resonant8 asked me to revisit
Third Party: two years later
It figures that Ray runs into him at a bar near the 2-7, when his clothes are still damp from the canal he just crawled out of and he's so pissed at Fraser that he's hoping a beer or five will make him at least want to punch somebody else.
Davie's got a golden tan and his hair is shorter, streaked by the sun of some place very obviously not Chicago in October, but Ray remembers his sharp face, even in a sharp suit instead of jeans and a T-shirt. The way his eyes widen, the way red flushes up his cheeks, Ray figures Davie remembers him, too.
"Buy me a shot," he says, and Davie waves the bartender over and orders a shot of Jack. Ray knocks it back and wipes his mouth with the back of one hand before saying, "So, still fucking Stella?"
Davie blushes again, and Ray just feels... numb.
"I haven't seen her." Davie shakes his head, so fucking sincere. "Not since..." He trails away and Ray doesn't need him to say, 'Since you walked in on us'.
Ray taps the scarred wood and the bartender pours him another shot, and he slams that one, too.
"She left me before you two started fucking, you know. She didn't leave me for you."
Davie nods uncertainly, like he doesn't want to admit he knew that, or like he's not sure how much agreeing he should be doing, or like he doesn't remember it so good, maybe, but Ray does, Ray remembers in vivid fucking Technicolor, stopping by her office after work to try one last time to talk her out of filing for the divorce, and finding Davie with his hands buried in her golden hair, her hands clutching his thin T-shirt, bunching up the fabric with her strong little fingers.
He doesn't remember what the hell Davie looked like, but Stella hadn't looked surprised, only tired, so fucking resigned, and Ray realizes only now, two years later, on a bar stool across town from the little place they'd rented on Cleveland Avenue that she had meant him to find her, that she'd known it was the only way he'd let her go.
END
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