Outcome (Aftermath #2) (9 page)

A poker table was set up on the patio, Austin, Cam, Landon, and this Derek guy already seated and laughing about something Austin was saying. Derek looked to be in his late forties and reminded Chase of the actors from Hollywood's golden age. His mom used to watch
Gone with the Wind
and
Casablanca
until the sun rose.

"Well, fucking finally!" Landon slapped a deck of cards on the table and grinned at Chase as he stepped out on the patio. Riley disappeared back inside. "I've called you four times tonight, man. I need some support among these dicks-over-chicks lovers."

Hate to disappoint, but I'm one of those men.

"The sound's off, sorry." He shook hands with Landon and then moved on to Austin. "Thanks for having me."

"Of course." Austin gave Chase's hand a squeeze. "I'm glad you could make it. This is my cousin—Derek Huntley." He gestured to the man on his right. "Derek, meet Chase Gallardo."

"I've heard a lot about you today. Austin's been bragging about his bartending skills." Derek smiled and greeted Chase with a handshake. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too, Derek." He raised a brow at Austin, amused. "You ever wanna take another shift, you let me know."

Cam groaned. "You shouldn’t have fuckin' said that. It was one time several weeks ago, and he's still talking about it."

"Would you prefer if I discussed tax laws with you?" Austin laughed and looped an arm around Cam's neck, bringing him close for a kiss. "Maybe I should consider a career change."

Cam laughed through his nose. "Like you'd ever give up numbers."

Sounded like Ade. Chase's sister loved that crap. Math…of all the damn things.

"I can't argue with that," Austin conceded with a chuckle.

Chase smiled at their exchange, envious but happy for them, and moved closer to Cam. "Happy birthday, man." Knowing that Cam didn’t like having his personal space invaded, Chase stuck to a quick squeeze to the man's shoulder before backing off. "Free beer at the bar 'til next birthday sound good?"

Cam seemed to approve of that idea. "Now that’s a fucking gift. Thanks, Chase." He jerked his chin at the empty seat between Derek and Landon. "Let's get this game started. I wanna send Landon home poor."

Landon snorted. "Dream on, little brother."

Remembering his missed calls, Chase brought out his phone as he sat down and figured he could quickly check his messages while Cam shuffled the cards.

As Landon had said, he'd called four times. Additionally, there was a text from Ade; she told him she was coming home next week for a break between summer classes and the next semester. Which Chase looked forward to. It had been a while since she'd had the time to let go of her textbooks and visit.

Lastly, there was a text from an unknown number.

Hi, Chase. This is Minna, Remy's friend. He asked me today if you could come to the cabin one day. You can reach me at this number, and if I don’t answer, it could be the crappy reception out here. Just try later. Thanks.

The relief Chase felt nearly floored him, but it crashed against conflicting emotions of nervousness, the anger that always flared up at the reminder of three years ago, and a newfound sense of resentment toward Remy.

The latter wasn’t Remy's fault; it was all on Chase and the dreams he'd been having lately. If they weren't fighting furiously, they were screwing each other’s brains out. In each scenario, Chase woke up with a hard cock and with Remy's name on his lips.

More than that, Remy's reasons for being riddled with guilt made Chase feel like shit. In the days that had followed his visit to the cabin, he'd been depressed and extremely pissed at himself. Once again, he found himself in a situation where others were going through hell much worse than his own, yet Chase could barely function.

It wasn’t a competition by any means, but he couldn’t help doubting himself at every turn. Combined with how he was raised, he barely knew what was up and what was down anymore, and he craved solid ground.

"Are you all right?" Austin set down a beer and a glass of whiskey in front of Chase.

He nodded hesitantly, debating whether or not to say anything. When Austin had asked about Remy a couple weeks ago, Chase had actually opened up a bit more. So, both Austin and Cam knew about the trip to the cabin, but Chase had stopped at filling them in on what'd happened. He wasn’t ready to air out his damn feelings, mainly 'cause he couldn’t make heads or tails outta the crap going on in his head, but also because he didn’t wanna be a burden.

Seemed stupid to lean on shoulders that had been shot and stabbed.

He hadn't told his friends just how much he had anticipated this reaching out from Remy. Feared it would come, dreaded it wouldn’t.

"A call I've been waiting for." Chase kept it vague, but realization lit up in Austin's eyes anyway.

"Good," he replied firmly. "How about we throw some steaks on the grill tomorrow and talk about it?"

Humbled by the offer, Chase nodded. "Yeah. That sounds good. Thanks." This sharing thing was taking some getting used to, and he was eternally grateful for Austin extending a hand. God knew Chase wouldn’t have been able to
ask
. It was a miracle he'd admitted to Remy that he was struggling in the first place.

For the next couple of hours, the ground he was on became even shakier. Having Austin and Cam in his life, a happily married couple, was enough of a struggle for Chase to keep his longing in check. But to add Derek's stories about his husband and the fact that Chase couldn’t get Remy off his mind… It was becoming too much for him to fight off.

Chapter 11

The following Monday morning, Chase rode his bike up the mountain park outside Tehachapi. The cabin was closer to the foothills than any peak in the mountains, but the climate still differed significantly from Bakersfield and the rest of the San Joaquin Valley.

Whereas it was another dry, hot-as-fuck day back home, here—merely thirty-five miles away from Bakersfield—a fog bank blanketed the area today, and it was impossible to see where the fog ended and the overcast sky took over.

The closer Chase got, the more the knot in his gut tightened. He wasn’t delusional; it was unlikely that Remy was ready to get help, but
something
had made the man reach out to Chase.

The air was clammy and charged, and unwelcome thoughts of sharing one of his favorite things with Remy occupied Chase's mind for the last bit before he reached the cabin. Growing up, he'd borrowed his dad's car and found a spot in the flatlands, usually among the vast oil fields, where he could see thunderstorms rolling in over the mountains.

It'd been years since Chase had done it, and it was something he missed.

Coming to a rumbling stop at the cabin, Chase killed the engine and pushed down the kickstand. As he removed his helmet and hung it on a handlebar, Minna left the little wooden house with a duffel. Her overnight bag, no doubt.

"Hello, Chase." She smiled.

"Hey." He got off the bike and noticed Minna's bag must've been heavy by the way she was struggling with it. "Here, let me help."

"Oh. Thanks." A faint blush spread across her cheeks as he picked up the bag and carried it to her truck. She followed and opened the door on the passenger side. "What's that?"

Chase followed her gaze to the punching bag strapped to his bike. He smiled faintly and then set down Minna's bag in the seat. "A friend advised me to bring a physical outlet."

Austin's exact words had been,
"If he's self-destructive, perhaps he should try taking his anger out on something other than himself."

It had made so much sense that Chase had asked if Austin had ever studied psychology. In return, Austin had laughed, a little sheepish, and admitted that he'd asked Gale for advice.

"God, that’s a brilliant idea." Minna stared at the punching bag in wonder. "I'm the first one to admit I'm in way over my head. I'm a teacher, for chrissakes. Not a psychologist." She sighed. "My only thought was to get him away from the people in LA, and hopefully down the road, get him to see a therapist."

Hey, Chase wasn’t gonna judge her. Minna was a good friend, and Remy couldn’t really be helped unless he wanted it. But yeah, research didn’t hurt, and Chase was lucky he had friends who had opened his eyes.

Chase couldn’t deny it anymore; he'd given up therapy way too soon. Even Cam had shared a muttered piece of advice that made perfect sense.
"Don’t get hung up on the word therapy. See it as getting a new perspective instead. Gale's good at sorting shit out."
Then he'd whacked Chase in the arm and added,
"You should fucking know, man. You've had sessions with her before."

A new perspective.

A bartender who didn’t only listen, but talked as well…?

Chase had to try.

Ironically, Chase had never hesitated to turn to research before. He'd always had the need to understand everything and everyone around him. Three years ago, it was the Stahl family. He'd been submerged in articles, interviews, and clips from news segments—anything to get a grasp on
why
.

But when it came to himself? Not only did he fail to understand what was going on inside him, but he studiously avoided finding out.

With a shake of his head, he cleared his thoughts and focused on Minna, who was filling him in a little on what had happened since last time. Andy apparently let Remy walk around uncuffed, which was a relief. Chase had to admit that while he understood why Remy was restrained, the whole concept still made him uncomfortable.

"He has mood swings," Minna went on. "And make sure he drinks a lot of water. My brother took him to a doctor a while ago for a bladder infection and Remy's done with his antibiotics, but more water can't hurt." Chase nodded in understanding then sneezed because his nose tickled. "Oh,
gesundheit
. Hmm, what else, what else…" She tapped her chin. "We've brought an inflatable bed up here. I've been fine sharing with Remy, but my brother, not so much." She grinned. "And speaking of Andy, he will be here tomorrow night." She tilted her head and looked up at Chase. "He's off tomorrow, so if you want him to come earlier, just send him a text."

Chase shook his head. "It's all right. A couple friends are covering for me at the bar."

Mondays and Tuesdays were slow, and Austin had volunteered before Chase could even muster the courage to ask—and probably chicken out. Luckily, it was only for a couple hours before closing that Donna would need help, and Landon had invited himself to be Austin's
Cocktail
partner.

In the end, Cam's comment had made Chase fold.
"You've had what, two days off in the past month? Go see that little fucker and let me sit on the sidelines and laugh my ass off while Austin and Landon make fools outta themselves."

And now Chase was here, ready or not, for approximately thirty-six hours with Remy Stahl.

*

Remy's heart was about to jump out of his chest when Chase finally entered the cabin.

He actually came
.

Chase nodded hello with a single dip of his chin and then turned to set down his two saddlebags and his helmet on the camping bed across the cabin. It gave Remy privacy to pull up the hem of his black wifebeater and wipe some sweat off his brow.

Chained to Minna's wrist, Remy had showered and shaved down at the camping site less than an hour ago, but with thunder in the air, the heat plastered itself to Remy's skin soon enough.

"How are you?" he asked Chase, feeling stupid. Nervous. Kinda terrified.

He didn’t even know why, only that Chase had that effect on him.

"Decent. You?" Chase shrugged out of a dark denim vest, leaving him in well-worn jeans, boots, and another T-shirt that clung to his chest. Two folded bandanas around his wrists to hide the scars.

"Bored," he answered honestly.

It was impossible not to admire the view, but Remy did his best to be discreet. He wasn’t going to play games this time and push Chase away. At least, that wasn’t the plan.

"Yeah, I bet." A ghost of a smirk appeared on Chase's lips, and he walked forward with a key in his hand.
Thank God
. "You won't escape from me." It was a quiet statement.

Remy stared as Chase bent over to unlock the small padlock attached to the leather cuff. Long, callused fingers occasionally brushed over Remy's skin. The lock seemed to put up a fight, so Chase cupped Remy's heel to hold it steady and tried again.

It had been years since Remy had been touched by a man who pushed all his buttons and made more than his dick react; therefore, he needed a goddamn distraction before he put his foot in his mouth.

Noticing the traces of oil under Chase's blunt fingernails and along his cuticles, Remy found a safe topic.

"Are you a grease monkey?"

Two seconds without an answer, but then the padlock fell away, landing on the floorboards, and Chase looked up. "Grease monkey?" Remy nodded at Chase's hands. "Oh. A little, I guess." He stood up and tossed the lock and the key onto Remy's nightstand. "I haven't driven my Panhead since last winter, so I needed to change the oil on the way. The one I was using couldn’t handle the heat, and my stupid ass had forgotten to change it before."

There were different kinds of oil? Remy probably looked like a question mark. "Panhead?" he asked dumbly.

Chase jerked his chin at the door. "Come on. We're going outside."

Remy stood up and snatched his smokes and lighter from the nightstand, pocketed them in his basketball shorts, then stuck his feet into his checkered Vans. He followed Chase outside like an obedient dog, his eyes immediately catching the motorcycle, or more importantly, the punching bag behind the seat.

What the hell?

"This is a Panhead." Chase tapped something on the side of the bike. "It's a Harley engine." He spoke as he unstrapped the punching bag.

Remy leaned against one of the posts holding up the narrow porch's roof. "Thanks for the lesson." He knew jack shit about bikes, but he had to admit it was sexy as fuck. Even without direct sunlight, the dark green-painted vehicle gleamed as if it was brand new. But it screamed of vintage at the same time.

Chase grunted and hauled up the punching bag to rest on his shoulder, which…yeah, that was hotter than the bike. Remy lit up a smoke and enjoyed the show, content to wait with his questions about whatever Chase had planned. Watching how Chase's arms bulged and how his torso stretched the fabric of his T-shirt was much more fulfilling.

Or perhaps "fulfilling" was the wrong word, as it made Remy want more.

It was like taking a whiff of vodka but not being allowed to taste.

"Get over here and help out, pretty boy." Chase's remark killed the moment.

Remy scowled and stubbed out his cigarette. "Pretty boy? Fuck you." He trudged over to the tree Chase was looking up at. "I'm not a twink."

The only reason he'd bottomed exclusively in the past year was because he'd had issues maintaining a hard-on with all that poison in his system.

Chase gave him a mild look, unimpressed. "Anyway…" He stepped away and took hold of a sturdy branch that hung relatively low, pulling it down a couple feet. Remy's gaze slid to Chase's arms again.
Damn
. "Come here. Hold it like this while I get the bag in place."

Remy heaved a heavy sigh and walked over to where Chase was holding down the branch for him. He grabbed onto the thick branch and sucked in a breath when Chase let go. Okay, so it wasn’t as easy as it looked.

It irritated Remy to be bested. He hated looking like the fool. So, in true Remy fashion, he had to make it worse.

He blatantly checked out Chase's ass. "After you're done reenacting
Million Dollar Baby
out here, you wanna head back inside and maybe suck my cock? It'll show you who the pretty boy is."

Much to Remy's frustration, Chase remained unfazed. He slung a rope over the branch and started raising the punching bag in the air.

"You're in that mood again, huh?" Chase side-eyed him before refocusing on the knot he was tying. "I'm afraid shoving your sexuality in my face won't do the trick." He nodded at the branch. "You can let go."

Remy let his arms fall to his side, and he glared at the ground. "I'm stuck with the only man in Bakersfield who won't jump at the chance for some gay-bashing? Just my luck."

Chase snorted. "You're reaching, kid."

Remy knew he was. Ten minutes ago, he'd been relieved to have Chase here, and now he was back to being a prick.

"Hey, Remy?" Chase tilted his head as Remy looked him in the eye. "Three years ago, I spent over five months being called 'disgusting little queer' by Ben." That was a punch in the fucking gut, but Remy kept his face blank. "You being gay didn’t come as a surprise, nor do I give a fuck. I'm okay with it, so stop pushing for a reaction."

In order to mask the hurt that Ben had caused, Remy went for sarcasm. "Oh, thank you so much for being okay with someone else's sexual orientation. You're a real liberal." He rolled his eyes, sick of this, and headed back toward the cabin instead.

He didn’t hear Chase following him until Remy found himself pinned to the wall of the cabin, a strong forearm pressed to his sternum and Chase's lethal glare searing into him.

Shit
.

Remy's eyes widened with shock, and he half expected Chase to give him the beating he deserved now. But Chase said nothing. Did nothing. Second by second, the man's glare grew less murderous until there was no anger left at all.

Chase broke eye contact and looked down but didn’t move away. "I wanna tell you to stop pissing me off, but I have a feeling that'd be impossible." Lifting his head again, he got fixed on some point near Remy's shoulder. "You gotta stop with the crude shit, though." When Chase finally met his gaze again, Remy was trapped.

He became hyperalert to every inch of him that Chase was touching, mainly his impressive junk pushing against Remy's lower abdomen. With something dark burning in Chase's eyes, this new awareness would get Remy in trouble if they didn’t break apart soon.

"I make no promises." Remy could barely believe he had the balls to say that. But if it got Chase to back off…

The man pressing up against him glared again, something sinister curving the corners of his mouth. Remy watched how Chase licked his bottom lip and inched close enough to speak in his ear. The musky combination of soap, man, and spearmint hit Remy's senses, and he nearly groaned. He could already feel his dick stiffening.

"Then I make no promises of the outcome." Chase's voice was quiet and steely in his ear. A bit rougher and darker than normal.

He finally stepped away, kind of taking Remy's ability to breathe with him.