Beyond the Footlights, page 30
“Passable.” Alice rolled her eyes. “You know how it is. Road trips and kids.”
Kilmer chuckled. “I actually have no clue. Probably best that way. Come on inside, and I’ll make introductions.” He held the door for them, and Len followed. Tanner and Rocky brought up the rear.
The kitchen smelled like heaven, reminding Len of the home cooking Trevor’s mother had fed them during the holidays. He breathed it in and closed his eyes, thinking back to before everything had gotten so complicated.
“Dreaming of food again?” The dulcet voice behind him was familiar and yet… not. Len frowned, turned, and felt his jaw drop. “Beks?”
“The one and only.” Beks smiled at him. “How you doing, Runt?”
“Fuck. You look… fantastic.”
“Yeah?” Beks bit a lip and made a face.
“Damn. Yeah.” Unable to help himself, Len ran fingers over Beks’s cheek. “Shit. You’ve got more facial hair than I do now.”
Beks broke into a wide grin. “Right? I swear. I didn’t think I could. You know, Asian genes and all that. But whatever else I got in the genetic-soup lottery, I guess he was a hairy bastard, huh?” Beks ran a hand over the spot Len had touched. “Awesome, isn’t it?”
“Showing off again, babe?” Long arms wrapped around Beks from behind and Jethro draped himself over his lover. “Hey, li’l dude. How’s it hangin’?”
Len grinned. “Hey, Jet. I’m good. You?”
“Dude.” Jethro came around Beks and swept Len up into a hug that lifted him completely off the floor. “So good to see you, man.”
“You… too.” Len tried to gulp in a breath. “Squishing… me.”
“Don’t break the boy, Jethro.” Another familiar voice, deep and calm, penetrated Len’s euphoria, and his blood ran a bit cold.
Jethro set him down and turned him around. “Easy, little guy,” Jethro crooned.
Len was actually shaking as he faced the speaker. “Hi, Stan.”
“Leonard.”
Len swallowed hard and nodded. “How, how are you?”
“Very well, thank you.” He took a step forward and held out a hand. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been too long.”
“Yes, sir. It has.” Len shook his hand, then took his own hand back and wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans. He managed to resist the temptation to look around and see if Stan’s lover had accompanied him. He didn’t ask. He just stared at Stan.
“George parked the bus down the street, behind the school. Perhaps you’d like to go let him know he can bring it around now?” Stan suggested.
Like Len was his to order around.
Len nodded. “Yes, s—sure. I can do that. I guess.”
“Thank you.”
Len forced his back straight, so as not to slink out of the house or show his disappointment that Trevor hadn’t made the trip with the rest. It was what it was. Mending their friendship would take time, he knew that. Only he didn’t know how it was ever going to happen if Trev refused to see him in person.
Sure they texted and even talked on the phone once in a while, but the last album they had recorded, Len had laid down all his tracks in the absence of their vocalist. It sucked. He hated it. He missed Trevor almost as much as he did Vance.
But Vance would come home. It wasn’t a permanent separation. It wasn’t a fight. He hadn’t completely destroyed Vance’s trust in him the way he had Trevor’s.
Impulsively, as he neared the school and rounded the corner to where he figured George had probably parked the bus, he pulled out his phone and found Trevor’s number. He thought about texting him but then, again on impulse, hit the Call icon.
The phone jingled a snatch of a pop song that he and Trevor had always made great fun of. He chuckled. Then it occurred to him that he shouldn’t actually be hearing Trevor’s ringtone over the line. He lifted his gaze from the dusty sidewalk to peer toward the bus.
Trevor was standing on the lowest step of the bus, leaning on the doorframe, and studying his phone. His hair, glossy and dark, shone in the afternoon sun. It hung not in the spikes Len was accustomed to, but shiny and flat and dangling across his forehead and into his eyes. His lean body, from this distance, looked toned and fit in the dark blue Henley and skinny jeans.
Len stopped in his tracks.
“Hey?” Trevor’s magical voice sounded in his ear. “Where are you?”
Len stared. He looked so good, relaxed, where he watched a small flock of pigeons skitter about the basketball court, pecking at the shells of sunflower seeds the kids had left behind.
“Lenny?” Trevor asked softly.
“Yeah. I—” Len swallowed hard. “I’m here. You look good.”
Trevor lifted his head and looked around and spotted Len almost instantly. His face lit up, a grin splitting his features, as they made eye contact.
“What are you doing, asshole?” Trevor asked happily. “Get over here.” He cut the call and stuffed the phone into his pocket as he jumped from the last step of the bus to the ground. With a flurry of muffled sounds, the pigeons flew up into the thin fall sky and disappeared.
Len remained rooted to the sidewalk, phone still at his ear. A second later it was snatched from his hand. Someone gave him a firm shove in the small of his back. “Go,” Stan’s firm familiar voice commanded. And then Trevor was grabbing him in a tight, breath-stealing hug.
“Missed you so much,” Trevor whispered. “God. It’s good to see you. You look good. Strong”—all of it breathed in his ear under a catch in Trevor’s voice.
Len clung. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he grasped and held on to Trevor like a little kid to his long-lost brother. Because maybe that’s sort of what they were in some ways. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said nothing.
Behind Trevor the bus rumbled to life and rolled down the street toward the house.
“Whenever you boys are ready, come back to the house.” Stan’s low, steady voice grounded Len, and he managed a nod, though he didn’t loosen his hold on Trevor or lift his head from where he’d buried his face in his neck. He was happy to stay right where he was for a little while longer.
33
“WHY DO you wipe it off right after you’ve put it on?” Kilmer tilted his head to examine the handrail Tanner was working on. A week after Thanksgiving, Kilmer was once more helping Tanner work on his house in small bits when he could get away from the busy fall flurry of chores at the ranch.
“The longer you leave the stain on, the more of the color penetrates the wood, and the darker your piece is. If we’re going to match that pale gray we looked at for the siding of your house, this has to be pretty light. Otherwise the whole thing will look muddy and shadowy from the street.” Tanner was practically whispering over the wood, like he might disturb the process if he talked too loud. He ran a hand over the other handrail, which had had time to dry. “This way, your phlox in the beds along the walk melds with the overall tone as well. Everything sort of goes together and nothing jumps out like the vinyl window casings do now.”
“Well. Won’t they jump out after too?” Kilmer frowned.
“Not as much. It would be nice if they weren’t so stark, but they’re in good shape so it doesn’t make sense to change them really. It’s a lot to spend for aesthetics, and you won’t get the value back when you sell.”
That brought Kilmer’s head up. He hadn’t thought about selling in some time. In fact he couldn’t remember when selling the house had stopped being the goal. In the weeks since his accident, he’d gone to see the therapist almost a half-dozen times. She’d been happy with his progress and backed his visits off to about every ten or twelve days. He was happy with that. He didn’t feel quite so on edge now as he had.
Absently he rubbed at his throat, still a little surprised not to encounter the chain, but he dropped his hand when Tanner’s gaze fixed on his fingers. “I suppose” was all Kilmer said.
“Was that about selling the house? Or something else? Like maybe Christmas?” Tanner asked, lifting a chin to indicate the absent chain and Kilmer’s aborted search for it.
“Christmas?”
“Yes.” He turned his attention back to the handrail. “Thanksgiving was nice. Your friends are great—”
“Len’s friends really. I was just the facilitator. He needed his people.”
“It was a good thing you did.”
“Sure,” Kilmer muttered.
“Sorry?” Tanner lifted his face, a frown marring his features. “I didn’t catch that.”
“I said sure,” Kilmer repeated, unnecessarily loudly since Tanner was looking at him now.
Tanner lifted one eyebrow.
“Sorry.”
“You’re on edge,” Tanner told him, like Kilmer hadn’t been aware of the tension mounting by the moment as they talked. So many touchy subjects. The house. The holidays. Vance returning and Len no longer needing him.
“Hey.” Tanner had put down his rag and can of stain. “Look at me.”
Kilmer did because it was an easy command to obey. It gave him something to focus on.
“That’s better. Now.” He placed a hand on the side of Kilmer’s neck, fingers brushing his nape. “One thing at a time, yeah?”
With a small nod, Kilmer licked his lips. “Just thinking. About Vance coming home. Len will be okay then.”
“Of course he will, and so will you.”
“I’ll be a third wheel out there. So Christmas…. It’ll be weird.”
“Has it ever been weird before?”
“Well, no, but last year I was with Jacko. Len wasn’t around before that.”
Tanner took a small step closer to him. “And now you’re not with Jacko.” He gazed, unflinching, into Kilmer’s eyes. “Are you?” His fingers roved over the place where the chain used to sit, though he didn’t break eye contact.
Kilmer shook his head.
Tanner waited, silent, staring.
“I’m with… you?” he said at last.
“You’re not sure?”
They hadn’t really talked about it much since that day at Kilmer’s house when Tanner had basically manhandled him to a standstill and told him he had to get his shit together before they could be anything other than bandmates and maybe friends. Of course that hadn’t stopped either of them from shooting sizzling looks at each other. Hadn’t stopped the hand-holding or limited the amount of time they spent together. It had only stopped the sex. It hadn’t even really curbed the dynamic that held Kilmer in a practical trance, awaiting Tanner’s release from that stare.
“I’m sure,” he said at last. “I’m with you.” For you. Anything you want.
“Good.” Tanner smiled, and it was a possessive, hungry expression that had Kilmer’s blood pounding in his ears and his dick scraping against the inside of his Jockeys. “I wondered if you would be spending it at the ranch. Since Vance will be home and everything. Not that I get to have an opinion. I just want to know.”
Kilmer hadn’t really thought about it. After spending the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend with the members of Firefly, he was a little bit shell-shocked. They were a rowdy, intense bunch, and Len had needed a lot of decompression time after Trevor and Stan, and Alice and her daughter had left. The other band members hadn’t gone back to the city yet. They spent quite a bit of time at the ranch in the sound studio, but Len often sought Kilmer out in the barn, hid there with him and the horses, just to catch his breath and remind himself he was okay.
But Christmas. He hadn’t even thought about it.
“I’ll probably just….” Just what?
Tanner watched him, dark eyes penetrating.
“I mean. It’s been a couple of months for them. I don’t want to intrude, you know? Vance is coming home for American Thanksgiving and spending it through New Year’s with Len. I’ll see him sometime during all that. But probably not Christmas. That’s….”
“Sure.” Tanner nodded and turned his attention back to the wood he was staining. “Makes sense.”
“What about you? Do you have plans?”
“Not really. Mom’s partner is American, so she’s celebrating everything with him down south. She didn’t even come home for Thanksgiving.”
Kilmer thought about Thanksgiving with Tanner. It had been chaotic and happy, and he’d wanted desperately to kick them all out and spend the night with Tanner alone. But the band had all gone back to the ranch and Kilmer had promised Vance he would be at Len’s side as long as they stuck around. He wouldn’t go back on that promise.
They would all be gone soon, though. They had their own families to spend the holidays with, and when Vance returned, he would want his space to himself. Well. Himself and Len and their little ranch family. Kilmer wasn’t sure exactly where he fit in that anymore.
Even spending Thanksgiving Day with Tanner, eating turkey in his house, acting like the host because his sort-of-boyfriend had provided the venue had felt like a milestone of some sort. Wasn’t it? Holidays together? It felt like an important thing. His breath caught and he pressed a palm to his chest, for an instant worried his lungs would refuse to work.
Tanner stood and rested a hand on his bicep. “You okay there, Tex?”
Pulling in a deep breath that smelled of sawdust and pungent wood stain, plaster and paint, Kilmer nodded. “Yeah.” He breathed deep again. “I’m good.”
Tanner’s gaze never left his face. He was analyzing something, and the warmth in his eyes maybe meant he liked what he’d figured out.
“Looks like I got a little less to lose than you, Tex.”
Kilmer dragged in some air and frowned. “Meaning?”
“I’ll put it out there. I want to spend the holidays wherever you are. If I can. If you’ll let me.”
“Let you?”
Tanner smiled. “Don’t you get it yet? This is all you now. You know what I want. It hasn’t changed because we had to slow down some. I won’t change my mind. You need to know that.”
“You don’t know how long it might take me to get my shit together.”
“Listen to me.” He cupped both hands around Kilmer’s face and stared into his eyes. “I don’t care how long it takes. This isn’t a conditional offer. It isn’t a test. You said we’re together. You chose me as your boyfriend.” He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for confirmation, and Kilmer nodded as much as he could with his face in Tanner’s hands. “And maybe as more.” Tanner’s voice dropped into a low growl, and Kilmer’s heart raced.
He nodded again. “I hope so.”
“So do I. So then, you have work to do. I can be patient. I can wait and be whatever it is you need me to be.”
Kilmer’s heart thudded heavily in his chest. It wasn’t what he was used to. Jacko would never have consented to being what Kilmer needed. It had been the other way around. Vance… well. He was Vance. He was what he was, and it worked for Len obviously. It had never been quite the right fit for Kilmer, and nothing Kilmer had done had wedged him into the place in Vance’s life that he thought he ought to occupy.
Tanner lowered his hands and watched Kilmer carefully. “What are you thinking?”
“I should fit you.”
But even as he was speaking, Tanner was shaking his head. “Jacko has some very antiquated ideas about the lifestyle. Not saying they’re wrong. Just saying he should have realized a long time ago that what he wanted and what you wanted were worlds apart.”
“I should have realized—”
“Tex, you need to realize that what you missed in that relationship—I mean, what you didn’t see was something you were never taught to look for, and it started a long time before you were ever old enough to look for it romantically. I don’t know your family. I only know what you’ve told me. But maybe, if what you said was true, you’ve been searching a long time for someone who sees you and sees that who you are is enough. If you ask me, that search starts in the mirror, and I think maybe you’re starting to understand that.”
Once more Kilmer nodded.
“So then, you and me, we’re in this together. However long it takes.”
Kilmer had to smile at that. “I guess so.” Hope so.
34
THE STOOL, which normally sat in the corner of the living room so a person could play guitar and watch the world outside the picture window, had been relocated to the far end of the room. In its place was a live pungent evergreen adorned with glass balls and colorful twinkling LED lights. Tanner stood back, feet lost in the mounds of tissue paper and empty boxes that had held the ornaments, and crossed his arms.
“I think there’s a bare spot down on the left side,” he mused, waving one hand at the tree and frowning.
From his bed, also displaced from its usual spot under the window, the dog tipped his head at Tanner, whined softly in his throat, and plunked his muzzle down on his paws.
“I agree with the dog,” Kilmer grumbled. “You’re just obsessing now.”
“It has to be perfect.”
Kilmer kicked clouds of tissue aside so he could stand behind Tanner, fold his arms around his waist, and rest his chin on his shoulder. “It is perfect.”
“Unbalanced.”
Kilmer gave Tanner’s ear a tiny nip. “Like your boyfriend.”
“Stop it.”
Kilmer grinned. “I mean it only in the most affectionate way.”
Kilmer knew Tanner didn’t understand Kilmer’s self-deprecation in this area. He showed his displeasure and confusion over it often enough. But for Kilmer to say out loud that he wasn’t always perfectly balanced and calm was a huge step. He’d spent so much of his time trying to meld himself into whatever he thought the people around him needed, to be the perfect son, the perfect ranchhand, the perfect boyfriend or sub, it was a relief to admit that he wasn’t any of those things. It was a relief to say it and know it was okay. That Tanner might not agree with him all the time, but that he didn’t have to.
“Come here,” Tanner said, taking his hand. He led him toward the back of the house and the hall to the bedrooms.
“Where are we going?”
