“Gil, seriously.” David followed them. “I can hire….” He felt like the caboose on a fast-moving train trying to keep up.
Gil glanced at him over his broad shoulder. “You want to trust regular moving guys with this stuff?”
That made David pause. The last time he’d hired movers, they dented both his washer and dryer and took a chunk out of his black lacquer headboard. Dealing with their customer service department afterward, trying to get them to refund some of his fee, had been a nightmare. He nervously chewed the corner of his lower lip. As they walked into the living room, he looked at the beautiful old sofa. “If you’re sure….”
“Ah, shut up, David.” Gil sat in the rocker with a good-natured grin. “Line up some more muscle.”
David blinked. Compared to Jackson and Gil, he wasn’t sure anyone he knew could be considered “muscle.”
DAVID WAVED to Gil through the window of Jackson’s cab. He looked enormous standing silhouetted in the doorway.
“What a nice man.” David watched Gil as Jackson pulled off down the block.
“He is. A really nice man.”
“I feel like I’m stealing that furniture. Don’t get me wrong—I’m thrilled. But he could get so much more for it.”
“He doesn’t want more. He wants it to go to someplace where it will be appreciated.” Jackson’s voice sounded deep, and the darkened cab created a sense of intimacy. David studied his profile and the way the streetlights cast it in sharp relief. He was so handsome, he took David’s breath. “He wasn’t kidding when he said his brother and sister are only in it for the money,” Jackson went on, unaware of his effect on David. “And trust me, they don’t need another thirty grand to fight over.”
“You know them?”
Jackson nodded. “I met them at Gil’s mother’s memorial service. Let’s say I can see why the three of them have never really gotten on.” He turned at the corner, and his hands moved on the steering wheel, bringing David’s attention to the wide leather band that circled his wrist. He didn’t know why, but he found it incredibly sexy.
“Were they jerks or something?” David asked.
Jackson snorted softly. “You could say that. His brother has a Ted Cruz bumper sticker on his Beamer.”
David recoiled slightly. “Oh, that’s not good.”
“He and Gil don’t have a whole lot in common. And I think both of his siblings resent the fact his parents made the queer their executor.”
David frowned. He knew how lucky he was his family accepted him. He had good friends whose families didn’t. He thought of the funny, friendly man he’d met and felt a sinking sadness. “That’s awful.”
“It is,” Jackson agreed. There was something in his voice, something that made David think he was intimately acquainted with that kind of pain too, but he wasn’t comfortable asking. Something else popped into his mind.
“Can I ask you something?”
Jackson glanced at him. “Sure.”
“Who’s Manny?”
Jackson was silent for several seconds. He did that, David noticed. Thought before he spoke. But the silence made David nervous.
“I’m sorry.” He feared he’d overstepped. “It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m trying to decide what to say.” Jackson’s thumb bounced on his steering wheel, the only outward indication that he might be uncomfortable. “Manny is a friend of ours. In fact, he’s the guy I mentioned that could help out with the plumbing at your place. He knows his stuff. He had this boyfriend named George.” His lip curled when he said the name. “I never liked him. He treated Manny like shit. We tried to tell him, but he thought he was in love….”
David knew what that was like. Beth had never liked Trevor. In fact, several of David’s friends, including his best friend, had been very cool to Trevor, making excuses not to spend time with them. Trevor was a snob, and he hadn’t liked the people who worked for David either, telling him he “shouldn’t socialize with the employees.” Yeah, David had been there.
“I was always concerned that George’s nasty disposition was going to be a problem, but even I didn’t see it coming. One weekend, Manny got tired of George pushing him around and told him to knock it off. George went into their garage and came back with a baseball bat.”
David’s stomach rolled. “Oh God,” he murmured. Jackson stared through the windshield, his jaw hard.
“He beat the shit out of Manny. By the time he was done, he’d broken his arm and several ribs, and given him a skull fracture. He needed plastic surgery to repair his face. I think if Manny hadn’t managed to dial 911 on his cell while George was in the bathroom, he’d have killed him. The cops came and arrested the bastard, and Manny spent the next six weeks in the hospital.”
Horror made David cold clear through. Something he’d read months before came back to him. “Oh my God, Jackson, there was a trial, wasn’t there?”
“Yeah. It was the top story on local media for months. ‘Gay lovers’ spat results in attempted murder charge,’” Jackson sneered. “They called it a spat. Manny was nearly beaten to death, and then he had to dodge the goddamn snotty press at every turn. George was convicted and sentenced to twenty-five to life.”
“That’s horrible.”
Jackson nodded again. “Yeah, it really was. I hope Gil’s right about Manny being okay. The last time I saw him, he still looked pretty rough.”
David’s heart ached for the man he’d yet to meet. The mood in the truck felt heavy and sad. In an effort to lighten it, David reached for something, anything to change the subject. “So, does Gil have a significant other?”
Jackson shot him a sharp look, his brow furrowed. “No, but you really aren’t his type.”
David’s mouth dropped open on a startled laugh. “I wasn’t asking because I’m interested. I was curious. He’s a nice person.”
Jackson’s jaw relaxed. “He is. One of the best I’ve ever known.” He smiled almost reluctantly. “However, he has… singular taste in men.”
Intrigued, David shifted until he faced Jackson. “What does that mean? Is he some kind of leather daddy or something?”
Jackson smirked. “No, he likes twinks. The twinkier, the better.”
David stared, disbelieving. “You’re lying.”
Jackson’s white teeth were bright even in the darkened cab. “Swear to God. He likes ’em young and cute.”
“I would think he’d terrify them. The man is huge.”
“You’d be surprised. Gil has—” Jackson stopped, and he looked like he was fighting a reluctant smile. “Let’s say he does all right. Although lately he’s been making noise about finding someone special and settling down.” Jackson took on a faintly cynical expression. “If such a thing exists.”
David wanted to tell him it did, but he wasn’t sure he believed it any longer. The thought made him sad.
He stared, unseeing, through the windshield.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DAVID WAS out of bed by six on Saturday morning, brewing a pot of coffee with the new drip coffeemaker he’d purchased at Target. He’d loved the Keurig, but he missed the old Mr. Coffee Trevor had gotten rid of more. The scent of the Dunkin’ Donuts coffee brewing, wafting through the house, was one of the things that made him think of his dad. He’d come downstairs in the morning before school and Dad would be sipping from a cup, standing by the sink in his dress shirt and tie, half a pot still warming on the hot plate. David Snyder Sr. worked at the power company as a systems analyst for thirty years, and David Jr. never saw him heading to work without wearing a suit.
He smiled faintly as he wandered into his living room, holding a Mickey Mouse mug his mom had given him. He was coveting a set of Fiestaware he’d seen on the Macy’s website the night before, but was holding out until he had a better idea what the repairs were going to end up costing. He wasn’t sure four hundred dollars for dinnerware and mugs was an expense he needed when he could buy CorningWare for forty. He sighed so
ftly. It would look so great with that awesome dining room furniture, though.
A small white car pulled up and parked at the curb, and David grinned as the slender young man climbed out from behind the wheel. He was wearing a skullcap covering his dark hair, a gray hoodie as a nod to the cold, overcast day, and skinny jeans. Even though he was twenty-five, he looked closer to high school.
David unlocked the front door and stepped onto the porch as the lithe brunet crossed the lawn, kicking up dried leaves as he walked. Time to get out the rake, David mused absently.
“Good morning,” he called.
“Hey, David,” Michael called back. “The house is so cute!”
“Thanks.” He held the door open wide and let Michael in. “It will look even better with furniture in it.”
Michael gave the plaid recliner a dubious look. “Wow, that’s ugly.”
“I guess I won’t give it to you for Christmas, then,” David teased. He’d been in Michael’s one-bedroom apartment, and even though it was small and not in the best neighborhood, it was immaculate and the furnishings were carefully selected. He wasn’t surprised when Michael shuddered.
“Perish the thought. Thanks, but I think it might be better to take it to the dump.”
“Snob.”
“Guilty.”
“Coffee?” David held up his mug.
“That would be great, thanks.”
Michael followed him into the kitchen, his eyes bright. “This is beautiful. It’s so much more you than that condo.” Michael accepted the mug of coffee David poured for him with murmured thanks. This one had a picture of Mount Rushmore on it.
“Sweetener in the bowl, creamer in the refrigerator door.”
Michael nodded and moved about, doctoring his coffee. He ran his hand down the front of the vintage refrigerator before he grabbed the handle. “Did this come with the house?” He took the hazelnut-flavored creamer from the shelf in the door.
“It did. I’m glad it works.”
“It’s very retro.”
“I imagine when the lady who lived here bought it, it was the latest thing.”
Michael’s dark brows rose. “Seriously? How old was she?”
“A hundred and twenty,” David answered, his voice dry, “and very sweet as she hung me with several thousand dollars in repairs.”
Michael wandered into the dining room, crossing to the built-ins. “But it will be so worth it once it’s done.” He opened a drawer, studying the original hardware. David followed him and leaned against the wooden cabinet next to Michael.
“I think I owe you an apology.”
Michael looked up at him, frowning. “For what?”
“For Trevor. Has he been to the office more than that one time?”
“Once more.” Michael shrugged. “He’s all mouth. I’ve tried to keep him away from you.”
“And I thank you for that.”
Michael searched David’s face. “He found you, though, didn’t he?”
“He followed me home from work on Thursday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Now David shrugged. “I had my hands full with something else yesterday.”
“Yeah, about that… what happened?”
David took a deep breath before telling Michael about his car. He reacted with horror, grabbing David’s arm with a sharp gasp.
“That’s terrifying, David. I’m glad you called the cops.”
“Actually, Jackson called them.”
“Oh, really? Do tell.”
David felt his face heat. “He knew someone from when his truck was vandalized. And he was able to get the writing off my door, so that’s good.” David took a drink of his coffee, but he could feel Michael studying his face.
“So, do I get to meet the mysterious handyman today?”
Movement through the front window of his house caught David’s attention. A silver GMC truck pulled in behind Michael’s car. “As a matter of fact….” David moved to open the front door. Michael followed him, his face growing avid. “And you behave yourself,” David warned. Michael’s white teeth flashed, but he held up his hand, palm out.
“I’ll be good.”
David doubted that, but he opened the door before Jackson had a chance to ring the bell.
“Good morning.”
“Hey.”
“Coffee?” David offered.
“We should probably head out to Gil’s dad’s place. He was going to pick up the truck and then meet us there with the other guys.”
“Other guys?” David wondered how many of them there were going to be. Behind Jackson’s back, Michael gave him a pointed look that said, “Excuse me? I’m standing here.” “Oh, I’m sorry. Jackson Henry, meet Michael Crane. He and I work together.”
Jackson held out his hand, and David had to swallow a smile as Michael’s eyes widened. “Nice to meet you.” Jackson returned his attention to David, and Michael mouthed “holy shit” behind his back.
“What other guys?” David repeated, giving Michael a stern look.
“Gil asked his buddy Vernon. And Manny.”
“And they won’t let me pay them.”
Jackson dropped his hands into his pockets. “Nope.”
David was both flabbergasted and uncomfortable. Why would strangers do that? “Will they at least let me buy pizza and beer?”
“Pizza and beer?” Michael made a face. “Talk about a carb fest.”
“I’ll buy you some chicken nuggets.”
Jackson snorted when Michael flipped David off.
“I’m sure pizza and beer would be welcome. And I thought we’d take my truck,” Jackson said. “Some of the smaller stuff could go in the bed.”
“That’s fine.” David took Michael’s still nearly full mug and walked into the kitchen, putting both in the sink. He came back and glanced at Michael. “You ready?”
“Sure. I’m just along for the ride.”
“No, dear.” David held open the front door. “You’re my muscle.”
“Me?” Michael gave him a startled look. “Dude, if I’m your muscle, you’re so screwed.”
“You’re what passes for muscle in my world, Michael.” David clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You can carry the sofa cushions. And try to look studly, will you?”
“Screwed, man, I’m telling you.”
Jackson clearly swallowed a laugh.
THERE WAS a white panel truck backed into the driveway at Gil’s dad’s, and Gil stood on the front lawn with two other men nearly as big as he was when Jackson pulled up in front of the house.
“Holy shit,” Michael murmured. “That’s muscle. What do they do for a living, eat small children?”
Jackson grinned. “Relax, Michael. I’ll make sure they don’t take any bites out of you.” David covered a smile with his hand, but secretly he agreed with Michael. All the men were wearing jackets in deference to the cold, overcast weather, and it made them look bigger. Bulkier. Scarier.
“I look like a cricket compared to them,” Michael whined.
“No,” David countered. “But right now you sound like one.”
“Oh, shut up.” Michael batted him on the back of his head. Jackson was still grinning as he stepped out of the truck. “I have so much hatred for you right now,” Michael muttered.
“Tough it up, big boy, and come meet the other guys.” David got out of the truck and held the door open for Michael.
“So much hatred,” Michael repeated as he climbed out behind him. David smirked and followed Jackson to the small crowd on the lawn.
“Hey, David,” Gil called, a grin on his wide face. “Is that your muscle?” He gestured to Michael, his smile turning wry. But David also noticed the way his gaze moved over Michael’s lithe form, and he thought of what Jackson had told him about Gil’s taste in men. Michael was certainly his type.
“This is Michael Crane.” David pulled Michael forward when he hesitated. “He’s my chief design assistant. He can also lift pl
enty. I’ve seen him heft an armchair when necessary.”
Michael glared and held out his hand. “He’s totally lying. I’m the tablecloth-and-decorative-pillow kind of muscle.”
Gil chuckled. “Hey, we’ve got plenty of small stuff to move too. Not everyone needs to be a gorilla.”
“Nice,” one of the men David hadn’t met yet quipped in a deep, distinctively rough voice. He had salt-and-pepper gray hair, pulled back in a low ponytail, and a full gray mustache. He could have been anywhere from forty to sixty, his face a roadmap of lines and wrinkles, but his dark eyes were bright. “I get asked to help move shit and end up being described as a primate.”
“You like it,” Gil teased. “Makes you feel manly. You should thank me. Old guys like you don’t get asked to be muscle much.”
“Bending you over the railing and making you squeal would make me feel manly, Gilbert,” he growled. He offered his hand to a wide-eyed Michael. “Vernon Dwyer. Pleased to meet you.”
Michael shook his hand warily, no doubt still trying to purge what Vernon had described from his mind. David shook his hand next, noticing how crooked his fingers were, how hard his palms.
“Don’t let him scare you,” Gil said to Michael. “He’s all talk.”
“You keep telling yourself that, boy.”
Gil grinned and gestured to the other man beside him. “David, Michael… this is Manny.”
David had seen pictures of Emanuel Martinez when he went online to read about the trial that had put George Wilkerson in prison. Manny’s injuries at the hand of his ex-lover had been described in graphic detail, and the list had been horrifying and extensive. A broken hand and arm on the right side, broken ribs on the left. One blow had fractured his skull above his right eye. In photos accompanying the articles, Manny looked pale, dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair shorn short revealing the myriad scars that made a grim patchwork of the right side of his face. The Manny standing before him now was tense, his slender body held tight, but his features had been restored by a very skilled plastic surgeon. There were scars, but he was also so beautiful David had to remind himself not to stare.
David, Renewed Page 8
