Chapter One

 

 

 

San Antonio was home, but there were some days when John Weston wished he lived somewhere else. Somewhere cooler, with less humidity and perhaps not governed by a man determined to stomp all over John’s rights. When work was stressful, or on the nights he was so lonely he couldn’t sleep, John often fantasized about moving to a different city. He thought about San Francisco, or LA, New York or even Miami or Amsterdam. He didn’t know any more about those cities than the average person, but in his mind, they were bustling, gay-friendly places teeming with available, attractive men.

John wasn’t stupid—he knew the difference between fantasy and reality, but they were his fantasies. If he wanted to imagine himself lusted after by innumerable sexy men while he spent a restless night in bed, then that’s what he would do. Besides, when it came down to it, he wouldn’t leave San Antonio. His family was here, his parents, sisters and brother. Without their love and support, he’d have been lost a long time ago in the morass of depression and hopelessness that had once claimed him.

It was with their help that he’d been dragged, at first unwillingly but then gratefully, out of the mess in his head. It was with their love that he’d come to accept, as much as he could, that he had bouts of depression and likely always would. ‘Mental illness’—John hated those words, not because they indicated he was at fault, but because so many people attached other labels to them, like ‘crazy’ and ‘psychotic’. He was neither of those things, but he did have chemicals in his brain that at times misfired or became unbalanced somehow and sent him into a tailspin. Knowing it wasn’t his fault, that he had a disease like any other kind of disease people could get, didn’t really help. His family did. They reassured him that he wasn’t defined by those two words, any more than his father was defined by his diabetes or his mother by the breast cancer she’d survived. Without his family, John was sure he’d have been so very lost. Perhaps not a stereotype, but still, lost.

Thinking of his family made days like the one John had just had bearable. His boss had been on a tear, snapping at everyone. John hadn’t been an exception. Generally, Mr. Stiles was a nice enough man. A little standoffish, but John understood that since he was the boss and didn’t want to be taken advantage of, should he be too friendly with his employees.

The carpet designing company John had worked for since graduating high school was rapidly growing after years of struggling through the faltering economy. With the discovery of the Eagle Ford Shale in Texas, hotels, motels and apartments were being built at what John assumed must be record rates. They all wanted durable, attractive carpeting with vibrant patterns in some areas and soothing tones in sleeping rooms.

With the influx of oil company execs, oil field workers and their families, everything was close to booming in the area. Restaurants and other businesses were being opened in small towns that had only had a Dairy Queen before, if they were lucky, along with the usual mom and pop places.

After six years working at Carpets Galore, John had moved up the ladder and was now in charge of putting together the designs and actual sales. He’d come a long way from a grunt carpet hauler. But not far enough to escape Mr. Stiles’ temper when there were contracts verging on being unfulfilled because one of their carpet suppliers hadn’t shipped their order.

John shrugged as he walked out to his truck. The sun would set soon, but until then, it was hot—miserably so, as usual in mid-August. It’d be hot at night, too, but at least the sunlight wouldn’t be beating down on him, threatening to cook him alive.

The door handle on his Tundra was so hot that John halfway expected to see some skin stuck to it when he tugged the door open. He knew that he wouldn’t actually lose any skin to the handle but damn, it was uncomfortable to touch. He leaned in and stuck the key in the ignition, chiding himself mentally for not having splurged on the remote start option. He could have had the AC going already if he had.

The truck was John’s pride and joy. It was the first thing he’d really bought on his own. He patted the dash, even though it too was hotter than all get out, and got in the truck. Ice cold air blasted his face. John shut the truck door and sighed happily, glad for the weekend ahead. The seat was too warm for comfort, but the chilly air was perfect. The combination of the two sensations was sending his body into a tailspin—sweat breaking out on his back and neck while the front of him was beginning to get goosebumps here and there.

“This is nice.” He really did love his truck. John’s stomach growled and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the freedom of two days off. Other single people might be making wild plans, or exciting plans involving clubs and hookups—heck, even Craigslist and hookups—but John just wanted to unwind, maybe go hiking at Lost Maples or canoeing down the Guadalupe River. The beach would be great, too. There’d be a crowd almost anywhere he went to escape the city, but it’d still be nice to get away for a little while and be outside.

Craigslist and clubs just weren’t for him. John had never tried the former, though admittedly he had looked at their M4M section. Sometimes it provided some spank material every bit as lewd as what he found on porn sites. Another source for fantasies that John knew would never be good in reality. He didn’t trust himself at clubs, because a few drinks made him stupid and reckless, and he really wasn’t supposed to be drinking with the antidepressants he was on. Loneliness was familiar and safe, even if it did suck at times.

Besides which, he had friends he could hang out with if he wanted to. Most of them liked clubs or had paired up with a significant other, though, and John didn’t care to feel like the awkward third wheel. Although, maybe he would call and see if Henry wanted to hit up the beach or hike this weekend. It had been a while since John had got to hang out with his best buddy.

John shook his head. He needed to stop letting his mind drift—no easy task, but he managed. The parking lot was empty by the time he put the truck in gear and headed out onto the street.

Traffic on Interstate 37 was a mess, the usual afternoon commute hell made even worse by a wreck that everyone gawked at. John refused to look on principle—it irked him to no end that people slowed down to stare. He knew it didn’t make him better than the oglers, but he still felt a little spurt of self-righteousness that might have made him a dick. No one’s perfect. John wasn’t going to castigate himself over it.

It took him an hour to get to his apartment. When there was no traffic, he could get home in fifteen minutes without speeding. John was wrung-out when he parked his truck, his nerves pinging and his hands aching from gripping the steering wheel. Twice, he’d almost been hit by some idiot cutting in front of him, or trying to. The second time, the guy would have broadsided John had he not blared the horn. How anyone could have not seen his red Tundra was beyond him, but it didn’t matter in the end. He hadn’t been hit, and he didn’t have to drive anywhere else tonight unless he wanted to.

John got out of the truck and hit the lock and alarm buttons. The sun was almost set now, but he still felt like he’d be melting into the asphalt if he didn’t get inside. Luckily, the interior of the building was pleasantly cool. John wiped off his brow and waved at Mrs. Royal.

“Do you have plans for the weekend?” she asked, patting her short gray hair.

John caught the message quickly. “No, ma’am, not specifically, although I was toying around with the idea of hitting up the beach or something like that.” He squinted and hoped he looked surprised. “Did you…did you get your hair cut? Because you look more beautiful than usual, and I would swear your hair was longer yesterday.” He really couldn’t tell, but he liked Mrs. Royal. She was sweet and kind.

She patted her hair again and beamed at him. “Why yes, I did, you flirt. Mr. Marks even noticed.”

John didn’t have to fake his smile at that. “He did, huh? Well, well, what plans do you have this weekend?”

Mrs. Royal had been trying to get Mr. Marks’ attention for weeks without being blatantly obvious. John wasn’t sure the man was good enough for Mrs. Royal, but as long as she was happy, that was what was important.

“I—” She stopped and folded her hands together over the slight swell of her belly. “Well, I was wondering, do you think it would be too forward for me to ask Mr. Marks to Sunday dinner? You know I take it at the Baptist church down the street.”

“It’s great that the church does that,” John said, even though he’d never step foot in the place. Religion gave him hives. He was working on his spiritual beliefs as he went along in life. “And no, I don’t think it would be too forward. Mr. Marks would probably enjoy getting out and having a meal with you, and at least one of us would have a date.” He winked when a blush delicately tinted her cheeks pink. “Maybe you can tell me how that’s done, give me some pointers.”

Mrs. Royal tittered and shook her head. “Well, you won’t be finding your prince charming in your apartment, unless there is something to those Internet dating sites. Personally, I think the old fashioned way is best. Nothing beats seeing someone out in public and having your heart flutter, your pulse race because they touch something inside of you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” John agreed, though he had no idea what that felt like. Honestly, it sounded like the reaction he’d had to Ecstasy the one time he’d tried it years ago. Minus the sweat and panic and fear that I was dying, of course. “I’ve never tried those match-making sites. I’m only twenty-five. If I don’t find the perfect man by the time I’m thirty, then I might have to reconsider them.”

“Oh, you’ll find him, or better yet, he’ll find you.” Mrs. Royal fluttered her hands in his direction. “I don’t see how anyone could resist falling in love with you.”

John almost laughed at that, but he didn’t want to hurt Mrs. Royal’s feelings. He had a mirror, though, and knew he was just an average-looking guy. No one would think there was anything special about his brown eyes and brown hair. He was just one six-foot tall, walking earth tone—shades of brown from his head to the fuzz on his calves.

“Thank you, Mrs. Royal. Be sure and let me know how Sunday goes.” John leaned closer and whispered loudly, “And if Mr. Marks needs a talking to, you let me know. I’ll make sure he knows how to treat a lady. I may not date women, but my parents certainly taught me how to be a gentleman.”

“Oh, you dear young man.” She touched his cheek then giggled. “Go on, I know you must want to get out of that suit. My Reggie always wanted his off as soon as he clocked out.”

“Yes, ma’am.” John waved again and darted to the stairwell. His apartment was on the third floor, and John never took the elevator. Not even when he bought groceries, which kept him from over-buying, because trotting up and down three flights of stairs could suck at times.

Today, he enjoyed the mini-workout. It felt good to make it to his door and not be short-winded, like he had been the first few weeks he’d made that trek. The hallway was empty. John was on friendly enough terms with everyone on his floor, even if he didn’t know all their names. He was lucky in that he’d never had bad neighbors, and he strived to be a good one himself, saying hello and offering to help them if he saw they might need it.

Tonight he slipped inside his apartment and began stripping as soon as he’d closed and locked his door. He hung his tie, suit coat and slacks up in the closet by the small entryway. His shoes were put in their usual spot as well. The rest of his clothes—shirt, undershirt and socks—he put in the hamper, then he was going to sprawl in his boxers in front of the TV for a while.

One frozen dinner and a soda later, John was watching a program on classic cars when his cell phone rang. John reached for it, slapping at the couch, not looking away from the beautiful Barracuda he’d almost ditch his truck for. When he grabbed the phone, he took a second to glance at the display then grinned at the oddness of Henry calling him just then.

“Hey, man, I was thinking about you just a little while ago,” John opened with, glad to hear from his friend. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy as fuck, but that’s not an excuse for not returning your call sooner.” Henry sounded contrite, and possibly worried he’d hurt John’s feelings. John could fix that.

“It’s no problem, I’ve been working my butt off too, and I always could have called, texted or emailed again. It’s not like you’re not on my Facebook, either.” Henry was the one friend who really knew him, knew about the depression that had at times knocked John on his ass. All the other friends who knew about it had dropped off the edge of the world when John had had a bad spell. He’d been unable to find the energy to chat or visit with them, and they had long since returned the favor, removing him from their lives.

It was hurtful, John knew that, but he hadn’t been able to function beyond work and caring for himself. Henry had waited patiently, leaving him messages and emails and other various supporting statements. Henry understood depression, how it could take hold of a person and cut them off from everything and everyone, even if the person fought it. The man was truly a priceless friend.

“Yeah, but still.” Henry sighed gustily and John winced. “It’s been one thing or another, and best friends shouldn’t be out of touch for so long. You got plans for the weekend?”

“Nah.” John was grinning again, stupid-happy. “I was thinking this afternoon that I’d call and see if you wanted to hang out somewhere. Beach, hiking, canoeing—whatever you want, man, it’s your call.”

“Great minds and all of that,” Henry replied after chuckling. “I need a John fix, my friend. How about we go to Mathis, camp out and just spend the weekend escaping the city?”

“Sounds great. When do you want to leave?” John asked, sitting up straight, his week’s worth of work-related exhaustion vanishing under the promise of an adventure with his friend.

“Now,” Henry answered, “but I know we can’t. Have to pack and all of that.”

John glanced at his watch. It was just after eight. “I can be packed and out the door in half an hour. We can stop, pick up supplies at the store, then be in Mathis before eleven or twelve, if you want. I’m game.” And concerned, because Henry sounds so weary. “Has anything happened that I should know about, or that you want to tell me?” Pushing wasn’t his thing, but he would make the offer to listen. He really wanted to know if something was wrong with Henry, or in Henry’s life.

Henry sighed again, and John shifted on the couch, ready to get up and go to Henry’s place. His friend wasn’t prone to theatrics, and that had been quite a noisy, miserable sound.

“I’ll tell you about it when we’re on the road,” Henry said right about the time John was going to give up on getting an answer. “Suffice it to say, I’m giving up on men, for good this time.”

John had heard Henry joke about that several times before, but he seemed to be serious now. “Do I need to kick someone’s ass for you?”

Henry snickered at that, but John didn’t take any offense. Henry had a good three inches on him in height and fifty pounds or so in muscle. The man was the most sought-after physical trainer in the gym he worked at. He could beat most guys to a pulp with one hand.

“Thanks, but I’d rather you not go to prison for me. The guilt, you know. It’ll make me wrinkle.”

“Goof,” John got out before laughing. “All right, give me half an hour then I’ll be at your curb, ready to whisk you away for the weekend.”

“Deal. And, John?”

John hesitated in mid-step, as if moving would somehow halt the conversation. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Henry hung up then, and John snorted at his own weirdness, standing with one foot barely touching the floor. He tossed the phone back on the couch and went about getting ready for a guys’ camping weekend. That included filling the ice chest up with soda and bottled water. He saw no reason to buy more when he already had plenty on hand.

Once he’d packed up what snacks he could find, John quickly set about picking out clothes. Shorts, tanks, T-shirts and a pair of jeans, along with underwear and socks, then he was done with the clothing part. A trip to the bathroom and he had everything gathered. John wished he’d showered when he’d first got home, but he shrugged off the regret. They’d both be smelling pretty ripe by the end of each day, what with the heat and all. Luckily, there were showers available where they would camp out.

John made sure his medicine was packed too, then he dressed in his favorite worn jeans and a soft T-shirt. He pulled on thick socks before slipping his feet into his hiking boots. A beige baseball cap completed his outfit, and he was ready to go.

Almost. John stopped by the couch, spotting his phone. He set down the bag he was carrying and went back to get his phone charger. Then he called his mother.

“John, how are you?” she asked right off the bat.

“Fine, Mom. Is everyone good?” He’d just seen them two nights ago when he’d gone to the weekly family dinner. Talk about chaos. There’d been kids screaming and laughing, adults bickering and teasing—John loved it, loved his family.

“Oh yes, everyone’s fine. Are you calling with some good news?”

John picked up on the not so subtle hint. His mother had been after him to find a nice guy for a year or so now, since all his other siblings had tied the knot. Pointing out that he hadn’t been allowed to do the same by law until just recently made no difference to her. “It’s the commitment that counts, not a piece of paper,” she’d said with a great deal of exasperation. Then she’d promptly begun listing places and dating services she thought he should use to find the perfect man. And she always asked him if he’d started dating anyone whenever they talked. It was often her first question.

“No, Mom, I haven’t magically met Mr. Right since Wednesday,” he told her with as much patience as he could muster. “I know you and Dad met and made googly eyes at each other and instantly fell in love, but y’all are the exception, not the rule. The rest of us have to suffer through a line of No Ways before we meet our Yes, Forever.”

“I don’t know who fed you that line of bull, but it wasn’t me or your dad,” his mother informed him. “There’s nothing wrong with waiting for that one special person instead of having sex with anyone who’s willing. If I’d been easy, your dad would never have thought past getting in my pants, and once he’d done that, he’d have been long gone.”

John would have been offended at the implication that he was on the slutty side, except that wasn’t what his mother meant, and she’d given all her kids that same speech numerous times. “Well, Mom, I haven’t found anyone willing to have sex with me lately anyway—”

She gasped, and he chuckled. “You brought sex up first. Like I was saying, there’s no one chasing after me and if there was, I wouldn’t be jumping into the sack with him. I might not have gotten the lesson the first few times you told it, but I get it now.”

“Obviously not if you aren’t getting out where you can meet anyone. Why, there’s a church over by Olmos Park that welcomes everyone and I bet you’d meet several nice young men there.”

“Gee, what would I do with several of them, hmm?” he teased.

His mother let out an indignant sound. “John Wayne Weston! You’d better watch that mouth of yours, or you’ll be missing a piece of pecan pie next Wednesday!”

“Yes, ma’am, sorry,” he quickly apologized. His mother’s desserts were not to be missed—they were truly one of life’s treasures. “I’ll think about the church, seriously, but I just wanted to let you know that Henry and I are heading to Mathis for the weekend. Cell service is iffy there, but if you need to reach us, you can leave a message at the camp ground’s headquarters.”

“Is it the same number as it was last time y’all went a few months ago?”

“Should be, but if it isn’t, I’ll call tomorrow and update it with you. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, son. Be safe and have fun. And think about that church.”

She hung up, and John did too. He hefted his duffle bag and tucked his phone in his front pocket. Then he took the handle of the ice chest, glad it was a wheeled one rather than one he would have to carry outright. However, he wasn’t going to be taking the stairs this time. He’d likely run over himself with the ice chest and end up breaking his neck.

It was dark outside, the late summer sun setting a little after eight. John made his way to this truck and was on the road to Henry’s in no time. Henry lived on the south side of San Antonio, in a neighborhood that had seen better days. It wasn’t a bad area, just run down. The houses had a dated, 1960s look to them that could only be altered by a complete renovation on the outside, and in Henry’s case, the inside as well.

John pulled up outside and was in the middle of texting Henry that he was there when a loud thump on the driver’s side window startled a yelp out of him.

“Shit,” he breathed as his heart galloped back down from his throat. Henry smirked at him through the glass. “Asshole,” John muttered, but he was damned happy to see Henry. John unlocked the doors. Were those dark circles ringing Henry’s eyes, or had that been the bad lighting? He waited until Henry opened the passenger door, having tossed his bag in the truck bed. Those were definitely dark circles under his friend’s eyes, bruising that pale skin.

“I know, I look like shit,” Henry said as soon as he hopped in the truck. “I haven’t been sleeping much. I think I fucked up something that could have been really good, and I don’t think I can fix it.”

“Oh.” John glanced at Henry again. “I thought it was the other way around.” It usually was, with Henry picking one loser after another, each of them dumping on him and leaving him heartbroken, or at least with a battered ego. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Henry groaned and buckled up. “Yeah, of course I don’t.” He laughed. “You’ll say that I’m a total idiot who doesn’t deserve Cory, and I have to agree.”

“I’ll never agree to that if he’s a good guy. You deserve someone who treats you right.”

Another groan was Henry’s response, at first. John waited patiently, driving while Henry remained silent until finally blurting out, “Cory was great, John. Nice, built, attractive but not that model-gorgeous type. He wasn’t a jerk like all the others. He wanted a real relationship, wanted to take it slow and let us build something together if we could. But I guess we—no, I—couldn’t, because I went out and…and I didn’t mean to, but…”

John’s stomach cramped because he feared he knew where this was going. It didn’t stop him from asking, “What happened?”

“He wanted to take it slow, so we had been. No sex, and oh my God, did that suck. I got mad, because who does that, John? Huh? Who doesn’t want to fucking get laid?” Henry growled. He smacked the dash.

“Hey, don’t abuse the truck,” John said, not joking at all. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I don’t want a busted dash.”

“Right. Right, sorry. I know this is your baby.” Henry caressed the spot he’d hit. “But seriously, John, wouldn’t you have thought that he was stringing you along if you’d been me, after all the jackasses I’ve dated?”

John shook his head. “I’d like to think I would have asked him, had a conversation about it all. It’s been so long since I’ve even dated anyone, though, that I honestly couldn’t tell you what I’d have done in your place.” Not cheat, that was certain, but he wouldn’t judge his friend. Henry had been treated like shit by every guy he’d dated, and John figured that had to be a hard mold to break out of. “It sounds like you were trying to strike out first.”

“I was fucking stupid.” Henry sighed. “I went out, blew a guy, got a hand job that was mediocre at best, and lost the one man who’d ever treated me like I was worth something. I think I need a brain transplant.”

“Or maybe you need some time alone to figure out why you did what you did.”

“Maybe,” Henry agreed. “That’s what you’ve done the past couple of years, right? How do you stand it, being alone?”

John didn’t have to think about that last question. “It beats feeling like you’re only good for one thing—sex.” John had had enough of being used, and with the help of his family and his medication, and a good therapist, he’d gotten past his low self-esteem and fear that no one would ever want someone with a fucked-up brain. Someone would, some day.