Chapter 2
Frode nursed his second cup of coffee of the day and looked out over his backyard.
He loved his house. It was a fifteen-minute drive outside the city limit, and yet it was secluded.
Three acres, and while it was open around the house, it was surrounded by trees.
Almost as if someone had tried to create a forest wall around the property, and Frode was grateful.
In the winter, he could glimpse light from his closest neighbor's house, but when the leaves came in, he was blocked out from the world.
It was perfect.
The leaves were budding.
His phone beeped, and he groaned. He was not up for readings two days in a row. As long as it didn't ring, he could ignore it.
He'd considered getting a dog. If he had a dog, he couldn't be away from home too often. He'd tried to use Captain Scratch as an excuse once, but Hjalmar had snorted at him.
He had no idea what Captain Scratch's name was.
He was a black cat who hunted in his small barn.
The poor guy was missing one eye and had a scar running across it.
His ears were frost-damaged, but since the eye was forever closed, Frode believed someone had taken him to a vet at some point.
He was wearing a collar, but he'd never allowed Frode to touch him, so he hadn't been able to see if there was an address or anything.
Maybe he'd had a home once. Maybe he still did. Or maybe this had been his home, and his owners had moved. It was clear he'd lived outside for a long time.
Sometimes he was gone for days on end, but so far, he'd always come back.
Frode kept a bowl of cat kibble in the barn. Captain Scratch looked healthy enough, but Frode didn't want him to have to hunt to survive. How much did a lost eye affect a cat's ability to hunt?
His phone beeped again, and Frode snarled.
The first text was Hjalmar asking if he wanted to meet up for lunch. No, he didn't. He wanted to stay in his house and never leave. The second text was Hjalmar telling him to be at Nami at twelve.
Frode sighed but sent a thumbs-up in reply. Sushi was nice, and Hjalmar most often paid when he demanded Frode show up somewhere.
He drained the rest of the coffee and headed for the bathroom to take a shower.
At two minutes to twelve, he stepped over the threshold of Nami Kitchen, Hjalmar's favorite sushi restaurant. Frode guessed it was his favorite too since he never went to restaurants unless Hjalmar demanded he attend.
He looked at the corner table and found it occupied by two women in their thirties. Fuck.
"There you are." Hjalmar came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. Frode flinched before he could stop himself, but Hjalmar kept his hand where it was, and little by little, he relaxed.
He didn't do touch. Especially not in public places. Had Hjalmar touched his shoulder when they were at home, he most likely wouldn't have flinched.
He could touch people without gloves. It was only objects that flooded him, but he didn't want anyone in his space, and people wore things. They had clothes, watches, rings, and so on.
Hjalmar steered him to the counter where they ordered, and then they moved to an available table.
"How are you feeling today?" He smiled his usual carefree smile, and Frode held in a sigh. He should be grateful he had someone in his life who cared, someone who was looking out for him, but ugh, it was exhausting.
"I'm fine. Yesterday wasn't too bad."
"You were flagging by the time we reached your house."
He had been, but it was normal. "I'm fine. I slept, ate some more, talked to Captain Scratch."
"Yeah? Is he letting you touch him yet?"
Frode shook his head. "Nah, I don't think he ever will." Which was fine. Frode understood wanting to avoid touch.
"He'll come around."
"It's been a year." Or a year since Frode had first noticed him. Maybe he'd been around since Frode moved in. If his theory about him being the former owner's cat was true, then he'd been there for five years. He wasn't a kitten, but it was hard to tell how old he was, poor thing.
All Hjalmar did was shrug. "And in the beginning, he ran off as soon as you exited the house. Now he's eating when you're in the barn."
"I'm thinking about getting a dog." He wasn't sure if he was for real. What would Captain Scratch think about there being a dog in his kingdom? Maybe it was a bad idea.
"Sounds like an awesome idea!"
Eh...If Hjalmar believed it was a good idea, it had to be an awful idea. "Why?" He spoke carefully.
"Then you'll have to get out and meet people."
A shudder ran through him. "No, I don't. A dog doesn't need to meet people."
"Sure it does. You'll need to go to the vet, have it groomed, set up play dates with other dogs, and get a dog sitter if you're working a big case."
"Big case? I don't work cases."
"You know what I mean. If you're going to touch several things."
There were stipulations in his contract.
He only did one reading per day, but sometimes there were ten bullet casings they wanted him to read, which meant he'd work for ten days, and since he was more or less dead to the world for hours after having done a reading, he wouldn't be able to take care of a dog.
"You're right. I'm not able to have a dog."
"Yes, you are. I think it'd be good for you."
But it wouldn't be, and it sure as hell wouldn't be good for the dog because while Frode would take it to the vet, he would not get a dog sitter, and he would not go on play dates, which meant the dog would be alone and miserable.
As if Hjalmar sensed the topic was closed, he moved on. "Guess who I ran into."
Oh no. He'd believed this was a check-up, not an attempt to get Frode to talk to someone. "Chance?" It was most often Chance.
Frode had dated Chance for about a year back in college, and Hjalmar had been thrilled.
"No. Have you talked to Chance?" Those impossibly blue eyes lit up.
"No, but it's most often Chance when you ask."
Hjalmar frowned. "Is it?"
"You realize it's been like fifteen years since Chance and I were together, right? We were kids, and while he's a good guy, it won't happen."
Sometimes Frode got drunk and hooked up with nameless, faceless guys, but he didn't do relationships.
He'd been with Declan for a year and a half.
He'd met him shortly after he'd turned thirty, and he'd believed maybe, maybe, Declan would stick around.
That maybe he'd be okay with Frode's rules and whims. But apparently Frode was too frigid, and a guy has needs, and so what if he got those fulfilled on the side.
It wasn't his fault Frode didn't so much as want to hug him when he came home from work.
Hjalmar had never liked Declan, and he'd certainly not liked him after Frode had told him it was over. He might not have told him Declan had been screwing around or why he felt the need to, but he was sure Hjalmar had a pretty good idea about what had happened, at least part of it.
The thing was, while he was hurt and betrayed, he most likely should shoulder some of the blame.
He'd never been an affectionate person, and Declan hated it when he wore his gloves.
He'd wanted Frode to touch him without them, and he had, but not before Declan had removed every item of clothing.
Apparently, it wasn't enough. It wasn't spontaneous.
Nah, it was better he was on his own. He and Captain Scratch against the world. A two-man team, or more like a team consisting of one reclusive man and his feral cat, but it was fine.
"Nikolai."
"What?" Had he zoned out so long he'd missed an entire conversation?
"I ran into Nikolai Nesterova. You remember Nikolai, right?"
How could he forget? Nikolai was a cocky, obnoxious asshole. He'd also been one of Hjalmar's best friends back in school. They'd both been on the football team, both big stupid jocks, who walked the corridors as if they owned them.
"I believed he moved away."
"He's back." Hjalmar beamed, fucking beamed. "I ran into him the other day. We've kept in contact, but it's grown more and more sporadic over the years, then a few months ago, he dropped out altogether. Turns out he's switched jobs and moved back here."
The happiness was palpable, and Frode wanted to groan but kept quiet.
"We're meeting up for beers tonight. You want to come?"
Frode snorted before he could stop himself. "Pass."
"Oh, come on. A beer or two would do you good."
"I'm not, not ever, setting foot in the same establishment as Nesterova."
Hjalmar gave him an odd look. He might not know his once best friend was an asshole, but Frode would never forget. He had a hard time stopping a blush of past humiliation spreading on his cheeks.
He'd been a weird kid. There was no way around it, and it was a bad idea to put a weird kid and one of the kings of the school corridors in each other's vicinity. Frode had no doubt he'd been spared a lot simply by being Hjalmar's brother, but not everything.
At some point someone had decided Frode was a filthy fagot--which...yeah, but there was no way they could've known since he'd hardly figured it out by then.
If it was a bet or something he'd done for the fun of it, Frode didn't know, but Nikolai had spent a day being kind to him.
Every time they'd met in the corridor, he'd talked to Frode.
In the canteen, he'd sat next to him, and Frode hadn't known what to do.
He was sure it was because he was Hjalmar's friend, and maybe Hjalmar had asked Nikolai to protect him or something.
They'd talked, laughed, and then Nikolai had pressed him against the lockers.
He'd leaned in close, his breath tickling Frode's cheek, and his pulse had skyrocketed.
Heat had surged through him, and he might have whimpered.
Nikolai had leaned in closer still, Frode had closed his eyes, sure Nikolai would kiss him, then there had been laughter as half the football team had materialized in the corridor.
They'd cackled, high-fived Nikolai, and gifted Frode with a wide variation of homophobic slurs.