“At least he’s trying,” Tank snapped.
His words stung like a fist to the cheek, and Pyro glared his way, struggling to keep in his anger. “As opposed to?” he demanded, knowing exactly what Tank was referring to. He was one to talk, always following Clover like a lovesick puppy, as if there were no other things to deal with—like Boar’s absence.
“Fuck you,” he said when nausea clutched at his stomach again. He opened the bottle of water and chugged what remained inside.
“We need to keep trying,” Drake said softly, triggering anger so choking Pyro tossed the empty container at him.
“And fuck you too! We wouldn’t even be in this situation if it wasn’t for you, so don’t you dare tell me to calm down! What was the bullshit fight you had this morning, huh? I think I’m allowed to be as pissed off as I want.”
Drake looked away like the drama king he was. So he had a fucked up past. Boo-hoo. Boar could be going through pain and torture right now because of him, and just thinking about it made Pyro’s skin itch for blood. If he got his hands on the person who’d bought Boar, he’d skin them alive, season them and roast their body over an open fire before calling over a pack of stray dogs to feast on the corpse.
He would not calm down.
Tank glanced his way and crossed his arms. “Are you that eager for a line you gotta take it out on someone else?”
Pyro stiffened, but then he rose, fueled by rage so pure he couldn’t contain it any longer. He stormed at Tank, ready to take him down with a series of well-placed punches, but as he stepped forward, his head spun from the rapid change in position, and Tank got to him first, pushing him back on the bench.
“Clover’s coming. So stay put, or someone’s gonna arrest us before we can check this lead.”
At least they’d find out something from Clover about Mr. Hake, the nurse who moonlighted in dirty dealings. Clover’s expression was tense as he briskly walked their way with his hands in his pockets. His dirty blonde hair was a constant reminder of the change in their group. The spark that had always turned heads had been extinguished.
“What took so long?” Pyro asked when Clover finally got to them.
Tank let out the warning growl, as if he were the boy’s guard dog, but Clover ignored him.
“It took a bit of back and forth, but I’ve got Hake’s address. He hasn’t shown up for work today.”
Tank tried to hold Clover’s shoulders, but the boy stepped back and stood behind the bench, forcing Pyro to get to his feet if he wanted to still see him.
“On your own? Why didn’t you report to us? Did you… sneak into an office or something? They have cameras everywhere. You could have been arrested!”
“No, I talked to another nurse, to the receptionist, to a janitor. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you in the car. Let’s go.”
Pyro rolled his eyes. Since when was Clover giving orders?
But Drake got up, and Tank nodded, so there was no point in questioning the unanimous decision. At least he had something to do now. A new goal.
*
Hake lived in a three-storey apartment building in a quiet suburb of Denver, not too far away from the hospital. The setting sun colored its beige siding a purple hue, proving color was everything. Fucking beige. Everything was either white or beige around here, and even the beautiful mountains on the horizon couldn’t take away the mundanity of this place.
It looked just like the neighborhood where Pyro had grown up, and he hated it already.
“Which number does he live at?” he snapped as soon as he left the car. He loved the Subaru, with its sapphire body and custom-made leather interior where he’d made out with Boar so many times. The vehicle was Boar’s, and while Pyro knew his lover would have wanted him to use it, it still didn’t feel right to drive it. Boar had always been the one behind the wheel.
He didn’t want to hang on to false hope, but throughout this long day, he let himself dream that maybe, if the stars aligned for once, they’d drive off into the sunset together again. Sappy? So what? Boar would have loved it.
“Eleven,” Tank said, already spearheading their group into the building, but Pyro wouldn’t have it, and overtook him on the walkway, desperate to feel like he was doing something.
He would squeeze Hake for every last drop of intel.
“Is that the first floor or the second?”
“It’s written right there,” Drake grumbled, pointing to a plaque with indicators where to look for which apartment numbers. Fucking smug bastard.
Pyro ignored the need to snap back at him and ran up the stairs, straight onto the corridor in the second floor. Hake’s apartment was the last in row.