“They wanted someone who can play triangle and xylophone. He’s trying to earn money for school, and the ladies in the group seemed to like him.” Seth frowned, his eyes small and puffy in the darkness. Kelly was keeping a very tired man up. Seth sagged into the bed. “You like him, right?”

  And Kelly had to be honest. “I’d like him more if he loved you less.”

  Seth grunted. “Don’t mind Amara. I think she wanted to crush on Guthrie a little, but I’ll tell you something—I don’t think he likes women as much as he said he did. I’ve met some bi guys and girls here at school, and they date or crush on both. But I really think Guthrie’s not… you know….”

  “Bi?” Kelly couldn’t stop his eye roll. “Yeah, I know. And I think Amara’s right too.” That look on Guthrie’s face—the one that said he wanted what was best for Seth, even if it wasn’t him. “I think he’s been in love with you since Christmas.”

  Seth whined. “Oh shit. Do you need me to walk away from him? You know, stop seeing him? That would sort of suck—that’s both my jobs—”

  “No.” Kelly wished they were having sex again. “No. Vashti broke up with his boyfriend, and he’s been looking at me hopefully again, but I don’t want to quit. You don’t need to.” He sighed and kissed Seth’s shoulder with all the tenderness in his heart. “You’d tell me, though, right? You’d tell me if I needed to walk away? You’d say, ‘Kelly, I love you, but it’s just too hard. Can you walk away?’”

  Suddenly Seth’s eyes were very wide and very focused. “I will never tell you to walk away,” he said, and Kelly heard the ring of a vow in his voice. “You will never hear me say that.”

  Kelly felt his lips tilt up, and for a moment, he tried to contain his expression. But he couldn’t. It should have been old. They’d been telling each other they were in love for getting close to four years now, but the joy, the pride of it, it hadn’t gotten dim or sad or easy.

  It had only gotten more intense, more real, with every stolen moment.

  “Good,” he whispered. “Good.”

  He fell asleep holding Seth close, his palm still tingling, his heart still raw.

  But Seth’s vow rang in his ears. “I will never tell you to walk away.”

  It sustained him. It sustained him through the next morning, watching Seth perform in a cheap tuxedo that nobody saw, because he played like an angel—while Guthrie tried not to watch him with limpid, tragic eyes. It fed him through Sunday evening, when he’d had to drive home alone, heart aching, already exhausted by the week ahead.

  It sustained him through the next few months, when Seth kept sending him pictures of Fiddler and the Crabs as they played a little holiday tour with Seth as their headliner—Seth said they made a ton.

  It was food for Thanksgiving, when Seth couldn’t come visit because, sure enough, his picture was on every telephone pole for a mile, but nobody could recognize him because it had been three years, and even Kelly hadn’t realized how much softness he’d had around the chin.

  Kelly’s birthday night was rough. Vashti and the people from work took him out to Gatsby’s Nick, and he was too young to be served alcohol, but he went out onto the dance floor and let the music take him over, bopping up and down and losing himself in the press of bodies. When he came off the floor, Vashti insisted on a selfie, him in the middle, Marcos and Clifton in front of him, Vashti kissing his cheek.

  He sent it to Seth, not thinking, really, about how Seth must be missing him, but Seth’s text to him was a sober reminder.

  Do you need me to walk away?

  NO! But I wouldn’t mind a birthday call tomorrow morning.

  Deal.

  Seth had called—and flowers had arrived, which had apparently been delayed the day before—and they were okay until the trip to Monterey, but Kelly knew now how they would handle the end if it ever came.

  Do you need me to walk away?

  Kelly was pretty sure he never could.

  The View from Mars

  TWO WEEKS before Seth graduated from the conservatory, he walked out of a modest recording studio in San Rafael with Guthrie by his side.

  “You boys want to come out and celebrate?” Butch asked, smiling mightily. “It’s not every day you cut a record, you know.”

  “Thanks, Dad, but no,” Guthrie said before Seth could accept. It was their last time playing together, and Seth had agreed to cut the record because Butch got a contract. It wasn’t forever money—but it was enough to help supplement the Cruz family while Seth was in Italy, with a little leftover for Seth’s surprise for Kelly, and a small apartment in Walnut Creek in the three months before Seth’s plane took off. Seth had wanted to go closer to Sacramento, but his string quartet had a number of paying gigs then too, and Seth wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make money in Italy.

  He was supposed to be a headliner, but he also thought he was in a graduate program, so what did he know?

  “Well, okay, boy. We’ll see you at your graduation, that okay?”

  Seth smiled, grateful. “You can meet my dad,” he said happily. “And Kelly.” They would be coming down too. He was embarrassed at all the attention people were paying, but apparently graduating from college was a big deal.

  Since Bridgford had been a little deal, and he hadn’t done a high school graduation per se, he was taking people’s word for it. He personally was looking forward to seeing Kelly graduate from junior college. That was happening the week after Seth’s walk across the stage, and he couldn’t wait.

  They were going to take a trip up the coast, to Mendocino, and see if the ocean close to Oregon was more or less magical than the ocean in Monterey or San Francisco.

  They would be together—Seth was voting on more.

  “Of course,” Butch said, grimacing. “Kelly.” Eventually everybody had figured out that Seth was gay. And eventually, Butch and Jock could say Kelly’s name without looking at each other like Seth having a boyfriend wasn’t out of the fucking park. Every time Seth talked to them about it, he got a little more hopeful that someday, Guthrie would be able to bring a boy home and they wouldn’t lose their shit.

  Vince had come back from USC his senior year and applied for the San Francisco Conservatory. At first Seth had been baffled—he’d been so adamant that USC was the place he’d be happy.

  Apparently, any place Amara wasn’t couldn’t make Vince happy.

  So Amara and Vince had paired off, and Seth had always had Kelly. But Guthrie hadn’t dated, really—not girls, not boys—since Christmas, two and a half years before, when he and Seth had gotten beat up and had become friends.

  Seth wanted his friend to be happy.

  Which meant that what Guthrie wanted right now was important.

  “He’ll be happy to meet you,” Seth said guilelessly. “I’ve told him so much about you guys.”

  Jock and Butch nodded uncomfortably, and Guthrie snorted. “You’re gonna make their heads explode, Seth. Hop in the truck. I actually made reservations.”

  Seth wrinkled his nose and looked down at himself. “I’m not dressed,” he said, even as he swung into Guthrie’s now familiar ancient Chevy pickup. He waved at Jock and Butch, who were looking… well, concerned, and Seth had a moment of doubt. Had Guthrie come out and not told him yet?

  “I’ve got something behind the seat,” Guthrie said calmly. He was wearing nice slacks and a tie and a jacket. Nobody had told Seth there was a dress code for recording songs you’d been playing for two and a half years. He’d barely committed to buying the used tuxedo so he could play with the string quartet.

  Seth turned in his seat as Guthrie got on 280, and pulled out a department store garment bag with, oh my God….

  “This is new,” he mumbled, not sure if that meant what he thought it did.

  “It’s a present,” Guthrie said firmly. “You dress like shit, Seth. If you’re going to walk the stage, you need a suit at least, and not the shitty tuxedo you wear for gigs.”

  “But I’m wearing it to dinner?”

  Guthrie sighed. “Yeah. I’m taking you to dinner. At a really fancy place. No, it’s not a date unless you want it to be.” He kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel, but Seth could see a smile try to climb up the corner of his mouth. “You’re going great places, Fiddler. To Italy—and someone’s paying you, which is like fucking amazing. And as far as I can tell, every spare penny you make goes to your boyfriend’s family, which is super sweet and all, but….” He shook his head. “Just once, just tonight, I’d like to see you dressed pretty and not worried about spending money. This is a gift to myself as well as you. Please accept it.”

  Seth hung the suit back up behind the truck seat. “Where should I change?”

  “We’re swinging by my apartment—don’t get any ideas. You’ve got about fifteen minutes to spare.”

  Seth snorted. “No ideas gotten.”

  Guthrie’s apartment wasn’t bad. When they’d first met, Seth had assumed he lived in a double-wide with a Formica table and a sink full of dirty dishes, but it wasn’t that at all. A basic suburban apartment, yes, but he had curtains and the leather couches were clean and the TV modest but well placed. He’d put posters on the walls—Kenny Chesney and Blake Shelton and Miranda Lambert—but given how much he loved country music, Seth thought it fit.

  Speaking of fit, so did the suit. Very well. Seth buttoned the collar of the beige shirt and tied the bronze-colored tie in surprise. The suit itself was a warm blue, and the contrasting colors looked… well, sort of amazing with Seth’s darker skin and his pale hair.

  Feeling self-conscious, Seth availed himself of Guthrie’s electric razor by the sink and used a little bit of toothpaste on his finger, and hell, some more deodorant, in case what he was wearing decided to quit. It wasn’t like Guthrie hadn’t slept on the floor of his dorm room enough times. They were buddies, right?

  He looked himself in the mirror.

  Buddies?

  Oh God. He needed to explain the buddies thing.

  “Seth—I swear, we’re gonna be late!”

  Later.

  DINNER WAS really good—a steakhouse in San Francisco, overlooking the bay. Guthrie ordered for both of them, even a glass of wine each, which Seth had never done before.

  “Seriously?” Guthrie stared at him. “You’ve never even had wine?”

  “I, uh, just turned twenty-two in February,” Seth mumbled. “I’ve been at Bridgford or the conservatory for the past five years. You’ve seen what I do on the weekends.”

  Guthrie took a sip of wine. “Yeah, but Seth! Not even beer?”

  Seth shrugged, uncomfortable. “My dad was—is an, uh, recovering alcoholic,” he muttered. “I didn’t like what it did to him.”

  Guthrie’s eyes went wide. “I did not know that. When did he stop drinking?”

  Another shrug. “I was in fourth grade. Right after I started playing. He, uh… you know. Got rough with me. Kelly’s dad heard and came downstairs and, well, I stayed at Kelly’s place for a month, and my dad went to rehab. It was… uh… you know.”

  “Scary,” Guthrie said, setting his wineglass down. “Getting close to three years we’ve known each other—I never knew this. Is there anything else I should know?”

  Seth couldn’t even smile or laugh about this. “Lots of things,” he said. “But… you know.”

  “Not gonna tell me.”

  “You wouldn’t like me if you knew,” Seth consoled.

  Guthrie waved off the waitress, who was asking him if he wanted more wine. “I’m not sure about that. Kelly seems to know all your secrets.”

  Seth gave a wistful smile. “He’s been there longer.”

  “Yeah.” Guthrie gnawed his lower lip. “I… any chance you’d let another guy try to figure you out, Seth?”

  Oh. Oh no. Seth looked away and took a quick swallow of wine. “I, uh, Kelly—”

  “You can still be part of his family if you two aren’t going out. I mean, you guys, you’d still be friends, right?”

  Seth frowned. “But what I have… in my chest. When I look at him.” Nobody had ever made him articulate this before. “It’s like he’s a perfect chord. You know, when you hear a perfect chord, you get goose bumps? And your heart gets tight in your chest? And the sun starts leaving halos around people, and you can almost close your eyes and see the whole world spread out beneath your feet?”

  “No,” Guthrie said, his voice subdued. “I love music, but not like that.”

  “That’s how I love music,” Seth explained, in case Guthrie had missed it, right? “That’s what looking at Kelly makes me feel.”

  Guthrie let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob, and he almost pulled his hand through his queued hair, dislodging the rather handsome ponytail at the back of his crown. “Oh, it fucking figures,” he said, his voice raw. “The way you love Kelly is just one more thing about you that I’ll never understand.”

  Seth knew his eyes were burning. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I… I knew you loved me a long time ago. I just… you were just such a good friend. I loved playing with you so much. I should have just—”

  Guthrie shook his head. “Don’t say it.” He rubbed his own eyes with his palm. “Playing with you the last few years—it’s been… it’s been the best. Going back to school, picking up something else besides my day job waiting tables? Playing music with someone as good as you? I… I wouldn’t trade our friendship for another heart three times as broken.” His voice cracked on the word broken, and he didn’t say anything else for a couple of moments.

  Seth’s head buzzed, and he wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the emotion.

  He dedicated himself to his steak, just in case it was the wine, and after a few awful bites, he tried to wipe his blurry eyes on his shoulder.

  “Stop,” Guthrie said, humor lacing his voice. Seth looked up in time to see him pull a handkerchief from his pocket, like someone who’d practiced wearing a suit. “Here.” He reached across the table and mopped up Seth’s face, pausing at his nose so he could blow if he needed to. When he was done, he folded the handkerchief carefully and put it back in his pocket. “There. You can plow through that steak some more if you want to. Or we can go back to before you broke my heart and we can enjoy ourselves some more.”

  “Yes, please,” Seth said weakly.

  “Good. What’s Amara going to do after graduation?”

  “Well, she and Vince both got offered jobs down in LA,” Seth said. “I think they’re moving down there. I’m going to Italy, and I guess they promised they’d put out my portfolio recording when I was done and submit it around. Hopefully I’ll end up in San Francisco again.”

  “Why not Sacramento?” Guthrie asked, taking a casual bite of steak, as if this wasn’t the goddamned $64,000 question.

  “I, uh, can’t really go back right now,” Seth mumbled. Guthrie had never asked. Never once, after that first night. Why Kelly came down to see Seth way more than Seth ever went to see Kelly.

  Guthrie’s eyes narrowed. “This have anything to do with how worried you get when we beat assholes in a fight?” Twice more, for a total of four times, they’d been jumped at the Stomp. The last time had been in front of Butch and Jock. Seth had used kicking and elbows on his guy, Guthrie used fists and fury, but it had been quick work to get rid of the hecklers who’d yelled obscenities at Seth during their entire set.

  Word had gotten around, apparently, after that last time. Nobody had heckled Seth since.

  “I… uh…,” Seth stammered, and Guthrie shook his head.

  “Never mind. You already told me it wasn’t your first fight. I just… all this time later and there’s a lot of shit I don’t know about you, Fiddler. But the one thing I’m pretty sure I do know is that you couldn’t have done anything so bad you can’t go home.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I did it or not,” Seth blurted, apparently weakened by emotional honesty like any other human. “What matters is Kelly’s brother can use… use the threat of what they think I did to take back custody of his daughter.” Chloe—ah, God love her. She’d be four this August, and she was gradually creeping up through those milestones, mostly because the girls and Kelly worked with her every chance they got.

  Something in her precious little brain had been broken when she was a baby, or even before, in the womb. Her hands didn’t work the way they should. Her balance and coordination were off. Her language skills were two years behind. Kelly’s mom had gotten her enrolled in special preschool programs to help—she’d be getting on a bus that August to go to school, which terrified the entire family, because she was so damned tiny. Craig and Linda and Kelly were scrambling to find a way to drive her to and from preschool that wouldn’t interfere with Kelly’s school schedule. Lily and Lulu were almost ready to drive—if Seth could get enough money together to buy them a car, they could help transport Chloe and Agnes, and that would help immeasurably, but it couldn’t happen until Seth got back from Italy at the earliest.

  “That would be bad?” Guthrie asked, pulling Seth from the incessant worry of the Cruz family and how to help keep them afloat.

  “Matty isn’t….” Seth closed his eyes. “We used to be close,” he said, and he and Kelly knew this story so much, that pain was rawer than it should have been. “We used to be friends. And then… I mean, I know what we think happened, but I don’t know what really happened. What we think happened was bad enough. Anyway, got really awful. About me and Kelly together. About me in particular. He’s in and out of rehab. The last one seems to have stuck for the drugs, but he’s drinking too. Just… he and his wife, they just… they go to church and then act… not godly,” he finished, feeling weak. “We don’t want her to go with them.”

  Guthrie nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seth, you… you have the problems of an old man. Do you realize that?”

  “So does Kelly.”

  Guthrie nodded, and then grimaced. For the first time Seth heard the unspoken thing, the thing that had never occurred to him.