Page 11 of Envious Of Fire
Then Tristan and his cold hand gripping him, pulling him out of the house, to forever go on the run from something that cannot ever be escaped. Perhaps twenty-seven years have passed since that night, in theory, but so often when Kyle stares at his reflection long enough, he can swear it feels like the nightmare happened yesterday. Is there any escaping that night? Will he ever feel true relief from the guilt of ending the lives of his mother, father, and little brother? Does he deserve it?
“What was that?”
Kyle turns to find Elias at the bathroom door. He dodges the question, puts a deeply charged kiss on Elias’s lips, then says in a light voice: “I just remembered it’s Jer’s birthday. They’re doing a thing at the bar. Why don’t you come with?”
Elias blinks. “Jeremy Rojas? Isn’t he, like, sixteen?”
“Seventeen. Well, eighteen as of tonight.”
“What the hell’s an eighteen-year-old gonna do at a bar?”
“Drink soda, eat cake, and make out with his girlfriend.”
“Shit. Did we need to bring him something?”
“He specifically requested no one does.”
“Thank fuck.” Elias reconsiders. “But … isn’t that just shy-people talk for ‘please bring me something’? Y’know what? Yes, it is, and we’re gonna swing by my place to grab something on the way. Don’t give me that look. I told you they won’t care if you’re just a teeny bit late!”
Kyle throws his arms around Elias’s neck. “What the fuck did I do to deserve you?”
“Everything probably,” grunts Elias, pressing a kiss to his lips.
It’s on the edge of sunset with but a safe sliver of light left in the sky and no sun to be seen that Kyle and Elias make the short drive to the bar—after a quick detour to Elias’s house at the opposite edge of town. Cade, the bar owner, has clearly had her way with the place, because there are all matters of tacky birthday streamers and colorful paper decorations everywhere. After all, it is her daughter Layna that the birthday boy Jeremy is dating, and Cade is known for making a fuss over anything worth celebrating around here. Music blasts from the jukebox, and the air is thick with its usual woodsy musk mixed with the scent of old alcohol and cigarette smoke. Kyle passes several of the regulars on his way to the back, depositing Elias among them, who instantly gets into a discussion with an old man from the hardware store who’s been helping with supplies (and tips) on building the porch. The other bartender Becks, dancing as she wipes down a table, waves at Kyle as he passes by, unusually cheery. Everyone seems to be affected by the party spirit.
It’s in the kitchen that Kyle finds Leland, the cook with the sagging jeans, messy hair, flushed and sunburned face, and big, bright baby blue eyes. Next to him at the sink is Jeremy Rojas,whose short and spiky bleached hair glows like a torch under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. He’s skinny with the same russet complexion as his rigid police chief father, swimming in an oversized band shirt, jeans, and a thick cuff on his wrist, which looks ten pounds in comparison to his arm.
The moment Kyle enters, Jeremy’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’m so glad you came, man!”
“Why wouldn’t I?” asks Kyle right back. “I work tonight.”
“I mean …” Jeremy chuckles self-consciously. “I knew that. I just meant I’m glad you’re here, like,tonight-tonight. Because we’re having my party this late. So you can, uh, y’know, come.”
Kyle stops. He didn’t realize that.
Then Jeremy ambushes Kyle with a surprise hug. “I will never forget you were the one who saved my life, who really saved it. I’m here because ofyou. Thank you, man. I mean it … thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Now, now,” sings Leland, who has returned to scrubbing something in the sink, “don’t go smothering poor Henry. Uh, I mean Kyle.” He throws an apologetic wince over his shoulder. “Sorry, old habit.”
Jeremy continues to cling to Kyle, his sentimental feelings radiating out of him like a beacon. “Really, you’re one of the good ones. I feel safe because you’re here. We all do, everyone in this whole town, we’re all grateful, even if we don’t show it.”
One of the good ones.
Kyle thinks about Tristan, about Lord Markadian, about the cold and vile George who killed his childhood friend Brock, about every last one of those fiends at the House of Vegasyn.
Are they the bad ones?
“You’re … awfully emotional tonight,” Kyle notes.
Jeremy lets go suddenly. “Oh, is Layna here yet? Did you see her out there?”
“Nope,” says Kyle.
“Hope she isn’t doing some big thing,” he mumbles. “I told her not to.”
Leland drops a dish in the sink, curses, then glances over a shoulder. “Whatdoyou want for your birthday, Jer?”
“Told my dad I wanted to go to Vegas, just an overnight trip, no big deal, but he strictly forbade it. He doesn’t want me going anywhere or doing anything fun with my life. I’m gonna be stuck here forever.”
