AS CARAMELA’S DEBUT at Herod’s drew closer, as Chenco’s nerves began to settle and he found his feet in Vegas, both as a performer and as a member of the motley Tedsoe/Keller/Jansen/Ellison family, Steve admitted it was time he faced a hollow, uncomfortable truth—Chenco didn’t need him.
He made himself sit with that revelation one afternoon in early May as he sat on the patio, taking a smoke break while a project uploaded to a client’s server. Everyone else was at work—Ethan at the casino, Mitch on a run to L.A., Sam at the hospital, Chenco at rehearsal, Randy teaching a poker clinic. Even Salomé and Daisy were absent, off sleeping in their cat condos. More and more lately these were his days, with the house to himself, working out of Ethan’s home office. It was not at all unlike his days had been in the RGV before Cooper’s funeral, except he didn’t have the feeds to watch and his internet connection was faster. There were better delivery options, and Randy kept the fridge stocked with gourmet-level snacks and quick meals. Not for five weeks had he worried about gangs at the cannery or whether or not he’d find Gordy dead and bloody in his nest of newspaper. It was the kind of quiet and peace he’d longed for.
Steve had never felt so rudderless, so irrelevant, so lonely.
The evenings when everyone returned were both better and worse. He’d grown accustomed to the chaos of living with five other men, had come to like it, but with everyone else happy and living their dreams, watching them joke and laugh and share the insights of their day, their challenges only served to make him feel more outside. It wasn’t that they excluded him—quite the opposite. Their drive and focus, however, in achieving the goals they’d set for themselves, wasn’t something Steve could share. For so long all he’d wanted was to help Gordy. When he first met Chenco, he hadn’t considered a relationship, only helping someone who clearly needed a leg up.
Except the more he got to know Chenco, the more he realized his boy hadn’t ever needed anything. Oh, he’d been in a tight spot, and he hadn’t been happy, but he’d have figured something out. Ethan’s cats didn’t land on their feet as well as Chenco. This “rescue”, Chenco’s airlift out of the RGV, was simply a bonus round, a well-deserved assist for a young man who had been effectively sewing silk purses out of sows’ ears since birth.
Chenco didn’t need Steve. Their sex was still fantastic, except ever since the night Chenco had flogged Randy, it seemed to Steve his lover was a bit more distant. Chenco wasn’t nervous, though, not the way he’d been before they left the valley, not like when they’d first arrived in Vegas. Gordy, from the few reports Steve had received, was making significant progress. Steve’s clients had less they required of him lately, to the point he’d had to actively seek out more to keep himself busy during the day.
No one needed Steve, and he didn’t know what to do about that.
After extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray Randy had left out for him, Steve went to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. Jansen had one of those fancy single-serving makers with the coffee pods, which on the one hand made excellent coffee but on the other often made him a bit melancholy. He missed the homey waft of auto drip and the constancy of a twelve-cup carafe waiting for his next refill. He supposed that was a backward thing to pine for, but then it was how he felt lately—an irrelevant throwback, just like an automatic drip.
Realizing he’d compared himself to a coffee maker, Steve vowed to seek out a gym membership. Clearly he needed something to challenge him or he’d be seeing philosophical statements in Jansen’s litter genie next. Shaking his head at himself, he collected his mug and headed to Ethan’s office.
He had just sat at the desk and put his glasses on to work when the doorbell rang. Figuring it was someone’s delivery, Steve grimaced in irritation and rose, sipping his beverage before answering the door.
It wasn’t a delivery person on the other side. It took Steve several seconds, however, to recognize who it was.
“Gordy?” Steve opened the door wider and stood in the center of the frame, as if a more direct angle could disrupt the illusion. But yes, this was his old friend, neatly trimmed and washed, smiling the familiar smile that had been home in so many ways since Steve was seven.
“Surprise.” Gordy laughed. “The look on your face. Are you going to let me in or stare at me?”
Dazed, Steve stepped back and watched Gordy saunter into the foyer.
Jesus, Gordy looked good. His skin almost glowed, probably because he’d been eating decent meals and not sleeping with rat feces. There was a fullness to Gordy, a sense of humanity he’d been missing for years.
Heaviness eased in Steve, weight he’d carried since he’d turned his friend over to Crabtree’s care. This had been a good move. He hadn’t dreamed to see Gordy looking so well. Gordy, standing in the foyer of a nice house, clean and smiling and normal.
When Gordy turned around, Steve realized those blue eyes were a little too bright, and his shock gave way to quickly ripening caution.
“Gordy, where’s Crabtree?”
The mean, angry face Gordy pulled told Steve all he needed to know. “Fuck him. He has a house full of guys to play with. He won’t notice I’m gone. I miss you, Stevie. I want to be with you again.” With some effort, he smoothed his face into a smile. “I’ll be good. You’ll see.” The smile turned up, a bulb set too high. “It’ll be just like you wanted in the valley—I’ll live with you in a real room and everything. No feeds. I’ll be down the hall. Or at the foot of your bed, if you’ll let me.” When Steve tensed, Gordy’s coldness returned in a swift wind. “What? It’s not like you don’t have room here.”
“This isn’t my house.” Steve thought about reaching for his phone to text Crabtree, Randy, anyone, but it was on Ethan’s desk next to his coffee. The foyer, clean and neatly appointed, suddenly seemed fraught with weapons—a vase could be smashed and used for its sharp edges, a hall tree could make a fantastic club. A crystal bowl was heavy enough to render Steve unconscious if Gordy swung it at his head.
Gordy caught his inventorying and sneered. “God, look at you, freaking out because I might break something. Is that who you’ve become? A big pussy worried about me messing up someone else’s stuff? Like you couldn’t take them all out if you wanted. You don’t need to be afraid of them.”
“I’m not afraid of them, Gordy. I’m respecting Ethan and Randy’s home. Which I can’t invite you into without their say-so.”
“They invited him in.” The vitriol in Gordy’s tone made it clear it was Chenco he referred to. “Your little boy toy. God, what a fucking stick insect. What the hell do you see in the scrawny little shit?”
“Watch your mouth,” Steve snapped.
Gordy curled his lip in revulsion. “You shouldn’t be with him. You should be with me.”
As Steve realized how serious a threat Gordy had become, rage gave way to cold fear as too many ugly futures rolled out potentially before Steve. What if he tried to hurt Chenco? He held out his hands, entreating. “Gordy, this isn’t who you are. If you’re upset about not seeing me, we can talk to Crabtree—”
“I don’t want Crabtree.” Gordy’s fury rendered him ugly, his clean, well-kept appearance making his rage that much more revealing. “I only went to him to get back at you, to make you want me again. But I can’t get you to look, can I? All you see is the stupid twink who trusses up like a full-on fairy.”
Parts of Steve’s brain scrambled for control, for a way out of this scene, but he was too full of sorrow, hurt—fear. “Gordy, we haven’t had sex in over twenty years. You’ve seen me date before too. Why are you like this now?”
“You’re choosing him over me. You care about him.” Gordy spat the words as if they tasted bad in his mouth. “You love him.”
Steve did. Loved the way he shouldn’t, like he loved nothing and no one else. “I love you too.”
“Bullshit. If you loved me, you’d be with me. You’d give me what I wanted, the way you give him what he wants.” Gordy’s eyes were almost wild, everything about him too bright, too intense. “If you loved me, you’d give it to me, and you’d enjoy it, not act like I made you sick. If you loved me, you wouldn’t be ashamed of me.”
Guilt sideswiped Steve like a machete through brush. “I’m not ashamed of you.”
Lie. It was a lie, and Gordy knew it. His hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides. “You are. You’re ashamed of me, and you’re scared of me. You lie to me and tell me you love me, that you’ll take care of me, and you don’t. You can’t, can you? You’re weak and scared, not just of me but of everyone, everything. You always were.” The rage bled away, Gordy’s emotional tide shifting from fury to pleading in the space of a breath. “Why can’t you give me what I need? Why do you push me away, lock me away, give me away? Why do you pick him and not me?”
“Gordy.” Steve’s chest and shoulders ached, and his legs felt like jelly. “Gordy, stop. Please.”
“Why should I?” Gordy took several steps forward, backing Steve into the wall. “Why the fuck should I, Stevie? You want me to trot over to Crabtree’s house and play nice with the other puppies? You want to come watch me beg? Make me sit there whining because you won’t fill me, won’t treat me like you treat him?”
“You said you wanted other—” Steve could feel sweat running down his head, into the collar of his T-shirt. “You told me you hated being alone.”
“I want to be with you.” Gordy pressed his hands against Steve’s shoulders.
The touch was light, yet Steve felt like shattering glass, every wall he’d constructed falling away, every guard, every lie he’d told himself about who he was crumbling under those heavy palms. Gordy’s hands were cleaned of their dirt, yes, but Steve found himself yearning for the veil now. Dirty, homeless Gordy he could pity, but this…this…
The front door burst open, and with the outside light came a rush of thick, burly young men wearing guns on their hips and shouting orders at one another as they pried Gordy off Steve. It was surreal, like a scene from a movie, except it actually happened, Gordy shouting, demanding to be let go as the men silently led him away. When Gordy began to swear and shout too loudly, a gag slipped into his mouth, and Steve’s stomach turned as their eyes met, Gordy’s wide in terror. The door closed and the din of the men’s exit reduced to a muffle, then nothing, but Steve stayed slumped against the wall, staring at the place where they had been.
The door opened a second time, and Crabtree, his countenance as unreadable as a rock, came into the foyer. After crossing the tile, he stood before Steve, leaning on his cane as he spoke in quiet, careful tones.
“My apologies for allowing him to get away from me. I can see Gordon upset you.”
Upset him. Steve shut his eyes for a second before he was able to face Crabtree. “What—what happened?” What happens now?
Anger flashed briefly before vanishing into Crabtree’s cool gaze. “Gordon is a clever man. I believe he bided his time, lulling me into relaxing his security. My house isn’t exactly guarded, but I had several minders watching him. Since he came directly to you, I suspect he’s plotted this for a while, and I can see he’s been here long enough to cause some damage.”
Steve glanced around the foyer—it looked almost as if nothing had happened. A vase on its stand was slightly askew, but beyond this the only thing upset by Gordy’s entrance was Steve.
Crabtree’s mouth flattened into a line before he continued. “We have reached a gray area, my boy. If I cannot convince him to remain willingly in my care, if he declares his intent to leave—well. Things become delicate. Even without his shouted threats to Crescencio before I asked the boys to silence him, I’ve been afraid of this happening. I cannot allow the young man to be placed in danger by letting Gordon go free.”
This was the terror, Steve realized, banked deep within him. What if Gordy went after Chenco? What if Gordy refused to be kept by Crabtree and went off on his own, determined to take out his rival? What if this mad creature that had once been his friend, the beast Steve himself had helped make, destroyed the only good thing in his life?
What if Crabtree had Gordy taken care of? What if Steve had to live with that, his selfish, arrogant desire to follow Chenco leading to this?
A hand rested on Steve’s shoulder, but unlike Gordy’s heavy pressure, Crabtree’s touch was light, steadying. “I must go and see to him. Despite his angry outburst, he’ll be frightened, upset now that he’s been tempered. You and I will speak soon, however. For now know I have him in hand and Chenco will be protected. Gordon will not escape me again.”
With a gentle squeeze of Steve’s shoulder, Crabtree left. After the car pulled away, Steve remained at the wall, slumped, breathing heavily, staring blankly across the foyer. His gaze fixed on the cream-colored vase on its stand, tilting sideways, nearly falling but saved by the silk flowers inside them, the sturdy, wispy wands bending against the walls of the nook they rested in.
Numbly, Steve pushed off the wall and righted the vase. He straightened the flowers, fingers brushing the rust-red petals. Nudging his glasses higher on his nose with a trembling hand, he drew a deep breath, caressed the flowers one last time, and returned to the office where he sipped, uncaring, at his stone-cold coffee.