Smile Like You Mean It - 9. Nine

Seb thudded to the floor, the gun tumbling from his lifeless fingers as he fell. Bruno stood still for a moment, his chest heaving as he realized he had likely killed another human being. But he didn’t have time to think about that now. At this moment, Bruno cared only about Waylon and his eyes shot to to where Waylon had been standing. The cop was no longer there; instead, he lay sprawled on the floor, gasping in pain.

Bruno ran to him, ripping off his suit jacket and then his shirt, folding the latter into a pad as he had seen Waylon do just days earlier. Bruno dropped to his knees, pressing the folded fabric to the stem the tide of blood flowing from Waylon’s shoulder and chest.

“Waylon,” Bruno whispered.

Waylon smiled weakly. “Told you I’d always come. And I called the calvary, too.” He coughed, the action sending a spasm through him. He exhaled heavily, as if in great pain; his eyes closed, and his head rolled to the side as he lost consciousness.

Before Bruno’s panic could overwhelm him, he heard the scream of a police siren nearing and realized what Waylon had meant by his comment. In seconds, the doors of the shop flew open, and two uniformed policemen burst in, followed by Detective Rodriguez. One cop radioed for an ambulance while Rodriguez rushed to kneel by Waylon. The other ran to examine Seb’s body.

“What the fuck happened?” Rodriguez screamed as he placed his hands on top of Bruno’s, increasing the pressure on the wounds.

“He… shot him…..” Bruno stuttered, trying to focus through the whirl of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “Seb….did…..I hit him over the head….I think I killed him.”

Before Rodriguez could ask more questions, the EMTs arrived, brushing Bruno and the detective aside in an eerily similar moment that recalled the night in Casey’s store. Bruno moved as if to follow the paramedics, but Rodriguez stopped him, grabbing the ginger’s arm in a strong hand.

“They’re professionals,” the detective said, as if reassuring himself, “they’ve got him... Right now, though, you need to explain who the guy with the bashed in skull is and why my partner got shot. What the fuck is going on?”

Over the course of what seemed like days, Bruno told what he knew about Sebastian Cain, Amanda Brooks, and the Moonstone diamond. The latter was still attached to the Egyptian collar, which lay crumbled where it had fallen, covered in Bruno’s flood. So much pain, Bruno thought, so much death. And all for a piece of carbon.

As Bruno explained the events of the evening, Rodriguez’s manner softened as he observed the younger man’s obvious distress over Waylon. When he received a call from the hospital about his fallen partner, Rodriguez passed on the information.

“He’s in surgery. The wounds are serious…..one bullet hit bone and did significant damage to his shoulder, but neither are life threatening.”

“Oh, thank God,” Bruno beathed, slumping in relief. The paramedics had wrapped a blanket over his bare torso when they bandaged the cuts in his hands; even though the early night air was warm, Bruno wrapped the blanket closer around himself for warmth and comfort. The events of the evening had chilled him to the bone, and he thought he might never be truly warm again.

After Seb’s body had been removed, the crime scene had been secured, and the forensics team had arrived, Rodriguez finished his questioning. The detective had received more news from the hospital, stating that Waylon was out of the O.R. and in recovery.

“Can I call somebody for you?” Rodriguez asked, “I know you’re pretty shaken up.”

“I’m good. I just need to get to the hospital. I just want to seeq Waylon and make sure he’s all right.”

The detective looked at Bruno, pity in his eyes. “You can’t do that. He’s family is there. And they don’t know about you.”

“But….”

“I’m sorry. I’ll keep you posted about his condition, but you can’t visit him. Not while his momma is there. I know you want to be there, but I can’t let you go.”

Instead of waiting by Waylon’s side in the hospital, Bruno spent the night on Shane’s sofa, sobbing his grief onto his friend’s shoulder. Grief over Loren’s death and Casey and Waylon’s injuries, grief over his taking of another’s life, even if it had been necessary, and grief that he knew he and Waylon, even if the detective fully recovered, could never be together….not just tonight, but ever again.

Waylon called Bruno a few days later, saying he had taken advantage of his mother’s going to the cafeteria, His voice was wan, and the conversation was stilted. Bruno knew that Waylon was on edge, concerned his mother could overhear something suspicious, and it hurt. They spoke a few more times before Waylon’s release, but there was a wall between them now.

Bruno also received some calls from Detective Rodriguez. Most were to ask follow up questions about the case or to inform Bruno of updates, including the fact that, though it would be difficult to prove past a reasonable doubt, the police suspected that Sebastian had set the fire that killed Amanda Brooks. Another, more welcome update was that Sammy had been located hiding out with a friend in Houston. The police weren’t pressing charges against him, but Sammy had decided to stay in Texas permanently.

There were other distractions. The discovery of Loren Hunt’s killer and the emergence of a hidden treasure had erupted during a slow news cycle, and networks all over the country had seized the story. Interest had risen even more after Sebastian Cain’s parentage had been verified; after all, the story had it all: European aristocracy, a beautiful movie actress, a doomed love affair, adultery, secret children, jealousy, greed, cursed jewels, and a plucky and photogenic amatuer hero who saves the day.

Bruno and Casey were both inundated with requests for interviews and network appearances. Both had refused. Bruno had been a little surprised at his blond friend’s reticence; Casey did love the spotlight. But Casey’s brush with death had changed him.

“I’m done with mysteries. Nancy never had to put up with any of this shit. Besides, I have a new enterprise to launch.” Casey had decided to close his store after selling his existing inventory in the first wave of enthusiastic thrill seeking shoppers. Instead, he had decided to become a partner in Chad and his brother’s catering building. Casey had fallen hard for the hunky bartender and wanted to spend as much time as possible with his new beau.

“Getting shot really helps you to get grasp on your real priorities,” he told Bruno. “Maybe you should try it.”

“No thanks.”

Perhaps the biggest distraction was work. Plans for the Amanda Brooks House were going full stem ahead, even faster than before. If any good come from senseless violence, some good had come from this; the publicity and notoriety surrounding the case had also brought the teen LGBTQ charity into the spotlight. Donations had been pouring in. These, combined with the proceeds from auctioning off the Moonstone insured that the Amanda Brooks House would be fully funded for many years to come.

Bruno did see Waylon once more. On a warm, slow day in late fall, Bruno looked up from his desk as the doors to his shop opened with a twinkle. A large, familiar silhouette darkened the door, and Bruno rose immediately and walked toward Waylon.

They met in the front showroom, Bruno in a vintage Poison band tee and his pre-Raphaelite curls tumbling around him and Waylon, his arm in a sling, lines of pain and worry on his chiseled face.

They stood, only inches apart, in silence.

“Hey,” Waylon said.

"Hey,” Bruno replied, cursing his lack of eloquence.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too. I wanted to go see you in the hospital, but I figured it might be awkward with your family. I’m not sure I could pull off pretending to just be a friend.”

“I know, and you were right. But now that I’m out of the hospital, I’m wondering if…..”

“No,” Bruno said gently, cutting off the other man. “I’ll be honest. I…..like you, Waylon. More than anybody, I’ve known, but I can’t do this. I’m not going back into a closet, it’s not fair to me. And I don’t want to force you out, that not fair to you. I guess this will have to be ‘goodbye.’ Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

Waylon, faced etched with even more pain, nodded. “You’re right.” He stood staring at Bruno a long time as if trying to memorize the younger man’s face.

“I’ll miss you, Bruno,” he said. With a sad smile, Waylon continued, “If you need me, call me. I’ll be there in a hurry.”

Through the tears now streaming down his face, Bruno returned the smile. “On that you can rely and never worry….Waylon, I…”

“Shhh….” Waylon said and leaned down and kissed Bruno softly on the lips. It was a kiss that left Bruno aching with its sweetness and sadness when Waylon pulled away. The detective touched Bruno cheek once more with a large, rough hand, then turned and walked through the doors, down the steps, and out of Bruno’s life.

Over the months that followed, time worked its usual magic on Bruno. This panacea effect was helped by his having a project that absorbed massive reserves of time, effort, and passion: the conversion of a former school to The Amanda Brooks Home for At Risk LGBTQ teens.

Nearly a year after the foundation’s first fundraiser, Bruno stood underneath a tent set up on the lush green lawn of The Amanda Brooks House. A gala celebrating its grand opening was in full swing.

News teams swarmed the grounds, and a host of politicians and celebrities were in attendance. As he sipped his champagne, Bruno watched Shane, handsome in a tailored linen suit handle interviews and introductions like a pro, his husband Jason, beaming with pride, by his side.

Casey, platinum hair gleaming in the late afternoon sun, passed by with a tray. No Vintage Halston for him today; he was wearing a tee emblazoned with the chic logo he had designed for the catering business. Bruno smiled as he heard his friend’s constant references to his fiancé’s cooking talent as guests complimented the canapés. Chad had recently proposed, and Casey’s delight was unbounded, but Bruno secretly thought that if he heard the words “my fiancé” once more, he might shoot Casey himself.

Bruno was happy for his friends, but longed for his own relationship. Busy with helping renovate the shelter and reeling from the aftermath of Seb’s crimes, Bruno hadn’t had the will to try dating. But now? Maybe it was time to get back out there.

As he brooded, a shadow fell across him, and Bruno jumped, startled into awareness. A large man stood before him, and as if moved from blocking the light, Bruno recognized Waylon.

The detective was thinner, and lines of pain and strive etch his face. Still something about Waylon seemed lighter, and Bruno still thought he was the handsomest man the ginger had ever seen.

“Hey,” Waylon said, a smile lightening his face, releasing some of the tension.

“Hey, yourself,” Bruno said with an answering smile. “How have you been?”

Waylon hesitated for a minute. “A lot of changes.”

“Good changes? Bad changes?”

“Some of both. I’ve gone into the private sector. Opened a P.I. firm.”

“You left the force?”

“My coming out didn’t go well. Besides, it was time for some changes.”

“You came out at work?”

“Home, too.”

“And how did that go?”

“Some good, some bad, but I have hope it will all work out in the end.”

“Waylon, if there’s anything I can do…”

“There is, actually. One of the good things about coming out is that I can ask the best looking guy here to dance with me. I even bribed the d.j. to play our song.” Waylon held out his hand.

“Our song?” Then Bruno heard it, the opening notes of Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.

As Al Green began to sing, Bruno said with a smile so broad his cheeks ached. “There’s nothing more I’d like to do than dance with you.” Bruno took Waylon’s hand and led him to the dance floor.