Jack: Grime and Punishment: The Brothers Grime, book 1

by Maxfield, Z. A.

  “He’s in the closet. I get it.”

  “No. He makes all the closeted gay men I know look out and proud.”

  “There are other gay cops around here.”

  “Not according to Dave.” Jack took another hit. He could already feel his muscles loosen up. His head felt light, as if his brain were distancing itself from his body on a long string, like a balloon. “How do you know that? About the other cops, I mean.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “How do you think?”

  “Oh.” The thought of Ryan sampling the local gay law enforcement buffet didn’t sit right with Jack, but he couldn’t exactly say why. Jack blew his smoke out the window again. The breeze blew some of it back in. Between tokes, he inhaled a deep, cleansing breath of fresh air. “Thanks for this. It seems to be helping.”

  “Take another drag or three, and we’ll see if I can bend you a little.”

  Jack blinked slowly. He had to fight the urge to smile. God, Ryan’s herb was working really well. He moved away from the headboard he’d been leaning against to test his body’s limitations. It felt like he could finally get enough air. He might even be able to bend his knee without the fiery blast of pain he’d learned to live with. He flexed his toes and calves and lowered his shoulders one at a time. He took a deep breath and breathed it out in a long, relieved sigh.

  “I feel better.” Another hit, and a cloud of smoke came out with his next words. “Much better.”

  “Out the window, please.” Ryan’s smile was indulgent. Jack took one last drag, this time for pure pleasure, and held it for a few seconds before blowing a thin blue stream out the window.

  He’d stopped fighting a grin. “Wow.”

  “Feeling it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “I could probably do the splits if you put a bowl of crunchy cheese puffs on the floor.”

  “I’ll get a mat, and we’ll see how it goes.” Ryan buffeted Jack’s arm as he walked past. He went to the closet and brought out an honest-to-God yoga mat, which he spread out on the floor. “I’m going to lay this down here next to the bed. It’s more cushioned than it looks.”

  “I don’t stand a chance of getting down on the floor just yet.” Jack ground out the blunt and left it in the ashtray. No point in overdoing a good thing.

  Ryan got to his knees and smoothed the mat out. “In the absence of cheese puffs, I’ll find a way to help you get down.”

  “Get down,” Jack intoned. Weed made certain words taste more fun than others. Get down was not just fun but funky too. He was James Brown. He couldn’t do the moves, but he could sure as hell say the words. “Good God, y’all. Ima get doooown.”

  “Take it easy, Sex Machine.” Ryan’s amused voice came from right next to Jack’s ear. “I’ll help you.”

  “How? I don’t bend that way anymore.”

  “We’re going to take it nice and slow.” Ryan stood behind him. “Like a trust fall. Can you do that?”

  “What’s a trust fall?”

  “You just let yourself go. Fall backward. I’ll catch you and take it from there. Do you trust me?”

  “I was going to let you stick your dick up my ass.”

  “This is going to be harder.”

  “Harder than your dick?”

  “No.” Ryan laughed. “Nothing’s harder than my dick, baby. Maybe I should say this is going to be scarier. You just do as I say, okay? Lean back… Keep going. That’s it. I’ve got you.”

  God, it was tough. Jack had to let his body go, lean back, and trust that he wasn’t going to crash to the floor, even though for the briefest few seconds it felt exactly like that, like he was going to just keep falling and plunge over backward and break his neck.

  But suddenly Ryan was there, just when Jack was most afraid. Right after he’d lost confidence in himself and faith in everything else, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his rib cage and slowed his fall. It stopped his descent and cushioned his landing, and then he was lying down with his back against Ryan’s chest, panting hard, but no longer because he was scared.

  Because he was relieved that his faith in Ryan wasn’t misplaced.

  “I’ve got you,” Ryan said again, unnecessarily. “Okay?”

  Jack’s answer came out as a half sob. “Yeah.”

  Ryan helped him to his back and then crawled around him to sit by his feet. “I’m going to stretch out your legs. You know your body and what you can take. I’ll need you to tell me where I need to stop here, all right?”

  Jack cleared his throat. “All right.”

  Like he did it every day, Ryan lifted Jack’s right leg and started putting him through range-of-motion exercises. Jack let him know what his limits were, but Ryan watched his face, taking his cues as much from Jack’s expression as from Jack’s words.

  “There. Ow.” Jack winced. Right away Ryan let up. He helped Jack bend his knee and pressed his whole leg down to stretch Jack’s hamstring. “How come you’re doing this for me?”

  “It needs doing.”

  “I feel very disconnected from my body right now.”

  “That’s the weed talking.”

  Jack snorted. “Weed talks like Al Pacino.”

  “You’re a lightweight.”

  “Of course I am. I haven’t smoked since high school.”

  “I guess you smoked with Nick.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you have some good memories too, yeah?” Ryan didn’t look up when he said that but kept his eyes down, focusing on Jack’s knee, the left one this time. “Not just the bad, right?”

  “Sure.” Jack winced again. “That’s enough there.”

  Ryan let up. “Do you feel like you can put your past with Nick behind you now? Did you get closure?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Jack didn’t want to talk about Nick.

  “Because I have to tell you. I thought I knew how you felt about Nick until his memorial. Now I’m not sure I know anything.”

  “That’s… Stop. That’s tender.” Jack put his hand up to keep Ryan from bending his knee farther. His head hurt from thinking. “I don’t know anything, but I don’t suppose it matters anymore. I don’t know what closure really is.”

  “I underestimated your damage. He wounded you. More than anything that happened after.”

  “Old headline.” Jack took in a deep breath just as Ryan picked up both his legs and rocked his knees side to side.

  “This should help unlock that clenching spasm in your back.”

  Jack’s eyes watered, but he went along with it. In a way, it did help. His back felt looser. “Okay. Yeah. That is better.”

  If better is the right word. For now, I don’t feel so much like screaming.

  Ryan helped Jack let his legs down gently and crawled over to lie down next to him. He lay on his side with his head resting on his crooked arm so he could look at Jack, who stared up at the ceiling.

  Jack was enjoying his fabulous flatness. He felt the whole length of his body along the floor with the gratitude of the newly unknotted. Just then he could have melted right there in marijuana-induced happy and disappeared through the floorboards.

  “I guess what I need to ask is how much of this”—Ryan gestured between them—“is because I look like my cousin.”

  Ryan’s eyes held serious concern. Jack could see that. It wouldn’t be enough to blow the question off with a laugh. It wouldn’t be enough to simply say he was attracted to Ryan and Nick’s type, because while that was the truth, it was an oversimplification.

  At the same time, Ryan’s face was inches away. The faint light created interesting highlights and shadows, and the difference was obvious. Two different people lived inside similar shells.

  When Ryan was engaged in something, when he was thinking, feeling, laughing, loving, his expression was open, generous, and tender. He couldn’t have been more unlike Nick in those moments if he tried. It was as if an artist used the same medium to create two wholly different works of
art.

  Jack lifted his hands and moved his fingers over each of Ryan’s features like a man reading Braille.

  “Your features are the same.” He thumbed the straight ridges of Ryan’s pale brows, traced a line down Ryan’s nose, and followed the Cupid’s bow of his lips. “And your coloring.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But Nick had a scar right here at the outside of his lip on the left that he got falling off a bike when we were eight.”

  Ryan’s lips closed into a tight line.

  “And his ears weren’t pierced. Yours are, even though you don’t wear earrings,” Jack continued. “He had a scar over his right eye he got on a fence when we were sophomores. Your aunt had a fit, and they called in a plastic surgeon. He took that jagged laceration and left the finest, smallest white scar.”

  Ryan’s expression was vulnerable now, and Jack’s heart hurt for him. He wasn’t sure he could come up with any words that would make things right. Certainly not while he was baked, but it wasn’t the time for half-truths or platitudes.

  “I loved Nick my whole life.”

  Ryan’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and his lashes swept down. A wry expression—a conciliatory, well-better-luck-next-time smile framed his words. “Thank you for telling me that.”

  “I’m not done.” Jack cupped the sides of Ryan’s face and gave it a small squeeze. “I have no illusions that I could replace Nick even if I wanted to, which I don’t. But I have no trouble telling you apart. I may have loved him from my heart, from deep inside my gut, but I like you better. What I know of you, anyway. I’d like to find out more.”

  Ryan’s intake of breath was as surprised as the flicker of sensual interest in his eyes. “Maybe we should go back to bed now.”

  “I’m not up to more than sleeping. I did enjoy falling asleep with you, which is…unusual for me.” Jack wondered if Ryan knew how unusual.

  “That’s okay. I think I’ll like waking up with you,” Ryan admitted. “As unusual as that might be for both of us.”

  Chapter 18

  Jack saw Dave’s SUV when Ryan pulled into his driveway to drop him off. It was still early Sunday morning, but obviously Dave had been there for a while. He sat on the porch, sipping a cup of coffee. He wore jeans and a V-neck T-shirt under a brown leather jacket. He looked casual and handsome, but his face was expressionless behind his shades.

  Jack read unhappiness in the set of Dave’s shoulders, but he doubted anyone who didn’t know him intimately would see it. He looks like trouble.

  Ryan asked, “Did you guys have a thing this morning?”

  “No.” Jack’s heart sank a little. “We didn’t have plans that I know of.”

  “Should I just let you off here?”

  “I promised you breakfast after I feed the cat.”

  “It’s all right. I can just go.”

  “We had plans. If I have a thing this morning, it’s with you.”

  Ryan pushed his door open and stepped out with one foot. “All right.”

  Jack exited the car on his side and pulled out his cane. He wished he’d filled his hidden flask after all. Dave remained silent and watchful as they walked up. Dave was a detective. He probably couldn’t fail to notice Jack was wearing his funeral suit from the day before.

  “Hey, Dave,” Jack said as he got out his house keys. “Did you forget where I keep the spare?”

  “No,” Dave answered.

  “Hey, Detective Huntley. Day off?”

  “Yeah.” Dave’s face gave nothing away.

  Jack looked him over. “Are you going undercover on NCIS: Los Angeles?”

  “Very funny,” said Dave.

  “You do have that hipster LEO vibe today,” Ryan agreed.

  “Right.” Dave got up from where he sat on the steps. He stumbled a little and reached out for the railing to steady himself.

  Definitely trouble.

  Jack eyed him warily. “We’re about to have some breakfast. Want to join us?”

  “Maybe a little more coffee. I’m almost out.” Dave turned to Ryan. “Gabe said you were having breakfast here yesterday too. Did they close the pancake house?”

  “Dave,” Jack growled in warning. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you mean, what am I doing here?” Dave’s eyebrows rose above his shades. “Did you open a restaurant you didn’t tell me about?”

  Ryan stepped forward. “Jack is asking if you’re always an asshole this early in the morning.”

  “Whoa there, Ryan. It’s okay.” Jack gripped Dave by the arm and led him up the stairs to his front door. “Everyone needs to eat something, starting with my cat.”

  “’S not your cat,” Dave slurred. “You don’t have a cat.”

  “She’s my cat today.” Jack keyed the lock and pushed Dave in ahead of him. Tasha came out of nowhere and danced around their feet, inviting disaster. “Don’t step on her.”

  “She’s a frisky little thing.” Dave avoided her.

  Ryan walked in behind them and picked Tasha up. “If you tell me where her food is, I’ll get it.”

  “In the pantry cupboard,” said Jack. “Can opener’s in the drawer by the sink.”

  “Got it.” Ryan walked past them with very much the same expression Tasha wore, slightly put out but willing to be mollified should Jack begin his groveling now and do it exactly right.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked Dave as soon as he heard Ryan moving around in the kitchen.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m here for one of your famous breakfasts. I’ll take one of those two-by-two-by-two-by-two things. Sausage, bacon, eggs, and pancakes. I like my bacon crisp. Like my men. Almost burned but not quite, and sure the hell not twice.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”

  “I’m talking about what you’re not talking about.” Dave sat down in Jack’s leather recliner and tilted it back slightly. He shook his coffee cup. “Have you ever heard of an Aqualung? That’s coffee, coffee liqueur, chocolate syrup, and vodka. I’ll have another one of those, please.”

  “You will not.” Jack raked his hand through his hair. “Is this about Ryan? Are you fucking falling apart over him or what? Yesterday, you said—”

  “I pick”—Dave’s grin was almost cruel—“or what.”

  What the hell? Jack’s eyes burned. “Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with my friend?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, Jack. Do you even know who your friends are? ’Cause I do. We’re the ones who stuck behind you when you were nearly killed on two separate occasions.”

  Jack glanced at the kitchen before speaking. “Dave…”

  Dave thumped his chest. “Me and Gabe and Eddie are the ones who pulled you from the wreckage after Nick screwed you over. We carried you home when you were too drunk to fuck. We hauled puke buckets and made excuses to your family and your employers, and we stayed with you some nights because we were afraid you were so fucking depressed you wouldn’t wake up the next morning.”

  Jack stood over Dave, both hands on the arms of his chair, pinning him in. “Now you wait just a damn minute. I was never—”

  “We’re the ones who sat in the hospital with you for months. We prayed and cried and begged God to let you walk again. We’re the ones who drove you to PT and sweated every bullet with you while you were in agony.”

  “That is so fucking unfair. Have I not been grateful enough? Is that what this is? Wait. Are you jealous?”

  “Jealous?” All the color leached from Dave’s face. “Why would I be jealous? Because you’ve got a do-over with cousin look-alike, so it’s all good?”

  “I can’t believe you even said that.” Ryan stood framed by the kitchen door, pale as a ghost.

  “This isn’t about jealousy.” Dave pushed Jack out of the way. Jack leaned on his cane while Dave faced Ryan down, hands on his hips. “It’s about the truth. And it’s time someone told it.”

  Jack tried
to get between them. “It isn’t your truth, Dave. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  Dave shoved him aside again. Jack had to scrabble for balance, grabbing on to the recliner’s cushioned backrest to stay upright. “I don’t care whose truth you think it is. Someone’s got to set the record straight.”

  Jack tensed, hand clenching into a fist. “I’m warning you, Dave.”

  “You can’t threaten me like you did Gabe. You and me were over before we started, but Gabe? You broke his fucking heart. You’re business partners. You’re family, for God’s sake.”

  “I’ll apologize to Gabe.” Jack knew he’d crossed the line with his cousin. “Go home, Dave.”

  Dave shook his head. “Not this time. This shit is not right. Someone has to say something, and if it isn’t going to be you, it’s going to be someone who loves you. Someone like me, who doesn’t have anything left to lose.”

  “Please,” Jack said brokenly. “Don’t.”

  “You want to know why your cousin and his pals beat the crap out of Jack in high school?” asked Dave.

  Jack moaned. “Dave—”

  “Because he was an asshole,” Ryan answered, sure of himself. “Because Jack outed Nick, and he didn’t want to look gay in front of his jock friends. Nick and his friends beat and nearly—”

  “Jack, you tell him now, or I will,” Dave ordered implacably. “Last chance.”

  Jack couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. His pulse drummed in his ears. He could barely hear what Dave said to him.

  Dave’s disappointment was evident from the set of his shoulders. He pierced Jack with his cold gaze, then turned to Ryan. “Jack and Nick were lovers. Nick made him a shit ton of promises he never intended to keep, and when it looked like Jack wanted to come out, Nick decided to teach him a lesson. Jack got played, man. He got used and shamed and beaten because he believed his lover, the boy who’d been his first and only for years.”

  Ryan’s jaw dropped, and he turned to Jack. “Is this true?”

  Jack’s stomach roiled. He blinked the tears away to clear his vision. “It’s not what—”

  Dave interrupted, determined to tell the bitter truth at last. “Jack asked Nick to the prom. That’s all. He asked his secret boyfriend to go to the prom, and what he got for it was…” He shook his head. “You know the rest.”