Love Can't Conquer

by Kim Fielding

  Love Can’t Conquer

  By Kim Fielding

  Bullied as a child in small-town Kansas, Jeremy Cox ultimately escaped to Portland, Oregon. Now in his forties, he’s an urban park ranger who does his best to rescue runaways and other street people. His ex-boyfriend, Donny—lost to drinking and drugs six years earlier—appears on his doorstep and inadvertently drags Jeremy into danger. As if dealing with Donny’s issues doesn’t cause enough turmoil, Jeremy meets a fascinating but enigmatic man who carries more than his fair share of problems.

  Qayin Hill has almost nothing but skeletons in his closet and demons in his head. A former addict who struggles with anxiety and depression, Qay doesn’t know which of his secrets to reveal to Jeremy—or how to react when Jeremy wants to save him from himself.

  Despite the pasts that continue to haunt them, Jeremy and Qay find passion, friendship, and a tentative hope for the future. Now they need to decide whether love is truly a powerful thing or if, despite the old adage, love can’t conquer all.

  Prologue

  JEREMY COX first heard the news about Keith Moore at the Sav-Rite.

  Mama had sent Jeremy to fetch some milk and cigarettes, and he took his time along the way, scuffing his tennis shoes over the dusty asphalt and listening to the cicadas shrill. He had his T-shirt balled in his hand, the heat baked him like a biscuit, and the sun turned his hair a shade paler as it birthed another freckle or two on his bare shoulders.

  When he was halfway to the store, a car inched up behind him. He stepped onto the dry grass of the shoulder, but the car kept pace until he looked up.

  “Hey, Germy!” called a familiar voice from the driver’s seat of the beat-up Buick. It was Troy Baker with his usual crew, and Jeremy anticipated the taunts that followed: “Germy Cox, ugly as rocks. Cox-sucker. Pansyass. Faggot!” The last one was accompanied by a tossed can that bounced off Jeremy’s shoulder and dribbled its final drops of warm beer onto his arm. Finally Troy sped away, trailing mocking shouts and leaving Jeremy with lungs full of exhaust.

  Jeremy had hoped the torture would end when Troy and his friends graduated in May. But they’d all stuck around Bailey Springs, Kansas—Troy working at the gas station and the rest staying on their family farms—and they hadn’t yet lost interest in tormenting Jeremy. He realized that the only way out would be graduation and escaping town. Three more years. Just three more years. It sounded like forever.

  Inside the Sav-Rite, he didn’t pay much attention to the little cluster of adults at the checkout. He walked back to the coolers, where he snagged a carton of milk and a glass bottle of Coke, which he’d drink on the way home. But when he went to ask for Mama’s Virginia Slims, he overheard the store manager.

  “…as if the Moores need any more heartache in their life,” Mr. Stoltz was saying.

  Mrs. Peasley nodded. “The Lord knows those poor folks have been through so much already.” Her purchases lay on the counter in front of her, not yet rung up. Looked as if she was getting ready to make coffee cake for the Wednesday card game at her house. Jeremy’s grandmother went every week and always came home complaining that Mildred Peasley couldn’t bake worth a darn.

  “Are you sure he meant to kill himself?” asked Betty Ostermeyer, reaching for the bag of flour. She’d graduated from Bailey Springs High just a couple of years before. Her husband had run off and left her while she was still pregnant with their little girl, so now Betty kept the toddler home with her mother during the day while she rang up groceries at the Sav-Rite. “Maybe he just wanted to go for a swim. It’s been hot.”

  Mrs. Peasley clucked her tongue. “Not even the Moore boy would be foolish enough to jump from the Memorial Bridge just for a swim. It’s too high, too dangerous.”

  Jeremy’s heart was beating so fast he was certain they must hear it, but none of them even glanced his way. The carton and bottle felt heavy in his grip.

  “That boy’s a delinquent, but he’s not stupid,” Mr. Stoltz said. “He’d know better than that.”

  Mrs. Peasley nodded and leaned forward, as if intending to share a secret. But she didn’t lower her voice. “And anyway, I heard he tied a rope around his neck before he jumped! But the rope broke.”

  Jeremy must have asked for the cigarettes and paid, although he didn’t remember doing so. He was dizzy, his stomach roiling like it had at the county fair when he rode the Fire Ball after eating three corn dogs and a cotton candy. Somewhere between the Sav-Rite and home, Jeremy upchucked into a clump of scraggly weeds. The bile stung his throat, and the hot sun burned the back of his neck.

  Eventually he stood, wiped his mouth on his forearm, and continued to his house. He didn’t notice the little bungalows as he passed, each with sunflowers and hollyhocks nodding in the yard, some with Big Wheels or chalked hopscotch squares on the walkways.

  What he saw was Keith Moore, clothes too baggy on his tall, lean body, dark hair hanging in his face, legs constantly jiggling as he sat. Keith was two grades ahead of him, but they’d shared math and biology classes because Keith had flunked them the previous year and Jeremy had been allowed to skip ahead. Few of their classmates spoke to either of them—Jeremy because he was a freshman and Pansyass Germy Cox, Keith because he was scary. But sometimes Keith would look at Jeremy, and while he never quite smiled, one corner of his mouth would lift a little. If Jeremy blushed, which he usually did, Keith’s hazel eyes would sparkle for a moment. He made Jeremy feel funny in a way that both exhilarated and terrified him.

  Only now Keith had jumped off the Memorial Bridge.

  The rest of the story came to Jeremy in bits and pieces during the following days. His father mentioned it over dinner before Mama glanced significantly at Jeremy and changed the subject. A couple of junior high kids whispered about it loudly in the public library. Jeremy’s best friend, Lisa, called to tell him what she’d heard from her older sister. Some of the details were contradictory.

  By the time school started two weeks later, Jeremy had the truth, or at least as close as he was going to get. Keith Moore had slipped out of his parents’ rambling Victorian one night and walked the mile and a half to the river. He’d crossed to the middle of the bridge, climbed over the concrete railing, and leaped into the dark water far below. He hadn’t used a rope; police found one nearby, but it likely had nothing to do with him. Just after dawn, a fisherman had discovered Keith far downstream, caught on a sandbar. Broken and unconscious, but alive.

  Nobody in Bailey Springs saw Keith Moore again. Some said he ran away after being released from the hospital, while others insisted that he’d eventually died of his injuries. The most persistent rumor was that he’d been locked up in a loony bin somewhere out of state. Dr. Moore continued to treat his patients, and Mrs. Moore continued to reign over the garden club, the women’s club, and the PTA. Neither of them spoke about their son.

  Over the next three years, Jeremy thought about him now and then. He wondered if Keith would still be the taller one now that Jeremy had finally had his growth spurt. He remembered the crooked hint of a grin and the way it made Keith look beautiful instead of menacing. And when several make-out sessions—first with Jenny Novak and later with Pam Archer—failed to inspire him, Jeremy grudgingly admitted to himself why Keith’s scrutiny had made him blush.

  And finally Jeremy was free. He got a scholarship to a small private college in Oregon. Learned to love misty gray skies, the scent of Douglas firs, the sight of a snow-covered mountain on a clear day. He hardly ever thought about Kansas. And almost never remembered a boy named Keith Moore.

  Chapter One

  “I’M NOT doing anything wrong,” the kid snarled. Sitting on the concrete step, he tugged his dirty backpack closer, as if it might protect him from the tall, muscular ma
n heading his way. The boy was fourteen, maybe fifteen. Hard to tell. A beanie and a hoodie obscured parts of his thin face, and his oversized green jacket covered what appeared to be a scrawny frame.

  Jeremy kept his distance and pitched his voice softly. “Nobody said you were, and I’m not a cop.”

  The kid raised his eyebrows and gave the badge on Jeremy’s chest a pointed look.

  “Yeah, I know I’m wearing a uniform. But it’s green, not blue. I’m a park ranger.”

  “Like Yogi?” the kid asked incredulously.

  Jeremy chuckled. “No, Yogi was the bear. I think the ranger’s name was Smith, if I remember my cartoons correctly.”

  The kid’s scowl softened, but he didn’t quite smile. “This is downtown Portland, not Jellystone.”

  “True. But we are in a park.” Jeremy gestured at the enormous fountain beside them. The water was turned off for repairs, which meant the park was quieter than usual. And that was good. He didn’t want to shout at the boy.

  “Whatever. I didn’t steal any pic-a-nic baskets.”

  “Actually, I was going to ask if you want to join me for lunch. There’s a great burger place a couple blocks from here.”

  A heavy layer of distrust fell over the kid’s face, and he looked away, his jaw working. His muscles tensed, as if he might bolt, but then he clearly thought better of it. Jeremy would catch him before he hit the sidewalk. “What’ll it cost me?” the kid finally asked. He kept his gaze fixed on something in the distance.

  Jeremy hoped his expression didn’t betray his disgust. “Nothing. We’ll stay in the public view, and I’m not going to touch you. You just look like you could use a good meal. And I hate eating alone. C’mon. They have milkshakes too. The really thick kind that come with extra in the metal cup.”

  The tip of the kid’s tongue darted out for a split second, and Jeremy knew he had him. He remained out of arm’s reach while the boy stood, shouldered his pack, and nodded. Then Jeremy led the way to the street. A few passersby glanced at him curiously because of the uniform, but no one seemed to notice the skinny kid walking at his side.

  “What’s your name? I’m Jeremy.”

  “Shouldn’t you be something more official? Ranger Rick, maybe.”

  “I’m not a raccoon. And sure, you can call me Ranger Cox if you want. Or even Chief Ranger Cox, if you want to be a hundred percent accurate. But if you’re gonna laugh at my name, get it out of your system now.”

  The kid snorted a loud laugh. “Cox? Really?”

  “Yep. A surname that has amused countless adolescent males for generations. At least my parents didn’t name me Richard.”

  The boy puzzled over this as they crossed the street, then hooted with laughter. “Yeah, Dick Cox would be really awful. I’m Toad.”

  Jeremy shot him a quick look, and the kid shrugged. “’S what they call me.”

  “Why? You’re not warty.”

  “Dunno. It’s just a name.”

  “It’s a pretty good one. I like toads. Anaxyrus boreas, for instance. Handsome fellows, and they can live in lots of different environments. They make a cute little peeping sound. Their skin secretes a mild toxin, so some predators avoid them. Populations are dropping, though, which is a worry. Road traffic and wetlands decline are probably to blame.”

  “That’s… a lot of toad factoids.”

  Jeremy grinned and tapped his badge. “Ranger, remember?”

  By then they’d reached Perry’s Good Eats. Jeremy held the door open for Toad and followed him inside. About three-quarters of the tables were taken, with businesspeople and college kids occupying the orange vinyl seats. Smells of frying food hung thick in the air, loud conversations bounced against one another, and white-apron-clad waitstaff scurried around. Perry’s served above-average diner food, but it wasn’t too fancy for scruffy homeless youths.

  “Hey, Chief,” called the hostess from behind the counter. “Sit wherever. Friday specials are on the board.”

  Jeremy waved his thanks and took Toad to a booth in the corner. “Order whatever you want,” Jeremy said as they sat down. He handed Toad one of the laminated menus tucked behind the napkin dispenser. Surrounded by so many people, Toad seemed more subdued; he ducked his head and studied the menu.

  Their waiter was a heavily tattooed guy in his twenties who didn’t bat an eye at Toad’s somewhat unkempt state. He’d seen Jeremy come in with worse. He took their orders, winked at Jeremy, and hurried away.

  “I’m gonna wash up,” Toad mumbled. He scooted out of the seat and hurried to the bathroom, taking his backpack. Jeremy made an automatic assessment: the kid had been on the streets long enough to distrust everyone and to learn never to abandon his few possessions, but not so long that he’d forgotten basic hygiene.

  Toad returned a few minutes later with his face rosy from scrubbing. After sitting, he asked, “So, um, what does a park ranger do?”

  “Lots of things. Share information with visitors. Enforce rules. Give people a hand if they need it. We do a lot of educational programs. Work with the foresters and grounds crews and folks like that.”

  “It’s weird.”

  “I like it. I get to help people and work outdoors. And there’s a lot of variety—no two days are the same.”

  As Toad mulled that over, their waiter arrived. Jeremy cradled the warm coffee mug and watched Toad’s eyes widen slightly at the mound of whipped cream and the bright cherry crowning his chocolate shake. He slurped fruitlessly at the straw before shrugging and digging in with a long spoon. He looked almost like a little kid, which made Jeremy smile. Not lost. Not yet.

  Their burgers arrived promptly, each with a towering pile of fries. Jeremy was going to have to run extra miles the next day; his body couldn’t just absorb endless calories as it had when he was younger. Toad, however, had no such qualms. He attacked his food like a starving wolf.

  “You look sorta like a cop,” he said with his mouth full. “Tough.”

  “I was one for a while. Decided it wasn’t my thing.”

  “Do you carry a gun and shit?”

  “Nope. I’m not a sworn officer anymore. If someone needs to be shot, I call in the bigwigs.”

  Toad frowned and popped a fry into his mouth. “Cops are assholes.”

  “Some of ’em, sure. But the world is filled with assholes, you know? I’d rather pay attention to the good guys.”

  “Yeah, right,” Toad said. He took a long pull from his shake, which had melted enough for the straw.

  Now came the tricky part. But Toad looked comfortable, and he hadn’t completely demolished his lunch yet. Maybe he wouldn’t run, as long as Jeremy was careful.

  “Where’s your family?” he asked softly.

  Toad’s eyes turned hard and his lips thinned. “Don’t have one.”

  “You just dropped out of the sky—plop—right into my park?”

  Instead of answering, Toad glared, then took a vicious bite of his burger. Jeremy sipped his coffee and remained silent. Either Toad would open up to him a little or he wouldn’t; pushing rarely helped.

  When the answer finally came, Toad spoke barely above a whisper. “They kicked me out, okay? Didn’t want a faggot for a son.” He lifted his chin and raised his voice a bit. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t need ’em.”

  Jeremy had anticipated this story, or one fairly like it. He’d heard it plenty of times before. Nonetheless, he tasted bile in the back of his throat and felt his gut clench. He swigged his coffee before responding.

  “You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “You don’t need them. But you need someone. Someone who’ll care about you the way you deserve.”

  “Like you?” Toad spat.

  “Not me. I told you—I’m not going to touch you. But I can help you out. It’s my job, right?”

  “If this is the part where you give me that ‘it gets better’ bullshit, you can save yourself the effort. You don’t know what the fuck it’s like.”

  “I kind of do,” Jeremy said
mildly.

  Toad narrowed his eyes. “How?”

  “I’m gay. My parents didn’t kick me out, but that’s only because I didn’t have the balls to come out to them until years later. They’ve had fifteen years to get used to the idea, and they still won’t talk about it.”

  “See? It doesn’t get better.” Toad pushed his empty plate aside and crossed his arms.

  “Yeah it does. ’Cause I have plenty of friends who don’t give a shit that I’m gay. I’m out at work and nobody cares. I have a great home, a cool car, all sorts of stuff. I wish I got along better with my parents, but in the end, it’s more their loss than mine. And I’m happy. When I was your age, I thought that was impossible, but here I am.”

  Toad toyed with his straw, trying to draw the last of the melted shake out of his glass. “What about a boyfriend?”

  This part was harder—for Jeremy, at least. “I’m single right now. But I’ve been serious about a couple of men in the past, and they were serious about me. Neither of them worked out in the end, but we loved each other. And I’m hoping that one of these days I’ll find someone to love for good.” Hoping, but not overly optimistic. Maybe he was one of those people who were destined to remain unpartnered. He was okay with that. Mostly. At least this way he could arrange his life however he wanted.

  The waiter came by. “Anything else, gentlemen?”

  “You want some pie, Toad? The pie here is awesome.”

  Toad considered a moment before shaking his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Enjoy your afternoon,” the waiter said as he handed Jeremy the check and then winked again before walking away. Yeah, he was cute, but also way too young. Jeremy had learned the hard way that guys a decade and a half his junior might be fun for a quick hookup, but Jeremy was tired of quick hookups.

  Toad gathered the straps of his backpack. “Uh, thanks for lunch, man. I gotta go.”

  “You’re welcome. Thanks for the company. And we both know there’s nowhere you have to be. But I can take you somewhere.”