Promise Rock 03 - Living Promises (MM) (7 page)

Jeff: Fractured Fairy Tale

SO. NOT. FAIR.

Yeah, Jeff remembered him. The angular cheekbones, the square jaw, those things had filled out, and so had his chest, and his arms were truly amazing. The dark blond hair was parted in the middle and hung to sweep his jaw line. Most of the time Jeff had seen him, it had been pulled back behind his ears in a half-ponytail, but not today. The long hair made him look young, and tough, and… oh, damn, the kind of kid that Jeff would have gone for in a heartbeat a half a million years ago.

Up close, his eyes were… amazing. They were an average color— brown, like Jeff's, but they also had flecks of gold and flecks of green, and these dark brown lashes, and that bad-boy's lean mouth was drawn up in a scowl, and he was holding Jeff in a way that… oh, God…. Jeff could hardly remember being held like this.

The last person to do it had been Kevin.
For a moment, the weight of Kevin's brother, of the letter sitting in his pocket like a piece of cannon-shot, of Jeff's careful little bubble of hedonism, was supported in those wide-fingered bony hands, and Jeff felt almost young as those arms wrapped around his shoulders, even as the one hand cupped the back of his head and angled him for a kiss.
His mouth opened under Collin's lean-lipped twist of triumph, and Collin's tongue swept into his mouth. Ahhh… ahhh, God….
He must have whimpered, melted, something, because in about two seconds, Collin had his back pressed against the wall, his shoulders pinned, and was ravaging his mouth like Patton ravaged the Philippines, only with less khaki and more—oh Christ, more tongue. Five years… could he really have survived for
five years
without being kissed? Without being held? Without smelling sweat and feeling stubble against his chin?
Collin
growled
. There was no other word for it—a warm, possessive rumble came up from his chest, and he ground his hips up against Jeff and, oh, God….
Shit—wasn't he in the middle of something?
Pulling away and ducking under Collin's arm was easy, because Collin wasn't expecting it—and horribly difficult, because Jeff didn't want to do it.
“You're a sweet boy,” he said, but he was panting so it probably didn't sound as condescending as he was trying for. He tried again. “You're a sweet boy, Collin, but I've got some shit to do right now!”
And with that, he managed to trot through the door of the restaurant and flee out the other side.

K
IMMY
and Mikhail were waiting for him in the front of the restaurant. They had apparently rounded up all of the stuff at the table while Jeff was lapsing into emotional maelstrom, and were ready to go.

“Did we pay up?” Jeff asked, hoping they'd left a hell of a tip after all of that.
Crick's car was still parked outside, so Mikhail cast a sour look at Kimmy and then, as the shortest, climbed into the back of the Mini Cooper, saying, “Yes, and moose-woman here left half a fortune in cash. I hope that boy's cow-eyes were worth it, heifer—that money would have paid my rent back in the old country.”
“The boy wasn't making cow-eyes at
me
, Mikhail. Besides, I thought your ass paid your rent in the old country!” Kimmy shot back, and Jeff grimaced. She and Mikhail really must have loved each other for her to go there. Mikhail wasn't exactly ashamed of his past, but he didn't usually let it be used as target practice, either.
“Okay, it would have paid
your
rent. I would have lived in a fucking palace, how's that? And I was talking Lucas, making the coweyes. The other one was obviously aimed at… what does he want?” Because Jeff had just turned the key as everyone belted in, and now Collin was hustling out with three twenties in his hand.
“You overpaid,” he was saying darkly as Jeff buzzed down the window, and Jeff sent Kimmy an annoyed look. Kimmy shrugged.
“It's not like
you
were giving him any love!” she snapped, and like a sudden storm in a clear sky, Jeff felt a full on blush take over his body.
“Kimmy was trying to make up for your trouble,” Jeff muttered, scowling, and she smiled sweetly. Since she never did anything sweetly, Jeff suppressed the urge to flip her off.
“Did you mention that
you're
the one that cleaned up?” Collin thundered, doing the offended pride thing, and Jeff tried very hard to look at him with his “this is only a kid” glasses, but they didn't seem to be working. When he looked at the kid from the corner of his eye, when he wasn't expecting a terrified boy, Collin ended up bearing a striking resemblance to Deacon.
“I didn't mention jack, I didn't know she overpaid, and, dammit, give the tip to your mother, who's a lovely woman, if your manly pride is too tender. Now I'm sorry to tell you to piss off, babydoll, but piss off!”
“The kid vaulted an iron fence,” Kimmy said helpfully before Jeff could peel off in an embarrassment-fueled snit. “Lucas kept after him, but he lost the kid at the storage place by the levee after I came back to get reinforcements.”
Jeff turned and glared at her. “How in the hell do you know that?”
Kimmy had a sweet little oval of a face, the kind of loveliness that could get away with the worst sort of language and the most irritable looks because she had a warm heart and her brother's warm brown eyes and was stunningly attractive.
“We exchanged cell phones, fuckhead. Now make nice with the cute boy-king and let's roll!”
Jeff fought back a scream and turned around to glare at Collin. “Did you have anything else to add, because we're a little busy here!”
Collin scowled back at him. “You going to be at The Pulpit later? Because I know where it is, and I can catch up with you there!”
He couldn't help it—a groan escaped. “It was a kiss, sweet thing, not a declaration of love,” he muttered, and because he hadn't taken the car out of neutral or taken the parking brake off, he didn't kill them all when he thudded his forehead against the steering wheel.
But the window was still open, and Collin leaned down into the car and placed that warm, demanding hand on his shoulder, then lowered his head so that his lips brushed Jeff's ear and that longish, bad-boy hair tickled Jeff's jaw.
“It was a declaration of intention, and we both know it,” he said on a growl, and Jeff closed his eyes against the idea. Then Collin looked up at Kimmy and Mikhail. “I'll be there at six—will he be there?”
“Oh
fuck
yeah!” Kimmy said, sounding delighted, and Jeff shot her a betrayed look.
“Heifer!”
Collin's throaty laughter was still inside the car, and Jeff's chin was being grasped in strong fingers that smelled a little like engine grease and a lot like industrial hand cleaner, and then Collin gave him a hard, marking, kiss goodbye before backing up and out of Jeff's tiny car and personal space.
“I'll be there!” he promised direly before turning back toward the diner.
Jeff leaned his head against the steering wheel again, with his eyes closed, and listened to his engine idle in the shocked silence.
“I don't suppose either of you missed that?” he asked after a moment. He risked turning his head and saw that both Kimmy and Mikhail were eyeing him with almost twin expressions of titillated mischief. He turned his head back to looking at his knees under the steering wheel.
“Are you shitting me?” Kimmy asked. “Best show I've had all year. What in the fuck was that about?”
“He thinks he's got a crush on me,” Jeff said weakly, straightening up and releasing the emergency break. “I'm going to have to set him straight.”
“What an appalling thought,” Mikhail said appreciatively. Kimmy shot him an outraged look, and the little Russian held out his hands. “No, cow-woman, I am not thinking of straying on your brother. It's just good to know that such a one plays for our team. And I think Jeff is full of shit—why would you want to turn that offer away?”
“Where are we going, Kimmy?”
“To go get Crick and Lucas. Crick drove us here, but he's got the keys.” She looked behind her and grimaced. Both men were pretty damned tall, and there was no
way
they'd fit in the back of the Cooper comfortably. “Or maybe just to go help them look. Or figure out how to get everyone to their cars. Or… fuck, I don't know, it's a clusterfucking transportation nightmare, and we're the only ones not walking. Either way, about two miles down—they're near the levee road.”
Jeff swore. Crick put on a good front, but his body wasn't ready for quite that long a run, not if he had to turn around and come back. “One of you is going to have to get out and stay with Lucas after we get his keys,” he muttered. “Crick's going to need to come back with us.”
“Cow-woman will do it,” Mikhail said with a slight sneer. “He was making cow
eyes
at her, just like you were trying not to make with the garage/bus boy, and I think it's time one of you got laid.”
“I think it should be Jeff,” Kimmy said promptly. “My ex-drugabuser is still visible in my rearview. How long has it been, Jeff? You're starting to give off maiden auntie vibrations here!”
Jeff sighed and wished he could pull over and run away. Deacon knew the answer to this one, because Deacon could identify. Deacon would have happily gone without sex for the rest of his life if Crick hadn't come back from Iraq. Crick knew the answer, because he and Deacon didn't keep secrets, but Crick, (showing surprising tact, for Crick) hadn't actually said a whole lot about it. But now, because Jeff had no emotional defenses whatsoever at the moment, his clean little secret was about to escape. “Not since Kevin,” he muttered, and an appalled silence blanketed the car.
“Holy God,” Mikhail said reverently. “I thought your virginity grew back after that long.”
“Yeah?” Kimmy asked with interest. “When's that happen?”
“Longer than six months,” Mikhail snapped.
“Bitch.”
“Heifer. And I'd say about two years,” Mikhail said decisively. “Because that's how long it was for your brother when we met, and I have never met a more innocent man.”
Kimmy snorted. “That's just Shaney. His whole brain is stuck on permanent virginity.”
“Not anymore,” Mikhail said with some considerable pride. “But we are talking about Jeff. How in the fuck do you go for five years without fucking?”
Jeff
really
didn't want to talk about this anymore. In fact, he didn't want to talk about
anything
anymore. Mostly, he wanted to go home, take a nice long bubble bath, and curl up with Con and Katy and watch a comfort movie and eat chocolate. Even if his stomach hadn't been doing well this go-round, maybe it was time for chocolate to become his friend once again. But the silence was holding in the car, and Kimmy and Mikhail were both expecting an answer, and both of them were being damned decent about tracking his problem all over Levee Oaks.
“A large collection of the world's finest sex toys,” he told them honestly. “And lots of flavored lube. Kimmy, love, do I turn here, or are we driving off the levee into the river?”
Because, you know, that sounded like an option too.

I
T TOOK
some car shuffling to get Lucas and Crick situated, and in the end, the kid was still nowhere to be found. Shane, the big, hairy, Hoover ex-cop had tipped off his old partner, Calvin, to keep a lookout for Martin.

“I told him he's lost, he's hungry, and he's pissed off, but that he's not a bad kid. Calvin will keep his head, but let's hope he's not the only one.”

Jeff sighed and flopped back on the couch at The Pulpit, and Shane gave a sympathetic grimace. Crick was outside, apprising Deacon and probably helping the big, horny horse get laid, because God knew that seemed to be a twelve-person job, and Lucas was out there too. (Seriously, how many grown men did that really need?) Kimmy was in the back bedroom with Parry Angel, because the little girl had been so happy to have another girl in the house that she'd needed to play dolls immediately, and Jeff, Shane, and Mikhail were in the living room, strategically trying not to mention that dinner needed to be started, and it was usually the idle who ended up lending a hand.

“Thank you,” Jeff said quietly now to Shane. He couldn't seem to summon his usual cattiness, and he could tell Shane was bothered when his expressive brown eyes got big and confused.

“Thank you? That's it? Thank you?” Shane shook his head decisively. “Mmmno. Not gonna fly. You gonna tell us what made this kid go apeshit or what? Because all reports say he knew you and his brother were tight when he walked into the restaurant. What in the hell was in that letter, Jeff?”

Jeff glowered. “I don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, and was disheartened when Shane turned pleasantly to Mikhail and said, “Mickey, could you do me a favor and start dinner? Jeff and I have some history here, okay?”

Mikhail rolled his eyes. “If you were not naked, it was not history worth writing down.”
“Mickey, please?”
Mikhail stood up and smacked Shane's cheek lightly. “It is a good thing you are cute, you big, stupid cop, or I would cook the same thing for you that you tried to poison me with last week.”
Shane grimaced, and Jeff grinned. By all reports, Shane could fuck up a microwave burrito. Then Jeff remembered exactly who had said that, and his heart fell again. He looked dispiritedly around the little room with its ugly, comfortable couches and bowl of flowers above the television, and didn't see hide nor hair of cheap yarn or construction paper or really dirty paperback romances.
“Christ, I miss Benny,” he said into the silence, and Shane sighed too.
“God, so do I. She's coming for Thanksgiving, you know.”
Jeff perked up. “Really? The whole week? Because I'm telling you, as much as I love Crick, that girl sure did make the spirit of this place, you know?”
Shane nodded, something in his expression guarded enough to make Jeff want more information. “What?”
A shrug. “I don't know. I… just heard her talking to Deacon, and Deacon talking back… something about the tone of their voices. I don't think she's doing well. And you know Deacon—he wants her to come home, but he doesn't want to say so, because heaven forbid he should ask for anything because
he
wants it, but he doesn't want to get in the way of her education, and… you know.”
Jeff nodded. “Yeah. A big alpha-male morass of suppressed needs. Honey, I've heard the song, I know the tune, I can sing the words in my sleep.”
“Yeah,” Shane said with a suppressed twinkle, “but you're the only man I've ever met who trills the high notes in a baritone.”
Jeff couldn't help it. He giggled and looked at the brown-haired, brown-eyed, man-mountain of a cop with true appreciation. The year before, Shane might have thought up that line, but he wouldn't have had the balls to say it. After a year of finding Mikhail—and quitting the force to do something he was truly more suited for—Shane was a little more relaxed and a lot less awkward.
And he seemed to care for Jeff like a brother in their little unconventional family, and it didn't look like he was going anywhere until he got an answer.
Sure enough, his next words were sober and quiet, and Jeff thought about what a wonderful thing it was that he was going to try to be a youth counselor, because even the most hardened juvenile delinquent would have to think twice before getting in the face of that much massive patience.
“I know you're going to tell Deacon, Jeff, but why not give me a dry run, okay? I mean, if I fuck it up, you can whine to Deacon about me, and that, at least, will make you feel better.”
Jeff looked at him helplessly. Jesus, the guy's only flaw was that he thought he was a fuck-up, when really he was about the world's nicest human being. And Jeff, the master of the high-gay catty epithet, had really not let him live in peace since they'd met more than a year and a half ago during dinner at The Pulpit.
“You're not going to fuck this up,” he said, keeping his voice soft. Really, what was the big secret? It had happened years ago, right? And Jeff had lived just fine not knowing the particulars. Nothing had changed, really, right?
Shane shrugged, and they heard a bout of swearing—in Russian— from the kitchen. “He doesn't know he does that,” Shane said softly, the little grooves in his cheeks deepening. “He likes to think he only speaks Russian when he's doing it on purpose, but when he's not thinking about it… it just slips out.”
Jeff smiled in spite of himself. Mikhail was a complicated, irritating little man, and Shane was a patient, soothing, simple one. Seeing two people work together like that was both inspiring and depressing. Right now, it felt like family, and maybe that was what Jeff needed to get this off his chest.
“Kevin….” Jeff's throat closed, and he swallowed hard. “You've got to understand. He was so proud of being in the military. He… he wanted to be someone his little brothers and sisters could look up to. He wanted to be the first person in his family to go to college when his second tour was over. He….” Oh God. How long had it been since he'd talked about Kevin? “He was just so damned proud, you know?”
Shane smiled. “Was he as proud as Deacon?” he asked, and Jeff had to laugh.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Almost exactly as proud as Deacon. Apparently, it's what killed him.”
“How?”
Jeff looked away. “You see, he'd gotten tested for HIV before he left, but it hadn't shown up yet. When my numbers spiked, I wrote him—it was five years ago, the whole digital thing wasn't as big in the military as it is now. If he popped positive for HIV, he would have gotten sent back home. It probably wouldn't have been a discharge—lots of ways to get it, right?—but he would have had to explain to his family, and that might have meant coming out, and then… all that pride….”
“Where does it go, right?”
“Yeah.”
Jeff took a deep breath and tried to say this right. “See, when he was killed, all Lucas knew was that they were hunkering down behind a burned-out tank, surrounded by enemy fire, and waiting for a helicopter to come bail them out. The copter wasn't more than ten minutes out— they didn't have long to wait. There was a structure nearby—something a little more solid than the tank, something that would give them a better chance. Suddenly, Kevin turned to Lucas and said, „Here, I've got a plan. Give me a sec, and then you guys run for shelter.'.”
Shane hissed air through his teeth, and Jeff looked at him appreciatively. Naïve, yes, but nobody ever said the big guy was dumb.
“I….” Oh God. For all his crying on Deacon the other night, he'd thought he remembered the real taste of pain. “His letter….”
I'm sorry, club boy. I had this whole picket fence set-up lined up in my head for us when I got back from my tour. When I was ready, I thought I'd be strong enough to tell the world. But I'm not ready, and I'm not strong enough, and don't think I don't know that I gave you this problem, and if I have to face you sick because I made you that way, I might as well put the gun to my head myself.
As it is, I think I'll let the enemy do the honors.
Shane did the unexpected thing then. He reached over and grabbed Jeff's hand.
Jeff clung to it. “They teach you this in counseling school?” he asked, keeping his caustic edge intact.
“Yup. I'm getting an A.” Another big, wide hand came up and covered Jeff's other hand.
“Good to be an extra credit project, big guy.”
“Well, you're high maintenance enough. I'm just glad to get something out of it.”
That right there straightened Jeff's spine, and he ripped his hands reluctantly from Shane's. “High
maintenance
!” he shrieked. “
I'm
high maintenance? May I remind you of last year? Do I have to? Because, I'm telling you, by the end of that fucking week, I was going to stab you myself!”
Shane chuckled dryly and stood as another round of clattering and incensed Russian swearing emanated from the kitchen. “I'm gonna go help him before he rearranges their kitchen. Benny would never forgive us.” And with that, he ruffled Jeff's hair, mindless of all the hair products Jeff used to hold it in place.
Well, he could, Jeff scowled, smoothing his hair back. Big dumb ex-cop mountain just let his curl like a blackberry bush; it was no surprise he had no respect for anyone else's 'do. He was just about to go check himself in the mirror when it occurred to him: damn Shane and his patience, he'd actually imbued Jeff with the teeniest bit of serenity.
Christ, boyfriend was
good
!
And then there was the sound of a strange car coming up the drive, one with a big monster, macho, big-dick engine, and Jeff had a moment to panic.
Oh God. Whatever the hell that was, it sounded like something Collin would drive.
“Oh shit! Is that a fucking Camaro?”
The kitchen overlooked the driveway, and Shane's delight practically rattled the walls. “Would ya look at that, Mickey! It's a goddamned Chevy Camaro—man, I bet it's been modified too!”
“I take it that's a car?” Mikhail's skepticism took some of the thunder out of the air.
Jeff didn't stick around to hear the reply.
Sure enough, as he walked out of the house to lean against the porch rail, he could see it. The big-dick car was a brilliant, candy-apple red, with some sort of whoopty-dick-hickey sticking out of the hood to make it look even more masculine and intrusive, and Jeff couldn't help a sniff of disdain. Ostentatious much? Really? He never would have guessed.
Jeff looked beyond where Collin was parking in the fading twilight to see where Deacon, Crick, and Andrew were, and if they were setting up to come inside soon. He couldn't help this either—one of the principle things that had attracted him to Crick's life at The Pulpit was the family table, and Jeff needed that security like nobody's business.
And he would have given his left furry nut not to face that kid who had nearly managed to kiss him silly. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be a collection service for that—just Collin, getting purposefully out of the car.
“You found your runaway yet?” Collin asked as Jeff leaned against the porch rail.
“Nope. Black teenager loose in Levee Oaks. I'd alert the media, but they'd discover this little nest of gays and try to smoke us out like wasps.” Jeff wiggled his fingers to indicate both smoke and wasps, and Collin's mouth quirked up.
“You gonna invite me in?” Collin's boots made hollow thumps coming up the wooden porch steps, and Jeff shook his head.
“Not my place, kid. Wait 'til Deacon comes back from inseminating his horse, and he'll invite you in.”
Collin's lean, hard-edged mouth curled up in a grin. “Inseminating his horse? Man, I heard the guy had balls of solid rock, but I had no idea!”
Jeff flushed. Oh for sweet Christ's sake, of all the fucking things… dammit, that was a joke
he
should have made! “Grow up!” he admonished, and Collin rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of leaning on the railing next to Jeff, Collin came up behind him and leaned against him instead. “I told you, princess,” he growled, “we've got some unfinished business to tend to.”
Jeff shoved himself backward, his head connecting hard with Collin's jaw, but he didn't care. “Really? You're going to come on to me today… for
real
?” He was dumbfounded. No fucking discretion. This kid had no
fucking
discretion, no clue about people, and no
fucking
sense.
As evidenced by the completely blank look on his face. “What's wrong with today?”
“What's wrong with today? What's wrong with today?” Jeff was vaguely aware that he was stomping his foot and waving his hands and that all of his carefully Shane-earned serenity had just jumped off the porch and into the manure pile on the other side of the barn. He couldn't make himself give a shit—even a horse-sized one.
“Babydoll, have you not noticed that I'm still dealing with the mess made by my dead boyfriend? Because if ever there's a day
not
to hit on someone, that would be it! Maybe we've noticed that, hello, I'm just sort of dangling from the sanity building, kicking and screaming, and then you want to come along and step on my fingers?”
“Hang in there, baby, there's a reason for that—”
But Jeff wasn't going to let him finish. “Why in the fuck would I want to kiss a guy who can't read a goddamned mood, that's what I want to know!”
He was not prepared for Collin's hands on his shirtfront, or Collin's solid, rangy body backing him up against the wall of the house. Suddenly, they were face to face again, and his hands were hanging helplessly at his sides, and Collin was glaring at him with exasperation.
“Maybe because you need someone today, you ever think of that? Maybe I'm just trying to be there for you like you were for me! Jesus, try and support a guy!”
“I've got plenty of support!” Jeff snapped, damned grateful for it. “I'm not alone in the universe, Collin. The sentiment is appreciated but—”
Collin cut him off. “I'm not talking family, genius, I'm talking bigger than that!”
Jeff smirked, because their groins were touching, and Collin had an obvious package, and wasn't it just like the kid to try to bring
that
into it. “My, my—aren't we humble!”
“And I'm not talking about that any more than you were talking jock strap as support!” Collin snapped, and Jeff had to reluctantly smirk again in appreciation. At least the kid was quick on the uptake, and that was nice, and then he got mad all over again because, dammit, the kid shouldn't even
be
there. Jeff was going to have dinner with his family and wait for news about Martin and be
safe
, dammit, and
protected
and
loved
and all that shit that family gave you and Jeff had craved for so damned long!
“Look, Skippy,” Jeff said through clenched teeth, forcibly unclenching Collin's hands from his Aeropostale sweatshirt, “your help is appreciated, but really? We got it covered. You want to stay for dinner, I'll have Deacon give you the invite, but I'm good, got it?”
Collin's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed, and what was left was not a child's expression at all. “You really are something else, aren't you? Man, you may have your little family all happy about how well you're doing, but I've been watching you for a
year
, and I can tell you all that it's bullshit! You feeling like crap and calling me „Skippy' ain't gonna make it any fucking better!”
“Well random busboy fucking isn't going to do it either, Skippy!” Jeff snapped, and now that strong-jawed face showed absolute fury, and Jeff resisted the urge to clap his hand over his runaway mouth like a little kid.
He wouldn't have had the chance, because Collin's mouth came down
hard
on his, all teeth and frustration and bruising anger and passion—oh Christ, he tasted edgy and dangerous and….
Jeff put two hands on his chest and shoved.
“I'm not interested in being assaulted,” he panted, turning sideways and backing up toward the porch. “Now go down and wait by the car, and I'll go get Deacon.”
Collin wiped his (puffy, bruised) mouth with the back of his hand and gave a gritty smile. “What's the matter, Jeffy? What are you afraid of?”
“Know-it-all-kids fucking with my peace,” Jeff snarled, surprised by his own candor for a moment.
Collin nodded like that was what he thought. “Look, man, don't think I haven't learned something watching you. You play a good clown, you know that? You laugh, you tell funny stories, you give