Mason's Run

by Mellanie Rourke

  “May I help you?” The clean-cut, cheerful man asked.

  “We need to get him checked in,” I said, gesturing at Cameron. “Name is Cameron. It’s a two-week reservation from Twin Peeks bookstore.”

  “One moment,” he said, typing some things into the computer. A strange look crossed his face, and he typed a few more keys.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “The… the reservation was canceled,” he said, looking at the two of us, appearing nervous.

  “What?” I said, maybe a little too loudly, confusion in my own voice. “That’s not right, please look again. I know my brothers confirmed the reservation. Maybe look again, under Devereaux?”

  I stole a glance at Cameron, a feeling of dread running through me. Not another fuck up.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the reservation was canceled. T-the credit card was declined,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. His eyes flicked to Cameron, the other guests in line, then back to me.

  Cameron rolled his eyes as he stood in line, his body rigid. Fuck. This was not happening. I felt my face turning bright red. Considering Sonny’s revelation earlier about the money problems they had been experiencing, it was entirely possible.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Cameron, there must have been some kind of… accounting problem,” I said, reaching for my own wallet. I pulled my personal credit card out and gave it to the clerk. “Here. Use my card.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re booked solid,” he said, handing it back to me without even looking at it, his eyes shifting between us. “The Hall of Fame festival is next weekend, and we are completely booked for the next several weeks.”

  I took a deep breath. The Pro Football Hall of Fame was located in Canton, just about twenty minutes south of Akron. At this time of year, it wasn’t unheard of for hotels to sell out. With all the preparation for the grand opening, I’d forgotten that the festival was next weekend, too.

  “You don’t have anything?” I demanded. The man shook his head and continued to glance around nervously.

  “Fine,” I muttered through gritted teeth. I walked over to a recently vacated couch and gestured for Cameron to sit.

  “I’ll get this figured out. You want to go in the bar?” I asked, waving at the lounge area next to check in. It was really busy – a band was playing, and drunken dancers were pushing aside chairs and tables to make impromptu dancing areas.

  If Cameron’s eyes could have gotten wider, they would have. He just shook his head and moved to some other overstuffed couches located as far away from the bar and the hotel desk as possible. I sighed and stood, dragging all his things over to the annoyingly distant seats.

  I could see Cameron becoming more and more tense, his eyes glancing around at the people checking in. He began muttering something under his breath, and kept his eyes glued to his phone.

  “I’ll find you another hotel,” I said, annoyed that he wasn’t listening to me. “Don’t worry.”

  I might as well have said “Don’t breathe”, because it was obvious all Cameron was doing was worry.

  I began using my own phone, searching all the hotel chains I could think of to find somewhere to house the writer for the two weeks he would be in town. Thirty minutes later I was about to admit defeat. Chain after chain came up blank. Everyone was booked for the Hall of Fame festival.

  Desperation hit, and I texted my best friend, Brannon. Bran and I had grown up together. To our knowledge, we were the only two gay graduates of Tallmadge High School, though of course, statistically speaking, we knew there had to be more, but we’d never met them.

  ME: Bran, I’m desperate bro.

  BRANNON: What’s up? You finally agree to let me do something with your hair?

  ME: Hell no. This head is perfect. Found the Twinkies’ missing author, but there was a FU with the room, and everything is booked solid for the HOF festival.

  BRANNON: Shit. You checked all the chains, I assume?

  ME: Of course.

  BRANNON: What about Expedia, Orbit, those kinds of places? Air BNB?

  ME: No luck. I need someplace for 2 weeks.

  BRANNON: How about the really expensive places? The ones most people wouldn’t be able to afford?

  ME: No dice.

  BRANNON: Hmmm… What about the other extreme?

  ME: What?

  BRANNON: Motels? Pay by the hour places?

  ME: Seriously? Does Akron even have those?

  BRANNON: lol. Of course they do. You need to get out more.

  ME: I’m about as “out” as I want, thank you very much.

  BRANNON: Fine Fine… I still have someone at work I’d like to introduce you to at some point. He’s got a tight ass, and his hair… god, I could do some amazing things with his hair…

  ME: Then why don’t YOU go out with him? Lol

  BRANNON: I’m busy. Besides, this isn’t about me, it’s about you. How about the Mogadore Minute Motel?

  ME: The what?

  BRANNON: The Mogadore Minute Motel. Sleazy place over on West Ave. Can’t guarantee quality – only time I was ever there it was very dark, and very private. That’s all I cared about. I don’t even think they have a website.

  ME: I’ll call ‘em. Thanks, B!

  BRANNON: Any time, bro.

  While I’d been texting Bran, Cameron had begun pacing in the lobby, one hand tightly twisting a curl around his finger, the other holding onto his phone so tightly I half expected it to break. Not that I cared, really. Once I got the hotel figured out, he wasn’t my problem, but something about him was off. He looked so close to losing it right there in the hotel lobby, I was getting a little worried. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe his dick-like behavior didn’t have anything to do with me, in particular. Maybe he was dealing with something else altogether.

  I had the strangest urge to just reach out and wrap my hand around the back of his neck and hold him still, stop his pacing and bring his forehead to mine. Just make him breathe for a god damn minute.

  I felt the pressure build in my groin as I pictured it. Fuck. It had obviously been way too long since I’d got laid. By force of will alone, I managed to keep my hands to myself.

  I found the phone number for the place Bran had recommended. There were no pictures on the Google site, which was never a good sign, but a brief phone call later and, finally, success.

  I added the address to my phone and got Cameron’s attention.

  “C’mon,” I said, picking up his stuff and heading outside. “Let’s go. I found you a hotel.”

  4

  Mason

  Being outside brought almost instant relief. Just getting away from all the music, people and noise, started to calm my jangled nerves.

  Night was falling quickly, and cars flew by on the interstate at a distant hum. Above us, I saw stars beginning to peek out of the indigo sky, but the oppressive heat seemed to sink into my skin. It had to be at least nine o’clock by now. I was exhausted from the day, and super edgy after everything that had gone wrong.

  I could feel my heart racing and sweat beading up on my forehead. I kept looking at every person who passed us, terrified I would see Dreyven or one of his men.

  I knew it wasn’t logical, but logic didn’t slow my frantically beating heart. This was the closest I’d been to Milwaukee since I’d escaped him. It was my first public event, and while there was no way he could connect Mason Cameron and Mason Malone, my brain wasn’t convinced.

  I doubted Ricky had even known my middle name, much less Dreyven. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the relaxation apps on my phone. I needed to make this work.

  We loaded my things into the back of the Jeep, and I forced myself to re-enter the car, in the front seat this time. Lee seemed surprised when I did, but I ignored his glance and settled in for the drive.

  Lee started the SUV, and the air conditioning blew icy air into my face, which felt good, and fortunately Lee didn’t seem like he wanted to talk. I was able to
zone out a bit as he got us back onto the interstate. Fortunately, he didn’t start up the radio or anything, allowing me to focus on the soothing noise coming through my earbuds. Was he being considerate? I thought he had caught on something was wrong.

  I was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. I’d had them multiple times after I’d escaped from Milwaukee, but I hadn’t had one in a couple of years. I wasn’t sure what was setting it off… the travel problems, all the new people, or just being away from home, maybe? I wasn’t sure, but I knew I needed to get some alone time, and soon.

  We drove about twenty minutes before pulling off the interstate and into a place with a sign that said “Mogadore Minute Motel”. It wasn’t even a lighted sign, just faded and peeling paint spelling out the name against a white background.

  Lee stopped outside the motel office for a moment, eyeing the sketchy-looking place dubiously.

  “Are you sure you want to try this place?” Lee asked skeptically.

  “Yep, it’s fine,” I answered quickly, hardly even glancing around. I really needed that alone time.

  When he came out of the office the look on his face almost made me laugh. He looked like he had just beaten the end game boss and won the trophy, or in this case, a room key.

  “I got you the last room,” he called triumphantly, tossing me a metal key through the open window. I fumbled to catch it, then looked at it suspiciously. I didn’t think hotels even used actual keys anymore.

  He got back in the SUV and we rolled down a long driveway. The motel was set up more like a campground than an actual hotel. Small cabins dotted the road, which we followed about a quarter of a mile before we found cabin eleven.

  The cabin paint was faded and the wooden shutters were dilapidated. An overgrown path led to the ancient front door and wooden railroad ties were buried into the side of a small hill to provide makeshift steps. As we walked up to the tired looking building our shadows stretched crazily, dark figures cast by a single light near the end of the gravel drive.

  I put the key in the door, but froze, unable to turn it, some unnamed terror gripped me, and I couldn’t move.

  Lee glanced at me, his arms filled with my luggage as mere annoyance became exasperation apparent on his face, as I stood. He finally dropped my backpack and shook his head. Reaching around me, he turned the key in the lock and threw the door open.

  “Here you go, Your Highness. Home sweet home,” he growled.

  Inside, a small bedside lamp threw shadowy fingers across the doorway and terror spread through my veins.

  “No…” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat as I took in the layout of the room. It appeared to be almost an exact duplicate of the motel room in Milwaukee. The same room I’d spent three of the worst days of my life, and had almost died in. The bed was in the same spot, the bathroom. It even smelled the same, like cigarette smoke, stale sex and cat piss.

  “No,” I said again, this time the whisper turning to a moan. My vision darkened and my sight telescoped to a pinpoint focusing on the bed, my heart pounding so loudly it was all I could hear. Everything disappeared except the terror, the absolute certainty, that Dreyven was behind me and was about to drag me back to Milwaukee.

  “No!” I yelled, backing out of the room, stumbling into someone behind me. I shoved away from them with all my might and ran.

  I didn’t know or care where I was going, I just needed to get away. I darted for the gravel road, ignoring the voice that called after me. There were no other buildings nearby, nowhere to hide, just a field across the gravel road with weeds, a few trees, and some bushes up ahead.

  My feet hit the gravel without slowing. My breath heaved in my chest, the air a wheezing rattle I just ignored. My legs stung as branches whipped out and struck me as I ran. A tiny voice in the back of my head asked me why the hell I was wearing shorts? I could feel blood running down my legs from scratches, but I didn’t care. The oppressive need to escape overrode everything else.

  I heard the crunching sound of feet racing across the gravel behind me, so I ran faster. A part of me knew I wasn’t in Milwaukee, but I couldn’t think clearly about what was happening, and I couldn’t escape the certainty that I was back, that Dreyven was after me and was trying to drag me back to that old life.

  I didn’t know how long I ran before I felt, more than heard, someone pound up next to me. Strong hands wrapped around my body and carried me almost gently to the ground.

  While our speed made us hit hard, I felt those arms wrap around me protectively, my captor struggling to keep me from escaping. I fought the grip that encircled me with everything I had, screaming, struggling, even biting at one point.

  Despite my efforts, the arms holding me were like steel bands pinning me to the ground beneath a male body that had to weigh a thousand pounds.

  Things went black for a long time as I yelled and fought the monster that held me, his strength unrelenting. I cursed, I swore, and I screamed, but I couldn’t escape.

  Finally, after what felt like hours, my body exhausted, I collapsed, shuddering and crying. I waited for it, waited for the groping hands, the sloppy kisses, the pain… but it never came.

  And slowly, I came back to myself.

  Sound came first. I heard a low voice saying my name, whispering over and over, telling me it was okay, that I was all right, that no one would hurt me.

  Then came touch. I felt arms that were gently but firmly holding me up against a body that I dimly realized couldn’t have belonged to Dreyven or Ricky. Ricky was dead, and Dreyven had been shorter and heavier, a little more prone to fat. This was a firm, muscled body, and heat ran off of it in waves.

  Sight returned last. I saw stars beginning to twinkle against the dark blue sky, and a crescent moon peeking up from the horizon.

  I took a deep breath, and the voice murmuring to me paused. I realized that the arms wrapped around me belonged to Lee Devereaux. We were propped up against the base of a tree, the cabins of the motel a silhouette in the distance against the setting sun.

  I was leaning back against him, one of his arms wrapped around my chest, the other stroking softly through my hair. He had his legs twined with mine to keep me from escaping. The realization of what had happened drove home, and I froze.

  The first thought that came to my mind was, I was such a god damn fuck up. I tried to blink my eyes clear of the crusted tears that clung to them. My hand came up to wipe my face and the grip around my chest tightened.

  The second thought that came to my mind was…How could I possibly be getting an erection in this situation? I felt the straining of my cock against the zipper of my shorts as I rested in the safety of his arms, and was really glad it was dark enough that he wouldn’t see the effect his grip had on me.

  “You… you can let me go,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from screaming, my nose congested and snotty from crying. I felt the change in him when I spoke. He’d been relaxed when I first came back to myself, his arm wrapped loosely across my chest. That changed when I spoke. He’d stiffened when I’d moved, then slowly relaxed his grip.

  “You sure about that?” he asked. His voice rumbled beneath me and I could swear to god, part of me wanted to just turn into his arms and bury my head against him like a little kid. But I wasn’t a kid, had never really been a kid. I could do this.

  “Fuck,” I sighed. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  He released me slowly, almost hesitantly, which I couldn’t blame him for, really. He probably didn’t want to have to chase my ass again. I scooted off his lap and onto the grass a short way from him.

  “I’m… I’m sorry,” I began, unable to meet his eyes. Fuck. So much for my career. Once word got out about how I’d missed my first major event, and then went completely mental over something as simple as a bad hotel room, I’d be lucky to sell a caricature at a street fair, much less a graphic novel.

  “For what?” he asked, his voice calm and gentle. “Being human?”

  His response startled me in
to actually looking up at him. He sat in partial shadows, the last rays of the setting sun playing golden rays on his face, making his green eyes glow like emeralds. I wasn’t sure exactly what I expected to see in his face. Derision? Anger? Disgust? I didn’t see any of that. Instead, his eyes seemed to hold… understanding. Concern. Compassion.

  “I’m sorry for being an idiot,” I said, wiping one hand across my eyes before turning to blow my nose in the napkin I’d found wadded in my pocket. “Sorry for thinking I could do this in the first place.”

  I sighed, stuffed the tissue back in my pocket and looked away, unable to add anything else.

  “My younger brother, Bishop, used to have panic attacks all the time,” Devereaux said, slowly getting to his feet. “I should be the one apologizing. I saw all the signs at the hotel and I should have put two and two together.”

  “There was no way you could have known I’m fucking crazy,” I began, raking my fingers through my hair in a vain effort to get it out of my face, but he waved me off.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m still sorry,” he said. “And you’re not crazy.”

  How would he know? What was it with this guy? Did I really need to make a list of all the ways I was a broken human being?

  “But I was being a dick,” I began. “About the plane, the hotel, everything. Even before I spazzed out on you and ran.”

  “Maybe,” he smirked at me, humor gleaming in his eyes. “But many of my best friends are dicks, and all of my brothers,” he laughed.

  I didn’t know if it was the endorphins from the panic attack, or if his laugh was just that infectious, but I felt myself begin to chuckle.

  “I also wasn’t being very understanding,” he continued. “Maybe… maybe we could try this again?” he asked. His green eyes held mine in the dying light and he held his hand out to me.

  “Lee Devereaux, nice to meet you,” he said expectantly.