What Love Breeds

Chapter 13

Jason pulls himself to his full height, his laces still untied. Casual as anything, he asks, "What do you mean?"

Tommy scoffs. "You know what. What are you doing coming out of Essie May's holding pen?"

A tension stretches from from end to end of the hall, growing tauter the longer Jason holds back.

"Getting her inside? What else? She tripped on the way here, so I made sure she was alright."

"Uh-huh." Tommy swings one of his jugs toward Jason's foot. "And that?"

"Oh, this?" Jason kicks at his loose shoe. "Didn't feel like getting locked in for another half an hour until her turn came."

Tommy lowers both gallons of Essie's product to the ground. He rolls his sleeves to his elbows, and takes apprehensive steps into Jason's space. As the hall falls silent, the air stills. Tommy's gaze is even with Jason's, unwavering.

"If I open that door, will she be standing there, untouched?" Tommy asks, the words hushed and slow.

Jason's eyebrows dip together. "No. I woke her up to ask if she was hurt. She's slumped on the floor. Can barely keep herself upright as is."

Tommy watches for a twitch, a flinch, a sign. And there it is – Jason's hand flickers, the pad of his thumb rubbing against his finger's side. A restless itch that Jason hasn't been able to quell for months, at least since June.

"And that's all that happened?" Tommy lets Jason hear his skepticism.

Jason returns with feigned innocence. "Of course."

They remain eye to eye even as the hall door swings open. Jason catches sight of a cafeteria employee over Tommy's shoulder, dressed in their waiter's uniform and prepared to serve the audience.

"Mr. Shaw, only ten minutes until start time," the intern reminds him, and notes the gallons abandoned by his feet. "Are these for the guests, sir?"

Tommy doesn't turn. He keeps his intensity focused on Jason, the power of it heating Jason's cheeks. Jason leans aside to speak to his employee. "Yes. Prepare glasses and serve them immediately after the foursome finishes. I'll be at the podium in a minute."

The employee nods and hefts the gallons into his arms, returning to kitchen that runs alongside the playpen with his task. Jason watches as his back fades into the darkened viewing room before he refocuses on Tommy.

"You mind if I finish?" he asks, already bending to his boot.

"Not at all," Tommy mumbles. He shuffles aside and hesitates at Essie May's holding pen, one hand on his key and the other on the knob. Does he really want proof one way or the other? Before he has time to make that choice, Shaw is standing again and dusting himself off. Tommy catches a glint in his eye, a warning, and slowly returns his hands to his sides.

Jason claps Tommy on the shoulder and leads them both out to the viewing room. There's a pressure in his grip that pushes Tommy out, as if he could force the suspicion from Tommy's mind in the same shove. They march through the viewing room doors to the shadowed faces of roughly twenty guests taking their seats in the audience, the show only minutes away from beginning.

In one last attempt, Tommy comes to Jason's ear and begs, "You sure there's nothing you want to tell me? You've got nothin' to get off your chest?"

Jason grins, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't have anything to hide, Tom. No worries."

And before Tommy can respond, Jason's off. He starts giving the welcome speech and riling the audience up. GCE168 and BLJ189 enter the playpen, and are hit with the typical gas a couple minutes into their set. It's all very standard, and the routine should have Tommy feeling good – another successful show, another influx of cash for the farm. But he can't. The uneasy, unsettled feeling he's ignored for the last few months is roaring inside him, turbulent and unmoored. The girls are going wild behind the glass windows, and the audience is loving it. Privacy screens are lifting as the show continues. And the only semi-solid thing Tommy can focus on is Jason. His best friend, his boss, his lying sack of shit –