by Gayle, Linda
So where the hell was he?
He wished he had a cigarette, or something, to settle his nerves. But he’d given that all up, six months, a week and three days ago. That’s how long he’d been clean. And free of the assholes who’d taken to passing him around like a joint. Dylan had let them, just to keep his boyfriend happy. And because, face it, it had gotten him what he needed at the time—food, a place to live, drugs, security of some kind. Back then, he’d tried not to think about what it was costing him. It was all part of the business, Chris had said. “We’ll be rich, baby, just you and me. We’ll take off to Barbados and live the high life…”
He’d believe him too, for a while, and it had been okay for a while. They had lived the high life; they’d had a sweet apartment uptown, and Chris drove a flashy Beemer. Now and then, he’d even let Dylan drive. But somewhere along the line, they’d gone from being boyfriends to Dylan being a commodity. When Chris needed to seal a deal with spunk and spit, he’d offer up Dylan’s services. “Come on, just this one last time. Do it for me…”
What else could Dylan do, say no? Chris fed him, housed him, looked out for him. With enough shit in your system, suddenly anything seemed reasonable.
Until finally he got sick of Chris’s fucked-up friends fucking him, forcing their dicks down his throat, up his ass, party after party, night after night. Mostly they’d used condoms, but only mostly, and Dylan appreciated, totally, how lucky he was that he’d walked away that last night with only a few broken ribs, a black eye, a treatable—thank fuck—STD, and withdrawals. And even the withdrawals hadn’t been too unbearable, since he’d been cutting back even before then, the thrill of the high long ago having lost its appeal, knowing he couldn’t go on that way any longer.
He’d been afraid for his life after he left Chris. He’d always been told Chris had connections, like with gangbangers who’d slit a throat for the right price. A month or so after he was out on his own and nobody had come after him, he had the weirdest feeling of…almost disappointment that after all that time he’d spent with Chris, given him so much of himself until there wasn’t anything left but a crumb of his soul, the fucker couldn’t even be bothered to put a hit out on him. Didn’t even come looking for him, any more than his family had.
When it eventually dawned on Dylan that nobody cared what the hell had happened to him, he stopped jumping at shadows and started the long crawl back into the light.
Now a little of that same fear nibbled at his gut—that nobody wanted him. That no one would look for him. Maybe he’d been totally wrong about Cam and the connection he’d thought they’d had. For sure he had a better thing going with him already than he ever had with Chris, and maybe that was the problem. Dylan didn’t know how to handle a good thing when he had it. This was all foreign territory for him. He liked it, but it scared him a little too.
Gazing down the lamp-lit street, studying the few figures passing by, hoping to see that familiar loose-limbed gait, Dylan thought maybe he didn’t deserve someone like Cameron. After all the shit Dylan had done, what he’d let be done to him, did he deserve a decent guy? With a hard sniff, he rubbed his nose and then spat at a spot on the pavement three stories down.
On the other hand, Cameron Coburn wasn’t exactly without complications, now, was he? He was something else entirely. Something funky, maybe even otherworldly. Dylan had tried to get Jose to tell him that word he’d called Cam, quetzl, pretzel, but the old man had slammed the door in his face and wouldn’t talk. Didn’t matter. Probably better Dylan didn’t know.
Maybe only Dylan, having been through the shit he’d been through, could overlook that Cam had something funny going on. Appreciate it, even. Being different, being despised for who you were—he could relate to that. Maybe fate did have a sick little idea in mind, putting them together. Guess he’d never find out if Cam didn’t show up, though, now would he? Had his brother found him out, put a padlock on the door or something? Maybe Dylan would have to go rescue him, like some damsel in distress caught in a high tower.
He grinned stupidly, liking the idea, but it quickly faded. Him rescuing Jackie Chan; yeah, like that was gonna happen. He swung his legs in the empty air, leaning his folded arms on the railing. If Cam wanted to be here, he would. The other crappy thing, though, was that Dylan had told his buddy Joey he’d be bringing Gertrude by tonight. If not Cam, he at least needed the dog. He’d thought about his short list of friends and had remembered Joey and his girlfriend, Cora, had just rented an apartment, and they might be able to take a dog. He’d called from work, and Joey had said yeah, bring her by, and if Gertie got along with their two kids, who were, like, five and a baby, then they’d talk.
But none of that would happen if Cam didn’t show. Damn, he wanted Cam to show.
He peered down the street again and nearly jumped out of his skin when someone below him called up, “Dylan? Is that you?”
“What the hell are you doing down there?” He looked down into Cam’s upturned face, relief practically knocking the wind out of him. “What, did you come from the other direction?”
“I got lost.” He shrugged and lifted his hand in a frustrated gesture, while Gertie sat down by his side and yawned. “I guess I wasn’t paying that much attention this afternoon. I took a few wrong turns, and then I found the place and went inside, and you weren’t there.”
Shit, he’d almost screwed up the whole thing. “Sorry, man. I was sitting up here thinking I’d see you coming. I’ll be down in a sec.”
He got up and then thumped down the rusty fire escape until he reached the bottom of it, which was still about ten feet off the ground. He swung down, dangled by his hands for a second, then dropped. Cam steadied him, and for a few heartbeats, they stared at each other like a couple of idiots. Then, he wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but they were in each other’s arms, and Cam’s scent of lemon and leather filled his head. Dylan ran his lips up the side of Cam’s throat and kissed him behind the ear before pulling back.
“I thought—”
“I was afraid—”
They talked over each other, stopped, then laughed. Finally, Cam said, “I was worried maybe you’d had enough of my weirdness and decided strategically not to be home when I arrived.”
“Hell no.” Dylan gripped Cam’s arm through his leather jacket, which he looked fucking hot in and much classier than Dylan did in his usual gray hoody. “I was waiting inside, but then I got antsy and decided to go up where I could see the whole street. At least the direction I thought you’d be coming.” Before he blurted out that he’d been about to dying to see him and ready explode with anticipation, he said, “Anyhow, glad you finally made it, and our girl too.” He bent to scratch Gertie’s bony head. She leaned against Cam’s leg and looked up at him with those sad eyes.
“Tash had only chased her upstairs, but I’m sure she’s glad to be away from him. You would have laughed; I had to pretend that bag I had was food for her.”
Dylan glanced up to see Cam smiling lopsidedly. “Nearly got caught red-handed, eh?”
“It would have taken a lot of explaining. My mind was racing, believe me.”
“I bet.” Straightening, Dylan got hold of Cam’s jacket and pulled him in close for a kiss. Oh yeah, those lips were just as soft as he remembered. He slid just the tip of his tongue over Cam’s lower lip before drawing back, their body heat swirling between them. “You bring it? The bag?”
“Yeah.” Cam seemed short of breath all of a sudden.
“Cool.” He insinuated his hands inside Cam’s jacket, around his waist, warming his cold fingers. “How long can you stay tonight? You don’t gotta rush off, do you?”
“Well, that’s the other thing.” He shrugged one shoulder, bringing Dylan’s attention to a gym bag hanging there. “I don’t want to impose, and feel free to say no, but I was wondering if I could—”
“Stay the night?” Dylan finished, tightening his fingers around Cam’s waist. “Hell yeah. Stay as long as you wa
nt.”
“Thanks, I…” Cam shook his head, and his mouth tightened. “I couldn’t take one more night in my house. Tash brought a brother home with him, and between the two of them, I felt like a bug under a microscope. If they knew…” He gave a grim huff and ran his hand down Dylan’s chest. “Well, if they had any idea I was here with you, they’d really have a fit. Are you sure this is all right?”
“You tell me, baby, you’re the one with the family issues. I couldn’t care less what they think of me. Where’d you tell ’em you were going?”
“I said I’d found a place to stay where there was a high crime rate. I convinced them I should explore this urge I have to rescue people, or get into fights, depending on how you look at it. I didn’t say I’d be staying with anybody.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t foresee too much fighting in your future. I got other plans for us later.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I need to get away from all…that.” He jerked his head in the general direction of his house, and Dylan realized he really was miserable about whatever was going down with his brother.
“Hey, my casa is your casa, for whenever and however long you need it. If there’s one thing I can relate to, it’s needing to get the hell away from your family.”
Cam leaned in to touch his forehead to Dylan’s. “You’re the only friend I’ve got, you know.”
Ah shit. When he said things like that… Before his heart totally melted, Dylan straightened up and slapped Cam on the arm. “Then you know what you need? You need more fucking friends, that’s what. And it just so happens I got a friend who might want Gertrude. I figured we could take a walk over to his place and see what’s up. Him and his girlfriend and their two rug rats live maybe a mile from here, if you still feel like walking.”
“That’d be grand,” he said, looking less gloom-and-doom already.
“You know I love it when you say that shit.”
They leaned in at the same time for another kiss under the streetlight that started sweet and grow slowly hotter and wetter and deeper until Cam started to moan huskily and Dylan felt like the head of his dick was about to drill through his zipper. Cam’s slight stubble rasped against Dylan’s perpetual scruff, and Dylan seriously considered going to see Joey tomorrow instead. But, no, better to get it over with. Then he’d have the rest of the night with his angel without any hassles.
Dylan broke the kiss, his hands roaming everywhere under Cam’s black leather jacket, mapping the muscles and skin he couldn’t wait to get his mouth on later. “Let’s make it a short visit,” he said with a smirk.
Cam shuddered out a breath. “Oh yes, I’m all for that.”
Chapter Twelve
Cam’s idea of a short visit and Dylan’s friends’ idea of a short visit clearly were two separate things. It was all right, though, because Cam liked the couple, Joey and Cora, who were very laid-back and clearly happy to see their friend Dylan with someone. They’d been warm and welcoming, handing him and Dylan plates of goopy orange macaroni and cheese, and beers in Spongebob glasses. They had two children, the youngest of which, a baby girl named Hannah, had gone off to her crib over an hour ago, but though it was nearing eleven, Cora was still corralling the little boy, Clive, a redheaded tyke of about five, who seemed peculiarly drawn to Cam.
Cam pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiled at the boy confronting him once again in his colorful footie pajamas. Clive curled his fingers into claws and his mouth into a fierce snarl and growled, “You’re a monster.” Except it came out mawnster, which made everyone laugh, thank God, though Cam shuddered inside. It was almost as if the kid could see through his guise.
Trying to be indulgent, Cam smiled and nodded and looked to Dylan for help. The child had been at this game since they’d walked in the door.
“Last time, kiddo,” Cora said, scooping her son up like sack of potatoes. “Sorry about that,” she said to Cam. “He really likes you.”
“Mawnster!” Clive screamed, flailing his hands in Cam’s direction even as his mother carted him off once again to his bedroom. J’accuse, Cam thought dryly. When the bedroom door finally shut, he breathed a sigh of relief.
With Cora out of the living room of the little apartment, and Joey, the boyfriend, off getting something, Dylan moved closer to Cam on the worn sofa. “Hey, you got a real way with kids.”
“Wonderful,” Cam muttered, then sipped his beer.
Dylan’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Maybe they’ll let us babysit sometime.”
“Ugh, please.” His snort of laughter made Cam grin too. “I like your friends. Even the small, annoying one.”
“They’re good people.” Dylan sat back and rested his arm behind Cam along the back of the couch. “Believe it or not, I met Joey during a karaoke night at a bar.”
“Do you sing?” Cam asked with interest.
“Get me drunk enough, I’ll do just about anything.”
“Hmm.”
Joey loped back in with a cigar box in one hand and a scuffed acoustic guitar in the other. “I got the good stuff here.”
Dylan raised his hand. “None for me, thanks.”
“Nah?” Joey set down his guitar and sat in a rocking chair across from the couch, the cigar box on his knee. “You’re really doing okay, huh? Staying straight. I admire that, dude, totally.” He took out a few items Cam recognized only from TV shows as wrapping paper—no, rolling paper, right?—and a bag of weed. With expert fingers, the shaggy-haired man began to assemble a joint.
Feeling awkward in the silence, Cam said, “So, you play the guitar?”
Joey had the friendly, open face of a faithful hound, and he canted his brown eyes up to Cam with a grin. “Yup. You? Your boy there used to play, you know.”
“Did you?” Cam glanced at Dylan, who shook his head.
“I learned in the high school band. I couldn’t do half the shit Joey can.”
“I can’t play anything,” Cam said somewhat wistfully. It was something he’d always wanted to learn, but Tash had discouraged him, saying it was impractical to travel with a bulky musical instrument, and it was just one more distraction from whatever mission they were on. “It must be a wonderful talent to have.”
“It don’t suck,” Joey said philosophically, then lit the joint—or was it a blunt?—took a drag, and closed his eyes in bliss. Having finally caged her spawn, Cora came back in, reached for the joint, and took a hit.
She held her breath for a bit, then let it out in a long plume. “Man, that kid has more energy than twenty of me.” She was a pretty girl, though life had left its stamp on her features. Her voice had a raspy tone, and she looked like she’d been around the block, as Tash would say, but still, in her bare feet and faded, flower-print summer dress, her long brown hair hanging loose about her face, she seemed younger than she probably was, and a fitting match for Joey, who was pierced and tattooed in more ways than Cam had thought possible.
“Finally get him to go down?” Joey said, pulling his guitar into his lap and tuning the strings.
“I think they’re giving him too much KoolAid or something at day care. He was one wound-up little pumpkin today. Hey, you guys want more beer? Wine? I got some cheap red open. Wanna help me finish it off?” She got up and headed for the kitchen before anyone replied, and Joey watched her go, his smile wreathed with affection for his girlfriend.
Cam wondered why they weren’t married. But then, they didn’t seem too concerned with propriety. You could see that just from their little apartment. Kids’ finger paintings decorated the walls, along with some beaded macramé and a couple of half-dead plants on the windowsill. The furniture looked well used, and the carpet was stained but generally clean. Plenty of dust covered most surfaces, at least the ones that weren’t sticky with juice and torn crayon labels.
After living on his guard and under scrutiny for so long, Cam felt like he could kick back here and be…whoever he wanted to be. He leaned into the sofa, feeling the welcome weigh
t of Dylan’s arm on the cushion behind his shoulders. Best of all, they obviously didn’t care that he and Dylan were together, since neither blinked an eye when Dylan started casually playing with the ends of Cam’s hair and letting his fingers drift over his nape.
This was nice, being among humans. Being among friends.
The weird scent of the pot drifted over to Cam. Joey held the joint out to him. “Dude?”
He was about to automatically refuse, when Dylan said, “Go on, if you want. It don’t bother me.”
“It’s good for glaucoma or whatever ails you,” Joey insisted, squinting amiably through the growing miasma. Of course, they’d told him Cam had eye problems, hence the dark glasses.
“I don’t… I-I don’t smoke,” he said quietly aside to Dylan, sort of wanting to try it, but…that was just so far out of his comfort zone. Not that there was any danger in it. Nothing short of unchaining his collar would turn him into a trice. And he didn’t want to be rude.
One side of his mouth curling with mischief, Dylan said, “You should try it. It’s not like we gotta go nowhere after, just home.”
Home. That had a nice ring to it. Joey said, “Hey, it’s chill, man. No worries.” He put the joint between his lips and sucked in a lungful.
Cam blurted, “I want to. I do. Okay. I’ll do it.”
Dylan slapped him on the back, grinning, then reached across to Joey and took the joint and handed it to Cam. “Fuck, I’ll probably have a contact high anyhow. Ehh, it sucks being on my best behavior,” he muttered, then said, “Okay, you just inhale, but you gotta hold it in for a few seconds. Right?”
With a slightly trembling hand, Cam took the joint and did as Dylan said. He nearly broke out in a coughing fit, felt his eyes watering behind his glasses, but held it in for a count of five, then hacked it out. Dylan took the joint back and gave it over to Cora, who’d come back in and handed Cam a jelly glass of red wine. He gulped it, nearly gagging on that too.
