “Okay. What makes what you’re doing now okay compared to, what was his name? Chet?” Tracey blinked. “First question, how did you not know he was a jerk with a name like Chet?”

Brian laughed. “Okay, Jon. I like him. A lot.”

“I do, too.”

Tristan acquiesced after his laughter died down. “That wasn’t your original question.”

“Yeah, okay. How is what you two have now better than what was happening with Chet if both, um, all three? Those relationships were open?” Tracey gestured between them.

Brian twined his fingers with Tristan’s. “Chet wasn’t telling everyone he was seeing other people. If he didn’t think a partner would accept it, he’d let them think they were exclusive while he snuck around behind their backs. With those of us he thought would be cool, he was honest. That’s how I knew he was seeing other people but Tristan didn’t. For some reason, Chet didn’t think he would like it.”

Tristan swallowed a sip of beer. “I wouldn’t have cared, except he lied to me. This relationship is better because Brian and I tell each other we’re meeting someone else before it happens. We’re honest with our hookups that it’s just sex, no strings. And no regulars. No hookups become relationships because we don’t let them get that far. Everyone knows the situation. Sometimes Brian and I play together with a third. The point is the honesty. Those are our rules. If we find ourselves in an unexpected situation, we talk it out. Always.”

Tracey let that sink in. “You know what, that makes complete sense. And I can see how the other way was a problem. It’s full of secrets and deceit.” He looked at Jon, smiling. “Secrets suck.”

Jon brought their joined hands up to kiss his knuckles.

“Aww, I am happy for you.” Brian scooted to the edge of the cushion. “I can’t tell you, Tracey, how many times I told Jon he needed to get back out there after Erik left.”

Jon pointed his bottle at his friend. “That’s a bit different than dumping Chet. You’d only been with him a few weeks. Erik and I were engaged. I had a right to take my time mourning the future he took with him when he left.”

“I know.” Brian raised a hand in surrender, then clasped his glass on his knee while Tristan rubbed his back affectionately. “But I hated seeing you so lost and alone. Throwing yourself into work like you did wasn’t healthy either.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Let’s not parade all my flaws out for scrutiny. It wasn’t my finest hour, but I wouldn’t have been in the right headspace for Tracey if I’d have met him right after Erik left anyway. I had some healing to do.” He squeezed Tracey’s fingers.

Brian’s expression softened. “I’m not going to air all your dirty laundry. I’m just saying it’s great to see you smiling again. I’m glad you listened to my advice.”

“‘Advice?’”

Now, Jon rolled his eyes. “I stopped into Brian’s bar to bend his ear before coming to your townhouse for that big conversation. I needed some outside perspective, and Brian’s the kind of friend who doesn’t pull punches.”

“Nope. No point, is there? Besides, you’re stubborn and think you’re always right, so sometimes I have to be extra super dramatic just to get you to hear me. And it worked!” He sat back and tucked himself under Tristan’s arm, his smile bordering on smug.

“I think the steaks are done. Let’s eat, shall we?”

They all stood while Jon put his back to them to man the grill. Tracey led everyone back inside. Brian leaned in, voice low.

“He’s not embarrassed he needed encouragement to grow a pair and tell you how he felt. He just wants all the credit for it.” His eyes danced with mischief.

Tracey understood Brian was just ribbing his friend, but it set a funny buzzing going in his back teeth, like he used to get when something made him uncomfortable but he couldn’t pinpoint why.

“He’s the one who did the confessing, so he gets credit for the hard part. But thank you for being a good friend to him when he wanted a sounding board.”

Brian patted his shoulder.

They arranged themselves around the table as Jon presented the steaks with a flourish. Then he brought foil-wrapped baked potatoes, the bowl of salad, and a basket of oven-fresh rolls to the table. He made one more trip to the kitchen to return with the bordelaise sauce, which he drizzled over the steaks.

Tracey surveyed the food and fetched the butter, salt and pepper mills, and the Cabernet Sauvignon. He also filled the water glasses Jon had set at each place setting.

They tucked into their food with gusto, praising the chef and satiating their immediate hunger before conversation picked back up.

The questions turned toward Tracey as Brian and Tristan made an effort to learn about his upbringing in Minnesota and his background before he moved to D.C. and joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

“If this is your first time dating a man, how have your parents handled it?” Brian popped a morsel of bread into his mouth.

“Oh, um.” Tracey had difficulty swallowing a bite of steak, and needed a sip of wine to help it along. “I haven’t told them about… my bisexual revelation just yet. This is all new to me, and it’s hard to know the right time for anything. I mean, I’m almost thirty. Most people have their sexuality figured out by now. Which is why I’m still working out what to tell them, considering this will blindside them even more at our ages. I’ve thought about just saying, ‘Hey guys! Meet my boyfriend!’” Tristan and Brian shared a look. “Bad idea?”

Tristan put a hand on Brian’s forearm, like he was stopping him from saying something. Then he addressed Tracey. “Can I offer you a piece of friendly insight that I learned the hard way?”

Tracey sipped his water to combat a dry throat. “Sure. Please do.”

“I came out to my parents exactly like that, by introducing them to my high school boyfriend, Shawn. I should have told them I was gay first and given them time to get used to it. They ended up being cool, but they needed to wrap their heads around it and rearrange their image of me. The impression they made on Shawn wasn’t great. He thought their shock was dislike of him, and he felt unwelcome in our house. If I’d waited a week or two after coming out for him to meet them, things would have been much nicer. It caused a lot of insecurity in our relationship that could have been avoided.

“Of course, my story isn’t your story, and your parents may be great. Plus, Jon isn’t some insecure teenager, and I’m certain he’d handle any reaction like an adult. Hell, present-day-Shawn probably wouldn’t have the trouble high-school-Shawn had.” Tristan smiled reassuringly. Then he gripped Tracey’s hand. “But your parents may appreciate the chance to react honestly without the added pressure of an audience they’re supposed to be polite to. Know what I mean?”

“That’s… a really good point.” Tracey slipped his hand out from under Tristan’s and sat back. “I hadn’t thought about that.” He turned to Jon, feeling sheepish and uncomfortable. “Does that bother you? If I don’t have you meet them immediately?”

Jon pulled Tracey close to kiss his temple. “I’ll meet your parents when you’re ready for me to.” He stood and began clearing dishes. “Brian, would you mind helping me?”

Brian jumped to his feet. “Sure thing.”

“Tracey, why don’t you show Tristan the rest of the house? Then we’ll have dessert in the family room.”

“Okay.” They carried their plates to the counter beside the sink, then Tristan followed Tracey from the kitchen.

Brian didn’t quite wait until Tracey had herded Tristan from the kitchen before speaking not quite sotto voce enough . “Is this why you’re so twitchy tonight? Because he’s still in the closet?”

As Tracey reached the steps, he thought he heard Jon hiss. “What the hell, Brian?” Jon slapped the water faucet on to start rinsing dishes, so he couldn’t hear the response.

Tracey gestured for Tristan to precede him. “You first. I’m slow on stairs. My right calf muscle is still rebuilding after being shot in September.”

Tristan paused several stairs above him and turned, his expression shocked. “You got shot?”

He stopped on the step below. “Yeah, on my first case with the FBI, which isn’t a great track record. You probably heard about the Family Man in St. Louis.”

Tristan blinked, then finished climbing to the hallway balcony overlooking the family room below. “That’s insane. I guess when Brian said you two were FBI agents, it didn’t really register what that meant. Are you okay?”

Tracey moved to the railing and leaned against it. “Most of it’s been reported in the news, so it’s public knowledge. Jacob Finch kidnapped me for a bargaining chip to negotiate with in his end game, whatever it was. When I didn’t go quietly, he shot me to make me cooperative. It worked.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Maybe it was Tristan’s compassionate expression, or maybe it was that Brian was just wrong , but Tracey couldn’t stand not setting the record straight.

“I’m not in the closet. I’ve just not had the chance to come out to people yet.”

Tristan studied him, his expression full of sympathy. “You don’t have to explain. I mean, if anyone understands why tonight has been a whole vibe, it’s me.”

“What do you mean?”

Cocking his head, Tristan seemed amused. “Well, because you and I, we’re the chosen ones.”

“‘Chosen ones?’”

Gesturing over the balcony rail, he indicated Jon and Brian below as they set up dessert in the family room. “We’re the ones to finally come between those two.”

Oh. Ohhhh.

Thinning his lips, Tracey could only nod. “Okay, so over here is the primary bedroom.”

He showed Tristan around the house, shifting the subject from any awkward discussion while his mind spun. What could he say? It would be obvious how bothered he was to be the last to know Jon and Brian were once a thing.

By the time they returned to the family room, Jon and Brian were jovial again, and Tracey could behave as if he wasn’t fresh off a major surprise. That didn’t mean he was ready to ask about the new information though.

They spoke about mutual friends, explaining to Tracey and Tristan who these people were as everyone enjoyed small slices of cheesecake with coffee.

When Jon offered refills on the coffees, their guests stood.

Brian’s smile was playfully smug. “Thank you, but we should get going. Everyone but me has work early tomorrow.”

“Of course.” They followed them to the front door where Jon retrieved their jackets from the front closet. “I don’t think we asked what you do for a living, Tristan.”

“I’m a travel agent specializing in booking international trips for same-sex couples. I make sure the countries my clients travel to are safe and inclusive for the alphabet spectrum.”

Tracey blinked as the implications sank in. “That’s really… wow. I wouldn’t have thought that would be a thing, but I bet there’s a lot of demand for that, isn’t there?”

Tristan’s expression was a little sad. “Unfortunately. My job is secure until human rights are universal everywhere, which I don’t see happening for a long time. But it’s a mostly fun job and I get to do some good in the world.” He finished donning his jacket. “It was so nice to meet you both. I hope we can do this again soon. We need to have you to one of our places next time.” He gripped Tracey’s arms and kissed his cheek, his expression warm and sincere.

“That’d be really nice.”

Brian, who’d been hugging Jon, turned to Tracey and yanked him into his arms. Tracey bent to the embrace, surprised. “Tristan has great ideas. In fact, gimme your phone.”

Tracey handed it over after unlocking it. Brian took a selfie, saving his name in the contacts with the new picture. Then he made Tracey and Jon pose together and texted himself the photo before handing the device back.

“There, now I have your info, and I can text you all the salacious gossip there is about Jon.”

Jon growled at him. “Do it and see what happens.”

“So touchy.”

“Let’s go before you cause an incident.” Tristan laughed, looping his arm through Brian’s and dragging him onto the front porch. “We’ll be in touch to see when you’re available again.”

“We’re counting on it. Thanks for coming, guys.” Jon waved, his momentary annoyance gone. He draped his arm across Tracey’s shoulders and watched as their friends backed out of the drive and disappeared down the street.

As they retreated to clean up, Tracey’s mind spun with multiple revelations.

“That went well, don’t you think?” Jon stacked the dessert plates as Tracey gathered coffee cups.

It’s too late in the evening to open a can of worms. “Yeah, they’re really nice. I had fun.” He tried to smile genuinely, but it didn’t feel authentic.

Jon’s face drooped. “What?”

Tracey followed him into the kitchen. “I’m just overtired. I built tonight up, and now it’s over, I think I’m crashing.”

Jon took the dishes from his hands and began to fill the sink with water and suds. “Are you sure that’s it?” He broke into a fond half-smile. “Don’t read too much into Brian. He pretends bartender intuition is a thing, and I’m his favorite subject. Most of the time, he’s just being dramatic. But tonight, all he was picking up on was that I wanted you to like him and vice versa. I was a little nervous about two very important people in my life liking each other. That’s it.”

Tracey plucked a dessert plate from the sink, rinsed suds off, and put it in the top rack of the dishwasher. There was his opening if he wanted it. He decided he didn’t. Not yet. He’d see if Jon told him about his and Brian’s history on his own. He deflected with a lesser concern. “You’re not bothered that I’m not completely out yet, are you?”

“Of course not.” Jon was adamant. “Take all the time you need. I read him the riot act, too, for being melodramatic. I also reminded him how much of a wreck he was the first time I met Tristan. He shut up then. So yeah, that’s really all there is.” He put a coffee cup in Tracey’s hands, then kissed his cheek. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Tracey loaded the cup, hating how honest Jon sounded despite it being a complete and utter lie. He was good. But so was Tracey. He shut the dishwasher, took Jon’s hand, and met his gaze. “I had fun.”

T racey had hoped the shower would give him the opportunity to relax about the evening, let the revelation about Jon’s history go, and be glad he’d had a good time and made new friends. As the hot water beat down on his tired muscles, however, he only got more tense.

Jon’s past wasn’t the problem. It was the lack of transparency.

He’s not the guy that lets people in easily. You know this.

That was, of course, what Tracey always told himself when Jon seemed distant. He tried to view Jon’s aloof nature as a bonus. His unflappable demeanor would keep them safe at work.

This time, it wasn’t working. This secret wedged under Tracey’s skin like a splinter. He almost wished Tristan hadn’t told him. Tristan didn’t seem to have trouble with it. Or course he hadn’t—Brian had told him.

Slapping the faucet to shut off the water, Tracey blew out a breath, more annoyed now than he’d been before getting into the shower. Giving himself a shake to let it go, he toweled off, brushed and flossed his teeth, and pulled on his boxer briefs.

When he exited the bathroom, he halted at the sight of Jon propped against the headboard, typing away on his laptop.

“You’re working now ?”

His irritation must have registered, because Jon glanced up, surprised. “I’m just making some quick notes about Enlightened Covenant Ministries to dig into tomorrow. I won’t be long. I promise.”

Quashing his mood, Tracey ducked into the closet to grab a long-sleeve shirt and sleep pants, and then crawled into bed beside Jon.

“Are you cold?”

“It’s late October, and your house is big and drafty. Sometimes I wake up cold.”

“I can turn the heat up if you want.”

“That’s not necessary.” Tracey scrolled his social media for a few minutes. He needed to get to sleep, but his mind wasn’t quiet enough. If Jon was going to be up working, he was never going to chill out. He threw off the covers and got out of bed. “I’m too restless to sleep. I’m going to go meditate and maybe sleep in one of the other rooms.”

“What?” Jon whipped a startled look at him, halting typing.

“You’re working, and I don’t want to disturb you, but I’m not going to fall asleep like this. It’s fine. I’m a guest. I shouldn’t be disrupting your routines as much as I already have.” God, had his living here kept Jon from working like normal? How much had Tracey upended his life?

“Trace, I’m almost done.”

He was already moving. “Seriously, Jon. I’m going to meditate. Don’t stop working because of me.”

“Tracey!”

The pit in his stomach grew, and he hated it. Jon had made him feel comfortable, but now, he wasn’t sure he should still be here. He certainly felt as though he’d overstayed his welcome. Did he even have any right to expect Jon to have told him about Brian? Jesus, he was so far out of his depth.

Letting himself into the guest room across the hallway, he shut the door and thumbed the lock. Then, he slipped into the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between guest rooms and locked those doors, too.

Dropping to the spongy bathmat and sitting lotus style, he let his head fall into his hands. His thoughts raced.

No peace. No peace. No peace.

No. He was not entertaining a flashback right now. Out of sheer willpower, he shut down the creeping panic and thought of something happy.

Grayson, his best friend, came to mind, and he remembered he’d been meaning to call him. No time like the present.

His hands shook as he thumbed to his favorite contacts and tapped Gray’s name.

“Hey, Trace! What’s up?”

“Hi. Got a minute?”

His voice must have betrayed his state of mind, because Gray immediately went from jovial and happy to hear from him to concerned. “Yeah, you okay?”

He considered pretending things were good, and he was just calling to catch up with his friend, but Gray always could tell when his mind was heavy.

“I’ve been better. I could really use an outside perspective.”

“Sure, man. What’s up?”

Tracey told him everything from the last couple of weeks—the poor prognosis for his leg, the growing unease he first interpreted as not wanting Jon to send him home, but now feeling uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t pinpoint. The new case—no details, just uncertainty he was ready after his last case ended so explosively.

“Tonight, I met Jon’s best friend, Brian, and his boyfriend, Tristan. The intention is for a life outside of work so we can be free as a couple in front of someone and not hide our relationship all the time. But then Tristan drops the bomb on me that Jon and Brian used to be together. Jon never told me.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Jon dated his best friend?”

“Sounds like it. He told me about almost getting married to Erik, and that’s not an issue. I don’t know why this is. We both have a history. It’d be weird if we didn’t. But it’s bugging me he didn’t tell me about this. He’s only ever said Brian is his best friend.”

“Huh.” Gray was quiet for a moment. “Do you care if he has a higher body count than you?”

Tracey gave it some thought. “Honestly, no. What bugs me is if Brian is a past boyfriend, and he just introduced him to me like that’s not important, do I not rate knowing that detail?”

“I’m sure that’s not it.”

“I don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Obviously, I don’t know Jon, so I can only guess, but maybe he didn’t think it was that important? Like he and Brian are clearly just friends now, so their past romantic status is what’s no big deal?”

Tracey rested his head backward on the lip of the tub, staring at the dark ceiling. His eyes had adjusted, and with his voice low, he wondered if the bathroom’s echo made his words carry. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to be having a confidential phone call. Where else was there, though? Basement?

“Then he should have had less trouble telling me. Not more.”

“Look.” Gray was sympathetic but no-nonsense. “You’ve had a lot going on lately. You just said you may need surgery on your leg if the new therapy doesn’t work, and there are no guarantees. You’re still having nightmares, and you’re dependent on Jon since you’re living with him and he’s driving you everywhere. Maybe that’s part of the problem.”

“What?”

“You’re way off-balance, and the guy you trust to help you, you just found out may be keeping secrets. If that doesn’t shake the trust, I don’t know what does.”

“That’s… a good point.”

“Of course it is. I made it.” Gray’s humor came through, but he sobered quickly. “Maybe you’re moving too fast, though. Maybe you should consider going back to your own place? Are there other coworkers who’d be willing to rotate driving you to and from work? Then you’re not so dependent on Jon.”

Tracey considered Perry and Sarena. They’d probably be willing. “I could possibly get rides from other people. It’s not like I can’t rideshare, too.”

“If you’re not in Jon’s pocket, then you can take a step back and get perspective on how much this Brian situation really bothers you. Figure out how to ask him about it.”

“Again, you’re right.”

“It’s a good thing your best friend is a headshrinker, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s not like my department-appointed therapist can help me with my forbidden relationship.”

“No, they can’t.” Gray hesitated. “Are you sleeping?”

“Some. The nightmares are better, thanks to the meditation recordings from Perry.”

“Good. Stick with that. Real talk, how is the leg feeling?”

“It hurts if I stand for long periods, and stairs are still a bitch, but it’s honestly okay. I’m never gonna be running marathons, but I’ll manage.”

“Good. Then you should go unpack your house. I think a lot of the pressure you’re under has to do with this relationship, and it’s moving quicker than you're ready to handle. You’re not totally moved in to your own space, so it’s no damned wonder you’re feeling unsettled and adrift after learning one admittedly not-great secret.”

He swallowed. “Shit, Gray. I think you nailed it. You’re really good at this.”

“Of course I am. It’s a lot of change in just a couple of months. You’re trying to make a whole new relationship dynamic—and your first time with a man—work on top of new job, new city, and after your first big case went boom. It’s a lot. No one would blame you for needing a minute to steady yourself. If Jon cares about you like he says, he’ll understand.

“I think you should back off and just date him instead of living with him. Maybe if you were just dating, he’d have told you about Brian in his own time. But because you’re in each other’s pockets, he didn’t know how to tell you because you’re already living together, and this seems like something to have disclosed before cohabiting, and telling you now feels too late. You’re not giving this relationship time to unfold. It’s zero to living together.”

“So it’s not because we were trying to stay secret?”

“Maybe that was part of it, but maybe it’s just getting used to everything on top of shitty medical news while recovering from a bad case.”

“And I’m coming out to my parents soon.”

Gray sucked air through his teeth. “You sure you’re ready for that, too? Alongside everything else?”

“Them not knowing is stressing me out. I’ve decided not to introduce Jon immediately, but I have to know how they’re going to react. It feels like the Sword of Damocles.” Tracey was reminded of the new case’s victims, and how Ethan Wright’s parents had sent him off to pray the gay away. He winced. “If they’re going to be jerks, I need to rip that Band-Aid off now.”

“I highly doubt they’re going to be jerks.” Gray seemed so sure of himself.

Tracey wanted to believe him so much. “At least I have you.”

“Always.”

“I hate to only call and talk about myself, but it’s getting late here, and I still need to meditate if I’m getting any sleep. Another call this week to talk about what you’re up to?” Tracey hated being that friend, but even with the time difference, it was late for Gray, too.

“Absolutely. And Trace, no one’s keeping a checklist in this friendship. I’m always here if you need to talk. Hell, if you want my professional opinion when you can’t talk with your work-arranged therapist, I’ll be happy to send you a bill for services rendered.” He laughed.

“I’m not entirely sure if you’re kidding.” Tracey smiled in the dark, feeling loads better. His perspective rested on more solid ground.

“Neither am I. Except to say I’m always here for you.”

They exchanged goodbyes and Tracey disconnected, feeling more centered. He stayed in the guest room long enough to meditate and find a calm head space. By the time he finished, the primary bedroom’s light was off.

Sleeping in the guest room was a brief thought, but if he was returning to his townhouse, he didn’t want his departure to feel angry and distant to Jon. He wasn’t mad, just overwhelmed, and perhaps in over his head.

He couldn’t tell if Jon was asleep already as he slipped under the covers next to his still form, so he was as careful as he could be.

“Everything okay?” Jon’s words were tired with a hint of worry, but also on the cusp of unconsciousness.

Snuggling against Jon’s back as the big spoon and tightening an arm around his torso, he pressed his lips to the back of Jon’s head. “I’m fine. Just need a good night’s sleep. We both do.”

Jon kissed his hand and his breathing evened out.