by Rhys Ford
“Are you supposed to call a guy names after he’s dead? I thought that all the crappy stuff got wiped out.” Swinging the pot off of the burner, Justin set it down on the long counter where Angel placed a pot and strainer. “My grandmother used to say everyone’s a saint after they’ve kicked the bucket.”
“Your grandmother also kicked you out of the house when she found out you liked boys,” Angel reminded him. Justin’s eyes narrowed, but he only sniffed again, a brief note of disgruntled annoyance. “Look, the reason I haven’t talked to you about West is because it’s kind of new… ish. We fit into each other, and that’s kind of scary. Dude, we haven’t been around each other in almost ten years, but it’s like… I can’t explain it. I know him. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Tale as old—”
“You start breaking out into show tunes and I’m going to waterboard you with the raspberries,” Angel threatened. “It’s easy to be with him. Even when he pisses me off, I still want to be there to work things out. It’s just… fast. And then I’ve got Rome to think about.”
“Yeah, because college is paid for,” Justin snorted.
“Doesn’t work like that, Just.”
“It does if you let it.” He rolled his eyes at Angel’s exasperation. “Look, I grew up in a trailer park where the best entertainment we had was tying traps to the top of the fence and betting which side the canal rats would fall when they got caught. You bet your fucking ass I’d be sitting in that house, eating bonbons, and ordering everything I wanted off of the shopping network.”
“You’d be bored out of your skull,” Angel replied. “You work two jobs and take classes in everything from basket weaving to Russian folk dance. You’d last one day. Then you’d be climbing the walls.”
“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to try,” Justin muttered. “Besides, you told me he and Rome get along really well. Why shouldn’t you grab at that brass ring? Okay, in this case, a platinum ring. But you should grab it.”
“Because suppose it doesn’t last? Forget jerking Roman around, how the hell am I going to deal with losing him again?” Angel leaned against the counter, picking away at the scabs in his soul. “Yeah, we were kids and we had some shitty things happen to us to keep us apart, but when it’s all said and done, what do we really have in common?”
“Other than hot sex—angry or otherwise—and both of you really needing one another?” Justin shrugged, then lifted the pot up. “Nothing at all. Hold the strainer so I don’t get this all over the place.”
Angel gripped the container and sieve. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want… okay, I don’t know what I want. Maybe I just want him and the rest of the crap between us can take a flying fuck for all I care.”
“So then do that, let it take a flying fuck, Ange.” Justin put the pot back down on the counter. Tears glimmered in the redhead’s enormous eyes, and a soft smile touched his lips. “If anyone deserves to fall in love, it’s you, baby. Say to hell with the world and let yourself fall in love with this guy.”
Angel reached over the counter and wiped at a teardrop at the corner of Justin’s eye. Sighing, his voice broke when he let go of what he’d been holding inside of him since he’d first seen a blue-eyed, black-haired lanky teenaged boy biting his lip in the middle of a carnival’s thoroughfare.
“What makes you think I’m not already in love, Just?” Angel whispered. “Because I’ve been in love with him before I even knew his damned name.”
“YOU DOING okay, boss?” Marzo’s familiar gruff bark jerked West back to the present.
He was done crying, a painful wringing of emotion, and moved on to a numbness he couldn’t seem to shake. The days following Montague’s interrogation were filled with more interviews, mostly fielding calls from other businesses and one-on-ones with employees who’d worked with Derry. The shock of Derry’s death faded, scrubbed away under the overwhelming press of responsibilities and sidestepping questions he had no answers for.
“I’m fine,” he answered, shaking his head. “Why?”
“Because you’re wearing Angel’s clothes.” Marzo jerked his chin toward West’s chest. “And I’ve never, in the time I’ve known you, seen you willingly put on a T-shirt, much less one advertising a tattoo shop.”
West stared down at the T-shirt he’d put on after his afternoon shower, startled to discover it was slightly too large, nearly threadbare, and definitely Angel’s. There was a faint hint of cinnamon clinging to the fabric, and West couldn’t recall when he’d seen Angel wear the faded gray shirt or if it was even clean. He sniffed at it, hoping Marzo didn’t notice, but the pressure in his chest faded when he realized he had a bit of Angel wrapped around him.
“I don’t even know what this means,” he confessed. “A tattoo shop? Are you sure?”
“Four-One-Five Ink? Yeah, that’s up in San Francisco. Got my koi there.” Marzo began to unbutton his trousers, then laughed when West paled. “I’m joking. It’s on my back. I just wanted to see your face.”
“Glad I am here for your amusement,” West drawled. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Ah, we’re back to the guy I met in the club.” Marzo eased into the chair next to West, letting out a long contented sigh. “Gotta admit, I like Angel’s West a hell of a lot better.”
“Yeah well, let’s see if Angel sticks around through this shit storm.” He picked at the edge of a cushion, half hoping it would fray so he would have something solid to be angry about.
“Have you talked to him? About Derry?”
“No.” It was time for a haircut because the front fell forward into his eyes. Brushing the strands out of his lashes, he shook his head. “What am I going to tell him? Hey, I miss the guy I sent to kick you out of your house so I could make the place into condos? Not exactly snuggling conversation.”
“I don’t think you give the guy enough credit. Sure, Washington was an asshole to everyone who met him, but he was your friend,” Marzo pointed out. “Your only friend until I came along. Now you’re up to at least four… five if you count your brother.”
“Is that counting Zig?” West lifted his eyebrow.
“I don’t count your niece. She’s a parasite wrapped up in a cute package. Her sole reason for existence right now is to bleed you dry and help you piss off your brother. We’ll see how she is when she hits puberty.”
“Chances are looking good that’s not going to change,” he replied. “I will lodge a complaint about the word parasite. She’s more of an… opportunist. Less so than Roman or maybe just with a stealthier method of manipulating the situation.”
“Yeah, I say that about my nieces and nephews too. Con artists, all of them.” Marzo watched West through hooded eyes, then said, “You’ve got a nice thing here with Angel. He’s a good guy and doesn’t put up with your shit. That’s what you need in your life. What you need in your heart. I know this thing with Derry hurts, but the two of you weren’t on the best of terms for the past—what?—two years? I’m not saying what happened to him didn’t suck, but closing up on yourself isn’t the way to go.”
“I just don’t know how to….” West dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing at the grit he found there. “I’m not good at relationships, Marzo. You know that. Hell, how many times have you seen me crash and burn with other men?”
“You didn’t give a shit about any guy you dated. They were something to fuck until one of you got bored.” Marzo inched up to the edge of the chair. “This is different, West. This guy is real. He makes you smile, and if you can look at me and tell me you haven’t been holding your breath waiting for him to come back to you, then I’m going to punch you in the face and call you a liar.”
“God, wasn’t that first punch enough?” West smirked, then chuckled when Marzo shook a ham-sized fist under his nose.
“I don’t even know why I give a shit about you.”
“Because Derry wasn’t my only friend.” He jabbed Marzo’s chest with a stiff finger. “I’m i
nsulted you didn’t count yourself in that pile.”
“Two… three if you count Agnes… isn’t a pile,” he replied. West’s phone chirped, and Marzo grabbed at it, making a face as he read the screen. “Speak the devil’s name and she shall come a’calling. Here, it’s Aggie herself.”
“Thanks. And yeah, I’ll… talk to him,” West promised. Flicking the call on, he said, “Hello, Aggie. How are—”
What she told him stole the breath out of him, his wind knocked clear away. A sticky mire closed in around West, and he choked on the words he couldn’t quite seem to get out. Marzo reached for him, but West shook his friend’s hand off, willing himself to listen to every single syllable Agnes said over the line. Drowning in another wave of grief, West closed his eyes, unable to stop Derry from breaking his heart all over again.
Fourteen
WEST HURT.
Only a rock wouldn’t be able to see it, but Angel didn’t know how to fix it. There was no taking back Derry’s death. Or the fallout of his murder. The calls kept coming. Rolling in and slamming West down with every ring, every layer of betrayal Derry heaped on West’s shoulders until Angel thought West couldn’t take any more. The weeks after Montague shoveled dirt over Derry’s name were difficult, made harder by West’s refusal to talk to anyone, including Angel.
Instead, West closed in on himself, shutting down and dealing with everything in a cold, clipped manner Angel soon learned to hate. He’d debated packing Rome up and getting out, leaving the house on the cliff behind with maybe a note to say he’d left, but the glimmer of pain in West’s strained face was enough of a reality check.
They’d had a tense meal that night, the four of them sitting around a dining room table eating a white-sauce lasagna Angel picked up on his way back from the bakery. Well, everyone except Rome, who chattered away about someone letting loose a fart in his class. Marzo’s deep laughter boomed across the table, shattering the glassine fragility between them. It was the first time Angel’d seen a smile ghost across West’s mouth, and when he met Angel’s gaze, he’d winked.
They’d not spoken—not really—since the cops left, but Angel held on to that wink and every touch they’d had for dear life, reassuring himself things would be okay between them.
“Got to be,” he muttered to himself as he scrubbed a plate clean. The water was scalding, but its heat felt good on his skin. Frothing the dish soap bubbles up with one hand, he dunked a glass into the foamy water. “He fucking needs someone in his life, and it might as well be me.”
“It can only be you.” West slid up against Angel, reaching across his arms to shut the kitchen faucet off. His shadow fell over Angel’s arm, stealing away the light. “There’s a dishwasher. Dishes go in. You press a button. And walk away.”
“Sometimes, washing dishes helps me think.” Angel debated turning the water back on but decided it was too childish. Shaking the frothy soap from his arms, he nodded at a towel on the counter. West handed it over, tugging at its corner, then letting go when Angel grabbed it to wipe himself dry. “Dick. And I don’t like walking away. Sure, I think about it. Damn, I think about it all the time, but—”
“Too much like your dad,” his lover finished.
“Exactly,” he agreed. “I kind of want to be an asshole to you right now. Not going to lie. It’s been a shitty couple of days, and I—”
“I came in to tell you I’m sorry. For… being me. I’m not good at dealing with shit like this. With Derry….” As simple as that, West deflated Angel’s anger, pricking through it as neatly as a pin through an overinflated balloon. “I’m just so goddamned pissed off right now. And I am horrible about sharing those kinds of things… those emotions. It’s just so much… crap.”
“He died. Someone killed him.” The water stayed off, and Angel turned around, leaning against the counter. “I’m mad at Montague for tearing him down. I know he was doing his job, but shit, he could have been a bit more sensitive about it. Derry was—”
“Bastard was stealing from me,” West murmured softly. His voice cracked, breaking on something hard inside of him. “Derry—my best friend—was stealing from me. I got a call from Agnes this afternoon. Someone in Finance verified Derry’d been siphoning money off of projects he’d been put in charge of.”
“How long have you known?” Angel asked. “About the money?”
“Suspicions cropped up a few days ago, but today… shit… it all started to come together. I don’t know how much. Not yet. What I do know is I’ve been a dick to you, and if I could take back every single dickish moment I had over the past few days, I would. I don’t know how to say this other than I’m sorry.”
The knot in Angel’s belly loosened, letting the poison he’d built up inside him dissipate. Hooking his hands on the counter, he then leveraged himself up to sit on the cool, hard surface. Knowing where West hurt made things easier. Harder to fix but easier to understand. Tugging on West’s shirt, he pulled him over, bracketing West between his legs.
“Fucking hell.” It was all Angel could find in himself to say. Holding West close, he gritted out a prayer for a hot fire to toast Derry’s balls once the devil got a hold of him. Pressing his mouth against West’s temple, he asked, “Are you sure? About him ripping you off?”
“Oh God, yes.” West laughed bitterly, leaning away from Angel’s shoulders. “We’re pretty fucking sure.”
“Did he… fuck… I don’t even… I mean it’s not something I’d expect a guy like Derry to do. He was rich. How much money does one guy need?” Angel caught West’s slightly disgusted look. “Okay, yeah. I get it. Some guys can never have too much money, but… dude, he was your friend.”
“It apparently was a one-way relationship,” he grumbled. “Much as I’ve been with you. I just… I feel like I’m digging myself out of a hole and just dumping more sand on top of me. I should have talked about this with you as soon as I found out, but… I think I just needed time to process all of it.”
“Okay, I get that. I do. We’re just going to have to lay a few ground rules.” Angel rested his forearms on West’s shoulders. “If we’re going to do this, you and I have to talk our shit out.”
“I might need some time. Bad behaviors are hard to break, and I’ve had a lifetime of them,” West explained. “I’m used to chewing on things a bit. I don’t mean to be an asshole. I don’t, and I can’t say I’m going to be great at communicating, but I sure as hell can try.”
“You get hurt and you clam up. I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is getting shoved out.” He hooked his fingers together behind West’s neck. “Look, I get just as pissy as you do. Right now, it’s rough. And I’m kind of angry at Derry right now for you. I’d like to kick the fucker in the ass for what he did to you.”
“I’d like to help you. It’d be easier if we knew everything he did, but all I have is just some nebulous maybes and a bunch of money he’d skimmed off.” West sighed, leaning into Angel’s chest. “It’s a stupid, amateur skim. I can’t believe he… it’s just crappy because… fuck… I trusted him with everything I owned. Then he went and did this.”
“Is it for real? I mean, you’ve got proof?” Their hearts slowed, beating in sync. Angel’s twisting nerves calmed, and he stroked at West’s shoulder blades, shifting forward as West’s arms came up to hug his waist. “Real proof?”
“Yeah. Standard procedure calls for shutting down someone’s accounts and a quick audit to make sure everything is captured on the books. A few red flags went up, and Finance began to dig deeper, but they don’t know exactly what they’re looking for.” West tightened his hold, straightening until they were eye to eye. “Might be months before we know what actually happened. Meanwhile, I’ve got people going over all of his projects with a fine-toothed comb. We’ve got to find out where he padded and hope to God it wasn’t anything structural.”
“I am so fucking sorry.” Cupping West’s face, Angel gave him a gentle kiss on the mouth, grimacing when West stuck his tongue out
quickly to part their lips. Pulling back, he wiped the slobber West left behind and laughed. “God, you are such an asshat sometimes.”
“Not denying it.” He studied Angel for a moment, then said, “I never tell you thank you, and I should. I shove you around, moved you in here under the excuse that you need to be safe from whoever is trying to pick apart your life, but that’s a damned lie. I want you here because I need you. It’s not been even a month, and I can’t imagine not having you with me.”
“Yeah, we should probably talk about that too.” Reluctantly, Angel let West go, pushing at his chest until they were a few inches apart. “I’ve got to go home, Harris. I can’t… squat here with my brother and play house with you. It’s too confusing for him—and for me—but at the same time, I don’t want you to be alone. This is kind of fucking me up, and I don’t want it to screw you up in the long run.”
“Don’t take this wrong, but you kind of live in a shit hole. And I own it. I’m more than a little ashamed it’s a shit hole. It shouldn’t be, but that can be fixed too,” West muttered. “I hate that you don’t have your own damned bed to sleep in. Shit, even a bed in a walk-in closet is better than a couch with a gassy eleven-year-old in the next room.”
“Yeah, well, rent’s free, and the commute’s insanely short,” Angel pointed out. “I don’t want to go back. Hell, I’d love to say we’ve got everything all worked out between us and we’ll have unicorns at our magical wedding, but we both know that’s not—”
“Bottom line is, I need you in my life, Ange,” West whispered, a single golden thread of words strong enough to bring Angel to a screeching halt. “It’s stupid. It’s too fast. It’s too raw. But in the middle of all of the shit that’s been happening to me, I kept looking for you to hold on to, and it scares the crap out of me, but that’s just how it is.
“I will do whatever it takes for you to stay in my life.”
