Page 56 of Pieces of Me

A few minutes later, they were out on the sidewalk, and Maya didn’t say another word, just walked away. Right as she turned the corner, though, she called, “See you around sometime?”

Rylan felt a swift elation burn through him. “Absolutely.”

✩✩✩

Rylan felt like he was walking on air as he made his way back toward his apartment. A breakthrough, finally, and a good one. A glance at his watch showed almost midnight, and the Friday-night festivities at Spectrum Nights should be in full swing; time to switch gears and turn his sights to more practical, immediate matters―making a living.

As he strode up the walkway toward his apartment, he noticed Val, Katey’s wife, coming from the opposite direction. He stopped and waited for her, giving an inward wince at how slowly she was moving, the pain obvious in her face.

“Tough day?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral, knowing how much she hated pity.

“Yeah,” she grunted. “Physical therapy was a bitch, and then I had to go to work.”

Rylan peeked at her left arm. Burn scars from a recent accident mottled the skin of her arm and shoulder, and Rylan knew the damage extended all the way down her leg as well. He didn’t say anything, realizing there were no words to make it better, so he put his hand on her shoulder, letting her feel the warmth, the contact. She slumped, weariness in every line of her body, obviously worn out from her shift as a cashier at a big-box store.

“But hey, I have a beautiful wife and good friends. Life is all right.” She patted Rylan’s arm and moved away toward her ground-floor apartment. “And now I’m gonna go crawl into a hot bath and let my baby take care of me for a while. See ya.”

He waggled his fingers and mounted the steps toward his own apartment, stopping when she called out again. “Oh, hey! Rylan!” He leaned over the railing to look at her.

“Was that Scott Ashworth I saw leaving your place earlier?” she asked.

Rylan was surprised by how worried she sounded. “Yeah, it was. You know him?”

Val snorted. “Everyone on the Phoenix club scene knows him. He’s the most high-profile dude around.” Rylan could see her chewing on her lower lip, as if debating with herself whether to say whatever was on her mind. She finally took a deep breath and blurted, “He’s also a dog, Rylan, a player. Some of our friends have dated him, and they were like the walking wounded after. Be careful, okay? I really don’t want to fuck up my one good arm breaking that pretty face of his, but I will if he hurts you.” Her voice was fierce, and Rylan reached over the railing and touched her cheek.

“I’m not dating him,” he reassured her. “He’s actually an old high school friend of mine.” Rylan didn’t see the need to elaborate on the stepbrother thing. “I ran into him today out of the blue, and he was here so we could catch up a little. That’s all.”

Her face cleared, relief written all over it. “Okay. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to trash him if he’s a friend of yours, but it’s just―he’s not mine and Katey’s favorite person. I wanted to make sure you knew―” She gave a helpless shrug.

“I’m good, Val. And thanks for caring, okay?” She nodded and limped toward her apartment. Rylan watched until she was safely inside before heading up to his own place to take a shower and get ready for the club.

He stood under the hot spray for a long time, the events of the day swirling feverishly around in his tired brain: Cock Suckers, Maya…and Scott. Delayed reaction suddenly set in, and Rylan sagged back against the cold tile of the shower, shivering a little even with the hot water raining down on him.

How long had it been…? He cast his mind back, astounded to realize it had been six years since Scott had left him standing there at the edge of that weed-choked yard. Remembered hurt and disillusionment swamped him. Shit. At the time it felt like the end of the world, but soon life swept Rylan up in its swift current and dragged him along for the ride, his teenage infatuation nipped in the bud before it could really get off the ground.

And now fate, probably laughing its ass off, decided to fling him back to shore, directly at Scott’s feet.

Rylan got out of the shower, dried off, and stood naked in front of his closet, debating what to wear. He had to admit he was a little excited about going to the club tonight. During Pride season, it was likely to be a night full of celebration and debauchery, and his skin tingled with a pleasant low-grade arousal at the thought; it had been a while for him.

Eventually he decided on a tight, heather-gray Henley and some faded jeans he’d been told molded his ass quite nicely. A leather choker, his favorite ear studs, a swipe of gel to spike up his short hair, and he pronounced himself ready.

Grabbing his beat-up old backpack, Rylan stuffed it with fresh batteries, memory cards, and a hard case full of different lenses, then picked up his Nikon and slipped it inside too. No way was he going to walk dark streets and ride city buses with his three-thousand-dollar camera in plain view. With his unassuming face and silver-rimmed glasses, he looked like any other poor college student on his way out for a good time. He hoped. His whole life and future were in that backpack.

Rylan trudged to the bus stop, and after an uneventful thirty-minute ride, he stood in front of Spectrum Nights, gazing around in awe.

Within sight of the glitzy stadiums and high-rise condos of downtown Phoenix, Spectrum was housed in an old-style movie theater. Rylan couldn’t help but pull out his camera and photograph the stonework of the building, the retro-looking marquee with flashing colored lightbulbs around the edges proclaiming Fantasy Friday! The hottest night in the Valley of the Sun!

Velvet ropes held the teeming queue at bay, and inside an old-fashioned glass ticket booth under the portico, a fabulous drag queen held court, taking patrons’ cover charges and stamping hands while delivering comical insults. Beefy-looking, shirtless bouncers flanked the entrance, and each time one of the heavy padded doors swung open and shut to admit a new arrival, the thumping bass of the house music floated out and washed over the senses.

Fully clothed male and female go-go dancers worked the crowd in line, moving with fluid grace up and down the sidewalk, dancing alone and with each other to the sound of the music, keeping everyone engaged while they waited for admittance.

Rylan was captivated. While he was in college, he’d spent quite a bit of time in Miami’s South Beach, but the vibe here, the energy, rivaled anything he’d seen there. It was obvious that Spectrum on Friday night really was the hottest place in town.

Eyeing the long queue, Rylan slung his camera around his neck and strode past them, right up to the ticket booth. The queen inside stared at him with narrowed eyes, waving her hand at him, flashing an immaculate manicure and several large, ostentatious rings.

“Way to make friends and influence people, darling,” she drawled, sarcasm dripping from her husky voice. “Around here, cutting the line is verboten and a good way to get that cute little ass kicked. Away you go.” She made a shooing motion, but Rylan stood his ground; journalism school didn’t make for a shrinking violet. He held up the Nikon.

“Scott Ashworth invited me here to take pictures―”