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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.
House of Cards
Copyright © 2017 by Garrett Leigh
Cover art: G.D. Leigh, blackjazzdesign.com
Editors: Sarah Lyons, Carole-ann Galloway
Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [email protected].
ISBN: 978-1-62649-544-9
First edition
July, 2017
Also available in paperback:
ISBN: 978-1-62649-545-6
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Calum Hardy’s life has unravelled. Reeling from the betrayal of a man he once loved, he boards a train heading south, with no real idea where he’s going except a world away from London.
Brix Lusmoore can hardly believe his eyes when he spots one of his oldest friends outside Truro station. He hasn’t seen Calum since he fled the capital himself four years ago, harbouring a life-changing secret. But despite the years of silence, their old bond remains, warm and true—and layered with simmering heat they’ve never forgotten.
Calum takes refuge with Brix and a job at his Porthkennack tattoo shop. Bit by bit, he rebuilds his life, but both men carry the ghosts of the past, and it will take more than a rekindled friendship and the magic of the Cornish coast to chase them away.
About House of Cards
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Author's Note
Dear Reader
Also by Garrett Leigh
About the Author
More like this
Calum Hardy dipped the needle into the black ink and pressed his foot to the pedal of Dottie, the faithful old-school coil machine he’d had since his apprenticeship in Camden. Rob kept telling him he should upgrade to one of the quieter, shinier models on the market, but so far Calum had ignored him. Rob might know everything about everything, but when it came to tattoos, Calum was his own man—ha—sometimes, at least, if he didn’t count Rob’s name on everything except the debts and the overdrafts.
“I’m so nervous.”
Calum blinked as the client attached to the leg he was about to etch broke his reverie. “That’s totally normal. Just try not to tense up. It’ll hurt less if you’re relaxed.”
The girl smiled wanly. “That’s why I came to you. My friend told me you’re gentle.”
“I am, but it’ll still hurt, so you have to see the needle for what it is—a tiny sliver of metal. You’re stronger than that, right?”
“I guess.”
Calum left the girl to her nerves and focussed on the candy-skull stencil he’d already applied to her thigh. This moment was his . . . and Dottie’s.
He pressed the pedal again, waiting for Dottie’s comforting buzz, but nothing happened. A split second later, the lights went out, plunging the shop into darkness. Power cut. Great. Third time this week. Calum set his gun down and went to the front door of the shop. He glanced out into the street and caught the eye of the maintenance worker who’d been the bane of his life all week long.
The worker shrugged. “Sorry, mate. Give us an hour or so.”
Nice of him to say, but it was already 6 p.m. Candy-skull girl was Calum’s last client of the day. Grumbling, he went back inside and gave her the news. She looked a little too relieved for his liking and left without rebooking, muttering something about omens.
With her gone, Calum lit a candle and cleaned up the shop, a job done by the receptionist in most studios, except that Calum’s receptionist was Rob’s cousin, and she downed tools at 4 p.m. each day, taking little notice of Calum’s protests.
Calum left the shop an hour later, and after stopping to buy a cheeky bottle of Rob’s favourite rum to hopefully drink in bed later, turned in the direction of home—a one-bedroom flat two streets away. He called Rob, but as usual, there was no answer. Rob only took Calum’s calls when he wanted something. Shame, because with Calum at a loose end, they could’ve grabbed some dinner, a drink . . . maybe more. It had been a while since they’d had some quality time to themselves. Work, play, work again, there always seemed to be something keeping them apart.
The flat where Calum lived alone loomed into view. Rob was likely down the road in the Ship, drinking up a storm on the shop’s expense account. Calum considered joining him, but then remembered Rob’s reaction the last time he’d dropped in on him unexpectedly. Rob hadn’t said a word—hadn’t needed to—but the look in his eye that night still haunted Calum in his weaker moments.
Give him space, remember? Stop smothering him. Damn. When had loving someone become so complicated? All Calum wanted was a cuddle and a bag of chips.
He let himself into the flat, his mind meandering in the uncomfortable space he usually found himself in when he considered his skewed relationship with Rob, which was likely why he often stopped himself doing just that. An empty mind was a happy one, right? Calum snorted softly. What a load of shite. He dropped his keys in the bowl. His gaze fell on a pair of dodgy loafers by the kitchen door—Rob’s latest fad—and beside them, a pair of chavvy Nikes that were far too big for either of them.
Calum frowned. It was unlike Rob to come over when Calum wasn’t there unless he needed cash from the jar on top of the fridge, and he never, ever, brought his mates round. God forbid; Calum was way too boring for Rob’s clique of wankers, who seemed to do nothing but snort mandy and talk about fisting.
Voices drifted down the hallway—no words, just sounds that set Calum’s teeth on edge. His frown deepened. Surely not. Rob had been distracted lately, leading Calum to suspect he might have been—but no . . . not here. Rob wouldn’t do that, would he?
There was only one way to find out. Calum steeled himself and trod silently dow
n the hallway to the bedroom. The door was ajar, and unless whoever was inside was watching some hard-core porn, what he’d find on the other side was already solidified in his brain, etched on his soul, before he even looked.
But he did look. Calum stared at the tangled mess of flesh in his bed: sweat-sheened skin, curled toes, arched backs, and scraping nails. Shame none of it was his, because in another world—one where the dude getting fucked by a six-foot beefcake wasn’t his boyfriend—the scene playing out in his bedroom would’ve been hot. But there was nothing hot about watching Rob hammer the final nail into a relationship that had been wonky from the start. As Calum leaned against the doorway and absorbed it all, he felt nothing but the oddest kind of solace. This was the window of opportunity he hadn’t truly known he’d been waiting for. This is your chance. Pack your shit and go.
If only he could make his feet move, and his brain compute what his heart had feared for months: that his relationship with Rob was toxic and his whole life was a crock of shit. Of course he’d suspected Rob was banging other people. How could he not? Everyone else bloody did. But seeing it in the flesh was something else. Sickening, humiliating . . . and so freeing that Calum wanted to cry.
He finally backed up, hoping he could tiptoe away as unnoticed as he’d arrived. Fuck his stuff. He’d go to the shop and kip there, come back for his things when Rob went to work. He’ll let me go this time. But even as Calum thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. How many times had Rob told him—warned him—not to step out of line? “I’ll ruin you, Calum. You’re nothing without me.”
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Calum froze, his heart in his mouth, every instinct screaming at him to keep walking and not look round, but the masochist in him won out. He turned to face Rob, who was still bent over the bed, his brawny pal balls-deep inside him, and his face curled in a smirk that showed exactly how Rob felt about being caught. Calum clenched his fists. “Doesn’t seem like you need me here.”
“You can suck my dick if you want.”
“No, thanks.”
Rob’s hawkish gaze narrowed, and his belligerence morphed into anger. “Don’t be a twat.”
“Me?” Calum laughed bitterly. “I’m not the twat here, but tell you what, how about I leave you to it? That way it doesn’t fucking matter.”
He took a step back, spun on his heel, and ran for the door before Rob got close enough to give him that look—the one that always seemed to penetrate Calum’s soul and extinguish any thoughts of his own. The one that Calum had never been able to hide from, ever since the first time he’d caught Rob out in a lie. “What do you expect when you’re so uptight, Cal? I’m not flirting, I just need to let off some steam.”
Calum stumbled, his foot catching the bookcase in the hallway. He steadied himself on the wall, cursing his wobbly legs, but footsteps behind him spurred him on. Get out, get out, get out.
“Not so fast.” A cool hand closed around Calum’s wrist. A twisted vampire analogy flashed into his brain, and he almost laughed again. Almost, because there was nothing funny about Rob’s bruising grip. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”
“Why not?” Calum spat. “Looks like you’re managing fine without me.”
Rob’s grip tightened. “So? You’re not even supposed to be here. You said you were working late.”
Like that made it okay. “Power cut. I can’t ink in the dark.”
Rob smirked. “No?”
The barely veiled derision made Calum’s skin itch. Rob’s name was on the lease of the shop, but though he had no problem spending the profits, belittling Calum’s work had always been a hobby of his. The fact that Black Star Ink was booked months in advance, with cancellations snapped up within seconds of announcement, apparently meant nothing to him. “Does it matter where I’m supposed to be? Point is you’re fucking someone in my bed.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
Calum twisted his arm. “Let go.”
“Why? What are you going to do? Run to your mother or some shit? Grow up. It’s just sex. You can watch if you don’t want to join in.” Rob’s expression softened slightly and he stepped closer, bracing his hand on the wall, effectively blocking Calum’s escape route. “Come on, Cal. You know I love you, right? I just get a bit suffocated sometimes. Martin’s a friend. You want me to have friends, don’t you?”
Calum had fallen for that speech more times than he cared to remember, and perhaps tonight would’ve been no different if Martin hadn’t appeared in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in Calum’s duvet and laughing his over-ripped arse off.
“I’m leaving,” Calum ground out. “Get back on his dick. I’m done with this shit.”
Rob made a grab for Calum’s other arm, but Calum was too quick for him this time. He got his knee between Rob’s legs and shouldered his way free, wrenching his arm from Rob’s grasp.
“Calum, stop it.”
“No.”
“Calum.”
The warning in Rob’s tone was clear, but Calum didn’t stop to let the weight of it reel him in. He ran for the door, Rob cursing behind him, and charged down the stairs and out into the night. The damp air of the wet autumn evening hit him as he threw himself into the crowds of commuters flowing up the street to the nearby station. He’d made it to the coffeehouse on the corner when he heard his name.
“Calum! Stop!”
No chance. Calum kept going, head bowed, shoulders stiff, until he came to the zebra crossing and the fast-moving, brutal London traffic forced him to a standstill.
“Calum.”
“Fuck off.” Calum didn’t turn round. The traffic stopped. He strode across the road, dodging Rob’s reaching hands.
“Stop.”
“No.”
“Calum!” Rob caught Calum’s arm and dragged him off course, pulling him from the crowd and behind a nearby bus stop. “I said, stop.”
“Get off me.” Calum fought Rob’s hold, twisting away. Rob lashed out, catching him with a glancing blow to his cheekbone. Bastard. Calum’s eyes watered, and he hesitated long enough for Rob to grab his arm again and yank him back, slamming him into a nearby wall.
“Get a bloody grip, Calum. Where the fuck do you think you’re going to go? The shop’s in my name, remember? You bail on me, I’ll shut it down.”
“Do it.” Calum fought Rob’s hold on him and shoved him away. “I don’t give a shit anymore.”
Rob fell theatrically to the ground, drawing the attention of onlookers, like he always did when Calum found the balls to bite back, letting everyone know that his six-foot-three lover had laid a hand on his much smaller, slimmer frame. “You won’t give up the shop. It’s everything to you.”
“It ain’t nothing if it’s got your bloody name on it. I told you. I’m done.”
“Done?” Rob laughed and scrambled to his feet, putting himself in Calum’s face again. “Are you kidding me? Four years of your bullshit and you think you’re going to walk out on me?”
“My bullshit? I’m not the one taking someone else’s dick.”
“Like you’d even know how. Like you’d even know how to fuck me if I asked you to. Give me a break, Calum. It’s not like I screwed your best mate. I just needed something extra. Come on. We’ve talked about this. It’s not my fault you only want to bottom.”
Calum closed his eyes, fighting the poisoned logic that always swept over him when Rob got in his face. The logic that told him Rob could do whatever the fuck he wanted because he always came back to Calum in the end, put his arms around him, and said he loved him. The logic that told him Rob meant it, because no one would lie about that, right?
Wrong. “We didn’t talk about it. You got wasted and decided I should go out and fuck women so you’d have an excuse to get blown by every bloke that looked your way.”
“And what’s up with that? You like pussy, don’t you?”
That Calum had been with women before Rob had always been a bone of content
ion. “You’re not really gay, though, are ya, Calum? You’re not one of us.” Calum gritted his teeth. As far as he’d seen, being gay in Rob’s scene was all about drugs and pain. “It’s just chemsex. Don’t be so bloody frigid.”
“I don’t want to fuck anyone else.”
“Maybe you should. Then you might be better at it.”
In years—no, days—gone by, Rob’s words would’ve cut deep, slashing Calum and what remained of his self-esteem to bits, but now, as he stared Rob down, he felt nothing except a big black hole where his life had once been. He shoved Rob away. “Fuck. You.”
“Cal—”
“Fuck off!”
Calum sidestepped Rob’s reaching hands and pushed past him, throwing himself into the steady stream of pedestrians heading towards the train station. Behind him, Rob shouted his name over and over, but Calum didn’t stop, didn’t look round, didn’t breathe, until the station swallowed him up, cocooning him in its humid warmth.
The respite was brief. After a few minutes, Calum’s phone rang in his pocket, blaring out Rob’s ringtone. Calum silenced it, but it rang again and again until he dumped it in a nearby bin. Knowing it wouldn’t be long before Rob followed him into the station, he jogged down the steps and made for the nearest ticket machine. He stuck his debit card into the machine and jabbed desperately at the screen until a ticket to who-the-fuck-knew-where printed out. He snatched it and stumbled farther into the station, waving it at a uniformed station worker.
She glanced at the ticket and pointed ahead. “Platform eight. Hurry. It’s leaving soon.”
Heart in his throat, Calum dashed through the station. The ticket barriers appeared in the distance as someone shouted his name from behind. Calum ran harder, shoulder-barging past anyone in his way. Rob had an Oyster Card, so the barriers wouldn’t stop him, but they would at least buy Calum some precious time to make the train idling on the distant platform.
He shoved his ticket into the barrier slot and barged through the gates. Rob shouted again as the last-call alarms began to sound on the train that was still fifty feet away, and Calum gritted his teeth. Goddamn it. He’d make that fucking train if it killed him, because the alternative would likely do the same. I can’t look him in the eye one more time. I’m done. So fucking done.
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