Beyond the Footlights, page 23
“Tried to discipline—”
“Or control?”
Jacko said nothing.
Carefully, so he didn’t slam anything, Tanner poured two cups of coffee and brought them over to the bed. Jacko accepted the offering with a nod. “Thanks.”
“Look,” Tanner said as he sat. “It’s probably none of my business what happened between you two.” He wanted that to be true, but he knew it wasn’t, and a part of him figured Jacko deserved to know. A part of him wanted to clobber Jacko over the head with his own claim on Kilmer, but thankfully he had enough sense to realize that wasn’t his choice; it was Kilmer’s.
Jacko peered at him through a squint that might have been so he could see through the liquor haze. “But you seem to think it is, even though you say you only just met him.”
“And I did only just meet him.”
“But.” Not a question.
“But.” He sipped and thought for a moment, weighing what he wanted to tell and what he didn’t think Jacko needed—or deserved—to know. He sighed. He cared because he cared. Because Kilmer needed someone to care. “I’ve had my share of fucked-up relationships too. I’ve made bad judgment calls with guys I thought I knew and guys I thought I could help.”
“You think I forced something on Kilmer he doesn’t want?” Both of Jacko’s hands were wrapped around his mug. Ripples on top of the liquid gave away his tremors. The timbre of his voice gave away his uncertainty, though he wasn’t looking at Tanner anymore.
“I don’t know.” Tanner sipped his coffee. “Did you?”
“I don’t know,” Jacko whispered. “I just… don’t know.” He closed his eyes, brought the mug to his lips, but didn’t sip. “It got away from me.”
“You keep saying that, but I still don’t really know what you mean.”
“I thought I could…. That he could… or….”
“Finish a damn sentence, old man.”
“I thought discipline would be enough. If he would just accept the discipline, it would ease his….” He sighed. “I don’t know. Make him feel better about things. He wasn’t happy. Spent more and more time alone in his room playin’ his bass. Sure he came when I called. He clung to every last command like it was life breath, but outside the bedroom, he—there was no control, no discipline, and nothing I did or said got through to him. Maybe I hoped that if he just followed my lead, it would be okay.”
“But it wasn’t.”
Jacko hung his head, wagging it back and forth. “Couldn’t be okay, could it? He never wanted my discipline. He wanted… something else. I got him the dog and he ignored it. I tried to separate the sex from the rest—”
“By fucking other men? That worked,” Tanner said, knowing it was a pointless gibe. Being mean wasn’t going to help anyone. Unfortunately knowing that didn’t quite stop him from poking the wound anyway.
“Not my finest idea, no. Look, I know I fucked it up. It got away from me, because I couldn’t figure out what he needed and he wasn’t talking. He hid away with his music or stayed at the ranch with Vance.”
“And so you took the music, which he loved, and tried to take Vance, who loves him. And it never occurred to you that all you had to do was tell him you loved him?”
Jacko looked up then. His gaze was laser focused now, the blue gone to cold gray and mist. “Tell him a lie?”
Four words like a sucker punch to Tanner’s gut. “A lie?”
Jacko’s hands shook a little harder, and he set the mug on the floor. An equally shaky breath escaped his lips and he pursed them.
“It would be a lie to tell the man you lived with the last four years, the man you had in your bed, the man who knelt at your feet for God’s sake, that you fucking loved him?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“It never occurred to you before now to—oh, I don’t know—mention this to him?”
“It goddamn never occurred to me that he cared about love. He started out sayin’ he was done with love. He wanted a Master. He didn’t want to confuse the issue of his submission with love. That was the thing went wrong with Vance, he said. That they loved each other, and Vance was his boss, and that shit was hard enough to work out, never mind submitting to the man. He just wanted the bonds. The rules. He wanted to feel like he knew his place for once and not have to constantly second-guess himself or try and figure out what Vance expected at any given time. I gave him that. Exactly what he came to me wanting.”
“Except when you didn’t,” Tanner said. He was tensing up again, forming a fist with his free hand, and he consciously straightened his fingers, then wrapped them around his mug. He needed to understand, not lash out.
“I said what he came to me asking for. Not what he needed. Or maybe what he wanted changed and I didn’t notice. I should have—”
“Read his mind?”
For a long minute, they stared at one another. Tanner wanted to be angry. He was angry. But he also understood. If a sub didn’t speak up, didn’t say what was okay and what wasn’t, didn’t ask for what he needed, but expected his Dom to figure it out, there was no telling how wrong it could go or how fast.
It didn’t excuse Jacko. He should have seen something was wrong. That he didn’t notice the crisis, that was on him. That he lashed out by taking another lover, by trying to control Kilmer, also on him.
“I didn’t set out to hurt him.”
“Doesn’t change anything, Jacko.”
“I did some unforgivable things.”
“You did harm, yes. Whether or not he forgives you is up to him.”
“And you?”
“Well.” Tanner slugged back the rest of his lukewarm coffee. He got up and headed for the kitchen and more coffee. The orange haze drifting in through the front window was less orange and more gray now. The sun was coming up. “Crash out. I’m gonna have another coffee, then take off.”
“That’s it, then.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Tanner gazed at him. “Whatever is going on with you, I hope you figure it out. I don’t wish you ill, but Kilmer is my priority, and I will protect him. You can use my place if you need it. I don’t anymore, so I don’t care. Lease ends August 1, so that’s how long you’ve got. Go on tour with Vance. Maybe he can help you. Maybe he’s more charitable. I don’t know.”
“Kilmer’s your priority? What? You two besties now?”
Tanner glared. “You don’t get to care.”
“You’re fucking him.” Jacko rose.
“You wrecked him. Step back. If you give any sort of shit about him, just step the fuck back and let him heal.”
“I never meant to hurt him.”
“Then you should have cherished him, not used him. Not messed with his head. Now he’s mine, and you need to accept that.”
“Yours.”
It was more information than Tanner had intended to offer Jacko, but now that he had the man in front of him, he realized the truth of it was that Jacko had done harm, and he couldn’t be allowed to do more.
“No, I….” Jacko stared into his mug. “He needs a keeper.”
Tanner rose to his full height, furious. “He is a keeper. And the fact you abused that chance is your loss. He doesn’t need anyone to fix him or change him or control him. He never did. You’re the one who made him feel that way, and now I will remind him who he really is. If he decides to keep me after that, that’s his choice. It was always his choice. I’m glad he saw that in the end, even if you didn’t.”
For a tense moment, silence bounced with the echo of Tanner’s vehemence.
Then Jacko nodded. His hands shook and he stared at the worn, ugly carpet. He didn’t look okay, but Tanner couldn’t make that his problem.
“Get help, Jacko. I don’t know what’s wrong, but this isn’t the guy who built that band with me. And I don’t think it’s the guy Kilmer fell in love with. Figure out what happened to that Jacko. People miss him.”
To his surprise, Jacko nodded again. “Maybe you’re right.”
Without the anger to direct at a belligerent, nonrepentant Jacko, Tanner felt helpless. But he couldn’t advocate for them both. The best he could do for Jacko was offer a place to stay off the street until he left on the tour.
“I want to be,” he said at last. “I want this to be an anomaly and for you to find yourself again. But I can’t help you. I can’t be your friend and Kilmer’s lover.”
“Not asking you to.” Jacko’s voice was flat. He lifted his chin and finally looked Tanner in the eye. His were gray and opaque, his face, pale and flaccid behind his beard, expressionless. “I’m glad he’s okay.”
Tanner wanted to affirm that. He wanted it to be the truth. He hoped someday it would be. But he wouldn’t say otherwise either, so he just grunted.
“Look after him.”
“Don’t do this, Jacko. Let him go. That’s what he needs from you. It’s really all he ever needed.”
Jacko nodded. “I have.”
“Good. Because that’s all he needs from you now.”
There was nothing left to say. Tanner glanced around the sad little apartment. Nothing left to do. He grabbed his things and hid in the bathroom to wash quickly and put on the rest of his clothes and his boots. When he came out fifteen minutes later, Jacko was passed out on his stomach on the bed. Tanner grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
“For what it’s worth,” Jacko called after him, voice low and thick, “I’m sorry about us too. The band. Rocky.”
“Me too.” It was all Tanner could stand. He left, closing the door softly behind him. He regretted the lost friendship. They could have had some success, been… something. Maybe.
Then he remembered the dusty shelves in Kilmer’s living room, the abandoned dog, and Rocky falling off the radar for so long and the sadness in his eyes when he did come back. He recalled the box filled with broken toys, the destruction Jacko had left in his wake, purposefully or not, and he knew it was too soon for friendship as well.
Which was when he noticed the note stuck in his jacket pocket.
Tanner
I’m sorry, man. I know showing up drunk at your door was a shit thing for a friend to do. Letting me in was a classy move, and I thank you. I know you don’t—“get what’s happened with Kilm” was scratched out—get me. I wish I could say it all made sense to me, but it doesn’t. That boy deserves someone who loves him and can tie him down when he needs it. That wasn’t me, and it ain’t Vance Ashcroft. He needs what we both got, but he needs it in one guy. So I guess it’s good we’re both clearing his road for a while.
Take care of him. I left the papers for the dog at the bar with Bob, and the keys and ownership to my old truck if he wants it. Here’s his house key and the key to this place. Maybe you can pass his along to him.
I probably won’t be back for. Well. I don’t know. The guitar shop is in good hands, so I got nothing to come back for now.
Tell Rocky—he’s a good kid. Didn’t mean to fuck him up. Hope he gets over it.
Take care of those boys,
Jacko
“Well. That bites.” Shaking his head, he pocketed the house key. “Hope he gets over it? You’re an asshole, Jacko.” He let out a sigh. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t hate the man. He could only think maybe Jacko was the really messed-up one. He wished he knew how he’d gotten that way, hoped he’d be able to fix it.
One thing was for sure. There was no way he was hitting the road with Jacko when Kilmer needed him here. He’d have to turn down the best—and probably last—chance he had at making a music career that got past the door of the local pub.
“Well, fuck.” He pushed at the heavy urn between his door and the neighbor’s that people used to butt out their cigarettes, and slipped his key underneath. He could pay the rent on the dump for one more month.
Leaden with how much the whole situation sucked, he headed for Kilmer’s and hoped he could work hard enough to sweat out the residue of another missed chance.
25
“IT’S SUNDAY.” Len leaned on the counter, both elbows holding him up and his cuffs clinking softly as he tapped their buckles against the surface. The amber flecks in his eyes glowed in the slant of late-morning sunshine coming through the kitchen skylight. His enthusiasm radiated off him like he was a second sun. “Just let’s take the afternoon off. We fed the animals. They’re fine.”
Vance and Kilmer glanced at one another.
“It’s not like they need us to keep them company,” Len muttered, increasing the staccato tap of metal buckle on stone countertop.
Except that they sort of did—need human contact at least—and Kilmer wanted to be that human. Horses were calm. Quiet. They didn’t offer advice or try to fix things. They just were. A lot like dogs. As had become an increasingly common habit, he reached down and breathed out a sigh when his fingers encountered fur. The dog understood what he needed, and Kilmer was pleased to have him around.
He’d spent yesterday afternoon with Tanner, taking in the progress Tanner had made on the house in Kilmer’s absence. The work was impressive, both for the quality and quantity. Kilmer had puttered, making a few adjustments to his wish list and generally drawing out his visit. Tanner hadn’t seemed overly enthusiastic about his company, though, and had suggested he take the dog back to the ranch with him when he left.
Clearly he wasn’t invited to spend the weekend with Tanner. It hurt, and it didn’t. He didn’t know what he wanted, so how could he expect Tanner to?
A wet tongue ran across his knuckles and he grimaced, wiped his hand across the seat of his jeans, and glared at the mutt, who panted happily back. After a moment, he found himself grinning at the damn thing and wondering, for about the hundredth time, if maybe he didn’t deserve a better name than Dog.
“We could go riding,” Vance suggested, and Kilmer looked up to see Vance watching him closely. Vance had a—Kilmer tilted his head and studied his friend. He had a careful look on his face. Like he was trying to balance things, make sure everyone was happy. Like he was walking a tightrope between Kilmer and Len.
“You’ll be leaving tomorrow night,” Len wheedled, poking a finger into Vance’s side and making the big man squirm and growl at him through a grin. “One afternoon won’t kill you. We can jam. All three of us.”
Kilmer’s gut knotted. “I don’t—” He didn’t even get the thought out before Vance was nodding.
“Okay. Sure. It’ll be fun,” Vance agreed. He fixed a look on Kilmer. “Did you bring your bass?”
There had been a time that look would have brought Kilmer right into line, no arguments, and the time hadn’t been all that long ago. Jacko or no Jacko, Vance had retained an awful lot of power over Kilmer, and Kilmer was only now beginning to see it. No wonder Jacko had been jealous and overbearing.
“Hey,” Vance said gently. “Did you bring it?”
“It’s Jacko’s,” Kilmer mumbled. “I left it at the house.”
“Bring it out here.” Vance’s words were definitely a command, and Kilmer scowled at him. The usual warm spread of comfort he got when Vance talked to him like that had cooled a lot over the past weeks. He wasn’t quite sure why.
He’d spent more time than usual around Vance and Lenny, and every intimate moment between the other two men only reminded him more and more what he no longer had. Or, more accurately, what he’d never really had at all. He shoved his hands into his pockets and felt the crushed edges of the once-round bell. Like an electric current connected them, the collar at his throat seemed to pulse as he rolled the little talisman over in his fingers.
It was all he could do to resist tugging at the heavy metal links, pulling it up from his skin, but that wouldn’t eliminate the weight of it, nor explain why he hadn’t yet taken it off.
Vance’s gaze, and Lenny’s for that matter, seemed to focus on the collar, like it really was glowing, beckoning their attention.
“It’s fine.” Vance shrugged and dragged his attention back up to Kilmer’s eyes. “You can use mine. Come on.” He held out a hand to Len and bobbed his chin at Kilmer. “Teach this kid some rhythm and blues, yeah?”
“Sure.” Kilmer fell into step a few paces behind them. He wanted it to be easy to follow Vance’s lead, to feel more right. Less lonely. It felt a lot like living with Jacko had, though. Only here the lack wasn’t the warmth of caring and tenderness. Both these men exuded that kind of sentiment almost to the point it chafed. But he knew asserting even this amount of command over him was an obligation for Vance, not necessarily a pleasure, and that Vance was pulling strength from Lenny to do it.
He reached again for the dog and thought about Tanner. He’d already accepted Tanner wasn’t up for his company right now and decided it was fine. He could stay at the ranch. He’d wanted to be around for the few days left before Vance took off, only now he regretted that choice as he watched Len snuggle into Vance’s side and lay his head on his shoulder.
He was intruding. “Fuck.”
“Kil?”
“I gotta go.”
“Kilmer.” Len straightened and turned. “Please don’t.”
“I don’t belong here. You guys—”
“Please,” Vance said quietly. “Do this with us. An hour, that’s all I ask. Then you can take off.” He wrapped an arm around Len’s shoulders and drew him close, kissing the side of his head, though his gaze never left Kilmer.
Kilmer had to break the eye contact. He shifted it to Lenny, who watched him hopefully like he actually wanted Kilmer to say yes, wanted him to stay and make music. The thought of playing in front of him brought immediate prickles of sweat, like an army of fire ants nipping over Kilmer’s back and shoulders. He squirmed.
“An hour,” he agreed, while his gut hollowed out and his heart tripped. He wiped his palms hard over the rivets on the pockets of his jeans, letting the dig of the little metal bits distract him from the sudden onslaught of nerves.
The grin that broke over Len’s face was damn near blinding. It was impossible not to smile back. Even Vance looked relieved and maybe happy. Kilmer swallowed hard. Did music really make them that bright?
