SURE (Men of the ESRB Book 3)

by Hollis Shiloh

  I knew when Dad didn't want to see me on weekends but forced himself to. I began helping him make excuses so we didn't have to endure the time together, father and son not bonding, because the son was gay and all wrong in every way. Too short, not masculine enough, not smart enough — I could go on. Even when he didn't say it, I knew. I always fucking knew.

  Of course, as that awkward teenage boy, I hadn't known that I knew. I'd had those feelings, gotten those impressions off him, but I hadn't known if they were real or not. I'd mostly connected the fact that I always felt useless and worthless and disgusting around my dad with not wanting to be around him as much, and feeling like he didn't like me or love me anymore, if he ever had.

  Believe me, I never wanted to have kids. What a responsibility. I'd probably only fuck that up, too. At least my parents had kept me in food and clothes and school. But we didn't see each other much these days, and none of us missed each other much, from what I could tell. The only child (difficult child, who grew up wild and gay) of a divorced couple? Yeah, they'd started their lives fresh. I was a memory, probably not a good one, and definitely not their cherished child.

  Not that I expected to be at my age. I hadn't learned to expect it at any age, not really. I'd worked hard for my attention — generally negative. I'd made it through, and my life was pretty good right now, except for the bouts of fragility and depression. But for some reason, I was thinking a lot about home and family lately. I guessed Martin's rifling through my mind had stirred up old memories and everything they brought with them.

  He'd seemed to feel I was less idiotic and annoying than I'd felt for most of my life. Subconsciously, that small boy had taken in the worst impressions of people about him. Most kids, if an adult finds them annoying, might or might not be aware of it, but if they're at least mildly decent, they'll keep it to themselves and try to treat the kid fairly. Well, try they might have; I'm sure most of the adults in my life had tried. But for a lot of them — teachers, even my parents sometimes — I was their least favorite chore in the world.

  That had warped my sense of self. I hadn't gone inward and made myself small and invisible, as some kids might've. I hadn't become less trouble; I'd probably become more. No one was going to ignore me; I'd fight for attention, and space, and laughter and life. I wouldn't give in. But at the same time, I'd always secretly known I was stupid, stupid, stupid and awful, the most annoying brat in class, the one who shot his mouth off and wouldn't sit still no matter what.

  I'd hated that kid, too. Even though he was me.

  Now, I was thinking about all of those things an awful lot. Martin's anesthetized visit to old places in my memory had left me mulling things over quite a bit. Suffice it to say there was plenty to discuss during therapy, when I could bring myself to bare it.

  Through it all, Ellery was there for me, and Martin's remembered words, and Kevin's whole-hearted support and appreciation of me helped to buoy up the painful dissecting of childhood beliefs. The adult in me could see that I'd been a very sensitive child and had taken irritation and private feelings too much to heart. I hadn't known I had issues and talents; I'd just been the bad kid.

  Now, looking back, I tried to see with new eyes and let myself be more than the bad kid grown up, but still worthless and not good enough for the great job and life he'd fallen into. Whatever my flaws, there had been people in my life who found something worthy in me. And it wasn't always as someone to fuck, although I'd gotten my sense of worth that way for a very long time.

  I had a job I was good at. A boyfriend who loved me and was loyal to me even with all my flaws. A boss and friend who appreciated me and stuck up for me whenever I needed it.

  Even in the failed relationships in my life, I'd had people who often cared about me, even if we couldn't make it work long-term.

  Colin had cared about me deeply, though we were ill-suited and ill-timed in our relationship and I wasn't good at being honest with him about my problems.

  Damon had been my friend once, and perhaps if life had gone differently, could've been again (though I doubted that, frankly).

  Angel had loved me as much as he could, although his fear of my talents had come between us in the end.

  And when I thought back about the other relationships I'd had, most of them contained some kernel of goodness — the boyfriends who hadn't been total scumbags, of course — and, if I really studied the past, I knew I'd had a few friends in school, people who had liked me and thought I was brave and funny. There had even been teachers who'd put up with my crap and tried to reach me and help me. I'd missed so much of it, feeling worthless and trying to bluff that I wasn't.

  It was going to be a long, hard road, but it was time to change all of that. I wasn't a child anymore, and I didn't have to hold on to that child's feeling of lacking value and being stupid and bad.

  Ellery supported me through it all, and, aside from his telling me very fiercely that he was not going to leave me again if Martin came back (said with a glare firmly in place, meaning it very much indeed whether I agreed or not), our relationship didn't change.

  Nothing had changed for him; I needed him more right now, and he was there for me wholeheartedly. He didn't even look down on me for being mopey and sad. He didn't secretly think I was an idiot, or get impatient with me for being needy, or think I was a bit dumb for not figuring out things better and sooner on my own.

  It was a revelation to me just how deep his acceptance and commitment went. I'd known he loved me, but I hadn't quite felt the full impact of it. He had hidden depths, sterling strengths I wouldn't have guessed at. A man who could fall into panic over an unexpected decision thrust upon him could be fierce as a lion in protecting me — whether that meant standing up to the ESRB or spending a night holding me through my sadness.

  He was a really good boyfriend, and I was ashamed of how hard it still was sometimes to trust him, to believe in his love, and admit to myself how much I needed him. But shame didn't help me open up and grow stronger and braver, so I was working on that, too.

  #

  Therapy aside, life was a bit dull, to be honest.

  My encounter with Martin had put a pretty big scare into Kev. He worried about me more lately; he felt I was a bit more fragile and vulnerable than he'd known. He was very alert to my stress levels, and solicitous; he was also afraid of letting me out of the building, even with guards. Even at fancy resorts.

  It became a bone of contention between us. Not that I felt the need for a vacation yet (that would be a bit much), but to me, Kev was a friend, and a slightly protective brotherly figure. It didn't work on any level for me, having him be this worried about me, having him be this inflexible. I didn't want him exerting control over my life. Before, his decisions hadn't impacted me as severely. Now I was actually forbidden to leave the building until we had some guarantee of safety. And I resented it.

  I didn't, however, feel up to flouting the rules. It was still a struggle to drag myself through the days.

  Then, more bad news.

  Out of some misguided sense that I would want to know, the captain from my old job at the precinct sent me information about Damon's trial and conviction. Although it was couched in official language, it was still painful to read his heart and mind stripped bare in the way the trial had required.

  He was not guilty of murder, but he'd been involved in withholding evidence from the police. That evidence, when finally given (I didn't have to testify, but my officially recorded evidence was a firm part of the trial, believe it or not), had led to the murderer.

  It required jail time for the man I'd once considered a friend and a lover. He'd hated me, in a way, and couldn't forgive me for being someone he wanted. But I wasn't the only one he'd ever wanted. He'd really fallen for one of the guys he'd met undercover, both without knowing they worked for the opposite side.

  When they figured it out, a mutual truce had allowed them to keep seeing each other on the down-low, a secret relationship that was risky bu
t worth it to both of them. Both being in the closet, knowing their relationship would be dangerous if it ever came out — well, it probably bonded them together in some ways.

  But at what cost?

  Yolanda had figured out at least part of it. She'd let word slip to someone who had told the leader of the gang. He'd spoken to the man in question. Roughly. Formally. Violently. In the end, the hint that Damon was involved with a police investigation had reached the wrong ears. And a woman who knew had to be silenced.

  As his penance to the gang, Damon's lover had been sent to do the deed.

  And he had.

  Damon would have been next, if it hadn't worked out better to have him be charged with the murder. He'd been so sure his lover had nothing to do with the case that he'd kept the man's involvement from the police, even letting himself be charged with the crime.

  He'd been positive that more evidence would come forward, that the killer wouldn't get away. And he'd felt guilty about his part in it; maybe if he hadn't tried to use her as an informant, she wouldn't have been killed. In this, he was almost certainly correct.

  Her child had living grandparents, who had taken him in. But he was going to grow up without his mom because she'd been killed for knowing a man who was an undercover cop, and letting that information slip to the wrong person. Damon had a reason to feel guilty, even if he hadn't pulled the trigger.

  However, knowing him, I doubted he'd felt guilty for long. He probably thought it was all part of the cost of doing undercover work — no omelets without eggs, etc. Guys like him make me sick, and yet I guess we all sometimes justify what we have to do to earn a living.

  I justified my large salary, let myself be convinced it was okay. But I didn't really know that. At least no lives were at risk in my job — not directly. Certainly not single mothers with young kids. But I did it the best I could so that wouldn't become the case through shoddy workmanship. I could let so many people down if I wasn't careful. Partying with my boyfriend when I needed to be alert to tricky lawyer lies, or something.

  At any rate, I felt self-righteous, angry, sad, and a little sick as I read the details. The fucked-up thing was that I thought Damon and his gangster boyfriend had really cared about each other. By all reports, the gangsters had really hurt Damon's boyfriend before he admitted what he knew. And Damon had kept their relationship a private, treasured thing even when it cost him everything — up until he couldn't hide it anymore and the truth came painfully spilling out.

  I wished he'd had a better way of coming out. I wished he could still be a cop, and that nobody had died. I wished that kid still had his mom, and that the world wasn't so messed up with crime and drugs and bad people in it.

  I wished I didn't feel a tiny spark of vindictive pleasure in his downfall and jail time.

  He wouldn't serve long. They'd thrown the book at him, because he was a cop who'd made the whole police force look bad, and they were ridiculously angry with his stonewalling tactics. It had been big news, and he was in the wrong. But obstruction of justice wasn't really a twenty-years-in-the-slammer kind of crime. He'd serve his time, get out, and would probably never hold down any kind of cop-like job again.

  I wondered if he'd become a private eye. Or perhaps a security guard. And I hated myself for enjoying his coming down in the world. He used to think he was amazing and I was stupid. He'd hated me for being gay, for being who I was, for not being tough enough and for being too attractive (he thought) to resist.

  My wounded pride left me with ugly thoughts about him sometimes. He'd caused me a lot of pain, one way or another — several ways, actually — but I hadn't thought I had such a mean streak. I wondered if everyone had seen it but me.

  On the other hand, did I really have to feel sorry for someone who'd treated me like shit and had inadvertently helped cause the death of another person? I didn't, not really.

  He'd been my friend once, and I thought underneath all his bullshit and hatefulness, he'd had a spark of something decent in him. He'd pushed it down, hidden it, and maybe let it die down. But he'd cared about me once, and I knew from reading the trial transcripts that he'd cared a whole lot about Yolanda too, even if he couldn't love her in the way she'd hoped he might.

  It was a mess all around. I was pretty down for a few weeks after all the details came out.

  Ellery sensed my distress, but what could he do? He distracted me, kept an eye on me, and stayed close.

  The trial details preyed on my mind for a while, though. I knew more than I wanted to know. Damon always seemed to suck me into his life, even when it caused me a world of hurt. I wondered why that was, and when I would learn my lesson. After all, I could've returned the trial files unopened.

  #

  After that came a period where I began to shut out my worries. I worked out more; I stopped giving quite as much effort to therapy. It was costing me a lot to peel back the onion layers, so I eased up a bit. I'd learned enough about myself, thanks.

  While I still kept in touch with the ESRB, they'd backed off a lot on the questions about Martin (finally), and I wasn't eager to draw their attention back to me about anything. The Shardwell Group still wasn't letting me out of their sight, with Kevin as their spokesman. I had less than fond feelings about that, but we managed to keep working together and still cared about each other.

  I worked out, watched a lot of movies, and hung out with Ellery. We got closer, but in different ways. It was like we communicated without talking sometimes. I couldn't actually read his thoughts, but sometimes it felt like it. A look, a glance, a flicker of emotion — I'd know how he thought about something. For a man who had always struggled to find people willing to hear him, even when he could express himself, it was satisfying to have me so in tune with him that we often didn't even need words.

  It was probably a bit spooky to watch us sometimes, if you could watch us for a whole day without being a creeper. We might go for hours without a word, no hard feelings between us. Or we might joke around and tease each other like a couple of kids. Even my restless nature seemed to take a backseat with Ell. He grounded me somehow — like I was a live electric wire, and he was a skilled electrician. Except I didn't feel managed, which was important.

  When we did sometimes need a break from each other — let's face it, everybody needs a break sometimes — there was room in the greenhouse area, the swimming pool, or the rooftop. We also stayed busy enough with work that neither of us was constantly in the other's pocket.

  Ell kept in touch with Angel, and to my surprise they stayed friends. It grew less awkward for me in time — they weren't gossiping about how bad I was in bed or anything — and sometimes I'd be included in the conversations. It took time, but after a while, it seemed more like he was our friend instead of the ex who had once broken my heart into tiny pieces.

  Angel was fairly young; he had a lot of growing up to do. I couldn't hold it against him that he'd been afraid of my skill. Hell, I was a little afraid of it sometimes, too.

  I didn't call Colin often, but I really wanted to know about this communication thing between Ell and me, and I risked it. I tried to be casual, but he laughed before I got it all out. "Peter, shouldn't you be talking to one of the teachers about this? I'm not specifically an expert on empaths."

  I felt pretty stupid, but I didn't want to tell him the real reason I'd called him. Most of my teachers had hated my guts by the end — I was the annoying student, the one that made them breathe a sigh of relief when he graduated. Even though I hadn't tried to be (and I hadn't), I'd made life difficult sometimes. I didn't want to go crawling to any of them now for advice. They'd probably laugh at me . . . just like Colin had.

  "Sorry, never mind," I said, and started to hang up.

  "Peter, wait. I'm sorry. Why don't you finish asking me your question. I'll tell you my opinion, and if you want me to, I'll ask one of the experts, okay?"

  He was being gentle with me. I closed my eyes, grimacing. I hated owing him, too. "Sometimes my —
my boyfriend and I can communicate almost without words. Is this normal? A look, a glance, a quick gesture. It's so easy lately. Is it because I'm getting stronger, or we're, like, mind-melding or something?"

  He thought about it, while I internally writhed with embarrassment. I was talking to him about my current boyfriend. It was ill-conceived; I could see that now.

  "I'd have to consult someone, but it seems like it's pretty normal. Sorry, I was thinking of the empaths I know who are in happy relationships." His tone held a slightly wry sense of self-deprecation. As if to say, 'Not that I'd ever know what it's like.' "It does seem like the non-verbal communication is greater than average, and pretty effective. I suspect there's a bit of an advantage there, because you do have the sixth sense. You can tell how your partner feels and adjust yourself to him unconsciously."

  That didn't help. I was supposed to not be changing for my partner. I felt more confused than ever, and really restless. I needed a run around the building or something.

  "Okay, thanks."

  "I can ask an expert if you'd like, and pass it along to you?" He was trying; he really was trying. I shouldn't have asked for it, but he was very kind, and it was easy to rely on him.

  "Nah, that's all right. Thanks, Colin. That's helpful," I lied. I hung up quietly, and then put my head in my hands.

  "What's the matter, Peter?" asked Ellery, looking alarmed. He entered the room before I could pretend nothing was wrong. He sat down beside me, one hand on my back. "Bad phone call?"

  "I had a question, but now I feel stupider than ever," I admitted. I straightened up with a bright smile. "Never mind. Let's do something fun. I need a run!"

  He frowned at me, looking serious. "Peter, you can talk to me. I'm not going to collapse in a pile on the floor if it's something unpleasant." He looked annoyed — but he felt hurt.