Page 22 of Finders Keepers
“Not a sports fan, sorry.” Wesley shrugged.
Nate glanced at him, surprised. He’d thought the whole world knew. Maybe just the hockey world then. “It made the national news.”
“Not a fan of the news, either. My co-workers talk, of course, so I’ll check social media or Google if it concerns me. I stream my music, so I rarely listen to the radio.”
Nate swiped the turn signal to exit the highway. He’d never been this far south, so he took in the lack of houses and the abundance of farm fields.
“Look, sharing isn’t a requirement or obligation, and I won’t go trolling the Internet for the story. I mean, I’m a gay schoolteacher who hides his femme side and his penchant for—”
“Yeah, I get that,” Nate said, wincing at his waspish tone. He throttled back his anger. Took a breath. “Sorry. Thing is, despite every precaution taken inside the club, the photos had been snapped outside—in the parking lot—by someone with a phone and no respect for privacy.” Nate slowed on the slope of the off ramp. “Left or right?”
“Oh, sorry. Left. The road will curve a bit, just stay on it until you see the gas station and then take the second left onto Avenue G.”
Nate nodded. “Pictures of me face down in a Portland club parking lot ended up on hockey Twitter. The Lumberjacks weren’t impressed, so they traded me. Didn’t ask questions, didn’t get my side of the story. I found out on my Cup Day.”
“That’s right. You mentioned that the other night.”
“Yeah.” The anger continued to smolder, but every new experience with the Locomotives added another splash of flame retardant to the still-glowing embers. “For the record, I got the shit kicked out of me for stepping into an ongoing altercation,” Nate said, turning onto Avenue G. “I wasn’t drunk. Hadn’t had a drop.”
“If me being super femme bothers you, you can just drop me off. Turn at the next left and go straight until you can’t anymore and then pull into my driveway.”
Nate couldn’t care less about Wesley’s brand of gay, but he was too focused on maneuvering his boat of a vehicle through the narrow street crowded with parked cars to give the sort of response Wesley needed. He held his breath through a couple of tight squeezes. The silence continued until Nate came to a stop next to an older model Camry with a patchy paint job.
Nate let out his breath as he scanned the faded mobile home in front of him. The front door was askew. “Did you leave your front open?” Nate asked.
Wesley sat up and gasped. “No, of course not,” he said, voice shaky, as he popped open the door.
“Stop.” Nate grabbed his arm.
Wesley stopped, turned slowly, eyes open enough despite the swelling for Nate to note their color. Hazel. And his face, despite the bruising, paled.
“We have to call the police.”
Wesley’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Oh, God. Okay.”
Why the prospect of calling the police made him look even more nervous made Nate wonder.
Chapter Nine
Wesley registered the approaching wail of sirens and took a breath.
The Plattsmouth Police patrol car pulled to a stop across the end of the gravel driveway, blocking both cars in as if either of them were planning to take off. The officers exited their vehicle, and Wesley groaned.
“What?” asked Nate softly.
“Officer Bennett. His son was in my class last year,” replied Wesley in a low tone before exiting the car.
“Mr. Byerly, I understand you’ve had a bit of trouble.” Officer Bennett eyed Wesley’s battered and bruised face and then glanced in Nate’s direction.
“Yes, sir, Officer Bennett. I’ve been gone since the day before yesterday, and my house was likely broken into sometime after one a.m. yesterday morning.”
“That’s quite specific, Mr. Byerly. Does the break-in have any correlation to why your face looks like you went a round or two in the boxing ring?” asked the other officer.
Wesley’s face heated, and he winced at the resulting ache.
“This is Officer Savard,” said Officer Bennett.
“Probably, Officer Savard,” Wesley said with a nod. Did he mention the thumb drive and its role in all of this? Should he? Yes, he should. But doing so meant putting his job in jeopardy, and he wasn’t ready to take that chance. Revealing the incident in the parking lot might also drag Nate’s presence at the club into the report. That aspect of the situation wasn’t Wesley’s to share. So, no. He wasn’t mentioning it. Not now, not ever.
