Restoration 01 - Getting It Right (18 page)

He had no real idea how Elliott was handling himself since Doug’s death. He hadn’t been around. Some of James’s emails had mentioned Ell’s apartment always being a mess, his clothes sometimes mismatched. The rug. He hadn’t gone back to work, and Nate had no idea how he was paying his rent, or how he was spending his days.

He’d not only shut his friends out, he’d shut out their lives and their pain.

He was an ass. A selfish ass.

“How are you holding up?” Nate asked, leaning in close to be heard.

Elliott rolled his eyes. “You know, if I had a quarter for every time someone asked me that?”

“Sorry. I haven’t been around to see for myself.”

Elliott’s thin body swayed with the beat, his hips keeping time by some instinct while he focused on Nate. “You’re right, you haven’t.” He spoke plainly, no accusation, but the words still stung.

Nate glanced around. James and Boxer had made a sandwich of Louis, and the trio was an amazing mix of unique. And hot.

Lord, when had he started thinking of other men as hot together?

Oh yeah. When he’d finally embraced his feelings for another man.

“The beard’s a nice look,” Elliott said over the scream of the music. “It’s übersexy. So are the scars.”

Nate tensed, his dancing ability switching to uncoordinated jerks of his hips. The whole point of the beard was to disguise the scars, and nothing about them was remotely sexy. Elliott probably meant well, but the compliment crashed and burned. “Listen, I need to hit the head.”

He directed Elliott toward James, Boxer and Louis, then threaded his way through the throng to the bathrooms at the far right. Running away from his friends—from the safety of James’s arms—wasn’t his brightest idea ever, but he needed a few minutes to collect himself. To convince himself that everyone in the place wasn’t leering at his scars, whispering about how ugly he was.

Inside the restroom, the trench urinal was pretty busy. Two of the three stalls sported two pairs of feet per. Nate rushed the empty one and locked himself inside, ignoring the grunts and moans coming from the other two stalls. He pressed his forehead against the cool metal door and just concentrated on breathing.

“Toilet break,” Elliott said when James asked where Nathan had disappeared to.

James scanned the crowd, spotting the back of Nathan’s head before it disappeared into the bathroom. An odd compulsion to follow him nearly made James tear away from his friends.

Nathan might not appreciate James checking up on him, so he stayed put and added Elliott to their group. He couldn’t ask Elliott about last night with Boxer and Louis right there. The last thing he needed was gossip.

Maybe they’re already talking. You don’t know what Ell told them.

Too true. But he wasn’t getting any knowing looks from Boxer or Louis, or from anyone else, so maybe they hadn’t fucked, after all.

A few yards away, a head of white-blond hair caught his attention. Ezra. Dancing with the two people he’d seen him with a few weeks ago. He didn’t remember the taller, ganglier of the pair’s name, but Alessandro had gone in on a coffee shop business with Ezra this summer.

James had yet to stop in and see how they were making out, but rumor was the coffee was excellent.

Rumor also had it that Romy Myers had been living with Ezra and his boyfriend Donner since leaving Carlos. He briefly considered approaching the trio and asking after Romy—until his traveling gaze landed on one of the booths where Romy was sitting with a huge black guy James had never seen before.

Maybe he’s the one David saw beating the snot out of Carlos. Good for him.

“Be right back,” James said loud enough for his trio of friends to hear. “I want to go say hi to someone.”

Louis made a dramatic protest, then yanked Elliott into place as the front half of his sandwich. James rolled his eyes and navigated his way across the dance floor. Romy and his friend were engaged in conversation and they didn’t notice him coming. Presented with the situation, James suddenly had no idea what to say. Too many rumors of what Carlos had done to Romy were traveling through the grapevine, everything painting Carlos as cruel and sadistic.

He’d already been banned from the Pot.

“Romy, is that you?” James asked as he approached the booth, going for a casual

engagement even though his brain was peppering the boy with questions.
Are you okay? What
happened with Carlos? Are you seeing a professional? Is it helping?
He sat down on the opposite side of the booth without waiting for an invite, falling into the persona of Tag the playboy easily. “I haven’t seen you around in months, honey. How’s it shaking?”

“Hey, Tag.” Romy blinked at him, a little startled. “I’m doing good. Been busy.”

“Sure, that’s what they all say.” James flashed his nameless—slightly glaring—

companion a smile. “Who’s your friend?”

“Brendan, Tag. Tag, Brendan.”

“I bet you’re a force on the dance floor,” James said to Brendan. The man was built like a linebacker, and he’d probably be handsome if he learned how to smile.

“I don’t dance,” Brendan replied.

“Shame.” James studied him, more and more sure this was the guy who’d handed Carlos his ass. If so, congratulations were in order. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“Does that line ever work?”

“That honestly wasn’t a line.” James considered him a moment longer, then shrugged and shifted his attention back to Romy. He wanted to have a chat, but not with Brendan around. And the black-haired boy looked like he had some energy to burn. “You wanna go a round or two?”

Romy hesitated, his big black eyes watching James. He tipped back the rest of his drink.

“Why the hell not?”

James slid back out of the booth, then led Romy into the sea of bodies. He had nearly a foot on Romy, which made dancing somewhat awkward. But this wasn’t about getting down and dirty, or fucking with their clothes on. This was his way of making sure a guy who’d survived a trauma was coping with it.

One day I’ll learn how to turn off the inner psychiatrist.

Romy danced with a stiff awareness that enforced some of the rumors of abuse. His gaze never stopped moving, his guard always up. Several times he stiffened, lost the beat. James tried to make a barrier with his own larger body, tried to give Romy some space to dance without being jarred by other men too much. He didn’t always succeed, and as one song bled into another, he lost Romy’s focus entirely.

He lightly tapped Romy’s chin, forcing the younger man to look up at him. “You okay?”

“Out of practice.”

James took the response at face value, a little saddened by how desperately Romy was working to keep it together.

I need to find a way to help him.

Nate found Boxer and Elliott dancing together near the middle of the floor. “Where did Louis and James go?” he asked.

“Louis went for drinks,” Boxer replied. “Jay went off to talk to a friend.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go sit for a while.”

“You tired already, old man?” Elliott teased.

He nearly snapped back that he was always tired. “Welcome to being in your thirties, Ell.”

“Ew, don’t remind me.”

Nate wandered back to the booth that Tori and Allen were still guarding. Still standing, he sipped at his Coke while searching for James. Curious who the friend was. He spotted James across the room at the bar, head bent low as he spoke to someone whose back was to him. Short, black hair. The conversation looked intense. A few minutes later, James left the bar and headed toward the front door, something in his hands.

His phone buzzed with a text.

James:
Going out for a smoke. You doing okay?

Nate smiled and texted back:
So far so good. Want company?

You hate that I smoke.

I know. Still…

Sure.


Nate made his excuses to Tori and Allen, then braved the crowd to get to the front door.

The air outside was fresher, less congested with testosterone and sweat. James was leaning against the side of the building, a smoldering cigarette dangling loosely in his fingers.

“Everything okay?” Nate asked.

“For me it is.” James puffed on the cigarette with smiling lips. “You’re here.”

Silly as it was, the simple compliment made Nate’s insides warm. “I hope this doesn’t come across as some weird jealousy thing, because it’s not, but—”

“Who was I talking to?”

“Yeah.”

James’s good humor dimmed. “You remember the emails I sent you about Romy

Myers?”

“The guy who got into a bad relationship?”

“Yes. That was him I was talking to. It wasn’t my intention when I approached him earlier, but I gave him my card and asked him to make an appointment.” James stubbed the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe, then exhaled long and hard. “He was abused, Nate. The question is how badly? He needs help.”

Nate didn’t think before taking James’s hand and squeezing. James had an incurable need to help abuse victims, no matter who or what the circumstances, and this was no different. He hadn’t been able to save his sister, and nothing would stop him from trying to save every other abuse victim who came his way. It was both endearing and flat-out terrifying.

“I thought treating someone you had a personal relationship with was unethical?”

James blinked. “That was over a year ago. It’s nothing like you and me, babe. It’s…”

“What?” Nate turned James head, made him look at him. “It’s what?”

“The pain Romy’s trying so hard to hide? It reminds me of Laurie. More so than a lot of my other patients. I need to help him, Nate.”

“Then you will, if he chooses to ask for help.”

James flinched. “You want to go back in?” Nate asked, even though he much preferred the quiet of the sidewalk. “We haven’t danced yet.”

Something a lot like arousal danced in James’s eyes. “Definitely.”

Nate didn’t let go of his hand on their return trip. He held tight, needing the lifeline, positive everyone was staring at him. Positive they all knew he was a supposedly straight cop who’d had the shit beat out of him back in April, and that he was shaking apart on the inside because he was surrounded by strangers. James stayed close, hand firmly wrapped around his, the only anchor Nate had to reality.

The past twenty-four hours had been nothing but surreal. And amazing.

And terrifying.

James stopped him before they’d reached their friends, draped both arms around Nate’s shoulders and fell into the beat of the music. Nate found the rhythm easily, his arms looping around James’s waist. He tugged James closer, mashing their hips and groins together. A flash of pleasure sent blood surging down south, and Nate wasn’t even embarrassed about getting hard.

He was with James. As long as he was with James, everything would be okay.

Their bodies melted together, a sensual dance that heated Nate’s blood. Arousal coursed all through his body. His ribs ached faintly from the exertion, but he didn’t care. He needed this.

He needed to be with James this way, to show the world that James was off the market. He was claimed.

He’s mine.

For years, Nate had kept his heart hidden from the world, because he hadn’t realized it already belonged to James. Now that he knew, he couldn’t imagine taking it back. James loved him, and even though he hadn’t said it as directly as James had, Nate loved him back. More than he’d thought possible.

He pressed his forehead to James’s, their hot breaths mingling, almost nose to nose. Eyes closed. Only touch and scent and sound existed. He longed to bring taste into play, to break that public barrier and say once and for all that they were together.

James lost the beat, only for a second, but enough for Nate to open his eyes. James was watching him, eyebrows furrowed. A well-built man about James’s height had plastered himself across James’s back, his chin resting on James’s shoulder.

“Hey, Tag, who’s the fresh meat?” the stranger all but slurred. He was handsome in his own way, with spiky brown hair and a stud in his nose, and he was invading their space. Nate nearly growled at the guy.

“Hey, Jens.” James said it without even looking, his irritation clear. “This is Nathan.

Nathan, Jens.”

“The bestie who went AWOL all summer?” Jens chuckled as if he’d told a funny joke.

The asshole was wasted. “A few broken ribs finally convince you to come to our side, honey?”

“Fuck off, Jens, you’re drunk and not funny.”

“I know I’m drunk. Wanna dance, hot stuff?” he asked Nate.

“I’m taken,” Nate replied.

Jens slithered around and draped himself over Nate’s shoulders. The contact made Nate’s stomach turn. He tensed, not liking the stranger behind him. “Oooh, if he’s taking you right now, can I watch?”

Nate’s gut rolled. He stopped dancing. “Back off.”

James peeled Jens away and gave him a gentle shove. “Go home. You’re drunk.”

Jens flipped him off, then danced his way up to another nameless guy in the crowd.

Nate didn’t protest as James led him off the dance floor to a less busy corner of the club.

His adrenaline was up, his blood pulsing, and not in the same fun way it had been five minutes ago.

“Sorry about him,” James said.

“Friend of yours?” Nate tried for flip, but all he managed was a pathetic crack in his voice.

“Acquaintance. He can be handsy.”

“I figured that one out, thanks.”

James didn’t patronize him by asking if he was okay. “Nate, may I ask you something?”

He shrugged, not in the mood to examine his psyche in the middle of a gay club. “I guess so.”

“You don’t get all tense and nervous when I touch you, right?”

“Right.” He loved James’s touch. It made him feel safe in ways he could never verbalize.

“Is there anyone else whose touch doesn’t make you get tense and nervous?”

Nate stared at a spot on the wall, unable to meet James’s eyes while his thoughts tumbled around, searching for an answer. He jumped whenever someone sneaked up on him but that wasn’t James’s question. James’s hand on his shoulder didn’t make his skin crawl. James hugging him didn’t make every muscle freeze up. In some ways, recovering at home had been the best thing for him. In other ways, it had been hell on earth.