Promise Rock 03 - Living Promises (MM) (11 page)

, he would have bitch-slapped that woman to the other side of the fucking moon for her smirk alone.
“It's written into the charter for the place, Jeff. It's how we get away with setting up a place that lets kids run away from home. We gotta try to talk them back there. Since Martin's folks are on the other side of the fu-rickin' country—”
“He's not two,” Jeff snapped at the same time Martin said, “I'm not four!” and Kimmy's smirk grew deeper, wider, and popped a couple of dimples.
“See? You two have a lot in common already. Seriously, Jeffy— you don't want your little man here to be shipped back off to bum-fuck, Missouri—”
“Oh
now
you can swear in front of me!” the kid snapped, and this time, Jeff was a half-beat behind
him
with, “He's from Georgia, sweetheart!”
Andrew snorted loudly, and Kimmy kept on talking. “So that's the deal. Martin, you sign a contract, we keep you and put you to work, and you and Jeff get locked in a room with a counselor twice a week, and when you're ready to go home, we'll get you there.”
“Are
you
going to be my counselor, pretty lady?” Martin tried a cheesy smile, then, and a soulful look from those deep brown eyes.
“Not if you come onto me, you little perv. You keep that shit up, and it's going to be my brother!”
“As long as he's straight!” Martin hit back, and everyone else in the room snorted.
“Oh you wish!” Kimmy rolled her eyes.
“Hey!” Shane said, walking in with Calvin and wearing all his good nature on the outside. “I can pass!”
“I can vouch for that,” said Calvin, using the keys on the electric lock by the door. “And he can take a hell of a beating and give it back, too, so don't think the whole „dancer boyfriend' makes him weak.”
Martin stood there, mouth a little open, as the locked, barred door unclicked and swung partway open. “You were a
cop
?”
Shane shrugged his massive shoulders. “Yes, I was.”
“Did they make you quit because you're gay?”
Calvin rolled his eyes. “Like that stopped him. No, young man, he quit because he's the clumsiest motherfucker I've ever met, and we all wanted him to live!”
“I got
knifed
!” Shane protested indignantly, and Calvin looked at Martin and shook his head.
“And he got his ribs bruised, and he got knocked down, and beaten and—”
“This conversation is no longer funny,” Kimmy said soberly, and it was Jeff's turn to snort.
“Jesus, Kim, you're telling me. Are we good to go?”
Kim nodded, then looked at Martin and sighed. “Kid, did you bring any clothes or anything? Man, I don't know how long you spent on that bus, but you're
rank.
”
Martin looked down at himself and for the first time started to fidget like he was embarrassed. “Uhm, no,” he muttered. “Sort of just, yanno, ran to the bus station and bought the ticket.”
Lucas had come in with Shane and Calvin—Jeff had the feeling he'd paid some sort of fine. “I got your clothes from your mom's, Martin. Uhm, they're in my car. I can follow you guys over.”
Martin looked at him like a stricken little kid. “Uhm, how many of my clothes?” he asked with meaning.
Lucas looked away. “Most of 'em,” he said, the soft Georgia in his voice low and strong with embarrassment.
Jeff looked at the kid, then looked at Lucas, and his heart sank.
Oh shit.
“Lucas, can we talk a minute?” he said, and Martin glared at them both. Jeff didn't give a shit.
“We'll be outside, playing clowns in a car,” Kim said with a sigh. “Jeff, I think you're going to need to take Andrew home—is that okay?”
“Does he have to go?” Martin said quickly, and Andrew met Kimmy's eyes with a grimace.
“I can stay the night on the couch, if you like,” Andrew said, but it was clear he was pretty reluctant.
“It's a good couch,” Shane said coaxingly, and Andrew shook his head.
“C'mon,” Drew said, something clearly weighing on him. “Man, I know you worked here, Shane, but I really hate this place.”
Calvin grimaced at them all good-naturedly. “I'm not fond of it either,” he said, and the whole group of them moved out toward the front and the parking lot, leaving Jeff there with a very pretty man with long hair, brown eyes, and an unhappy expression.
“Did they really kick him out?” Jeff asked quietly.
Lucas couldn't even look at him. “I don't know what to tell you. Kevin was my best friend, you know? I keep telling myself that he had to come from somewhere. When we were kids, his mom had the best house on the block—always cookies, always iced tea with lemon, always good movies to watch, yanno?”
Jeff had to swallow. “I had one like that,” he muttered, wanting his bubble back. It had been a great bubble, double-reinforced denial, layers and layers of clear don't-think-about-it shellacked over the über-strong sound waves of the psychic scream that had ripped his chest six years ago, but that the bubble had never allowed the world to really hear. The scream hadn't gotten out yet, but ever since Lucas had called, the bubble had grown too thin to protect him, too worn to keep the pain out, too fractured to give the world that glossy, blushy glow anymore.
“Had?” Lucas turned to look at him, and Jeff's throat was almost too tight to swallow.
“I… uhm… haven't been home in a while,” he said, and Lucas nodded as if something made sense. “So, Martin?”
“His folks gave him an ultimatum, I guess. They said Kevin was dead, and they weren't going to talk about it, and if he wanted to find out more about his brother, he'd be dead to them too.”
The walls were cinderblock, painted pale yellow. Maybe it was supposed to be like sunshine, or maybe it was supposed to hide the dirt, but suddenly Jeff had a vision of pounding his head against one just to see what his blood would look like when it spattered.
“We'll take care of him,” Jeff said, making it a promise. “Me and Deacon's people—we'll take care of him. No worries.”
Lucas nodded and then let his worry show through. “Look—would y'all mind if I stuck around? I've got….” He laughed a little, without humor. “I've got,
literally
, nothing going. I quit the Marines, got a nowhere job—and God, it wasn't until I drove out here that I realized how much I didn't want to go back to Georgia. I mean, I can get a little apartment here, whatever. Find a job. I've got some money saved. It's just that kid—he was like my little brother too. And….” Lucas's voice got tight, and Jeff wondered if he gave this big straight man a hug, would they be able to ever stop clinging to each other. “I really miss Kevin,” he managed to finish, and Jeff had no idea what kind of Marine Lucas had been, but Jeff figured he scored points for bravery right about there.
“This is a good place,” Jeff said after a moment. “If you don't mind all the gay, I'll give you Deacon's number. Between Deacon and Shane, I'm sure we've got a line on a job for you. They always need help, you know?” Jeff thought about how much they could have used Andrew at the diner that day and thought maybe that was an understatement. “Anyway, here. Let's go outside, and I'll give you Deacon's number, and you follow Kimmy and Shane home and talk to them about it. Make sure Martin knows you're hanging out for him. I've got a guest room you can use for a bit, but it's not as close as it could be—you're welcome, though.” Hell, he'd been ready to offer it to Martin, right?
But Lucas shook his head. “I've got a little motel room for the night, but I 'preciate it. Thank you. Seriously, thank you. Your people seem real nice—and Andrew's from Georgia, so that'll be almost homey, right?”
Jeff smiled and, as usual, opened his mouth to chew on his toes. “And he's straight—that ought to count for something.”
Lucas didn't smile, and his eyes were soft as Jeff had ever seen a grown man's. “I was never like that, you know,” he said quietly. “Because Kevin, he was like… since we were babies, he was my friend. It didn't matter if he was black, and later, it didn't matter if he was gay. He took better care of me than my own family. I just… God. If I can do right by him, I might be worth something after all, you see?”
Jeff nodded. He wanted to hear that story. More than almost anything, he wanted to hear that story. But first, he
needed
to get his bony white ass home.
Eventually, it was all settled. Everyone was going to Deacon's or Shane's and hunkering down for the night. Everyone but Jeff, who was just going to his own pin-neat condo, with his kitties and his first-edition prints and his big-screen television and his quiet and a box of Kleenex and a big bottle of Motrin for the headache and a copy of his favorite comfort movie—
Brokeback Mountain
, not that he'd ever let Crick know that—and his warm flannel pajamas and the vast, white, icy, aching loneliness waiting in the void left by his shattered heart.

Collin: The Long and Winding Road

C
OLLIN
had to wait three days to see Jeff again, and he worried the entire time.

His conversation with the frustrating little diva on the way home had not helped him worry one bit less.
“So…,” Collin had led.
“So what?” Mikhail replied crisply, practically challenging Collin to put it into words.
“Jeff. How do you think he's doing?”
“Like shit. Why do you care?” Even in the dark Collin could see one corner of a sulky little mouth pulled up in apparent disdain. But Collin had seen Mikhail in the same room, and he knew without thinking that the two were friends. Mikhail was either just being a bitch—a possibility, Collin would give him that—or protecting his friend.
“Because I care. Jeff's a good guy. He helped me out of a bad place a while back. I just want to help return the favor.”
“Jeff doesn't need any favors, returned or otherwise. Turn left here.”
Collin sighed and did what the little man said. He was surprised to find himself at a cattle fence with a rather odd contraption built along top of it. The thing looked like a long wooden bench, except it was only about six inches across, and it was four feet off the ground. It led from the top of the cattle fence to the top of the porch railing. There was a little stool outside of the fence where the wooden rail connected and Collin could not figure out what in the hell it could be for.
“Look, I'm just trying to find out about him. I mean, I don't know what you saw in there, but I saw a guy who was on his last fucking nerve, you know?”
Mikhail pursed that sulky mouth and glared outside. What looked like a hundred dogs had all gathered, voices raised excitedly, tails waving in greeting, and the little man's expression grew both overwhelmed and determined.
“Yes,” Mikhail said, “you should worry. I am worried. I am worried for Jeff, and I am worried for Deacon, and I am worried for my big, stupid cop—but that is because he will get hurt because he loves these people, and I cannot protect him from that.”
Whoopee! An opening! “So, uhm, what can you tell me about—”
Mikhail's brows snapped together. “Collin, right?”
“Yeah.”
“My big, stupid cop has the most
amazing
cock. You should see it. Circumcised, because he's American, but truly”—Mikhail held his hands apart, showing what must have been an exaggeration—“truly, truly gifted. He gives amazing blow jobs and fucks like a god.”
Collin, who didn't think anything could make him blush, found that he wished Mikhail would stop talking, and that he seemed to be sweating in the November chill. “Uhm….”
“I can tell you this, you see. Because he is
my
big, stupid, hairy cop, and his secrets are
mine
to share, yes?”
“Yes,” Collin managed, because now they weren't talking about sex and personal business and… shit. “Yes,” he sighed, truly understanding what the little man was saying. “Yeah. I understand. I'll ask Jeff when I see him.”
“Good. It is good. Jeff should have someone who can ask the personal questions. With him, it is always the joke, the funny man.” Mikhail shook his head. “Even funny men need someone to hold them when they cry.”
The hell of it was, he sounded like he knew.
“Thank you for the ride, Collin. And if you see my big, stupid cop, tell him that the seats were leather, the engine was a four-twenty-six V-8 and the paint job was not as „trick' up close as it was from far away. Your pin-stripe man sucks. Goodnight.”
“Hey!” Collin protested. “I was the pin-stripe”—the door slammed—“man,” he finished weakly. Then he watched as, instead of moving to the latched gate to open it and squeeze through, Mikhail did a truly remarkable thing.
He trotted across the cattle guard to the little stool by the gate, hopped up, and then, putting his hands squarely on the little bench, hoisted himself up to a handstand. From the handstand, he did a graceful arch until his feet were touching the six-inch board. He straightened then and pattered down the length of the “bench” to the top of the porch rail, where he vaulted over the side to the porch, pulling his key out almost when his legs were still in the air.
He managed to slip inside the door before the dogs even figured out he was on the porch, and Collin was left, sitting in his idling car, thinking, “Huh…” for an embarrassingly long time.

S
O WHEN
Jeff drove his car into Collin's shop for maintenance three days later, Collin was damned relieved. He'd been planning to stop by The Pulpit later that night on his way home just to beg for the guy's phone number, but this way, he wouldn't have to. Jeff had to give him a number for the paperwork, and if there was a code of garage mechanic ethics that said “thou shalt not use your client's phone number to call them up and hit on them,” he had no knowledge of said document.