by E M Lindsey
* * *
Rowan: Count me in. See you soon, James.
James looked up, startled when he heard a soft knock on the doorframe, and he set his phone down like it was molten hot as Mat walked in and sank into the chair near his. “Okay. Spill.”
James dragged a hand down his face with a groan. “Can we not right now?”
Mat gave him a pointed look, his jaw set and determined, which told James he wasn’t about to let it go. “You’ve been acting fucking weird, man. What’s going on? You’re jumpy, you’re hurt, and you’re not talking. That isn’t like you.”
James’ gaze flickered to the door which was mostly shut, and then he leaned on his elbow and let out another rough breath. “The other night, that guy I was talkin’ to right before you left Ruby’s?”
“The pushy twink?” Mat asked.
James’ cheeks flamed red at how everyone else had noticed what an ass the guy had been except him. “Yeah. Well, he got real handsy outside, and knocked my legs a bit and wrenched both my knees.”
“Fuck,” Mat said. “Did anyone see it?”
“Rowan,” James muttered.
“Rowan?” Mat repeated slowly, then his eyes widened. “Sammy’s lawyer?”
“That’s the one. He came up right before my legs gave out and the guy ran off.” James absently reached for his right stump, which had been bothering him more than the left, and massaged over his compression sock. “I was shit-faced— or damn near to it, so he drove me back to my place and helped me get settled.”
“Why didn’t you go in and get someone?” Mat demanded.
James tried not to feel a surge of irritation since Mat’s reaction was the exact one James had been trying to avoid. “It was embarrassing, man. I didn’t want to have to explain to everyone that I fuckin’ panicked outside because I’m a dang virgin and the guy tried to grab my dick.”
“Is that what he did?” Mat asked.
James flushed, looking anywhere but at Mat’s face. “Yeah, he did. Shoved me right up against the wall and pushed his leg between mine. If Rowan hadn’t turned up when he did, God only knows what he would’a got away with. I fuckin’ panicked. I wasn’t about to go in there lookin’ like a wrecked mess and have to explain myself.”
Mat’s face softened. “They wouldn’t care.”
“Yeah, ‘cept I been lyin’ to them this entire time,” James pointed out. He was stressed, his accent thickening his tongue, and he took a breath. “I just wasn’t in a place where I wanted to face that.”
“I get it. You could have called me, though,” Mat reminded him gently.
“You were gone already, and I wasn’t about to make you grab another car just for me. Rowan was real nice about it.” He felt himself go warm in his belly at the impending meeting with the other man. “He uh…he understood why I panicked.”
Mat blinked, then startled. “You told him?”
James shrugged. “I was drunk, and so tired of holding it all in. I kinda asked him out, then he kinda said he wouldn’t mind seein’ me again, and I couldn’t lie to him after all that.”
“Woah, wait. Are you two…”
“I don’t know,” James said quickly. “I want to. I don’t want to hear that old bastard’s voice in my head every time I get hard. I need something—I need someone— to push me through it.”
Mat scratched at the back of his neck. “Is he—did he offer? Like, to fuck you?”
“I guess. I don’t actually know,” James said, and he gave a tight laugh. “We had a weird conversation about it. He’s busy, you know. All these cases, and it’s gotta be some sort of moral shit-show with him bein’ Sam’s attorney and all… right?”
“Well, he’s not your lawyer,” Mat said. “And I don’t think it’s the worst idea in the world.”
James chanced a smile, and although he felt the ever familiar, pressing panic of hell just on the other side of death’s door, he felt something new. A bravery he didn’t have before. He wasn’t really ready to credit Rowan for it, and more than likely he was just tired of crashing toward middle age and not giving into something he deserved.
He’d lived a good life, in spite of never living up to his daddy’s expectations. He gave to charity, he worked hard, he braked for birds—all that shit. He’d climbed mountains of adversity to get to where he was, and he deserved a little bit of happiness.
He did want to get married someday. He wanted to meet a nice guy and settle down. He wanted to turn his house into a home, think about kids, even. But he couldn’t do that if the sight of another man wanting him sent him into an anxiety spiral.
Maybe Rowan was just the catalyst—the jumping off point that would get him there. He sure as hell wouldn’t say no to something long term with a guy who looked like that, of course, but he’d take what he could get.
“We’re meeting tomorrow night,” James finally said. “To talk.”
“Do you want me close by? I could go hang out at Wyatt’s place so if you need me, I can run over.”
James felt a rush of affection for his friend, and he shook his head with a smile. “Somethin’ tells me I won’t need it with this guy, but if I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”
Mat looked at him a long time, then stood up and bent down, pressing a kiss to the center of his forehead. “I love you. I just want you to be happy.”
“Oh, fuck off,” James said, emotion burning in his chest. He’d never really allowed himself the open affection the other guys showed with each other, but he couldn’t deny how much he craved it when he allowed himself small moments like this. And maybe as he got through more of his hang ups, that would start to change too.
Chapter Five
James was back in his legs, on crutches, but his knees were feeling better and the swelling had gone down. He felt a little off-kilter, but he figured it had everything to do with Rowan coming over, and not his injury. He could more than easily picture himself touching Rowan, kissing him, stripping them both down and letting their bodies lead the way to more. But when he did, his heart began to hammer and his brow began to sweat.
He took a second shower twenty minutes before Rowan was supposed to show up, and he stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. He hadn’t resembled the man his father had last seen in the hospital bed in a long damn time. He had less muscle now, but his skin was covered in greyscale tattoos, his neatly trimmed beard hiding a handful of scars from the fall, and his shaved head showed off most of his scalp ink. He wasn’t as covered as some of the guys. His work was more subtle than Derek and Sage’s brightly colored sleeves, or Tony’s mish-mash of images so heavy he didn’t have much available skin left to work on.
But he liked himself. He liked that he was no longer the man he’d left behind in that South Carolina hospital. Some parts of him would always be the same, he supposed. After all these years, he didn’t think he’d ever fully be able to erase that scared little boy who saw himself being sent outside the church doors, condemned to hell by his own father for being just a little bit different. But he was more than that, now. He’d embraced so much of who he was, and he wanted to feel capable of reaching for the rest.
With a sigh, he quickly pulled his t-shirt over his head, and was just getting the button on his jeans pushed through the hole when there was a knock on his door. His socked feet slipped a little on the wood, and he gripped his crutches tight to keep from toppling to the side, but he made it to the door in one piece and threw it open.
Rowan was there, looking far more casual than James had ever seen him. The man had been done up in pristine, pressed suits with expensive labels, so to see him in a pair of worn jeans and a Henley was a lot to take in. His hair was slightly ruffled, like he’d been running his hands through it, and there were faint shadows under his eyes.
“Hey,” James said, stepping aside.
Rowan eyed the crutches as he walked in, his mouth turned down at the corners. “Still hurting?”
“Generally takes a day or two when my k
nees get fucked up like that,” James admitted. He’d long since lost any sense of shame in talking about his injuries. It was more a source of frustration when people assumed that his loss of limb during army service couldn’t be from anything but some vicious terrorist attack. Explaining it was exhausting, and living with the stigma of not being enough for his country was worse. “The accident was kind of traumatic to the bones, so my knees are a lot weaker than most.”
He led the way into the living room, hovering near the entrance to the kitchen as Rowan glanced around. The place was tidy enough. Wyatt—his unexpected renter—was a habitual cleaner. Mostly because James had given him free reign of the kitchen and TV when he was out, and Wyatt needed things a certain way in order to get around without breaking his neck. But also because the guy was just kind of a neat-freak, and James wasn’t going to turn his nose up at the guy who actually liked dusting.
“Can I get you a drink? I got beer, sweet tea, water, maybe juice?”
Rowan’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. “Real southern sweet tea?”
“My momma’s own recipe,” James said with a half-laugh. He rested one of the crutches against the wall and tested the pressure on his stump. Uncomfortable, but not impossible. “Sit down and I’ll grab us some.”
He appreciated that Rowan didn’t offer to help—he needed that extra moment to gather himself because he had no idea what was coming. When he’d told Mat about the whole virgin thing, hooking up wasn’t really on the table. Mat was straight, freshly divorced, and still battling the symptoms of his brain injury. Mat was kind, and he was supportive, and he’d walked in on James trying to fight off a handsy dude’s advances and helped him out. Mat had never told anyone about it, but they didn’t talk much about it either.
Biting his lip, James pulled a glass out of the cabinet, filled it with ice, added the tea, then grabbed a bottle of beer and tucked it under his armpit as he made his way back to where Rowan had gotten comfortable. There was a cushion of space between them, and James handed off the glass before setting his crutch to the side and popping the cap on his beer against the side of his coffee table.
“You don’t mind, do you? I’m not going to get drunk,” he assured him.
Rowan chuckled. “You’re a grown man, James. I’m not here to tell you how to live your life.”
James bit the inside of his cheek and tried to fend off a flush rising on his face. “Not every grown man should have that freedom. Not all the time,” he added.
Rowan laughed and tipped his glass up toward him. “I’ll drink to that. It’s been a long fucking week of examples of people who need a good, firm, guiding hand.”
It wasn’t meant to be sexual, he knew that. But his brain was stuck in one mode only, and he couldn’t help but picture Rowan putting his hand against the back of James’ neck and guiding his mouth down, and…
“You okay?” Rowan asked when James choked on his swallow of beer.
James swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fine. Wrong tube. Anyway, sounds like you had a shitty week.”
Rowan shrugged. “Good and bad. Some of my cases aren’t going as well as I’d hoped, and some are.”
“I really hope Sammy’s is in that last category,” James muttered quietly.
Rowan sighed. “I can’t tell you. I do hope he talks to you all though. However the cases go, it’s important to have that kind of support.”
James looked down at his hands, which were still a little grimy from his day at the auto shop. He’d long-since learned to live with the fact that he’d always be a greasy fucker. He was usually okay with never feeling totally clean, but right now, he wanted to hide his marks. “Sam doesn’t like to seem weak. But he knows we’re there for him. We’re not gonna let some backwoods fucks take that girl away. She ain’t just his. She’s ours.”
Rowan’s entire face softened and he sat back. “I wish he’d come to me sooner, but I’m glad I’m here now.”
“That’s not why you’re here, though,” James said. “With me.”
Rowan let out a startled laugh, and he shook his head. “No. I suppose that’s not why I’m here with you.”
“Those texts…”
“I want you,” Rowan said, interrupting James’ flow of words. James blinked rapidly as Rowan leaned forward to set his glass down. “I think you’re hot, and sweet, but the virgin thing makes me nervous because I’m not sure what that means, and I’m not sure what you’re looking for.”
Picking at the label on his beer, James stretched his legs out under the coffee table to take some of the pressure off his thighs. “I don’t,” he started, trying to find the words. “I’m not the sort of guy who puts a lot of stock into the whole virginity thing. The importance of it—how it defines a person. Don’t seem like sex is real life changing.”
Rowan’s lip twitched a little. “And yet…here you are. I just can’t imagine that someone like you would be short of opportunities.”
James couldn’t help a small laugh, even as it caused pain to flare up in his chest. “I uh…I grew up in this real small town in southern Georgia. My daddy’s a preacher. Southern Baptist, hellfire and brimstone kinda guy. Spent most of my life warning me that sex before marriage, homosexuality, swearin’, taking the lord’s name in vain—was all gonna send me to hell. He wanted to shape me into a real man with the backside of his leather belt.”
Rowan sucked in a breath. “Fuck.”
James laughed again, rubbing at his eye with one hand. “S’about right. I don’t know how to explain the way my head works. One side of it tells me that something like God wouldn’t care what a bunch of humans get up to between the sheets. Another voice—one that sounds just like my daddy— tells me different. Coming out to him was the second most terrifying thing I ever did.”
Rowan watched him for a long time, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “What was the first?”
James laughed. “Telling him that I lost both my legs because equipment failed during a simulation exercise. That I didn’t get a chance to make him proud by fighting for our country, and that if he was gonna lie and tell people I was a hero, I’d be right there tellin’ them I wasn’t.”
Rowan’s cheek hollowed out for a second like he was biting it. “Can I assume you told him both those things at the same time?”
James snorted and leaned back, stretching his free hand along the back of the sofa as he toyed with the beer bottle between his legs. “You got it in one. I had taken off my dog tags—felt like I didn’t deserve them. He wrapped them right back around my neck and told me under no circumstances was I to say a word about what really happened. I refused, of course. Why lie to people? I wasn’t a hero— I was a victim. When he wouldn’t let it go, I told him that I liked men— that I was gay, and I was tired of livin’ a life that wasn’t mine. He left that hospital spittin’ mad and we haven’t talked since. I told myself I was gonna change everything. My uncle left me this place, and a little bit of property which I turned into the auto shop. Tony took me by the hand and taught me everything I needed to know about tattooing, gave me the family I never had. And I became myself—all except this one little thing.”
Rowan glanced down, and James’ breath caught in his chest as the man’s long-fingered hand crept out and touched him, right above his socket. “Sex,” he said.
James repeated the word in the same low tone. “Sex. I’m so tired. I’m so tired of being afraid of my own damn dick. And I know that sounds ridiculous, but somethin’ about you feels safe. I don’t know why. It’s never happened to me before.”
Rowan swallowed so thickly, James could hear the click in his chest. “I can’t,” he started, then cleared his throat. “My life is total chaos. My mom’s sick, and my client list is more than I can handle these days. I can’t give you sex and romance. I’ve only got so much time, and I know we just met, but I already know I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I don’t want a dang marriage proposal,” James said. His hand was trembli
ng, but he put it on top of Rowan’s and dragged them both higher up his thigh than he’d let anyone touch him before. “I want someone to put their hand on my dick. Maybe their mouth. I want to touch someone else’s. I want a goddamn orgasm that doesn’t come with the shakes and the shame of it bein’ wrong.”
“I don’t know if I can give you that,” Rowan started, but before James’ heart could sink and rejection could set in, Rowan moved his hand to cup where James was half-hard. He jolted, but moved into it rather than away, and it was another first. “But I can try.”
James groaned, his head tipping up, and for a second it was ecstasy. Then something else settled in, a tingling, numbing sensation in his face and he didn’t realize he was gasping for breath until Rowan was holding his shoulders and urging him to slow down.
“It’s okay,” Rowan said. “I’m so sorry.”
James shook his head, trying to clear the fog, and he let out a half-groan, half-sob. “Why can’t I just fucking be normal!”
Rowan pulled back gently, but he didn’t go far, and James didn’t realize how much he needed that until his thigh pressed against the other man’s. “It was too fast. Regardless of how you think about sex logically, your brain isn’t going to let you just jump in. Someday it might be easy, but today is not that day.”
James felt his face burning with humiliation. “You should go.”
Rowan didn’t pull back, didn’t stand up, didn’t even look angry. “Is that what you want?”
“You tellin’ me you’re willing to work with this mess?” he demanded, waving a hand up and down his body.
With a small chuckle, Rowan reached out again. His movements were slow, and James hated how necessary it was. His palm was soft as it touched James’ cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing through the short hair of James’ beard. He raised his other hand after that, and tilted James’ head toward him. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
“Few drunk ones,” James said. “With folks at the shop, but not…I’ve never…”
