Page 7 of See My Words

Rylan walked him out and came back in to take Scott’s hand again.

“The police are here,” he said quietly. “They want to ask you some questions. I realize it’s hard to talk, but they don’t want to let too much more time go by before finding out what you know. When they’re gone, you can sleep.”

Scott blinked his assent, and Rylan went to the door to beckon a man and woman inside before introducing them as detectives with the violent crimes unit.

“Timothy Johnston, stage name Lance Stone, has an alibi for the entire night,” the woman said right off the bat. “He’s been brought up several times as a person of interest, but independent witnesses have corroborated his story of not leaving the club at any time until after you were injured. We’ve ruled him out as a suspect in your assault.”

“Yeah,” Scott croaked. “Not his style—anyway. He prefers—” He paused and took a deep breath, pushing the pain back. “—to trash me on social media.”

“Anyone else come to mind that might want to hurt you?” she asked, glancing down at a small spiral notebook in her hand.

Scott shook his head slightly. “Can’t think of—anyone,” he slurred. “Might have been—random.”

The male detective nodded. “You were alone in a dark parking lot, getting into a nice car. It’s possible it was a carjacking gone wrong.”

“Did you find any sort of weapon at the scene?” Rylan asked.

“Yes.” The woman flipped back a few pages in her book. “A small aluminum bat was found in an alleyway about a block away. The employees at the club ID’d it as a bat the—I guess the drag queens?—keep at the ticket booth in case of unruly customers.”

“No one saw anyone take it, or even knew it was missing,” the man added.

“They stop accepting cover charges at—one thirty a.m.,” Scott said, wincing as the elephant he could swear was standing on his face started kicking him again. “Club closes at three.”

“So the booth is unattended after one thirty?” the man asked, and Scott forced himself to nod once.

“And I’ve seen them forget—to lock the door to it.”

“That’s helpful information. Well, call us if you think of anything else,” the woman said. She pulled a slim case out of the pocket of her black jeans and extracted a card before writing something on it and handing it to Rylan. “Your case number is on the back, so just refer to that number when calling.”

They left with a perfunctory wish for Scott’s speedy recovery, and then he and Rylan were alone.

“You want to take a nap?” Rylan asked.

“Not—really.”

Rylan snapped his fingers as if remembering something. “Hey, wanna see the pictures I took of you last night, before we…you know? I’m so glad I emailed them to myself from my camera right after I took them, since I didn’t have my backpack when I wanted to edit them first thing this morning.”

Scott thought of that dude, Chris whatever, stopping by earlier to drop Rylan’s backpack off to him, the two of them standing together just outside Scott’s room. When he remembered the way Chris looked at Rylan, smiled at him, Scott’s gut roiled anew with jealousy. That was the type of man Rylan needed. A nice man. A kind man who would care about Rylan the way he deserved.

Scott pushed the thought away and grunted his answer to the question about pictures. “Yeah.”

Rylan perched on the bed next to Scott’s hip, his phone in hand. “I put the pictures in my cloud so I can look at them whenever I want. They turned out gorgeous, if I do say so myself.” He winked. “I had a good subject.”

He swiped his finger across the screen before handing the phone to Scott. “There’s about five of them.”

Scott stared at the first photo, which showed him on the couch, his eyes slumberous, a private smile on his lips as he gazed into the lens. He remembered that moment, of Rylan whispering his name and touching him gently to pull him out of his light doze.

Rylan had filtered the background so it looked dark and rich, the worn-leather couch a warm blur under Scott’s body. The photo was cropped right above the waistband of his low-slung underwear, giving the impression that he was naked as he caught sight of his lover coming back to bed…

The next one was him giving a sensual stretch, his back arched and hips lifted, head thrown back, almost as if he was in the throes of ecstasy. Then the pictures taken from above while Rylan knelt between his sprawled legs, Scott’s fingertips flirting with his waistband as he bit his lip, his eyes dark with the promise of pleasure.

“Oh, Ry,” he rasped. “These are so—”

They were so much more than showcasing a pretty face or hot body… They were intimate and warm and sexy, like the camera and subject were making love to each other.

“Whenever I think of our nights together as kids,” Rylan whispered, “this is exactly how I remember you. The way you used to look at me—”

Before I fucked everything up. Tears rushed to Scott’s eyes, and he determinedly blinked them back, but not before Rylan misunderstood.