(Straight off the grill and completely unedited)
“Tim?”
I glanced over my
shoulder, surprised that anyone in New York
would recognize me after all this time. Two guys stood in line behind me,
waiting to buy tickets for that night’s concert at the Irish
Arts Center.
Jeans and leather jackets. They looked youngish, fit, and clean shaven in a way
that seemed to advertise off-duty cops. I didn’t especially like cops.
I thought the red-haired
one had spoken to me, but his gaze was as curious as my own.
His companion said
-- and there was no hiding the shock in his voice, “Timothy O’Shay?”
I got a good look
at him then, at first only taking in the independent components of his
straightforward handsomeness: soft, dark hair, wide hazel eyes, startled mouth.
He was just over medium height. Wide shoulders, narrow hips, long legs. My eyes jerked back to his. We stared at each
other. Stared and stared and couldn’t look away. Disbelieving happiness surged
through me.
“Luke?”
“Timmy?”
Luke O’Brien.
After all this time. Happiness was too thin, too watered down a word to
describe that wellspring of feeling. Joy. That was the word. A blaze of delight
that almost defied definition. His startled face was alight with it, and I
guess mine must have been too. People around us were smiling as we grabbed each
other.
“My God. Tim. I
can’t believe it. You look…”
“You too!” No
surprise there. Luke always looked great. Always had. Probably always would. Me
on the other hand…not so much in the old days.
“I can’t believe
it,” Luke was saying again. He really did look stunned. Stunned and…that word
again. Joyful.
Joy is one of
those naked emotions. You can’t hide joy. It’s like trying to cover a rocket
launch with a lampshade. I think -- I think there might even have been tears in
his too-bright eyes. I think maybe there were tears in mine.
Then I looked at
Luke’s friend. There were no tears in his eyes, but there was plenty of emotion
there, and abruptly I remembered the past two years and let go of Luke. I
stepped back -- or would have, if Luke had let go of me as well. But he was
still gripping my shoulders, his hands a warm weight I felt through the wool of
my coat, staring at me, so glad to
see me. Incredulous but so glad.
Holding me as though there was nobody in the world but the two of us. “What are
you doing here?” he questioned. “Where the hell have you been?”
I said, “I live in
California now. I’m back in town
for Rob’s wedding.”
“Rob?”
“Rob Sachs.” We’d
met at Rob’s, about a million years ago. How could he not remember Rob? He
hadn’t been to the wedding though. I’d wondered if I might see him there.
Luke’s dark brows
drew together. “Oh. Right. I haven’t seen Sachs in awhile.” Recollection
changed his expression, awareness flooding back. And suddenly it was right in
front of us, the reason we’d split up, the reason I’d left town, the reason
we’d never spoken again. He released me -- reluctantly, I think -- glancing at
his friend.
“Jeff, this is Tim
O’Shay. Tim, this is Jeff Rogers. Jeff’s a good friend of mine.”
“The Tim O’Shay?” Jeff said. He had a
deep, dark voice. Sexy. “Well, what do you know?” His smile was brief and I didn’t understand the
emphasis on my name. We shook hands briskly.
The line to the
ticket window was shuffling forward. We shuffled with it, me glancing over my
shoulder to make sure I wasn’t holding up the queue.
“Nice to meet you,
Jeff. You work with Luke?” Jeff was attractive if you liked blue eyes and red
hair and freckles. Very Irish-looking, which I happened to know Luke was
partial to.
At the same time,
Jeff was saying -- probably reading the wariness of my expression, “You’re a
legend down at the precinct, Tim.”
“I am?” I threw a
doubtful, frowning look at Luke, but then the light went on. Oh yeah. The
Forester. The shooting in the Pines. How funny was it that my feelings for Luke
were -- had once been -- so strong that the memory of my run-in with a
homicidal maniac paled by comparison?
“Are you on your
own?” Luke asked. He glanced automatically at Jeff and Jeff shrugged
infinitesimally.
“No,” I said
quickly. “I’m, uh, meeting people.”
I think Jeff saw
through it. Luke was still grappling with the shock of running into me and the
subsequent, inevitable rush of memories. Most not good. I knew, because I was
dealing with the same. It was like going down a slide backwards. First the
thrill and then the thud.
The couple in
front of me moved away from the ticket window. I said hastily, “Whoops, my turn.
It was great seeing you again, Luke --” Busy,
busy guy. No time to talk!
Luke shot another
of those quick questioning looks at Jeff. “Maybe we could get together for a
drink after the show?” Instant consternation as he heard his own words. “Coffee
somewhere? Or maybe tomorrow --”
I shook my head.
“I’m flying out tomorrow. Next time I’m in town, though. For sure.” That time I
did turn my back on them.
I could hear the
resounding silence behind me. Closing my ears to it, I said into the ticket
window speak thru. “Guest pass for O’Shay?”
The girl on the
other side of the bulletproof glass rifled around in a little box.
“Tim.” I closed my
eyes at Luke’s quiet protest behind me. My heart thumped hard beneath my
breastbone in that old flight or fight response. Flight, in my case. Always
flight. Only once had I ever stood and fought.
Okay. Maybe twice,
if you wanted to count the battle to get sober. But that was more like an
ongoing running action.
The girl slid a
white envelope into the steel tray beneath the glass. “Enjoy the concert!”
I nodded, took the
envelope, braced myself and turned. I didn’t look at Jeff, with his sexy
bedroom voice and his skeptical blue eyes. I looked only at Luke. The confusion
and disappointment on his face hurt. I was being a complete jerk -- nothing new
there -- and he wasn’t even angry. Just…not understanding. Bewildered. Because
after all this time, why the hell couldn’t I at least stop and talk for a few
minutes? What was I running from this time?
My throat closed up. I paused long enough to
grip his arm, and got the gruff words out. “It’s really good to see you, Luke.
Really good.”
If he replied, I
didn’t hear it, already walking away, heading straight for the theater entrance
and not letting myself look back.
“Mirror, mirror on
the wall,” Luke said, enunciating around his toothbrush. He wore a large yellow
bath towel slung fetchingly around his lean hips, and a dab of shaving cream
under his right ear.
