Hazard tried to yank his arm free. “No. Whatever the fuck this is—”
“You’re shouting.”
The silence rang in Hazard’s ears. He took a deep breath. Then he peeled Somers’s hands off him. He clomped up onto the porch, shouldering the boy out of his way, and tried his keys. He couldn’t find the house key. Then he dropped the ring, and the keys clinked against the porch’s cement slab. When he bent to recover them, Somers beat him to it, and the blond man offered a tight smile. Hazard curled his hands into fists while his husband opened the door.
The house had a stale, closed-up smell, and it was almost as chilly as outdoors. The lamps and lights on timers had all turned off hours ago, so Hazard hit the switches as he stepped inside, and the bulbs overhead shivered to life.
“Why don’t you—” Somers began.
Hazard moved past Somers, heading deeper into the house. Evie’s rideable unicorn stood in his path; he shoved it, and it wobbled on its wheels until it hit the wall. A pair of Somers’s sneakers and socks waited near the couch in the living room, victims of a last-minute fashion change before the wedding. A can of Pepsi, hopefully empty, sat on top of a stack of Missouri Conservationist and ESPN magazines on the coffee table. On one of the armchairs, someone had dropped a crumpled gas station receipt.
“You left your shoes out,” Hazard said without looking back as he passed through the living room and into the hallway.
Somers was speaking quietly, presumably not to Hazard.
Hazard adjusted the thermostat, and a moment later the furnace clicked to life, and air whooshed through the vents. He made his way back to the living room. Somers and the boy were standing there. Now the boy was carrying a backpack.
“And you left a can of Pepsi on the table.”
“Ree, this is Ares.”
“We could have gotten ants.”
Somers let out a controlled breath. “Let’s start with introducing ourselves. Ares, I’m John-Henry.”
“His name isn’t Ares,” Hazard said. “Is that your receipt on the chair?”
“My name is Ares,” the kid said, flashing a look at Hazard before returning his attention to Somers. “Why is he acting like this?”
Hazard grabbed the wadded paper and flattened it against the arm of the chair. It was from the Kum & Go on Market Street. “This is yours,” Hazard said. “The last four of the Visa match.”
“Ree, this is a stressful situation. I’m stressed. I’m sure you’re stressed. Can we deal with the receipt and the shoes and the pop and whatever else—can we deal with it later?”
“It’s from a week before the wedding. Why didn’t you leave it in the office for me to reconcile?”
“What’s his problem?” the boy asked. “Is he a retard or something?’
Hazard turned on him. “In the first place, dipshit, don’t use that word again. Not where I can hear you, anyway. In the second place, I don’t know who the fuck you are or what the fuck you think you’re doing, but you are not my son.”
“I am.”
“You surely fucking aren’t!”
The boy took a step forward, his chest puffing up. “I am! I can prove it!”
“Are you out of your fucking mind—”
Somers closed the distance between them and stood in Hazard’s line of sight. When Hazard tried to step around him, Somers shook his head and caught a handful of Hazard’s tee. “Let’s take a minute, you and me. Let’s talk.”
“I don’t need to talk. I need to get this—this kid out of our house.”
“Emery Francis Hazard.”
Somers said the name calmly, evenly, but worry lines marked the corners of his eyes.
Hazard didn’t trust his voice, so he made a noise.
“We’re going upstairs—” Somers said to the boy, but he kept his gaze on Hazard.
“No.” Hazard cleared his throat. “He might steal something.”
“I’m not a thief,” the boy said.
Somers frowned. “He’s not going to steal—”
“I’m not going upstairs, John.”
“What’s he going to steal? Evie’s unicorn? My Adidas?” Then he shook his head. “Ok. Ok. How about the kitchen?”
In the kitchen, Hazard paced, staring at the boy through the opening that connected with the living room. Four steps. Turn. Four steps. Turn. The boy was chewing a thumbnail, watching him back.
“Stop looking at me,” Hazard called.
“Jesus Christ,” Somers muttered.
“He’s trying to start something.”
“Ree, sweetheart.” Somers took his face in both hands and stopped him. “I know you’re exhausted. We both are. I know this is out of left field. But you are starting to freak me out.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not acting like it. You’re acting—” Somers stopped himself. He softened his voice. “You’re acting like you’re out of control.”
Hazard closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. Then another. He opened his eyes and found Somers looking back. His husband was a beautiful man: perpetually rumpled, hair always looking like he’d rolled out of bed, eyes tropically blue. Blue like the waters where they’d gone for their honeymoon. They had spent almost a week on the beach. The sound of the waves rolling in had filled their room. Almost a week of coconut drinks and suntan lotion and the inescapable grit of sand. Hazard ran a hand up his husband’s arm, along the dark whorls of the tattoo sleeve.
Somers’s eyes held a question.
Hazard gave a fractional nod, and his husband released him.
“Let’s start—”
“He is not my son.”
“Ok.” Somers bit his lip. Then a giggle escaped him. Hazard stared at his husband, and Somers clapped a hand over his mouth. He struggled for a moment and then peeled his hand away to whisper, “I’m sorry, I just—” Another giggle slipped free. “I’m just thinking of you with a—” Another giggle. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m tired and loopy, but I keep thinking about you with a woman—” He dissolved into laughter again and tried to smother it with his hands.
“I’m glad you think this is funny,” Hazard said, turning away.
Somers’s expression cleared, and he caught Hazard’s shirt. “Ree, baby, come on. I’m sorry.”
Hazard looked past his husband, studying the boy in the living room. Ares—or whatever his real name was—was flipping through the DVDs, pausing on the action movies that Somers liked. Die Hard: With a Vengeance was the current object of his attention. The height and build were right, Hazard thought. He had been skinny like that when he was a teenager, and he hadn’t filled out until his twenties. The dark hair. The amber eyes.
But there were a lot of tall, skinny kids with dark hair and light brown eyes.