by Sasha Goldie
Because he would take it and run with it. He'd be proud of it. Nate could help find a good location. And my grandmother had left me a sizeable chunk of money that I still hadn't touched.
Why shouldn't I?
First, I had to convince him to stay. It was time. We'd shared a bed for several days, and I'd had my mouth on every inch of his body the night before. At this point, there was no reason for us to have secrets or to be afraid to talk things through with each other.
"Honey," I called. "I'm home."
Corey turned from the stove with a spatula in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. He wore one of my grandmother's old aprons, pink and frilly.
I burst out laughing. "It's like you knew what I was going to say and planned this," I said as I walked across the room to place a kiss on his cheek.
"I didn't. I'm just that good."
Looking down at the stove, my mouth watered. "What is that?"
"Homemade pizza. They're not as good as in a different oven, but it'll be pretty tasty. Hungry?"
"Starved. I never did manage to stop for lunch. There was a wreck on the highway I had to go help with." It had taken all afternoon, especially with the paperwork. Half of a police officer's job was paperwork anymore.
"Oh, no. Anyone hurt?"
"No, thankfully, but there's a guard rail that'll need some TLC." The car had skidded along the guardrail for a while. The driver's blood alcohol was ridiculously high, so I'd had to take him back to sober up in the jail. Thank goodness the guardrail was all that was hurt.
I changed clothes quickly and we sat down to eat. "This is delicious." I barely spoke after that, too busy shoveling the cheesy goodness into my mouth. Corey ate nearly as much as I did, but he ate slower as he told me about his day at the diner. Apparently, Martha had come in for lunch and he'd decided she was his new grandmother. He didn't have one and so he was claiming her.
As we finished, I decided to bring up the topic that had been on my mind.
"I don't want you to leave," I said bluntly as Corey stood to clear the table. He would argue with me, but I would help him whether he liked it or not. I'd stopped asking and just jumped in. As I stood, he lifted his head to look at me. I couldn't read the expression in his eyes. If pressed, I would've said hopeful, but I couldn't be sure.
He didn't answer, just continued grabbing dishes from the table and taking them to the counter.
"I don't want casual."
This time, his expression was crystal clear. His face darkened and he shut down. What had I done?
"I think we've been intimate enough and spent enough time together that it should be okay for me to speak my mind and my heart." Standing my ground, my heart prayed for him to return my sentiment. I didn't want to hurt him, but I also didn't want him to hurt me by leaving.
"It's not that simple," he said quietly, looking down at the dishes in the sink.
"It's very simple. As much as I really, really love it, I don't want just sex with you. I want a relationship. A future. I found myself planning something in my head today that would take place a good year in the future! And it was all about you, surrounding you, and I don't even know if you'll be here in a year.
"What is so bad that we couldn't be together? Are you a murderer? ‘Cause that's the only thing I can think of that would do it." I held out my hands. "Corey, if you don't know by now that you can trust me, I'm not sure what else to do."
Corey turned from the sink and faced me. "Of course I trust you. How could I not?"
"Then what is it?"
"Okay. I came out when I was ten, to my mom and dad. I've always been fearless." He looked at me with such an expression of vulnerability I crossed the kitchen to take his hand.
"You're not fearless. You act in the face of your fear, which is very different. You're brave."
"I'm reckless," he said with a laugh.
Drawing him close to me, I pulled him toward the living room. "Let's sit down."
Once we were settled on the couch, he continued. "Those dishes will bother me until we do them."
"We'll do them, grandma," I teased lightly as I sat down beside him and took his hand. "Tell me the story of what is so horrible that I'll run screaming from the room."
"Okay, okay. Coming out to my parents was okay. They weren't thrilled, but I think they'd known for a while. I was always a bit flamboyant and... a bit much, you know?"
I smiled because I did know. But I loved how much he was.
"I get it. I wish I could have seen you then," I said with an encouraging smile.
"Oh, I was a hoot, all right. Anyway, Dad said he was okay with it, but he was never really super supportive. He didn't want to hear about my crushes or the new makeup I'd tried, or anything gay."
"Makeup?" That sounded hot as all get-out. "I'm going to need to see that, please."
He pushed at my shoulder flirtatiously. "If you'll let me finish my story maybe I will." He took my hand again, his eyes fixed on our joined fingers. "At school, I was the only gay kid in my class. I'd come out to everyone, of course. Like I said, reckless. I had good friends and a circle of support, but the bullies still got to me some. Nothing horrible, I never attempted suicide as so many did and do." He squeezed my hands. "But I did start dabbling in drugs."
His forlorn smile tugged at my heart. "After a few months, I was stealing small things from the house to get money for cocaine. It was shockingly easy to get in such a small town. Not as small as this one, but small enough."
"It's easy to find in this town, as small as it is, so I believe that." We worked hard to keep hard drugs out of Union County, but we never were totally successful. At least we kept it to a minimum.
"Eventually, my parents figured out what I was doing and why. They sent me to a couple of different rehabs, but I didn't want to quit, not then. So, the rehab programs never stuck."
He looked around the room, collecting his thoughts. "And one day, they asked me to leave." The quiet of the room pulsed in my ears as I waited for him to get to the bad part. "I'd stolen too much, been given too many chances." He looked me in the eye. "I was fourteen by then."
My heart broke. Fourteen. They threw him out at fourteen. How horrible.
"So I went upstairs and got all the jewelry out of my mom's box, got the cash that my dad thought I didn't know about, packed a bag, and left. I had a few friends in town and crashed at their places, hoarding my money and jewelry. I didn't know what to do. One of them told me about a job opportunity in Portland. He said I could run drugs for a kingpin there, and he'd keep me supplied in blow and pay me for the running."
"Oh, man. It's not that easy, not at all."
"Once I got to Portland, I'm sure you can imagine my life. I spent quite a few years, hell, nearly a decade, in the game. One thing I never did, thank goodness, was inhale the product. I'd seen a lot of guys do that and seen a lot of guys disappear. You don't sample the product. I rose through the ranks, taking on riskier and riskier runs. I have no idea why I always got the big runs, I looked like the picture boy for a rehab clinic. You could smell the snow on me a mile away. But, I did.
"When I had downtime, I did things I'm not proud of. Being high makes you think lots of horrible things are good ideas. I stole, I fucked...everyone? Sex was nothing and everything. I used sex to get what I wanted, sometimes. And sometimes I was asked to have sex."
"I imagine lots of people wanted to have sex with you." Even in the state he was probably in, he was bound to have still been gorgeous.
"The people asking were friends of my employers. On occasion, I would be asked to entertain them. I think because of my size and stature, at that age, I looked younger than I was."
My stomach turned then. "Do you know who they were?"
"I do. And I've already considered my revenge, and I may be ready to enact it someday. Not yet."
"There is a statute of limitations on those sorts of things," I cautioned him. "Keep that in mind. You have to come forward before you're forty in Oregon.
"
"I know. And I won't miss my chance."
While he waited to be in a place that he could handle the revenge, though, the men might be hurting other boys. I'd push him more about it later.
"One night, I was alone and lonely, and I had my good friend crystal to keep me company. I was tired, so damn tired. I'd thought about snorting my entire stash and letting go. It was the only time in my life I ever thought about if it might be better to die. I wouldn't say I was suicidal, but just so damn tired."
"It's understandable. It sounds like you went through hell. How old were you by then?"
"Twenty." He shook his head and absently rubbed my hands with his. "My stash was laced with something bad. Someone along the line had tried to save some money by cutting it. I found out later that it put my boss and his whole syndicate out of business. He was done after that. I almost died. After thinking it might be better, I woke up in the hospital hooked up to so many machines." Corey cocked his head, laying it on my shoulder. "The room was so quiet when my eyes opened. I remember it clearly, though some of the days in the hospital are so fuzzy. But I remember how dim the room was, how quiet the little machines pumped medicine into me. I didn't stay awake long, but the peace I felt in that room was tangible. By the time I was awake and fully aware, I'd been there over a week. It took them that long to bring me around. I'd already started the DTs, but my resolve was strong. I wanted to get clean. The nurses at that hospital were pretty great, looking back. They helped me find a rehab and apply for state aid to pay for it. I detoxed for six weeks. You may not know much about that side of it, but six weeks is pretty long. But I'd been using functionally for years. I'd found a way to live my life and do the drugs at the same time."
He flew through the last bit of the story. "When I came out of rehab, I found work, met John, moved in with him, and then eventually, that led me to you." Pulling away from me, I realized tears had been running down his cheeks. "So, now do you see? We can't be together. Hell, the reason John left me here is because I realized he was running drugs again, or probably had never stopped. I figured it out and freaked."
"I still don't understand the problem. What's stopping us from being together?"
Corey's mouth dropped. "Are you dense? The next candidate for sheriff can't be dating Rehab Barbie." He stared at me as if waiting for the news to sink in.
"You're not Rehab Barbie. Especially now that I know the whole story, I can honestly say you're the strongest person I've ever met."
He shook his head as if denying my words.
"Corey, I'm serious. I'm in awe of you. You kicked cocaine. Do you know how many people never do? How long have you been sober?"
"I'm coming up on four years," I said proudly. "Coffee is the strongest thing I've had. But, Brady, the worst thing about it all is that I'm fairly sure there's a warrant out for my arrest."
I pulled back, shocked. "A warrant? Have you been arrested before?"
"Did I not mention that? Several times. They never could get anything to stick. My employers were thorough and made sure to cover my bases. They didn't want their best runner stuck in prison. The most I spent in jail was a few nights here and there."
I contemplated that revelation. Did that matter to me? It was one thing to know he'd been through and done all those terrible things, but to have everyone know that he'd been arrested? Did that bother me?
With a smile, I dragged him close again. No matter how I examined it or considered the implications, I found the possible future with Corey far overshadowed any potential embarrassment. And I was fairly certain there would be no embarrassment. He'd had a rough start, sure, but when I told him I thought he was strong, I'd really meant it. "Corey, I have faith in you. Whatever the warrant is, we can handle it together. And if it came down to it, honestly, I'd give up my job for you. You don't know it unless the rumors reached you, but I don't actually have to work. I work because I love taking care of this town. I love the job. But if they didn't want me because of something you did in your past, I'd walk away with a smile on my face."
Corey burrowed his head into my shirt, and I realized he was crying. I lifted his legs and pulled him fully into my lap, stroking his back as he wept. I'd never been good around crying. Being gay hadn't automatically given me a sensitive filter, and I was a typical man when it came to tears. I just made shushing sounds and held him until the tears dried up.
Finally, he turned his head out of my shirt, leaving the damp material sticking to my skin. He hiccupped as I squeezed him. "I love you, Corey," I whispered.
That started the tears again, so I just settled in to hold him until they were over.
Corey
I hadn't expected to spend the evening bawling all over Brady's shirt, but that's exactly what happened. After filling his shirt with snot and tears, the last thing I'd felt was sexy, so I told him I needed a night to myself. I locked the door behind me in the cottage and collapsed on the bed, contemplating everything he'd said.
When it came right down to it, the thought of being in love scared me. I'd thought I loved John, but all I'd wanted when I came out of rehab was a place to recover, some stability, and some support. John had given me that, along with a generous helping of insecurity, bullying, abuse, and false caring.
The next morning, I told Brady I needed more time, and I knew I was being a coward, but I didn't want to get him ready for a relationship and then break his heart. I couldn't do that to him.
He gave me the time I needed. I knew he would, I knew he always would.
Saturday morning dawned bright on us in his bed. I stretched, happy that he had the day off. "Any plans for the day?" I asked as I smiled at him.
"Just spending the day with you," he said without opening his eyes. We'd stayed up late watching another movie.
"I want to stay," I whispered. "But I'm not ready for love, I don't think." In some ways, I didn't feel like I deserved to be loved. In some ways, I felt like I deserved it more than anyone else in the world. I needed to fix myself, and I didn't know how.
At the same time, Brady accepted me wholeheartedly, even after my ridiculous life story. How cool was that? He was one of the good ones, the ones that men lamented letting get away.
I didn't want to let him get away. But the urge to run was strong. Was I just trying to run away from fixing myself?
Brady kissed my shoulder, my bare skin tingling under his lips. “Are you ever going to tell me about your scars?” he asked.
I’d been hoping that would just not ever come up. “I left John once,” I said carefully. “And he didn’t appreciate it.” The abuse from John hadn’t been severe, not normally. I only ever tried to leave him once. Never again, until now.
He continued down my back, licking, kissing and massaging, teaching me that I had erogenous zones on my back that I'd never known about. “Maybe I can help you forget about the scars,” he whispered.
When he reached the small of my back and I gasped, he chuckled. "I found your spot."
"I think you did," I panted as his light touch zapped pleasure and eagerness straight to my dick. His fingers dug into my hip as he moved lower, his mouth following the line of my underwear, all I'd worn to bed.
Slowly, I rolled onto my back as he continued his progress around my hip.
I gave it a valiant effort as he moved over to my side, but I just couldn't hold in the laughter. It tickled.
He grinned, his lips still on my side, and moved to my hip bones, this time licking while his fingers slowly tugged my underwear down. I expected him to pull them all the way down, but he slowly made his way up my chest, spending a bit more time on my nipple ring—he really liked that thing, enough to make me consider piercing my dick.
Eventually, he reached my face and kissed my lips. "I love you," he whispered. "If you can't say it back yet, that's okay. I feel it coming from you, whether or not you can say it."
He felt it. He knew before I did. I still wasn't sure, but he was. I opened myself to him, reaching for t
he lube so he could enter me, fill me. He did it on one elbow, his other hand slowly stroking my hard cock, his lips all over my skin, anywhere he could reach.
He made love to me, truly, with his entire body.
Maybe he really did love me, and not just because he wanted to save me. Could I be that lucky?
Maybe I could. But if he lost his job because of me… I didn’t know if I could handle that. Maybe turning myself in would be the best idea. I wasn’t ready to do it yet, but if he kept pushing, I’d have to. Clearing my name and serving my time would be the only way it would work.
20
Brady
"So, when's the wedding?" Martha asked as I walked into the station bright and early Monday morning.
"Come on, Martha, don't say stuff like that. If you say it in front of him, you'll scare him off." She handed me a few pieces of mail, rolling her eyes.
"Claim that boy already," she muttered, taking off her enormous earring to answer the phone.
I took the mail and threw it in my inbox, ignoring it completely as I turned on my ancient computer. Opening the database to allow me to look up arrest warrants, I stared at the cursor as it blinked in the first name field.
"Brady?" the captain called from his office. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned the computer off. "Can you do patrol duty today? Harrison's got the runs."
"You got it," I said gladly as I hopped up. Couldn't look up something that might change everything from the road.
I spent the day checking on citizens I liked to keep an eye on, roaming around the county. I decided when I got home, I'd ask Corey to go on an official date. I was off Wednesday, so Tuesday night would be perfect. I could plan something romantic, and show him how he should be treated, how he should've been treated all along.
My plans formed in my mind, I headed home at the end of my shift with a smile on my face, whistling. Corey was wiping down the kitchen table when I walked in, cleaning, of course. He wore one of my tees and a pair of my boxer shorts. I grabbed him after setting my belt and lunchbox on the counter, still whistling, and swept him up into a short step around the kitchen.
