Dissonance (10 page)

“No.”

One of the other men grabbed Cam by the shoulders and held him upright. And fuck, but his abdomen hurt as they pulled him up! He closed his eyes and waited for the blow he knew was coming, but just at that moment, a train pulled onto the platform. Cam opened his eyes to see the men scatter as some of the riders exited.

He collapsed onto the bench, near tears. He wouldn’t fucking cry. He wouldn’t. He wrapped his scarf around his neck and took deep breaths until the urge passed. After a few minutes, he slipped one hand into the pocket of his jeans to touch the phone.
Thank God.
He knew it was mad to have worried about the phone more than himself, but at the time, fighting for it had seemed the right thing to do.

He shivered and put a careful hand to his cheek. He guessed there’d be a bruise there by morning.
As if anyone gives a shit.
Perfect. Just perfect.

He hauled himself up and made his way slowly down the platform. He wouldn’t stay here. He’d find a busier platform, or maybe he’d just walk around.

F
OUR
HOURS
later Cam stood on the platform of the No. 4 train, listening to the sound of the train from the next station echo down the tunnel. The sharp tang of urine mingled with a smell he imagined was the coating of dust and dirt from the rails as the trains created friction and heat. The floor began to vibrate beneath his feet, and the squeal of metal against metal drowned out the conversations of the few people standing nearby. He looked down at the thick yellow line that ran along the edge of the platform. Some of the paint had been scraped away, and bits of gum and tar covered other parts of it. But it was there.
For your safety, stay behind the yellow line.

He moved up a few steps until his toes were centered on the line. His eyes burned. He tried to convince himself it was the blast of cold air from the tunnel, or the smells, but his brain kept pulling him back to the black sedans parked outside Riley’s apartment building. Waiting to take him into custody. Had Riley even hesitated before she’d called the FBI? Had his uncle called Riley to warn her? How ironic that for a change he’d done nothing wrong. Still, he figured he deserved every fucking bit of shit the universe was sending him, even if his sins hadn’t included crossing into the realm of the illegal.

He closed his eyes and tried to block the thoughts and images that replayed in an endless feedback loop in his mind. After spending through his inheritance so quickly, he’d had to beg the board of directors to cover his living expenses. The way they’d looked at each other—judging him, and rightly so. The Broadway-bound productions that had gone nowhere. The fast cars. The clothes. The men. His mother’s laughter when he’d asked her to send him some money. The calls his uncle—the fucking CEO of his own fucking company!—wouldn’t return.

Fucking.

Fucking Jarrod on the antique sofa. The pain of betrayal in Aiden’s eyes. Aiden packing his suitcases, his eyes red from crying. Telling Aiden he’d regret leaving. The fear on Aiden’s face when he’d understood the implicit threat. How he’d
meant
that threat.

Fucking.

Fucking some sweet Italian arse aboard his family’s yacht the night before Aiden flew to join him. Hinting to some annoying twat of a reporter that Aiden had been unfaithful. Knowing full well how much it would wound Aiden. Faithful Aiden. Aiden who’d loved him.

Fucking pain.

This time his own pain, because Aiden had only told the truth: Cam really didn’t know how to live with him, or anyone. Another threat. The feeling that he’d ripped his own heart out of his chest, still beating. Aiden, whom he’d loved.

God, I loved you!

Everything blurred. The guilt, the pain, the anger. All of it. He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t see a way out of this. Didn’t
want
to see a way out, because if there was a way out, where would he be?

Alone. Pathetic.
Locked in a cell no bigger than a box. A dark, damp place. He imagined hands reaching out to hold him down, keep him there. Hurt him. He’d never liked enclosed spaces, although he had no recollection of why. He thought about the cell again and shivered.

He opened his eyes. The toes of his shoes were even with the edge of the platform, his feet now fully
on
the yellow line. The train was close now.
So
close. He watched the lights moving toward him. Felt the air rush past his cheeks. He leaned forward….

A hand grasped his shoulder, sure and steady. He blinked and stepped back as the train whizzed by, inches from his face.

“Are you all right?” The man had to shout the words over the din.

Cam’s heart pounded hard against his ribs, racing like the train. “I… ah… yes. I’m quite all right.” Total bullshit, and yet he managed to speak these last words with the confidence he lacked.

The man—Cam knew he’d seen him before somewhere—offered him a lopsided smile. Hazel eyes. Dark blond hair. Cam saw he was holding a black fiberglass case.

The trumpet player.
The one who’d been playing for tips. What was his name? Galen.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Galen asked.

T
HEY
SETTLED
into one of the booths at the rear of the station’s small coffee shop, Cam’s back to the wall so he could see people walking to and from the trains. Twentysomethings arriving from Long Island for a night out on the town, laughing, already a little drunk. Parents pushing strollers and struggling with exhausted children after a Saturday spent in the city.

Cam’s heart still pounded in his chest. The desperation that had slowly escalated over the past few days seemed to have peaked, but the claw of fear that held his chest in its icy grip remained, making it difficult for him to breathe.

“Coffee okay with you?” Galen asked.

Cam was pleased Galen hadn’t assumed he’d prefer tea. With the exception of Americans who had spent time in England, most assumed Brits didn’t drink coffee. In fact, Cam preferred coffee.

“I don’t have any money.” Cam saw no reason to beat about the bush. It embarrassed him that he couldn’t even buy himself a fucking cup of coffee. Why? Why did he care what a stranger thought about him? He shouldn’t give a shit.

“No problem. I invited you, remember?” Galen glanced down at the place setting and delicately unwrapped the paper napkin from around the flatware, then set his fork and knife quite precisely on either side of the paper placemat, an inch from the edge of the paper.

“Then yes, thank you.” Cam’s uncomfortably empty stomach made accepting easier. He felt light-headed, although he wondered how much of that was the adrenaline from his near miss with the train.

“Two coffees,” Galen told the waitress. She flitted away, tucking her pen behind her ear just like in an old Hollywood movie, leaving them alone once more.

Cam tapped his foot on the floor as he waited for Galen to say something. And waited. And waited, until the silence stretched more than uncomfortably. Throughout the silence, a half smile danced on Galen’s lips. Lips still slightly swollen and pink from playing the trumpet. If he hadn’t been so wound up, Cam might have admired them.

“I really should be going,” Cam said when he couldn’t bear it any longer.

He slid on the vinyl bench, ready to stand up, but Galen put his hand on Cam’s and said, “Where do you need to be?”

The gesture was anything but sexual, although Galen’s hand felt warm and his own felt cold. “I-I…,” Cam stammered. What did the man want from him? A fucking confession?

The waitress arrived with two mugs of coffee before Cam could slip away from the table, effectively pinning him there. Galen leaned over to ask her something, his words drowned out by a bunch of teenagers walking by the coffee shop, shouting to each other. By the time the waitress left them alone again, the urge to run had fled Cam’s exhausted brain. He slid back to the center of the bench, dislodging Galen’s hand, and pressed his palms to the cup. His stomach lurched at the smell of it. How long had it been since he’d eaten anything?

Cam ripped open three sugar packets and dumped them in the coffee, then filled it to the rim with cream. He’d never drunk his coffee anything but black, but he would hardly pass up something approximating food. Galen said nothing as Cam took a sip, then added more cream and finished the cup in a little less than a minute.

The smell of beef on the grill mingled with the scent of the coffee. Cam had never wanted a greasy hamburger more than he did at that moment.

He thought the waitress was coming back to the table to refill their coffee cups, but instead she deposited a plate in front of him—a huge hamburger with a side of fries that occupied nearly two-thirds of the plate. He opened his mouth to tell her she’d made a mistake, but she’d already moved on to another table.

“Eat.”

Cam looked up to see Galen smiling at him. “I didn’t order this,” he snapped. He hadn’t meant to sound so irritated, but to have that food in front of him—was this some sort of fucking test?

“I ordered it.”

“You?”

That placid smile again. Irritating as hell. What did this man take him for?

Someone who sleeps in the subway.
By now, the jolt of the caffeine had hit him hard. The thought of sleeping on the hard bench again, of waking up with every train and every noise, worried that someone might take his phone or, worse, hurt him, made him jumpier than ever.

Cam pushed the plate away from him. “I can’t take this.”

“My treat. Besides, I’m a vegetarian. Never touch the stuff.”

“I don’t…. I can’t pay you back.” The smell of the hamburger was overwhelming now.

“I’m not expecting you to.”

The war between Cam’s brain and his stomach raged like a Hollywood epic, complete with special effects bombs and mortar fire courtesy of the coffee. Or he imagined his stomach sounded like a special effects soundtrack right about now.

He managed to unclench his jaw long enough to say “Thank you.” The curt sort of thank-you one gave when taking punishment for misbehavior in school.

Galen kept smiling. Cam wondered if he was a bit slow, but he was too hungry to care. He took three fries and nearly swallowed them whole in an effort to quiet the growls he was sure Galen and everyone else in the coffee shop could hear. And God, they tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten, even if his belly still hurt where he’d been kneed.

Cam finished the plate clean, then drank another cup of coffee and three glasses of water before leaning back and taking a long breath. Galen was still on his first cup of black coffee. He’d been watching Cam the entire time.

“Thank you,” Cam said again, this time with real gratitude.
Time for the other shoe to drop.
Cam waited for Galen to name his price—in Cam’s experience, all good deeds came with strings attached—but instead Galen said, “You’re welcome,” and grew silent once again.

The silence stretched. Cam noticed Galen had straightened his coffee cup so that the handle was parallel to the edge of the table. More time passed. Then Galen pressed his lips together and ran a hand through his hair, as if considering something. “You can’t stay in the subway,” he said finally.

“What?” Now Cam really
was
irritated. Where the bloody hell was he
supposed
to stay with no money?

“I’ve got a place in Jersey.”

“And?”

Galen looked confused. “You need a place to stay, and I have a place.”

Oh, this was just perfect!
“I’m not sleeping with you.” There, best be up-front with him. He might be desperate, but he’d never be
that
desperate.

Galen shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Had Cam underestimated him? He looked genuinely embarrassed, as if it hadn’t occurred to him until that moment what Cam might be thinking.
Definitely slow.
“I….” His cheeks pinked. “I wasn’t expect—”

“I’m fine staying here.” The realization that Galen was probably straight would normally have been a disappointment, but Cam was much too far gone to care at this point.

“It’s dangerous.” Galen frowned and looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. He reached out to touch Cam’s cheek. Cam guessed it looked pretty bad now, probably rainbow colored.

“Look,” Cam said, pulling away and doing his best not to yell at the man, “I can’t even pay you back for the food. Now you’re asking me to come home with you? Are you insane?”

Galen opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, as if thinking better of it.

“Sorry,” Cam said. “That was incredibly rude of me, wasn’t it?” God, why was he acting like such a prick when the man was just trying to be kind? Misguided kindness, no doubt, but still, he didn’t deserve to have someone jump down his throat for it.

Galen shrugged. “You don’t need to pay me back. I’m not expecting anything.” Galen appeared once again serene. “I realize it might look bad. But it’s not like you’d be the first to crash at my place. I’ve got a few extra bedrooms.”

“I don’t understand.” Cam took a deep breath and did his best to moderate his tone this time. “Why would you offer to take a complete stranger home? You know nothing about me.”

Galen’s face lit up. “That’s where you’re wrong, Cam. I know more about you than you realize.” Galen rubbed a long finger around the rim of his coffee cup, and for the first time, Cam noticed he wore an odd collection of bracelets on his right wrist, some made of braided yarn and string, others leather, some with sayings carved into them. He’d seen some of the kids in New York wearing similar things.
Friendship bracelets.
“I saw how upset you were the night you left the hundred-dollar bill in my case. I saw how you connected to the music I was playing. You
understood
it. I felt that.”

Cam shook his head. “You also thought I’d made a mistake by leaving that much money, didn’t you?”