Middleman

by Jayne Rylon

  “All that time…” Rogan swallows hard then lets his head fall back on the plush leather seat. “Fuck.”

  He doesn’t speak again until I ask for directions to his place. Neither does he shake off my hand, which never leaves his.

  6

  Cortez

  I sit in the front pew of this weathered wooden church, nestled on a lush hilltop in Columbia, staring at the stained glass windows. I find myself here often. The bright colors that wash over my uplifted face as I blink against the filtered sunlight from outside make me feel as though I have some piece of Kaden with me. Painted on my skin.

  He’s untouchable, but still out there. Somewhere. So far from here and what my life is like now. Always a part of me.

  It’s the only time I allow myself to remember how things used to be. Usually, I try to forget that anything else has ever existed beyond this game of deceit and cunning. Otherwise, I might slip up on my cover.

  Here, I’m Father Cortez. What a joke!

  A priest I am not. Saintly isn’t my style.

  In my dreams of making love to Kaden, I hear us laughing and whispering naughty things to each other in English. It sounds so foreign to me. I’m not even sure I know how to speak that language after two and a half years embedded in the South American drug scene. Carefree joy is extinct here.

  I’ve accepted freely given confessions from some of the wickedest men alive. Tortured additional admissions from the black hearts of others, who don’t attend my house of worship, under cover of night and the verdant vegetation surrounding the area. I’ve done my duty. Spied on, influenced, and stopped pure evil however I could.

  No man could be proud of these actions or left untainted by the measures necessary to rebel against the worst of humanity. To fight them, I’ve had to become one of them. Learn to think like them. Ignore civility and my inherent distaste for brutality to stop them from inflicting those injustices on innocents.

  I’m so glad I cut Kaden loose before I left. I will never be normal again after the terrible things I’ve seen and done during this assignment.

  Each day it grows more dangerous, too.

  Last week, our organization won a major victory. We intercepted a monumental shipment. Busting the main players in that deal means everyone with access to their plans is under scrutiny, myself included.

  There are only so many times I can get away with passing along information I overhear within these walls before our enemies will narrow the list of suspects to me alone.

  I’m supposed to man this post for six more months. I can’t see how I’ll last half that long.

  I’m tired. Lying like this to everyone about everything is exhausting.

  Isolating.

  Relentless. There’s never a break. Never a chance to let my guard down.

  Even now, I hear hushed voices. I creep to the window and peer through a crack in one of the panes. Two men I recognize as leaders in the local cartel are having a heated discussion in the memorial garden outside.

  I slip my recorder from beneath my robes and turn it on.

  Memories of Kaden, and the comfort they bring me, will have to wait for some other stolen moment of peace.

  7

  Rogan

  Five Days Later

  I feel foolish climbing the rickety iron stairs to the second-story rear entry above Kaden’s shop. It’s after ten o’clock at night—too late for an unannounced visit in my social circles, and far later than I planned to swing by. I got sidetracked by a videoconference with international investors to discuss a complication that supposedly couldn’t wait until morning for resolution. Before I realized it, three hours had flown by.

  Some of Ronaldo’s criticisms were valid. I need to learn how to balance my life better. What I keep wondering is if I meet the right man, will I be as compelled to spend time with him as I am to close deals? I think the fact that I’m here now might be a clue.

  The amount of time I’ve spent thinking about Kaden since I watched him climb into an Uber and roll out of my driveway last weekend is right up there with how often I’ve checked the stocks or scoured the internet looking for venture capital investment opportunities my competitors haven’t caught on to yet.

  Hopefully he’s less concerned about etiquette than my usual companions. As it is, I’ve already delayed this visit for the better part of a week. I at least have to drop off the stuff I brought with me now that I’ve worked up the nerve to come here.

  I wish Kaden had better lighting in this alley. I’ll have to see what I can do about improving some of the conditions back here before someone breaks an ankle or gets mugged in the inky shadows between the buildings.

  When I reach the landing, I lift my loose fist but hesitate before my knuckles can connect with the crimson door. Am I an idiot for doing this personally when I could have sent someone else during regular business hours instead? Probably.

  He’s already seen me at rock bottom. Overstepping now probably won’t do any more to lower his opinion of me.

  Fuck it, I knock.

  My heart pounds a half dozen times. I guess he’s already gone to bed for the night. With a sigh, I turn to go.

  “Don’t leave! I’m coming!” A muffled shout echoes from within followed by the pounding of footsteps that make me sure he’s in the apartment, running toward me. The rattle of chain follows shortly after.

  Kaden’s there, unlatching the door. A few inches away from where I’m standing.

  Suddenly, my palms begin to sweat. I feel like an animal who’s been lured into a poacher’s spotlight by the promise of a tasty treat. It’s too late to change my mind and run. If I could, I’d vanish over the side of the railing like a superhero.

  So when he peeks out and realizes it’s me causing a racket so late, I try for a smile and a wave that come out sort of wobbly and super awkward. Great.

  “Oh! Hey, Rogan.” He seems genuinely surprised, as if I’m the last person he expected to find on his doorstep.

  Who had he been afraid of missing then? My cheeks heat as I consider that he might have an entirely different sort of company on the way over. This was stupid. I should turn right around and leave.

  As if he can sense my disappointment, he chuckles. “Thought you were the delivery guy. Oops.”

  “Uh. No, sorry.” The mere mention of food practically has me drooling. My assistant ordered me lunch sometime around eleven, I guess. I haven’t eaten since. “I brought the stuff you left at the beach house the other day. Let me go grab it. I just wanted to make sure you were here before carrying it up.”

  “Great, thanks.” Does he sound sort of disappointed? If he’s half as hungry as me, I can understand.

  Too bad he’s already made arrangements or I might have worked up the nerve to ask him out to dinner. Yeah, right. I’m not the sort of guy who asks first, but I would have wanted to.

  “Here, I’ll help.” Kaden opens the door wider and joins me on the landing. It’s a tight squeeze. The scent I remember from a few days ago hits me—man and something slightly astringent. Paint thinner, probably. On him, it smells great.

  After a slightly too-long pause I realize he’s waiting for me to get out of the way. I shake my head then jog down the stairs, as if that will make up for my dazed reaction time. I pop the trunk of my car and start lifting boxes out.

  I close my eyes briefly as I prepare to explain.

  “What’s this?” He takes the first one from me and peeks at it. In the gloom back here I’m not surprised he’s unsure.

  “It’s a new camera.” I draw in a shaky breath as the image of shattered windows and destroyed furnishings from the police report flashes into my mind. The beach house looks like it’s been hit by a hurricane. “Ronaldo took out his frustration on a lot of things, your camera included. I’m so sorry.”

  “That guy is a serious fuckwad.” Kaden catches me off guard by leaning over and squeezing my shoulders in a quick hug. Casual and genuine, he’s not uncomfortable in the least. That alone ease
s my nerves and brings me some peace for the first time since he drove me home the other day. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. Thanks for replacing my equipment.”

  I didn’t simply replace it. I upgraded it and had the guy at the photo-video supply store throw in a bunch of lenses and other doodads he seemed excited about, too. Hopefully that would atone for Ronaldo’s antics.

  “Of course. The old one is in here too, for what that’s worth. I couldn’t even get it to turn on. Worse…” I drew a deep breath then reached into the trunk again. This one hurt. I hope it didn’t upset him too much. “He didn’t seem to like his present very much.”

  Kaden curses violently when he sees the mangled painting in my hands. I hold it out to him as if it were a beloved pet that passed away. After watching him work, I know how much of himself he puts into each of his pieces.

  He runs his fingers along a shredded edge of the canvas that effectively split my face in two. He hadn’t been anywhere near finished, but he’d done enough that it was obvious it was supposed to be me. Now it’s slashed to ribbons.

  “Forget fuckwad—Ronaldo’s a straight up psychopath.” Kaden seems more concerned about me than his ruined masterpiece. “I hope you filed a restraining order.”

  “I did.” I look away then. “Things got pretty ugly this week. It’s handled. Don’t worry.”

  Despite how I acted when the shit hit the fan, and my preferences for my role in relationships, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Once the shock wore off, I’d sicced my team of lawyers on Ronaldo. They assured me he wouldn’t bother me ever again.

  Thank God.

  I pick up Kaden’s easel along with his brushes, paints, and sketching supplies, then shut the trunk. As if he understands I’m also closing the conversation about Ronaldo, hopefully forever, he nods then heads inside. I follow him, admiring his tight ass in his well-worn jeans.

  Hey, I’m only human and it’s right there in front of me. You would look too.

  It’s a good thing my hands are full or I might be tempted to do more.

  When we reach the top of the stairs, he opens the door then holds it for me as he ushers me inside. The single-room loft apartment is nothing like the places I’ve lived. The exposed brick walls are perfectly imperfect. A tidy kitchenette has the basics to guarantee a bachelor’s survival. A sofa and a few tall bookcases delineate the living room space. Beyond them I catch a glimpse of part of a large, mussed bed.

  Giant windows reach from the ground floor of his shop up to the living quarters where a spiral staircase ascends from his workspaces. A wrought iron railing decorates the edge of the loft and allows for a two-story open area of about twenty feet between the edge of it and the outside front wall, making his personal space seem larger and less confined. I bet in the daytime it’s as bright and sunny in here as the alleyway out back is dingy and dark right now.

  Though it’s a modest apartment, it has style. Nothing about it is generic or sterile.

  Immediately, I feel at home. Just like when I’m around Kaden.

  “Nice place,” I say as I follow his lead and set my armfuls of his supplies on the kitchen table, which seems to be made of a reclaimed antique door.

  He raises a brow at me as if he doesn’t believe me. “I’ve seen two of your houses. Enough to know this is a hole in the wall by comparison.”

  “It’s not what you have that’s important. It’s what you make of it.” I look around, noticing something weird and wonderful everywhere my gaze lands. Artwork, of course, but also refurbished furnishings, original wooden beams, and nontraditional LED strip lighting that highlights architectural details. Everything here has one-of-a-kind character that’s been lovingly enhanced.

  He seems like he might say more right before someone calls from outside and the door swings open a crack. “Yo, Kaden. Supper time.”

  With a fist pump, he sprints to greet the delivery guy. His wallet is out of his back pocket before I can offer to cover it for him. The delicious aroma of Chinese food wafts to me and I groan, clutching my abdomen when it cramps.

  “You already have company?” the guy asks. “Too bad. I was hoping you’d give me one of those special tips again.”

  Kaden responds too quietly for me to hear.

  Am I interrupting? I drop the rest of his things and spin toward the door. “I guess I should be going…”

  With a solid shake of his head, Kaden opens it wider as he starts back inside. The crook of his arm is laden with a brown paper bag full of fresh, steaming food.

  The delivery guy grins at us. “I guess I can’t blame you this time, Kaden. He’s smoking. Let me know if you ever update your No Do-Overs policy, though, okay?”

  Kaden laughs, highlighting his dimples and his easygoing charm. They’re so at odds with the facet of him I’d seen last weekend. The take-charge part, I mean. For a long time I thought I was the only one with two completely disparate sides like that. It’s nice to feel like less of a freak. “Will do. See you around.”

  “Have a great night!” the guy shouts from halfway down the stairs.

  I only wish things between Kaden and I actually were how they’d obviously appeared.

  He’s still chuckling as he clears his throat. “Sorry about that. He’s…uh…”

  I wave him off. No need to explain how he spends his evenings. If I’m jealous it’s mostly of the meal in his hands and not the fun time he’s shown the delivery guy in the past.

  Sure, that’s it.

  “I’m guessing by the way you’re eye-fucking my dinner that you haven’t eaten?” Kaden struts past me as if nothing happened. He sets the paper bag on the counter then reaches into the funky metal locker unit beside his refrigerator and takes out not one, but two, plates.

  “Haven’t gotten around to it yet.” I shake my head. The fact that I’m still wearing my suit is probably evidence enough that I came straight from my office.

  “I got carried away with something I was working on, too. That’s why it took me a second to answer the door. I ran up from my studio. Join me?” he asks, holding one of the mismatched plates out to me. They look hand-painted with bold swirls of color. Welcoming. Warm.

  What else am I going to do?

  Spend another lonely night starting at the ceiling of the hotel I’ve been staying at because I can’t bear to crawl into the bed I shared with Ronaldo?

  Fuck it. I accept the plate. And the invitation to stay.

  Maybe that’s what I’d hoped for all along.

  Maybe that’s why it had taken me days to work up the nerve to see Kaden again. I’m like a bug drawn to the spark of attraction between us. It’s been so long since I’ve felt that intoxicating pull toward another man. But I’m also nervous now that, theoretically, I’m free to explore it. I couldn’t stand to get squashed again so soon.

  “It’s just food, Rogan. Calm down.” He understands too much, like he can read my mind. The light skimming of his hand over my lower back as he circles around me to reach the takeout doesn’t help me settle my appetites. “Hope you like orange chicken with stir-fried vegetables.”

  “My favorite, actually.” I hold out my plate as he pops open a white box and stabs a fork into it.

  “Mine too.” He grins. “If I wasn’t trying to impress you by pretending to be civilized, I’d eat it straight out of the container while watching Netflix in bed.”

  Nothing has ever sounded so delicious. “Don’t feel the need to change your plans on my behalf.”

  Kaden steals the plate and instead hands me the chicken, a quart of fried rice, some plastic utensils, chopsticks, and two fortune cookies. “You take that. I’ll grab the beer.”

  This night couldn’t possibly get any better.

  With a six pack of a microbrew IPA under one arm, he gestures for me to follow him as he leads me to his bedroom nook. It reminds me of some kind of nest hovering over the shop. The pile of assorted blankets and pillows scattered a
round the mattress, which dips a bit in the middle, only enhances that impression. It seems cozy. Kind of like an adult’s version of a blanket fort.

  I’m man enough to admit that after the week I’ve had, it’s an appealing proposition.

  Kaden plunks the beer in the center of the bed then turns toward me. Instead of divesting me of the food I’m carrying, he drops to one knee then nudges my calf until I lift my foot. He unlaces my shoe and slips it off along with my dress sock, tossing them aside before repeating the process on the other side. Although he’s servicing me, it’s clear that he’s in charge. Doing what he wants to prepare me to spend time with him.

  Fine by me. I don’t object, letting him do as he pleases when he rises and circles behind me. His fingers slip beneath the collar of my suit jacket. I know what he wants. I transfer the Chinese to one hand and drop my shoulder. He works the sleeve down my arm until my hand is free. Every place he touches tingles as if I’ve been posing for him again.

  I switch the containers to my other hand so he can finish undressing me.

  After removing my jacket, Kaden unbuttons my cuffs then rolls up my sleeves. As his fingers trail across my exposed forearms I wonder if he’s remembering how the muscles there felt beneath his hand in the car the other day. I’m sure he only meant to comfort me when he touched me, but I haven’t been able to forget the weight of his palm or the strength in his grasp since then.

  Next he loosens my navy silk tie enough that he can undo the top few buttons of my shirt. I can’t breathe any better. Not with him so close. From here the chocolate of his eyes turns molten as he does what he likes with me.

  Satisfied, he ruffles my hair, mussing it from the slick style I’d forced the short strands into this morning. “That’s better. Come on, I’m starving.” He hops into bed, sits cross-legged, and pats the spot beside him.