In the Fishbowl - 2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to Jim for editing!

It was clear to both occupants of the little, cluttered car that the driver didn’t know what to make of Travis Beltnick as he took his time on the snowy streets, taking a direction every now and then from his passenger. He had a hand half over a firm jaw, and on occasion his green eyes would slide towards his passenger, sometimes curious, and sometimes accusing.

Personally, Travis wished that the guy would lighten up; or turn on some music. Anything to make the ride more enjoyable for both of them. Finally, he just said, “It wasn’t personal, you know.”

“Oh. Yeah. Uh-huh.”

Travis narrowed his already narrow eyes. “If you’re that bent about it, why give me a ride home?”

Dennis dropped his second hand on the wheel and turned on Travis. “What makes you think I’m taking you home?” he responded. “For all you know I’m about to leave you on top of the mountain to freeze your balls off--not that it would bother you, none. You obviously have some to spare!”

For a brief moment, Travis was surprised, but then he laughed. “A sense of humor. Who knew? So, now that we’re on friendly terms...”

“We’re not.”

“So, now that we’re pretending to be on friendly terms,” Travis corrected himself. “What’s the deal with Phil Clayton?”

“We’re old friends.”

Travis’s lip turned up. “Says you...says him. But, personally, I don’t see it.”

Dennis sighed, more out of frustration with the situation. “It is what it is. How’d you end being friends with him?”

“Oh, we’re not friends,” Travis said earnestly. “In fact, I’m making a mental note to kick his ass for that bullshit back there as we speak.”

Dennis seemed to take some interest in the comment. “Do you do this often?”

“Pick fights with strangers for a few bucks?” Travis replied. “Nah. I usually pick fights with willing strangers for a few bucks. Hey, I bet you’ve done some damage before; if you ever feel like getting out of delivering those pizzas we could set something up. You might even get paid to throw me around a little more.”

“I’d do that for free.”

Travis laughed again. “No need to make a believer out of me. Turn at the next right. We’re not too far out of your way, are we?”

“You care?”

“I can walk from here,” Travis said seriously.

Dennis considered it for a moment, but then shook his head. “Where’d you say you live again?”

“I didn’t. It’s an apartment just up here. Greenview Village.”

At that, Dennis looked over, seeming amused for a second before he shook his head.

“You know it?” Travis asked.

“I know the owner. He’s another old friend.”

“Huh. Well, I hope he doesn’t ask me to hit you, too,” Travis remarked, rubbing at his sore ribs. “At least until after I recover from this time.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. If Aiden really wanted to hit me he’d do it himself.”

“Aiden?” Travis repeated, and then looked unexplainably pleased with himself. “Aiden Knightly, right?”

“Yep.”

“Huh. So that’s who I pay my rent to? Huh. Met him tonight. Nice guy.”

“If you say so.”

Travis looked over at Dennis as he pulled into the parking lot of his complex--not in front of the right building, but it was good enough. “Do you have any old friends that actually like you?”

“Nope. Can’t say I do,” Dennis replied, and then gestured around the parking lot. “Will this do it for you?”

Travis looked thoughtful before he opened the door, allowing the cold air to chill the inside of the vehicle. “I guess so. For now. See you around, Dennis,” he said, and then closed the door before any negative response to that was issued.

Jogging through the buildings, Travis made it to his door and juggled out his keys, only to find that the front door was unlocked. He hated when Ryan did that, but never griped since the door being locked only really mattered when he was on the other side of it, and once he was he turned the lock, and he could have woke an entire cemetery the way he wrestled his wet clothes off, all the while moving through a gauntlet of gym equipment that wouldn’t have looked right in any living room but theirs; and stopping to peer into Ryan’s room, he decided that he would have woke an entire cemetery--if Ryan wasn’t in it. His roommate was fast asleep beneath a mountain of covers, his dark head barely sticking out. Travis flicked his light a few times to make sure he was really asleep. If not, he wouldn’t have minded talking for a while, but Ryan didn’t so much as stir.

By the time Travis reached his own bedroom, every article of clothing that had been covering his body, except for a new pair of dark boxers, was piled in his arms. He dropped it all except his pants as he turned on a light and locked himself in. He emptied his pockets before dropping his pants, and then surveyed his near empty bedroom on the way to his dresser where he opened the top drawer, moved his socks aside, and cast his eyes over the several jars containing tacks, bottle caps, loose matches, empty matchbooks, and then finally the larger jar that had been painted black. He opened the last one, and without bothering to count it, shoved in the roll of money to join the rest before arranging the drawer back to how it was supposed to be. He’d remembered to make his bed the last time he’d used it, and somehow the sight of it made him sleepy. Lifting his arms enough to know he needed a shower, but still willing to wait until morning, he was quick to move across the room, turn off the light, and then lifted his feet as if the floor was on fire as he rushed to his bed.. He pulled back the covers to slip in quickly, pulled them over his head and reached for the uncomfortable thing beneath his pillow. The flashlight flicked on, and Travis held the light beneath his chin as he slowly drifted into an uneasy sleep.

***

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

Travis snapped the gum that he was rarely caught chewing and looked up from the magazine he’d been flipping through at the front desk of the Gordon Dealership to watch the tall balding man with a stern expression cross the empty lobby to his office.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Travis called after him, not that his employer had asked, or even cared. And, they weren’t that bad, anyway, Travis thought as he checked out the faint bruises from last night’s dealings in the reflection of the glass case holding model cars. It could’ve been a lot worse, after all, if Phil’s old friend had bothered to aim for his face. As it was, he still bruised easily, and even the weak punches the highschoolers had thrown had left their mark.

“Has your lazy ass even bothered to get any work done today?” Mr. Gordon called out to him.

“Nope,” Travis replied, unbothered. “My lazy ass has been parked right here, waiting for customers, Sir.”

Mr. Gordon popped out of his office long enough to point a stern finger in Travis’s direction. “You start watching that tone, boy, or I’ll be watching you look for another job.”

Travis snorted. “And I’d still need it less than the man working a late night shift of a drive-thru so he can support his wife and her new boyfriend!”

Travis smiled to himself as he heard Mr. Gordon grumbling behind his office door. When he came out, he looked even angrier than he had when he’d arrived. Travis’s work here was done.

“Has that bitch called today?” Mr. Gordon demanded.

“Yeah,” Travis replied, going back to his magazine. “Something about needing to remodel the kitchen, and your credit card bounced.”

“Which one?” John Gordon demanded.

“All of them. Hey, we should probably sell a few cars to take care of that. Tell you what, I’ll get the next customer that comes through the door,” Travis insisted, and then in a loud whisper, added, “You’re not that good with people lately.”

“Shut your shit hole,” John remarked, once again mumbling as he went back to his office, and then suddenly shouted. “I’m sick’a the whole god damn lot’a you! Get the fuck out, you’re done--fired!”

Travis flipped another page in his magazine. “No I’m not.”

John Gordon reappeared once again, red in the face. Travis wondered if he’d made himself dizzy yet. “Yeah, and why the hell not?”

“Because,” Travis replied, “for some reason, you like me. Probably because I put up with your shit and tell your wife to fuck off when you ask me to.”

Mr. Gordon seemed to think this reasoning over. “I’ll give you that second thing,” he allowed, and then finally went into his office to stay there.

Travis didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want this job, as easy as it was. Of course, it would have been better if they would have been a little busier. Unable to go home, Mr. Gordon had been spending enough time in the dealership to keep everyone at home except for Travis and two maintenance men, and really, he probably should have appreciated it more since he was the only employee there who hadn’t been around for years. But as he’d said to Mr. Gordon, that was probably because the old man liked him in a strange, twisted sort of way.

It was a slow morning at the dealership, and Travis spent most of it bored out of his mind; but eventually he made a sale, and that lifted his spirits enough to call and see what Kyle was up to. Mr. Gordon had completed Travis’s sale by the time he hung up, and for the next half hour he listened to the old man argue with his wife over the phone about their dwindling financial situation in what Mr. Gordon likely considered a hushed tone. Travis had never been concerned over what went on in the life of John Gordon as long as his paycheck was on time, but even he noticed that the old man looked grimmer than usual when he finally came out of his office.

“Stop paying her,” Travis suggested, even when his opinion wasn’t asked for.

“A court order says I have to until the divorce is final,” Mr. Gordon responded, and then made more curses under his breath.

“So get divorced,” Travis said, checking his watch. Two minutes left, but if he waited those two minutes, he’d miss his bus and end up late for work at the Video Warehouse again. For a moment, he weighed the options of incurring the wrath of Mr. Gordon, or of Lacy. Decidedly, Lacy could be more frightening, though he was sure he was the only one who’d think that.

“Look, Mr. Gordon, I’ve gotta run. But hey, if you need some extra cash that your wife never has to know about, I’m thinking about putting together a fight pretty soon.” And with that idea planted, Travis hardly took the time to empty his locker before he was on his way across town.

***

“Dennis, if you’re hungry we’ve got lunch upstairs!” a cheerful male voice called following the knock on the door of his basement bedroom, and Dennis sighed, wondering if he should respond, or pretend that he was asleep.

“Thanks, Mr. Chesley,” he finally called, but by then, the other man’s footsteps had already faded up the stairs.

Using the remote to raise the volume of the television, Dennis turned over on his bed and shielded his face when the black cocker spaniel sharing his pillow tried to get his attention by licking his nose. In turn, he held her under his arm and petted her roughly, hoping that his canine would give up on wanting to take a walk. If he even attempted it now, he’d be carrying her in his coat the whole way because according to her, her winter coat wasn’t enough to fend off the cold. So, neither of them went on a walk, and Dennis felt as unsatisfied with just sitting there as his dog was.

Dennis was pretty sure that part of the problem was that he was always moving. Moving pizzas. Moving Sunday papers. Moving Mrs. Chesley’s furniture all through the house because she never knew where she wanted it and between her fragile son and her husband’s bad back, Dennis was all the help she had. But then, he didn’t mind that last task so much. He didn’t really mind any of them. The problem came when all he had to occupy his day was a paper route that took him not even two hours to complete. Then, there was nothing except for an oversized room and not enough to fill it. And, he supposed, the Chesleys.

They were nice people. Nice enough to take him in nearly two years ago, to make him a part of their family when he didn’t have one. But, even if he was grateful, he was also ready to find a life of his own. He worked just about every day, he paid his own bills, including a fair price for rent, and he fed his dog. But he never really felt like he was doing something. And with this much free time on his hands, his mind often drifted into territories that he’d rather stay away from. Like it did when he finally turned off the television and picked up the phone.

Sometimes Dennis wondered why he even had a phone. He supposed it was his employers could get hold of him; or the Chesley’s, when their son Reilly needed an occasional ride. But, it wasn’t like Dennis ever called anyone. There was only one number even logged into his phone, and even then, he never called it. Not unless he was so bored that he’d actually lost his mind from being bored.

It must have been one of those times.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Dennis looked to the cocker spaniel, as if to consult her before pushing the button that would inevitably connect his call. She didn’t seem to care either way, so he decided it would be safe to blame her later if this didn’t turn out well. He pushed the button, and then waited. Not very long, though, because he was surprised by how fast a voice on the other end of the line picked up.

“Hello?”

“Dovan?” Dennis replied, and then winced at the sharp way that last name tended slip from his mouth. “Um... Owen?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“It’s Dennis. This is... Dennis.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Dennis repeated dumbly. This was awkward. He hated awkward. If it were up to him, he’d never do awkward. “Listen...I mean...you know what? This was probably a bad idea. Sorry. Bye.”

“Why are you calling?” Owen asked, not giving Dennis enough of a chance to hang up. He thought about pretending that he’d already done that; that he hadn’t heard the question; but before he finished considering it, it was too late. “Dennis?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“So why were you calling... everything’s okay, right?”

Because, of course, Dennis never called Owen Dovan when things were okay. He felt like an even bigger idiot.

“Everything’s fine. I guess... um, how are you?”

The nicety was obviously not something Owen Dovan expected, because it took him a moment to respond. “Good. I guess.”

“Okay,” Dennis said. “Good.” This was how a normal conversation was supposed to go, right? He felt too out of practice to know for sure, and it was beginning to frustrate him. “Do you wanna go do something?” he managed to get out quickly, likely before he had a chance to change his mind. And then he waited, for whatever excuse Owen was about to come up with to end this call.

“Uh...yeah.”

“Yeah?” Dennis repeated, unable to hide his skepticism, and Owen laughed.

“Yeah. Inside, though, right? It’s freezing today.”

“Fine.”

“You know where my brother’s club is?” Owen asked, and when Dennis said he did, “There’s a place across the street...”

Coffee. Dennis didn’t do coffee almost as much as he didn’t do awkward. But, he still ordered one as he sat down in the small café where Owen was supposed to meet him. Unfortunately, Dennis wasn’t really the café-going-type-of-guy either, and he found himself wishing that Owen would have arrived first so he’d have less of an opportunity to get the hell out of there.

Part of that was because Dennis didn’t really know what he was doing there in the first place--or, what Owen was doing meeting him. They’d gone to high school for a short time together, but even then, they hadn’t been friends. Not even acquaintances. Actually, for most of that time, mortal enemies would have been a more accurate description.

It hadn’t been Owen’s fault so much as Dennis’s, and Dennis knew it. Dennis didn’t know a bigger asshole than himself in high school, and he’d even aspired to be just that. But then, things changed, and he found that the one person he’d gone out of his way to make miserable was one of the few people he could actually count on, all because they’d found they had one thing in common. A crappy childhood with even crappier parents was really nothing to bond over, and they hadn’t bonded, not exactly. Owen had moved in with his older brothers to get away from his parents, and he had friends that seemed to love him no matter how obnoxious he could be; while Dennis had moved in with the Chesleys--even after tormenting their son on more than one occasion--and he kept primarily to himself. But, Dennis figured that the one thing they had in common was an understanding of each other, so during the few times that he actually felt like calling a friend, it was always Owen who came to mind, regardless of whether or not Dennis ever ended up calling. He usually didn’t, and that was exactly why meeting Owen now felt like such a strained effort to him. It was also probably why the first words out of his mouth when Owen sat down were, “Hey, asshole.” And Dennis was ready to crawl under a rock and die. “Owen,” he quickly corrected himself. “Sorry... old habits, I guess.”

But, to Dennis’s surprise, Owen didn’t look at all fazed. He even smiled. “No problem, dumbass,” he responded, and then looked thoughtful. “Is it weird if I actually miss fighting with you? I mean, not the part when we were always hitting each other... or you calling me a fag, or...”

“I think I get it.”

“Right. So is it weird?”

“Is it weird we can only talk if we’re insulting each other?” Dennis asked.

Owen seemed to consider that, too. “Not really. Like you said, old habits and all. But, I guess we’re talking now.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

And then the talking abruptly ended, leaving both of them at an awkward loss before they were forced to laugh at it.

“Alright,” Owen finally said. “So why don’t you tell me what the phone call was all about.”

Dennis shrugged. “I was bored.”

“Seriously? That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Dennis admitted.

Owen sighed. “Whatever. I was bored, too.”

“You’re not working or anything?” Dennis asked.

“Not today. Usually I’m across the street helping Chris out at the club since Tony’s gone.”

“Your other brother, right?” Dennis found it easy to keep up with a conversation when he didn’t have to add anything but small parts to it.

“Yeah. That’s Tony.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Traveling somewhere warm, probably,” Owen responded with obvious envy in his voice. “He’s with his boyfriend... You remember Jake?”

“Yeah,” Dennis nodded thoughtfully. “He’s the one you painted my mom’s house with a while back, right? I think I cussed him out a few times.”

“That’s Jake,” Owen agreed. “What about you? Work, school? I thought I heard you were working at that pizza place... Shelly, I think is the name of the owner.”

“She sold a while back,” Dennis replied. “But yeah. I work there. I’ve got a paper route, too. I think I might deliver yours.” And then, when Dennis felt that sounded entirely too lame, he added, “I was in school for business for a while, but I dropped out.”

“Why?”

“I sorta realized it was what my dad did when he couldn’t play football for a living. Lost interest, I guess.”

“Oh.”

There was more silence, and it was far from comfortable. “I don’t really know how to talk to you,” Dennis finally said. It was as honest as he could get, and unfortunately, the best he could do. But, instead of ending their doomed meeting, Owen seemed to stare somewhere past him for several moments as he contemplated something.

“Aiden and I broke up,” he finally said.

“Huh?”

“Aiden. My boyfriend. You know, the other fag,” Owen quipped sardonically. “We broke up about four months ago. Three months, twenty-two days, if you want me to be specific.”

“No, that’s okay,” Dennis said quickly, because their meeting had suddenly gone from awkward to unsettling, at least on his part. He didn’t have much practice being the sympathetic ear, and the fact that Owen suddenly looked like he needed one was not helping matters.

“It’s just, everyone I know, knows Aiden, too, so it’s not like... it’s not like...”

Owen stopped and his blond brow creased into a frown as if he’d just determined that he was talking to a wall, and should quit while he was ahead. Something about it bothered Dennis.

“Why?”

“What do you mean?” Owen asked, looking up.

“Why’d you break up?” Dennis asked.

Owen’s lips parted, and he shook his mouth, at a loss for words, but Dennis had a feeling that it had nothing to do with his breakup. “Look, Dennis, I get it if this shit makes you uncomfortable. With me and Aiden, you were never... okay, you know?”

Dennis nodded, and then frowned. He, too, seemed to be having trouble coming up with necessary words. “Look,” he finally said, his voice seemingly short. “I’m not an idiot, Owen. I know who your friends are...” --he lowered his voice, as if he suspected everyone in the room to be eavesdropping on their conversation at that very moment -- “and I know that you know some of them used to be my friends. I know you’ve heard things about me that...”

“Okay,” Owen said quickly, and it was a relief. “Just so you know, I’d never repeat any of it.”

“Yeah, I figured if you were going to you would have already,” Dennis replied impatiently. “Can we get back to Aiden now? Did prince charming dump you or something?”

“No. It wasn’t like that. Not really,” Owen replied. Even though as he thought about it, he did recall Aiden being the one to say the exact words necessary to end a relationship. It bothered him. “I think we just... stopped.”

“People do that?” Dennis asked.

Owen nodded. “I guess so. I think we’re supposed to be taking a break. But it just doesn’t feel right, you know?”

“So why not... you know... not, take a break.”

“That wouldn’t feel right, either. Not right now,” Owen replied, and now Dennis was successfully confused.

“I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I,” Owen admitted. He looked at Dennis, appearing just as confused, and then started to laugh in a way that ultimately, Dennis couldn’t help smiling at. It was a strange moment that passed like the rest of them, and afterwards the conversation never turned back to Aiden. Instead they stuck to what they were comfortable with: arguing over who got the better of who back in high school, the people they saw the most, and even a few details about Dennis’s dog. There were still voids that awkward silences crept into, but there were also three cups of coffee each, and a darkening sky before they parted for separate destinations.

***

Kyle Davis was from a big family. Growing up, he’d shared a room with four brothers, and there had been one bathroom for all of them plus two sisters. Needless to say, he’d learned to keep things orderly early on. Back then, it had been the only way to go.

Then, he’d moved away from home to go to school and he’d discovered the joys of having all the space he needed, all to himself. He even left his socks out on the floor every once in a while, though that was as messy as he ever got. So, it was a change to have his cousin’s things cluttering up his apartment. A jacket hung over the couch, dishes left out on the counter, a toothbrush on the bathroom counter, and dirty boots left in the middle of the living room. It all seemed so unnecessary since Kyle had been able to provide Nicky with his own room. But then, he didn’t really mind enough to complain.

Kyle hadn’t been home in a while, and it was nice to live somewhere with noise and clutter again. Although, when he’d first moved into the apartment, he’d never imagined that he’d be living with Nicky in it. Especially since Nicky was the kind of cousin that he’d never really gotten to know. They’d rarely showed up at the same family gatherings, and each time he had seen him during childhood Nicky looked like a completely different person.

It had been chance that connected them just over a year ago when Kyle was living in a small dorm room and he’d recognized his cousin walking across the campus. Nicky had been visiting his best friend, Owen Dovan, and through them, Kyle had managed to meet just about everyone he cared to know, and he’d reconnected with a family member that he wouldn’t have known otherwise.

He found himself reconnecting with Nicky once again, and on a slow Tuesday night, it had already caused him to be an hour late for work. But, Chris would understand. He of all people seemed to understand when family needed to come first, and right now, Nicky needed someone to talk to. Kyle wouldn’t have thought so at the time, but for Nicky, moving in with his dad had been a mistake. His cousin seemed to have tunnel vision when it came to his anger. When he wasn’t around other people, it was all he could talk about.

Kyle only had one side of the story, but it was clear that there had been a disagreement between Nicky and his new stepmother. According to him, he’d spent almost every day helping to care for his little sister, and Kyle didn’t think he minded that so much. But, trouble had started when he’d come home one night and his stepmom offhandedly mentioned that they’d appreciate it if he would make sure to be home by ten every night. Nicky, who was eighteen and not interested in a curfew had blown it off to avoid tension. Of course, he rarely made it home by ten on the nights he went out, and finally his father and stepmother had fought over it. It seemed that the new woman won out, because his dad said the dreaded words (although politely): While you’re living under our roof, we need you to follow our rules. At which point, Nicky had (not so politely) reminded them that the only reason that he was living under their roof was because they’d asked him to, that he was an adult, and that he would do whatever he damn well pleased. After that, the conversation had gone downhill as matters of financial support and who helped out with the new baby the most came into it, along with an incident that sounded silly regarding his stepmother being annoyed about a load of whites that Nicky had turned pink in the washer. This all ended with him packing his bags that very morning, kissing his sister goodbye, and ending up on Kyle’s doorstep not long after. He hadn’t talked to his dad since, and it seemed pretty clear that Nicky felt like he’d been booted out of the man’s life.

Kyle, of course, knew that the fence would likely be mended, at least a little, if Nicky would just call his dad. But, his cousin was stubborn enough to insist that it needed to be the other way around. Maybe, Kyle thought, Nicky was right. He was already thinking about calling his uncle--not to interfere so much as to hint--when Ryan Sader turned up to borrow a textbook. He and Nicky got to talking, and Kyle was finally able to get ready for work as he listened to them from the other room. He was happy to hear that Nicky had given dwelling on his father a rest. But unfortunately, what Nicky did was bring up the one topic that he knew Ryan wouldn’t want to talk about.

“I spent most of last night with Lacy.”

“Please,” Ryan had remarked. “Help yourself to her.”

“She said just as much about you,” Nicky replied. “You were best friends when I left. How come no one’s saying what happened?”

“Because nothing happened. Just let it go, alright?”

“Can’t,” Nicky replied, and there was a pause and the sound of a wrapper crinkling. Kyle guessed that he’d gotten into the bag of chips on the counter that he saw no point in putting away. “I wanna hang out with both of you tonight.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Owen and Aiden can put aside their differences long enough to have some fun.”

“Owen and Aiden are weird,” Ryan insisted. “Besides, I’ve got work to do anyway.”

“Work never stopped you from having fun before.”

“Well, I’m sure Lacy would agree with you,” Ryan said shortly. “So at least you’ll have something to talk about without me.”

“So that’s what happened? She got bored?”

“Nicky, shut up. Seriously.”

“I would, if someone would just explain why...”

“There is no why,” Ryan finally snapped. “There was no one big thing, alright? This is just how me and Lacy are. We tried something serious in high school and should have learned not to repeat the mistake. We can’t be more than friends.”

“But you’re not even that now,” Nicky pointed out.

“That’s because we pissed each other off.”

“So just apologize.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. And what the hell are you all over it for, anyway? You still like Lacy, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Nicky replied. “But, I haven’t exactly been around, and you’re my friend...”

“And that didn’t stop me when you left,” Ryan interrupted. “So I’ll tell you the same thing you told me: It’s alright with me. Okay? Are we good? Can we stop now?”

“No. I’m pretty much gonna be annoying until you tell me why you two aren’t talking.”

In his bedroom, Kyle crept closer to the door as he zipped up his pants, imagining that Ryan was close to pulling out his own hair. Ryan’s tone suggested that he was correct.

“You want a list, fine. I don’t like the way she picks her teeth after every meal--and don’t look at me like that. You see how she eats. That’s a lot of teeth picking! And she hates it when I forget to pick her up because I’m too busy studying, and how I look at other girls, because I do look at other girls, and I’m always going to look at other girls. I liked her better when she pointed them out to me, and I hate how she turns everything I say into an argument. She says I was more fun when I was smoking pot, even though she hated it when I smoked...”

“You stopped smoking pot?” This was from Kyle, who’d finally decided to emerge from his bedroom.

“Hell no,” Ryan stated. “I just don’t smoke as much as I used to. I think it really does make you stupid, you know? Besides, I can’t smoke it at my place anymore because Travis hates it.” He paused long enough to turn back to Nicky. “Anyway, there’s a lot of shit. We’re not good together unless we’re just friends, and right now Lacy doesn’t want to be friends because she thinks...”

“Travis hates it?” Kyle asked, not seeming to care about what Lacy did or didn’t think.

“Huh?” Ryan asked.

“Travis hates when you smoke?” Kyle repeated.

“Uh... pretty sure,” Ryan said. “He kinda made it seem that way the last time I was smoking when he broke the lock on my door, ripped my pipe out of my hands and threw it out the window.” Ryan looked thoughtful. “He still owes me at least thirty bucks for that.”

“When was this?” Kyle asked.

“Hello,” Nicky grumbled. “What does Lacy think?”

“Right after he moved in,” Ryan answered Kyle.

“Why’d he do that?” Kyle asked, still feeling a bit surprised. Travis had never been predictable, but Kyle had always figured that part of Travis’s more questionable behavior had to do with some kind of drug use.

“He said he didn’t like the smell,” Ryan replied. “I don’t know. You tell me, it’s not like I know him better than you do.”

“Hey!” Nicky finally shouted, jumping onto the couch between where Ryan was sitting and Kyle was standing. “Why doesn’t Lacy wanna be friends?”

“Oh,” Ryan said. “Because she thinks I was cheating on her when we were together.”

“Were you?” Nicky asked, but Kyle didn’t stick around for the answer as he announced he was going to work, grabbed his coat and headed out into the cold, all the while thinking about Travis. He did that a lot, whenever he learned something new about his friend, considering each new piece of information like a puzzle piece; only with Travis, there was never any telling if the pieces would fit together or not.

Maybe he over-thought about his friend. Kyle could admit that. He could even admit that it consumed more of his time than what might be within the normal bounds of friendship. But in his defense, Travis was the only friend he had who could make himself a friend without letting anyone really know who he was, and that left plenty of room for curiosity. There was also what little Kyle did know about Travis that left room for curiosity.

Travis had once told him a story about a past that would have been classified as a nightmare. Granted, he’d been drunk at the time, but Kyle had no reason to doubt him. But that was the only time Travis had ever spoken of any of it, and after that, it was as if his past before walking in to town one day didn’t exist at all. It was possible that Kyle feared one day Travis would leave the same way, as if none of it had ever happened at all.

As if he wanted confirmation that this wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, Kyle lifted his phone from his pocket on the way to his car and tried Travis’s cell. It was a surprise when Kyle got an answer; Travis could forget about the phone for days without charging it. But just because he answered, didn’t mean that he had time to talk. Except to tell Kyle that it would be pointless to look for him at the club tonight, and that he couldn’t talk because he was on the other line with John Gordon. And then Travis hung up, and Kyle was left wondering even more about his friend, beginning with why he’d be on the phone with his more abominable employer this time of night.

***

How could anyone not like John Gordon? Forget he was rude, loud, and just plain mean. He was about to make Travis a profit. Not a fortune, but a tidy enough profit that he was considering a vacation free from all work for at least a few days, and that alone helped Travis forgive Mr. Gordon for taking two days to call about his offer. Not to mention, the old man had managed to make an offer of his own.

This was all fresh on Travis’s mind after another sleepless night and a tedious game of blackjack in a closed bar that hadn’t met his expectations, since by the time he reached home in the early hours of the morning his pockets were empty. Ryan wasn’t there, so he’d likely gone in for an early shift at his new job, and it left their living room free for Travis after a quick shower as he sat on the futon that doubled as their sofa with a towel around his waist, a glass of milk in one hand, and his phone in the other.

With tired eyes, red and protesting against his refusal to close them, Travis looked at the wall clock above the television, and at twenty minutes before five, he made a decision. It probably wasn’t the brightest thing to do, he was tired, after all. But the idea had struck him shortly after speaking to Mr. Gordon, and once Travis got an idea in his head, he had trouble letting go of it.

Clearing the scratchy feeling in his throat caused by spending the night in a room full of smokers, he slowly dialed information, which quickly connected him to the phone number of a particular pizzeria that didn’t close like the rest of them. A woman answered, and he scarcely avoided telling her that she sounded more perky than anyone should at that hour as she asked him if he wanted to try their extra-large pizza and wings special.

“No,” he said, yawning. “Actually, I don’t need to order. I was wondering if you could tell me the next time someone works.”

She was new, but she didn’t see why it would be a problem.

“Dennis,” Travis told her. “Tall guy... doesn’t talk much unless he has to, I guess. Drives a blue...”

She knew him, apparently, because he’d run out fifteen minutes ago and was due back shortly. Travis had been unprepared to that, and for a moment, wondered how important sleep really was as he decided whether or not to get any.

“No,” he finally said, holding his towel in place as he stood and crossed over to the kitchen, opening a drawer near the refrigerator. “Don’t tell him anyone called. But, I think I’ll order something after all. Do you take credit cards?” And when she said that they did, a credit card was exactly what he lifted from the drawer, but it was Ryan Sader’s name he recited when he read it to her.

Forty-five minutes later, Travis had made an effort to put on pants, had closed his eyes for a total of five minutes, and began to wonder whatever happened to delivery in thirty-minutes-or-less as he made sure Ryan’s card was placed neatly on the kitchen table, along with enough cash to cover what he’d spent so Ryan would know he’d used it. Travis was pulling a shirt over his head when there was a knock on the door, and when he unlocked and opened it, he’d somehow managed to wipe all signs of fatigue from his face to replace it with a cheeky smile.

The face greeting him, however, was not as friendly. There was first surprise on Dennis’s face, an obvious question of whether or not he was at the right apartment. Whether or not he decided he was, his jaw clenched in a straight, masculine line from his cheek to his chin; green eyes narrowed and he chewed at a bottom lip that was slightly smaller than the top before he finally said, “You’re not Ryan Sader.”

Travis’s smile only grew. “No. Not really. He’s my roommate. You know him?” he asked.

“Actually--”

“Excellent,” Travis cut him off, and then gestured to the pizza Dennis was carrying. “Can you bring that in here?”

Still frowning, Dennis took a few steps forward, obviously not believing anything to be unusual about the request until he was in the poorly lit apartment and Travis closed the door. And locked it.

“What are you doing?” Dennis asked, definitely more annoyed than concerned.

With his hands still on the doorknob as if to defend it from anyone who might want to get out, Travis turned and leaned against it. “Actually, Dennis,” he said, once again sliding his eyes to the other guy’s name tag. “I’m making you an offer.”