Hazard and Somerset Read online

  Noah was staring as he brought the car to a stop.

  “It’s fine,” Hazard said as Noah opened the car door. “Everything’s fine.”

  Noah, tall and usually goofy, nodded slowly.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Hazard said. “Just go inside.”

  “Sure. I mean, if you’re sure.”

  “He’s locked out,” Mrs. Kasperick called. “John-Henry locked him out.”

  “No,” Hazard said. “Not really.”

  “Sure,” Noah said.

  They stood there. Noah adjusted his coat, ran the zipper up, looked everywhere but at Hazard.

  “You can just go—” Hazard couldn’t even finish it. He couldn’t stand sounding like such an idiot again.

  “Yeah,” Noah said, nodding slowly again. He bounced his keys. “Mind helping me take the groceries in?”

  Hazard almost cried; instead, he helped Noah unload the groceries and carry them into the house next door.

  “Hi, Emery,” Rebeca said, looking up from a pile of books; she was obviously working on something, her research or her next article. “Where’s John-Henry?”

  Noah gave a quick shake of his head. “We’re just going to unload the groceries.”

  “Oh,” Rebeca said, her gaze ping-ponging. “Oh. Ok.”

  They unloaded the groceries. Kids ran through the room, most of them stopping to hug Hazard and then dart off again. Hazard thought he counted twelve.

  “Since you’re here,” Noah said, drawing out two beers, “maybe you want to sit down for a minute.”

  Five minutes later, in the relative quiet of the dining room, Hazard had told the whole thing.

  “Uh,” Noah said. “Maybe we should google this.”

  Groaning, Hazard buried his face in his hands.

  “No, no,” Noah said, patting Hazard’s shoulder. “That’s what the internet is for.”

  “The internet is for pornography, bitcoin transactions, and pictures of cats,” Hazard said.

  “No, I promise. We’re going to get some good advice. Look, here, ‘Ten Things to Make Your Man Happy.’ Let me just—oh, ok. Maybe not—I mean, you don’t even have that body part to shave, but I guess you could adapt it and—”

  “What do you do?”

  “What?”

  “When Rebeca’s mad and you have absolutely no fu—”

  A trio of children shrieked through the room.”

  “No idea why she’s mad at you. What do you do?”

  “She’s never mad at me.”

  “You’re useless.”

  “I’m the perfect husband. I’m an ideal physical specimen. I’m handy. I’m an excellent listener.”

  “I’ll just ask Rebeca.”

  “God, no.” Noah latched onto his arm. “Please.”

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sighing, Hazard tried to disentangle himself from Noah’s grip.

  “Fine,” Noah said, dragging him back into the seat. “I just tell her whatever she wants me to say.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I mean, she’s way smarter than me. And by this point, I’ve figured out that I’m probably wrong, whatever we’re arguing about. So if she really digs in her heels, I usually just give up. I make a big deal out of it like I finally figured out why she’s right, and I say whatever I’m supposed to say, and then we’re past it.”

  Hazard took a minute to digest this. “That is horrible advice.”

  “I’m happily married. You are currently locked out of your house.”

  “You’re telling me to lie. And to pretend to agree with him. And I don’t even know what I’m supposed to agree with or what I did wrong or fu—”

  A toddler rolled by on a tricycle.

  “You know what he wants,” Noah said. “He wants pumpkin pie. And, kind of more broadly, it sounds like he wants to go to Thanksgiving dinner with his parents.”

  “No, we talked about . . .” Hazard trailed off at the look on Noah’s face. “Oh. But I don’t want to go to Thanksgiving at his parents. Thanksgiving is a scam by corporate—”

  “Right, right, right. Anyway, that doesn’t matter, ok? Tell him what you’re supposed to say. The end. Done. Emery Hazard can go back to living happily in his home instead of teaching my children every foul word under the sun.”

  “They’ve heard it all in school before.”

  “Not as creatively. Or as frequently. Or as loudly.”

  “So I just go back. I apologize. I tell him we can go to dinner with his parents. Except he won’t even let me inside long enough to tell him any of that.”

  “Problem solved,” Noah said, flashing his phone toward Hazard with a grin. “I just texted him, and he knows you’re coming back.”

  IV

  NOVEMBER 21

  WEDNESDAY

  5:26 PM

  THE THIRTY YARDS FROM DOOR TO DOOR were the longest of Hazard’s life. The moccasins dragged through the yellow winter grass. The soft rasp was his only company; even Mrs. Kasperick, old biddy, had disappeared when the show looked like it was over.

  He knew that this was a turning point. For some people, maybe, for Noah, it wasn’t a big deal to say yes, to go with the flow. But Hazard had never gone with the flow. Not in high school, when it meant blending in and pretending to be straight. Not on the force, when it meant pretending to be straight and turning a blind eye to corruption. Not when all the shit with Mikey Grames had gone down, and going with the flow meant watching his and Somers’s careers get picked apart.

  But he’d do it. For Somers, he’d do it.

  Before he could knock, Somers opened the door. His eyes were red. His nose was red. One fist was balled up at his side, and Hazard guessed it held tissues.

  Neither of them spoke; the tension made Hazard’s ears ring like he had tinnitus.

  “I shouldn’t have assumed you agreed with me,” Hazard said. “I should have listened to you.” He took a deep breath, ignored the pain in his gut, and said, “I realized you’re right. Thanksgiving is about family, and your family is important to you. It’s important that you get to spend time with them and enjoy the traditions you’ve built together. I’d really like it if we could accept your parents’ invitation and have Thanksgiving dinner with them tomorrow.”

  Somers uncurled fingers that looked stiff, revealing wadded tissues, and wiped his eyes. Then he shook his head.

  “You are absolutely, un-fucking-believable.”

  And he slammed the door. Again.

  V

  NOVEMBER 21

  WEDNESDAY

  5:31 PM

  ROBBIE, WHO LOOKED LIKE he might be ten years old, answered the door.

  “Where’s your dad?” Hazard asked. “I need to kill him.”

  “Mom’s office,” Robbie said. “Can I watch?”

  “Sure,” Hazard said. “Bring a mop.”

  When he got to the office, Rebeca was typing on the computer. Noah was sprawled on the couch, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as he talked.

  “I really think I helped—”

  “No,” Hazard said. “You didn’t.

  “Emery,” Rebeca said. “How’d it—”

  “Hold on, I have to murder your husband.”

  For being so tall and goofy-looking, Noah was fast. He sprang off the couch, darted behind the desk, and circled toward the door.

  “Get back here,” Hazard said, swinging around. “You’ve got so much good advice, let’s see how you handle this.”

  “Just calm down, Emery,” Noah said. “Let’s talk about this. What happened—”

  “He slammed the door in my face is what happened. Thanks for your brilliant advice, Noah. Thanks so ever fu—”

  “I brought the mop,” Robbie shouted, swinging it by the handle as he walked into the room. “Where’s Dad? Is he dead yet?”

  “You told my son you were going to murder me?” Noah said.<
br />
  “It’s going to be justifiable homicide.”

  “Why do you have a mop?”

  Robbie grinned, giving another wild swing of the mop that almost took off his dad’s head. “Mr. Hazard said I could only watch if I brought a mop. For the blood, right?”

  “Definitely for the blood,” Hazard said.

  “Sick,” Robbie said with a grin that split his face from ear to ear. The mop whistled through the air again.

  “What is going on?” Noah said. “Robbie, you can’t—you shouldn’t—Becs, he said it would be sick to see my blood. Did you hear him? Emery turned him against me.”

  “Now you know how I feel,” Hazard said.

  “Ok,” Rebeca said, closing her laptop. “Maybe everyone should take a time out. Noah, take Robbie downstairs, please. And explain to him why he should be less excited about the prospect of mopping up blood.”

  “My blood,” Noah said in injured tones.

  But Rebeca was already turning toward Hazard. “Sit,” she said, pointing to the couch. “Depending on what Noah said, I might need to murder him myself. And I’m his wife, so I get dibs.”

  Hazard considered this and then dropped onto a cushion. “Fine.”

  “Sick,” Robbie said, punctuating the word with another wicked slash of the mop.

  “It’s not fine,” Noah said, running his hands through his hair. “Why am I the only one who realizes it’s not fine?”

  “And the kids need dinner, Noah.”

  The question of dinner seemed to distract Noah from his other problems; he paused, hands in mid-scrub through his hair. “We haven’t done spaghetti in a while.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come on,” Noah said, snatching the mop as it whistled through the air again. “And for future reference, Robbie, although I didn’t think I’d ever have to say this, your first loyalty is always to your father. If someone comes to the house telling you they’re going to kill me, you need to give me some kind of warning.”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Robbie said as they left the office. “But Mr. Hazard is cool.”

  “I’m cool,” Noah said, the wounded tone drifting back into the office.

  “All right,” Rebeca said when they were alone.

  “I wasn’t really going to murder him.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “It’s interesting that you need to explain that.”

  “He already told you?”

  “More or less. Let me guess: he said you should just agree with John-Henry because that’s what he always does. He tells me what I want to hear, and then the fight’s over, and like magic, everything’s good again.”

  “More or less.”

  She snorted. “God, I love that man, but he is a dumbass sometimes. First of all, I always know when he’s pulling that trick. And obviously John-Henry does too. You could have done a little independent thinking, you know.”

  Hazard didn’t answer, but he could feel the blush climbing his cheeks.

  “Second of all, that trick only works for Noah because we’ve been together for fifteen years and because I know he really does respect my judgment and he’s not just being condescending to me.”

  “I wasn’t being condescending.”

  Rebeca’s eyebrow shot up again.

  “I was just telling him what he wanted to hear because I didn’t want to fight about it anymore because I didn’t want to hear what he was really thinking because I fundamentally didn’t respect his opinions and, oh my God, I was being condescending.”

  Rebeca made a disgusted noise.

  “I’m still new to this, all right?”

  “You need to get better at it. Fast. Because John-Henry is incredible, and you’re crapping where you eat.”

  “Mom said crap,” a boy’s voice squealed in the hallway.

  “Good Lord,” Rebeca said, dropping her face into her hands. “Thank you for that.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You and John-Henry, you’re great together. I believe that. Do you believe that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you the same person?”

  “God, no.”

  “Are you similar?”

  Hazard took longer with this question. “In some ways. In some important ways. But we’re very different too.”

  She rolled a finger: go on.

  “Ok.” Hazard stood. “I understand.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “That’s mildly patronizing, but ok.”

  “Your only big mistake was asking Noah for help.”

  “All right, Rebeca.”

  “If you’d asked a woman from the beginning . . .”

  “Don’t push it,” Hazard growled.

  As he left, Rebeca was laughing.

  VI

  NOVEMBER 21

  WEDNESDAY

  5:57 PM

  HAZARD KNOCKED ONCE, AND Somers answered the door.

  “Sorry I was being an asshole.”

  “Sorry I was being an asshole.”

  Somers stepped aside, and Hazard stepped into their home.

  “I want to—”

  “I need to—”

  Somers laughed; Hazard didn’t. He didn’t feel like laughing. He felt like something too big for his body was inside him, an explosion that was ongoing, heat and pressure and force.

  “I really didn’t listen to you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t try very hard. You seemed so set on what you were saying, and sometimes . . . I don’t know, I didn’t want to press you.”

  “I want you to press me.”

  “Ok, but—”

  “No, John. I’m serious. I shouldn’t have come here earlier and tried to bullshit you; that was stupid. But this, I really mean it. I know I’m . . . not flexible.”

  Somers made a noise in his throat that sounded like he might be dying of shock.

  “And I know I’m . . . opinionated.”

  Another of those choking noises.

  “Did you swallow your damn tongue?”

  “Sorry,” Somers said. “Keep going.”

  “No, I’m done.”

  “Ree.”

  “No, if you’re going to laugh at me, I’m done.” But he didn’t mean it, and he could see that Somers knew he didn’t mean it.

  Sliding his arms around Hazard, resting his head on Hazard’s chest, Somers said, “I’ve enjoyed this speech a lot. Is there more?”

  “You’re fucking pushy for being the same guy who locked me out of the house barefoot.”

  “I gave you the moccasins. And your coat. Come on, finish your speech. Keep going about all these mysterious qualities I might not have ever noticed before.”

  “I’m a fucking know-it-all.”

  “You’re brilliant.”

  “I’m shit for patience.”

  “You spent four hours playing princess with Evie, and I didn’t hear you swear once.”

  “I said damn four times when she got my hand caught in the Pretty Princess Waffle Maker.”

  “Yeah, but damn doesn’t count. Not for you, anyway.”

  “I’m a pushy, arrogant asshole who doesn’t listen when his boyfriend’s trying to tell him that something’s important to him.”

  “You,” Somers said, pulling back and studying Hazard for a long moment, “are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “That’s bullshit, but you really are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Hey, you can’t steal my line.”

  “I’m serious, John. I wouldn’t have a life, any life, without you. I’d be locked up in a room watching documentaries until I died. Alone.”

  “Miserably alone.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Probably from hand cramps.”

  “Ok.”

  “From jerking off so much, still thinking about me.”

  “All right. I think we’ve reached the en
d of the speech.”

  “No, you had more. I know you did.”

  Hazard took Somers’s chin gently, raised Somers’s face, and said, “I want you to make me go out and do things with you. I want to do the things that are important to you. I want you to tell me what you think, even if I’m being a snob.”

  “I’m going to remember this next time it’s my turn to pick date night.”

  Hazard groaned.

  “Remember that monster truck rally we saw a billboard for?”

  “No.”

  “But you said—”

  “No,” Hazard said, and then he kissed him.

  Somers took a few moments, catching his breath, his eyes dazed. “I also wanted to buy season tickets to the high school football games. We’re both going to wear jerseys with my old number, because they retired it, you know, and—”

  Hazard kissed him again.

  “I can’t—” Somers was trying really, really hard. Hazard could see it in his face, and it was kind of cute. “You can’t—”

  Hazard picked him up and carried him to bed.

  VII

  NOVEMBER 22

  THURSDAY

  8:46 AM

  HAZARD WOKE EARLY; BY THE TIME Somers was up, Hazard had already driven forty minutes to the closest grocery store that was open on Thanksgiving, gotten back home, and finished a few important tasks. He was in the kitchen, drinking his coffee, and trying to fool himself into believing he wasn’t nervous. His leg kept bouncing; he blamed it on the coffee.

  Somers padded into the kitchen barefoot, wearing teddy bear pajama bottoms and a Johnny Cash t-shirt that looked like more holes than fabric.

  “Coffee?” Hazard asked, kissing him and heading to the pot.

  “Uh, what do I smell?”

  Hazard poured coffee, added cream and sugar, and handed the mug to his boyfriend.

  “Cinnamon, right?” Somers sipped the coffee. “God, you make my coffee perfect every time. Why do I smell cinnamon?”

  Hazard had that same feeling again, that slow explosion of heat and pressure inside his chest. His face was burning up. He tried to take a sip of coffee to cover it, but somehow he managed to fuck even that up and it went down the front of him.