“And you’re sure it was him?” Malik asked. He looked just like his older brother, all shiny white teeth and honey-brown eyes, with short dark hair that was usually kept buzzed down. He had a golden dangling earring and a thin gold necklace that popped against his dark skin. A tattoo of an octopus wrapped around his forearm, appearing to dance along with him as he moved.

Both Jake and I slightly deflated at his question. “No, we’re not,” I answered.

“But he’s our most likely lead,” Jake said, speaking like a detective. “We’ve got his car on camera, twice now, around the same time as when the incidents happened. Plus, Noah and Franky have history, which could lead to a motive. Maybe he’s upset at the feelings Noah made him confront, and repressing them for these past few years maybe twisted him up.”

That got the group nodding their heads in unison. “It does make sense,” Tristan said.

I waved my hands over the table as if I were telling people to stop their bets at a roulette table. “Enough of this spooky shit. Let’s try and have some fun today. Malik, how long are you in town for?”

“Just until tomorrow. I needed to get out of my apartment. Too much shit happened there.”

“Boy troubles?” I asked.

“Major. I found Peter cheating on me. In our own bed, after he told me he was visiting his sick sister. He thought I was out of town and, and—” Malik choked back tears. Tristan put an arm around his brother’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug.

“It’s alright, Mal. You deserve better than that guy.”

I nodded my agreement, trying to not let my heartbreak for Malik show on my face. I knew how much he loved his boyfriend, and I knew how much pain that inflicted when the love turned into venom injected straight into the veins. It was a toxic feeling that consumed your every thought, made every what-if moment that much larger, that much more pronounced. It was how I felt when Franky and I broke up, the days after finding me locked up in my bedroom and swearing off boys for the rest of my life.

“Not all men are trash,” I said to Malik, shooting a glance at Jake. Tristan cocked his head, but before I could keep going with my pep talk, a firm hand clamped down on my shoulder. I turned, wondering who’d just popped through my personal space. The gay community in Atlanta was large but compact at the same time, and it wasn’t unusual to spot friends—or old hookups—out and about.

This one was a friend. A best friend, actually.