Double Blind (33 page)

And they did play. Adding insult to injury, they sat at Tyler’s table—the same dealer that had taken Ethan’s last five dollars. You wouldn’t know it, though, from the way that Ethan slid smoothly into the seat and placed two hundred stacks on the table and ordered, with an authority that made Randy sit up a little straighter, two colors. Tyler even added a “Yes, sir,” as he scooped up the regular casino chips and traded them out for blue and yellow roulette tokens.

“I just want it noted,” Randy said, taking up the yellow, “that I’m here under duress.”

“Yes, darling, we know,” Ethan said, and patted his hand. Randy had to work not to shudder. There was no fucking way he could let Slick know how those little endearments got to him.

He sighed instead, and clinked the chips in his stack against each other for a few seconds before pulling off a third of them. He put ten dollars on the third twelve, ten on odd, and then in afterthought tucked the rest of what was in his hand on the six line of 19 and 22.

Ethan, who had put twenty dollars on the first twelve and twenty on black, raised his eyebrows at Randy’s choices. “You just bet against yourself. Either 19-24 or 25-36 is going to lose.”

“Oh, they’ll probably both lose. It’ll be 14 red. You’ll be out, and so will I. And there goes the better portion of two hundred dollars.”

“Yes, but it’s Billy’s money.” Ethan leaned on the rail and looked curiously at Randy as Tyler let the ball fly. “It’s that you hate to lose, isn’t it?”

“I lose all the time,” Randy snapped. “It’s that I hate this game. And craps. I don’t like anything where you can’t get the best of it.”

“In other words, you don’t like a game you don’t control.”

Randy considered this. It felt like a trap, that question, but he had to admit it was the truth. He shrugged and stared at the wheel, clinking his chips again as he waited for the ball to land.

Ethan paid the wheel no attention. He leaned over and spoke quietly into Randy’s ear. “So when you told me what you told me earlier—was that to gain control?”

Randy’s nervous fingers stopped. The whole room seemed to stop. His chest felt heavy, like someone was sitting on it. Fucking hell,
this
question was the trap. He scrambled to come up with a safe answer, but mostly his thoughts just banged around against each other, like a dozen ostriches fighting for the same hole to stick their heads in.
This isn’t a game
was the best he could come up with, but at best that would just buy him a few seconds while Ethan rephrased. Because he knew what Ethan was asking, and why. And he knew he couldn’t let—didn’t want to let—Ethan think that he’d said that to try and control him.

The ball bounced around and around the wheel as the wheel spun on and on and on.

Randy ran his thumb against the silver ring, and then, because he didn’t trust himself to speak, simply shook his head.

The ball on the wheel landed.

“32 red,” Tyler called, and placed the dolly.

Ethan leaned closer and brushed a kiss against Randy’s ear. It was the barest of touches, but it made Randy’s whole body tingle, and he had to briefly shut his eyes.

“You won,” Ethan said, as he slid back properly onto his chair.

Randy snorted. “Yeah. One bet, at two to one. I lost the five to one and the even odds. I made twenty but lost twenty-five. And you lost forty. No black again, either, I might point out.”

“It’ll come around,” Ethan said, unconcerned.

“It
doesn’t have to
,” Randy countered, more annoyed than he should be.

Ethan gave him an enigmatic smile. “But I’m fairly sure it will. Eventually.” He nodded to Tyler and rose from the table.

“And in the meantime, how much money are you going to lose, just for even odds?”

“How much fun are you going to deny yourself have just because you hate to lose?” Ethan countered.

Randy waved an irritated hand at him, pushed up from the table, and stormed away.

It was a stupid, dramatic exit, and he knew it was stupid the second he did it, but the hell if he was going to sit there and let Tyler gloat. It didn’t help that Ethan’s little jibe had caught. It had caught and torn, and it felt like every step he took away from Ethan exposed the raw panic he’d been denying ever since the limo, the terror that he’d managed to bury at dinner with Ethan’s shock, that the little limo orgy had distracted him from. But it was still there, buried under irritation and denial. And he couldn’t run from it, not even inside the casino.

So he stopped next to a line of video poker machines, and waited. It didn’t take long. Ethan didn’t say anything as he came up behind him, just put a hand on his arm.

Randy glowered at the blinking lights of the machine in front of him. “You know, just because Crabtree’s run off doesn’t mean you need to take his place as the resident manipulator.” Ethan still didn’t say anything, which was all the more annoying. Randy nodded back over his shoulder at the tables. “For the record, you look pretty stupid sitting there championing fate and risk at the very table where you bet your last dollar before you were going to go out to your car and blow your brains out.” The thought, as always, made him feel sick and cold, and he stopped talking.

Ethan stroked his arm for a few minutes. Then he said, quietly, “I didn’t want to. When you came up, I was just admitting that to myself, but I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, having figured that out with nothing left but the car and the gun.”

Randy couldn’t help it. He twitched, shaking Ethan off, and shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t even talk about it, Slick. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry I did.”

“I’m not.” Ethan reclaimed his hand. “I was sitting there wishing—praying, even—that something would happen, so that I wouldn’t have to go through with it.”

Randy let out a shuddering breath and tipped his head up toward the ceiling, which was suddenly bleary. He didn’t say anything, but when Ethan’s hand squeezed his, he squeezed back.

“Let’s go home,” Ethan whispered, and Randy nodded.

Ethan led him to the River, where they collected Mitch and Sam and headed back to the limo. Mitch and Sam seemed to have picked up on the shift in the tenor of the evening—Sam played softer, quieter music, and they sat in the same seats they’d begun in, Sam snuggling next to Mitch, Randy sitting rigid next to Ethan, though he softened a little when Ethan began rubbing gentle circles in the small of his back. He didn’t linger at the curb, though, when the limo stopped—he headed straight for the door, and after saying hello and goodbye to Mandy, he headed for the bathroom.

He washed his face and brushed his teeth, the usual before-bed rituals which had been displaced since Ethan had showed up, but he avoided his own reflection while he did it all. When he was done, he shut off the light and went into his room, peeled off his clothes, put on a pair of knit pants, and climbed into bed, where he drew the covers to his waist and stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t know what everyone else was doing or what they’d think of his absence, and he didn’t care.

Much.

He didn’t know how much time had passed; all he knew was that the door, which he hadn’t fully shut, was gently nudged open a little wider, and he turned, defensive and ready to face whoever it was. But no one stuck their head in, and the door didn’t open any wider. Randy was frowning and trying to decide what the hell that had been about when there was a soft
rip, rip
beside his bed, and he turned toward the sound just in time to see Salomé appear beside his head.

She mewed in inquiry, and then came forward, purring.

Randy gave her a wry smile and turned on his side as he reached over to stroke her head. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “What are you doing in here?”

She mewed again, then purred louder as she nuzzled his hand. When he stopped petting, she reached out and nudged his nose with her paw, then, in afterthought, came forward and licked it too. She decided she liked it and proceeded to give him a thorough tongue bath.

Unable to help himself, Randy laughed and held still, enjoying it in a weird little way.

They held a quiet communion for a while, Randy petting, Salomé purring and licking, and then she began to nest against his pillow before curling up right next to Randy’s face. She tucked her nose into his neck and her legs against his chest and went to sleep.

Randy petted her for a few minutes before following suit.

He woke briefly to find the room fully dark, no light coming in from the hall, the house silent. The bed behind him dipped, and he felt Ethan’s long, warm body slide in against his. He tried to give Slick some room, but at the same time he murmured, “Don’t wake the kitten.” Ethan just stroked his shoulder and whispered, “Go back to sleep, Ace.” Randy did, a part of him he didn’t even know was tense easing as Ethan wrapped first his arm and then his leg around Randy, and then he fell, easily and deeply, into the sleep of kings.

On Sunday
they did nothing, which Randy frankly found to be a relief.

He had to work prop from one to six, but that was fairly routine, and the before and after of it was markedly uneventful, especially compared to the constant tailspin his life had become. In the morning he woke before everyone but Mitch and chatted idly with his old friend as he put together the casserole he had failed to put together for two days now. The kitten came out and joined them, meowing at Randy until he fed her, then nuzzling against Mitch’s leg until he gave in and tucked her into his lap. Later, Ethan rose, and finally Sam got up, too, and they all sat around the table eating Randy’s casserole, drinking coffee, and talking carefully about nothing that was going to be controversial. This meant they spoke mostly of the weather, the food, and the kitten.

“I’m thinking of training her,” Ethan said.

Randy watched him pass the kitten on his lap a third piece of baked egg and snorted a laugh into his coffee cup.

Ethan gave him a cool look. “You don’t think I can?”

Randy decided it would be cruel to mention the hand-feeding and said only, “You can’t train cats.”

Sam frowned. “I thought I read once that you could. Want me to look it up, Ethan?”

“Please,” Ethan said, and Randy had rolled his eyes and stood.

“You boys do that, but not until after you’ve done the dishes. Meanwhile, I’ve got to go to work.” He squeezed Ethan’s shoulder as he passed, checking the urge to kiss the top of his head too.

“Engines again?” Ethan asked, but Mitch answered for him, not even looking up from the classifieds he was scanning. “Poker. He’s working prop.”

“Exactly so. But first I have to shower.” Randy tossed them a salute as he left the kitchen and headed down the hall. But when he came back out of the shower, Ethan and his kitten were waiting for him in the bedroom, Ethan sitting on the bed with Salomé snuggled up against him.

Randy adjusted his towel. “Can I help you, Slick?”

“I was wondering if I could go along with you when you went to work,” Ethan said. “To learn a bit more.”

Randy rubbed the back of his head as he crossed to his dresser. “I thought you were going to study cat training with Sam.”

He heard the bed shift, but he still startled when Ethan came up behind him and put his hands on Randy’s shoulders. “Randy, is everything okay? With us?”

Randy reached up to put his hand on one of Ethan’s. “I need a few minutes alone to process stuff.” He felt Ethan tense and then try to withdraw, and Randy sighed before drawing Ethan’s hand down his chest to his towel, where he pressed Slick’s hand to his own half-erection. “Look, baby, that’s still for you. But my head could use some mindless poker against live ones for the afternoon.” He turned around and looked at Ethan. “Okay?”

He still had Ethan’s hand, but as he looked up at Slick he felt his fingers twitch, and then it was Ethan holding
his
hand, pressing it into his cock, and then Ethan was leading him over to the bed and tugging at the towel as he pushed Randy backward onto the mattress.

“I got to get to work,” Randy said, but weakly as Ethan kissed his way down Randy’s neck and chest. “Seriously, Slick, I—” Then Ethan’s hand closed over his cock again, and his mouth slid down to Randy’s navel, tongue dipping in briefly before it continued on to join his hand, and then Randy didn’t say anything, just clutched at the sheets as Ethan took him in all the way to the root.

He was ten minutes late to his shift, but he didn’t give a damn.

It really was mindless poker that afternoon. None of the games ever got hot, but they were steady, and he walked out five hundred dollars richer than he’d been when he walked in the door. So he called home to make sure they hadn’t planned anything, then picked up some Thai for supper. They ate in front of the TV, watching DVR episodes of
Glee
because Sam had begged them, and as Randy had snuggled in beside Ethan, he decided this wasn’t so bad. Sam made a few eyes at him, clearly wanting to see if they could continue what had gotten started the other night, but Randy deliberately pretended he didn’t notice. Yes, he was very interested. But he was also enjoying this moment of peace, so he didn’t respond, just left things as they were, letting the evening end with him and Ethan retreating to the bedroom alone. He returned the attention Ethan had given him earlier and took it a little further too. His last rational thought as he knelt between Ethan’s legs and bent to sample the taste of his musk was that as good as this day was, the way things had been going, it certainly couldn’t last.

He had, of course, been right. And it began the very next morning.

When
Randy wandered into the kitchen on Monday morning, the coffee was already brewing, and Mitch was swearing into his cell phone. Randy poured himself a mug, then bent down to scratch the kitten behind her ears as he waited for Mitch to finish. He didn’t wait long.

Mitch snapped the cell phone shut and turned to Randy, glowering. “I have to leave for Kentucky tomorrow. And I have to spend most of today getting everything set up and ready.”

Oh, this was not going to be good. “You’d better go wake up Sam and tell him,” Randy said.

Mitch nodded, curtly. “Skeet—will you take him? To the therapist? He has his first appointment today, and I can’t—” He swore under his breath and shook his head before looking away.

“No problem,” Randy said. “I’ll take off work a few days, too, just to be sure I’m around.”

Mitch nodded again. He kept his eyes downcast. “This isn’t the way I wanted it to happen. Any of it.”

“I know,” Randy said, then reached out to touch Mitch’s arm. “I’ll take care of him, Old Man.”

Mitch gripped Randy’s arm back, held it a moment, then went down the hall to wake his husband.

Randy got a small window into what had scared Mitch so much when Sam came out to the kitchen. Mitch came first, looking grim and miserable, but when Sam finally emerged from the shower, Mitch sort of sank into himself, and after Randy got a good look at Sam, he did too.

Sam was clearly upset—or rather, he had been. He looked jagged and unsteady; his hands shook as they took the coffee cup from Randy and as they pulled out a chair. But what really unnerved Randy was how still Sam was. Randy could see the shades of how upset he had been, but he had it all packed away, at least on the surface. It was clear, though, that Sam was a floodwall holding back a tide that hadn’t even come close to cresting.

Yeah, Randy thought. Therapy was going to happen. He made a mental note to call in not just a few days of vacation from the shop but also whatever time it took until Mitch came back or Sam was stable. There was no way in hell he was leaving Sam alone when he was like this.

It was almost creepy the way nobody mentioned it, either. Mitch hurried through his breakfast, but he lingered too. He hovered over his husband, trying to draw him out, asking him if he had enough money, if he wanted to meet him for lunch, if he wanted to hurry out tonight and get a car. Sam gave quiet “yes” answers to the first two questions, but he turned abruptly sharp on the last.

“No,” he said. “I’ll use the truck.”

As Mitch appeared to bounce between wanting to argue the point and not wanting to piss Sam off, Randy came in for the save. “We have Slick’s car now too,” he pointed out. “We can make this work. You two just enjoy today as much as you can.”

Mitch nodded curtly and kissed Sam on the lips. “Appointment is at eleven,” he said to Randy as he headed to the door.

Coward,
Randy thought at him, as he slipped out, and Sam turned on Randy.

“So you’re my
babysitter
?” he demanded.

Randy thought about hemming or hawing, thought about trying to make a rational argument, then gave up and said, simply. “Yeah. And it’s not negotiable, Peaches, so just accept it.”

Sam didn’t argue, but he was also clearly not happy. Randy realized later he should have seen that as a warning, but at that moment he was just glad for the peace.

Then Ethan came into the kitchen, showered and fully dressed in some of his nicer clothes, Salomé trotting along beside him as he headed to the coffee pot.

“Where are you going so dressed up?” Randy asked.

Ethan sipped at his coffee before answering. “Herod’s.”

“You’re going to see Billy?” Randy echoed, not pleased at all.

“I thought I should get started.” He glanced at his wrist, which was bare, and grimaced. “I should go shopping later today too. And actually, I wanted to ask you. You said you had some books on poker I could read. Do you have some on Las Vegas as well? On casinos? Or should I just hit a bookstore?”

Randy felt dizzy. “I’ve got some stuff. But let me take you shopping.”

Ethan smiled, making Randy a little dizzier. “Sure. What time do you want to meet up to go?”

Randy glanced at Sam, who was still glaring into his cereal. “Peaches? You going to lunch with Mitch?”

Sam hesitated before nodding. “Yes. But I don’t know when. He’ll be busy.”

Randy pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Ethan. “Here. I’ll call you when we know more. We’ll get you your own phone later.”

“Thanks.” Ethan pocketed the phone, put down the coffee cup, and reached for his keys. “I’ll see you later.”

“What, you’re going
now
?” Randy asked. “You haven’t eaten!”

“I’ll grab something on the way,” Ethan said. He patted his pants, then gave Randy a rueful look. “Actually, could I borrow a bit more cash? Last time, I promise. I spent the little I had last night.”

“Doesn’t have to be the last time,” Randy said gruffly, and pulled a wad of twenties out of his wallet. “That do?”

“More than enough. Thank you.” He leaned forward and kissed Randy’s cheek, then hesitated and caught his lips too.

Randy had to keep himself from leaning into the kiss as Ethan pulled away. “What about your cat?” he asked. “You’re ready to leave her alone now?”