by Amy Lane
Ace hid a smile. “He is. But I’m more of a fan of surly, ornery, and bitchy. I’m not falling for Ernie instead of you. Can’t happen.”
Sonny gave him a flat look and then rolled his eyes. “I’m not always ornery.”
“And I’m not always breathing. So now that you can deal with his mac and cheese, try the chicken he made with it.”
Sonny settled down into his seat and took a bite, then let out a sigh of defeat. “Yeah. Fine. He can fuckin’ cook. Hooray. Can he rebore the engine of a brand-new Jaguar that just blew out the gaskets in the fuckin’ heat?”
“I’m betting not. Your place in my heart is safe and always has been.”
Sonny couldn’t hide his smile, not even a little, and Ernie felt like it was safe to speak.
“I learned to cook in a bakery,” he said, hoping this worked. “Do you want to help me make donuts on your day off?”
Sonny’s eyes got as big as a child’s, and his body wiggled like the little dog he was feeding chicken to under the table. “Could you? Like, a real person makes donuts? We could do that? They don’t just come in boxes?”
Ernie looked him in the eyes and smiled, seeing the young in Sonny, the part that had seen the world in darkness for so long that seeing it in light was a revelation, every day.
“Course,” he said gently. “I’d love to. You could make some for Ace.”
Because it was clear that the light of revelation came directly from Ace.
Sonny smiled, then looked vaguely ashamed. “Sorry I was mean about your mac and cheese,” he said, taking another bite. “It’s not bad.”
That night Ace did the dishes and Sonny took the dog out for a walk, keeping him on a leash because if, God help them all, the little goober should run past the house and past the garage, the cars barreling down the road were going too damned fast to stop. Ace had Ernie stay and “help him” even though he didn’t let Ernie do more than sit at the table and drink a soda.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For being patient with Sonny. I’m sorry he took your cooking wrong.”
“He usually cooks,” Ernie said, feeling like he should have seen this at the beginning. He was supposed to be gifted, right?
“Yeah. But we’ve been working extra hard in the shop lately. It’s weird. It’s like people will actually have their cars towed here to have him work on them.”
Ernie cocked his head, reading the unspoken truth. “He’s a genius with them,” he said softly. “He’s a genius with them, and you just sort of let him be a genius.”
Ace shrugged. “Not much else I’m good at. Now, we usually have ice cream for dessert, but if you write me a list of stuff, I can buy you anything you want.”
Ernie’s breath caught. Not much else Ace was good at? “Burton thinks you’re awesome,” he said, faith in every word. “Why do you think he thinks that?”
Another laconic shrug. “I got no idea. He’s just nice to us is all. We don’t talk much, but we’re friends. I’m gonna go out and check on Sonny and Duke—sometimes our world begins and ends with that dog’s crap in the evening, so—”
“Ace!” Ernie said, because this was important. “You hold the whole garage together!”
“Yeah, Ernie. Me and three other people. We’re the equivalent of going out and saving the fuckin’ world.”
Ace sounded bored, and Ernie subsided, feeling young. It was true—Ace and Sonny had a small life of safety here, but Ernie could feel the truth. This tiny eye of safety was as big as the sky to them.
Ernie hadn’t met Alba yet—but he smelled her when he went into the little cashier’s cubicle. He smelled girl’s body wash, and saw a backpack of books and notepaper and a used laptop he was pretty sure Ace had rebuilt for her so she could do good in school. He smelled fierceness, and he read intelligence in every entry in the books.
He had met Jai, their employee. Had, in fact, had a little dinner ready to go in a plastic container for him before he’d left for the night. Jai was a giant of a man with a shaved-bald head, a black goatee, and a white smile meant for devouring children, and he turned that smile on Ernie.
“This is kind,” he’d said, nodding sharply. “Too bad you are not….” He looked at Sonny and grimaced. “I like the yellow hair,” he said with dignity, and Ernie had taken that to mean something else entirely.
“I’m Burton’s,” Ernie said, hoping it was true. Burton hadn’t texted him yet, and conscious that anything Ernie said could be distracting Burton at a key period in time, he hadn’t pushed it. He figured he’d give Burton a week before texting again.
“Burton is good man. You could do worse. Thank you for the food. I’ll go shopping for you, if you need to.”
So Jai had given Ernie’s second offer to go shopping—but he figured Ace was his real benefactor, and he probably approved of taking care of Jai.
Ace was the general caretaker on all fronts here, and his interaction with the erratic and capricious Sonny had just proved it.
Ernie filed the thought away. After Sonny got back with the dog—who ate his little treat and went into his crate with the ease of a creature who liked his routine—Ace and Sonny cleaned and organized the auto bay while Ernie was looking at accounts. Ace worked efficiently, with that steady-eyed attention to detail and practicality that had marked him from the first.
Sonny moved from thing to thing, erratically, paying attention to all the tasks, from replacing the tools to making sure all the diagnostic machines and air compressors were clean and well cared for. Ace didn’t prompt him, didn’t correct him, just kept working. By the time he was done, Sonny was done, having accomplished all the smaller tasks at about the same time Ace finished the one big one.
When they were done, Ernie called them over.
“See,” he said, pulling up accounting software on the laptop Ace had given him. “You’re doing okay, but if you ordered more regularly, I could get you discounts on your most-used items and maybe get some tchotchkes for you—key chains and stuff—to advertise. How ’bout once a week you take a look at the inventory, and I’ll see what we can order when.”
“Sure,” Ace said, at the same time Sonny said, “We don’t need no—”
Ace looked at him and arched an eyebrow. “I’m being an asshole,” Sonny muttered. “Sorry.” He turned and stalked back toward the house, and Ace pinched the bridge of his nose.
“He seemed okay with me being left here,” Ernie offered tentatively, still confused after dinner, and Ace gave him a droll look.
“I don’t know, Ernie, what do you think is wrong with him?” Ace asked, eyebrow lifted.
Ernie had tried to stay out of Ace’s and Sonny’s brains. It was impossible to do completely—he’d already read their darkness and their light. He knew Ace was the center and Sonny was the skin that bound him, but the specifics—those he’d avoided.
“He’s jealous,” Ernie said promptly. “You said it yourself. He’s afraid of me taking your affection. But you told him—”
“A couple of times. It’s going to take a couple of more. You can walk into a room and know who’s bad and who’s good. That’s a blessing. Sonny was….” Ace’s face closed down, and Ernie felt a steel wall clang between what Ace knew and what he wanted Ernie to know. “Sonny was betrayed by any safety he ever knew. He… he got confused with a lot of shit you don’t want to think about. So he’s gonna need me to tell him repeatedly, and you’re going to have to understand that. He was kind to you that first day. Remember that moment?”
Ernie nodded, because the moment with the dog and Sonny as he’d lain on the bed crying had seemed propitious.
“That was the best I’ve ever seen Sonny Daye. So he’s got it in him, and he’s got it in him for you. Just… it’s gonna take more than one good moment. You’ve had a couple today, whether you know it or not. We’ll keep working.”
“Mm.”
“Mm?” Ace arched a skeptical eyebrow.
“Mm….” Ernie sighed. Ace looked like he expected p
eople to do what he wanted, and that weight of expectation was a powerful thing. Ernie had slept with a lot of people because of that weight and had understood—even as their sex shielded him from the worst of the stuff in people’s heads—that he was a willow, bending in the wind. Ace was a powerful storm wind.
“Mm, I am not used to being with people,” he said baldly. “I’m used to sleeping with men—but that’s not what you want from me.”
Ace’s eyebrows went straight up. “No, sir, it is not. But I think you need to ask yourself a question, son.” Ace was three years older than Ernie, but this didn’t seem the time to bring that up.
“Which question?” For once Ernie couldn’t anticipate the answer. It was like this particular man’s experience and solidness in the world made him as impervious to Ernie’s gift as the storm wind would be to Ernie’s willow.
“What do you want from us?”
Ernie blinked.
“You came here and offered to help—and damn, we’re grateful. And you’re useful and smart, and I will use that. And you’ve spent two days trying to be friends with Sonny, and the only friend he’s ever really had is Jai, and they don’t even speak human being together, so you’re also sort of a first. So I welcome all the good you’re trying to do here—don’t get me wrong. But you were stashed here among strangers by a man you may be in love with but you barely know. So before you give up on Sonny, before you start poking around in his bear trap of a brain, ask yourself—what do you want from us?”
Ernie hadn’t put it into words before. “I…. My parents died when I was seventeen,” he said, feeling raw. Nobody really asked him about this. Even Burton had known. “I… I didn’t have a place until the Navy brought me in illegally, I guess, and tried to get me to… to be a witch for them. Didn’t work out. And then they cut me loose. I… used clubs and crowds and sex and drugs to silence the shit in my head—to keep me safe from it. But….” Oh God. Ernie felt his head clog again. He hadn’t cried since Burton left. Before that, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about this… this silly, sad, stupid thought. “I ain’t—” He had an education. Ace said “ain’t.” Dammit—he really was a withy reed! “I haven’t had a family in a long time. I… I read so clearly. I came here and I read you and Sonny and Jai and Alba—even Burton and the girl you took to your parents. You’re family. And you’ve been kind to me. I really want to fit in.”
Ace was looking surprised—and a little grumpy.
“What?” Ernie asked anxiously.
“That’s just really… healthy,” he said, sounding stunned. “I mean… like so damned emotionally healthy. It’s a refreshing change,” he declared, standing up from the desk. Unexpectedly, he turned his head and hollered. “Sonny! Get back here! I know you didn’t go to the house!”
It was Ernie’s turn to be surprised when Sonny stuck his head around the door to the auto bay. “Ace?” he asked tentatively.
“C’mere. We’re gonna give Ernie a hug, and you’re gonna see it’s all okay.”
“Why’s he need a hug?” Sonny asked suspiciously, but still he advanced on the small office like there might not be snakes in there.
“He needs one so he knows where he fits here. You need one so you know he’s not a threat. Don’t worry. My family wasn’t a complete shitshow. I have faith this will work out.”
Unbidden, Ernie had a vision of Ace as a little kid, blood on his face and a stubborn expression, while a plump woman with a once-pretty face and fluffy blonde hair fussed over him.
I ain’t a baby!
No, but I don’t like seeing you hurt.
She’d hugged him, and for a moment the guarded fierceness that made up Ace Atchison melted, and there was comfort and warmth.
Before Ernie could recover himself from that, Ace was wrapping his cannon-shot arms around Ernie’s shoulders, and with a little bit of urging, Sonny was holding him almost uncomfortably tight with arms like tree roots. For a moment Ernie was tumbled about in their thoughts, in their pasts, and he couldn’t breathe. An animal held him down and violated him until he bled. An ugly clown grinned at him with a big red smile where his throat should be.
Ernie fought not to scream.
And then he pulled back, felt the strength there, the control that held these other terrifying moments in check.
Felt it surrounding himself.
Relaxed into the hug.
Became a part of it.
Ace backed off before it could get awkward, but Ernie was left feeling like he’d used to feel when he’d awakened in a pile of bodies. As though, for a little while, he’d been shielded from the terrors of too many minds.
He blinked owlishly at Ace and Sonny. “Thank you,” he said gruffly. “That… you guys have demons. But you beat them back. That’s what I got around my shoulders. The strength to fight the demons.”
Ace blinked back. “You know, if you go walking out into the desert tonight, take Duke. He can’t fight anything for you, but he’ll be a good alarm system.”
Ernie nodded, and Ace stepped back and grabbed Sonny’s hand. “C’mon, Sonny. Let’s go have some ice cream.”
It was the first gesture Ernie had seen between them that indicated they were anything other than work partners, and even though Ernie had known, from the moment he’d arrived, that they were lovers, he suddenly understood the twin-headed snake that was strength and control.
His whole life he’d been an open nerve, had used other people’s bodies, used chemicals, to protect himself.
But now, after a hug from Ace and Sonny—one they weren’t entirely comfortable giving, he’d felt that too—he realized he had some things to learn.
He finished up what he was doing in the office, waiting until the lights in the little house went off. The night before, he’d stayed out to familiarize himself with the garage and to give the guys inside a chance to be together without him.
He did the same thing now, except he let himself into the quiet and found Duke’s crate, where the little animal lay curled up in the corner of the very large cage in the living room. Ernie wondered if Duke wouldn’t be happier in something smaller, but he could see Sonny’s visible reluctance to leave him in a cage at all.
In the other room the mattress creaked, and Ernie heard movement, a murmur, a gasp.
Oh.
“C’mon, Duke,” he whispered. “You and me got better things to do right now.”
He called softly and held out the leash, and Duke uncurled and allowed himself to be led outside to the fall desert.
It wasn’t hot—pleasant, in fact, in the low sixties—and Ernie grabbed Sonny’s sweatshirt, hanging by the door, to wear outside. He figured that would make Sonny less batshit than wearing something of Ace’s—and Ace’s stuff was way too stretched out in the chest and arms, because damn.
Ernie ventured out into the desert, staying parallel to the road, and allowed the quiet to seep through his bones.
Magical.
That was the only way he could think about it.
No questing minds or restless hearts going beat-beat-beat against his own. He could hear the murmur of them, out across the highway, back where the suburb actually lay, but it was far enough away that only Ace and Sonny were a bright spot in the black velvet of his mind, like embers in the dark.
But that meant they weren’t close enough to hurt, weren’t personal, and Ernie took a big breath.
Realized it was the first time he’d been free since he was a little kid. His parents hadn’t known about the gift—not really. But they’d had a way of anticipating him. Maybe they’d been gifted themselves. When he’d become overloaded with too many people, they’d taken him someplace quiet. When school had proved a nightmare—too many voices, too many problems, too much anxiety, too much fear—they’d schooled him at home. His father had changed jobs so they could live in a smaller house in the country instead of a bigger one in the city. His mother worked as a consultant, so she could do most of her work from home. Ernie had
always known he was blessed, and after his parents had passed, he’d realized that the bulk of his blessing had come from his parents’ lack of worry.
Our son’s a little high-strung—this just works better for the family.
He’s taking a little longer to mature, but he’s such a kind boy—he’ll find his way.
Kindness had been an asset, a character strength, a thing they were proud of. Ernie’s clairvoyance, his ability to read the hearts of people with just their presence, had never been a problem, because his folks surrounded themselves with the nicest people they knew.
Even when taken into the coldness of his lonely barracks and then cut loose into the chaos of a small city, he’d protected himself the best way he’d known how, having full faith that sanctuary was out there, somewhere, waiting to be found.
It wasn’t until Ace and Sonny had hugged him, let him see their darkness personally, that he made the truest realization.
They were only sanctuary because they’d had the strength to become their own haven. While their kindness—and for all Ace’s talk of Ernie’s usefulness, it was a kindness—was welcome, Ernie needed to build his own fortress, become his own source of strength.
Such a simple concept. But then, the withy reed was always so in awe of the oak, it never occurred to it to grow.
Ernie picked his way across the desert, enjoying the quiet happiness of the little dog, until the night grew chill and he could feel time passing in his bones.
He stopped for a moment and turned his face to the stars—
And was awestruck.
Even his parents’ quiet country home had been closer to civilization than this place out in the desert. He was far enough away from Victoriana that he could see it glow, a boil of light pollution, waiting to burst into day, but here….
All stars.
Vast and indifferent and intense—not a scattering, but a pile of them, pulsing under the black velvet shroud of night.
For a moment he just glutted himself on the quiet, and then, unbidden, came a vision of Burton.
