Page 153 of Checking Out the Librarian

“Of course. I have my car.” He finished adding the cranberry juice to the glasses at the base of the pyramid, then laid his hand on Connor’s arm, as slowly and delicately as he could manage, because he didn’t want Connor to startle. He looked so close to breaking apart.

“Can’t drive drunk. That’s important.”

“I know that. That’s why I had seltzer tonight.” And because my stomach hurt and I don’t know what’s going on with you and I watched you slam two beers. “Nobody here is driving drunk.”

Under the field lights, Connor’s eyes were luminous and large. Jonathan could see sweat on his upper lip, as if a fever had returned.

Connor stared at Jonathan with Ribby-eyes. “But do you understand?”

This all felt really, really wrong, and really, really bad. “Did something happen, Connor? Was someone you know hurt by a drunk driver?”

“No, no, no.” He spread a hand over his face and rocked forward, then back, and kept rocking. “No one’s hurt. Nothing happened.”

That was such a huge lie, even a Russian judge couldn’t have been bribed to call it the truth.

He needed to finish setting up the toasting pyramid, but he also needed to help Connor. He wasn’t sure why, precisely, two beers had affected Connor this much, but it must be related to yesterday’s illness and his lateness.

“Let’s just step over here and talk.” Farther from the table with a pyramid of drinks.

Connor backed away and fled.

If anyone had been looking at him, they would have seen a man filled with celebratory joie de vivre tilt his head and smile after Connor and then gracefully, carelessly, happily turn back to the second table set up for the sheet cake someone had magically produced from the back of a Subaru. Not from Connor’s, but there were at least three lesbians with Subarus on the team and that was not a stereotype, it was a fact.

No one saw his hands shake as he set out paper plates, a cutting knife, and forks, because they did not shake.

No one saw his knees wobble when he returned to the drinks table, because a skater could be steady no matter what sort of cracks opened in front of him.

“Hey, great last hit! You’re Connor, right? Remember me?”

Jonathan looked up and watched the blood drain away from Connor’s flushed cheeks in real time while the stocky spectator in cargo shorts and a navy-blue T-shirt continued speaking. “You see your friend was traded to Seattle this morning? How’s he doing?”

“My friend?” Connor’s voice was weird enough that it started a replay of the previous sentence in Jonathan’s mind, even while the conversation between Connor and the person he thought went with Softball Abby kept rolling.

“The catcher? I saw the trade on social media because he played here for the university. Told Abby that I’d met him yesterday at your place. Glad he wasn’t hurt worse but didn’t see Seattle wanting him.” They shook their head. “Hope he gets some help, you know?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t…we shouldn’t…”

The absence of color in Connor’s face emphasized the range of pinks and creams and golden tans that normally ebbed and flowed across his cheeks and lips.

“Shit, my bad.” Abby’s partner tilted their head apologetically. “I’m not supposed to talk about calls. Medical privacy, you know.” Their head swiveled toward Jonathan and then rapidly away. “Shit. Sorry, man, sorry.”

The catcher. At your place. Yesterday.

The catcher.

The air around Jonathan rippled like a sheet of ice had sucked all the heat from the dusty field and left him looking through the distortion of frosted windows.

All he could see was other times.

He was eighteen and missed the podium at Junior Worlds, he was twenty-one and his mother was sleeping with his coach, he was twenty-three and trying to skate after the pandemic, he was at Chelsea Piers and there was the guy he’d started to like, but he had a real family.

They were all on the other side of the icy glass. And so was Connor.

He was stuck in the cold, alone.

No. No. No.

He was none of those former people. He was twenty-seven and Connor was his boyfriend and this couldn’t mean what it sounded like, because Connor had promised he wouldn’t⁠—