Beyond the Footlights, page 21
“But it wasn’t,” Kilmer guessed. Like he knew. Like maybe he had experience. Tanner squeezed his fingers and Kilmer glanced up at him. “That shit only happens in romance novels, you know. In the real world, families don’t lose Jesus to find their gay son. Music execs really do cancel contracts if you don’t let them screw you. You fall in love and it just doesn’t work out.” Kilmer shrugged. “You let a guy collar you and hope he’ll keep you.” He lifted the top bread of his sandwich and dropped it again. “Then he doesn’t,” he whispered and met Tanner’s gaze. “The real world sort of sucks.”
“Not all of it.” Tanner tightened his grip on Kilmer’s hand.
Kilmer shrugged. “There are some bright spots.” He managed a small smile. His gaze was back on his plate, but he still held Tanner’s hand, so that was something.
“Anyway, at the time I didn’t understand what we’d gotten into. Only that I liked it, and I thought he did too. I guess he did. At least he did as long as no one else knew he was letting another guy fuck him. And it’s not like I outed him on purpose. Or that I really thought anything would happen if he did come out. At least not anything like what did.” He stopped to sip cold coffee and to collect his thoughts. “I wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t respect his limits.
“We were at his place one night. We hardly ever went there. It bugged me that he never wanted me at his place, but I didn’t understand at the time, he had a good reason for it. It wasn’t him being weak or scared. He was protecting me and I didn’t get that. I wouldn’t have appreciated it if I did anyway. I was the Dom. I didn’t need him to protect me.
“But his buddies caught us that night leaving his place.” He shook his head and pointed to his ear. “I never even heard them coming, but I guess they had figured something out. He set me up. Lured me to this empty lot, used the fact I wouldn’t suspect an ambush. Used my bad hearing against me. God, I was so stupid. I never imagined he had it in him to—” Tanner sighed. “I was so full of my own power over him, I never saw the kind of power he had over me. I trusted him over everyone else telling me he was dangerous. I wasn’t prepared for the viciousness. I didn’t really believe he’d turn on me.” Tanner sighed and gulped some coffee, wishing it were something stronger.
“He didn’t really know how to fight. Probably wouldn’t have won if it was just him and me, but he had them to back him up, and I was outnumbered. Didn’t take them long to overpower me really. He kept on me, punching, kicking, just beating and yelling until I stayed down. Then he left with his friends, and I never saw him again.”
Kilmer remained quiet for a long time. His hand, still in Tanner’s, was gentle now as he stroked his thumb over Tanner’s knuckles.
“He wasn’t ready?” Kilmer suggested.
“I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know anything really, and then I had weeks of recovery and my hearing was even poorer after that.” He shrugged. “It was a hard lesson to learn. A violent way to learn it, but it could have been much worse. I suppose in a way, by beating the snot out of me himself, he probably saved my life. I don’t think his friends would have been as… gentle.”
Kilmer snorted.
“It was a long time ago. I took a step back from the lifestyle for what felt like forever. I never had another lover like that. I found a mentor. I learned. I had enough playmates who knew my limitations to keep that part of my psyche satisfied, so I never… well, kept any of them.”
Another silence ensued before Kilmer finally spoke. “You don’t sound like it’s really been enough, though.”
“I did what I had to do to keep my partners safe, I guess.”
“Or to keep yourself safe?”
Tanner snorted. He’d been headshrunk enough, by mentors and professionals alike, that the suggestion wasn’t a new one.
“I scratch the itch when I have to. It isn’t a lifestyle for me.” He sipped his drink again, then shook his head. “Correction. Hasn’t been a lifestyle. For whatever reason.”
“But it hasn’t really satisfied you.”
“Doesn’t change that there are limits to what I can do and still keep everyone safe.”
Kilmer nodded. “I get that. But did you ever trust any of them enough to believe their limits?”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“No.” Kilmer’s agreement set Tanner off-balance, but Kilmer was still talking, so he stayed quiet. “It isn’t simple. Jacko gave me the means to stop the scene that last night.” He touched the bell lying on the table between them. “He trusted me to stop things if they went places I didn’t want to go. I betrayed that trust. So I get that it’s complicated. Anger makes people do… nasty things. I want to believe I wasn’t consciously trying to hurt him, but I don’t think I can say it and be entirely truthful. And it doesn’t matter, because Rocky got caught in the crossfire, and that was my fault.”
“He shouldn’t have been there.”
“But he was, and I steamrollered over him for my own agenda. A lot like your guy did, I guess.”
“No.” Tanner took Kilmer’s hand in both of his. “Not at all like that. He maliciously attacked me. Thought it through and deliberately did what he did. You did try your best to please. Jacko is the one who twisted that into something else. Tell me you understand that.”
Kilmer stared but said nothing.
“Kilmer, my ex was scared and thought he was in danger. To him, I was expendable. That was his world I stepped into, and I didn’t take the time to understand that. I didn’t fit, and maybe I should never have tried. It’s no surprise he chucked me out on my ass when it came down to it.”
Kilmer made a sound like a wounded animal. “Chucked you out?” His eyes reddened. “Tanner.”
“We’re not doing this, Tex. It was a long time ago. I own my mistakes. I should have listened to my friends, seen the signs. I walked into that situation when I could have avoided it, but he’s the one who took it to the next level. He’s the one who broke the rules. I moved on because my life is more important than what he valued it at, and so is yours more important than what Jacko has made you think.”
“He didn’t know what he had,” Kilmer said quietly. “He was an idiot.”
Tanner quirked a half grin at him. “I could say the same about Jacko.”
If he hoped for immediate agreement from Kilmer—that Jacko had given up a good thing—he didn’t get it. Kilmer just hmmed, pulled his hand gently free, and went back to eating.
Tanner did the same, unsure of what else there was to say. It was Kilmer who finally broke the silence.
“That’s what your limits are about,” he said.
Tanner glanced up.
“Me having an escape route. Always facing you. You might not hear me try to stop a scene if you can’t see my face. You might not hear it anyway, so I need to be able to stop it myself.”
Tanner nodded and so did Kilmer after a heartbeat.
“Okay, then.” Kilmer ate the last of his sandwich crumbs and stood. “We should get a move on. There’s more to do.” He pocketed his key and bell once more and started clearing the dishes from the table.
They worked for a few hours into the evening until the dog was getting restless. Though Tanner didn’t expressly issue an invitation for Kilmer to stay over again, he didn’t object when Kilmer and the dog followed him to his truck at the end of the day either. They had worked hard and were tired. Their showers were quick, efficient, and separate. Supper was meat on the grill, and bed was quiet, chaste, and tangled. Tanner was okay with that. There was a lot to sort out. Kilmer being there was enough for now.
By the time Kilmer had to return to work at the ranch a few days later, Tanner had a good idea what he needed to do on the house for the rest of the week and a clear impression Kilmer needed time to think. It was good, he decided. It was no small thing they were getting into. They should both think about it, and after four days in one another’s back pockets, it would be good to spend a few days apart to do that.
23
KILMER HAD always known, intellectually, that Len had a decent set of pipes on him. He had been, and hopefully would be again, a member of one of the biggest bands to hit the charts in recent years. That wasn’t by accident, and his impromptu performance at the bar was an in-your-face reminder that he was famous for more reasons than being the guy household-name Vance Ashcroft came out for.
That fame had been easy to forget about while Len shoveled shit at Kilmer’s side in the horse barn and fumbled his way through riding lessons. His rock-star persona hadn’t been the most important thing about him as Len learned to deal with the crap that had ousted him from his band. In fact everything about Len had been easy to forget in the face of the man’s temper and the volatile, sometimes violent outbursts he had inflicted on everyone around him.
But now he was happy. Grounded. Strong. Kilmer could not get the memory of that one duet out of his head as he mucked stables and got the ranch ready for Vance’s departure over the next weeks.
It hit him full force that Len’s place here was not that of barnhand or another of Vance’s passing fancies. He was Vance’s life and a musician. A talented one. He had a life he would go back to and probably sooner rather than later. Kilmer would still be here with a shovel in his hand, and why was that?
Not that he wanted to quit running the ranch. He liked the job. But the sensation washing over him of Len and Rocky’s miracle of stage magic reminded him this was not all he was. How had he so thoroughly forgotten this about himself? It made no sense.
“You going to shovel that pile, or just stand there and admire it?” Len asked, knocking the back of Kilmer’s knee.
His leg jerked and he had to catch himself with the rake he was leaning on.
“What?” He blinked.
“Where the hell are you, man?” Len asked, grinning at him. “Missing your dog?” He winked at Kilmer, clearly enjoying his own joke. He’d turned that damn dog into a shorthand reference to Tanner and the not-a-relationship status Kilmer had firmly plastered to the man.
“I’m right here. And watch yourself, or I’ll leave the rest for you.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Len warned him. “You want to come with me to the sound studio after supper and help me pack up all of Vance’s crap that he’s taking so that we can use the studio while he’s gone.”
Kilmer blinked at him. “I—what, now?”
Len’s grin flourished under Kilmer’s confusion. “I said, you want to—”
“I heard what you said. I just mean… what?”
That made Len laugh, and Kilmer growled at him, tossed his rake to the side, and grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow. “You’re a brat.”
“Hey! I’m not done with that!”
“Then it sucks to be you.” Kilmer didn’t even slow as he wheeled the barrow out the door, toward the compost.
His pace did not deter Len one bit. “Come on. I invited that Rocky guy to jam. It’ll be more fun with three of us.”
“You….” Kilmer dropped the wheelbarrow and spun. “Uninvite him.”
“What? Why?” Len stopped in his tracks, face pale. “What did I do?”
“You…. He….” Kilmer’s lips twitched. In fact everything twitched and he forced himself not to show the way his insides shrank away from his ribs and left him feeling weak. He’d thought he was over this. He hadn’t had to work all that hard to be nice to the guy at the bar. But that was out there. Out where he had his protective shell of don’t give a fuck. Not here. In his own home. Or, not home, but….
“He what? He can belt out—”
“He’s the guy,” Kilmer hissed. “That night. With Jacko.”
“Oh shit.” Len’s face turned an alarming shade of oh-fuck pale. “I didn’t—”
“Why would you know?” Kilmer sighed. His legs wobbled under him, and he wished he’d brought his rake out here just so he could lean on it. “Never mind. It’s fine. I’ll just go somewhere else.”
Len’s perpetual grin had vanished. He looked so sad, but he was nodding. “No, I’ll just…. He know you work here?”
“No idea. I never told him, but it’s a small town, so that means jack shit. It doesn’t matter. You’re right. He’s good. He got to sing with Lenny Stevens and not make a complete ass of himself. You’re giving him a break. I won’t fuck that up for him.”
A deep furrow appeared between Len’s brows. “You really saying you want me to let him come over? Sing with him? After what he did to you?”
“He didn’t do anything. Well. I mean, he didn’t know he was doing the thing he was doing. He thought it was something else, and I should have said, but I didn’t. It was my fault.”
To his surprise Len’s fingers curled into tight fists. “Do not,” he snarled, and Kilmer took a step back from his ferocity.
“What?”
“Do not take the blame for this. It was Jacko. He was the one responsible for both of you, and he fucked up. In the worst way. It was not your fault.”
“Calm down. I knew what I was doing. What I was saying yes to. Or… what I wasn’t saying no to. I did it to get to Jacko, and it was shitty of me not to think what it would do to the kid once he figured out how I felt. I was an asshole.”
Red curls sprang in all directions as Len shook his head. “I cannot believe you really think that.”
“I’m a grown-up, Len. I can take responsibility for my own reprehensible behavior. It wasn’t Rocky’s fault. I sort of think he would never have gone through with fucking me if he suspected what was really going on in that room. He’s not a bad person, and he doesn’t deserve to miss out on his chance to hang with Lenny Stevens just because I fucked him over.”
Len’s lips twitched, fury still evident on his face and in the stiff lines of his body. “I want to understand this,” he said. The words were flat, like he squished them out through clenched teeth. “I want to see in this shitstorm what you see. I want to understand how a guy like Jacko—a Dom like Jacko—could mess up so bad he’s got you thinking it’s your fault he was too selfish about a scene to see it was killing you.”
“Len.” Sometimes Kilmer forgot he was the experienced sub of the two of them. Len was new to the lifestyle, and all his experience in it came with a man who loved him like the breath of life. “Jacko did everything he should have done. He checked in with me. He gave me the means to stop the scene whenever I wanted to.” He dug the bell out of his pants pocket, unsure why he carried it everywhere with him like a talisman, and held it out on his palm. “He did everything right. I was the one who didn’t stop. I was the one who lied when he asked if I was doing okay. That’s on me, not him.”
“Couldn’t he see?” Len searched his face, eyes whiskey-and-ice bright in his confusion. “Couldn’t he just look at you and see you were not okay? Hell, I can look at you and know there’s shit going on in your head that should have kept that scene from ever starting, let alone burdened you with the task of stopping things if it went the wrong way for you to handle.”
“Well now, sure. I suppose I look a bit like I feel. Like crap. Like I’m messed up because I fucked up the trust—”
“No. See… just no.” Len made a chopping motion that brought Kilmer up short. He balled up his fists again, then flexed his fingers, like he was trying hard not to let anger get the best of him. He drew a breath in through his nostrils and they flared as he let it out again. “What did he do to you to make you think you could trust him after that party? How did he gaslight you into thinking he would take care of you if he couldn’t even see how it mattered to you to help Vance and me? He shot you down for caring about your friends and daring to call Vance out on his bullshit, just because Vance is a Dom and you’re not. That’s crap and you know it. Vance is your friend first. That matters above the fucking lifestyle or your relative positions in anyone else’s bed.”
“It wasn’t just Jacko’s bed, Len.” Kilmer stuffed his hands, and the bell, back into his pocket.
Len snarled and kicked at the wheelbarrow, sending it onto its side. The contents sprawled out over the grass. “It is so fucked up that you think that. He wanted a fucking slave and that isn’t you. Never was. I don’t know shit about anything but what Vance and I have, and even I could see he wanted you on your knees, lips around his cock, brain on standby. And maybe there are guys out there who will give him that, but not you, and if he didn’t see that about you, he’s the one not seeing reality. He’s the one who broke trust, trying to make you into something you’re not. He wanted to break you and remake you into what he wanted. He never saw you for who you are. Who you can be. He made you think all kinds of bullshit about yourself and—”
“Len.” Kilmer placed a hand on each of Len’s shoulders. “Len, calm down.”
Len scraped the back of a gloved hand over his mouth, glowered at the glove, and spat on the ground. “Fuck.” His hot temper smoldered, in his eyes, on his face, in the heat radiating off his body.
“Look, maybe you’re right—”
“I am right.” Len stomped a foot, and if his glower hadn’t been so deep, his body shaking with repressed rage, Kilmer might have chuckled at the tiny man ready to spit fire at anyone who gainsaid him.
“I don’t know if you are or not. I don’t really know anything right now.” He sighed and let go of his friend. “And maybe that right there is the best argument for you bein’ right. I don’t know that either.” Sagging under the uncertainty, he bent to right the wheelbarrow. Once it was back on its two feet and one wheel, he sank to rest his ass between the handles. He needed the support.
