“Hey,” I said. “Where were you?”
“I had problems signing up for classes online. I went to the school to get it worked out.” He gave me a quick kiss and slipped his hand into mine.
The public display of affection would have bothered me a few months back. But with Matthew, it wasn't the flagrant display I expected it to be. He was subtle and sweet. I accepted his hand in mine.
A man in a business suit sat across from us reading a newspaper. There, on the first page below the fold, was a story about my father's potential presidential bid. The man behind the paper glanced our way. I'd seen that look of disgust too many times in my life.
Matthew gave my hand a squeeze and let go. Subtle and sweet, but not crazy.
It hit me then, how different Matthew would be if being gay wasn't something that could still get the shit kicked out of him— or worse. He'd have been happy to hold my hand the entire ride home. Hatred had turned that impulse into something he had to hide, something he had to remember to hold back on.
Sometimes the world just plain fucking sucked. There was not one thing wrong with Matthew, certainly nothing worth hiding. He didn't deserve any of it.
For once in my life, I wanted to fix things. I wanted to join every group aimed at making the world more tolerable. If the ACLU had given me a call right then, I'd have signed over my savings.
Matthew gave me a smile and I relaxed. He chatted about his classes, showing me the catalog descriptions and times he'd signed up for. He couldn't hold back his enthusiasm, and by the time we walked in the front door, my smile was as wide as his.
“I talked to Richard this morning,” he said and set his keys on the hall table. “He's making dinner tonight to wish me luck at school.”
“We'll have to think of some way to thank him.” I grabbed his ass.
He giggled and strolled down the hall. I followed him, loving his laugh. It called to me.
He stopped in the living room doorway, his laughter cut short. I stepped around him. The room was dark and Richard was slumped in a chair at the far corner, his forearm resting on the arm of the chair, a glass dangling from his fingers.
“Richard?” Matthew's voice hitched.
I crossed the room and knelt next to the chair. “What's wrong?”
He finally lifted his head. He glared at me for a moment before reaching for the bottle of whiskey sitting on the end table. The bottle clanked against the rim of the glass as he poured more of the booze. He was drunk. It wasn't a good look on him.
He finished pouring and said, “Kid, can you give me and Luke a minute alone?”
Matthew stepped closer to the chair. “What's wrong?”
“I'm not planning to stop drinking any time soon, and I don't want you to see me like this.”
I grabbed Richard's hand and stilled the glass before it could reach his lips again. “What happened?”
He let me steer the glass away from him. “Matthew, please— ”
I set the glass on the coffee table. “He's fine.”
“What is it?” Matthew asked as he sat on the arm of the chair.
“I couldn't close the condominium deal.”
Matthew laid a hand on Richard's shoulder. “Why?”
Did he have to ask?
“The funds I needed weren't available.”
Matthew began a slow rub over Richard's tense muscles. “I thought you said you had enough people on board this time?”
“I did. But some bank transfers I authorized yesterday moved the investors’ money into a series of new accounts.”
Matthew looked to me then back to Richard. “New accounts?”
“Accounts that have since been closed.”
Matthew shook his head. “I don't understand.”
“I didn't transfer the money, but someone made it look like I did.”
Matthew looked my way again.
I moved to the couch. “This doesn't make any sense. He can't possibly think this is going to work. No one's going to believe you thought you'd get away with a one-day transfer of millions of dollars.”
“But they will believe I intentionally inflated property values and lied to my investors. At the same time the funds were stolen, someone bought property in Ellis Park under my company's name.”
“Ellis Park?”
“Yeah. Not a neighborhood where investors build high-rise condos. More like low-rent trailer parks.” Richard reached for the glass of whiskey but didn't take a drink. “I've seen this kind of thing before. They'll investigate the business, me. I'll lose all my investors. They'll freeze my assets.” He finally met my gaze. “We could lose the house.”
“There's got to be a way they can track the money.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. They aren't going to take my word that I didn't do this. Or that your father— ” The ring of the phone cut him off.
Matthew stood. “I'll get it.” He didn't move, though. He reached for Richard and forced the other man to look at him. “You aren't going to be in trouble for something you didn't do.” He kissed Richard's forehead and left the room.
“Guess ‘kid’ really does fit him.” Richard swallowed the whiskey until the glass was empty.
The phone continued to ring, sounding loud in the dark room.
“Luke! Richard!”
Richard sprang from the chair and, despite his drunken state, made it across the living room in a quick clip. I followed, and we stepped into the dining room where Matthew stood with his back to the wall, staring off to where a lone figure sat across the room.
The phone stopped ringing.
The light was off, and dark shadows fell across the man's face, but as soon as he spoke, I knew who sat at our table.
“Hello, Richard. The senator wanted to thank you for the generous donation to his campaign fund.” The revolting tone sounded all too much like my father's. “You have such a lovely home. It's a shame you're going to lose it all.” The fingers on one hand tapped
