Page 8 of Party of Three

* * * *

Days before, Buckley had given up hope of a response from Jeff Braxton, but in the wake of Mateo’s big revelation, he’d spent the day leading up to the party nervously checking his texts for any message from a strange number. Crickets, except for the usual steady stream from Mateo and his sister, who was helping Buckley import elements of their old neighborhood into the celebration. The Canos could take away their support, but they couldn’t take away his culture. That was the theme he and Marisol agreed on months before.

A few hours before showtime, and shortly after Buckley arrived at Sapphire Cove, prep took a turn for the worse.

Not only had the band taken the wrong exit, they were having trouble connecting to Google Maps, forcing Buckley to give them verbal directions into the resort’s motor court by phone. Not the easiest thing since they were LA imports lost in the undulating labyrinth of hills between Sapphire Cove and the 405 Freeway, a place where deep canyons and a toll road could make a wrong turn into something you had to endure for twenty minutes.

Upon their delayed arrival, they realized they’d forgotten one of their amps, but the hotel’s sound equipment was all in use by other events, so he’d been forced to contact a neighboring resort a short drive up the coast to find a replacement. As soon as a rental fee was agreed to, one of the guitarists rushed off to pick it up in their rattling death trap of a van.

Buckley took his first deep breath in hours.

That’s when he saw he had two texts from a number he didn’t recognize.

This is Jeff Braxton. I received your note. I will be there at 6:30 p.m. at the address you provided.

Then, two hours later, a second from the same number.

Here.

So Jeff had waited until the last possible second to RSVP.

How charming! Maybe he’d been deployed. But the wordsthe address you providedsuggested reluctance, as if he didn’t want to repeat anything that might make the party sound like what it was—a classy soiree at one of the finest resorts on the Southern California coast. And theI received your noteline made the entire invite sound like a subpoena.

What mattered was that he was at the resort right now, on the other side of the grounds from Buckley. If Buckley didn’t get to him first, Mateo would when he arrived with his sister in about fifteen minutes. And then Jeff might ask him about their nonexistent move to Japan, and awkward wouldn’t begin to describe it.

He took off running.

The hotel’s restaurant and bar were open to the sparkling marble-floored lobby and not too crowded, but Buckley saw no sign of the mysterious Marine perched on one of its white leatherstools. That’s because he was walking out the automatic doors into the motor court.

Buckley raced after him. “Oh, no you don’t. Stop right there, mister.”

One dark eyebrow raised, assessing Buckley as if he were mildly amused the guy thought he was qualified to order him around, Jeff Braxton turned. The man’s photograph only hinted at his size and power. His eyes didn’t just communicate focus. In person, they blazed with intensity. As he surveyed Buckley from head to toe, Buckley felt chills move up his spine. This was the look Mateo had described, the one that could make a twink drop their undies in ten seconds flat. It made him feel like his thighs were being caressed by searching fingers.

“I brought a gift. I left it with the nice couple over there.” He spoke with a controlled Texas twang that made Buckley imagine the guy throwing him across the back of a saddle.

It took him a second to realize Jeff had gestured in the direction of the bar, where Melanie Fox and her boyfriend, Tim, classmates of Mateo’s from UC Irvine, were chatting over their wineglasses.

“Good night, Buckley. Enjoy whatever this is you’re up to.” He marched through the automatic doors.

Buckley followed him. “It’s called a birthday party. And you should be here.”

“Right.” Cool as ice, Jeff handed his ticket to the valet. “’Cause you guys are headed to Japan in a few days? Even though Mateo’s at UCI this semester and you’re an EMT? Is that a thing? EMTs deploying to other countries? You know the language?”

Thanks, Melanie, Buckley thought.

“I don’t look like a guy who can put in some time with Duolingo?” Buckley said.

“Maybe. What’sI’m a liarin Japanese?”

“It sounds a lot likeyou’re a dick.”

Jeff let out a low cackle as he walked closer to the edge of the curb. Buckley followed him. “Look, I’m sorry if I got sick of seeing Mateo get hurt every time he tried to reach out to you and you shut him downagain, but Jesus, dude. Enough already. He worships you.”

There was a twinge of emotion in the look Jeff gave him now, but it still made Buckley feel more like a threat the man was assessing.

“Has it ever occurred to you there’s a damn good reason your boyfriend and I shouldn’t be around each other?”

“I didn’t know you two had history when I left the note. I thought you were straight. There’s a picture of you on our wall and you looked…”Like a hardcore daddy who could fuck me cross-eyed.

---