by J. M. Dabney
“No more five a.m. bedtime for you.”
Gideon kissed his forehead, and he smiled as his friend patted his thigh. He straightened to let Gideon up and sunk back into the thick cushions.
“Goodnight, Dem.”
“You too.”
He waited until he was alone to let his mind wander to what made him take a working vacation in a small Georgia town. He had been with his ex for two years, and the relationship was great. They didn't argue any more than any other couple. They had sex regularly, but it seemed more like a requisite requirement. Okay, the sex wasn’t even vanilla, it had no flavor at all. His ex was just too serious. Fun wasn't in Aiden’s vocabulary. He needed silly. Needed to be able to laugh.
Aiden didn't possess that kind of simple joy in life. It sucked the life from him. Unfortunately, when you dated your boss, a breakup left you unemployed as well. He didn't mind losing his job. He didn't mind taking a semi-vacation to stay with Gideon and Harper. Going where life took him was just something he did.
He'd been born with a deformity of the hips and pelvis, surgery was done to correct it, but nothing worked forever. After he’d quit growing, they performed another surgery, and he had more metal in his hips and pelvis than bone. Growing up, the reconstruction worked, gave him normal ability to walk, running wasn't his specialty but who the fuck loved to run?
The degeneration of the surrounding bone started in his late twenties and would worsen as he got older, he was a pro at working a kitchen. He'd found a system that worked for him.
There was something he was positive about. He trusted in his gut, and it told him Jackson Webb needed him. Over the past few weeks, he'd studied Jackson from the window of his kitchen.
Jackson always sat in booth six, his back to the wall with a full view of the front door and all exits. He ordered six pancakes, with tons of butter, but always went light on the syrup. Which in his opinion was the best part of pancakes, downing them in warm, sticky syrup. Jackson had exactly three cups of black, unsweetened coffee. Every morning, seven days a week, but he only saw Jackson five days a week. Since Heidi gave him weekends off.
He'd been waiting for Jackson to come out to the farm, but the man continued to make himself scarce. He needed to get the man's attention. How the hell was he supposed to do that when he knew Jackson avoided the farm because he was there?
He dug his phone out from under his thigh, unlocked it, and he hit the speed dial for his mom.
“You better tell me you’re in Vegas getting married if you’re calling me at four a.m.”
He snorted at his mother’s disgruntled sleepy voice.
“I have to get the man to notice me first, Ma.”
He held the phone away from his ear as his mom screamed like a teenage girl. Gretchen Urban was like Super Mom. She never let anything get her down. He’d learned early, he’d gotten his personality from her.
Now, he loved his Da, but Cliff Urban was a total curmudgeon. It was beyond cute seeing his stoic and cranky dad cater to his wife’s every whim. Last year, Gretchen wanted to live and tour Europe, and Cliff made it happen even as he complained the entire way.
“Gretchen, do you know what damn time it is?”
“Shut up, dear, our son has a crush. Oh, we haven’t had crush conversations in forever.”
“Better than the one he spent the last two years with?”
“I don’t know, I’m going to make coffee, go back to sleep.”
He smiled as he listened to masculine grumbling and then the bed creaked.
“So, tell me about this boy?”
“I don’t think he’s much of a boy, maybe my age.”
“Mature, good, does he at least have a sense of humor.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him yet, but, Ma…” He dragged out the last word for like twenty syllables. “He’s so hot in handcuffs.”
“Nice, what else?” His mother gasp was followed by a long pause. “You didn’t hook up and not exchange info? Please tell me you were safe.”
“What about me having not talked to him yet didn’t you get? He was being arrested.”
“Son.”
“Don’t, he stood up for one of his best friends. She was being harassed, he took care of the situation, and he was picked up for it.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet. So, what’s the problem?”
“He’s a bit cranky. Gideon told me he didn’t have the easiest time growing up.”
“Then treat him like I did your father.”
“Um, Ma, didn’t Da kidnap you and leave you in the middle of nowhere?”
He resisted the urge to laugh, his mother had recounted the story so many times over the years while his father snapped his paper and rolled his eyes. His mother, a free-spirited young woman of eighteen, and his father almost ten years her senior.
Cliff had worked for her father for several years as a ranch hand. As soon as she'd turned eighteen, she went on a single-minded hunt for her prey. His father put up with it for a whole Summer waiting for her to go away to college, but finding his lingerie clad boss’ daughter in his bed was the last straw. He hogtied her and took her to the farthest border of the ranch and left her. Only thirty minutes passed before his father was back and the rest was history. They'd been together ever since.
“It was just his way of flirting, son, he did come back for me.”
“Yes, he did. But I'm not hog-tying Jackson or wearing lingerie.”
“Then be boring about it and ask him on a date.”
“Easier said than—”
“We didn't raise you with a defeatist attitude, Demetri.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“You'll figure it out. So, tell me how everything’s going in your new home.”
He settled in to catch up with his mother, but at the back of his mind, he plotted how to make Jackson Webb his.
THREE
This Isn't What He Ordered
A new waitress was working, he didn’t know her name and hadn’t bothered to ask. As long as she got his order right, he didn’t care. He laid his silverware out just so, turned his empty mug handle to the right, and waited for his usual breakfast to arrive, along with his coffee refill.
Heidi knew what he wanted without asking. She just wrote the ticket when she saw him come in, put it in the window, and came over to fill his coffee mug. No chit chat, no inane questions such as how are you, people didn’t like to hear pissed off as usual.
He started counting as his irritation grew. By the time he finished his first mug of coffee, his breakfast was normally there. He glanced up as he heard sneakers squeak on the floor. The girl set his plate down on the table, and he glared at it. A huge smiley face disfigured the top of his perfect stack of pancakes.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Um, your breakfast, Dem said—”
He surged from the booth, stormed to the kitchen, and he punched open the door.
“Hello, Jackson.” A smiling man leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.
“You—”
“Everyone calls me Dem, but you would know that if you visited your best friends.”
“You fucked up my breakfast, it’s a simple fucking order.”
The man didn’t even blink, just kept smiling with that perky little lift to the corners of his mouth. He didn’t like being made fun of, and he clenched his fists at his sides.
“You didn’t like your morning smile, Jackson?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“It’s your name, and it’s a very sexy name.”
He growled deep in his chest, his fist connected with the steel cooler door, and he spun on his toes. He slammed through the swinging door and the diner, then out the front door.
“Joker, you okay,” his friend, King’s voice barely broke through his anger.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I have to get to work.”
“Isn’t it time for your break—”
He didn’t wait to hear the end of the questio
n and made the ten-minute walk to his shop. When he threw open the sliding doors, the scent of motor oil and rubber filled his nose. His stomach growled, and he ignored it, lunch was only four hours away. He could make it. He’d gone hungrier a lot longer than a few hours. Garnet starved him for almost a week, and he’d survived.
A tiny growling bundle of fur bounded into his garage. He scooped Killer up and shoved her into the pocket of his hoodie, and her little head popped up through the hole he’d cut in the top. He rubbed her ears between his thumbs and index fingers. Her tiny little rumbles threatening, well, as threatening as less than three pounds of dog could get.
She settled in and let him pet her. She knew when he needed extra time. She needed her routine as much as he did. He’d had a pet once before his mother disappeared. After that, it had gone missing one night, just like his mother had. Everything he loved disappeared. He’d never had anything of his own, making him possessive of his job, his home, his garage, and Killer. He didn’t expect anything else to remain, but those things were his.
His stomach rumbled again, but he shook his head. He had one peanut butter sandwich and one bottle of water, that was all he’d have for lunch. Nothing more.
“Hi.”
He spun as that man’s voice sounded behind him. No one came up behind him without announcing their presence. Everyone knew that, and the man should’ve been warned. A white plastic to-go bag was wrapped around the man’s wrist, while his hands wrapped around the arm crutch handles.
“What’s that?”
“Pancakes, no smiley face, lots of butter, a small cup of syrup.”
“Why?”
Dem grimaced, and he looked embarrassed. “My flirting apparently didn’t go well.”
“Why the fuck were you flirting? Are you desperate?”
“No, here, eat your breakfast.”
The man held out the bag with his right hand, the crutch dangled there. Ghost said Dem had a degenerative disease or something. He didn’t know all the details, and he’d barely listened, he’d just helped with a few things to make the house more accessible to Ghost’s friend.
He took quick steps forward, grabbed the bag and retreated before the man could touch him. Touch meant pain and humiliation, he wouldn’t set himself up for it.
“Um, what’s that?”
He studied Dem pointing and looked down to see Killer staring just as hard as he was at Dem.
“Killer.”
“Oh, is that Tiny’s sister,” Dem asked with a bright smile.
The smile was better than the cringe from earlier. He liked the way the man lit up when he was happy. It was odd because he didn’t pay much attention to people’s emotions. Some had mood swings drastic enough to change the weather, and he found it exhausting to keep up. He had boredom and rage, simple enough.
“Yeah.”
Dem reached forward. “May I?”
He stepped back. “No.”
“Okay. I better get back to work, I locked up and put a sign on the door.”
“You can’t—”
“I called Heidi and told her I had to bring you breakfast. You should know the hour you come in to have breakfast is the deadest time of the day.”
“You didn’t—”
“I did, I shouldn’t have teased you. Can I buy you dinner to make up for it?”
“No.”
Dem seemed to deflate, but what he assumed was confusion was present in the man’s features. Some things he could pick out and others he was clueless.
“Okay, I better get going, it was nice seeing you again, Jack—Joker.”
He frowned and his brow furrowed at the—sadness. Maybe that was it. He’d seen Harper sad, he’d even remembered his mother crying when he was a boy, but he’d never seen someone sad because he told them no. Fuck, no one had asked him on a date before, it wasn’t a date, a sorry for making fun of him meal.
“I don’t like to be made fun of; to be made to feel stupid. Don’t do it again.”
“I’m very sorry, Joker.”
He nodded and waited for the man to leave, but instead, Dem headed toward him. He noticed the man’s left foot dragged. This wasn’t the—he caught Dem as the man’s toes caught on a hose on the floor. He caught Dem’s biceps and held on, the man’s breathing ragged and his face slightly pale.
“Could I sit for a minute? I tired myself out walking over here. I’m sorry.”
He released Dem and grabbed his grease-stained stool, and set it behind Dem. He stepped back and started to nervously rub Killer’s ears again. He didn’t like people in his space—touching his things.
“Why haven’t you been out to the farm since I moved here?”
Fuck, a minute ago he had an unwanted guest, and he changed into a chatty unwanted guest. Wasn’t Dem warned about him? Stay away. Felon. Insane person. Violent bastard.
“I don’t like strangers.”
“Well, we’ve met so you can come back out.”
“Okay.”
A tiny smile that held no warmth tilted the corners of Dem’s mouth. “You’re lying. Gideon warned me about your Joker-speak.”
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t spare people’s feelings, do you?”
“No.”
“Fuck, it’s like pulling teeth.”
He watched Dem use his arm crutches to get to his feet, and the man spun to head for the door.
“Eat your breakfast, it’s probably cold, but you need it. Your stomach has been growling for the last five minutes. I don’t like that you were going to go hungry because of me.”
He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Dem left without a backward glance or another word. His friends worried about him. They made sure they were always available if he needed bail, but no one had ever wondered if he was hungry or worried if he was.
Killer nipped at his fingers when she was done with his attention. He leaned over to pick up the bag he’d dropped and took the seat Dem just vacated. He frowned at the urge to go after the man to see if he needed a ride but shook it off. He rested the to-go box on his knees, Killer shifted until her head stuck out the left side of the pocket. He broke off a tiny piece off the top pancake and fed her the bite, then another until she turned away from another offering.
Once he knew she was full and content, he drizzled the tiny amount of syrup over them and ate the butter soaked lukewarm pancakes. He forced himself not to eat too quickly. No one was there to take away his food. Garnet wasn’t there to let him eat just so much, not enough to fill his stomach, and then snatch the plate away.
He remembered the days he wouldn’t be allowed anything but peanut butter on stale bread. One cup of water. As a grown man, his lunch was a reminder.
He secretly longed for something sweet. Cakes and cookies, pastries that his friend, Ben, made at his bakery, but it was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Something he refused to get used to.
He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but his friends made him jealous. They had men who loved them. He observed the sweetness of touches, the loving tilt of smiles sometimes small or wide when their men appeared. Dem had smiled at him earlier. Called him by his name and said it was sexy. He wondered what it would be like if it wasn’t made in jest.
Anger burned in his chest, his food became lodged in his throat as he launched his breakfast against the nearest wall. Killer didn’t react, too used to his outbursts. He sat frozen on the uncomfortable stool and stared off into space. Emotions other than rage were unacceptable, and his anger settled the abnormal urges. He wasn’t like Psycho, Ghost, Bull, or any of the other men he was friends with. He wasn’t normal. He was broken. His existence a cruelty he suffered. His penance for being what and who he was, he was a monster just as the animal who forced him into being.
FOUR
How Was He Supposed to Get Jackson’s Attention?
Dem leaned back against the kitchen
counter and listened to Gideon and Harper upstairs. Harper giggled, and he smiled at Gideon's answering laugh. Those two were like the perfect couple. They had the relationship he'd always wanted, very much like his parents. They doted on each other. He rarely came in from work and didn't see Gideon and Harper cuddled up, kissing or sometimes just holding hands.
He loved his friends, but they made him feel inadequate, something he'd never experienced before. His love life hadn't ever been what he'd wanted it to be. His boyfriends were always too serious and never affectionate with him.
Groaning, he let his head fall back and realized Jackson was—no, there was something about the man. He even liked Jackson's bluntness. He sensed Jackson's life was horrific, a lot more than people knew. The man's nervous tics, the anxiousness that caused Jackson to rub Killer's ears when he was uneasy. It was kind of cute how he used his puppy as a security blanket.
Now he sounded like an asshole. He'd learned a few things. Jackson didn't like to be teased. Touching was completely off limits.
Touch was important for developing intimacy, but it was dead as an option.
How was he going to get Jackson's attention?
The man was immune to his immeasurable charm. He knew a lot of men didn't want to date a partner with a disability. Although he'd never let that get him down, it still sucked when men liked him just fine when he was sitting, but his arm crutches turned them off. Sometimes he thought the only reason his ex dated him was to keep him around as a chef. His name had drawn customers over the five years he'd worked at Aiden’s place.
He raised one hand to run his fingers through his long hair, the waves tangled around his fingers. He considered himself handsome, not the best looking, and at almost forty, he still had a youthful face. His upper body was powerful, but his legs had withered over the last few years. He made sure he worked enough to keep them strong enough to bear his weight although, he didn't know how much longer that would be. His days were numbered in the kitchen. He knew he'd work out a way, he always did; he just wasn't ready to have to adapt again, yet.
