Beyond the Footlights, page 26
After the passage of a few heavy rains, he now had a choice between the washboard surface or the too-soft shoulders, which frightened him with the sharp drops and inadequate guardrails. Like every other gravel back road in the area, this one was sorely in need of work, and Kilmer slowed almost to a crawl as he wound his way up toward the top of the hill.
He was easing up the last, steepest incline when headlights careened around a blind uphill corner and forced him to yank the wheel to the right. His front tire hit the soft shoulder and dug in, pulling the car toward the ditch. Once they went over the embankment, there was no stopping or turning the momentum. The car came to a jolting halt, nose buried in a foot of water at the bottom of the deep ditch.
Kilmer’s airbag smacked him in the face, and the car hissed and sputtered, then died. He hung slightly forward in his seat. His seat belt dug into his shoulder. The sound of tires skidding through gravel disappeared down the road. In the aftershock, the night hung completely silent around him.
Into that silence his phone tinkled a text-message chime, and he blinked. After a moment of fumbling, braced with one hand against the steering wheel, he got it out of his pocket and peered at the screen.
The message was from Len.
I’m sorry. Come back?
Kilmer sighed. “Fuck me.” Returning to the home screen of his phone, he found his recent calls list and discovered a half-dozen missed calls from Len. They had come in when he was playing with Tanner and the others.
“Hi!” Len sounded a little bit breathless and a lot anxious. “I was a jerk. Will you come back? Are you at Tanner’s? He can come—”
“I’m in a ditch.”
Silence.
“Len?”
“In a ditch?” Len’s voice had gone from high-energy patter of nerves to whispered panic.
“Yeah. Some asshole took the hill at Dead Bluff too fast. Ran me into the ditch.”
“Are you—”
“I’m fine. My car, though?” Kilmer sighed again. “Can you come get me?”
“Should I call a tow?”
“Not tonight. It’s not going anywhere. I’ll call in the morning, but the walk is—”
“I’m coming. Sit tight. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Positive. Just come get me.”
He heard the ranch house’s screen door slamming as Len assured him he was on his way. They hung up, and Kilmer climbed out of the wrecked vehicle to wait on the road where Len would see him. He could already feel the aches and pains, especially across his chest where the seat belt had done its job.
His car was well off the road, so it didn’t pose any danger to other traffic, and he didn’t see the point of paying the overtime to get it towed after-hours. He’d come back for it in the morning when everyone could safely see what they were doing. In the meantime he settled on a boulder at the first turn of the curve to watch for Len’s headlights. While walking back to town or to the ranch would have been at least a two-hour prospect, Len arrived in a scant ten minutes. He pulled up and jumped from his little Jeep, a look of barely contained panic on his face.
“Kilmer!”
“I’m fine. Really.” Kilmer eased to his feet and rubbed at his chest with a palm.
Len launched himself at Kilmer anyway, hugged him tight, and breathed hard against his shoulder. “Van would have killed me.”
“Killed you?” Kilmer’s voice squeezed around the twinge as Len tightened his hold.
“If I let anything bad happen to you. He’s so worried, and I wasn’t supposed to piss you off or let you go off in a huff. I was supposed to look after you.”
“I’m a grown man.”
“Still.” Len backed off to look him up and down. “I was a jerk, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault I took off. I was in a huff. I’m sorry too. We should figure out the problem instead of blaming each other and being dicks.”
“Yeah.” Len laughed a bit hysterically. “I know. Still working on that one.”
“Come on. Let’s get back.”
The house was lit up like a Christmas tree when they got back, and Maggie appeared on the porch as Len pulled up to the end of the wide drive. She had her apron on and crumpled in her hands as she watched them get out and approach.
“What happened?” she asked. Worry lines creased her forehead. “You went tearing out of here like your tail was on fire.”
Len frowned at her. “How did you know that? I didn’t even call the cottage.”
“The kids were watching a movie in the front room. They saw you streak by, driving too fast.” She still referred to her daughter and Patrick as “the kids.”
“Sorry I worried you, Maggie. I didn’t realize anyone was still up.”
“What did you think would happen, Leonard?” She glared first at him, then turned her irate look on Kilmer. “And you.” She actually smacked Kilmer across the back of his head. “Leaving like you did, not a word to anyone, and Len moping around. And then him taking off like a bat out of—”
“We’re fine,” Len assured her.
“Well I’m not!” She set her hands on her hips, fingers curled into fists. “Took years off my life today, the two of you!”
“We’re sorry, Maggie,” Kilmer tried to placate her. “We were behaving badly.”
“So stop it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at her. “You put the kettle on?”
She scowled, cuffed his arm, then waved him inside. “Of course I did. Come sit. Eat something. Did you have your supper in town?”
Kilmer rubbed his belly as he followed her and Len inside. “Actually—”
She pursed her lips and pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit. Silly, all you men. Take your boots off. Len, where do you think you’re going?”
Len had almost made it out of the kitchen, but he turned at the doorway to grin at her. “Back to bed?”
“Sit.” She pointed to an empty chair.
Len didn’t argue.
Once he was seated and there were sandwiches and warm french fries and waffles and syrup on the table, she took a seat between them and crossed her arms on the tabletop. “Who’s going to tell me what happened today?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing happened, Maggie.”
They spoke over one another, which only made Maggie tilt her head at them, lift her eyebrows, and harrumph. Kilmer found himself looking at Len, like they had been naughty and caught out by their mother.
“Any other men would be fighting over Vance, but the two of you fight more when he’s gone.”
“Of course we don’t fight over him,” Len said softly.
“He’s not mine anymore, Maggie,” Kilmer added. “You know that.” He smiled softly.
“So explain.” Maggie put her hand over his and patted gently.
“I was mad because Len asked me to do something I can’t do.” He met Len’s gaze. “I let him down.”
“I was being unreasonable,” Len admitted. “I know you can’t. I was frustrated. I just don’t want to lose it, but I can’t get it down. And it would be so much better if I could just ask Trevor or one of the guys to help me out.”
Kilmer blinked at him. “Why don’t you? Ask one of the guys, I mean. I know you and Trevor aren’t really, well, back together or whatever. But you could ask Jethro maybe. Or Clive.”
Len shook his head. “They’re like you. Clive’s a drummer. He never even looks at sheet music. He just jams and plays until he finds something that works. Jethro listens and hums and then, after he’s heard the song a few times, comes up with something, and Beks writes it down for us.”
“So call Beks.”
“Beks is… not really speaking to me. It’s fine when everyone gets together, but….” He shook his head. “So mad about me and Trev. Says he still isn’t the same since I left.”
“They kicked you out.”
“I left first. At least I broke from the spirit of the band. Didn’t count on them to help me out when I needed it, and then I kept secrets and demanded things I shouldn’t have. I broke everything.”
“Then maybe it’s time to start putting it all back together,” Maggie suggested. “Nothing fixes itself, baby.” She got up and moved around the table to hug him tight. “You have to do the hard work. You have to trust.”
“It’s me I don’t trust, Maggie, not them.”
“Oh, I know that.” She kissed the top of his head. “Isn’t that always where it starts?” Patting his back, she straightened and motioned at the food. “Now eat up. I’m going back to bed, since it’s my turn to get up with the baby in the morning. Janet had a late class, poor thing. She takes on so much. If I didn’t like Patrick….” She’d walked away and begun to untie her apron, and she was still murmuring to herself when she went out the kitchen door.
For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Kilmer really was very hungry. He’d worked hard, then played hard, and forgotten all about eating in between. Now that he had food in front of him, he was a little single-minded. He was down to a pile of fries and ketchup when Len finally spoke.
“You scared the shit out of me.” His voice was slightly flat, a tone he only got when he was trying very hard not to lose his shit.
“I wasn’t trying to get run off the road,” Kilmer pointed out.
“You were trying to piss me off when you left.”
“That is true.”
“And I tried to call and you didn’t answer. I thought you might not come back. I didn’t know—”
“I will always come back. Sometimes I’ll get mad and need my space, but I will never leave and not come back. I’ll never walk out on you, Len.”
“Some of my friends—”
“I’m not them. I won’t do that.”
There was silence for long enough that Kilmer stopped eating to look at Len. “What?”
“You ignored me all afternoon. Only reason you answered was because you needed help.”
“Well, shit. Len, it wasn’t like that, I swear. I just didn’t have my phone right there. I didn’t ever hear it ring. I promise, I would not ignore you.” He pulled out his phone and held it up for proof, pressing the button to turn it on. The battery light flashed red and phone immediately powered down. “Well. You know what I mean.” He tossed the dead phone on the table. “I might tell you to stop calling and give me a bit o’ space. But I wouldn’t ignore you.”
Len nodded. “Okay.” His eyes were still wary, though. “And about the ditch thing. That was scary. Don’t do that again.”
Kilmer chuckled. “I won’t. Not if I can help it.”
“Good.” He offered a tentative smile and Kilmer smiled back. “Are you staying?”
“If I can.”
Len nodded. “Will you sleep upstairs? I know it’s not really your space, but I just need to feel like someone’s there. Across the hall is better than on a different floor. It’s weak, I know, but—” He hung his head. “—makes me feel better.”
“Me too,” Kilmer admitted. “I don’t think it’s weak.”
Len shuddered. “I mean, we should be able to live our lives without… that.”
“It’s a process. Something you get better at, and knowing why you’re struggling makes it easier to fix.”
“I don’t want to be so dependent on him.” Len looked up. “You’re not. You figured your shit out and are living your life just fine without a Dom. And it’s not like Vance left me or we’re broken up. He’s just traveling and he’ll be back. So I shouldn’t be having this hard a time.”
“You do realize that it isn’t just because he’s your Dom, right? Anyone in your position would be anxious and lonely. Your other half is on the other side of the country, and you don’t expect to see him for months at a time. That isn’t a Dom/sub thing. It’s an in-love thing and perfectly normal. You’re being too hard on yourself.” He pushed his plate away and stood. “And for the record, I do not have my shit together. I’m freaking the hell out because the instant I had a problem, I didn’t do anything like sort it out like a grown man. I ran. First from you, then from Tanner.”
“So you did go see him.”
“I was at his place. He was auditioning a guitar player and asked me to fill in on bass. That’s when you called. I didn’t hear the ring, or I swear, I would have answered. I wouldn’t ignore you.” That had been one of Jacko’s favorite weapons. Complete radio silence. Even when Kilmer spoke directly to him, he’d refuse to acknowledge him. Nothing had ever put him in his place faster than being invisible.
“How was it?”
Kilmer shuddered and gulped at nonexistent air. “What?” He blinked and tried to focus back on Len and the kitchen.
“Playing with Tanner. How was it?”
Kilmer scrubbed a hand over his face and let another tremor run through him. It carried away the phantom of Jacko’s silence. A calm settled in behind the shiver, like letting it go kept it from hovering near the edges of his control, stealing his breath, and creeping around in the shadows of his memories.
“Terrifying. And amazing. He asked me to play with them.”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know.”
“You want to.”
“What makes you think that? I don’t even know if I do want to. It isn’t my world.”
“Says who?”
“Jacko always—”
“Ace—” Len slipped a nervous look up through his lashes at Kilmer. He began flipping his fork over on the table. Upside-right, upside-down, upside-right, upside-down. “He always used to say I was in Firefly because Trev felt sorry for me. That they all felt sorry for me and that I didn’t belong there. He would say if I stayed home more, things would be better between us, and that I didn’t need them.”
“Ace. He was the guy who—before Van. He—”
“Abused me.” Len nodded, fixated on the flipping fork now. “He told me those things to control me.” His hands trembled as he spoke. The fork rattled with every flip. “He wanted me where I didn’t have any allies. Away from my friends. From everyone who cared about me.”
“Jacko isn’t Ace.”
“I don’t think anyone could be as bad as Ace was, and I don’t think Jacko ever meant to do you harm the way Ace did me.” Len left the fork upside-right next to his plate and shoved his hands down into his lap, probably clamped between his knees. His shoulders hunched in and he stared at the spot in front of him. “Ace was a psychopath. Jacko’s just… hell, I don’t know.” He looked up again, and his gaze was so bright.
Kilmer had to meet his eye because Len was getting smaller and more turned in on himself by the moment. Kilmer didn’t want that.
“But Jacko, he took your music from you. Maybe not on purpose, but every time he sapped the joy of it from you, every time he interfered between you and Van, or you and me, even, he took a little bit of you and locked it away. From us, from yourself. I guess I didn’t know you well enough yet and was too wrapped up in myself to see it at first.”
“Wasn’t your problem,” Kilmer assured him.
“But you’re my friend, so yes, it was and is my problem. Since Van’s been gone, you’re a different person.” He smiled and finally lifted his head to look straight at Kilmer. “You know this ranch. You can run it and no one second-guesses you.” He grinned. “Not even you. And today when we played, it reminded me of when we’re working with the horses. You never second-guess yourself out there. I always feel like it doesn’t matter what happens, you’ve got my back. The horses trust you like they don’t me. You even move differently. Freer. Looser. I saw that for the first time outside the paddock when you, me, and Van were playing together.”
“You think I should play with Tanner?”
Len shook himself and stood, picking up his dishes. His body loosened with the movement, and he slunk back into his skin as though the interlude of shielding himself against Ace’s memory was the anomaly now.
Kilmer could remember when that hunched defensive shell had been Len’s default. Not anymore. Now his shoulders straightened, his spine uncurled, and his hips swayed as he walked to the sink. With a shock, Kilmer recognized the confident, sexy man that held Vance’s heart so completely in the small lithe musician Kilmer had come to know.
He was wearing a sheer nightshirt that buttoned up to the middle of his pecs and hung to his knees. He had on skinny jeans with holes in the knees beneath and thick leather cuffs on each wrist. His bare feet slapped the linoleum and his tight ass, just visible through the filmy material of his nightshirt, bunched pleasingly round as he walked.
He’d changed a great deal in the months he’d been with Vance. His body had filled out from underweight and bony to leanly defined muscle. He kept his chin up and his eyes flashed. His bright red hair was long enough now to braid and hung over one shoulder in a messy approximation of that. He was sweetly handsome, his every move intoxicating and fluid. Not exactly Kilmer’s type, but he could see why Vance worshipped him so completely.
Sure he had moments, like that afternoon when he’d lashed out in frustration. But those came fewer and further between and far less intense all the time, when once they had been his basic personality. And he hummed. There had been a time when music had set his teeth on edge, been anathema to him, where now it was his lifeblood again. As it should be.
Had music ever been that important to Kilmer? He wasn’t sure. Horses, he could easily say, were a passion. Music had been what? A connection to Vance maybe. A way to relate in a world where he’d always felt adrift and untethered.
“I think you should do a lot of things with Tanner,” Len said over his shoulder as he ran water into the sink. “He likes you. A lot. As for playing, you have to decide that for yourself, but don’t discount it just because you’re afraid.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I stopped doing a lot of things I loved, because I was afraid. I stopped looking after myself, because I let Ace talk me into believing I wasn’t capable of it. I think Jacko might have led you to believe you shouldn’t have the things you want. For whatever reason. Maybe he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. Maybe he just wanted to be the one who gave you what you needed—only he didn’t have whatever it was.”
