by Jamie Lake
“Do it, just fucking do it,” Tony snarled, with a ceremonious slam of his phone on the side rail of the balcony.
Peter poured some orange juice, hoping it would quench not only his thirst but his thoughts as well. He was already too wired for coffee, but knew he should probably start brewing some for Tony.
Tony entered with heavy energy, and Peter could feel his presence behind him like a growing, angry storm cloud. His body immediately tensed and he swallowed convulsively, his throat dry despite the juice.
“You all right?” Peter asked, tentatively.
Tony started to say something, but instead just stared at him and pivoted into the other room. He didn’t even say a word. Peter didn’t think anything of it: just Tony in one of his moods. But afterwards, Tony hardly said a word to him the rest of the morning, and suddenly, when he said they had to head back to Las Vegas early, Peter should have known something was up. He wondered what was going on, but asking might make him angry.
Later on in the evening, during the limo ride back home, Peter had to ask. “What’s wrong?” He just couldn't keep it in any longer. He had to ask.
Tony stared out the window, and he took a deep breath as the car pulled up to his apartment. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it all taken care of. You may not hear from me for a few days. I’ve got a lot on my mind, but just ... just be good.” He sounded robotic, unemotional, and clearly distracted.
He said it with a smile, but Peter had grown to know Tony well enough to know that look in his eyes: he was hiding something: what, he wasn’t sure, but it was something. Not only was he hiding something, but he wasn't happy about it either.
Peter carried his luggage up the stairs to his apartment. He didn’t have much, but it felt like a lead weight with the sunburn he’d gotten on his left shoulder. Tropical weather had a dark side. He dropped his bags for a second as he stuck his hands in his pockets and fished for his house keys. Stepping inside, stale as the air was, it felt good to be home. Tony didn't follow him up: he just dropped him off. It was the first time he'd been able to relax in a long while. He let out a little hitching breath, relishing the brief freedom.
It wasn’t two minutes after he collapsed on his couch that a hard and fast knock vibrated on the door. Peter already started to doze off. Although startled by the noise, he thought he'd imagined it, but then he heard it again. Who the hell was it? Peter wondered, thinking at first, Tony must have forgotten something, but as he groggily stumbled to the door and swung it open, he was almost head butted as Chip stepped inside, brushing past him and coming into the apartment.
“Chip?” Peter said, as he closed the door.“What are you doing?”
“Is he here?” Chip asked, cutting him off, looking around the apartment.
“Tony? No, he just ...” Peter started to say.
“No, not Tony. Johnny. I can’t find him anywhere.”
CHAPTER 5
“Where did you last see him?” Peter asked, beyond terrified and concerned, as Chip paced back and forth. He wanted to reach out to comfort him, but he wasn't sure now was the time. Instead, he clenched and unclenched his fists, his chest aching with fear, worry, and guilt.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. I just couldn’t think of where else he’d be. I already have my cop buddies searching for him. He’s wandered off before, but not like this, and not for this long. Something’s wrong. I can just feel it.” Chip's hands were shaking, and tears stood in his eyes. His face was pale. It was clear he was just abjectly terrified.
“But how would he get all the way over here? And how ...” Peter started to ask. He didn't want to take away Chip's hope, but they had to stay calm and remain rational.
“I know. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just... I don’t know what to do,” Chip said, more worried than Peter had ever seen him. Peter pulled him into an embrace and he felt Chip’s strong arms tighten around him. He couldn't keep from reaching out to him now. Not for himself, but for Chip. He needed the comfort.
“It’s going to be all right,” Peter soothed, “We’ll find him.” A little voice in his head said, what if we can't find him? What if Tony did something? He squeezed his eyes shut and gently shook his head. No, he wouldn't and couldn't think about that.
Chip pulled away and wiped his moist eyes. He’d never seen such a strong man in tears before, and had it not been such a serious situation, it would have been such a turn-on. He felt a little guilty for even thinking that. Johnny could be in real danger. He felt scared for him too, but mostly, he felt sad for Chip.
“Do you want something to drink? Sit down,” Peter said, ushering him over to the couch. He made sure Chip sat down and then he patted him consolingly on the shoulder.
“How about a whiskey?” Chip half-joked, taking a seat on the couch, putting his face in his hands.
“Hold on,” Peter said. He went to the kitchen. He tried to ignore how strange everything felt. How empty and stale. He shook it off and grabbed the bottle under the cabinet and fixed them both a shot glass. “I could use one myself.” He offered Chip a half-smile.
“I just feel ... so irresponsible. I never turn my back on him. We were at the park and there were other kids around, and I was just watching him slide down the slide by himself, and ... I was only looking at my newspaper for, I swear to God, two, maybe three minutes, and then he was gone. He was just gone. I looked everywhere.” He scrubbed his face with his hands, visibly shaking. Peter couldn't imagine how terrified he must have been.
“I know,” Peter said, handing him his shot glass. “Look, it could happen to anybody. He probably wandered off with one of the other kids or something.” Peter hoped that was all it was. He silently prayed that was it: that Johnny just went home with a friend.
He sat down beside Chip on the sofa and took a swig of his whiskey and rubbed Chip’s back. He cleared his throat as it burned all the way down. He looked over at Chip, at the worry on his face, and his heart broke. If only he hadn't left with Tony, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe something worse would have happened. An even worse thought occurred to him. What if all of this was his fault?
“Yeah, I hope. Thanks. I know, I know we talked about not seeing each other anymore, but I couldn’t think of anyone else to go to.” Chip lowered his head, his expression stricken.
“No, it’s fine, I ...” Peter grabbed Chip’s hand, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. It’s me who has to apologize.”
“No, I respect your decision.”
“No,” Peter said speaking up, “The truth is, I do love you too, Chip. More than you can imagine, and I do want to be with you. You have no idea. It’s just things got complicated with Tony. He said some things, and I was afraid you and Johnny might get hurt.” The words tumbled out of him, spilled out of his mouth. It felt freeing to say them. It was a large weight off his shoulders. He felt like he could breathe.
“What kind of things?” Chip asked, narrowing his eyes.
“It’s not important now. What’s important is, I know what I’m going to do about it. You say you’re going to go with Johnny for a few days, right? Once you find him, I do want to come with you, but the thing is, I don’t know if I can return to town again, that is.” Already, his pulse was racing. His breathing was quicker. It was scary just to think about it, let alone say it out loud.
“What are you saying?” Chip asked, frowning in confusion.
“I mean, Tony’s a dangerous guy, and I don’t want you or Johnny to be in danger. I want to be with you, I do. I just don’t know how to make that happen without leaving for good.” It stung to say it. He'd be leaving behind his dream job and everyone he knew. It was a hard sacrifice to make, but he'd do it for Chip.
“You’re saying you want to run away?” Chip asked.
Peter nodded. It was the only way to really explain it. If they wanted to be together and they wanted to be safe, they'd have to run. Run and never look back.
“What about us? What about me?” Chip asked, rising from the couch.
“You could come with me?” Peter suggested hopefully, looking up at Chip, his heart aching.
“Where? You want me to uproot my son’s life because you’re scared?” Chip asked, his voice rising.
“I know, it doesn’t sound like the ideal situation.”
“No, it’s not,” Chip said, cutting him short. He scowled down at Peter.
“I know,” Peter said again, taking a deep breath. He hated this predicament. He hated what he'd done to Chip, what he'd done to himself.
“Peter, I told you, I want to be with you and I’ll stick with you no matter what, but you have to do the same. If you run away, then Tony wins. We can take him down, both of us, but we have to work together. Understand? Both of us.”
“Yeah, I ...” Peter started to answer when Chip’s cell phone rang. He answered it before looking at the ID.
“Yeah?” Chip said anxiously. “Where?”
“Who is it?” Peter asked, leaning forward.
“They found him,” Chip said, covering the phone.
“That’s great,” Peter shot up with a smile. A wave of cool relief washed over him. Johnny was okay. He'd been found.
“He has a what?” Chip said, his excitement turning to concern instantly. “I’ll be there in 2 minutes.”
Chip hung up the phone and headed for the door.
“I’m coming with you,” Peter said following him.
***
They found Johnny huddled by three cops who were down on their knees at Johnny's eye-level. He had his head bowed and had clearly been crying. Chip raced to him the minute he made eye contact and Peter was shortly behind.
“Son,” Chip said, grabbing him and pulling him into an embrace, hugging him hard. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Johnny sobbed as he nodded his head. He clutched at his father, his little hands curling into fists in his shirt.
“Where were you? Why did you go?” Chip asked, trying to control his outrage.
“I didn’t. The man took me,” Johnny said, sniffling.
“Took you where? Who?” Chip pulled back, holding Johnny by the shoulders, looking his son in the eye, his tone serious.
“The big man,” Johnny said, his said wet blue eyes looking at his father’s for compassion. “He said I'd better come with him or he’d hurt you.”
Chip took Johnny’s face in his hands, “Son, did they ... did the man hurt you? Did he touch you?” Chip was clearly trying to remain calm, but he was trembling all over with pent-up rage.
Johnny shook his head. “He just drew on me.”
“Drew on you?” Chip said, confused, until Johnny lifted his shirt.
I warned you. It was a red mark written in red marker. Chip pulled him close, and Peter knew instantly who was behind it. He had to get away from them both before something worse happened. It was his fault after all. Tony had done this. He felt sick. His guilt was overwhelming.
“What does that mean?” the other cops asked.
“It’s just ... just a joke,” Chip said, forcing himself to laugh, “Just an old college buddy. Nothing to be concerned about, guys. Let me get my son home.” He stood and patted Johnny on the shoulder.
“Are you sure?” they asked.
“Yeah, it’s good. Seriously. Come on, Johnny,” Chip said, ushering him across the park. Peter didn’t know what to say, but he knew what he needed to do.
“Chip,” Peter started to say. He knew if Tony took it this far, there was only one way to end this, “I ... I better go.” It was just as painful as it was the first time. It was a knife in the heart. But he couldn't let anything happen to Johnny or Chip because of him. He'd never be able to live with himself if they were hurt because of him. The guilt over Anton was bad enough.
“No,” Chip said firmly, “I told you we’re in this together.”
“No, Chip,” Peter said, planting his feet in the ground, “I love you. I do, but this has to stop.”
Peter didn’t even wait to see the confused expression on Chip's face. He was on a mission.
CHAPTER 6
“Hey, babe,” Tony said, pouring himself a drink as Peter entered the penthouse suite. “Thirsty?” He gave Peter his customary, dazzling smile, exuding confidence and charm.
Peter stepped in, his heart pounding, wanting to blurt out everything that was on his mind, but knowing that was not for the best. His hands curled into fists as he marched up to Tony.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Peter charged, pointing his finger in his face.
“Woah-woah-woah,” Tony said, nice and calm, cool, and collected, “What’s all this?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’s all this’? If you want to fuck with my life, that’s one thing, but fucking with a kid? Dragging him into all this? That’s off limits.” Peter sneered at him, so sick of his head games, his control. He was sick of his arrogant attitude.
Tony calmly added a couple of ice cubes to his drink and took a sip. “I don’t know what you’re ...”
That’s when Peter smacked the drink out of his hand and it landed with a crash. “Quit fucking around, Tony. This is not a game.” His own voice was low and dangerous, tinged with a growl and a flash of his teeth.
Tony came toward Peter so fast, he didn’t know what hit him. Tony grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
His face was so close he could almost kiss Peter, and for a moment, there was enough passion between the two of them, it wasn’t clear what was going to happen. But Peter pushed Tony away. He could hardly stand the sight of him at the moment.
“I’m done with you, Tony. I let you treat me like shit because maybe there was a part of me that liked it, a part of me that felt I deserved it, but you’ve taken it too far. So fuck you.” It felt good to say it. Terrifying, but good. It was what needed to be said. What he should have said all along. And with that, Peter headed toward the door.
“All right, Peter. I won’t stop you,” Tony said, in an almost defeatist, calm manner. “But know this: once you walk out that door, you’re either with me or against me.” And just like that, Tony was vicious again. It was like all the kindness, all the gifts and sweet words were all a facade, a show to hide the REAL Tony.
But still, Peter paused for a second. There was no doubt in his mind who he wanted to be with, but there was a part of him that was going to miss Tony, and more importantly, wondered how and when he would retaliate. He couldn't tell at that moment whether it was desire or fear that made him hesitate.
"What's it going to be, Petey?" Tony asked, holding fast to his tough stance, jutting out his chin.
“Consider this against you. And if you ever touch Johnny or Chip again, I swear to God...” Peter said, looking at him with a scowl one last time. It felt good to stand up for himself and the man who he loved.
“Or what? What are you going to do to me, Petey. Really?” Tony sneered and then barked out laughter.
There was silence between them as Peter contemplated whether or not to say what was on his mind, “Or I’ll kill you.” But he didn't say that. He meant it, but he kept the words inside his head.
“Oh, and by the way? My name is Peter. Not fucking, Petey,” Peter said, slamming the door behind him.
***
The rain was pouring on Peter as he pounded on Chip’s door. Soaked like a wet dog, Peter’s shoulders hunched as Chip opened it. They stared at each other for a moment. Peter's breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded. He never needed anyone like this, and he needed Chip right then.
“Come here,” Chip said, pulling Peter by the hand into an embrace and holding him tightly. Peter never wanted him to let him go. He wanted to be in his arms forever.
“I’m wet,” was all Peter could think of to say.
“I’m about to make you a lot more wet,” Chip said in his low rumble, as he pulled Peter’s fa
ce in his palms and gave him a slow wet passionate kiss; the type of kiss that made Peter’s knees buckle.
“I was worried sick about you,” Chip said. “Don’t do that to me again.”
“It’s done,” Peter said, with a half-smile. “I’m free. He won’t bother us anymore.”
“How do you know?” Chip said anxiously.
“I told him it was over and to not fuck with us,” Peter said, stepping inside, as Chip closed the door behind. “Where’s Johnny?” He couldn't quite shake his anxiety that Tony would do something to retaliate. No matter how much he blustered about telling Tony off, he had to admit he was still afraid.
“In his room sleeping,” Chip said, “He’s exhausted.”
“I bet,” Peter said. “Didn’t mean to knock so loudly.” He gave Chip a sheepish smile.
“I’m just glad you’re here,” Chip said, “For good?” He sounded so hopeful.
“You mean…?” Peter asked.
There it was again - his dream within his grasp. He could have the man he loved, the family he'd always wanted. He could keep his dream job. Everything. All he had to do was reach out and take it.
“I’d like you to move in with us. I know it’s soon. I know we’re still getting to know each other, but the only way we’re going to know is ...”
“Okay, I will,” Peter said with a bright, beaming smile. How could he say no? He never wanted to refuse Chip again.
Chip smiled back, “You will?”
Peter nodded. Chip kissed him again this time, and the force of his body pushed Peter against the wall; the scruff of his 5 o’clock shadow bristled against Peter’s cheek and it just felt good to be his, to be owned, to belong to someone who cared, who’d have his back, no matter what. Someone who didn't judge him for his mistakes, who loved and accepted him for just who he was and nothing more.
“We’ll get your things later on today or tomorrow, if you want,” Chip suggested, lips moving against Peter's neck as he spoke.
