by Layla Dorine
Nicky ducked his head, and then shivered when Terry leaned in to speak in his ear. “You’re overrated, Nicky, and soon they’ll see it and you’ll have nothing, which is exactly what you deserve.”
Nicky whirled, fists clenched, which only made his injured hand throb in pain.
“Do it and I press charges for assault,” Terry threatened. “Let’s see you race then.”
Nicky glared at his ex, then turned around and opened the door again, this time climbing into the truck and resting his head on the steering wheel. When he looked up, Terry was still standing beside the window, smirking at him. Starting the truck, Nicky drove away, but not before seeing Terry waving at him in the rear view.
Bastard, Nicky thought, though there was more hurt than anger behind it. He punched the steering wheel, forgetting his hand, and let out a wail of pain. Slamming on the breaks, Nicky doubled over, clutching his hand and shaking.
When he was done, he just felt tired, cold, and ready to go home. Stopping along the way at a grocery store, he grabbed some things for dinner and drove back to the house. He’d picked up some gauze too, since he’d bled through his bandages and was pretty sure he’d torn a couple of stitches. It just wasn’t his week, it really wasn’t.
Once home, he rewrapped his hand, grateful that only one stitch had ripped free. It was still too early to start dinner, so he kicked back in an easy chair, watching cartoons in between napping. It was odd, being home on a work day, the house too quiet for his darkening thoughts. Even a wacky bunny wasn’t really amusing him, so he was more than happy when it started getting late. At least throwing together a meal might help him take his mind off things.
He whipped up a batch of chicken and green chili enchiladas, plus a batch of brownies, put them in the oven, and flopped on the couch to watch some more television. Nope, cooking hadn’t helped settle his thoughts at all.
When dinner was ready, he went up to Vic’s room and knocked. A grunt was the only response he received, so he took it as an invitation and pushed open the door. Vic was bent over his notes and books, studying.
“Hey, I, umm, made dinner. Enchiladas and brownies.”
Vic’s face lit up as he looked over at Nicky. “Oh man, awesome, thanks. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Nicky forced a grin and the two sat down together to eat. Nicky asked how the paper was coming.
“I’ll be happy when it’s over,” Vic responded as he spooned on some extra sauce. “The weather is getting too nice to be stuck indoors. I want to head up to the mountains, do some bouldering. You could come with me, if you want.”
Nicky shook his head. “I’d better not; the sponsors would have my head if I broke something.”
“How about after the season is over?” Vic asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Nicky said with a shrug.
When Vic paused and watched him closely, Nicky felt himself flush and he ducked his head, averting his eyes. He didn’t want Vic to see just how upset he was, and he knew how telling his eyes could be, with the way they tended to change color depending on his moods. Vic had told him once that when he was sad his eyes were jade. He was pretty sure that if he looked in the mirror they’d be jade right now, and brimming with tears.
Taking a deep breath, Nicky served decadent bowls of brownie à la mode, the ice cream melting slowly on the still-warm and fudgy brownies.
“Thank you,” Vic said as Nicky set the dessert in front of him. “These look awesome.”
“Thanks,” Nicky muttered, and sat down with his own bowl.
“Nicky….” Vic began, but Nicky shook his head.
“Don’t, Vic. Just, not right now; okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Vic replied.
Relieved, Nicky turned his attention back to his bowl and dug in. He was grateful for the silence as they finished their dessert. The last thing he wanted to do was answer more questions. As soon as he was finished, Nicky stood, bowl in hand, and headed for the sink.
“You’d better get back to your books. I’ll clean up. It’s the least I can do after last night.”
“Dude, if you don’t stop dwelling on it I’m going to prank you.”
Nicky made a face. Vic was the king of pranks. Sometimes he did them for fun, sometimes for revenge, and sometimes to teach a lesson. “Okay, okay.”
Vic grinned and ruffled Nicky’s hair as he went by, making his friend laugh and fix the mess before starting on the dishes. He was tired by the time he was done and flopped back on the couch, more than ready to sleep and more than aware that he was avoiding his own bedroom and the bed he and Terry had shared. Hell, every time he stepped into the room he was sure he would see Terry kissing Dirk, so why bother. The couch was comfortable. It would do.
Closing his eyes, Nicky went to sleep, hoping to wake up and find the nightmare his life had become was actually just a bad dream. Too bad wishing didn’t work. Morning brought the start of a new workweek and having to face Terry at the shop every day was growing more and more unpleasant. At first it had just been little things, like Terry helping himself to his lunch like he’d still packed enough to share, or Terry borrowing the tools from his station and forgetting to put them back. He hadn’t minded when they were together, but now they were just reminders of the things he’d lost.
The worst part, though, was the way the others had begun to treat him. Nicky thought back to the week before, when he’d asked Jason for help removing a stubborn crankshaft.
Jason never looked at him, just continued his work while muttering from beneath the hood of an old Dodge. “If you can’t do it yourself, maybe you shouldn’t be working here.”
“Come take a look at it and you’ll see what I mean,” Nicky insisted.
“I’ve got too much shit to do right here. I’m not gonna do your work too.”
“Not asking you to do it for me, just to lend a hand for a moment. What’s the big deal? We’re always helping each other out with shit that gets stuck.”
“Maybe you’ve been needing help too often. Learn to fix shit yourself like the rest of us or find another job. No one here is gonna babysit you anymore.”
“When the hell have any of you ever had to babysit me? I do just as much, just as fast as the rest of you!”
“You did, when you had Terry watching out for your ass, helping you along every step of the way.” Jason glared as he grabbed another wrench. “Now, if you don’t mind fucking off, I got work to do.”
For a moment Nicky had been frozen with disbelief, staring as Jason stuck his head back under the hood. Then, fists clenched, he’d turned, headed back to the car, and fought with the crankshaft until River had seen his struggles and helped him pull the thing.
The workday that used to be filled with joking and teamwork now saw Nicky working alone at the far end of the bay. The only one who even acknowledged his presence anymore was River, and most days he was out with the tow truck, leaving Nicky with guys who stopped talking as soon as he got close to them, and then turned around and whispered behind his back. He could only imagine what Terry had told them, about the breakup and the race, but he’d seen space, damn it, and in that split second he hadn’t cared who’d been riding to the left of him. Didn’t they know that was racing? That you saw your chance and you took it; otherwise what was the point of being out there?
Nicky glared beneath the hood of the old Toyota he was working on as if it had personally slighted him. Every now and again laughter would filter his way and he’d wonder what was so damned funny, or interesting, that three of them had to be crowded around, of all things, a minivan.
“Hey, Chris,” he called out, struggling with the chain on the pulley due to the heavy glove on his hand to cover his injury. “Can you help me with this tranny?”
“Pull it yourself,” Chris yelled back.
Nicky sighed and stopped bothering with the chain, his eyes darkening as he stalked over to where they’d gathered. “What the hell, Chris? Pulling that thing is a two-man job!”
&nbs
p; “What do you know about teamwork with the way you go around stabbing people in the back?” Chris retorted.
Nicky frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The way you cheated at Tahoma, man. You stole that sponsorship from Terry and damn near caused him to wreck his bike, just ’cause you couldn’t admit he was better. That’s pretty low, man.”
“All I did was win a race,” Nicky protested.
“Pretty underhanded way to go about it; don’t you think?”
Nicky pulled the shop towel from his pocket and flung it at Chris. “You know what? I’m tired of this shit. Were any of you at the race? No. Have any of you even bothered to watch the tape of it? There was space in front of me and I used it. Tell me any of you wouldn’t have done the same out on the speedway, huh? How many of you would have looked behind you and checked to see if it was your buddy coming up on you in the final fucking turn? None of you, I bet, ’cause the whole damned point of running a race is to try and win it.”
Nicky stalked away from all of them, pausing only to holler back over his shoulder. “I’m done trying to explain color to the blind. I quit!”
Turning, Nicky glared at Terry, who was watching him from beside a muscle car. “You win, Ter. Happy now? You fucking win!”
With that, he stormed from the shop and jumped in his truck, spinning the tires as he peeled out of the parking lot. With a curse, he remembered his tools, and the fact that he was going to owe Dean one hell of an explanation for quitting on him, but there was no way he could take shit day after day without hurting someone, and he hated fighting. He blew two red lights and a stop sign before heading out of town, trying to calm himself down before he got in a wreck. Would be no point in heading out to the desert today; Terry would no doubt show up later, gloating with that damned smirk of his. Instead, Nicky headed toward the mountains and watched the sun set from the top of Beaver Peak. He drove along Old Ridge Road, winding his way through the curves with country music blaring from the radio.
Around nine, he found an all-night gas station and diner, and stopped to fuel up and get pie. Pie helped everything.
“What can I get for you?” the guy behind the counter asked. He looked like a cowboy with longish blond hair and gray-blue eyes like flint. Nicky was sure the guy was older than him, mid-thirties maybe, and damn was he built like he lived in a gym. His flannel shirt and jeans fit snug and showed off his defined build, even with the black apron he wore over it.
“What kind of pie do you have?” Nicky asked.
“Boston Cream, French silk, cherry, and apple.” The man’s voice was a lazy drawl and Nicky found it a little arousing.
Nicky tried to give the man a smile. “I’ll take a slice of French silk and a slice of Boston Cream, please.”
The big man chuckled. “Got a sweet tooth, do ya?”
“More like depressed as hell,” Nicky muttered.
“Oh, well then, you sure I can’t bring you a slice of each?”
Nicky laughed. “Nope, two will do. I don’t need to get fat on top of everything else.”
The guy’s eyes raked over him and Nicky was sure he didn’t misinterpret the way he was being appraised. Nicky watched as he cut the pie and brought it over. “Whipped cream?”
“No thanks,” Nicky said.
“Doubt it would pack on any extra pounds,” the man quipped.
“Fine, whipped cream,” Nicky relented, his eyes widening a little as the guy piled it on.
“Eat up.” The big man chuckled before he resumed wiping down the counters.
Nicky took his time eating the pie, savoring it. It was really, really good. So good he couldn’t help but close his eyes and slowly chew several bites, allowing the flavors to roll over his tongue as the anger and tension of the day finally began to melt away.
“Wow, you really love pie; don’t you?”
Nicky’s eyes popped open to find the man watching him. He felt his cheeks heat up a bit as he averted his gaze.
“It’s, umm, really good,” Nicky said. “Chef must be awesome.”
“I am, thanks.” The man chuckled as Nicky blushed more. “Where are you from?”
Nicky swiveled in his seat and gestured toward the east. “The Valley.”
“Long way to drive for some pie.”
“Pie like this, I might drive for more often,” Nicky quipped. “Really, though, I was almost out of gas. Figured I’d fill me and the truck and be on my way.”
“Where you headed?”
“No fuckin’ clue,” Nicky admitted.
The guy raised an eyebrow. “So what are you running from?”
Nicky laughed bitterly. “My life, which is an epic fuckin’ mess right now, and since the shit-storm keeps getting worse, I decided to drive.”
The guy chuckled again. “I know that story, my friend. About three years back I came home to find my stuff on the lawn and a foreclosure sign outside. Guess there was a second mortgage I didn’t know about. I tossed most of the crap in the dumpster, packed my clothes and music in my trunk, and lived in my car for a while, until the owner sold the restaurant I was working at and the new management brought in their own people and a menu I couldn’t even pronounce. They turned it into some snazzy upscale thing, and me, I just started driving. Saw a ‘help wanted’ sign in the window when I stopped for gas and I’ve been here ever since.”
“Hopefully not still living in the same old car?”
“Nope, I have a trailer out back,” the guy said. “So, what happened that you’ve got no place to go back to?”
“I guess it isn’t that bad,” Nicky relented. “I mean, I’ve got a place to live, and I’ve got a job, even if I did just quit my day job this morning.”
“Ah, so it’s a woman then?” the man fished.
Nicky shook his head. “Not a woman.”
“Not a woman, but someone, ’cause I’m sensing that if it isn’t home and it isn’t work then a relationship tanked somewhere.”
Nicky looked down. “Yeah.”
“How long were you and he together?”
“Since high school.”
The man studied Nicky for a moment, a small smile on his face. “First and only relationship, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, time heals all things, kid. Was with my guy for six years before I came home to that foreclosure sign. It don’t get any easier the older you get. It still sucks when it all blows up in your face.”
“Just wish he wouldn’t rub my nose in it every time I turn around.”
“He can only rub your nose in it if you let him,” the guy pointed out.
“I guess.” Nicky’s cell phone went off. He flipped it open to see the call was from Vic. With a sigh, he answered it.
“Your boss has been leaving messages all afternoon. Wanna tell me why you quit your job?” Vic asked.
“Nope.”
“Christ, Nicky, what did Terry do?”
“Just drop it, Vic.”
“You know what, Nicky, fuck you. I’m trying to be your friend here, but you’re making it really fucking hard.”
“Just give me some space, Vic, please.”
“Fine, but if you end up drunk and bloody instead of coming home and dealing with shit here, I’m going to be pissed.”
“I hear ya.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, I do. Look, I’m up at a little diner. I’m not drunk. I’m not gonna drink. So just give me space; okay.”
“Be safe.”
Nicky slid his hand through his hair. “I will,” he said before hanging up.
Looking at the big man, who was watching him from the far end of the counter, Nicky gave a tense smile. “Could I, umm, have another slice of pie? Apple this time, please.”
The man laughed. “How about ice cream with that?”
“Sure. Maybe I’ll die of a sugar overdose.”
They were alone in the diner, save for the guy on the grill in the back.
“You know,” the
man began, “there are some fun ways to burn off sugar, if you’re interested. I get off in an hour.”
Nicky shivered, partly in fear and partly in anticipation. He could say yes, easy. Hell, it wasn’t as if Terry had even waited for them to break up before he’d moved on to someone else. Still, Nicky had never been with anyone but Terry, and this was a stranger, even if he was friendly as hell.
“Think about it,” the guy said before he headed to the back.
Nicky ate slow, thinking about the offer. Orgasm might drown out some of the misery he was feeling, and it helped that the guy was pretty hot for being a decade older. He just hoped the cook was as nice in private as he’d been behind the counter. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, he gave the guy a smile when he came back to take his plate.
“What’s your name?”
“Grayson, but everyone just calls me Gray,” the man said with a grin.
“I’m Nicky,” Nicky said, a little shy at the prospect of the encounter.
Gray reached out his hand. Nicky took it, shaking it firmly.
“Nice to meet you, Nicky.”
“Nice to meet you too.” Nicky licked his bottom lip. “I, umm…yes.”
Gray looked shocked for just a moment; then his eyes lit up and he nodded, glancing back at the clock. “I’ve got about twenty-five minutes left.”
“Sounds good,” Nicky said. While he waited, he fiddled with his phone, deleting old messages from Terry and finally pressing the erase button on Terry’s number. That was hard; his finger hovered over the button for several minutes before hitting it. Not like he didn’t know the number by heart, but it was the idea behind it.
“Ready?” Gray asked, startling Nicky, who dropped his phone. Gray picked it up and handed it back.
“Umm, yeah,” Nicky muttered. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Gray waited to see if Nicky would follow him.
Tucking his phone in his pocket, Nicky finally did, allowing Gray to lead him out the door. They crossed the patch of grass between the diner and Gray’s trailer, Nicky feeling more nervous with every step. Gray opened the door and turned on the light, while a hesitant Nicky followed him inside, only to freeze in the space between the kitchen and the bed.
