Chapter 2

“Welcome home, Hayden,” Curtis yelled and waved.

Hayden killed the engine and stepped out of his Taurus to walk across the front yard to meet with Curtis Black, who stood on the front porch. Hayden Moore sighed as he looked at his new home. Being a high-powered attorney had been lucrative for him when he lived in Boston. Now, all of that was far behind him. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with fresh air as he walked up the porch to shake hands with the man.

“Hey! Thanks. How are you, Curtis?” He grabbed the man’s solid hand and gave it a healthy shake.

“Good, brother. Good. How was your trip?” Curtis asked as he handed over the keys. The realtor had come recommended by a federal judge friend of Hayden’s who owned a home not too far away from there. So far, Mr. Black had been amazing, and Hayden really was grateful for him finding this place.

“It wasn’t too bad, really. The drive is beautiful and the town… Wow. Now I know why Norman Rockwell lived in Vermont.”

Curtis laughed appreciatively. “Yes, it is great up here. My wife and I usually stay at a lodge just north of here during the winter when we want to ski. Oh, that reminds me, you may want to consider getting snow chains for your vehicle or investing in a heavy truck. Winters can really pile on the snow. Anyway, the papers have been signed and the deed will be arriving soon. I’ll bring it by for you. Where is your moving truck?” He looked over Hayden’s shoulder at my car.

“Ah, I had my old apartment packed up and I’m having it professionally moved. I figured that since I’m by myself, I didn’t want to run the risk of destroying anything.”

“Sounds smart. Well, come on in!” Curtis opened the door and stepped inside with Hayden following.

The inside of the house was in need of some paint—a lot of touching up—but Hayden loved it. It was spacious and open. The smell of dust and stale air hung heavy, but he didn’t care. It was nothing some wood polish, cleaner and opened windows wouldn’t fix. The house itself was sound; the roof was good to last another winter, and the foundation was great. The people who had lived in here over the years had really taken care of it. Wooden floors sprawled out over the place except for in the kitchen, where white ceramic tiles had been laid. The kitchen was his favorite place, large and spacious with plenty of counter to cook on.

Curtis walked over to a silver bucket filled with ice and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “This is tradition for first-time home owners. Would you like a glass?” he asked as he began to twist the cork. It popped, and he had to rush over to the sink to keep the foam from spilling onto the floor.

“Hell yes. That would be great,” Hayden replied. He looked out the kitchen window and onto the lake that was quickly fading from view as the sun set. He sighed deeply. He was finally here and away from the noise of the city, away from the lights of the skyline, and his office. No one was going to shoot him out here—or at least, he hoped not. He absently rubbed his shoulder where change of the weather reminded him of that terrible day.

“Here ya go,” Curtis said.

Hayden turned around and accepted the flute. They clinked glasses and drank down their champagne, making small talk. It was pleasant conversation. Light and filled with laughter. Curtis asked after his profession, and was awed when Hayden said he was retired. “Man, I have fifteen years left. I should have gone into law.”

Hayden gave the obligatory courtesy laugh and asked after his family. The champagne slid easily down and as the sun finally descended Curtis set his glass down, welcomed him once more to his new place, and bid him goodnight.

Once the realtor had gone, Hayden walked out to the car and pulled out a few boxes filled with toiletries and other odds and ends. He also grabbed his overnight bag and another box which contained a queen-size air mattress that he had picked up from a Walmart on his way through town.

He stopped for a second, surprised at how dark it had become. He looked over at the porch, where a light was shining, but the darkness enveloped the world around him. Crickets and other insects buzzed in the trees high above, their noise was pierced by the occasional hoot of an owl. The temperature had significantly fallen since the sun had set, and the chill was very much present in the perfumed air.

It was beautiful. There were no honking horns nor any sounds of traffic on freeways. He looked up into the sky and the heavens were dotted by thousands of stars, and his breath was taken away by the sight. The infinite heavens stretched above him heavy with diamond like stars from horizon to horizon. He smiled to himself and set his things down on the ground.

He stepped on the gravel driveway and stood there, his breath pluming above him, as he marveled at the night sky. In Boston, the stars were hidden by the ambient light of the city. But here, in all this absolute darkness, the heavens showed their glory for all to see. It was beyond him why the other residents of Maplewood would not be outside their homes right now, staring up at the night like he was. He supposed that, like many other people in the world, it was easy to take for granted what you had.

Boy, isn’t that the truth?

He chuckled mirthlessly to himself and reached down for his belongings. He had to get to sleep early; tomorrow, the movers would bring his things, and he had a house to clean up and start repairs on.

As he gathered his scarce trappings to him and climbed the porch, his thoughts trailed back to what brought him here in the first place. His psychologist said these things would pass with time, but to Hayden, they felt like they had occurred just yesterday. How funny life was. How fast things changed from one day to the next.

He had been climbing the ladder quickly as one of Boston’s premier prosecutors. After graduating from Harvard Law, the District Attorney for Boston noticed his gift and personally took Hayden under her wing. They forged their way through case after case, and it wasn’t too long before he was allowed to try cases on his own. He did incredibly well. Taking down criminals was a job he relished, and he did so with finesse. He rarely lost a case. His days consisted of filing briefs and motions, meeting with the Boston police department to go over details of crimes, and meeting with defense attorneys to work out plea bargains. His collogues called him “The Shark.” They said as soon as he smelled blood in the water, he’d strike. That was before the shooting.

Not only was his career moving forward at lightning speed, he had met his husband, Malcolm, who was two years his senior, at a birthday party for a fellow lawyer in the DA’s office. Amanda Tilley, the birthday girl and his co-worker, had invited Malcolm to the party, and he and Hayden hit it off quickly. Malcolm had been an architect who worked among the prestigious families in the Boston area, designing homes and office buildings. As Hayden stared up at the stars overhead, he was transported back to when they met.

* * *

Amanda jumped up from the couch as Hayden made his way into the sitting room of her home. She rushed over and the two embraced. Amanda, with her long blonde hair, large blue eyes, and quick smile, always lit up Hayden’s world. As associates at work, the two had become instant friends and worked many nights together on cases. She was a young up and comer, like Hayden, and both had the same appreciation for the law. When they embraced, Hayden being almost a foot taller than her five-foot-six-inch frame, could smell her shampoo. They parted the hug and she looked up into his eyes adoringly.

“I am so glad you came.” She grinned. The house was packed with people in various groups. Terri Davis, their boss and mentor, had even made the party. She waved at him from across the room, where she surely had to be wowing the gentlemen there about all things legal.

Hayden laughed and waved back. “I wouldn’t miss it. Besides, if I stared at the brief any longer I was going to jump out of the window. I hate appeals cases.” He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the wall tree. He reached into his pocket and retrieved her gift.

“I told you not to get me anything,” she said, feigning anger. Amanda and Hayden both worked long hours to pay their law school debt. As assistant district attorneys, their budgets were very tight, even in fast-paced towns like Boston. It would be a long time before either of them could afford a home of their own, so they usually ended up crashing with roommates or family. Both knew they could go to work for private firms and make money hand over fist, but neither of them had the stomach to defend some of the people that came through the court system daily.

Amanda’s family lived in the Boston area and luckily, she was able to stay at home as she paid off her debt. Hayden had a small studio apartment in a seedier part of town and took public transportation to and from work. He didn’t mind it; he lived for the city. He loved the rush of a busy downtown and the throngs of people walking to and fro from office building to office building.

“You know I wasn’t going to let you have a birthday without getting you something,” Hayden said in his defense. “I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will. You’re gay, you have good taste,” she replied, laughing. He followed her into the hallway and down towards the kitchen when she stopped abruptly and turned to face him.

“Speaking of which…” She trailed off, looking guilty.

“Amanda, you didn’t.”

“I did.”

Hayden groaned. Amanda was always trying to fix him up with the strangest people he had ever met. Just because they were gay, suddenly it meant that Hayden wanted to meet them, and most of the time—more than most of the time—all that came of the blind dates she set him up with was an awkward date that led to an even more awkward parting. He had never forgiven her for the fifty-five-year-old hairdresser that her mom went to.

“No, no, no. No, Hayden. Malcolm is different,” she said, laughing. She knew exactly what Hayden was thinking. “Malcolm is an architect and is very popular in Boston. And let me tell you, sexy is an understatement. I met him at my cousin’s house last month and told him about you.”

“Do you just start giving my life story out to random gay men that you meet?” Hayden asked, only mildly miffed at the revelation.

“Not random. I at least know their names. Come on, he’s in the kitchen.” She grabbed his hand and nearly dragged him down the hallway. He protested the entire way, but he stopped when she pushed on the swinging door that separated the hallway from the kitchen.

A tall dark-haired man was standing amidst a sea of beautiful women. His chiseled face and dark eyes were alight as he regaled them with whatever he was talking about. They laughed and fawned over him, giggling to each other. Malcolm stopped mid-sentence as the door opened and Amanda and Hayden bust onto the scene. He took Hayden’s breath away.

Their eyes made contact and, to Hayden, the rest of the room disappeared. Hayden’s breath caught in his throat and the two just stared at each other in wonder for a second. Hayden’s heart thumped heavily in his chest, and his mouth went dry. The intensity of the gaze with which Malcolm stared back, his dark eyes searching Hayden’s, made him nervous but in a good way.

“Malcolm, this is Hayden, my friend from work. Hayden, this is Malcolm.”

It was Malcolm who moved first, heading across the kitchen and away from his adoring female posse who looked suddenly disappointed. He reached out a hand to Hayden, who took it firmly in his. It was like electricity passed between the two, and Hayden finally found his voice.

“Hi,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. He felt stupid. He could argue court cases before a packed room, in front of a federal judge, but now, if someone asked him his name, even though Amanda had just said it, he would draw a blank.

“Hi.” Malcolm’s voice was deep and sexy. The chemistry seemed to arc between the two of them, and Amanda looked pleased with herself.

That night, while they partied on Amanda’s thirtieth birthday, they celebrated the beginning of their relationship. In between singing to her and the exchange of gifts, the best being Hayden and Malcolm’s, they talked and talked some more. As the wine flowed, and people milled about the house, Hayden and Malcolm discovered that they both loved the arts, music, and as Hayden described his life in the legal profession, Malcolm listened intently and asked questions. When it was Malcolm’s turn, Hayden did the same.

The night didn’t end there. After the party wound down, they took a long walk through Amanda’s neighborhood, and they found their way to an all-night diner, where they sat and talked until the sun came up on the most beautiful Saturday morning that Hayden could remember in a long time. When the morning did come, they exchanged phone numbers and a shy kiss before Hayden took a taxi home.

* * *

Hayden shook his head to clear his mind. The temperature was steadily declining, and he was cold. He walked his things back into the house and shut the door behind him with a thud. He grimaced and shooed the memories away while he placed the air mattress in the living room. Beside the box, he placed his overnight bag and took his toiletries to the master bedroom. He was going to sleep in the living room tonight, but his body ached for a shower. He walked into the master bedroom, which sat empty, and to the adjoining bathroom.

He opened the door and flipped on the light. The bathroom lit up like sunrise, and he blinked his eyes, adjusting to the light. He set the box down on the sink counter and fished out his shaving cream, razor, aftershave, various vitamins, and medicine bottles. He stared at a bottle of Xanax and sighed.

If you’re crazy and you know it, shake your meds.

He barked a bitter chuckle; there was a time he loathed the thought of psychotropic medicine, but now, he took them regularly just to get through the day. He placed them and the various other items in the mirrored cabinet. After he finished, he closed the mirror and was shocked by the sight of his face. This past year had aged him, and he ran his fingers down the length of his cheeks. His eyes looked tired and were framed by unhealthy shadows. His longer dishwater-blonde hair fell limp and faded. His unshaven face, the product of a week without seeing a razor, looked drawn and worn. I am thirty-five years old going on eighty.

Hayden reached into his overnight bag, pulled out fresh clothes and his towel, and grabbed a bar of soap from the box. He stripped out of his clothes, turned on the shower and stepped inside to rinse off the day.