Butterfly Page 16

  Felix had been forced to fill out restraining orders against three people and lost several hundred thousands of dollars before he was able to plug the leak and change all his information, Fisher read on, horrified to his core. The mere thought of his life being laid bare like that, of the vultures picking through it all, made him nauseated. No wonder Felix had been so devastated, so wary of showing any vulnerability after that.

  Fisher put his head in his hands. After all that, Felix had allowed Fisher to know the location of his house, an act that had clearly taken every ounce of courage he possessed. Has he already moved again? Fisher wondered. Surely that would have been his first act once Fisher had rejected him so forcefully. Guilt gnawed at his stomach.

  So who had done it? Fisher dug deeper, reading article after article, but no one seemed to have any answers. A few enterprising internet detectives noticed that Paul Brandon and Felix had quietly separated several days before, and there were plenty of rumors that it had been Brandon behind the attack, but Felix had only released a single statement through his agent on the subject.

  Paul and I parted ways with nothing but affection for each other, it read. He chose to move to California to further his career, and I wish him all the best. I have no doubt we’ll be seeing him in leading roles very soon, just as I have no doubt he could never do anything so vicious and wantonly dangerous to anyone, let alone someone he once cared deeply for.

  “Oh Felix,” Fisher whispered. He sat back against the cushions, staring into space. A lot more made sense now, the way Felix had been so skittish, terrified of revealing any part of himself. Fisher was honestly surprised Felix had been willing to even give him his phone number, let alone allow him in as much as he had.

  He clicked through a few more articles, scanning for Felix’s name. There was no shortage of discussions about him, mostly speculation and gossip running wild, none of it substantial. Finally, he closed the computer. His little house felt empty in a way that it never had before Felix had burst into his life, cold and lifeless. Fisher hated it.

  “I have to think,” he said aloud. Maya pricked her ears questioningly. “Let’s go for a run,” Fisher told her, and she bounced to her feet immediately, tail sweeping in wide circles.

  * * *

  It was late for a run, the sun inching toward the horizon and the air cold enough to sting. Fisher ran until his muscles were warm and loose, Maya keeping pace easily beside him, until they came out on a hill that overlooked the city. There was no one else around, so Fisher unclipped Maya’s leash and let her explore the interesting smells while he stretched. Portland was spread out before him, lights coming on all over the city as the sun slipped down.

  If he squinted, he could just barely see the dome of the arena where the Seabirds played their games. Unbidden, his mind went to Felix, just like it always did. What was he doing right now? Had he already moved on? Forgotten about Fisher and found another fuckbuddy to scratch the itch? Was he out looking for someone else, or was there a game that night?

  Fisher whistled for Maya, who loped over, tail going. “Time to go home,” he told her.

  * * *

  In bed that night, he stared at the ceiling. Sleep stubbornly refused to visit. Finally, he picked up his phone and did a search for Paul Brandon.

  He was in Hollywood, Fisher read, currently starring in a tv show airing on HBO. Fisher had never heard of it, but Paul certainly looked the part of a prosperous actor, hair perfectly tousled and teeth gleaming white as he smiled at the cameras on the red carpet.

  There were plenty of articles about him, lauding his acting ability, his charm and charisma. A few of them mentioned Felix in passing, but none went in depth.

  Fisher gritted his teeth. He needed to know, to understand what had happened between Paul and Felix. An idea took hold and he sat up in bed, staring at nothing as he thought it through, working out the logistics. It could work. He could make it work.

  He called Leo.

  “We’re going to LA,” he said with no preamble. “Pack a bag.”

  28

  “Okay, run it by me again,” Leo said, tugging on his seatbelt. A flight attendant was making her way down the aisle and she paused to check their belts, giving them both a smile before moving on. “I was half-asleep last time.”

  “We’re gonna go find Paul Brandon, and I’m going to talk to him.”

  “And I’m here because….”

  “Because you know people.”

  “I know people in Portland,” Leo protested. “Not Hollywood!”

  “Really? So no one you know has ever moved to LA and hit the bigtime?”

  “Not like… the A-list,” Leo said, but he was frowning, the little furrow between his eyes that appeared when he was working through a problem. “Wait, there’s—no, they quit acting altogether. Oh, how about—” He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contacts. Fisher watched as Leo’s fingers flew over the keys, sending texts.

  The captain’s voice came over the intercom, asking them to put their phones away, and Leo scowled but obeyed.

  “I’ll have an answer by the time we land.” He sounded confident.

  Fisher patted his knee but didn’t answer.

  * * *

  Los Angeles was bustling, loud, and crowded. Fisher hated it immediately. He tugged his ballcap low on his head and hailed a taxi. Leo had his phone out before the car arrived, scrolling through messages. Fisher opened the car door and bundled him inside. He was sliding in the other side when Leo crowed triumphantly.

  “I knew she’d come through!” he said, brandishing the phone. “That’s my girl!”

  “Who?”

  “Eliza,” Leo said, already back to texting. “She doesn’t have Paul’s address, or a phone number, but she knows his favorite bar and he’s there almost every night.”

  “Paul maybe has a drinking problem?” Fisher muttered, drumming his fingers against his knee.

  “That or he’s networking.” Leo shrugged. “You have to know everyone in this business, and the who’s who list is constantly changing.”

  “Sounds exhausting.” Fisher stared out the window, barely seeing the buildings.

  “How’s the job hunt going?” Leo asked.

  Fisher made a noncommittal noise that could have meant anything. Truth be told, he hadn’t even really started looking, short of pulling up a few websites and putting in his information, but he hadn’t followed up and submitted applications anywhere.

  “You are hunting, right?”

  “I will,” Fisher said, glancing at him. Leo looked disapproving. “I have some savings, Leo. Don’t fuss so much, you’ll get wrinkles.”

  Leo glared at him. “I will fuss if I want to. Your savings won’t last forever, and it’s not like I can support us both on a minimum wage income.”

  “I love you for even considering it as an option,” Fisher said, looping an arm around Leo’s neck and ruffling his hair. “But I’ll start seriously looking soon, I promise. I need to do this first, that’s all.”

  Leo freed himself and smoothed his hair back, muttering under his breath. “So what are we doing, just lurking at this bar all day hoping Paul shows up? It’s not even two yet.”

  “I thought we’d see the sights first,” Fisher said. “When are we gonna get another chance to see Los Angeles, huh?”

  Leo perked up. “Can we go to the Black Cat Tavern?”

  “It’s already on my list,” Fisher told him.

  Leo wriggled with joy. “This is gonna be great.”

  * * *

  That night, exhausted and sunburned, they collapsed at a table in the bar Eliza had told Leo about. Fisher had stretched his aching feet out and was making short work of a cranberry juice when Leo elbowed himsharply. “Is that him?”

  Fisher looked up to see a blond man making his way through the tables, smiling at the diners as he passed them.

  “He’s shorter than I thought,” Fisher mumbled.

  Leo snickered. “I love
it when you’re catty. Makes me feel better about myself.”

  Fisher poked him in the side and Leo yelped. Paul was heading for the bar at the back of the restaurant. He settled on a stool and Fisher downed the rest of his cranberry juice.

  “I’m going in.”

  Paul had both elbows braced on the bar, staring at his whisky when Fisher slid onto the stool next to him and caught the bartender’s attention.

  “Tequila, keep ‘em coming.”

  Paul glanced at him but Fisher didn’t look, watching the bartender pull a bottle off the shelf and pouring the first shot. When it was set in front of him, Fisher nodded.

  “Leave the bottle.” He picked up the shot glass and held it out to Paul. “To shitty exes.” Paul’s eyebrows went up but he touched the glass with his own.

  Fisher knocked the shot back and took a deep breath as the alcohol slid down his throat, spreading fiery tendrils through his chest.

  Paul still hadn’t spoken, but he’d swiveled on his stool to watch Fisher, curiosity on his face.

  Fisher poured another shot. “To self-centered exes who refuse to compromise to be in a relationship.”

  “Been there,” Paul said, meeting his glass. His voice was deep and smooth, a wry smile tucked into the corner of his full mouth. He topped up his drink. “How’s this one—to exes who always put their job first.”

  Fisher didn’t have to fake the bitter laugh. “Perfect.” He knocked his glass against Paul’s and downed the shot. “God, men are trash. Did you feel like you were the afterthought the whole time? Like you were only kept around because their job didn’t have a dick to keep them satisfied?”

  “I sure fucking did.” Paul’s mouth twisted. “‘Hey, let’s do something tonight, just the two of us.’” He pitched his voice higher. “‘Oh, I have to work tonight, I thought you knew that.’” He snorted. “He said he had to go out of town when I had surgery. Can you believe that?”

  “Asshole,” Fisher said, pouring another shot. “What kind of surgery?”

  Paul looked suddenly shifty. “Don’t tell my fans, but it was a nose job.”

  “Fans? Are you famous?”

  “What, you don’t recognize me?” Paul grinned, leaning toward him, and Fisher pretended to study his face.

  “Are you an actor? I don’t watch a lot of tv but I’d remember seeing you—you’re way too handsome to forget.”

  Paul laughed, tossing his head back to expose his throat, and Fisher forced himself to laugh along.

  “Yeah, I do a bit of acting,” Paul said when he’d sobered. “Not enough, though, if you don’t know who I am.”

  Fisher propped his chin on one fist and looked closer at him. “What have you been in? I’ll make an exception for you.”

  Paul’s smile widened. “Couple of rom-coms, an action comedy, and right now I’m starring in a tv thriller on HBO.”

  “Wait, seriously?” Fisher widened his eyes, swaying toward him. “Shit, what’s your name? I’m gonna google you.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Paul countered. “My first name’s Paul but I’m not giving you my last name yet. You’ll have to earn it.” His tongue darted out to touch his lower lip, and Fisher swallowed the knee-jerk desire to punch him.

  “What do I have to do?” he asked instead.

  Paul looked him up and down and bit his lip. “I have a few ideas. What’s your name?”

  “Stephen,” Fisher said. “With a PhD.”

  Paul burst out laughing again and Fisher laughed with him this time, scooting his stool a little closer.

  “That’s cute,” Paul said. “Almost as cute as you. What’s your PhD in?”

  Fisher made a disparaging noise. “Doctor of Musical Arts. Very boring.”

  “I refuse to believe anything about you is boring,” Paul said, touching Fisher’s forearm. “So you’re a musician?”

  “I’ve written a few songs about my sordid love life,” Fisher said, leaning into his touch. His skin crawled but he was committed. “Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll give you a private showing of them.”

  Paul licked his lips again. “That sounds… nice.” His pupils were blown.

  Fisher sat back. “So tell me about this ex, the one who didn’t appreciate you. How’d you meet?”

  It took Paul a minute to gather his wits. “Well… not naming names, but he plays hockey.”

  “I do love a good hockey ass,” Fisher mused.

  “I was a fan for a while,” Paul continued. “Went to all his games. He was hot, right? And I knew he wasn’t straight, so I managed to find out he was gonna be at the local hospital for a charity thing, and I engineered a meeting. By which I mean I had my arms full of stuffed animals and I ‘accidentally’ ran into him.” His eyes invited Fisher to laugh with him. “He fell for it, of course.”

  “Of course,” Fisher said, pouring another shot to stifle the urge to punch him.

  “God, he was needy though,” Paul sighed. He tilted his glass, examining the amber liquid. “Always wanting to be with me when he wasn’t working. At first it was sweet, but it got to be a drag. Asking me where I was, who I was with.”

  “Stifling,” Fisher offered. He wrapped his hands around his glass to hide how they were trembling.

  “Exactly! See, you get it.” Paul drained his glass in two quick swallows and signaled the bartender for another one. “And the sex wasn’t that great. God, and his asshole cat. I hated that fucker. He bit me when I tried to pet him once, can you believe it? And F—my ex refused to get rid of him even though he was clearly dangerous.”

  Fisher made a sympathetic noise.

  “But the worst part by far was the hockey. He lived, breathed, and shat hockey. That was all he could talk about. His team’s playoff chances, his precious best friend who is, apparently, God’s gift to hockey in general, whatever problems they were dealing with. It was so boring. And then he acted all hurt when I tried to tell him that—tactfully, of course!”

  “Of course,” Fisher agreed.

  “All I said was maybe he should pick up a hobby. Something that had nothing to do with hockey. God, you’d have thought I asked him to change his entire personality!”

  Because you basically did, Fisher thought, gritting his teeth. Aloud, he said, “Is that why you broke up?”

  “No,” Paul said. He had moved closer somehow and was looking up at Fisher through his lashes. “He needed a push. Something to break him out of his rut, make him realize there’s more to life than hockey. His fans, the press, all of it—it was so invasive and we never had a moment of privacy. Everyone all up in his business all the time. I knew he’d be grateful once he was away from it, you know? So I told him he needed to choose. Me or hockey.”

  Fisher didn’t have to feign the shock. “You gave him an ultimatum?”

  “For his own good!” Paul said. He put a hand on Fisher’s thigh, thumb rubbing against the inseam.

  Fisher somehow managed not to jerk away. “So what happened?”

  “Well, considering I’m coming onto you pretty hard right now, it’s pretty easy to guess, don’t you think?”

  Fisher huffed a laugh. “Hey, I don’t know, maybe you were recruiting me to go home with you where he was waiting so we could have a threesome.”

  Paul’s pupils dilated and he licked his lips. “That sounds… very appealing. But not with him. He was a real stick, didn’t even want the lights on during sex. Adding a third would have probably broken his brain.”

  Fisher managed to hide the laugh and leaned into him, letting his eyelids droop. “Sounds like you’re better off. So what’d you do when he said no? Did you fight it, try to make him see it was for his own good?”

  “Nah. I just walked away.” A thin smile flickered across Paul’s mouth. “But I did leave him a parting gift. Something to show him those ‘fans’ of his never really cared about him.”

  Fisher couldn’t take it anymore. He nearly fell off the stool in his haste to pull away, leaving Paul blinking up at him in surpri
se.

  “Something wrong?”

  “You have no idea,” Fisher said tightly. He was shaking with rage, with the need to hurt Paul the way he’d hurt Felix, and he knew he couldn’t let the leash slip or he’d never stop. He took a step away. “Change of plans. I’m gonna walk away right now and you’re gonna let me go, or I’m going to break your nose.”

  Paul shot to his feet. “I’m sorry, what? Who the fuck are you?”

  “No one you know,” Fisher spat. “Let’s keep it that way.” He turned, then spun back. “And just for the record, Felix was the best thing to ever happen to me, in every possible way, and that includes his hockey.”

  Paul’s eyes went huge with shock, but Fisher was already walking away, jerking his head sharply at Leo, who scrambled to join him.

  Fisher was so furious he couldn’t talk. He blew through the restaurant doors and picked a direction at random. Behind him, Leo was already out of breath trying to keep up, but Fisher didn’t slow. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to punish Paul for what he’d done, and the fact that he couldn’t just made him angrier.

  He lost track of how long he walked before the worst of the rage subsided and he was able to take a deep breath and slow down. Leo was nowhere to be seen. Shit. Fisher sent him a quick text.

  Where are you?

  Waiting for you, Leo responded. Gave up a couple miles ago.

  Sorry, Fisher sent, and hailed a passing taxi.

  They stopped to pick up Leo, who’d found a convenient brick wall to sit on, and Fisher asked the driver to take them to the airport.

  “Ready to talk about it?” Leo asked.

  Fisher rubbed his face. “He’s definitely responsible for doxxing Felix.”

  Leo swore under his breath.

  “Doesn’t regret it, either. In his mind, it’s Felix’s fault for not giving him what he wanted. The doxxing was his way of showing Felix that his fame is a lie, that he can’t trust his fans. Something like that, anyway. The details are fuzzy because I was trying to keep from murdering him.”