Promise Rock 03 - Living Promises (MM) (5 page)

F
IFTEEN
minutes later, Deacon and Crick came out of the girls' bedroom. Deacon heaved a mighty sigh and then settled down on one of the stuffed chairs to watch. Crick huffed, Deacon rolled his eyes and came to the couch to sit with him, and Jeff had to smile. Deacon would re-set the stars in their course for Crick. Changing his seat was not such a big deal. They all continued to watch, Jeff and Amy in complete absorption, until Deacon sighed again, made Crick give him the remote, and then paused the movie.

“The diner,” Deacon said into the silence.
“The one next to the gas station?” Jeff wasn't surprised—Deacon and Crick ate breakfast there on occasion. It was a pretty decent place for a small-town greasy spoon.
“Yeah. It's near The Pulpit, you can take a few people but not too many, and it's public. You and this kid sit down, have a civilized meal, and see what he wants. All you gotta do is decide who you want.”
Jeff gnawed at his lower lip and thought. “Crick,” he said, because the guy was his GBFF, “and Kimmy.”
“Hey!” Amy protested, and Jeff looked at her and shrugged.
“Kimmy and Shane are going through that whole how-to-be-acounselor program, sugar. I'd ask Shane, but I think that's one too many big, white, gay men at the table.”
“White?” Andrew asked. Although nearby Natomas was fairly diverse, in Levee Oaks, any skin color beyond a deep tan was very much in the minority.
“Yeah,” Jeff said absently, wishing he could turn on the movie and disappear. “Kevin was black… what?” He looked up at all of them, Andrew included, because they were looking a little big-eyed. “I'm the white theatre kid—I'm
supposed
to be gay. Kevin was definitely a surprise.”
“I should say so!” Andrew muttered, nodding. And then, as though everyone was looking at him with judiciously pursed lips, he grimaced and rolled his eyes. “Where'd you say this kid's from?”
“Georgia,” Jeff said, wondering why he'd asked.
Andrew shook his head. “Oh my God… someday, you're going to have to let me know how you managed to seduce a Georgia boy—that's just not done!” And then, before Jeff could shake his head and say that Kevin pretty much had him at “Come fuck me!” Andrew went on. “And I really should be there, Jeff. This is a whole new thing here—something I don't know if you're ready to deal with. Race in California is not easy. Race in the South is a whole new world for California boys, you hear me?”
Jeff nodded his head, vaguely aware that he didn't understand at all. “So you'll be there?” he asked, grateful for the support anyway.
Suddenly Andrew sucked air in through his teeth. “When?”
“Two o'clock, day after tomorrow. Lucas's going to meet him at the bus station and bring him.”
Now Deacon was making that sound too. “Go ahead,” Deacon murmured. “I'll be fine.”
“I can't,” Andrew snapped back. “That stallion's a monster! I'm not leaving you alone, not….” Andrew trailed off, and Jeff wondered briefly why, before Deacon started talking again.
“No, I'll be fine!”
“Forget about it, Deacon!” Crick and Drew both snapped, and Deacon flushed.
“I take it someone's got to get laid instead?” Jeff asked, hoping his acid humor could even out some of the rough emotion he heard staticking up the room.
“Yeah,” Deacon told him, and Jeff didn't miss the look he was shooting Crick. “Lucy Star. There's an outfit from down south that
really
wants one of her last babies, but their stallion isn't dummy trained.”
Jeff huffed and looked mournfully at the frozen screen. “Could we clarify for those of us who think horses are only pretty if they've got half-naked men on them?”
Deacon's gentle chuckle was enough to soothe Jeff's ruffled feathers. “Usually, stallions are trained to fuck a pretend horse—a dummy horse. He comes into a jar, we ship the jar off to someone, and some mare gets lucky without getting the shit beat out of her during hot horse sex. This one isn't—and if we're not there to manage him, Lucy could get seriously hurt.”
Jeff blinked at him. “Haven't horses been having sex without our help for thousands of years?”
“Yeah, but it hasn't been a lot of fun for the mares. Lucy's a friend—Ambush doesn't have to buy her dinner, but I want to make sure that fucker doesn't hurt her, either.”
“It's a two-man job,” Andrew said, and this time Jeff understood. Crick was a good man with horses, and his injuries were becoming less and less of a liability, but with something like this, Andrew's prosthetic leg would be less of a problem than Crick's crippled hand and arm.
“Well then, you have to do it!” Jeff said, inwardly wishing he wasn't such a nice guy.
“I'll be okay by myself,” Deacon said, and Crick said, “Deacon….” with a sort of threatening undertone, and Jeff pulled himself out of his own misery long enough to realize that there was something going on between them that only they were privy to. He looked at Amy, but she shrugged, and together they listened to Andrew and Crick do some sort of subtle emotional blackmail to get Deacon to accept that Andrew couldn't help Jeff this time, he had to stay on the ranch and help Deacon.
So it was resolved then, Jeff thought, feeling a little better about it all. He had Deacon press play on the remote and got to watch his comfort movie in peace.

Collin: A View to a Crushing

“W
HY 
don't you ask him yourself?” the short man with the curly blond hair asked irritably. Irritation seemed to be the guy's principal emotion, Collin thought as he bustled around the tables in his mother's diner. He got to keep his insurance policy—the one currently keeping him alive— if he worked as her employee once a week. He didn't mind; he owned the garage next door, so it was simply a matter of putting Josh, his one employee, in charge for a day and running over to help Mom during the rush.

“Because he's
your
boyfriend,” Jeff said with a shrug. “He's the miracle worker with cars—I just drive the damned things!”
Oh yes, Collin remembered Jeff.
Jeff had come into his mom's diner once in a while over the past year, and every time Collin had wondered,
“Do I say anything? Would he remember me? The guy damned near saved my life—shouldn't I thank him or something?”
So after that first “spotting” about a year before, he had sort of stalked the guy whenever he came in. Today, for instance. Collin had been doing accounts in the garage when suddenly he'd looked up and seen the Mini Cooper parked in front of the diner. Abracadabra, heypresto, whoopie! Collin's coveralls were stripped off, his apron thrown on, Josh was told he was alone in the garage, and Collin was suddenly the world's greatest son/busboy.
A nice lady held out her glass for more water, and Collin almost shot her a dirty glance. Dammit, how was he supposed to listen in on Jeff's personal conversation if he was in back getting a pitcher of water?
He remembered himself at the last minute. If nothing else, serving a clientele and owning his own business had taught him how not to be a complete asshole to the innocent and unsuspecting. He just kicked his ass into gear a little quicker so he could listen in on the pretty, narrow-faced, pointed-chinned, brown-eyed, dark-haired sweetheart of a bottom who was trying to cajole his buddy to have his boyfriend work on the Mini Cooper.
When he came back, a pretty woman with a waist-length braid of brown hair and (holy shit and ohmigod the legendary) Crick Francis, whom Collin remembered from high school, had joined them. The two of them, along with Jeff-the-sweetheart, had pulled out their knitting, and Collin tried not to roll his eyes. Omigod—was there anything more precious than a couple of boys knitting with their glitch-bitch? Of course, the little blond diva seemed the more possessive of the brown-haired woman—maybe he didn't like sharing.
“You are making me something, cow-woman, or that is just pretend and make-believe, like your sex life?”
“I'm making you a gag, Mickey, so I can fucking knit in peace.”
Collin bussed the table across from them and tried not to smile. (He was lucky, there really had been work for him to do, or he would have just hung out, looking creepy.) Oh, he liked her. She reminded him of his oldest sister, Joanna. Joanna liked that word too—and didn't hesitate to use it.
“You want to knit in peace, go hide in the bathroom.” Mickey shrugged. He had a charming Russian accent, but Collin wasn't nearly as interested in him as he was in Jeff.
Jeff looked tired. His angular shoulders were slumped over the table, and he followed the conversation around him with a weary smile, but he still managed a little bit of theatrics for that last comment. “That's just… just
ewwwww
!” He waved his hands in disgust, and Mickey rolled his eyes.
“You do not live with her. She reads in there, she does homework and pets the cats. Maybe if she actually knit in there, she would finally
finish my fucking sweater
!” He said this last with emphasis, and Collin had to actually stop and stare. He'd seen people knit sometimes, and he'd seen them flip the bird, but never in his life had he seen a woman knit
and
flip the bird at the same time.
“You're just jealous because I knit my brother's first,” the woman said smugly, that middle finger still extended, and Jeff looked at her in admiration.
“You made a sweater for
Shane
? Kimmy-love, you're a wonder. He's like, a man-mountain—you must knit like the wind!” Jeff's hands were busy, but his elbows danced in repressed drama.
God
, he was fun to watch.
“Seriously, Kim—I'm totally impressed.” In high school, Crick had been flamboyant and hard to miss. Maybe it was the company—Jeff was, without a doubt, the gayest thing Levee Oaks had seen since the forties, and the little Russian diva wasn't far behind—or maybe it was the painful-looking scarring on his arm and hand, as well as his now-famous tour of duty in the mid-east, but something about Crick had mellowed, become subtle and quiet and a little bit dangerous since Collin had idolized the guy as a lower-classman. Looking at him now, through adult eyes, Collin could see that he was plainly pretty, for a male, with high cheekbones and big, liquid brown eyes. There was a peace to him now that had been missing in school. Collin could totally relate.
Kimmy was smiling smugly, blushing a little with the praise. “I cheated. I used worsted yarn.”
“But not chunky—” Jeff still sounded like this was a good thing, until Mikhail interrupted.
“Yes, but she made it
brown
!”
“Shane looks awesome in brown!” Crick defended, surprised, and Collin had to smile. Yup, still a little bit of total-gay-man left in Crick.
Mikhail sniffed and rolled his eyes. “Shane looks good in everything. I just wish you people could see him in something besides brown.”
Jeff and Kimmy met eyes, and Kimmy's middle finger lowered. Collin, watching, started to like Jeff's friends
very
much, and was just thinking about moving over to their table and starting up a conversation, even though all he had was something completely brilliant like, “Uhm, knitting is cool!” His half-realized notion was interrupted, though, by the bell above the door and an unlikely pair of men walking through.
The older one was in his mid-twenties, blond-brown hair hanging down to his shoulders, brown eyes, and an enviable tan. The teenager next to him was almost as tall as he was—nearly six feet if he was an inch. He was black, with what looked to be one of those trendy hairbuzzes with something funky carved into the tight, black, short-cut curls. The kid was gangly and intense, with shoulders that threatened to become truly alarming when he matured and an upper lip that was curled up in hostility; he was looking for something to hit. Collin was a little concerned when Jeff looked up at his friends and gave a “girding the ol' loins” sigh that Collin's mom probably heard from in the kitchen.
“There's my cue, guys,” he said softly, and Kimmy's hand came out and squeezed his arm gently.
“Remember, we're here for you, baby.”
Jeff kissed her cheek and then walked forward, his hands tucked defensively into the pockets of his zip-up sweatshirt with the AEROPOSTALE logo on it. He pulled his hands out, though, and straightened his shoulders when he got to the older man, extending a hand in greeting.
“Lucas, it's so good to meet you.” He gave a little chin-nod to the man's hair. “I wasn't aware that you'd left the service—I hope civilian life is treating you well.”
Lucas extended his own hand, and then, to everyone's surprise, pulled Jeff in for one of those macho man-hugs, the kind with the fistthump on the back. Jeff looked stunned, but he returned the fist-thump a little awkwardly, and when he straightened up, he looked decidedly more relaxed.
Lucas was looking a little abashed but determined. “Kevin was my best friend,” he said gruffly. “I… you know. His whole life, he was lost and looking for someone and a place to be safe. When we shipped out, he told me that he'd found a home. I… I was really happy for him. I'm just glad he found you before… you know.”
Jeff's smile was crooked, like it hadn't set right after an old break. He looked up then to the young man, who was fidgeting uncomfortably. “Martin?”
A pair of angry, dark eyes looked out at him, and Jeff tried a winning smile that got him precisely bupkiss.
“How about we sit down over here?” Jeff asked, pointing to the table next to where he'd been sitting. “My friends are over here at this table—Mikhail, Kimmy, Crick, this is Martin Turner.”
Kimmy was the one who stood and smiled warmly. “Hi, Martin. It's so good to meet you.” Martin's eyes widened, and he automatically smiled. Kimmy was a pretty woman, and she had a sort of warmth that would appeal to a kid who looked far away from home.
“Hi, ma'am,” the kid said softly, and Collin heard some deep south in there.
Jesus, Jeff—where did this kid come from?
“Why would you be here?”
Again, that warm smile. “I'm getting a degree in counseling, and Jeff thought you might need a friend who… who wasn't quite so different from you, you know?”
Martin pursed his lips and looked at her doubtfully. “Well, lady, it's not like you're black.”
Jeff rolled his eyes and sighed, as though they'd thought of this. “We had a straight black man for just that reason,” he said peevishly, “but apparently he had to see a man about a horse.”
The kid whipped his head around to look at him sharply. “Are you joking, asshole, because I don't take to being messed with!”
Jeff shook his head, seemingly oblivious to the kid's anger. “I
wish
! Andrew's a great guy too—you'd like him. But he works on a horse ranch near here, and he absolutely couldn't be spared. You'll probably meet him later if you want, but in the meantime, wouldn't you like something to eat? I mean….” Jeff grimaced, and Collin, who had heard him speak, wondered what he was fighting not to say. Was it “honey” or “sweetstuff” or “baby”?
You can call me “honey” anytime you want!
But the thought was interrupted by Jeff making another painful attempt to talk like a straight man. “Martin, wouldn't you like a good meal? This place is like home-cooked, and if nothing else, you've come a long way. Let me sit down with you and buy you some food.”
The kid grimaced, and Collin wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten well. He looked rumpled—his oversized jeans were wrinkled, and his gigantic T-shirt was creased and stained, as was his big, hooded sweatshirt with cartoon characters in gangsta poses all over it. Underneath all those clothes, that tall, gangly kid must have weighed one-fifty, soaking wet.
Collin could practically hear the kid's stomach growling from where he stood.
Twenty minutes later, Collin was bringing out plates of food. A naked baked potato and salad for Jeff; chicken-fried-steak, home-fried potatoes, bacon-butter-beans, and French onion soup for the kid. The conversation at the table still appeared strained, and even that ground to a halt when the food arrived.
Collin brought coffee and a light lunch to the table with Jeff's friends, and he noticed that Lucas, the guy who'd brought the kid, had sat right down and made himself at home. He smiled a lot at Kimmy, and she gave him guarded glances back. Collin, after all his years waiting tables, started filling in the blanks. He liked making up stories about customers, just like he enjoyed taking cars apart and putting them together like big, greasy, irritating puzzles. Customers were unpredictable; cars were, for the most part, totally and completely rational, and together, they made an enjoyable living for a guy who hadn't thought he'd be around this long.
“So, how did you meet Jeff?” Lucas was asking, and Kimmy smiled a little bitterly.
“If I told you I didn't remember, would you believe me?” she asked, and Mikhail and Crick both snorted into their coffee.
“I'd believe you didn't remember a fucking thing about that day, cow-woman,” Mikhail said acidly. “Or I would if you hadn't been coming onto the poor man like a heifer in season.”
Kimmy grimaced. “It wasn't my fault,” she said, blushing, and then she looked up at Lucas and blushed some more. “Oh God. Trust me. You don't want to know that story. Let's stick to you, young'un. How long are you out here for?”
But Lucas wasn't going to be dissuaded that easily. “I'm not that young,” he said quickly, and Kimmy raised her eyebrows.
“Twenty… four? Five?”
“Seven,” Lucas supplied. “And you are… twenty-nine?”
“Thirty-two,” Kim told him, looking a little miffed. She'd been hoping he'd be younger, Collin thought shrewdly, refilling her coffee and trying to be invisible. It was like his own little stage play, and he got to be an extra that nobody knew about. Unfortunately, the damned lead player wasn't doing anything to keep his attention!
“You didn't answer the question,” supporting-player-Kimmy said now. “How long are you out for?”
Supporting-player-Lucas shrugged his impressive shoulders under his denim jacket and T-shirt, and Collin thought wistfully that it was a shame the guy was obviously straight. Not that he'd be interested
now
, not with Jeff at the next table, but once upon a time, he might have liked to hit that.
Lucas sighed. “Well, as long as I want to, I guess. I was living with my folks when Martin's folks called up and told me that Martin had run away. I can hang here as long as it's friendly and as long as he needs me.”
Kimmy's aloof expression thawed, probably against her will, Collin was willing to wager. “That's nice. My brother and I are opening a shelter for runaways—not every kid on the planet has someone who will look out for him, you know?”
Collin had heard of the place—Promise House. A house on a vacant property had already been renovated over the summer, and the eyesore acreage cleared and made livable. It had four spots open, four filled, a couple of employees, and Kimmy and her brother were close to being credentialed in counseling to make the place work completely. Collin had no idea where the little diva with the curly hair fit into this plan, but he thought that maybe it would be “moral support” for Kimmy's brother.
Hey, that guy could have supported Collin through high school, and Collin would have had no complaints.
But once again, that guy was not Jeff.
And Jeff was, finally, opening his mouth to take center stage.
“Uhm, Martin?”
“Mmmphh?” Omigod! Was that kid
still
eating?
“I understand….” His voice was shaking. Jeff took a deep breath to steady it and a naked sort of pain crossed his face. Collin realized his own hands were shaking. This man had been his hero for five years and his stalker-crush for one of them, and Collin had never realized how much pain he'd been in, not even a little. “I understand you have a letter for me?”
Martin sent him a look of deadly hostility and then grunted. Reluctantly he stuck his hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out an envelope that looked dusty and old.
Jeff nodded as though this weren't the most important thing in the world and reached out to take the paper.
The kid's hand clenched on it, and the look he sent Jeff was decidedly unfriendly. “My brother wasn't a fucking fag,” he said, his own voice shaking.
Jeff closed his eyes and swallowed. “Your brother was one of the best men I've ever known. Can I read my letter now?”