by Devon Rhodes
“Work?” Tommy was confused at first, then recalled having seen a serious-looking Jim come back from his regular lunch break with their boss, Keith—the only workplace concession the two made to their lifelong friendship—much earlier than usual. Put that together with how slow business had been lately, plus the meeting at four….
The blood drained from his face, leaving him feeling woozy. “Are they closing us down?” A head shake. “Layoffs?” Tommy waited for another denial but didn’t get one. Instead, Jim slid his hand over Tommy’s where it rested on his arm.
“Layoffs?” he repeated stupidly. His mind was racing.
Oh God. Laid off? No income?
He would lose the house. His earnest money. Oh, and Christ, he’d given notice at his apartment and knew they’d already rerented it beginning less than a month from now.
Me? Homeless?
Trying hard not to hyperventilate, he looked up at Jim, who looked startled at first, then ashamed.
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have broken it to you that way. Your job is safe.”
The words barely penetrated the haze of panic, but when they did, Tommy clenched Jim’s arm.
“What?”
“Your job is safe,” Jim repeated.
“Safe. You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Jim’s eyes were steady on his, reassuring. Tommy tried to force himself to calm down. Jim said he was safe. He wouldn’t lose the house.
But the adrenaline rush had left him shaky and humming and needing comfort. At least that’s what he would tell himself later. Now—in this moment—there was nothing he needed more than to be grounded, and he found himself leaning forward and pressing his lips to Jim’s.
For a moment they were pliant but still under his. Full, warm. For a moment, it seemed as if he’d made the right choice—taken a risk and unexpectedly come out a winner. All this flew through Tommy’s head in a heady instant. His lips opened, brushing against beard stubble for the first time in his life. He’d waited so long for this….
Then the moment was over. Jim pulled away so suddenly, Tommy once again found himself struggling for balance. The blood that had been thickening his dick rushed straight to his cheeks, leaving him blessedly soft as he righted himself and braced for the worst, heart thumping. Alone in the small bathroom, shop noise insulating them from the outside, there was little he could do if the much-larger Jim decided to pummel him.
His misapprehension must’ve been plain on his face. “Jesus. Take it easy. You really think I’d hit you?” The disappointment evident in Jim’s tone was yet another thing to heap atop the crap pile that was the past ten minutes.
Tommy braved a look at Jim, whose achingly familiar face, though currently showing disgust—at himself? Or Tommy?—calmed him. “No. Of course not,” he asserted reassuringly. Well, not except for that brief horrible moment just now, which didn’t count. “Just, uh, not sure why I did that and you seemed mad, so I….”
“Don’t go into your babble mode. It’s okay. You got carried away with all the crazy panic from the news. I get it.”
Tommy was relieved to hear the convenient out so matter-of-factly put and seized upon it. “Yes. I just thought, ‘Whoa, I’m gonna lose all the money I’ve put down and the house and be homeless,’ and then you said it was going to be okay, so I just….” Tommy could hear himself speed-tripping through his explanation but couldn’t stop the flow. “Just was so happy that you said my job was safe, and I don’t know—it just seemed like the thing to do. Pretty weird. Never kissed a guy before. I mean, why would I, right?”
Jim was watching him, amusement warring with something troubled in his expression, converging in a sad little smile. Tommy made a Herculean effort to rein in his wayward mouth. “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again. I mean, the circumstances, bathroom.” He waved a hand around vaguely. Bathroom? God, somebody stop me. “Whatever.” Whatever? Nice. You sound like a teenager. He cleared his throat. And ending that way sounded too abrupt, the silence looming after his filibuster.
“Sorry.” Dammit, he’d already said that. “Again. I mean….” Tommy trailed off in alarm as Jim began shaking. “Jim? Are you okay?”
Jim threw his head back and burst out laughing like a loon, his strong neck displayed to its full advantage. Relieved at first, Tommy smiled along with him. After a couple minutes of hilarity, during which Jim had tried several times to get control of himself—only to lose it again as soon as he made eye contact with Tommy—he was starting to get a little pissed off. It wasn’t that funny. Finally fed up with being the butt of the joke, Tommy shoved Jim backward and headed for the door.
“Wait. Sorry, bud.” Jim was wiping his eyes. “God, when you go off…. Man, I needed that. What a bizarre day.”
“Glad I could help.” Tommy was still a little ticked at being laughed at, but hey—if he’d made a tough day easier for his friend, it was worth it. The last bit of irritation slipped away, and he found himself chuckling.
“Now what’s funny?”
“Oh, just thinking about that saying, about laughter being the best medicine. It must be true. I’m feeling much better now.”
“It’s a good thing to remember,” Jim agreed, and his lips curved into that sad little half smile again before he preceded Tommy out the door. As he passed Tommy, Jim mumbled something half-lost in the whine of a machine, something that sounded like, “Hold that thought.” But Tommy couldn’t be sure.
Chapter 3
TOMMY FIDGETED in his seat in the break room, glad he had gotten there early enough to be able to sit. His feet—even in the expensive work boots especially made for comfort—were always sore by Friday from standing and moving around on the unforgiving concrete floor. Sure, he had a pad in a couple places in his work area, and sometimes he could use the rolling stool, but….
Keith walked in and looked around the room, measuring the attendance with his eyes. “We’ll get started in a few minutes. While the last few people are trickling in, I need to see a few of you in my office.” He named a couple salesmen, who followed him from the room. Minutes later, Jim slipped in and crossed to crouch next to Tommy’s chair as he pulled off his safety glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Jim. So he just called a couple sales guys in,” he whispered, looking around to make sure they weren’t overheard. “You think they’re staying or going?”
“I have no idea. Keith didn’t give me any details about how he was going to handle it.”
“Well, we’re staying, so I guess we’ll know which way he’s working it when he calls us.”
“Tommy….”
Keith walked back in the room. “Okay, now I need Martinez and Graves.”
Glad he knew things would be okay—if not, Christ, he’d be a wreck right now hearing his name called—Tommy rose and gave Jim a quick grin. “See ya in a minute.”
“See ya, Tommy.”
Something in Jim’s tone niggled at Tommy, but, conscious of Keith and Piero waiting for him, he hustled down to follow them along to Keith’s office. The first thing he saw when he sat down was a huge stack of thick envelopes with preprinted labels on them. Labels with names. Ugh.
Glad he couldn’t really read the name on the top one, he sat down, not sure what to do with his hands. A nervous fluttering began to build in his midsection. What if Jim had misunderstood? Or maybe things had changed since he and Keith had talked.
Keith sat down heavily and cleared his throat. “Okay. I haven’t really had time to rehearse this, so I’m just going to tell it like it is. You guys know things have been slow for the last couple years.”
Tommy nodded.
“And we haven’t replaced most of the employees who’ve left in that time. Well, the owners have decided that normal turnover isn’t enough anymore to trim costs. They need to take drastic action.” Keith paused, and Tommy could almost see the weight bowing his shoulders.
“They’re laying off about 60
percent of the workforce, effective today.”
Tommy gasped. “Sixty?”
“Holy crap,” Piero whispered as he crossed himself.
Keith held up a hand. “You two are going to be staying. I’m calling in the ones who aren’t affected by the reduction and sending them home before I have to….” Keith stopped for a moment. “Before the rest get their news.” He cleared his throat once again, and Tommy stood—seizing upon any reason to do something—and walked over to the minifridge. After grabbing a bottle of water, he tossed it to Keith, who sent him a grateful glance as he opened it and took a swig.
“Things’ll be different on Monday, but plenty of time to talk then. For now, go on home, guys.”
Keith and Piero stood, and Tommy thrust his hand across the desk. “Sorry, boss.” Keith gave him a startled, questioning look. “I know this must be hard for you.”
Piero offered his own hand in turn and shook Keith’s enthusiastically. “Thank you, boss. God bless. Thank you so much.”
Out in the hall, Keith stoically headed once again to the break room—for the next two survivors, Tommy surmised. Wondering if Jim would be in Keith’s next duo, he was tempted to linger, but with his move looming, he had some major packing to do. Keith’s wife had told him to stop by for a bunch of special moving boxes she’d saved from their recent move, partitioned for dishes and whatnot, so maybe he’d head over there after a quick bite to eat.
Might as well, he thought as he grimaced. Didn’t look like Keith would be getting home anytime soon.
SANDY LOOKED uncharacteristically drawn and haggard when she opened the screened front door. Tommy felt a flash of shame at his selfishness. In his relief at being spared, he hadn’t given a thought for who might actually be on the list of cuts. What if Keith was getting axed and letting everyone else go was his last task?
“Oh man, Sandy. Keith’s not out, is he?” He pulled the petite strawberry blonde into a hug she gratefully accepted before backing away to let him into the house.
“No, sweetie. His job’s safe. It’s just hitting him so hard to have to do this.” She led the way without preamble toward the attached garage, where she pressed the opener as they stepped out. “He’s known some of the guys he’s letting go since he was a kid.”
Getting the polite hint she’d rather be alone to stress in private, he focused on the boxes she stopped in front of. “These the ones?”
“Yes, the special, expensive ones. Wardrobes, ones with dish partitions. And here’s a stack of just plain old boxes that’re still in good shape, broken down flat.”
“Wait. Expensive ones?” Tommy reached for his wallet.
“No way, mister.” She gave him a glare. “Remove the hand from your pocket. I just meant relative to free, like the ordinary ones from the back of the grocery store. Just pass them along to someone else when you’re done.” A smile softened her face into a more familiar look.
Tommy obediently let it go—mentally vowing to come up with some way to do them a turn—and picked up the first load to take out. He threw back over his shoulder, “Yeah, maybe Jim’ll be next. I think all the house hunting we did got him interested in the thought of home ownership too.”
The name rolled casually off his tongue, but Tommy couldn’t help but recall the way Jim’s lips had felt under his own. His cock gave a twitch of interest. C’mon, not in front of the lady. He threw the cardboard into the bed of his pickup and returned to the garage.
The pinched look was back on Sandy’s face. “Well, I guess that won’t be happening now.”
Tommy froze, pausing in the act of picking up the remaining boxes. “What do you mean?”
Sandy’s gaze slid away, causing a skitter of apprehension in his chest. “Sorry, Tommy. I spoke out of turn. I can’t say anything, you know?”
The awful truth was beginning to assert itself. “Jim? Jim’s part of the layoff?” He waited, sick inside, until Sandy gave a reluctant nod of confirmation.
Jim’s last words to him in the break room—See ya, Tommy—took on a hideous new meaning. Every interaction they’d had today—the bad news from work he’d mentioned, his unusual foul mood, the sad smiles—rushed through Tommy’s head with new clarity.
“But he said….” No. Jim hadn’t actually said both of them were safe. Just Tommy. And Tommy, selfish prick he was, hadn’t even thought to ask. He’d just assumed—and made an ass of himself.
“Gotta go, Sandy. Thanks for the boxes.” Tommy was numb as he threw the rest into the pickup and headed home. Why hadn’t Jim told him? They had a relationship much closer than normal coworkers.
Yeah, kissing close.
He flushed at the memory. And then Jim’d had to deal with Tommy going all weird and gay on him on top of everything else. He was lucky he hadn’t gotten punched—regardless of Jim’s understanding. With the day Jim was having, the reflex would’ve been totally excusable.
And speaking of reflexes… Tommy squirmed. What had he been thinking, kissing Jim out of the blue like that? Yes, he was attracted to men. That bent had been the destruction of his marriage, or at least the cessation of his attraction to women had been—if he had ever been turned on by them in the first place, that was. With all the self-examination he’d done, he still didn’t know whether he’d been trained to be straight as a young adult by the macho, homophobic working-class neighborhood he’d grown up in, or whether he just… grew out of women.
And into men. Into Jim.
Because, face it, it was Jim who tripped all these triggers—Jim’s face he’d assigned to every porn actor he’d watched and each erotic fantasy he’d imagined. Tommy wasn’t out ogling the general population or sneaking peeks at the urinals. He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh as he pulled into his numbered space in his apartment complex, glancing automatically across at Jim’s empty parking stall in front of the next building over. No, the only guy he was ogling—had ever ogled—was Jim.
That propensity had come as a complete surprise. One day about three years ago, Keith had walked into the shop, laughing, with his arm slung companionably around the shoulders of a tall, broad man Tommy’d seen around town a few times. The sight of his boss’s arm giving a short, platonic side-hug before shoving the chuckling man away had caused a strange, achy twist knotting tight in Tommy’s chest. It wasn’t until many months had passed that Tommy finally owned up and gave name to that feeling—jealousy.
“Hi, Tommy Graves, right? Keith’s told me a lot about you.”
The hand that had engulfed his was rough and calloused with neatly trimmed nails and a masculine scattering of dark hair on the back. Warm brown eyes met his from behind the safety glasses.
“Jim LaRue,” he’d offered, and Tommy flushed as he realized he’d yet to say anything in return.
“Sorry. Yeah, I’m Tommy. Good to meet you.” His reluctance to let go had the opposite effect. He dropped the large hand as if it were on fire. Confused by his reaction, Tommy covered as he always did—what his sister termed “filibustering” or sometimes “Tommy-babble.” He’d felt it welling up inside him—knew it was coming, but also knew there was no stopping it once it began.
“You must be Keith’s friend from way back. I’ve seen you around town, and, of course, Keith’s mentioned you. Sandy too. His wife.” He’d shaken his head as he watched Jim’s eyes widen and he realized what he just said. “Of course, you knew that. You were probably in the wedding. Duh.” Great first impression there, Ace. Cut it off!
He tried his damnedest to stop right there. Honest. But when he was nervous, he just had to fill any little bit of silence. And for some reason, Jim made him nervous.
“Even if you weren’t, you would’ve known her. Lots longer than me, too. I just met her recently, but she seems really nice. Good fit for Keith. Not that I’m a relationship expert or anything—”
Jim had just reached right out and taken him by the upper arms, leaning down to look him in the eyes from an intensely short distance. “Hey. Tommy?” Light sque
ezes had punctuated each word, and Tommy stilled abruptly.
“Take a breath. Don’t talk, just breathe.”
Jim had led by example, as if trying to calm a hysterical person, pulling deep breaths in, expanding that massive chest, before blowing the air out with a slow, steady exhale. Tommy, amazingly enough, had found himself quietly following along, mimicking Jim’s slow breathing without a single word.
Inside, he’d felt the panicked need to fill the pause in the conversation receding, as if the warmth of Jim’s hands had somehow pulled the tension right out of him. Usually the only cure once he got going was to abruptly walk away. But the empty quiet was okay with Jim there, his larger-than-life presence more than enough to do the job of filling the gaps. Starstruck and uncharacteristically silent, Tommy gazed at Jim in wonder.
“Jesus, Jim. What’d you do, rip his vocal chords out?” Tommy hadn’t noticed Keith standing there. “So I guess you two met. Tommy, I’m going to have you show Jim the ropes. He’ll work here with you until he’s ready for his own jobs.”
Jim had been still intent upon Tommy. “Okay with that, bud?” Jim asked.
Tommy nodded in response, not quite daring to speak yet—just happy this man would be nearby. Something about him just fit, filled some need he hadn’t known he had.
And that first meeting, still unbeknownst to anyone but himself, was the beginning of the end of his marriage.
Chapter 4
“SORRY, MAN,” Keith apologized for about the hundredth time in the past hour.
Jim rolled his eyes, partly amused by his lack of originality, but mostly just tired of having to reassure his old friend. “I swear to God, if you apologize one more time, I’m going to shove you out the door.”
It had been hard enough to sit through the meeting and listen to Keith go over their severance packages—watching the sickening expressions on good men’s faces as they learned they had just lost their livelihoods. Keith’s calm demeanor might have fooled most of his former employees during the meeting, but Jim got to see him in the aftermath as he gave Keith a ride home. And he’d be cleaning part of the aftermath out of his truck’s carpet this weekend.
