Tick, tick. Drip, drip. Rustle, rustle. Every small, seemingly normal sound was making Cam edgy. There was no reason for his nerves; the session at the courthouse had gone smoothly. Once Cam agreed to give his statement to the judge, Detective Jorgensen had pushed for everything to happen as quickly as it could. Karl’s lawyer had pushed back a little, but the fact that Karl had confessed meant the wheels of justice were moving inexorably, and soon enough the judge would sentence him.
Ira came with him and sat by his side as he’d promised, listening as Cam spilled his personal history of bullying and bashing to the judge. Karl Lang was there with his lawyer and a couple family members—or so Cam assumed. They’d sat toward the front of the room. Cam wanted to be invisible in the back, but circumstances required he sit close to the front as well. He felt the burn of their malevolent stares against the back of his neck as he sat waiting for his turn.
It really had helped to have Ira there with him. Then Sterling and Weir and even Adam Klay had entered the courtroom, and all heads had turned. They’d sat down with Cam and Ira, creating a wall of support.
“You didn’t think you’d be doing this alone, did you?” Sterling whispered. “Not that I knew Ira would be here.”
Ira snuck a hand through the arm of the extremely uncomfortable chairs to hold Cam’s hand. In the courtroom he was safe, surrounded by people who cared about him. Even giving his statement hadn’t been too horrible. He’d kept his eyes on Ira and his other supporters as he told his story.
So why was he feeling nervous now?
Klay stopped Cam outside the courthouse and thanked him for speaking up.
“I understand this was a very difficult situation; it took a lot of guts to get up there and tell your story. Hopefully Lang and people like him will begin to realize that the world has changed and we don’t tolerate anything that even smells remotely like a hate crime.” Then he shook Cam’s hand and strode away, leaving Cam feeling like he’d been blessed by the Pope or something.
Things had… sort of gone back to normal over the past few days. Maybe that was what had him on edge. He wasn’t used to normal. Cam shook his head at himself. He couldn’t just enjoy life? He had to pick at it and see if there was something wrong.
Fine. He would take a shower before work, a hot one that would make him relax. Then he’d head downstairs and make drinks and chat like a rock star. Ira had said he’d stop by if he could but that he and Jacob were having dinner.
Cam pulled off his sweatpants and T-shirt, leaving them on the bed, and walked naked into the bathroom. He chuckled to himself as he turned on the water. Jake and Ira seemed to have come to a sort of visitation agreement when it came to the Loft. If they were there at the same time, it was because they’d planned it. Mostly Jake was a poor college student, so he couldn’t afford to go out all the time, but also, Cam thought, as much as the two of them were working hard to repair and renew their relationship, Jake didn’t want his dad in his business when it came to meeting guys.
Stepping under the spray, Cam let out a groan as the water pounded against his back and shoulders. He leaned his head back, getting his hair wet, loving the slide of the water across his scalp and down his back. One of these days he’d get a shower in with Ira. Just the thought of Ira had Cam thinking naughty thoughts, and his cock was fully on board.
Between their different work schedules, they hadn’t been able to get together for a few days now, and Cam was horny as fuck. Fucking horny. A quick hand job along with the shower would probably go a long way toward relaxing him.
Thinking about his sexy silver fox made Cam very happy. His cupped his balls and squeezed, stroking himself as the water came down on his head. This was going to be quick. He squeezed some shower gel into his palm, letting his cock slide through his hand before pulling back up and running his thumbnail under the head.
He imagined Ira was in the shower with him, at his back, sliding his hands from the top of Cam’s shoulders to his ass, where he teased Cam’s hole just a little. Then Ira’s hands were caressing his stomach and chest, pinching a nipple. One last pump and Cam was coming, shooting against the tile. God, it felt incredible.
Pointing the spray onto the tile to wash away the evidence of his afternoon delight, Cam quickly finished cleaning up. Back in his bedroom, he dressed for work and dried his hair. Tonight he put it up in a twist on the back of his head. Ira seemed to like it, and he had the day off tomorrow, so Cam’s hopes were up that he would stop by after seeing Jake.
“Your man is here,” Marcus whispered into his ear as Cam loaded clean glasses from the wash tray onto the backbar.
Cam stood up quickly, giving himself a head rush that had nothing to do with the fact that Ira looked good. Really good. Dark jeans, a white linen shirt that set off his olive skin tone, and a sport jacket. Oh, and black leather loafers. Yum. Normally sport jackets were not the sort of thing that turned Cam on, but the way this jacket hugged Ira’s broad shoulders and showed off his impressive chest made Cam very hungry.
“We’re too busy tonight for you to have that look on your face,” Marcus teased.
Cam groaned. “Damn.” Not that he would head to the back room again, but three days without Ira? That was a punishment he hadn’t done the crime for.
Ira strode across the room toward where Cam was waiting at the end of the bar, his long legs quickly eating up the distance between them. As he drew close, Cam saw a determined glint in his eyes.
“I’m going to kiss you hello; is that all right?”
Fuck. Yes.
Cam nodded. A strand of hair slipped out of his hair band and swung in front of his face. Instead of leaning in demurely or just kissing him on the cheek, Ira snagged his fingers through Cam’s belt loops, pulled him close, and planted a kiss on his lips that started at eleven and was very close to hurtling out of control.
Ira’s mouth possessed his; he all but ravaged Cam right there in front of everyone. The kiss drowned out the sounds of the bar. Cam felt nothing but Ira’s mouth and the strong hands now gripping his waist. Ira pulled away, a smug grin on his face.
“Okaaay, now that you’ve laid claim to Cam in front of god and everybody, you wanna let him get back to work? I’m gonna go turn up the air conditioner. It’s suddenly hot in here.” With an equally naughty grin, Marcus grabbed the tray of dirty glasses and headed back to the dish pit.
Cam stepped behind the bar so he could adjust himself without half the bar knowing he had a semi. Ira smirked and cocked an eyebrow at him.
“I’m glad to see you, and it shows,” Cam whispered.
The expression on Ira’s face morphed into something softer, undefinable. “I am too, baby. I’m very glad to see you.”
The night slowed to a crawl. By the time Cam closed the doors, he was ready to drag Ira upstairs and into his bedroom without any ceremony at all.
At least until he reached his front door and found it ajar. He stopped suddenly. Ira was close enough behind him that he banged into Cam.
“What’s wrong?”
“The door’s open.” All the fear and trepidation and general unease Cam had managed to push aside came flooding back.
Ira came around to stand beside him. “Do you think you could’ve left it open, or unlocked, by accident?”
No, because he’d turned into a paranoid freak since Karl tried to bash his head in. Cam shook his head. Slowly he reached out a shaking hand to push the door open.
Ira grabbed his wrist. “Maybe we should call the police.”
Cam took a deep breath. He didn’t hear anything on the other side of the door; it felt quiet to him. “Let me at least look. Maybe I’m overreacting.” Maybe he’d been absentminded when he’d left, thinking more about finally seeing Ira than personal safety.
Cam wasn’t a neat freak by any stretch of the imagination, but his apartment looked like a bomb had gone off in it. At least what he imagined it would look like, having never actually witnessed a bombing.
His belongings were tossed everywhere. The couch cushions were shredded, the stuffing pulled out and spewing everywhere. The couch itself had been turned upside down and was now broken on one end where vandals had smashed something heavy against it. Cam didn’t have a lot of possessions. Many of the things in the apartment had been Sterling’s; he hadn’t taken everything when he’d moved in with Weir. The remains of a large, very ugly porcelain thing that Cam had never been sure of lay on the back of the couch and the floor.
Everything was destroyed. Cam stood in the doorway, trying to take it all in. From where he was standing, not a thing had been left untouched. Not his books, his precious books, pages ripped out and spines torn apart. Not his clothes, which had been dragged out of his dresser and sliced to ribbons. Quietly he entered the apartment. There was nothing he could say that would encompass the level of hate expressed by the destruction of his property.
“Don’t touch anything.”
“Who would do this?” he wondered aloud. “Why?”
The bedroom was, if possible, worse than the living room/kitchen area. Whoever had done this had taken the kitchen trash and dumped it all over the bed, ruining the bedding and any clothes they’d missed shredding.
Cam stood there in a fog while Ira called the police.
“No, it’s not an emergency, but,” Ira stuck his head around the bathroom door, “the damage is extensive.”
“Babe.” Ira turned Cam around from where he was staring blankly at his kitchen cabinets, now empty because everything inside had been thrown on the floor and stomped on, reducing it to so much garbage. Ira tucked a finger under his chin, forcing Cam to look at him.
“It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Cam nodded, while knowing it would never be okay. His personal space had been not just invaded but violated. He would never be able to sleep here again and not worry that a stranger was going to break in and…
“Babe. The police are here.”
The police did all the things. They asked him questions, looked around, took pictures. About ten minutes after the uniformed cops arrived, Detective Jorgensen was called in. Cam couldn’t shake the feeling of dissociation. Ira kept looking at him and, as much as was possible, stayed right next to him with a hand on Cam’s shoulder or his back at all times. It was an anchor Cam desperately needed.
No, he hadn’t left or lost his keys anywhere.
No, he didn’t have any enemies that he knew of—Karl Lang was in jail. And his parents, they may have disowned him, but doing something like this? No. He didn’t think so.
No, he didn’t have any idea who might do this. He pulled his keys out of his pocket like it was proof they existed and he hadn’t done something reckless with them.
Yes, he was sure. He had no idea who might hate him enough to destroy everything he owned.
He told the detective about the note, but when they went to look for it there was no sign of it. The recycling had been dumped out as well, and all the junk mail and flyers were strewn about… but not the note. Cam figured they were putting it down to the imagination of a hysterical victim. After all, he hadn’t even told Ira about it. Maybe Jorgensen thought he was telling the truth, but the uniformed cops kept giving him unpleasant stares, like it was Cam’s fault his place had been destroyed and they had been called out after midnight.
Hours later, they finally left.
Cam was exhausted, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Besides, where would he sleep?
Ira took the keys from him. Cam had told him he should leave over an hour ago, but Ira had just given him a look. If Ira hadn’t been by his side, Cam probably would have been a gibbering mess—more than he already was.
“You’re coming to my place. After you get some sleep, we’ll deal with this. We’ll have someone come in and clean up what can be cleaned and take the rest to the transfer station.”
“I have to talk to Sterling.”
“Babe.” Cam finally looked into Ira’s eyes. “Talking to Sterling now isn’t going to change anything. You’ll only wake him, and he’ll want to come down here. It will be even longer before we get home.”
Home. What was home anymore? Home wasn’t where he’d grown up. It wasn’t the streets; he’d tried that. This apartment had felt like home for a little while, but now it wasn’t safe anymore.
“Tomorrow we’ll let Sterling know what happened and that you’re safe. Then we’ll do what we can, together.”
“Because it’s so great to have to deal with this kind of shit. To hold my hand while I try not to have a breakdown because some asshole broke in to my place.”
“To hold my boyfriend’s hand. Not just anyone’s hand. Cam, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. I’m here because I care about you and want to make sure you’re safe.”
Ira drove, which was a good thing because Cam didn’t think he could focus on the road. The sky had that tinge to it that meant the sun was thinking about rising. Although with the cloud cover they probably wouldn’t see it. The little car drove relentlessly into the dark. Cam was floating, rudderless, no anchor to keep him from floating away from everything.