Chapter Four — Jealousy Looks Good on You #2
“Mason liked having shit on people. Videos. Messages. Whatever. He'd get people drunk, they'd do something stupid, and then he'd hold onto it.”
Elliot's expression remained neutral.
“Blackmail?”
“Not like money.”
“Then what?”
“Control, I guess.”
Something moved behind Elliot's eyes. Recognition? Interest? Ronan couldn't tell. Dylan shrugged again.
“He was an asshole. Doesn't mean somebody should stab him to death.”
Silence. Ronan stared at him.
“What?”
Dylan's face changed.
“Fuck.”
Elliot spoke first.
“Stabbed?”
Dylan looked toward the room.
“Don't repeat that.”
“How do you know?”
“Tyler.”
Ronan remembered Claire's rumor. Blood everywhere.
“Police told him?” Ronan asked.
“No. Tyler's the one who found the phone. He saw part of the scene before cops pushed him back.”
Elliot's attention became absolute.
“Tyler found Mason's phone?”
Dylan nodded.
“Near the path.”
“Which path?”
“Augustine's.”
Ronan looked at Elliot. Elliot looked appropriately disturbed. Maybe a little too appropriately.
“You okay?” Ronan asked.
Elliot blinked.
“Yeah.”
Dylan rubbed the back of his neck.
“Anyway. Forget I said anything.”
“Sure,” Elliot said.
Ronan didn't believe him. A group shouted Dylan's name from the kitchen. He looked over.
“Coming.”
Then back to them.
“Don't disappear.”
He slapped Ronan's shoulder. Elliot looked at the hand. Dylan apparently possessed a death wish. He walked away. Ronan waited. Three. Two. One.
“I hate him.”
Ronan laughed.
“You don't even try anymore.”
“He's annoying.”
“He told you gossip.”
“He touched you again.”
“That's generally how friends interact.”
“I have friends.”
“You barely let Claire hug you.”
“She squeezes too hard.”
Ronan shook his head.
“You're unbelievable.”
Elliot's gaze remained on Dylan. Ronan watched him.
There was something strangely beautiful about Elliot when he was jealous.
Not the sweetness everyone else saw. That disappeared first. His features became sharper when he stopped performing.
His mouth settled into a straight line. His eyes tracked whatever had irritated him with an intensity that would have made most people uncomfortable if they noticed.
Ronan noticed. Ronan liked it. That was probably his own problem.
“Come here,” he said.
Elliot looked at him.
“I'm already here.”
“Closer.”
Elliot glanced around. Nobody was watching. He moved half a step. Their arms touched. Ronan leaned toward his ear.
“You have nothing to be jealous of.”
Elliot's body went still.
“I know.”
“Liar.”
“I don't like him touching you.”
“I noticed.”
“You keep letting him.”
“Because I'm not going to start jumping away from people like I've been electrocuted every time someone touches me.”
“You could.”
Ronan laughed quietly.
“You're fucking insane.”
Elliot turned his face slightly. They were too close. Ronan could smell whatever cologne Elliot had put on before leaving. Something warm beneath the cleaner scent of his soap.
“You like me jealous,” Elliot said.
Ronan considered lying.
“Sometimes.”
Elliot's eyes lifted.
“Why?”
“Because everybody else thinks you're so fucking sweet.”
“I am sweet.”
“No.”
Elliot smiled.
“There he is,” Ronan murmured.
“Who?”
“The asshole.”
“You love the asshole.”
Ronan's gaze dropped to Elliot's mouth. Mistake. Elliot noticed. Bigger mistake.
“Bathroom,” Elliot said.
“No.”
“I didn't ask anything.”
“I know exactly what you're asking.”
“Then bathroom.”
Ronan looked around.
“No.”
Elliot's smile became wicked.
“Scared?”
“Of getting caught fucking my stepbrother at Dylan's party? Weirdly, yes.”
Elliot's expression changed at the word. Ronan recognized the heat immediately. Fuck.
“Stop.”
“I didn't do anything.”
“Your face did.”
“What did my face do?”
“Whatever the fuck that is.”
Elliot leaned closer.
“Good boys don't misbehave at parties.”
Ronan stared at him. Elliot's smile widened. The little shit had remembered.
“Go talk to your friends.”
“Don't want to.”
“Why?”
“Because I'd rather bother you.”
Ronan pushed gently against his shoulder.
“Go.”
Elliot didn't move.
“Elliot.”
“Fine.”
He stepped away. Then paused. His attention moved past Ronan.
The amusement vanished from his face. Ronan followed his gaze.
A television mounted above the fireplace had changed from a football game to the local evening news.
Mason Kerr's photograph filled the screen.
Someone near the television turned up the volume.
Conversation gradually softened. A reporter stood outside Saint Augustine's Park.
Yellow police tape stretched behind her.
“...Bellweather
Police
confirmed
this
afternoon
that investigators are seeking information regarding an unidentified individual believed to have been in the vicinity of Saint Augustine's Park between approximately two and three o'clock Sunday morning.”
Ronan's attention sharpened. The screen changed. A grainy security image appeared. Dark street. Timestamp. A figure near the edge of the frame. Black clothing. White face. The room went quiet.
“What the fuck?” someone whispered.
The image enlarged. The quality was terrible. But the mask was unmistakable. White. Cracked. Black around the eyes. A narrow dark line where the mouth should have been. Ronan felt Elliot move beside him. Not backward. Not forward. Just a subtle shift of weight. The reporter continued.