Beyond the Footlights, page 19
“Sleep well?” Tanner asked at last.
Kilmer grunted. He looked more rested than he had since Tanner had met him. His cheeks and chin were still rough with a two-day beard, but his eyes were less sunken, and drops of water glistened on the ends of the hair curling over the collar of the flannel he was wearing.
“Is that my shirt?”
Another grunt.
“Make yourself at home, then.” But Tanner grinned as he said it, and Kilmer’s lips twitched, like he might have smiled but was being stoic or something. The shirt looked better on him anyway. It was a little bit big for Tanner, but Kilmer filled it out perfectly.
He remained where he was as Tanner fetched fruit and cheese to add to their breakfast. As he watched Tanner with a hawk’s gaze, his fingers roamed over the strings and his toes curled around the rungs of the stool. He did look at home. Relaxed, at least in as much as he wasn’t rubbing at his neck or shoving his hands into his pockets and his breathing seemed even. Tanner had noticed those signs when he was anxious, but Kilmer seemed chill for the moment if slightly intent.
“Everything okay?” Tanner eventually asked when he couldn’t think of anything else to add to the spread on the table. “You seem… thoughtful.”
“Tryin’ to decide if it was your bed or your blow job,” Kilmer drawled. The accent was thick this morning, winding through his words and twanging against the gentle morning air.
“Both?” Tanner settled at the table and pulled out of the bag the blueberry muffin he’d bought for himself.
The stool scraped and the dog got up; then Kilmer was at his elbow, hands clasped in front of himself.
Tanner looked up at him, paused in the act of peeling the paper away from his muffin, but Kilmer said nothing. He watched and waited. It could have been unnerving, but Tanner had the feeling Kilmer was calmer on the surface than he was inside. This close Tanner could smell the tang of nervous sweat under the soap. He could see that Kilmer’s fingers were a little too white in their clasp, even though he remained still as a statue.
Tanner smiled up at him. “Sit and eat. That’s the first thing, yeah?”
Kilmer visibly relaxed, and Tanner had the thought that Jacko had yet one more thing to answer for, if they ever spoke again. A man—a rancher who worked his tail off—should never have to wait for permission to sit at the table and fill his belly. That was beyond rational.
Anything in the lifestyle that left rational behind also stepped too far from safe and sane for Tanner’s comfort and threw consent into too much shadow.
“What’d ya get?” Kilmer asked as he sat and pulled the muffin bag toward his place.
“Wasn’t sure what you liked, so a bit of everything: morning glory, chocolate chip, blueberry, raisin bran—”
“That’ll do.” Kilmer dug the raisin-filled muffin from the bag and plunked it on his plate. He set the bag aside but then hauled it back and also fished out the blueberry bran. “Starvin’.”
As Tanner watched, Kilmer tore apart the muffins and chose fruit for his plate. Incrementally his posture eased and the lines of tension around his mouth relaxed. The food seemed to ease some of his nerves away, as did the dog, who had followed him and now lay on their feet under the table.
“You’re welcome to help yourself to whatever you can find around here,” Tanner offered, waving toward the refrigerator. “I like to cook, so there’s usually food. Ingredients and leftovers. It’s tough cooking for one person. Not all recipes scale down well, and I have to follow the rules at least for the first time, so there’s usually something you can warm in the microwave.”
Kilmer only nodded and continued to eat.
“Hey.”
Kilmer focused relentlessly on buttering the second half of his blueberry muffin.
“Kilmer.”
“What?” He glanced up, but his attention soon went back to his food.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hungry,” Kilmer said. “Like I said.” He flashed a short, superficial smile and stuffed a chunk of muffin into his mouth, quickly followed by a few grapes and a hunk of cheese.
“I know nerves when I see them,” Tanner said, plucking a grape and fingering it as he watched Kilmer spreading more butter.
“You don’t know me.”
“I’d like to.”
Kilmer speared him with a laser-bright gaze, and he was startled into silence by the intensity of it. “You think Rocky and Elliot fucked last night?”
“I—” Tanner blinked and frowned at the non sequitur. “I have no idea. Does it matter?”
“I mean, I think it’s great if they do. They’re young and innocent, an’ all that shit.” He popped the muffin morsel he’d just slathered with butter into his mouth, then proceeded to talk around it, obscuring about every third word. “They… cute together… ood for ’em to… age… like that.”
“I… um. What?” Tanner carefully tucked a hunk of his hair behind his ear.
“Turn up yer hearin’ aid, dude.” Kilmer grinned. “I think they’re damn cute. I don’t remember it bein’ like that. All sparkles and nervous twitter. You think we were ever that young? Ever that… shimmery?”
Tanner didn’t take the time to get huffy over the hearing aid remark. He didn’t even know if Kilmer was being facetious, taking a dig at him, or just plain ignorant. “They’re not that young.”
Kilmer raised one eyebrow.
“Okay. Maybe a little bit shiny brand-new.”
“They were flirtin’ with each other. Like full-on flirtin’. If that ain’t adorable as all gitout….”
“It was… sweet. But I confess, I don’t really care much what they did after they left. Why do you?”
There was a long, breathless silence as Kilmer prodded crumbs together on his plate with the tip of his butter knife. “The last night,” he said at last, voice quiet and less Texan than it had been all morning. “The night I left Jacko. I came home to ’im and Rocky. They were….”
Tanner had already worked that much out, more or less. He didn’t like to be right about it, but it proved Kilmer was kinder than Jacko deserved. He’d shared the stage with Rocky, and more, he’d been gracious and seemed to have enjoyed it all. He’d been nice to the younger man, encouraging. He certainly hadn’t acted like he held a grudge.
“I… made a mistake.” Kilmer stared at his plate now, arranged the crumbs into lines, nudged apple seeds into the pattern he was making, and generally did anything he could not to have to meet Tanner’s eyes. “I should have kicked the kid out. I didn’t know who he was at the time. Only that he was what Jacko wanted and what Jacko took. I—” He shook his head. “—didn’t think it through. Didn’t really think at all, but the kid was the one who got hurt, you know? Because he didn’t know what he’d walked into. There was all that history and anger, and he got trapped in it. It wasn’t right or fair.”
As curious as he was, Tanner didn’t press for details. Kilmer would give them if and when he wanted.
After a few more moments of silence, Kilmer dug in his jeans pocket and pulled out a key. Attached to it on a metal ring was the tiny misshapen bell. Kilmer laid the key and bell on the table, then lifted his chin.
Up until then Tanner had managed not to dwell too much on the glaring weight of gold at Kilmer’s throat. He’d guessed long ago what it was, and now he could be sure. It infuriated him that Jacko could be so callous as to leave without removing the collar. It was selfish of him to abandon Kilmer to navigate the removal himself. It wasn’t something a sub, especially one in what appeared to be a 24-7 relationship, was equipped to deal with alone.
“Could you?” Kilmer pointed at the small padlock holding the chain in place around his throat.
In that moment Tanner was supremely glad Kilmer had shifted his gaze, because the anger was difficult to control, impossible to keep off his face, and it wasn’t fair to burden Kilmer with that too.
Tanner touched the key with a finger. It was tempting. Very, very tempting. It was also a claiming of sorts, removing another man’s collar, and he wasn’t ready for that. There were things they hadn’t said to each other. His own truths he had shied away from telling when he should have. It wasn’t too late to right that misstep, but he couldn’t continue toward a relationship that had Kilmer on his knees without coming clean. Gently he pushed the key back across the table until it clinked against Kilmer’s plate.
Kilmer stared at him, eyes dark, mouth turned down.
“Listen—”
“It’s fine.” Snatching up the key, Kilmer almost knocked his chair over he stood so fast.
“Kilmer, please.” Tanner rose too, reaching for him, but Kilmer had already turned toward the front door. “Let me explain some things.”
“Not necessary.” Kilmer’s bright glare snapped back to him. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s too much.”
“Do not put words in my mouth.” Tanner grappled with his anger, trying hard not to let it bleed over onto Kilmer. Kilmer was hurting. That much was obvious. But he was asking a lot, and Tanner deserved the chance to tell him why he was refusing.
“I am not a child. We had some good sex, a nice playtime, but I shouldn’t have presumed. I don’t need to be told when I’m grasping. I’ll back off.”
“Kilmer!”
“I’m going home to shower. See you in an hour.”
Tanner watched him go, frozen with indecision. Should he go after him? It wasn’t his place to take that collar off. Not that Jacko was going to come back and do it. Not that Tanner thought it would be good for Kilmer if he did. No. Tanner was sure Jacko should stay the hell gone.
But it wasn’t his place to take over or fix what Jacko had broken then discarded. If Kilmer weren’t hurting so badly, he’d see that. And if he wasn’t so touchy, Tanner might have had the time to figure out how to say it, other than just saying no.
Instead, he was left staring at his open front door. This was not his mess, dammit. He didn’t want to be the one doing the work, making the concessions, accommodating his sub’s fears. He didn’t want to chase him down, talk sense into him, make him see.
He didn’t want Kilmer to run from him either. But the last time he’d held too tight, it had been a disaster.
“Fuck.” He kicked his chair and it skidded across the floor. The dog looked up at him, went to the door, and flopped down to look out after Kilmer.
And that did it. Kilmer might be scared. He might be hurt. But that didn’t give him the right to shut Tanner down and pretend none of it mattered. If he was going to walk away, he was damn well going to understand what he was walking away from.
And he was going to take his damn dog back.
“Come on, you.” Tanner snagged the dog’s leash and clipped it to his collar. “Get in the truck.”
MORE THAN any other thing he’d wanted or expected, Kilmer had figured Tanner would stop him, make him come back and sit.
He didn’t. He let Kilmer walk out the door and down the drive, and the farther Kilmer got from the house, the more he fumed. Tanner didn’t come after him. He did nothing. Kilmer made it all the way to his own house, let himself inside, and stared once more at the half-finished projects.
Why had he even bothered? Why did he think fixing this place was worth it? Why did he think Tanner wanted him? Jacko hadn’t. Vance hadn’t. Hell, Vance was leaving, taking Jacko with him. And now Tanner…. Kilmer was a mess, his life was a mess, and there was nothing in it Tanner might want to be a part of.
He stooped to grab the tools lying around and began tossing them into Tanner’s buckets. None of this mattered. He could finish the remainder well enough to sell the place and leave everything to do with Jacko, his aborted independence, all of it, behind. He could live on the ranch, deal with the horses, and mind his own business. It would be enough. It would be safe until Vance got back. Then… well. He’d figure that out later. For now he had to stay because he’d given Len his word.
“What are you doing?” Tanner’s hard voice made him jump, and he dropped the crowbar he’d been trying to jam into an overfilled bucket. He whirled to face Tanner. His fists clenched as Tanner closed the door behind him, let the dog off his leash, and told him to go lie down.
They watched in silence as the dog curled up in his bed next to the stove. Then Tanner faced him, eyes sparking. “I was supposed to come after you, right?” Tanner asked. Though he was here, he didn’t look at all happy about it.
It was what Kilmer had wanted, but now it seemed like the height of childish manipulation. He clamped his mouth shut and said nothing.
“What is it you think you want from me?” Tanner asked.
Kilmer glared at him. His body held tiny aches and twinges from the night before, his legs burned from the fast walk home, and he couldn’t quite get the air he needed, but he schooled his features to show no weakness.
He gritted his teeth and spoke through the grid of determination. “Fuck all,” he snarled. “I don’t need a damn thing from you. Go home.”
“I’m here, Tex. I am not going anywhere.” Tanner strode forward, and Kilmer didn’t think to back up. He didn’t think Tanner would touch him, let alone clamp his wrists in iron grips and back him against a wall.
“What do you want?” Tanner asked again. “Sex? Fucking? Because it sure as shit isn’t house renovations. That’s just an excuse and we both know it.” He clamped Kilmer’s wrists against the wall above his head. Kilmer’s wristbones hit the drywall and ground against the unyielding surface. The pain made Kilmer grimace and turn his head so he wasn’t breathing the same air as Tanner, who was suddenly very, very close.
The blunt pain did get his attention, though. It grounded him with something to focus on other than disappointment and anger. It wasn’t that he liked the pain itself, though it wasn’t enough to cause distress, but he appreciated the clarity pulling him out of the morass of emotion he should have controlled on his own.
Grunting, Kilmer tested the grip.
Tanner took a small step closer, tightened his hold, and snarled a single word. “Settle.”
A wash of heated calm swamped Kilmer and he stilled. In the instant before the pain of bone against wall became too much, Tanner eased the pressure.
Kilmer gasped in a real breath for the first time since he’d left Tanner’s house. It filled his lungs, expanded his chest, and cooled a bit of the heat. He turned back to face Tanner.
“You want force?” Tanner asked. “You want choices, or do you want me to make you do something? Take away your responsibility for making up your own mind?”
“Just this.” Kilmer struggled to get his wrists away from the wall a tiny fraction before Tanner snapped them back again. His bones cracked against the drywall once more. Kilmer could feel the heat of surrender swamp him as thoroughly as the calm had a moment before. He didn’t care about the pain. He cared about the containment.
“That?” Tanner asked. He flexed his grip but didn’t let Kilmer free.
Kilmer grunted and strained forward for a kiss.
“Oh no,” Tanner growled. “No you fucking don’t.”
For a split heartrending second, Kilmer thought Tanner was going to back away and let him go. Once more he stilled, but the calm of clean cool air into his lungs never came. He gulped for breath, trying hard to hide the dread building in his chest.
“There,” Tanner said softly. For a moment he sounded almost menacing, but then he met Kilmer’s gaze and there was satisfaction in his expression, and—understanding? “That.”
Obviously the terror, even that snatched breath of panic as short as it was, had shown on his face. Kilmer struggled for real to free himself, but Tanner was having none of it. He slammed Kilmer against the wall hard enough that the ladder leaning next to them bounced and rattled.
“Finally I can see you.” He sounded almost tender and was so close now he eclipsed Kilmer’s field of vision, commanding all of his attention. “You want me to tell you you’re worth it?” Tanner asked.
Kilmer glared through the burn invading his eyes. Tears? That couldn’t happen. He gulped for another breath, got less air than he needed, and let a low moan escape for his trouble.
“You want me to tell you you’re worth this effort.” Not a question this time. “That you’re loveable.” He pushed deeper into Kilmer’s space, crowding him, controlling his body, his air, every ounce of his attention. “You want me to tell you you’re fucking worth something?” He bored into Kilmer, his gaze hard but insistent. He wanted answers, and Kilmer was the only one who could give them. Only he had no idea how to respond to Tanner’s determined incursion into his space and his life and his need.
Kilmer swallowed a lump and pushed with all his might. He wasn’t a weak man. He wasn’t small. Tanner was a singer for God’s sake, and Kilmer made a living doing hard, physical labor every day of his life. Tanner was of a height with him but not bigger.
And yet he easily held Kilmer plastered to the wall.
“Let me go!”
“I can’t give you what you want.” Tanner’s voice was strained, his breath thick. “I can’t, Tex.”
“Then fucking get off me and get out of my house. Go with Vance and leave me the fuck alone!”
Tanner stilled, drawing Kilmer into the stillness with him. “So he told you.”
“Called this morning. Yeah. He told me he offered you a spot on the tour.”
“That’s why you were so quiet this morning.”
Kilmer clamped his lips shut.
“And you just assume I’m going to take it.”
“Why wouldn’t you? It’s what you wanted—”
But Tanner was already shaking his head. “You think I’m stupid? You think I’m that ready to leave you behind?”
“What?” Kilmer lost the battle with the burn behind his lids, and tears began to spill down his cheeks.
“Do you think I’m so stupid I don’t see what’s going on?” He did release one of Kilmer’s hands then and, with a thumb, sluiced away the tears on his cheek.
“Get off me,” Kilmer replied, at a loss to figure out what the hell Tanner was talking about. He needed to be free. He needed to hide his face, his weakness; he needed to be left alone.
