Beyond the Footlights, page 4
The only thing he had cared about was Jacko. Now that Jacko was gone, he thought seriously about selling the place. It was too far from the ranch anyway, and with Vance going on tour soon, Kilmer would more than likely stay in the big house and base his work out of the office. He would stay in the spare room on the main floor, and if Len didn’t want to cook for him, he knew the housekeeper, Maggie, would.
She’d already made a precedent when he stayed there of washing his clothes for him and tidying his room while he was in the barn. He’d protested the treatment years ago but given up the fight. The woman loved to clean and look after people. She loved her family, which consisted of a daughter, Janet, and a granddaughter, Katie; she adored her adopted sons, of which Kilmer was just one. She fussed over Vance and Len, obviously, but also the ranch’s other permanent hand, Patrick, even while she pretended to scold Janet for her interest in him. Maggie alone made it entirely too easy for Kilmer to pretend he belonged here.
“You have to go back eventually,” Vance said on Friday morning. “Either to make sure he left his key, or to change the locks.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Kilmer kept his attention on the front paddock. He was looking through the office’s big picture window, watching Patrick teach Len how to train his enormous puppy-dog of a Clydesdale, Krall. The sweetly dispositioned horse was a little dumber than most but affectionate and kind. Still, Len needed more training than the horse did.
Vance was poring over ledgers and didn’t look up. “It’s your home,” he said absently.
Kilmer shook his head. “It’s a house. This is my—” Shit.
He saw Vance’s reflected image as the singer lifted his head. “Kil.”
“I know, I know.” Kilmer lifted both hands, one clamped tight around his work gloves so the fingers stuck out at all angles like a strangled troll doll. “This isn’t my home. But neither is that house.” He turned from the spectacle of Len laughing and squeezing his eyes shut as Krall nibbled at his unruly red curls. “I gotta get back to work.” He headed for the door without making eye contact.
“Kilmer.” Vance stood and said his name with such authority, Kilmer didn’t have a chance of ignoring it or pretending he didn’t hear. He stopped in the doorway but kept his back to his friend. “Of course this is your home. We’re family, man. You know you can stay as long as you need to.”
Kilmer nodded.
“But you can’t just leave the house sittin’ empty.”
“I’m gonna sell it.”
“Don’t decide that right now.”
“I think I can make my own mind up about that at least,” Kilmer said, whipping around to glare at Vance but feeling like shit because Vance was only trying to help.
“Not when you’re this hurt. Not about that.”
“I don’t want to live there.”
“I’ll need you here for a few months anyway,” Vance said coolly. He flipped the ledgers closed and dropped his pen onto the top of the pile. “So find a student or someone to rent the house to. The tour starts in just over a month. I’ll be gone for a few months before it’s Christmas, and then I’m gone again till spring. You and I have a buttload of work to do. Besides the day-to-day runnin’, I want to go over breedin’ schedules, decide what to do with the yearlin’s, and get a few animals ready for auction. Then there’s plantin’ plans to make for spring an’ hirin’ for the harvest an’—”
“I know how to run a ranch, Van.”
Vance grinned. “I know you do. So you know I need you close right now, because all that damn paperwork has to happen after the animals are looked to.”
Kilmer smiled and shook his head. “Yeah, Van, all right. I get it. I’ll go into town this weekend, clean the place up, and put out an ad.” He straightened out his gloves and started putting them on. “And thanks,” he said, keeping his eyes on the task of getting the soft leather nicely snug over his fingers. “I appreciate it, you know.”
“And maybe you should think about a few other things,” Vance suggested.
Kilmer eyed him. “Like?”
Vance slid his hands too casually into his back pockets. “You played a guitar lately?”
Kilmer shrugged, remembering the wreck Vance had been when he’d neglected his music in favor of piecing Len back together after his removal from Firefly.
“Why’d you stop?” Vance asked. “I don’t think I’ve heard a lick o’ music outta you in years.”
He shrugged again. He wasn’t a career musician or anything. Not like the rest of them, but he was a decent bass player, and occasionally the bar’s house band was looking for someone to fill in. Jacko hadn’t openly opposed him playing, but any time he’d landed a spot onstage at the local bar, it hadn’t panned out for one reason or another. Jacko had always had a better idea for the nights in question, and through neglect and distraction, Kilmer’s playing had dwindled to mostly nothing. He hadn’t really noticed until now.
“Think about that,” Vance said.
Kilmer sighed. “I didn’t stop. Not exactly. I just… didn’t have time. Between here and Jacko, it just, sort of…. I got out of the habit.”
“Jacko should know better, Kil. He’s a musician too.”
“He hasn’t played much lately either,” Kilmer said.
“Then maybe he should think on it too, but that’s his lookout. I care about you. There’s a guitar here.” He pointed to the one on a stand behind the desk. “Welcome to it any time. And use the studio. There’s a bass or two there. Use whatever you want.”
“I’m not like you, Van.” Kilmer smiled at him. “I don’t need it like water. I played for you because you needed a bassist. It ain’t in my blood like for you.”
“You’d be surprised. You let it go without thinkin’, and then when you get it back, it’s like you haven’t had enough oxygen for years.” He sounded a bit faraway, and Kilmer studied him. He did look wistful, and Kilmer realized how very important this upcoming road trip was. Vance might be anxious about leaving Len for so long, but he needed the music and the performance and the crowds and the lights as much as he needed his lover.
Kilmer remembered performing but not like that. When he had played bass for Vance, it was back in Texas mostly, in bars and clubs and at festivals. It had been fun and exciting, but he didn’t miss it.
“I’ll think about it, Van,” he promised. “I will.”
Vance nodded. “Good. Because I worry.”
Kilmer chuckled. “Yeah. I know.”
“We’re family,” Vance said again, and Kilmer could hear the dismissive shrug in his voice, like the fact was so obvious it shouldn’t need to be said.
Kilmer was glad he said it, though. He liked hearing it.
WHILE HE was driving his beat-up old hatchback from ranch to house that evening, he clung to Vance’s proclamation. He imagined every kind of unnerving scenario he might find at his house. With sudden horror, he remembered the dog and hoped Jacko took the poor thing with him. It wasn’t like Jacko to be that cruel, but there was no predicting the man these days.
Or maybe Jacko hadn’t moved out. Maybe he was still there, patiently waiting for Kilmer to return and pick up where they had left off. Kilmer had to be strong enough to end it again if that happened, but he wasn’t so sure he could.
Or maybe Jacko had no intention of trying again and he once more had another man in his bed.
Kilmer tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he pulled to a stop at the first red light leading into town. If he found yet another man in his house, he didn’t know if he could keep from losing his shit. Maybe he should have taken one of… well, everyone up on the offer to come with him.
Vance and Len had suggested the three of them have dinner in town and then they would go to the house with him. He declined. He didn’t want to take any more of the couple’s private time than he had to. Once Vance was on tour, Len would be at the ranch alone. Kilmer knew neither of them were looking forward to the separation.
Patrick had offered to ride in with him, but Kilmer dodged that idea by convincing Patrick he needed him on the ranch to supervise the seasonal men while he was gone over the weekend. Even Maggie suggested she could go for him and clean the place.
He could never take advantage of her generosity that way. So he went alone, and now he sat cursing quietly under his breath while the car behind him honked for him to move. The light had turned and he hadn’t noticed.
He cruised slowly through town, dreading the final approach. If the house was dark and empty, there would be no going back. He didn’t want to find Jacko there and he didn’t want to see he’d gone. He was screwed.
The house was on the far side of the tiny town center. He passed the closed shops and darkened town hall, and the block of restaurants and bars. Well, one restaurant, called Eats, a coffee shop, a fast-food dive, and two bars. Not exactly a thriving metropolis, though it was all within walking distance of his front door.
One of the bars had a good reputation for its new house band, a country act with a lead singer who apparently could melt butter with his voice and was very easy on the eyes. Kilmer glanced at the marquee as he passed and noted that Down Home was playing their first set in an hour. He was tempted, but he kept going. He had come for a reason. He had to know.
He rolled into his drive and sat behind the wheel. The house was dark. It looked empty and sad. With a sigh, he shut off the car and got out, poked through his key ring for his house key, and headed up the walk. The flowers on either side spilled over the concrete and were backed by taller summer phlox, which he gently brushed with the fingertips of one hand. The delicate scent wafted up and he twitched his lips.
He’d found this older variety through an enthusiastic neighbor across the street and planted them because he loved that smell. Jacko had sat on the porch watching, not speaking—they’d done a lot of not speaking lately, but a year ago, Kilmer still felt protected under his gaze.
He sighed. Had it been a fucked-up response to the way Jacko had treated him the rest of the time? He didn’t know anymore. He mounted the stairs to the porch. The motion-sensor light came on, illuminating the porch and showing him the keyhole. He slid the key into the deadbolt. It tumbled over with a metallic clank, and he pushed the door open.
“Hello?”
The house breathed back at him, silent.
“Jacko?”
Nothing.
“Dog!” He took a step inside and gazed through his kitchen’s gloom. There was enough ambient light left from the setting sun to show him the view to the hallway and across the low wall to the living room. The place looked largely undisturbed. Had Jacko even been back?
Then he spied the empty shelves on the entertainment unit that had been bursting with CDs above and guitar paraphernalia below. All that remained were the lines of dust, smudged when the items were removed. The dog’s dishes and bed were gone from the kitchen floor.
“Well, shit.” His eyes burned and he swallowed. That was that, then.
He stepped out of the house, locked the door again, and turned away. For a long time, he stood staring at nothing, uncertain if he should get back in the car and return to the ranch or go inside. He didn’t think driving was a great idea. He’d managed not to kill himself once while driving under the influence of this crushing disappointment. He didn’t think he should tempt fate.
He didn’t want to go inside either. He jingled his keys, glanced down the road in both directions, and finally turned his feet toward the main drag and the bar. There would be music and beer. Maybe he could request some country heartache song to fit his mood. He could get there without the car and stumble home again, drunk enough that getting into his empty bed wouldn’t shatter what was left of his heart.
THOUGH THE lighting was low enough to disguise it, the bar was dingy and in need of repairs. Kilmer knew that. He ate lunch there often enough, and dinner too, when Jacko wasn’t around. Well, he guessed that would be always, now. He stopped just inside the door and wondered if he dared find oblivion in a bottle on the eve of quite possibly becoming a regular customer. Was that really the kind of impression he wanted to make?
“Hey.”
Kilmer started at the jog of his elbow.
“Dude.”
He looked up.
Every muscle tensed while every organ liquefied. A thunder of embarrassment shook him to his core at the sight of this man who had stopped him. He’d expected this reaction if he ran into Jacko, but this guy?
Steeling himself to get the shaking under control, he managed a stiff nod. “Rocky, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, dude, that’s right.” He looked uncertain, and Kilmer suddenly wondered if the guy even knew his name.
Hating the way Rocky’s appearance threw him off-balance, Kilmer felt his face heat. His hands shook. His pulse was so loud in his ears he couldn’t hear anything else, including whatever else Rocky said. No. He wasn’t staying. Not if this guy was here. Fuck the luck of living in a shitting small town anyway. He turned to leave, but a hand clamped around his arm.
“Wait, dude.”
If this shit called him “dude” one more time, he was going to start swinging.
“I mean it, man,” Rocky said, looking earnest and embarrassed and suddenly very, very young.
“Mean what?” Kilmer shook himself and managed to meet the guy’s eyes. Rocky reminded Kilmer a lot of Patrick, who was good to the core but young and stupid when it came to his feelings for Janet. He did ridiculous things to get her to notice him, never realizing she was just as smitten. It was fun to watch the slow courtship. Kilmer wished to hell and back this kid did not have that very same honest, open, and at the moment devastated face.
“Can we talk outside?” he asked, tugging Kilmer’s arm slightly and bobbing his head toward the street. “It’s so loud in here.”
And it was. The house music blared “Beer for My Horses” with everyone taking up the refrain. The bar itself was shoulder to shoulder farmers in for one last beer before the call of early-morning chores—or their wives—led them to bed. Kilmer glanced with longing at the anonymity of the crowd but followed Rocky out into the parking lot, then across the street where it was quieter.
“I mean,” Rocky said as he turned to face Kilmer, “you’re okay, right, dude? I didn’t know it would go down like that.”
“He didn’t tell you about me?”
Rocky shifted his weight from one foot to the other and scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Well, yeah. He did. He said you were working. You’d be back late.”
“So you were a quickie while I was out, is that it?” Why the fuck did the kid want to tell him that? Someone who wanted to gloat might be doing this, but Rocky was so supremely uncomfortable, Kilmer doubted this was about reveling in someone else’s loss.
“Not really. I told him I was only okay with it if you were cool with sharing. He said it wasn’t that kind of partnership. He reminded me he’s the Dom, right, and if he wanted to”—he blush a fierce red—“well… you know, it was his business, and you knew your place.” The poor kid looked like he wished the ground would swallow him. Why the hell was he putting himself and Kilmer through this excruciating confrontation? “I figured you two had an agreement.”
Did they? Kilmer had thought so. But he thought the agreement was that Jacko would keep him in the loop, let him be part of the decision to add a third. Jacko obviously had a different interpretation of their contract. Or something else was going on in his head; he’d forgotten or, worse, age or illness was messing with his brain. For the first time in all this, Kilmer wondered if Jacko’s increasingly uncharacteristic behavior was maybe not completely under his control.
“You didn’t?” Rocky sounded so young and unsettled. The distress in his voice brought Kilmer back to his current problem.
“Look, kid—Rocky. It was shitty. Be glad you learned this lesson from the perspective you did, because I’ll tell you now, it sucks a whole lot more from mine.”
Kilmer didn’t think it possible that the guy’s face could get any redder. “If I’d known how things were between you, I never would have….”
Kilmer waited. “Let my boyfriend fuck you?” he offered at last.
“I wasn’t the only one with a cock up my ass that night,” Rocky said in a tiny voice. His chin had lowered. For a big guy, he managed to become very small and vulnerable with that stance. When he gazed up through his lashes, he only heightened that impression.
He had his hands shoved into his pockets and was contorted into a space too tight and cramped to contain him. He looked like he was trying to make himself less, to go back in time to before he was the kind of guy who maybe might have screwed another guy who didn’t want to get screwed.
“Oh fuck.” Kilmer’s gut dropped out and his knees wobbled. The kid thought—what did he think? “Hey.” He touched Rocky’s shoulder. “It isn’t like that, okay?”
Rocky swallowed hard.
“It’s so fucking complicated.” He glanced around, but they were completely alone. How was he going to explain this? What had Jacko done? Not just ruined their relationship, but he’d fucked up this kid’s sense of who he was and what he wanted. God. When had Jacko become that guy? How had he? Kilmer remembered him being a strong, capable Dom. A caring man. What had happened, and how had he not seen it?
“Rocky, look, man, you gotta let this go. It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was my cock,” he whispered. “And I’m so sorry. I never meant—I wouldn’t have—I would never—”
“Stop.” Kilmer took him by the arm and led him to a bench at the edge of the sidewalk. He guided the big man down and sat beside him.
“Jacko and I obviously had problems. Bigger ones than maybe I even knew. Maybe—” He sighed. “I don’t even know. But what happened, what you did, it was exactly what he wanted, and I was perfectly capable of saying no. I probably should have, but I made the decision not to. If anyone needs to be apologizing between you and me, it’s me. Not you. You were in a terrible position, and you did what he trained you to do.”
