Ride the Wreck (Stonewall Investigations Blue Creek 2)

She disappeared behind the curtains, and the music faded. A few of the bar employees came over to start cleaning up the mess, and another drag queen took the stage, announcing the end of the show. We all clapped and cheered, and I desperately hoped Blue Divine could hear it.

I picked the heel off the ground and looked around, hoping I could spot the drag queen before she left.

“That was definitely a show,” Zane said, standing and gathering his stuff as the lights came on. Alex, Darien, and Penny all still looked pretty shell-shocked from the show’s splash-zone-style climax.

“You guys all right over here?”

We all turned toward the cheery voice. It was Jennifer and Kyla Oaks, the owners of the bar. They were local celebrities, who had lived in Blue Creek all their lives, meeting in high school and never letting each other go since. Jen wore a dark red shirt with the bar’s name scrawled across the front and a pair of pinstriped shorts that matched with Kyla’s blue-and-white pinstriped dress.

“We’re going to have to up our insurance policy,” Kyla joked, bending to pick up an empty cup.

“We’re good, we’re good,” I answered. “Is Blue Divine okay?”

“Yeah, she’s just going through it. Poor thing,” Jen said, her normally permanent smile flipped to a frown for a flash. She turned her amber eyes to the rest of the table. “I haven’t seen any of you smiling faces around. Where y’all from?”

They answered, “New York,” in unison to an ever-growing smile from Jen and Kyla.

“Our new drag king is from New York! Maybe you guys know him—oh, there he is! Reggis Fillme, get your skinny-legend ass over here.” Kyla waved across a couple of emptying tables and caught the attention of a sharply dressed drag king. He had a tailored white suit with gold sequins embroidering the cuffs and trim of the suit, with a shining pair of alligator green loafers and a golden pocket watch attached to his white slacks.

“Sup guys,” the drag king said in an effortlessly cool tone. He surveyed the disaster zone and shook his head.

Kyla introduced the drag king to the entire group, and although none of my New York friends recognized him, they did connect over a joint loved for a Brooklyn bagel shop they all frequented. I was about to chime in when I spotted Blue Divine walking out a side door, and my heart did another drop.

He was holding a wet wig in one hand and a black heel in the other, sandals slapping against the floor as he raced toward the exist, makeup smeared and eyes wide. He looked… scared. I grabbed the broken heel and excused myself from the group, hurrying around Jen and Zane and trying to cut off Blue Divine before he disappeared through the swinging doors at the front of the bar.

“Hey! Hey, wait up.”

Blue barely paused.

“I’ve got your shoe!”

He looked over his shoulder, and I locked eyes with him. Both of us stopped. He rubbed his cheek, and I realized he was rubbing away a streak of tears. If my heart had the capacity to climb out of my chest and drop, shattered, to the floor, then it would have happened. I wasn’t exactly sure why I felt so strongly about seeing this poor guy going through it, but there wasn’t any point in wondering.

“You were great, by the way,” I said as I offered him the broken shoe. “Like mind-blowingly good.”

He offered a meek, cracked-in-half smile. He kept throwing wide-eyed glances over my shoulder—and his—which made the hair on my arms and neck stand on edge. I recognized that look. He was scared—it was painted all across his melting mug. I narrowed my eyes and cocked my head, wheels beginning to spin.

“Is everything okay?”

He arched a drawn-on eyebrow and motioned at the still-wet dress. “Does everything look okay?”

“Point taken.”

“Sorry, I’m just—It’s been a long night. I need to go. If I start walking now, I can be home before this wig becomes permanently traumatized.” He shot another glance over my shoulder.

“Blue Divine, let me drive you home. I was heading out now anyway. Around what part of town do you live?”

He cringed, then seemed to consider my offer for a brief second before pursing his lips and shaking his head. He still wore a wig cap that kept his real hair hidden, except for a thick strand of dark hair curling across his forehead. “I don’t think that’s a good idea… and my name’s Elijah.”

Before I could ask what he meant by that, someone shouted, loud enough to cut through the general din of conversation. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked to the source of the shrill scream, from somewhere behind the drawn curtains onstage. I turned to note Elijah’s reaction but found myself staring at nothing but empty, slightly hazy air.