Safe in His Arms (19 page)

as the doctor okays it.‖

An aide stuck her head inside his door. ―You have a visitor. You feel up to seeing

anyone yet?‖

Who even knew he was here besides the fucking cops? ―A visitor?‖

The nurse nodded. ―They‘re waiting outside. I told them I‘d check if you feel up to

it.‖

Russell! Russell had found out somehow and raced over to see him. All would be

forgiven. They would start over. Hank actually smiled. ―Oh, yes. That would be fine.‖

He struggled into a sitting position, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head,

worse than the worst hangover. Butterflies roiled in his stomach. Russell!

The nurse handed him the bed remote. ―Just lie back,‖ she admonished gently, ―and

use this to sit up.‖ Hank nodded gratefully, pressing the button to lift the bed into more

of a sitting position.

The door opened and Hank glanced down at himself. He was still in the old T-shirt,

a hospital robe added on top of it. He hadn‘t shaved in days. He probably looked like

hell. Oh well, nothing to be done about it. He held his breath, waiting for Russell.

Instead, there stood Reese Armstrong, as blond and beautiful as ever.

―Reese?‖ Hank‘s heart did a strange, painful flutter, the disappointment that it

wasn‘t Russell colliding with the unexpected joy of seeing the man he thought he‘d lost

forever.

―Hank. I came as soon as they called.‖ Reese advanced into the room and Hank saw

with a dropping heart that Jeff Hartman was trailing behind him.

―As soon as who called? How did you know I‘m here?‖

―You must still be carrying that card in your wallet. The next of kin thing.

Remember, we listed each other.‖

―Oh. Yeah.‖ Hank bet Reese didn‘t still carry that in
his
wallet. Reese moved to sit

on the edge of the bed. Jeff sat in a chair near the door.

―What‘re you doing here?‖ Hank blurted. ―I mean, after our last, uh, encounter.‖

The memory of the bar scene, and how stupidly Hank had behaved, flooded him with a

new and not welcome feeling—shame. ―I mean, I would have thought I was the last

person you,‖ he glanced at Jeff and back to Reese, ―either of you, would want to see

again in life.‖

―When you get a call from a hospital that someone you spent twelve years of your

life with has been in a car accident, and you‘re listed as next of kin, you show up.‖

Reese shrugged. ―Look, Hank, I‘m not going to lie, you put us through a lot of shit, but,

well, how do I say this without coming across like a pompous ass?‖

Hank waited, tensing. ―I guess what I‘m trying to say,‖ Reese continued, glancing

with such deep affection toward his partner that Hank felt like crying, ―is I—we—

forgive you. We‘re together now, and really happy. And not for nothing, but if you

hadn‘t put Jeff in my path the way you did, I would probably still be out there, fucking

anything that moved, with my heart still in the deep freeze.‖ He shrugged again, his

smile gentle. ―Whatever path it took to get here, here we are.‖

Again the tender look at Jeff before refocusing on Hank. ―So tell me.‖ He fixed

Hank with a penetrating gaze. ―What the hell happened?‖

Hank knew, with a finality he hadn‘t allowed himself to experience before, that

things were well and truly over between them. It was odd to realize suddenly that this

was okay. Reese was part of the past. It was Russell who owned his heart. Russell, who

wanted nothing to do with him.

Forcing himself back into the present, Hank replied, ―Apparently I skidded off the

road and hit a tree. I don‘t really remember, to tell you the truth.‖ Hank‘s head was

pounding. He leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes.

―Were you drinking?‖ Reese‘s voiced hardened. He used to get on Hank‘s case

from time to time, same as Julio. Hank used to ignore him just as steadily, or hone in on

some perceived shortcoming in Reese, to shift the focus from himself. Hank was better

at the game than Reese, who would invariably back down.

For the first time, he realized with a sudden painful clarity that Reese hadn‘t left

him for Jeff. Reese had been leaving him for years before that, hanging on only because

of Hank‘s manipulation and control.

He‘d kept Reese tethered to him, exploiting his hold over Reese from years before,

acting as if Reese should be forever indebted for Hank‘s cleaning up his mess, when in

fact it hadn‘t been Hank at all, but his father who had made Reese‘s legal problems

disappear.

Regret threatened to engulf Hank for all he had done, and all he had withheld. ―I‘m

sorry,‖ he said softly, opening his eyes.

―Excuse me?‖ Reese answered.

Hank wanted to apologize for everything—for the years of using and manipulating

Reese so he could keep him in his life, for how hard he‘d tried to ruin Reese‘s chance at

happiness with another man. But he couldn‘t say that. Not in front of Jeff. Not now.

Instead he managed, ―For being such a jerk at the bar a while back. I was drunk. It

was really stupid.‖

―Oh my god,‖ Reese said.

―What?‖

―I‘ve never heard you say you were sorry before. Not once in twelve years. What‘s

happened to you, Hank? Why this change of heart? Did the crash dislodge something in

your brain?‖ His voice was teasing, but Hank could see the pain in his eyes.

He sighed, aware he couldn‘t fix the past, wishing he could somehow salvage the

future. ―Yes,‖ he admitted. ―Something happened to me. The most important, amazing,

wonderful thing in my life happened to me. But I fucked it up. Just like I fuck up

everything.‖

―What? What happened to you?‖

―Russell happened to me. Russell Evans.‖

The house was small and located in a modest neighborhood, not at all the sort of

place Elite‘s usual clientele resided. Briefly Russell wondered how the frail old man

who opened the door could afford to pay the escort service‘s steep fees for an hour‘s

pleasure.

―Hi,‖ he said, ―I‘m Russell. From Gentleman‘s Elite. Are you Mr. James Smith?‖ The

man squinted at him, pulled the screen door open and stepped back. ―Come in,‖ he said

in a quavering voice. ―I‘ve been waiting for you.‖

Russell stepped into the small foyer and was assailed by the strong though not

unpleasant scent of the man‘s cologne. His sparse hair was white and neatly combed

over a pink scalp. Bright blue eyes shone from a face heavily lined with wrinkles and

the fine bone structure jaw beneath was still evident.

He wore a crisp white shirt with a blue tie and gray trousers with a military-sharp

crease down each leg. He was smiling shyly at Russell, his hands twisting nervously at

chest level. ―I‘ve made some coffee. Would you like a cup?‖

Russell smiled. ―No thanks, Mr. Smith. I‘m good. But if you‘d care to—‖

―No, no,‖ the old man said. ―None for me. Too late in the day. To tell you the truth,

I‘m a little nervous,‖ he added unnecessarily. ―I‘ve never done this before.‖ He

produced an odd smile that looked more like a grimace.

―Never called an escort service?‖

―Never been with a man.‖

Russell kept his expression neutral and nodded, waiting for more of an explanation,

though if none was forthcoming, he wouldn‘t pry. James Smith wouldn‘t be the first

client he‘d been with who had waited most of their life before getting up the nerve to

explore homosexual feelings.

―Well, I hope the experience measures up to your expectations, Mr. Smith. I‘m

honored to be your first.‖

Mr. Smith chuckled, though he continued to wring his hands. ―Please, call me

James. I feel old enough without the mister business.‖

―James it is.‖ Russell reached for the man‘s hands, covering them both briefly with

his own much larger hand. ―This is your hour. I want to make you comfortable and

happy. There‘s no written script or agenda. Whatever works for you is what we‘ll do,

okay?‖

James‘ smile was genuine this time. ―Okay, that sounds good to me. I like you.‖ He

glanced at his watch, adding, ―Time‘s a wasting. I guess if you don‘t want coffee…‖ he

trailed off uncertainly.

―Would you like to show me your bedroom?‖ Russell asked, glancing toward the

stairs.

―Excellent idea,‖ James said with a small, nervous laugh. He led the way up narrow

stairs to the first door at the top. ―After you.‖ James waved Russell into a small but

immaculate bedroom. It was clear the rug had just been vacuumed, and the scent of

lemon oil hung in the air.

―I, uh, I don‘t know what comes next,‖ James said. Anxiety was radiating off him in

waves, and Russell‘s heart went out to him, thinking what courage it must have taken

to even make the call to the escort service.

―How about let‘s get to know each other a little? Would you like a massage? It

might help you relax.‖

―Okay, yes. That sounds good to me,‖ James said, but he stood stock still, making

no move to undress.

Russell waited a few beats and then suggested, ―Maybe you want to take off your

pants and shirt so they don‘t get wrinkled?‖

―Oh! I, uh, okay. Yes, okay.‖

Russell knelt in front of James, who flushed slightly and said with a small laugh,

―Oh, the royal treatment, huh?‖

―Absolutely.‖ Russell untied the laces of James‘ spit shiny black shoes and pulled

them off, one by one, along with the black dress socks. Carefully he unbuckled his belt

and opened the fly, drawing the zipper down. James shut his eyes tight as Russell drew

his trousers down, but didn‘t protest. He didn‘t try to remove the man‘s boxer shorts,

not yet, but couldn‘t quite suppress the smile when he noticed the price tag still affixed

to the waistband.

James unbuttoned his shirt himself and removed it, revealing pale, hairless skin.

―Lie down and relax,‖ Russell urged. ―I‘ll just sit here beside you.‖ James obeyed,

draping himself face down on the bed.

Gently, Russell began to smooth and lightly knead what little muscle remained on

the man‘s bony back. After a few minutes, Russell could feel James begin to relax. ―So,‖

Russell said, ―tell me a little bit about yourself. Why did you wait so long to be with a

man? If you don‘t mind my asking, that is.‖

―Oh, I don‘t mind,‖ James replied, settling more comfortably into the mattress. ―I

was married for fifty-four years to a wonderful woman. Back when I was coming up,

homosexuality wasn‘t an option, it was a perversion.‖

He twisted toward Russell. ―I remember the priest at my Sunday school, warning

us that those kind of sick feelings were an aspersion against God, a crime against

nature. He took us boys into a room one day, while a nun was no doubt doing a similar

number on the girls, and told us that, not only was masturbation, or self abuse, as he‘d

called it, a sin that would send us straight to hell, but if we even thought about another

boy in sexual terms, just the
thought
would be sufficient reason for God to cast us

forever into the fires of hell.‖

Russell shook his head, thinking how many lives had been ruined by the misguided

censoring and condemnation of natural feelings and desires. Wasn‘t life hard enough

without that kind of bullshit being thrown at you?

―I bought it, the whole kit and caboodle,‖ James said with a deep sigh. ―Married the

first girl that‘d have me and spent my life keeping those impure thoughts at bay.

Luckily she was a good woman—my best friend. She died a year ago last May, rest her

soul.‖ He was quiet a moment, before adding, ―I got to thinking I don‘t have a whole

helluva lot of time left myself. I decided if I‘m going to burn in the hell fires of eternity, I

might as well do it right.‖ He barked a laugh.

―Now you,‖ he continued, ―you‘re just what the doctor ordered. I picked you out of

that catalog they sent me. You remind me of Timothy Dylan, the redhead I bunked with

in boot camp before being shipped off to Korea in nineteen hundred and fifty. He was

big and tall like you, and built like a tank. I‘ve never admitted this to a soul, and I‘ll

deny it if you say it outside this bedroom, but he‘s the one who‘d always come to mind,

right in the moment of passion, if you know what I mean.‖

―I do,‖ Russell replied, grinning at the man‘s quaint turn of phrase. They were quiet

for a while, as Russell continued the massage.

James rolled over suddenly, fixing Russell with an intense gaze. ―You‘re my

birthday present, did you know that?‖ he announced with a grin. ―I decided to treat

myself.‖

―Well then, Mr. Smith,‖ Russell said with an answering grin. ―We must unwrap

your present.‖ He stood, pulling his shirt over his head. James watched intently, biting

his lip. Russell kicked off his boots, took off his jeans and stood a moment, his hands on

the waistband of his underwear, his eyes on James. Slowly he pulled them down his

legs and then stood straight for James‘ inspection. The old man‘s eyes widened as he