"I've got you now," said Gruver, and there was a ripping sound as his knife flashed out and caught Sky on the side.
At that point, Gruver stumbled.
Sky fled the scene, running through the abandoned lots and overgrown meadows, holding on to his bloody side. Adrenaline kept him moving.
Gruver went back to get his car and went around the block. Sky headed towards a more populous area, cutting through back yards and trying to haul himself over fences with poor luck. Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice him, or at least to care. He got the impression it looked like gang violence to one or two people who did glimpse him, and they didn't want to look closer or get involved.
The car kept searching the streets for him, although he wasn't certain how close Gruver was. He was terrified and growing light-headed. Searching desperately for help, Sky reached out to find the most receptive person around. He'd dropped his cell phone at some point. Frightened he'd be ignored or put off by emergency services, he wanted only to contact me — his partner — to come and get him.
Even though he was already struggling from blood loss and confusion, he continued on till he found Mrs. Chang, a sympathetic soul who was willing to help. He jotted down my cell phone number for her quickly, and begged her to call "Hunt" for help.
Then he ducked out the back. Instead of going further, he collapsed and hid the best he could, no longer able to keep moving.
Mrs. Chang called me, I reached him quickly, and he was rushed to the hospital, where they stitched him back up and gave him a blood transfusion and treatment for shock.
So far, Gruver had not been apprehended.
Sky had little memory of the time in between his finding Mrs. Chang and waking up in the hospital. His recollection of everything else was clear enough — possibly too clear for his own peace of mind.
He refused pain medication as soon as he possibly could, and just suffered through.
#
Sky's recovery took a few weeks. He was back part-time before he was completely well, but we looked after him a little more closely. Coddled him more, gave him more breaks. I was freed from most other tasks just to be his chauffeur and look after him. He seemed to feel safer with me around, as if the horrible attack had cemented something between us, and he looked to me now for safety.
That got us a few more comments, mostly for my ears only, and I could deal with that. He'd put up with an abusive boyfriend for years, got screwed over by the justice system who sentenced the guy to one year and then let him out in six months, and he was stuck hearing everybody's emotions. I thought I could handle a little teasing, especially if he didn't have to hear it too.
Aside from the bullshit about my new "special duties" and all that that implied, I noticed a shift in the way the precinct was aware of Skyler Zane. Instead of the weird new toy, who happened to be gay and thus creepy, he was a person to them.
To some, seeing him as a person was kind of appalling — especially as the details of his past slipped out. It was hard to keep things secret after Gruver's attack. I had no doubt that all the details of his past were discussed when he wasn't around.
They didn't discuss it around me, though. I wouldn't put up with it.
There were definitely some weird feelings about the fact that he'd been locked up in a mental hospital for so many years, and the suicide attempts — that, and the way he'd stayed with his abuser for so long. I felt like there was a sense of angry derision about it, as if he was more to blame than a brainwashed housewife would've been. At least the housewife would have the excuse of being a beaten-down woman who'd been tricked into thinking she deserved abuse, but him? For a man — even a gay man? It was weak and stupid.
It wasn't fair, but that's sexism for you.
On the other hand, some people were more open and caring than that, feeling protective towards him now, understanding that he was a vulnerable human being but a valuable one — not just a resource we needed to protect, but a sweet, damaged guy who didn't deserve any more hurt in his life. He'd dealt with enough.
Whatever the case for each individual officer, I could feel that we were all more aware of him now as a person rather than a new toy for the department. And, wherever they lay on the spectrum, from viewing him, as the desk sergeant did, as a spineless jellyfish who probably got a charge out of being smacked around, to Laura Johnston, who clearly wanted to tuck him in at night and bring him hot tea, he was ours now. We weren't going to lose him again.
And as for me, I actually did have the opportunity to tuck him in at night (though I didn't use it), and probably could've questioned him about his previous mistaken choices. I never did. It was his business, and I wasn't going to pry.
We were closer than before, but certain things we didn't talk about. Gratefully, I think, on both sides. The way he looked at me sometimes embarrassed me, though. Like he thought I was some kind of wonderful hero whom he could always count on.
I wasn't. I was just the guy who stayed with him. And gave him rides and meals and helped him at work.
Yeah, I was basically his bodyguard, interpreter, roommate, and chauffeur all rolled into one.
And heaven help me, I kind of didn't mind.
#
As the days got warmer, we progressed with work on the house. Despite his initially tentative efforts, Sky was really pulling his weight now, more than he had to.
It was nice to work shoulder to shoulder with him. He even felt comfortable enough to take off his long-sleeved shirts now. And good thing, too; he'd have been way overheated if he hadn't been able to wear t-shirts and shorts.
He was, of course, even prettier with less clothing on — with his fine bone structure, great skin, and slim musculature more on display — but I tried not to stare. Sometimes I couldn't help it, though.
I definitely got some lingering looks and shy glances in return. I'm not sure he knew how strangely adorable he looked peeking up from under those long, dark lashes, but he probably guessed after I found myself thinking about it a lot. That, and the shape of his chest, the curve of his back and ass, the slim strength of his arms. He was just a damned pretty man.
It took some pretty firm self-control to keep from seeing where it could go between us. I didn't, for instance, reach out and stroke the paint specks he'd gotten on his cheek, even when I wanted to.
I didn't splash him with water from the sink to make him giggle, or tickle him and wrestle with him. No, I kept my hands to myself. And I tried to keep my thoughts on a mind-my-own-business level as well.
Of course, it didn't always work.
I could imagine him writhing under me, urging me onward, his eyes shining with hope and lust and faith, all for me. I could imagine his breathless gasp, his stuttered words of encouragement, all his delicious responses and delightful intimacies. Oh, he would be so good in bed, trusting me, easy with me, taking the initiative sometimes, giving it to me at other times, trusting me fully, so open and ready for me to love him.
My erotic imaginations were probably all seen through rose-colored glasses, and they were all late at night and guiltily snatched. But it never could be just sex, or the strength and curve of his body, even in my daydreams. Sometimes he filled my head as I whacked off in the shower, eyes shut, his smile sweet and gentle in my mind's eye.
Sometimes at night, the daydreams got more intense.
I was always able to put them aside once the day came, once I had to be around him. I knew he would pick up on my train of thought if I indulged any such feelings when he was around. He wouldn't have to try; he was pretty in tune with me. I was almost certain he'd know if I had any lustful fantasies about him in his presence. Even at a distance, I tried to keep it to a minimum. They just kept sneaking up on me.
I really needed to get laid.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he seemed to be doing well enough to be on his own for a night. So I got ready to go out. I put on my best jeans, tightest T-shirt, my boots with the heels that helped my ass look good, and
the leather jacket that made me look totally fuckable.
All the while, as I showered and got ready, even while scowling at myself in the mirror to check for bloody spots from shaving, I psyched myself up. How was I going to tell him?
Turned out, he meant to tell me something too.
He was waiting for me, looking bright and shiny and hopeful-eyed, sitting at the kitchen table, his expression eager and a little shy.
He wore his hottest clothes — skinny jeans that hugged his assets and a faded T-shirt so tight it showed his hard nipples. He'd rolled up the short sleeves so they showed off more of his gorgeous arms. Damn, the man wasn't even hiding his tattoos. He looked edible. He was wearing red Keds, and he'd done something interesting with his hair. But that confident smile made his look, would've made it without any of the rest — anything at all.
I swallowed audibly. "Uh … what are you…"
He rose, as graceful as water flowing, and looked at me sweetly. He straightened his shirt with just the tiniest hint of a smirk playing on his mouth. "I don't know what the bars are like, but this is okay, right?"
"Uh — what?"
"Well, you know I don't drive. I thought I could come with you. You can show me the best place, if you're going there anyway. I mean, I could take a cab, but I might end up in some sleazy joint, because I didn't know any better."
He looked at me, bright-eyed and innocent.
I scowled. "Fine."
He followed me out to the car, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. I knew I'd been played, knew he'd picked my plans out from my feelings or actions or some mixture of both.
But what was I gonna do, turn him down? He was right, and I knew it. It was my job to take care of him, and that meant showing him the safe places to be a gay man in the city. And watching his ass for him — not from personal interest, but to keep him from being picked up by jerks or abusers.
If it twisted my guts up to think of him with another man, that was my problem, the price I had to pay. I knew it couldn't happen between us; nothing could. It wasn't meant to be.
He was quiet on the drive into the city, staring out the windows at the bright lights in the darkness, memorizing their colors — reds, yellows, the occasional green. Houses glowed warm with welcoming, curtained windows. Bars seemed like beacons in the night, and the twenty-four-hour convenience stores shone bright as the insides of refrigerators.
He didn't say much, and I sure didn't say much, either. I knew I was thinking it, though. This felt tense, too real, like going out to a call that you knew was going to be dangerous and give you nightmares for a year. Domestic disturbance turned ugly, maybe.
But we got there, eventually — far too soon — and parked, all without saying a word to each other. He hung back now, a little reticent, and I led the way.
There was nothing to indicate The Boys Are was a gay club. The glowing neon sign with Marilyn Monroe and her skirt blowing up, flashing up and down, up and down, wasn't much of an indication. But it was a gay club all the same, and a pretty classy one. Even classy enough for a closeted cop to feel safe there.
I tried to be brave as we stepped through the doors and into the world within. The décor was awesome, as always, classy and trendy but with an old-fashioned retro feel to it. It had been decorated by Paul Finchley, who was married to the bar's owner and general manager, Jaivon Wilson. Jaivon was a tall, handsome black guy with a shaved head who looked imposing and a little scary to some folks before they met him.
He was so gentle and warm-hearted, he didn't know any strangers — or at least not for long. Didn't judge me for keeping myself to myself, either; he was just a considerate guy. Paul was a little more sharp-eyed and suspicious, sometimes snippy with the customers if they tried to take advantage of Paul's good nature.
Together, they worked well. Big, strong, sweet Jaivon and short, snippy, swishy Paul. They were getting married in a few months, and all their patrons were invited to their wedding.
I already knew I wasn't going to go. The way I saw it, you didn't stay closeted long if you went to gay weddings.
Sky cast me a sharp look, and I didn't know if he was judging me or just trying to get a clue about the place from me. He was perceptive, for sure, but had he pulled more than a general sense of edginess and mixed emotions off me? Or maybe that was enough.
He touched my arm lightly then, as if to offer reassurance to me — as I often tried to do for him.
The gesture moved me, and I swallowed a lump in my throat. I was being ridiculous. This was a great place to test his gay wings in the city. Jaivon and Paul wouldn't let anything happen to him, even if I lost track of him.
It was quiet tonight, so of course they wanted to meet him, and a few regulars did as well. One of them was my old fuck buddy, Ken Sheppard. Kenny always had a farm-fresh, slightly dopey look to him, like he didn't understand what you'd just said. He also usually sported a farmer's sunburn, and a mesh green ball cap. He worked on his family's dairy farm, along with several of his many brothers and sisters who hadn't moved away to start their own farms or businesses yet. They were a hardworking bunch.
He had a blunt face, a swaggering walk, and muscles to die for. But we weren't a great match in bed, more a make-do kind of match, and our schedules didn't mesh at all. Neither one of us was out or intending to come out, but I had the feeling Kenny didn't really mean it. I always felt like something inside him was just waiting till he could find somebody worth it — like he wanted to come out more than anything, but he had to find his guy first, before he could admit how much he wanted to or find the steel to actually go through with it.
I didn't know if he would, I was just pretty sure if he did, it wasn't going to be me. Shacking up with some hard-ass dairy farmer guy of few words, and dealing with all the fallout bullshit from his family and my coworkers at the precinct — well, it was not my idea of a good time. I felt tired just thinking about it.
So we'd been involved, but not lately; it always seemed like too much effort to put into something we both knew wasn't what we wanted, not to mention tackling a cop's and a farmer's schedules.
All the same, as soon as he saw me, he nodded and headed over.
"Hunt." His eyes squinted a little at the crinkly edges as he strolled up to us and gave me his sharp "tough guy" nod. "Who's your friend?" He looked at Sky with interest, taking him in with a gentle sensitivity in his eyes you wouldn't guess he had, to look at him.
"Kenny, this is my friend Skyler. We work together at the precinct."
They shook hands, but Sky couldn't seem to meet his gaze. I put a gentle arm around Sky's shoulder and drew him up to the bar. "You want something to drink?"
Kenny followed us, looking interested. "Doing what?" he asked.
Paul was there, then, flapping a cloth on the counter. "Honey, are these big butch men bothering you?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
Nobody got on Paul's good side that quickly; I may have gaped.
He spared a quick scowl for me. "What? I can't be nice?"
I raised my hands and made an "excuse me for breathing" face.
"Sit yourself down, honey. You drinking, or just want a Pepsi?" Paul asked Skyler.
"Um … Pepsi. Thanks." Sky looked down at the beautifully polished wood grain and touched it, tracing the pattern lightly with his fingertips. "Um … thanks."
"You're welcome, my dear. We love to see new people. And don't be scared, nobody here bites. Much." He giggled at his own words and bustled off to bring Sky refreshments.
"No beer?" I asked, nudging him gently.
He shook his head. "I'd rather not."
"Cool. I'll take a beer, though," I said, raising my voice after Paul.
"Honey, you can just wait your turn!" shouted back Paul.
That drew a laugh from the patrons, and soon we had a friendly little group there, all wanting to meet the pretty man at my side and hear what he did at the precinct.
"Serious cop stuff. You wouldn't understand," I t
old them, blowing the questions off. I didn't think he wanted any deep discussions right now, or for anybody to ask for party tricks.
"I'm an empath," said Sky at the same time, so our words overlapped.
That got their attention, and for a second everybody stared. Paul's mouth dropped open.
Sky looked down, blushing furiously. "Uh … I have to tell if people are … are lying about stuff. You know, for the cops. It's my job." His voice was a whisper when he finished getting the words out.
"Yeah, and I'm basically his bodyguard, so don't anybody fuck around with him," I said, putting an arm protectively around his shoulder.
"No, we wouldn't dare," said Josh, a guy I barely knew but who had a sweet smile and a skilled mouth. I'd tapped that a few times in the past, although we'd never gotten serious, not even as serious as me and Kenny. Josh was a party boy who'd dropped out of college a few years ago and worked at a drugstore now. His mouth was about all he had going for him, and even that did better for him filled with cock than trying to make conversation.
Yeah, I could be shallow, too. I was ashamed of myself enough about that to keep my distance lately.
"It's okay," managed Sky faintly. "I'm … fine."
I wasn't sure I believed him, but he pulled himself together and seemed interested in meeting the guys. So we all talked, but just for a few minutes.
Kenny was particularly persistent, although in a surprisingly gentle fashion. He acted like Sky's tats didn't interest him at all. But I knew the man liked ink. He had been all over the eagle and flag scroll tramp stamp I got just out of the academy. It was one of the things he actually liked about me.
It took some work for Sky's frightened shyness to abate. Everybody seemed genuinely interested in him, and I could see they were trying to be friendly. He just got overwhelmed being the center of attention.
SAFE (Men of the ESRB Book 1) Page 5
