OCÉANO, REAL name John Delancey, returned to London under armed escort feeling numb. Nothing seemed to compute. He’d done everything the force had asked of him. Yes, he’d been caught in a double cross, and he’d done the unthinkable: he’d returned from the job without his partner. It looked bad. Questions had been asked and more would still be asked, but one issue remained.
Who’d told the bad guys their real identity? Who was behind it? Who had framed him and killed Joshua?
He still had dreams of the gunshot that killed his partner and best friend. He fought the images but fought harder than hell to forget about Demetrio Reyes.
Why had he lied and told the man he was straight? He wasn’t. But being gay had been his deadly secret. Only one man knew about his true sexuality.
Joshua.
He had urged John to fake being straight, both because he didn’t want a gay partner and because he believed John would be safer on the squad if no one knew he was a woofter. He winced, thinking of the disparaging way Joshua would refer to gay men. He remembered how the bad guys had derided him, calling him queer. He’d been stunned because he was so careful to cover his tracks whilst being undercover. He bedded women, even snorted a bit of coke and boozed it up with the lads at a strip club or two.
John closed his eyes, the smell of lemons and pine strong in his mind.
He’d never met anyone like Demetrio. Dear, loving Demetrio, whose big hurt eyes would forever haunt him. He’d lied to save the man, to protect him from the fantasy that could never be real. He wanted Demetrio to move on, to be safe.
And yet he yearned to be with him.
If only I could have forgotten a little longer. If only I could forget who I am forever.
The sad thing is, I can see myself living there with him. But I don’t see us living in the old town square. I see us being high in the mountains in one of those old houses near the orchards.
Oh God. What if he meets someone else?
The two-and-a-half-hour flight was over too soon.
It’s a fantasy, he told himself over and over again.
No, it’s not. This was his mother’s voice in his head. When he was a kid, before he lost her, before she walked out on him and his dad, she’d said to him, “Remember, Johnny. This world is a lonely, tough place. People do things out of greed and fear. Those things exist, but only love is real.”
The media came out in full force for his arrival at Gatwick.
I wonder if Demetrio is watching me now? Maybe he’s too busy setting up his bar, carefully arranging his cheeses. I never did pay him back for all the food I ate. I wonder how Luis is? Do his fingers still hurt?
Maybe I could call when I get some time. No, I can’t. I broke Demetrio’s heart.
He looked down at the ground as cameras flashed and reporters asked rude questions. He knew the handcuffs and the stern expressions on the faces of the cops accompanying him were a formality, but still, it humiliated him.
I miss Eivissa. I miss the man I was there. I miss him.
THINGS WEREN’T as bad as he’d expected at Scotland Yard. He met with his bosses, the same ones who had devised this scheme in the first place. A few faces had changed, but what hadn’t changed was the dreary excuse for spring weather visible from the windows of the conference room.
He remembered the killer cocktails he’d shared with Demetrio. The wonderful night at the Golden Buddha with the sun setting as they laughed and joked.
Then he remembered waking up to find Luis standing over him and the crazy plastic penis he wore around his neck, and almost laughed.
I never got to smell almond blossoms with Demetrio. I’ll never see him laugh again.
His life was on the line here, and all he could think about was how he and Luis often fought over the last slice of flaó, a sweetened goat cheese flan Demetrio bought fresh every day.
He struggled to concentrate. He knew he still looked awful and there were gaps in his memory. They asked strange questions about side deals with Syrian terrorists he clearly knew nothing about. It began to look like Joshua had double-crossed him, duped them all, leaving the woofter holding an empty bag.
Her Majesty’s coffers had been bled dry during their sting operation. They had both taken money out of a certain bank account to buy drugs and weapons, but in his furtive calls and e-mails to his immediate bosses, John had accounted for everything he spent.
In the final weeks of the operation, when he and Joshua met the heads of the big drug operation, all communication had ceased. Money kept vanishing from the account.
“It wasn’t me,” John insisted. “The one meal I took the main guy to, what was his name? Christian something. Man, I’m sorry. My memory comes back in snatches. Boulerman. That’s what it was. I took him to dinner in Madrid and used the credit card you gave me.”
Questions and more questions.
“We’ll be in touch,” the chief superintendent told him. “As of now you’re on unpaid leave until we complete our investigation.”
Unpaid leave? “But I have no money,” he said. “I gave up my flat when I went undercover. I have no place to go.”
“You’ve got your dad,” one of the men at the table said, his sneer evident.
My dad. Oh God. Are things as bad as that?
They did show some mercy.
He’d had a bank account that had accrued money in his absence. His paycheck had gone into it and one of the force’s accountants had maintained it for him. He hadn’t been allowed to touch it during his undercover operation, but now the accountant accompanied him to the branch of the Bank of England closest to the Yard, and helped procure him a Visa debit card. He was given a temporary card and activated the pin.
“Where do we send the new card to?” the personal banker asked John. He could practically hear the accountant snorting as he recited his father’s address on St. David Road in the Isle of Dogs.
What was it about his father that made them all behave like idiots? Yes, he’d been a mediocre detective who’d retired when his drinking became excessive. But he was the one who tipped them off on many illegal activities in the once-rough and violent wharfside neighborhood.
The Isle of Dogs, or The Island as locals called it, had become the place to live. John Delancey, Sr. had invested his money and had become a hot property developer. The coppers he’d left behind resented his freedom, probably. And his income.
“Use this cell phone,” the accountant said. “Let us know where you land.”
And with that he turned on his heel, leaving John to his own devices. He took some money out of the ready teller, bought a pass for the tube, and went to his old home in Kensington. The apartment on the Vicarage Gate looked the same as ever, but somebody else was enjoying it now. He stood on the corner, looking up at the brownstone building, wondering what he’d expected. A “to let” sign awaiting his return?
He suddenly remembered that, once upon a time, he’d actually walked down to the vicarage itself and sat down for a cup of tea with the vicar.
“I want to know the meaning of life,” he’d told the man, who really had no answer. “Have another Jaffa Cake,” the vicar had said, as though that would provide the answers to Demetrio’s soul-searching.
He looked up at the sky, pondering his next move. He’d have to go home to the old bastard who hated him. John Delancey, Sr. was charming and full of toothy smiles to everyone he met, except his son. John had always seemed to irritate him. Perhaps because he’d been forced to raise him singlehandedly. He’d been a harsh father until John turned twenty-one, when he treated him like an old friend.
There was nothing for it but to head to The Island. Not that he wanted to. The only island he really wanted was the one two and a half hours away.
He checked the time on his new cell phone.
What is Demetrio doing now? Is he walking in his beloved forest? Is he cleaning the bar? Is he sleeping?
He ached and itched to call the man, but didn’t.
John Delancey, Jr. took the tube to the other island and was surprised to find the former trash heap looking more gorgeous than ever.
As he arrived at street level, he turned in circles, staring at all the mirrored windows. He thought about the disco ball at Club Sugar and thought he might never be happy again.
DEMETRIO FELL asleep for about ten minutes. The radio sounded and he listened to the ten o’clock morning news bulletin. “Police extradited Detective John Delancey back to London this morning. Delancey, who washed up on the shores of Eivissa, is wanted in connection with the shooting death of his partner, Joshua Riley, in a drug deal gone sour.”
Demetrio listened to it. John Delancey. Océano was really John. How weird he shared the same name as his cousin. One was lost, one was found. Both were gone. Move on.
But I can’t.
AS THE days wore on, it seemed to Demetrio they only became more hellish. He read the newspapers, relying on the internet versions of British newspapers for more detailed information. John Delancey was portrayed as either a good cop gone bad or a good cop being railroaded, depending on which source was being quoted. The bloody Daily Mail was following him and had taken photos of him looking particularly gaunt and hollow-eyed when he’d gone shopping for coffee and a box of Ready Brek at Tesco on the Canary Wharf one morning. The online rag made John sound like a lonely loser with his apparent breakfast for one. They also quoted women from three different continents describing his heavy partying and endless lies.
When the blond man who’d been in Club Dino, now identified as Christian Boulerman, a British industrialist turned wannabe arms dealer, was arrested in Barcelona, Demetrio felt relief, especially when Jeanine was discovered in bed with him, unharmed. She was all over CNN but returned to Ibiza and her beloved cats. Demetrio let her talk on the night she came back. “I should have gone out with my massage client, but he seemed boring,” she told him. “Boring seems so appealing to me now.” Tears fell from her eyes. “I can read other people but I’m hopeless when it comes to me.” She seemed dazed when she described her romance with Boulerman as “passionate, intense, and dangerous.”
Some idiot filmmaker showed up on Eivissa, anxious to secure the film rights to her story, and soon departed when Jeanine refused to speak to him. A few days later, Boulerman issued a public denial via his attorney that anything had ever transpired between him and Jeanine.
“I’m very loyal to my wife. I’d never cheat on her,” Boulerman said. “I have no idea how she got into my bed.” Within hours, three other women came forward claiming to be former mistresses. He insisted he had no idea how he managed to appear naked in dozens of photos with them.
“What a doucheweed,” Jeanine announced as she and Demetrio watched the report on Chenche’s new, gigantic flat-screen TV one night over dinner at the new terrace house Chenche and Stefan had just bought. It was the only funny moment in an otherwise ongoing drama for Demetrio. One week turned into two, and Jeanine returned to Club Dino to work. The gay contingent seemed to love her more because Boulerman had publicly dissed her. She in turn seemed to adore their sympathy.
And suddenly, Eivissa’s homeless cat population had a mighty network of desperate adopters.
“I should get loved and dumped more,” she joked, but she’d finally accepted a date with the massage guy, and Demetrio hoped she’d settle for normal.
Demetrio meanwhile struggled to get through each day until one night, as he was closing the bar, his cell phone rang. His unknown caller turned out to be Océano.
“Are you closing?” Océano asked.
“Oh God.” Demetrio almost dropped the phone. “I fucking miss you.”
“Oh God,” Océano moaned. “I can’t believe I’m calling you.”
They were silent for a moment. Demetrio worried about saying the wrong thing and pissing Océano off.
“Have you read the papers? You following what’s going on?”
“Yes, and I don’t believe a word of it. Is there really going to be a trial?”
“So they say. Why are you so sure I’m innocent?”
“I just know it.”
“So you believe me?”
“Yes. Of course I do.”
“I don’t know whether you’re the most amazing person I ever met or the stupidest. There are people I’ve known for years who’ve turned their backs on me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
A pause.
“Demetrio, you seeing anybody?”
“No. I’m no slut. I’m still waiting for you to come back. We all miss you.”
“Shit.” Océano blew out a sigh. “I gotta go, sweetheart. I’m staying with my old man and he’s in a bad mood. I can already tell.” His voice dropped. “Be good.”
He ended the call. Demetrio wanted to scream at the sky, at Océano, and everything in between. He tried to lose the wishbone in his back. He had to get over this man and move on. Over the next few nights, he tried dating but felt inexplicably like he was cheating on Océano.
As the days wore on, he hoped and prayed for another call. He heard on the news that John Delancey was getting married. Ironically the announcement came the same day Allister’s memorial bench and pine tree were ready to be implemented at a bluff overlooking the sea.
Most of the club and café owners came to the small ceremony. They planted the tree, lit some candles, and cemented the bench into the ground. For days Demetrio returned to the bench to watch the ocean and to think about the man that the sea had brought him. On the fourth day, he was surprised when Chenche showed up to sit beside him.
“You shouldn’t be sad,” Chenche said.
“I miss him. I wish I didn’t.”
“Yes. I know.” Chenche put his arm around him.
“He’s getting married.”
Chenche kissed his cheek. “No, he’s not. He loves you. I saw how he looked at you. You must have faith. You are a child of Eivissa. You must believe in love. You must believe in the sea. This is your church, right here. Be patient. The sea will bring him back.”
He was shocked that Chenche of all people would give him a speech like this. He could imagine it from Stefan, but not from Chenche.
“Thank you,” he said, humbled by the man’s friendship.
“You know, I was straight once. I panicked when I discovered I like cock. It’s hard to realize you love a man. I did stupid things. ¡Estúpido! But you’ll see. Océano, he likes cock too. A lot.” His grin made Demetrio laugh.
That night he received a strange call: “Unknown caller,” and not a word was spoken. There was a strange spacey sound in the background. He wanted to think it was Océano. He liked to think they were swirling in the ocean together, arm in arm, lovers in love. The line went dead.
“YOU ALL right, son?”
John almost jumped ten feet into the air.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m okay.”
The old man set a beer on the coffee table and eased himself onto the sofa. He always kept his leather jacket on, like he might just walk out the door. John hadn’t even heard him enter the apartment. John Sr. was a solid two-beer-a-day guy now and happily dating a woman John Jr. liked, but it didn’t look like it was going anywhere.
“You’re the unhappiest man I’ve ever met,” his father suddenly said.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” John instantly regretted the words. The littlest thing could set his father off, drunk or sober.
The old man lifted his shoulders. “I am exactly what it says on the tin.” He leaned forward, grabbed the beer, and pointed the neck toward his son. “You, on the other hand, you’re a mystery man, all right. You look like you should be happy. You got yourself a great girl, but I can tell you don’t love her. You got off all charges. And okay, I know they retired you from active duty, but you resigned and got a full pension and wages for two years. The world is yours. Do what you want with it.”
John said nothing. It wasn’t as easy as that. He had to do something, and he knew it. But nothing made him happy. He was only happy when he was sleeping.
“Do something, ya daft cunt. Don’t end up a lonely old bastard like me.”
John stared at his father, who put the beer to his lips and drained the bottle dry.
AFTER THE silent phone call, Demetrio went out that night, looking for a sign to either give up hope or to hang on. The first song he heard over at Sugar was a remix of the song “Return to Innocence,” with its recurring refrain of “hold on, hold on, hold on.”
Emboldened, he kept looking for signs. He spent his time with Stefan and Chenche. He tried to be positive, even when the newspapers stopped reporting on the strange case of John Delancey. Even the gossip on Eivissa stopped. A new current came with the changes of the tide. There were new things to talk about. New songs. New fashions. New people.
Demetrio dated a ton of guys but never let anyone get close enough for even a goodnight kiss. His heart kept pounding at his head, “hold on, hold on, hold on.”
One morning he awoke before the alarm rang. He had the urge to peruse the online reports and was intrigued to learn all charges against John Delancey had been dropped. He was too high profile to be a further asset in his career as an undercover officer, and he’d resigned from the force.
Was he forced to resign?
His impending wedding plans were dropped, his fiancée griping to reporters that he was a cold fish.
Demetrio laughed when he read that. Cold fish? Not the John Delancey he knew. He lay back in bed, his iPad on his lap, wondering what John Delancey and/or Océano would do next. His clock radio went off, and the song playing was an old Wilson Phillips song, “Hold On.”
He found himself smiling. If he ever dared tell anyone how these words kept coming to him, how he found strength and conviction in holding on, people would think he was crazy. He left the house, picking some flowers along the way, and went to visit Allister’s bench. He left the flowers tied to the bench, next to a red balloon left over from a bunch of them Chenche had left there a few days before.
Demetrio wandered the streets, thinking about things. He had an unrealistic yet relentless sense of anticipation. He found himself feeling euphoric as the day wore on.
“You seem really happy,” Jeanine said to him as they cleaned the club.
He shrugged. “Not really.” But really, he was. Yes. He was happy. All he heard in his mind was “hold on.” He was bursting with the feeling something was about to happen. She tried to question him, but he went to the basement to bring up crates. He felt better than he had in days. He just wanted to live with this feeling of lightness, even if it evaporated like water in the hot sun.
Back upstairs, his cell phone rang. A text message. Meet me at the old church on the mountain. I am here. I miss you.
Fuck! It had to be Océano… didn’t it? Christ, what if it was Chenche, or worse, some guy he’d dated? No. It had to be Océano. But why the church? Why not just walk in here and lay claim to Demetrio?
“I gotta go,” he said to Jeanine, leaving the crate on the floor.
“Whatever,” she said, pushing the broom around, a sour look on her face.
HE RETRIEVED his car and drove up the mountain. He parked, disheartened not to see another car in the spaces reserved for hikers. He hesitated for a moment. He hadn’t told anyone where he was. He put a quick call in to Stefan and left a voice message telling him he was on a hike.
“See you soon,” he said. He ended the call and began walking.
By the time he got to the church an hour later he’d worked up a good sweat. Not a soul was there. Inside it was empty. He left some money in the collection box. Outside he tried to swallow his disappointment.
Where to now?
He wandered aimlessly through the grounds as he checked the text message. It had, of course, come from an unknown caller.
“You know,” a voice said from behind him, “I think you might have the finest ass on Eivissa.”
Demetrio stuttered to a stop. His heart pounded in his constricted chest. He didn’t think he was hearing things. It had to be Océano. Just because his tender heart wanted it to be real, he didn’t think he was hallucinating. God couldn’t be that cruel.
He could have said a million things in that moment, but his heart ached with the pain of the last two months. Better to keep things light.
“You only think it’s the finest ass?”
“No, I’m pretty certain.”
A beat.
“Turn around, Demetrio.”
Demetrio turned, trying to keep his gaze down, urging himself not to cry.
“I’m sorry I stayed away, sweetheart. I’ve really missed you. You are the only one who loved and believed in me.”
Love. My God… he said the word.
“It’s strange how you can meet someone and just have instincts about them. I knew I wanted to be with you even when I couldn’t understand it. I’d never explored my feelings for a man. I think… I mean, I really think I might have had feelings for Joshua, but I’ll never know. We let the chance slip by, and now he’s gone. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let another wonderful man get away from me. I don’t want any more missed chances. Not with you, Demetrio. Each and every day I’ve panicked, wondering if some idiot guy’s gonna walk into your bar and sweep you off your feet.”
Demetrio said nothing. Tears kept falling from his eyes. He kept seeing his cousin John in his mind’s eye. John walking in circles, feeling alone.
“I’m here,” Océano finally said, and covered the distance between them, taking him into his arms. “I’m sorry I stayed away so long. I’m sorry for every moment of pain I’ve given you.”
Their mouths collided, Demetrio not sure it was even real as they kissed with such savage passion he was having trouble breathing.
Océano pushed him to the ground. “If you’ll let me, I want to be with you. I want what you told me we have. I want a life with you.”
Demetrio felt the man moving above him, tears falling from Océano’s eyes and onto Demetrio’s face.
“You wanted me to fuck you in the grass and I never got the chance. I knew if I came to the club, I’d be in danger of fucking you right there, taking you in front of everybody.” He glued his mouth to Demetrio’s, preventing any response. They fumbled at each other’s clothing, mouths and fingers and tongues in hot pursuit. He felt Océano’s hot cock poking at him, Demetrio opening up his legs as Océano prepared to fuck him.
“Tell me you want it too,” Océano said. “If you don’t… fuck, then I want to die.”
“I want it,” Demetrio said as Océano entered him. Their mingled cries rang out as the bells of the old church pealed. That was the sound of Eivissa: music, love, and old church bells.
“I love you,” Océano shouted above the sound of the bells as he fucked Demetrio, reaching between their bodies to hold Demetrio’s cock.
Demetrio would have responded except that Océano’s tongue was in his mouth, his breath squashed out of him. He grappled for the man’s ass as Océano moved into him with quickening strokes. He smelled grass and sex as the bells stopped ringing, and all that was left was love.
Hold on, his heart said. Just hold on.