Chapter Text
The phone rings four times before Ryland finally picks up.
“Hey,” he says, a little breathless. “Sorry, phone was buried in my bag. What’s up?”
Colt can’t help the smile that takes over his face. He’s so excited, so proud of Jody. “You know how Metalstorm II is coming out next month?”
“Yeah?”
“Well,” Colt lets the anticipation build for a moment, “there’s going to be a red carpet premier, real Hollywood type shit, and since I’ve got an in with the director, I get to invite whoever I want. Which is you, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Ryland agrees. “That’s so cool! I can’t believe I’ve never been to one of these premiers with how long you’ve been working in Hollywood. Actually, have you been to one of these before?”
“Nope! It’s my first one, too. Jody’s been to some before, as a guest. And speaking of, I’ll be Jody’s arm candy during the actual event, I won’t be able to babysit you.”
“Hey!”
“But you can bring a plus one,” Colt continues. “Think Marissa would wanna come?”
“Oh man. Yeah, she’d love to, but she’s got her important government research job now. She can’t just take off for a week on practically no notice.”
“Bummer,” Colt says. “We can’t all be teachers with a three month long summer vacation. But it’s not for another month or so. Plenty of time to find a date,” he provokes.
“Ugh, no way that’s happening,” Ryland scoffs.
Colt laughs heartily. He loves teasing his brother about his lack of a love life. It was a bit of a touchy subject for a while after he and Linda split, but that’s far enough in the past now that Ryland can take a little ribbing.
“I’m sure if you put ‘looking for a date to a red carpet premier in LA’ in your tinder bio, you’d have a dozen matches by the end of the day,” Colt prods. Jody rolls her eyes at him, and he gives her a wink.
“You know for a fact I don’t do tinder,” Ryland says. “Not after that fiasco last summer, when you convinced me that it would be a good idea to suggest a tour of Alcatraz for a first date.” He’s starting to sound a little annoyed for real now, and Colt is a good brother, so he’s about to switch topics, ask about Ryland’s students, when he interrupts that train of thought.
“But actually,” Ryland starts, sounding thoughtful. Colt can picture him pacing, or maybe sticking the end of his pen in his mouth as he thinks. “There is someone I could invite. I mean, we haven’t known each other all that long. It might be weird.”
There’s someone? In Colt’s brother’s life? There hasn’t been anyone since Linda, at least not anyone serious enough to tell family about. He does his best not to sound too eager when he speaks.
“Anyone you’ve told me about?”
“No, I only met him last year,” Ryland says.
Colt’s brain catches on one word: him. His eyes widen and he stubs his toe on the dining table, mouths a couple of choice words. Jody makes eye contact with him and mouths, you okay? He throws her a thumbs up and continues pacing.
“Yeah? How’d you meet?” It feels like the natural next question. He shakes out his foot.
“He’s a parent of one of my 8th graders from last year. We, uh, kinda went on this impromptu camping trip together a few months ago after he helped chaperone a field trip? It’s a long story. But Claire, his daughter, is no longer my student, so.”
Ryland sounds so chill about this. He’s never chill about discussing his love life. Colt is unbalanced by his brother’s unusual calm. If he’s gonna be chill about this, then Colt won’t be the one to make it weird. No, he’ll be so supportive Ryland won’t know what hit him.
“Well, hey, that’s great! I can’t wait to meet him.” There, normal. So normal.
“I’ll ask him about it when I see him on Friday,” Ryland says. “Text me the dates and everything. Gosh, this is so cool. Jody’s first red carpet premier. She’s way out of your league, you know.”
“I know. She’s the best,” he says, eyes flitting over to where she’s lounging on their sofa wearing one of his sweatshirts. She’s absolutely swimming in it. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun and her face is bare. She meets his eyes and grins, radiant. She’s gorgeous—she absolutely could be in front of the camera if she wanted to, but Colt’s glad she’s the one calling the shots. The world needs her creative genius. God, he loves her. He can’t believe she chooses to be with a schmuck like him. He hopes this guy can be everything to Ryland that Jody is to him.
“And what’s your guy’s name?”
“Court,” Ryland answers, sounding distracted now. “Hey, listen, you caught me at kind of a busy time, but I’ll give you a call back in a little bit. Give Jody and Jean-Claude my love!”
“Yeah, will do. And I’ll see you in a few weeks, man! It’s been too long.”
“Way too long. But I’ve really gotta go, sorry! I’ll call you soon. Love you!”
Ryland hangs up before he can reply. He’s left standing in the kitchen, phone to his ear, brain buffering.
“Colt? Everything alright?” Jody calls from across the room. He blinks and shakes his head a bit, puts his phone in his pocket, heads over to the sofa where she’s lounging. She scoots over a bit so he can tuck himself into the corner of the sofa before leaning back into Colt’s embrace. He kisses her temple, a strand of her hair sticking to his lips. He sputters a bit to get rid of it, which makes her laugh. She leans further into him and he sighs, wrapping his arms around her middle.
“I think Ry just came out to me,” he says.
Jody hums, letting him know she’s listening.
“And I think he’s dating someone,” he continues. At this, Jody sits up and turns around to face him.
“No way,” she says.
“Yes, way.”
“Ryland? Your Ryland?”
“The one and only.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that this guy, Court, is one of his students’ parents from last year, and that she’s in high school now, and that they went camping together, and he’s gonna ask him to come to the premier,” Colt spills as much detail as quickly as he can.
“Anything else? Did you get a last name? We should try to find his Instagram,” Jody says, just as eager as Colt is to find out more about Ryland’s mystery man.
“No last name. Shit, that would’ve been smart. You’re so smart,” he says. She smiles at that and he can’t help but kiss her.
“Well, next time you talk, get this Court guy’s last name. I wanna find out whatever I can before we meet him.”
“Will do,” he says, leaning in for another kiss. He pushes his conversation with Ryland to the back of his mind and scoops Jody up with a grunt. She laughs, bright and delighted, as he carries her toward their bedroom.
Graces loves teaching. He loves his students, getting to encourage their scientific curiosity, watching their young minds grow and learn. It’d been a surprising change to his career trajectory, but ultimately a good one. There’s almost nothing he loves more.
He loves summer vacation.
He wakes up any time between ten and noon most days, stays up until the small hours playing video games and reading article after article on Wikipedia, and only puts on real pants when he has to leave his apartment to get groceries or meet up with Marissa for their weekly dinner.
Lately, he’s also been meeting up with Court.
Every other Friday, Court shows up at Grace’s apartment on his motorcycle. They go to a different burger joint each time, take their fast food to some new scenic spot that Grace has never been to despite living in San Francisco for nearly his entire adult life, and they have what can only be described as a picnic.
His phone pings with a text. It’s just one word: Outside
Grace loves summer vacation for many, many reasons, but he hates how he loses track of the days of the week. He texts back, be right out!
Grace launches himself up from the sofa where he’d been lounging and reading reddit for the past three hours. He grabs a pair of jeans from the floor and pulls them on, hopping on one leg toward his closet. He grabs the first clean shirt he sees, a black tee with a crude drawing of a ramp and a ball that says “I HAD POTENTIAL” across the front. He pulls it on, runs a hand through his hair, and grabs a cardigan. He slips his feet into his shoes without bothering to tie them, shrugs on his cardigan, and grabs his keys. He’s halfway out the door before he remembers to grab his motorcycle jacket and helmet. After a very rushed five minutes, he’s down the stairs and out of the building.
Court is leaning against his parked motorcycle, helmet off but jacket on, looking cool and tough and mysterious as usual. Grace waves at him then trips on nothing. Court is nice enough not to say anything, but his mouth curves into a soft smile.
“Hey,” he greets, pulling on his motorcycle jacket. “Sorry, lost track of time.”
“It’s fine,” says Court. “You up for a longer ride today? There’s a beach overlook I wanted to check out.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Grace says as he pulls on his helmet. Court does the same.
“There’s a place on the way that’s famous for their bacon cheeseburger,” Court says as he mounts the bike. “At least, that’s what they say on their website.” Grace follows, swings his leg over the bike and wraps his arms around Court’s strong torso.
“That sounds amazing. Let’s go, I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Court says, but he kicks the bike into gear and they pull out onto the street.
Forty-five minutes later, Grace and Court sit side by side on a bench overlooking the Pacific ocean. There’s a slight breeze, and the sun is beginning to dip toward the horizon. Thick blades of a grassy looking succulent carpet the ground on the opposite side of the trail, and a wooden fence runs along the edge of a rocky cliff.
Grace takes a huge bite of his bacon cheeseburger and moans.
“Oh my god. This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he says through a mouthful of meat and bread. He lets out another theatrical moan. “Seriously. This might be better than sex.”
Court just raises an eyebrow at him and takes a bite of his own burger before returning his gaze to the ocean.
They eat in relative silence for a few minutes, interrupted only by a hiker and her dog, who’d no doubt smelled them pull up with their food from a mile away by the way his nose is wiggling. Grace waves at her as she passes them by, dragging her dog by the leash as he wistfully sniffs the air.
“Have I told you about my brother’s dog?” Grace asks. When Court shakes his head, he continues. “His name is Jean-Claude. All his commands are in French. He actually used to belong to Tom Ryder, the actor. And the dog was in Good Dog, Bad Cop, do you know the movie? Anyway, a bunch of stuff happened when they were filming Metalstorm and Colt ended up with this dog since he’d already worked with him—the dog, and I guess Tom Ryder, too—on that cop movie.” Grace realizes he’s rambling, but the words keep coming.
“Actually, speaking of Colt, he invited me to a thing in LA in a few weeks. It’s the premier for Metalstorm II. Jody, his girlfriend, is the director.”
“Are you going to go?” Court asks. He turns toward Grace, and Grace feels a surge of gratitude for his past self for remembering to bring his glasses. He can see just fine at long distances, but up close, the world is blurry without them. Through his glasses, Court’s face is in perfect focus, and his icy eyes hold Grace’s gaze.
“Yeah, of course! It’s Jody’s first red carpet premier and Colt’s stunt company did all the stunt work for it,” he says. “And,” he finds himself hesitating, though he’s not sure why. It isn’t that weird to invite your friend of a few months to an event like this, right? “I get a plus one. Do you wanna come with? I mean, I don’t know if it’s your scene, and I kinda feel like it isn’t, but, you know. Um. It might be fun?” Real smooth, Grace. “They’ll fly us down and put us up in a hotel and everything.”
Court watches Grace for a moment, making him squirm a bit before again looking back at the ocean.
“I can’t be photographed,” he says, which isn’t exactly an answer. Grace scrunches his eyebrows, but Court continues. “If you can guarantee that, I’ll go.”
“I’ll talk to Colt about that, see what he can do. I’m sure that isn’t even a weird request.”
Court looks to Grace again and gives him a small smile. “It sounds fun.”
Grace feels his face heat up, so he looks away, at the setting sun. The golden hour light casts a warm orange glow over the beach and cliffside.
“And I want to meet this French speaking dog.”
“Do you speak French?”
“Oui, je le parle,” Court answers. Yes, I speak it.
“Ugh, of course you do,” Grace scoffs, but his tone is playful. “You probably speak, like, five languages.”
Court chuckles a bit at that, but doesn’t otherwise respond. Grace returns his gaze to the sunset.
“And Claire? Can you leave her for that long?”
“I’ll figure something out,” he says.
They spend a few more minutes watching the sun dip lower and lower on the horizon, the sea breeze cooling the hot summer afternoon to a comfortable chill. Grace takes a deep, indulgent breath. He loves the salty smell of the sea, the clean air, so different from the urban smells of San Francisco.
“We could make it a road trip,” Court suggests.
“Hm?”
“Load up the bike, ride down the Pacific Coast Highway. See more places like this.” Court looks at him. “Eat every burger between here and LA.”
Grace laughs.
“You know, that actually sounds pretty fun. I haven’t been on a road trip since I was a kid.” Grace pulls his cardigan around himself. The chill is starting to get to him now that the sun is fully below the horizon. The sky is glowing a gorgeous salmon-pink; a few wispy clouds catch the sun’s final rays.
Court stands, twists his torso a bit to stretch.
“Let’s get going, I wanna hit the road before it’s pitch black out.”
Grace collects their trash and they head toward the parking lot. They don their jackets and helmets before Court revs the engine of the bike, causing a flock of seabirds pecking at crumbs in the parking lot to take flight in a flurry of flapping wings. Grace settles into his position on the passenger seat of the bike and wraps his arms around Court, lets him drive Grace home. He’ll call Colt tomorrow, figure out logistics, let him know he’s bringing Court with him to LA. Planning a spontaneous road trip brings him back to his undergrad summers—no responsibilities, no homework, the stress of finals behind him.
Grace loves summer vacation.
Court unlocks the front door to his empty apartment and hangs his jacket and helmet in the entryway. The lights are off, Claire having a sleepover at her friend Olivia’s house. This summer, with school on break and Court between jobs, Court and Claire spend nearly every waking hour together. He loves the kid, he really does, but he’s used to living alone, to being alone. Having someone else in his space had been hard for him to get used to, had put him on edge.
And yet, when Claire spends the night away, he finds he misses the company. Maybe that’s why, every time Claire spends the night away, he invites Grace out for burgers and a ride.
Shit. Why did he suggest they ride the bike to LA? Grace probably only said yes to be polite, or because he was caught off guard. He didn’t get time to think about it. It’s only a two hour flight, and he’s sure their flights would be in first class. A cramped airline seat is nothing compared to the torture that Court has endured, so it makes no difference to him, but he suspects it would be a bigger deal to Grace. It would be downright luxurious for the teacher, who, Court feels certain, has never flown first class. Grace’s long legs would have enough room to stretch out. It would be a hell of a lot more comfortable than ten to twelve hours on a motorcycle on winding roads.
Court sighs, dropping onto his couch and putting his head in his hands. He can be honest with himself. He knows, deep down, it’s not about the comfort, or the novelty of the extra wide plane seats and the free drinks.
He’s being selfish.
He wants more of Grace’s time, his attention. He can recognize now, he thinks, what he’s feeling. Attraction. Affection. He’s not sure how much of this is normal for a friendship between two adult men. He wasn’t trained for this. He hasn’t had a friend since his time in prison, and even then, friendships had been tentative, shallow. Is this just what friendship feels like? Court has never had what he’d consider a best friend. Maybe this is how everyone feels for their best friend.
Court feels the phantom sensation of arms tightening around his torso and his breath catches. Fuck.
He hates the word, hates how childish it sounds, but in the privacy of his own mind, he can admit it.
He has a crush.
“Fuck,” he says aloud, softly, to nobody. He stands and paces, full of energy despite the evening’s ride to the viewpoint with Grace. It’s late now, fully dark, but Court knows there’s no way he’s going to fall asleep.
He changes into a black tee shirt and black running shorts. It’s been a few weeks since he’s done any nighttime recon in his neighborhood, he reasons, and he might as well kill two birds with one stone and get an extra run in. On impulse he also pulls on his bulletproof vest for the additional fifteen pounds. It’s a lot more comfortable to run in than a backpack loaded with rocks, and he wants a challenge right now. Over the top of the vest he pulls on a loose windbreaker.
He leaves his apartment, locks the door behind himself, and immediately takes off running. He keeps his footfalls soft, his breathing quiet, as he works his way through his neighborhood. He runs, his route taking him up and down some of the steepest roads in the city, heart pounding and sweat dripping from his brow. His rhythmic breathing and burning legs do their best to keep his mind in the present, but his thoughts keep returning to Grace.
He can ignore this. He doesn’t have to act on every emotion he feels. He knows he has an iron will, nobody with anything less would have made it through Sierra training without one, so he knows he can handle this. Grace is his friend. Court can be Grace’s friend in return. He can be a normal, regular guy.
After nearly forty minutes of running up punishingly steep hills, Court returns to his apartment. He discards his jacket and bulletproof vest as he makes his way toward the bathroom. His entire undershirt is soaked in sweat; he peels it off and throws it on his bathroom floor, where it lands on the tile with a wet smack.
He showers off quickly and mechanically, focuses hard on the ache and fatigue in his muscles. The warm water relaxes him, and he turns the heat up. Hot showers are a luxury he’d spent years without, and while he can live without them, he really doesn’t want to. Under the hot spray, he massages the scar tissue on the back of his left shoulder blade, the bullet sized scar on his right thigh, working the tissue until it feels less tight. He groans through the pain-pleasure of it, drops his forehead to the tile wall, sighs. After a moment to catch his breath, he gets out of the shower, roughly towels himself off, and falls into his bed, naked and damp.
He’s exhausted from his run, his muscles are relaxed from the hot shower, and yet he tosses and turns for almost an hour before sleep finally finds him.
He dreams of Grace, arms wrapped around him on Court’s motorcycle, the two of them in tuxedos. They ride through LA, toward Hollywood, speeding up as they get closer and closer. Suddenly they’re on the red carpet itself, celebrities jumping out of their way as they tear through the crowd. People are screaming, bleeding, crying. Cameras flash at him from every angle, and he looks directly into the lens of a camera right in front of him, and the strobe of the flashbulb fires, but the sound of the shutter is replaced with the crack of a sniper rifle shot, and Court wakes with a start, chest heaving, heart beating rapidly, a sheen of sweat covering his exposed chest.
“Fuck.”
Colt’s phone rings as he’s unlocking the door to his apartment. He drops his gym bag on the floor, locks the door, and answers.
“Heya, Ry, what’s up?”
“Hey,” he greets. “You busy?”
“Never too busy for you,” he says, his phone held between his shoulder and ear as he rummages in his cabinet for his shaker bottle and protein powder.
“Great! I talked to Court, and he’s gonna come with me to the premier.”
Colt sets the bottle aside to focus on this conversation.
“That’s awesome, glad he can make it. If you text me his full name, I can book your flights,” he says. He and Jody had discussed how best to get Court’s last name without arousing suspicion in Ryland, and they’d come up with this plan. Offer to book the flights themselves. Simple, effective, irresistible bait for a chronic procrastinator like Ryland. “First class. The producers are sparing no expense.”
“As nice as that sounds,” he starts, “we’re gonna make it a road trip. Take the motorcycle down the coast, see some sights.”
Colt blinks.
“Excuse me? Since when do you ride a motorcycle? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
Ryland laughs.
“I don’t ride motorcycles. Court does. I just hold on.”
Colt is rarely rendered speechless, but right now, no words come out of his mouth.
“Colt? You there?”
“Um. Yes,” he coughs. “Sorry, the image of you on a motorcycle must have broken my brain there for a second. Seriously, what the hell. Is he a good driver? Motorcycles are extremely dangerous. I know you know that. Do you wear all the safety gear?”
“Wow, I never thought I’d see the day where you lecture me about safety. Yes, he’s a good driver; yes, I have a jacket and helmet.”
Colt scoffs. “Just get here in one piece. I’ll kill you if you show up dead.”
“Love you, too.”
Colt rolls his eyes, scoops some protein powder into his shaker bottle, adds water.
“Do you have a suit?” he asks as he gives his bottle a vigorous shake. “Actually, do you even own a tie that doesn’t have planets or molecules on it? It’s a formal event. Jody’s already got her dress picked out.”
“Yes, mom, I have a nice suit and tie,” he says, putting on an exaggerated air of annoyance. “Anything else I should pack?”
“Swim trunks for the hotel pool and a bag of the good coffee beans from that cafe down the street from your place.”
“You got it,” he promises.
“I’ll get the hotel booked, though. It’ll be in your name, but it’ll be paid for by the producers.”
“Thanks,” Ryland says. “Oh, before I forget. Court said he’d only come if he could be sure nobody would take any photos of him. He’s, uh,” Ryland clears his throat, “a very private person. We won’t need to actually be on the red carpet, right?”
Colt’s heart clenches at that. He imagines having to keep his feelings for Jody wrapped up tight, knows it would be an impossible task. His love for her is always bursting out of Colt’s seams, uncontainable, unignorable. He wishes they didn’t feel like they have to hide their relationship, but if Ryland’s willing to do that for Court, Colt will do what he can to make them both feel more comfortable.
“No, there will be a roped off area for the VIPs—that’s you guys—where you’ll have a view of the red carpet. There will be photographers all over, but there won’t be any cameras pointed at you. And the afterparty won’t have any photographers.”
“Perfect,” says Ryland, sounding relieved. “I can’t wait to see you guys! I think you’ll really like Court. He said he’s excited to meet Jean-Claude, too. He speaks French.”
“Oh yeah? Well, as long as he doesn’t say the A word around him, they can meet,” Colt says.
Ryland laughs, loud and sudden.
“I’ll let him know that word’s off limits.”
They chat for another ten minutes or so. Colt sips his protein shake as Ryland tells him about his and Court’s most recent date; bacon cheeseburgers at a beach overlook just south of San Francisco and a scenic ride on Court’s bike. Colt thinks of Jody, of spicy margaritas on the beach, and can’t help but smile. He needs to bring them to his and Jody’s favorite Mexican restaurant while they’re in town. He hopes Court likes margaritas.
Eventually Ryland tells him he’s gotta go run some errands They say goodbye, promise to talk soon, and hang up.
Colt immediately calls Jody. If Ryland and Court’s relationship is on a need to know basis, he needs to make sure Jody doesn’t accidentally out them.