Spencer Cohen Series, Book Two (The Spencer Cohen Series 2) (14 page)

Silent tears are the worst. It’s the sign of a broken spirit. No sound, no residual emotions… just tears. Silent, unstoppable tears.

This poor kid—really only a few years younger than me, but he seemed like a kid to me. Helpless, defenceless, in need of protection—so completely vulnerable, that getting into a car with two complete strangers was a better alternative to where he thought Lance might find him. He couldn’t have known coming with us would be any better, but the need to keep moving was an ingrained self-defence manoeuver. Maybe he didn’t care anymore. Maybe he was resigned to being handed back to the monster who abused him. I couldn’t think of anything else to do, but I reached over and held his hand.

I don’t think he noticed.

* * * *

Lola parked out the back of Emilio’s shop, and I led a dazed and confused Yanni up to my flat. It was just on five thirty so there was plenty of light. Too much light actually, so I pulled down the blind over the window that fronted Abbot Kinney Boulevard and offered Yanni the papasan chair. I got him a bottled water and pulled the blanket off the lounge and put it over Yanni’s lap, and within seconds, he was curled up, still staring into space.

I stood there not knowing what to say or do, feeling every bit helpless as I did years ago, and not even a minute later there was a knock at the door. Yanni startled, so I called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Emilio, man,” the familiar voice called out.

I opened the door and Emilio came in, followed by Lola. “He insisted,” she whispered.

Emilio looked at me, then back to the crumpled man on the round chair in front of the window. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

“I was right about Lance,” I told him, loud enough for Yanni to hear. “It was him all along.”

Emilio’s jaw bulged and his nostrils flared. His dislike of a man he’d never even met was evident. Then Emilio walked over and knelt down in front of Yanni. He spoke softly, like he was talking to a frightened child. “You’re safe here. Spencer’s a good guy. We’ll look after you, okay?”

Yanni barely nodded. He just pulled the blanket up and closed his eyes. I doubted it was to sleep, more to block the world around him out.

Emilio walked back over to me and whispered so Yanni couldn’t hear. “He can’t stay here.”

Then, with the worst possible timing, there was another knock at the door. “Who is it?” I called out.

“Um, it’s Andrew.” There was a muffled sound, like he was mumbling something. “I can come back…”

I opened the door. He was a sight for sore eyes. God, I just wanted to throw my arms around him. I pulled him inside and did exactly that, but he was tense, and he didn’t hug me back. When I pulled away, I saw he was staring at Emilio and Lola, and of course, the strange guy curled up on the papasan chair.

“That’s Yanni,” I said gently. “I was right about Lance.”

A dozen emotions flickered across his face. “You found him,” he murmured.

“As soon as I said that bastard’s name, he freaked out. I had to bring him here.” It was then I noticed Andrew was holding a vinyl album. “What’s that?”

He stared at Yanni for a moment, then at the album jacket cover he was holding. “Oh, it’s silly really. I wanted to get you something to say sorry for last night. It’s some B-grade piano concerto of Jeff Buckley’s ‘Hallelujah.’” He shrugged. “I had to make some calls to find it… I just think flowers aren’t very personal, and I wanted to say sorry.”

Despite the crazy, emotional afternoon, all I could do was laugh quietly, because that right there, was proof this beautiful man understood me. I put my hands to his face and drew him in for a kiss.

Andrew blushed at my display of affection in front of Emilio and Lola, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Yanni. He whispered, “Is he okay?”

“He will be.”

“It was the boyfriend?”

I nodded. “I’ve never seen someone so scared,” I whispered. “And I only mentioned his name.”

Andrew nodded sadly.

I sighed heavily. “I didn’t know where else to take him. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“I don’t think he should stay here,” Emilio said. “If Lance found out, he could come looking for him, especially if he knows where you live.”

“I never told him where I live,” I replied.

Lola frowned and asked, “What about Gerard, your old client? Didn’t he recommend Lance to you? Did he come here when you worked with him?”

I shook my head. “Never. I met him at cafés or bars. I never brought any of my clients here. Well, except for Andrew.”

Lola gave me a small smile, though she still looked concerned. “I agree with Emilio. If Yanni thought Lance might have followed you—” She shook her head. “Spencer, the guy’s a bastard. There’s no saying what he will or won’t do.”

Andrew looked at each of us, then back at Yanni. “I know where he can stay.”

I shook my head. “He’s not staying with you. I don’t want you implicated in this in any way.”

Andrew shook his head and gave me a small smile. “No. Somewhere else.”

We bundled Yanni into Andrew’s car, and after saying goodbye to Emilio and Lola, Andrew drove us out into the neon lit LA night. Wherever he was taking us was familiar to him, and the further he drove, the lights dulled from city neon to residential. But not just any residential. Oh no, these were the houses of the rich and famous. I recognised some of the street names from movies, and before long, Andrew pulled up to a large gate and entered in a security code. The gate slid open, and he drove forward, pulling up at the front door.

Okay then. This was a part of Andrew I had no clue about.

He climbed out of the driver’s seat and opened Yanni’s door. “It’s a secure house. No one gets in or out without a security code.”

Yanni, who had barely spoken a word since this afternoon, got out of the car. He was wooden, which I imagined was exhaustion. He could barely keep his eyes open, and I wondered how long it had been since he’d had a restful sleep.

The front door to the house opened. “Andrew?”

I turned to see his mother standing in the doorway, looking as glamorous as before. This was his parents’ house?
Jesus Christ!

She looked at her son and at me, then at Yanni before going back to Andrew. “Everything okay, Andrew?” she asked.

“No,” he replied simply. “Can we come in?”

She stood aside. “Of course, please do.”

Andrew led the way, and we found ourselves in a large, expensively furnished lounge room, or was it a sitting room? I had no idea what to call these rooms in American houses. My parents and Aunt Marvie had a front formal sitting room, if that’s what this was. It was then I saw Yanni was staring at Andrew’s mother. He took an unsteady breath and looked to the floor. “Mrs Helen Landon, it’s an incredible honour.”

Okay, so I was lost. “You know his mother?” The words were out before my stupid brain could stop them.

Yanni nervously shot me a quick glance. “I’m sorry. I assumed everyone did. I apologise if I was out of place,” he whispered so damn brokenly it was like a slap to the face. What the hell had this guy been through?

“It’s okay, my dear,” Mrs Landon replied. “I still get recognised.”

Recognised
. I looked around the room, then paying better attention, found a slew of statues and awards on the mantel. Then I recalled Andrew saying something about his parents being ‘theatre people.’ And Yanni was an acting student… “Oh.”

Andrew fought a smile beside me, but he was quickly serious again. “Mom, Yanni here is in some danger. He left an abusive relationship, but the guy is trying to find him. He needed somewhere safe to stay. I hope you don’t mind?”

His mother blinked at Andrew, then turned to Yanni. He had gone pale again, like the admission out loud brought with it a fresh wave of memories. She slowly put her hand on his arm and urged him to sit on the sofa, cautiously sitting down beside him. “I don’t mind at all. Andrew, be a dear and make a fresh pot of coffee. Decaf, please.”

Andrew turned and walked out through a different door, and I saw it was my cue to give Andrew’s mum and Yanni some time alone. It also gave me some time to get my head around everything. The kitchen was huge and grand, much like the rest of the house, I’d imagine. Andrew used the kitchen like it was his own, familiar with where everything was. “I grew up in this house,” he said, reading my curious face.

“Your mum is someone famous?” I asked. “I didn’t recognise her, sorry. She must think I’m an arse.”

He chuckled quietly. “She’s in theatre. She’s done some Broadway.” He fixed the coffee, and with a heavy sigh, he said, “Her first husband was a horrible man. He was violent and—” He shook his head. “Anyway, she managed to leave him. But she’s never hid what she went through. Not to us, anyway. She would tell us so that if we ever found ourselves in a similar situation, that we’d never be too scared to ask for help.”

“Fuck.”

He nodded again, and this time managed a small smile. “She will help him.”

I really wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Andrew, I had no idea.”

Just then, we saw headlights of a car through the kitchen window. Andrew craned his neck to see who it was. “It’s my dad.”

Oh. In what had been a head-spinning day, I wasn’t sure I was up for meeting Andrew’s father.

“Hey,” Andrew whispered. He took hold of my hand and waited until I looked in his eyes. “I know it’s probably too soon to be meeting my dad, but I think today’s been a little out of the ordinary, right? And you’ve already met my mom twice, and that went okay.”

“But he’s your father.”

“So?”

“It’s different,” I admitted. I don’t know why meeting his father was any different to meeting his mother. It just was.

Andrew knew, apparently. He put his hand to my cheek and spoke with a reverence, a surety I didn’t even know I needed. “He’s my father, not yours. He will accept you because you’re in my life. That’s the only reason he needs.”

I didn’t have time to respond, even if I could have made my stupid brain come up with something remotely worthy. A door closed not too far away, and someone was whistling a happy tune. “Andrew?” a man called out, and he stopped when he walked into the kitchen through a different door we’d come through. Clearly Andrew’s father, he was almost identical to him, albeit some twenty-odd years older. Blond, handsome, with kind blue eyes. “Saw your car out front,” he said, putting his wallet and keys in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter.

“Hey, Dad,” Andrew said. “Dad, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is my dad, Allan.”

Allan Landon extended his hand and a warm smile. “Ah, the one I’ve heard all about,” he said, shaking my hand firmly.

“Spencer Cohen,” I offered, thankful I seemed to hide my nerves in front of him.

He turned back to Andrew, then clearly knowing his son very well, he frowned. “What’s up?”

“We brought someone here with us,” Andrew said. “He’s in the lounge room with Mom. He’s in a bit of trouble, Dad. He needed somewhere safe to stay, so I brought him here.”

Allan’s expression softened. “Explains the coffee, huh? Better make me a cup. Bring it in for us, won’t you?”

Andrew smiled at him. “Sure thing.”

I watched Andrew’s father leave via the door we’d come through, stunned at his total acceptance and ability to not bat an eyelid at the news there was a troubled stranger in the front room. Let alone his son’s new boyfriend in his kitchen. “Just like that, huh?” I whispered.

Andrew put his hand on my chest and stared at me for a long second. “Just like that.”

A sudden ache in my heart, like an axe through my chest, made me think of my own father. Of how simple total acceptance was assumed in Andrew’s life, and how I had struggled and fought for―and was denied―the same thing. His parents rolled with it, took it in stride, and even went out of their way to help a young gay man in need, where my family had done the exact opposite. Except my parents hadn’t turned away a gay stranger. They’d turned away their own son.

Andrew’s hand crept up to my neck, and he pulled me into a kiss. “Just like that,” he said again. “Just like it should be.”

When the coffee was done, Andrew balked at pouring the fifth cup. “Shit,” he mumbled. “There’s no tea. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Coffee’s fine,” I told him. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

He fixed the cups on a tray with sugar and cream and carried it in to the front sitting room. Mrs Landon still sat beside Yanni, and Mr Landon sat across from him, elbows on his knees, listening intently to what Yanni was telling them. I sat on the single seat sofa, and Andrew sat on the arm rest at my side, and we listened to Yanni talk.

“It’s so cliché,” Yanni said softly. “But he really was charming in the beginning. I didn’t even realise he’d isolated me. In the six months I was living with him, I had no friends, no one but him.” Yanni shook his head. “I really was so naïve.”

Mrs Landon put her hand on his arm. “No you weren’t,” she said. Her voice was soft but determined. “The fault is his, not yours.”

Yanni’s eyes welled with tears. “Then he started to get possessive and mad if I was late.” He swallowed hard. “The first time he hit me, he’d been stressed at work, and he was so sorry, and I believed him.” He scrubbed at his tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Mr Landon said gently. “You’re allowed to cry. You’ve lost a lot. You need to grieve for that.”

Yanni stared at him. Like stared. And he was right, Yanni had lost a lot. Not material things, but emotionally and psychologically, Yanni had lost it all. And something about that realisation, and how Mr Landon spoke something so profound, like it was the easiest thing in the world to say, made my chest hurt.

Somehow, like he knew what I was thinking and feeling, Andrew took my hand and gave it a squeeze. He didn’t let it go.

“He paid for me to go to college, something I could never do on my own. I lived in his expensive apartment. And at first it was exciting, that I could do these things because I had no money, no family,” Yanni said. He looked right at me and I nodded. I had told him I’d lost my family, and I’d thought he hadn’t heard me. He obviously had. It was a look that Andrew’s parents didn’t miss, and they both saw how Andrew was holding my hand.

“It took him less than twelve months to completely own me,” Yanni said. He swallowed hard. His voice shook but he spoke anyway. “The last time he hit me, I swore it was the last time. I left with nothing. I had nothing. Everything I thought I had, was his. It was always his. I quit my job, I left school. I left my cell phone that he’d given me on the kitchen table and never went back. I stayed at a homeless shelter with my backpack and one change of clothes.” He nodded at the bag at his feet. “I never thought I was a materialistic person until I had nothing.”

I cleared my throat. “But those few things mean a lot. They’re your worldly possessions, and they’re everything.”

Yanni nodded, and I knew all eyes were on me. Andrew squeezed my hand again. His thumb skimmed across my knuckles, such a reassuring gesture that kept me tethered to him. Without a word, he kept me afloat beside him instead of drowning in memories.

“Then you found me,” Yanni said, still looking at me.

“I had no idea,” I told him again. “Well, I knew something was off with him, but I didn’t realise, and I’m so sorry to drag you back through this.” I looked at Andrew’s parents and explained, “Yanni’s ex-boyfriend contacted me to find him. It’s not what I usually do, but he lied so convincingly.” I shook my head.

Yanni almost laughed. “He’s a piece of work.”

“But you went back to college?” Mrs Landon asked Yanni.

He nodded sadly. “He took everything, but I couldn’t let him take that from me. Acting is what I do. It’s the only good thing in my life. I left the Actors Academy and started at Pol’s.” He looked down at his hands. “It’s not as revered or exclusive, but I’m doing it on my own, and that’s more than he gave me.”

Mrs Landon raised her chin and her eyes were glassy. She rubbed his arm. “Yanni, that is the sign of a true actor. One who fails to give up on his craft when he has nothing. That is a sure sign of strength and drive, and believe me, to make it in this industry you need both in spades.”

“I can’t go back to Pol’s,” he said. He shrugged again. “If he knows I went there.”

“I never told him,” I said adamantly. “I told him nothing. Actually, when I had a feeling he wasn’t what he seemed, I told him you had a job in a bookstore in the city. We went to see if he turned up there looking for you.”

“Did he?”

Andrew and I both nodded. “Yeah.”

Yanni nodded knowingly, and his eyes welled with fresh tears. “He won’t ever stop.”

“Did you tell the police?” Andrew asked.

“Yes. I filed a restraining order, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

So, that made sense. “That’s why he asked me and not the police or a detective agency.”

Yanni put his untouched coffee back on the tray and sagged back into the sofa, and for a while no one spoke. Mr Landon broke the silence. “Yanni, when did you eat last?”

He shook his head and tried to recall, which was answer enough. Andrew’s father stood. “I’ll go see what I can find,” he said as he walked toward the kitchen.

After a moment, Yanni shook his head and laughed in disbelief. He looked at Mrs Landon, and his hands started to shake as he wiped his face. “This is so surreal. I can’t believe I’m here sitting beside you, and
the
Allan Landon just offered to get me food. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, or is there a Punk’d camera hidden somewhere?”

Andrew snorted. “No cameras. They’re just my parents. Spencer said you needed help, so I helped.”

Mrs Landon smiled at Andrew lovingly. She put her hand on Yanni’s arm. “Yanni, I want to tell you something. I have been where you are. It was a long time ago before I met Allan. Actually, it was Allan who helped me leave my first husband.”

Yanni stared at her.

She smiled at him. “I’ve known the fear and hopelessness you feel. That exhaustion you feel in your bones, I’ve felt that. You will get through it, if you let us help you.”

He started to cry again, those silent, heartbreaking tears.