Chapter 3
DENVER
I’m stewing in my bathtub, doomscrolling Instagram drag reels, when my phone begins to vibrate and flash.
I don’t even bother glancing at the name as I swipe open FaceTime and adjust the camera so whoever it is can’t see anything other than my face and shoulders.
I let out a small sigh when Rene’s face appears, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he grins, then holds the phone a little farther away from him so I can see him sign.
‘Bath?’
‘Yes, need to relax.’
His brows lower, and I can tell he’s concerned.
I messaged him the night I almost died and met my vampire coffin man, but I didn’t have the energy to tell him what happened.
I promised we’d talk soon, and apparently, he’s ready now.
The man has never had any patience, but luckily, this lavender bath bomb is deeply relaxing, so I don’t mind a chat.
‘You safe?’
I nod and then lift the wineglass to my lips and think about the cat café and how I didn’t feel unsafe. Well, until I spilled the drink on the floor, and suddenly, Milo faced the unholy task of bathing an earless cat, which he probably wants to kill me for right now.
But I don’t know. He’s probably less of a threat to me than the dickhead stalker who followed me into the alley. I have a feeling Milo and his brothers only go after people who deserve it, and I like to think that’s not me.
‘I just need a break,’ I tell him. ‘I’m exhausted. Too much going on at work and too many shows this month.’
Rene bobs his head, his bun wobbling on the top of his head. ‘Understand. Maybe you need a vacation? Somewhere far away. Mexico?’
That does sound nice. Somewhere beachy and tropical with a pool and endless drinks. Somewhere I won’t have men following me and strangling me in alleyways. But for some reason, that sounds a lot like running, and I’m tired of being afraid.
The first time there was a stalker in town, I didn’t leave my house for months. Even after Thorne helped me get safe, I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder. Anytime I thought I saw a shadow in my periphery, my adrenaline would fire, and I’d spend the next few hours sick to my stomach.
I don’t want to be that person again. I’m stronger now, damn it, and I want the chance to prove it.
‘I’ll think about it. I haven’t been out of town in a while with all my sessions at the college.’ I do them to fill up my time so the days don’t feel so lonely, but I’m burning out a little too quickly for my age.
Rene’s eyes brighten. ‘Oh! You should go to the UP in Michigan. I’ve been watching some travel shows on it, and it’s pretty cool. Lots of lighthouses, the Great Lakes, hardly any people.’
That sounds like heaven, even if I doubt I’ll ever leave this place. ‘Maybe.’
He shoots me a grimace. It’s probably obvious I’m blowing off his idea, though I don’t think he cares all that much. ‘Anyway, I wanted to check in on you. You’ve been quiet.’
‘Life is just a lot,’ I tell him, and though I can tell by his face that he doesn’t buy my bullshit, he lets it go and quickly goes into a rant about office politics.
Rene works a part-time job as an archivist in the city, archiving blueprints and historical town documents.
He hates every second of it. Not the work, but Debbie, the WASPy front desk manager who refuses to acknowledge Rene’s accommodations.
He’s hard of hearing, which means he can hold verbal conversations, and she seems to think that means he doesn’t need assistance at all.
Last week, apparently, she was trying to have all the flashing light alerts removed from the building.
‘I’m going to put gum in her hair,’ Rene signs, his fingers flicking with anger. ‘And I’ll make sure she knows it’s me.’
I laugh. ‘Don’t come crying to me when you get turned into HR.’
He pulls a face. ‘You should quit your teaching job and come work with me. We can form a Deaf mafia, and then she’ll never fuck with me again.’
It’s not the worst idea he’s ever had. Teaching wasn’t exactly my dream job, and apart from Debbie, I like the idea of working in the archives. Dusty old library basements have always been kind of my thing.
I can spend hours scrolling microfiche without ever getting bored, so being paid to do something like that? It’s the dream.
Maybe that’s why Rene and I are friends. Apart from being drag queens, we also like old shit. We might like the glimmer and lights of being in drag, but we also like the monotony of the mundane.
‘I need to go,’ I tell him when my bathwater starts to go tepid. ‘Want to get dinner soon?’
He nods. ‘Yes, yes, yes. This weekend.’
‘I’ll text you when I’m free,’ I tell him, and he grins, then cuts the call off, which he knows gets under my skin. He does it to be a shit, though I’m way too tired and distracted for a Deaf goodbye tonight, so I’ll only give him a little shit when I see him next.
Setting my wineglass down on the edge of the tub, I pass both hands down my face and sigh. The moment my eyes are closed, I see Arhe’s face, and my dick starts to perk up again. Fuck, this is becoming a problem.
I can’t stop thinking about him, no matter how hard I try, and apart from being able to touch him again, I have no idea how I’m going to solve this problem. Especially because he’s like a goddamn ghost in this town.
I’ve seen where he’s been, I’ve met his brothers, but it seems like I won’t be able to find him until he wants to be found.
My earlier idea about cemeteries pops into my head, and I sit up, the water nearly sloshing over the side of the tub. The need to go out there now and find him is almost so powerful I nearly climb out of the water and get dressed soaking wet, but I know it’s a terrible idea.
I need to take my time with this. I need to learn patience.
There are two cemeteries in town, and I realize that between classes tomorrow, I’ll have time to check them both out.
Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can find him there.
There’s nothing particularly unique or special about the cemeteries we have in our town. The first is a really large Catholic one, which has all the older mausoleums, and the second is a tiny graveyard at the edge of the Presbyterian church property with newer, polished headstones and crosses.
The second one is where all the high school kids hang out to smoke weed.
Unlike the larger one, it’s not monitored by security video, and it’s bordered by a lush forest that blocks half the view from the road.
When they’re done smoking, they sit on old graves and make TikTok videos or whatever the fuck the youth are into these days.
When I was their age, we didn’t have the internet like that.
We spent our time bullshitting around town, going into record shops and pretending like we had money to buy stuff.
Most of my friends were hearing, so I spent all my time nodding along and pretending that with my CIs, I could follow the conversation perfectly.
I didn’t even really give a shit that I was being left out. I just wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere. Being the Deaf kid was bad enough. Being the twinky queer kid who liked to dress up in fishnets and faux fur was worse, and I felt so fucking alone.
Until I didn’t.
Until I accidentally walked into a Deaf drag brunch in Seattle my first year teaching at the college, and my entire world was turned upside down in the best way.
I love myself so much more than I used to, and it’s with some of that confidence that I pull into the nearly empty parking lot along the side of the church and put my car in park. I don’t see much when I glance around, but I’m not about to give up on this idea that there’s something between us.
I can feel it in my chest. In the beat of my heart. In the pulse of my hard cock.
I don’t know what I hope to find other than Arhe, and I climb out of the car and take a few steps toward the edge of the grass where the graveyard begins.
Taking a deep breath of the late-spring air, I feel rejuvenated.
I’m not teaching any summer classes this year, which means the moment graduation is over, I’ll have time to myself to breathe.
A weight is lifted off my shoulders as I think about it.
I can travel a little, maybe head down to the Bay Area for a few weeks and do some shows down there.
I can work on more routines. I can sleep in.
I can shop.
I can do what I’m doing now, which is apparently stalking cemeteries for a vampire-like stranger because I think I might owe him my life.
The asshole stalker at the bar—probably the asshole who has been following me and harassing me for years—disappeared into the night, and I haven’t felt his presence in a while. I’m a little hypervigilant these days, so I feel like I’d know if he were lurking around.
My Deaf eyes tend to catch those sorts of things, even when I’m wearing my processors.
For now, I’m alone.
Except I’m not, I realize, when I walk a few feet past the graveyard gate and find a body lying between two headstones.
I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat because oh my god.
I’ve seen a lot of terrible things in my life, but I’ve never seen a dead body just lying out there in the open like this.
Is that a thing?
Is that how they bury people?
But then the body breathes deeply, chest rising and falling, and I realize he’s alive.
Peering closer, my heart still pounding, my gaze fixates on his hands, which are resting over his stomach.
They’re pale, covered in a few freckles, and his fingers look rough—like he does some kind of manual labor.
And then I look up at his face, and everything in me shifts because it’s him. My hero. My savior. My dangerous man with powerful fists who has no problem with blood or kissing strangers who are covered in it.