Jesus God, but the woman had better not try to talk to him.
He would have hung back when the therapist came out, but Sam dragged him forward, introducing him as my good friend. The woman, petite and pretty in a quiet, nonthreatening way, reached out and took his hand. “Hello, I’m Laura. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam. Randy.”
Randy nodded curtly, and if Sam hadn’t gripped his elbow, he was fairly sure he’d have bolted.
They meandered through an office hallway, Laura gently chatting Sam up about the weather, which was a real feat in a city that got over three hundred days of sun a year. When Laura welcomed them into her cozy, plant-and-book-filled office, he steered them to the love seat and plunked them both down in it. He wouldn’t even let go once they were sitting.
Randy wanted to know who was going to hold his fucking hand.
Nesting in the corner of the sofa, Randy ran his thumb over Sam’s knuckles, a gesture that soothed him as well as Sam. He watched the therapist to see what she made of this, but she didn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest.
“So.” She smiled as she crossed her legs. “What is it you’d like to talk about with me, Sam?”
On anybody else the smile would seem fake, but on her it even made Randy relax. It didn’t work on Sam, because the next thing Randy knew, he was losing the circulation in his fingers. That was when he realized Sam wasn’t talking. He turned, took one look at Sam’s face, and sat bolt upright.
“Peaches.” He pried his hand out of Sam’s and rubbed his shoulders. Fuck, he’d never seen anybody go so white. “Sam.” When Sam stayed quiet, Randy turned to the therapist for help.
She simply sat there, patient, but her smile faded in wattage, a bulb politely dimming for someone with a migraine. “Take your time.”
Sam drew a slow, deep breath. “I got upset last week, and I scared my husband.” His chin came up, and he looked at the therapist directly as he added, “I’m married. To a man. And it’s legal, because I’m from Iowa.”
“What’s his name? How long have you been married?”
“His name is Mitch, and we’ve been married for a little under two years now. Our anniversary is February 14. That was Mitch’s idea. He was supposed to be here today, but he got called in to work.”
“Peaches, he was really upset about it.” Randy winced and glanced at the therapist. “Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”
Sam shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I know he wanted to be here. But I’m still mad. I’m mad he has to go at all.” His eyes were wild for a moment, and when he said the rest, the words were jagged. “That’s why I’m here.”
Laura leaned forward. “Where is he going?”
“He—he’s a trucker. He has a run to—and I—” Sam shut his eyes, turned his head slightly toward Randy and whispered, “Please tell her—so I don’t have to.”
God, it was almost a relief.
He explained how Mitch was a long-distance trucker, about how he’d worked the Midwest while Sam was in school but now they were stationed in Vegas. He explained about the run to Kentucky.
He wasn’t sure how to talk about why they were in the office.
“There was a bad accident on the way here, and it stirred up something in Sam. He got upset, bad, in the mountains, and Mitch had to admit him for the night to the hospital. He’s been edgy since, and now Mitch is leaving tomorrow.” Randy looked at Sam and folded, because tears were running down Sam’s cheeks, and Randy pulled Sam to him.
Randy held him, uncomfortable and helpless and frustrated. He hated how the woman sat there. Shouldn’t she be doing something? But she only waited and watched, empathetic but quiet. Weirdest, though, was how the longer she sat there, the calmer Randy felt, and eventually the quiet bled into Sam too.
Sam straightened and wiped at his eyes. “Sorry.”
Laura passed him the box of tissues in front of her. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s okay to be upset, especially in here. Is what Randy says accurate, or would you care to add or change anything?”
“I know I overreacted, and I’m sorry I upset Mitch. Really sorry, because now I have to come here. I’m embarrassed. I’m a lot younger than Mitch, and he treats me like a kid. And I’m mad because now he really treats me that way. I guess I deserve it, because I acted like one.”
Randy took offense. “Sam, you’ve had a lot going on in your life. It’s okay to lean on your husband. And me too.”
“And what do I do if he has”—his voice hitched, but this time he pressed on—“an accident? What happens when he leaves and doesn’t come back?”
“He’s not—”
“You don’t know.” Sam let go of Randy’s hand so he could wave both his hands around, at Randy, at Laura, at the world in general. “How the fuck do you know he’s coming back? How do you know he’s not going to die right now on the way home from the distribution center? How do you know he won’t have a heart attack or lung cancer because he smokes so damn much? He might die, Randy, because you don’t know. I can’t take it anymore. Not again.”
“What do you mean, again?” the therapist asked.
Like a spent balloon, Sam sank into a slouch. “My mom died of cancer when I was seventeen. She had multiple sclerosis too, but that wasn’t what killed her. She was doing really well, in fact. Then, boom.” Sam leaned on Randy as he stared down at the coffee table full of stones and bowls and soothing objects. “Nobody fought like my mom. It was just the two of us ever since I was born. My dad was a deadbeat, some dick who knocked up my mom and left her alone. But it didn’t matter, because we were great. We lived in a shitty trailer, and I had one pair of shoes and three outfits and slept in my underwear, but I didn’t care. I helped her, but I didn’t mind. She was tired, but it was okay. We still did stuff. And she was totally great about my being gay. I wish she could have met Mitch. I wish she could have seen me get married. She would have loved that.”
Laura smiled. “She sounds like a wonderful woman. You must miss her a great deal.”
Sam nodded and wept silently, a man visiting the grave.
Randy rose to his feet, his throat full, his vision blurring, his stomach turning. Because with no warning, he was at a grave too.
Cold, windy day, the whole world gray inside and out, a weird sucking sound in his ears as he watched them lower the casket into the ground, and it was real, he knew it then, Uncle Gary wasn’t coming back, not ever. Oh God, it hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, and he couldn’t take it anymore—
A hand, small and slight and familiar, pressed on his shoulder, drawing him down to the couch again. Randy blinked, almost surprised to find where he was. “Sorry.” He shifted uncomfortably and tried to rise again. “Sam, sorry, but I really got to get out of here.”
Sam held him fast and with surprising strength. “Randy—what just happened to you?”
Randy glanced at the therapist and saw the patient smile was now aimed at him, sending him back to panic. Jesus fuck, get me fucking out of here.
But he couldn’t leave Sam. So he did the last thing in the world he wanted to do.
He stared up at the ceiling as he spoke. “You talking about your mom made me think of my uncle. He died when I was ten. But it’s fine.”
Sam’s hand stroked his. “I didn’t know you had an uncle.”
“I had six uncles and five aunts. This was Uncle Gary. He was different.” He forced a laugh. “Seriously, Sam, we’ll talk about this later. It’s no big deal. This is your time, not mine.” And I do not ever want a time for talking about this.
Peaches had an iron look about him. “I want to hear about your uncle.”
Randy turned to Laura for help. She just smiled at him, and Randy got pissed. “This is no big deal.”
Sam closed his other hand over their joined ones. “Randy—would you tell me? Right now? Please?”
Randy looked at Sam’s face, tried to find the strength to shut him down and found he couldn’t do it, not to Sam, not even for this.
/> Fuck.
“He was just my uncle.” Okay, except that wasn’t fair. He forced himself to elaborate. “All right, he was my favorite uncle. So it was a little rough to lose him.”
Fucking understatement of the year.
“He’s the uncle who taught me poker. He was gay, which I didn’t fully figure out until later, but it meant a lot to me because I was starting to think I was too.” He let out a breath. “There. That’s Uncle Gary. Now why don’t you talk about yourself, Peaches?”
Sam went right for the jugular. “How did he die?”
Why the ceiling was so fucking safe Randy didn’t know, but he didn’t question it, just accepted its solace as he stared at it. “He was killed.”
There. He’d said it. Wasn’t so bad.
Sam’s hand squeezed on his, and fucking hell if Randy didn’t start talking again.
“Murdered. Knife in an alley, and it was not pretty. Never found out who, but they didn’t really look. Some gay guy killed down by the tracks. Nobody cared.”
I cared.
He glared at the therapist. “Why the hell are we talking about me? I did not come here to get fucking therapy.”
Sam kept staring, full of empathy. “Randy, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well.” Randy wiped his hand over his mouth and swallowed several times. “Me too.”
He stared down at the carpet, not sure what the fuck he was going to do if they kept pressing on him.
They didn’t, though. Laura gently led the conversation back to Sam, who seemed calmer now—sad, but less jagged. Which was funny because Randy felt like he had six-foot spikes coming out of him. Fuck, but he didn’t know the last time he’d been this rattled.
Goddamn Tedsoe for bailing on them.
When it was finally over, he stood and waited over by the door, ready to run.
“I think we might meet later this week,” Laura said to Sam. “Would you rather tomorrow, or the day after?”
“Tomorrow Mitch leaves. So maybe not then. But…” he grimaced, “…I don’t know if I can afford to come a whole lot of times.”
“Your bill is paid for already. There’s no worry on that account.”
Sam blinked in surprise, then sighed. “Oh. Crabtree.”
“Go ahead and make an appointment out front. It’s been good to meet you, Sam, and I look forward to working with you.” She turned to Randy. “It was good to meet you too, Randy.”
Randy grunted and herded Sam through the door.
His agitation didn’t leave him even when they got out of the building. It followed him onto the bike as well, and not in a way he cared to drive with. So he turned left instead of right, and went like a homing beacon to the Stratosphere Hotel.
“I’ll just be a minute.” He worked to keep himself level so Sam wouldn’t realize how raw he was. “Wait in the bar?”
Sam took his hand. “I’ll go with you.”
“I’m going up, Sam. I need some head space.” He glanced at his watch. “Maybe Mitch is free and can come meet you.”
Sam laced his fingers through Randy’s. “No. I’m going with you.”
Randy didn’t have it in him to argue. He wove through the familiar hallways to the ticket counter for the tower. He felt better with every foot they went up, welcoming the rush of the high-speed lift and the popping in his ears. His heart raced in anticipation as he stepped out and saw the sun glaring in through the round windows of the observation room. He turned to Sam, knowing he needed to reassure Sam I-hate-heights Keller, but Sam, white-faced, shook his head.
“I’m coming with you.”
Now Randy was impatient. “I seriously will not be long.”
Sam had the bit between his teeth now though, and Randy gave up and headed for the doors, Sam still clutching his hand.
He stepped out, felt the open space and the rush of wind sweep around him, and took his first clear breath since the therapist’s office. For a full minute he simply stared out over the Strip, soaking it in.
Sam had his eyes shut tight, breathing a little fast, but considering how he usually acted when they came up here, this was a real personal triumph. Still, Randy was confused. “Peaches, why did you come up here?”
“Because you went into the appointment with me.” He opened his eyes and looked up at Randy. “Thank you.”
Randy nodded gruffly. “Sure.”
“I want you to come again. Please.”
Randy stiffened, losing everything coming up to the observation tower had given him. “Sam—”
“I want to hear more about your uncle. It helped me. A lot.” He squeezed Randy’s hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you understood?”
Randy looked out over the Strip, trying to let himself sail away. “Because I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Please do this for me, Randy.” Sam squeezed again. “And for you.”
Randy shut his eyes.
“I won’t go if you don’t go with me.”
Randy glared at him. “Dirty pool, Peaches.”
Sam gave him a wry smile. “You’re the one who taught me how to play.”
“Sam, I don’t go there. I talked about him once—drunk—with Mitch. And that’s it.”
“So that’s how you think I should be with my mom?”
Randy looked up at the bright blue endless sky above his head. The Big Shot ride rushed up the pole, and he heard the distant screams of the riders as they shot up a thousand feet into the air. “You play really fucking dirty pool.”
“So you’ll come with me?”
The Big Shot slid the rest of the way down the pole, leaving it empty and alone against the bright blue. He sighed, lowered his head and nodded.
Sam hugged him and kissed his cheek, daring a furtive glance over the edge before shutting his eyes again and waiting until Randy was done.
Randy took his time, not leaving until Sam was twitching and shuddering from all the swaying and wind. Because Randy had been the one to teach him dirty pool.
Chapter Fourteen
ETHAN WENT TO the chain pet store on Rainbow Boulevard, hoping to find something to help him keep Salomé at the casino.
Logic said she would get used to it and comfort herself, but all Ethan could think about was her sitting in Randy’s house, mewing plaintively. He reasoned if people could carry around those tiny little dogs in purses, couldn’t he take a cat around in a casino? Of course, at some point he would have to leave her alone.
Ethan wandered the aisles of the store, trying to find something, but nothing leapt out at him. All he saw were toys and bags of food and cozy places to sleep. Salomé, as if sensing his distress, leaned up to nuzzle his chin.
“Can I help you?” A pretty young woman with long blonde hair wearing the blue smock marking her as an employee looked expectantly at him. When she saw Salomé, her expression melted into adoration. “Oh, she’s precious. What’s her name?”
“Salomé.” Ethan glanced at her name badge. Crystal. She fawned over his kitten for a moment, and he tried to read her, but all he could tell was she really liked kittens. “I’m looking for some way to carry her around with me. She doesn’t want to be left alone.”
Crystal gave him a stern glare. “You can’t take her everywhere. Most places aren’t going to allow kittens inside, however cute they are. And you absolutely cannot, ever, not even for a few minutes, leave her in your car. Never.”
Ethan blinked at the force of Crystal’s scolding. “I won’t.”
“She’s going to have to learn how to stay alone, unless you plan on only ever going to the pet store and the park. But you can make it easier for her by having things she enjoys. Cats don’t need a lot of toys, but cozy places to sleep are good. She seems pretty affectionate, so she might prefer blankets that smell like you. Consider a pet bed, something that makes her feel secure. Cats like to hide in places that are closed-in and secluded. You can make her one with the right setup. Do you have a scratching post?”
“
I didn’t think she’d need one when she was so little.”
This earned him another quelling look. “She needs it now especially, so you can train her.”
Ethan brightened. “So you can train cats?”
“Oh, absolutely. Not as easily as dogs because cats aren’t pack animals, but they still respond to rewards and stimuli. I suggest you only use positive-reinforcement training.” She reached up into a display and pulled down a blue plastic object the size of a fat clothespin. When she pinched the yellow button on the top, it made a sharp click. “This is a clicker. Use it to signal she’s done something you like—get her to associate it with good things. When you click it and she does what you want her to do, she gets a treat. Work with a target too—not your hand because it’s too big. The end of a wand or something small she can touch with her nose. Start there, and it won’t be long before she gets the association. Just never call her with the clicker to punish her.”
Ethan felt more than a little overwhelmed, but he nodded.
Crystal reached up on the shelf again. “This book can get you started, but what you want is one of the online communities. I can give you the names of some good ones.”
“That would be great.” Ethan looked down at Salomé, at her precious tiny face, and remembered his present dilemma. “But I honestly can’t bear to leave her alone. She cries, and it breaks my heart.”
Crystal smiled wryly, but Ethan could tell she secretly approved of his devotion. “Well, there’s one other way. I assume, since you already have one cat, you either own your home or rent somewhere allowing pets?”
Ethan paused. “Actually, I’m living with someone for now.”
“Someone who likes you?”
Ethan paused. What was he supposed to call Randy? “He’s my boyfriend.” He knew a ridiculous thrill at the admission.
Double Blind Page 21
