Beyond the Footlights, page 5
Pink once again flooded Rocky’s cheeks, confirming Kilmer’s suspicion that Rocky hadn’t gotten that obedient in one night. Just another piece of the puzzle of the shattered relationship, Kilmer guessed.
“I don’t know how long you’ve been seeing him, but you should know I broke it off. He moved out. I don’t know where he went.”
Rocky shook his head. “Me either.”
“He hasn’t been in touch?”
“Just to say he needed some time to sort things out.”
Should Kilmer be worried? Should he even care? Stupid. Of course he was worried. Jacko had been a good Dom—a great one in fact—when they’d started out.
“I don’t know where he is either,” he said, bringing his attention back to the devastated man at his side. “It’s been almost a week since I spoke to him.” He laid a hand on Rocky’s thick thigh. “If you want my advice, let him stay away.”
Rocky shoved his hand off. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned—”
“I am. But he’s a grownass man. And he hurt us both. And until you figure out why you did what you did, why you ignored your instincts and followed his rule, then you need to be careful.”
Rocky jumped to his feet, a horrified expression on his face. “So I don’t rape someone else, you mean?”
Kilmer sighed and yanked the kid back down. “I told you it wasn’t like that. I knew what I was doing, and I accepted it. I ignored my instincts too. But I was so caught up in myself I didn’t consider how that might affect you. But then, he’s the Dom and he should have considered it. The fact that he didn’t is on him. He agreed to keep you safe and he didn’t, any more than he did me. Nobody was hurt physically, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t hurt. If Jacko is that messed up that he let it happen, on purpose or not—and I won’t believe he’d do it on purpose—then he needs to get his shit together before he hurts someone else. Do you get that?”
There was a long, awkward silence in which Kilmer ignored the sniffling going on next to him, instead focusing his attention on the people leaving the bar across the road. Finally Rocky nodded his head, though it hung very low.
“Good.” He hesitated, then patted Rocky’s shoulder, the touch brief and awkward, before he dropped his hand back to his own lap. “I don’t think you’re a bad guy, Rocky. And I don’t think you did anything wrong. Like I said, I could have stopped it, and it’s as much on me as you that we let it go that far. Understanding why it happened is the only way to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Rocky nodded and swiped the back of one hand under his nose. “Yeah.”
More silence. It stretched out for a minute. Then five. Then ten. More people left the bar, waving to one another and hopping into pickups, most which headed out of town toward farm country.
“So… why did you?” Rocky finally asked.
Kilmer groaned, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to get up and leave about sixty seconds ago. Fuck me. “If I knew that, maybe I wouldn’t be single now.”
Rocky gave a soft, wet laugh. “This was supposed to be easy.”
“What was?”
Rocky heaved his beefy shoulders up into a shrug. They fell again and he leaned his elbows onto his knees. “I thought… I could just… I don’t know. I like giving head and getting fucked. I like making guys bliss out on one too many orgasms.” There was a faint wisp of longing in his voice. “I mean, shit, dude, what guy wouldn’t jump at the chance of having their own sex slave to get them off whenever, wherever, right? It should be easy to find a guy who wants that.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Kilmer wanted to shake the stupid young man, and he wanted to wall him off in a safe room where he wouldn’t get his heart ripped out, and he wanted to punch him in the face. “Of course it’s easy to find a guy who wants that. The trick is findin’ the guy who will take care of you while you’re takin’ care of him.”
“I can take care of myself.” Now he just sounded petulant and Kilmer turned to face him.
“You listen to me, kid, because this is important.” He waited until Rocky lifted his gaze from where he’d been picking at the calluses on his palms. “What happened, that was because you couldn’t take care of yourself that night, not right then, and that’s the whole fuckin’ point of this exchange in the first place. You give up lookin’ after yourself for that amount of time you’re in his hands, and he has to keep you safe. If you felt he’d done that, you wouldn’t be feeling like you do right now. He let us both down. And we let ourselves down. It’s a pile of shit, but you have got to understand, that if you’re really goin’ to submit to someone, you have to know and trust them enough to believe that sort of shit won’t happen. You get me?”
Rocky stared at him a moment. “It happened to you and he was your boyfriend. So how does that figure?”
Kilmer sighed. “I desperately wanted that to be true,” he admitted. “But that was my mistake. He was my Dom, not my boyfriend. I wanted somethin’ he couldn’t give me, and he didn’t have the words to tell me no. We’d been together long enough, maybe he wanted it to be true too, and we hung on too long, wishin’—I don’t even know. Wishin’ we could be in love maybe. Or me wishin’ that and him wishin’ I could accept my place. Maybe that night he thought I had. Maybe I wanted him to think that so I could screw him over by lettin’ him think he was commandin’ what wasn’t his anymore. Seein’ the look on his face when he realized….” Kilmer looked up at the silent Rocky. “I’m sorry, man. Rocky. I’m sorry I did that, ’cause I got no right usin’ you to hurt him. That was shitty of me.”
Rocky continued to stare.
“What?”
“When did you get an accent?”
“What?” Kilmer heard the way the word drew out into a Texan mouthful and grimaced. He usually kept the Texan to a minimum unless he was with Vance, drunk, tired, or overly emotional. Vance was nowhere in sight and he certainly wasn’t drunk nor any more tired than usual after a normal hard day’s work. He twisted the side of his mouth into the best approximation of a grin he could muster. “Oh. That.” He shrugged. “Always been Texan. Transplanted, I guess. Sometimes I sound it more than other times.”
Rocky nodded. “Huh. It’s sexy.”
“Oh, fuck that.” Kilmer barely refrained from pushing his ass into the far corner of the bench.
Rocky laughed, albeit soggily. “Nah, dude. Been there. Done that. I think we’re over it. Gonna be a while before I share like that again.”
“Yeah, okay.” He heaved in a deep breath and let it out. It felt like the first time he’d done that in weeks. “Good. Okay.” He glanced toward the bar entrance. “You want—”
“Nah. I’m gonna head out. I think I need some me time.” He fished a cell out of his pocket and texted with flying precision that fingers that thick should not have been able to accomplish. “He’s gonna be pissed, but oh well.”
Kilmer lifted a brow. “Date?”
“Nah. Gig.” He made a few fast swipes at the air, like he was holding drumsticks. “One-nighter this week since the band’s in a mess with Jacko AWOL.”
“Excuse me?”
Rocky frowned at him. “What?”
“What does Jacko have to do with your band?”
“He played bass. For Down Home.” He took a small step back. “You didn’t know?”
“I….”
“Dude, we played at least every other weekend for months now. Practiced a few times a week.” He paused and a look of pity flashed across his features. “You had no idea.”
“No.” It explained a lot, though. His many late nights, all the sleeping in, his distraction. He’d picked up his music again, as well as a hot younger man. Somehow, that Jacko had been playing and hadn’t shared that with Kilmer seemed like an even greater betrayal than Rocky. At least there had always been the possibility of a Rocky written into their contract. Kilmer had set aside his music to give Jacko more of his time. Jacko had done the opposite.
“Anyway,” Rocky said, voice careful, “Tanner can handle it on his own. He’ll do some of his original a cappella shit and some acoustic covers. Though he’ll be plenty pissed when I see him next.”
“Sure.” He should have known. Jacko always did like screwing the talent.
It disturbed him mightily, though, that he hadn’t known Jacko was playing again. When had that started?
Rocky got to his feet. “So. I’ll see you around, dude.”
He needed to stop calling Kilmer “dude.” “Yeah. I guess.”
Rocky grinned, and while the expression could easily be a cocky one, this time, it seemed genuine. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“This helped,” Rocky said, waving at the bench. “It helped a lot.”
Kilmer pursed his lips but nodded. “Yeah. I guess it did.” It helped him understand a bit of the why, he supposed while he watched Rocky cross the street and disappear down a side alley. But it wasn’t any help with facing the empty house on his own. Sighing, he got to his feet and hoped there would be space at the bar now.
4
THE BAR was still humming, though it wasn’t as busy as it had been. Most of the farmers had gone home. Only a few diehards remained, nursing tumblers of whatever their favorite poison was.
Kilmer pulled up a seat at the end of the bar closest to the small stage. If Jacko had been playing in this house band, he was more than a little curious. Now Kilmer had a face to put to the drummer and the guitar player, he wanted to know more about the front man.
He ordered a beer and sat back to await the first set.
Ten minutes later a rugged-looking man in jeans with holes in the knees mounted the stage. He wore a T-shirt, covered by a flannel rolled to his elbows to show off sinewy muscled forearms and a multitude of braided leather bands around one wrist. Another leather thong held a silver medallion at his throat. He was nowhere near as big and beefy as Rocky, but then drummers were often well muscled from the strenuous nature of their job. This guy had pleasantly broad shoulders and narrow hips, and there was a strong grace to every movement, which suggested the rest of him was as well put together as his furry forearms hinted.
By far his most striking feature was the mass of wavy, nearly waist-length dark hair hanging down his back.
He nodded to the crowd as he wrapped a hand around the mic, holding his guitar pick between two fingers. The guitar itself was slung upside down at his back. He flashed a bright smile, all the more whitewashed in contrast to his dark close-trimmed beard.
“Hey. Thanks for stickin’ around, folks. I know me up here on my own isn’t exactly what was billed, so I appreciate that. Seems the rest of the band has fucked off somewhere.” He winked. “Probably to fuck each other, but c’mon. We all saw that one comin’ a mile away. Huh?”
There was a nervous titter from the crowd and the singer sighed. “C’mon, folks. We’ve been out and proud since day one. Ain’t no surprise.”
“You gonna sing, Tanner?” someone yelled, and the crowd all turned to the bar, where the bartender was waving his cloth in the air. “Or you gonna talk us to death?”
Tanner grinned. “I’m gonna sing, sure. I got a few good old-fashioned drinkin’ songs to get this party started.”
With that he launched into a succession of Irish folk songs that soon had the crowd bellowing along with him and thumping their beer mugs to the “no-nay-never” chorus of one of the most popular. Even Kilmer had to grin and sing along to that one.
It reminded him sharply of his days playing and singing backup for Vance to just such crowds. He was surprised by how much he missed that suddenly. Vance’s earlier words came back to him. He found his fingers twitching to bass lines he could probably still play in his sleep.
Eventually the tone of the entertainment eased slightly, winding down just enough to encourage those inclined onto the dance floor when the canned house music came up. Tanner left the stage with a promise to return in half an hour. Kilmer turned back to the bar.
The rumors hadn’t been far off. Even on his own, Tanner was a good entertainer, a fair guitar player, and a decent singer. Kilmer wasn’t sure about the “voice like butter,” but then, drinking songs were hardly a test of a guy’s vocal abilities.
“Hey, Bob.”
A jostle to his shoulder made Kilmer turn. The stool next him had been empty. Now Tanner slid his fine ass onto it.
“Hey, Tanner,” Bob greeted him, touching his wrist, which brought Tanner’s attention up to his face. “Way to win them over. What the hell happened to the band, man?” Bob set a bottle of water in front of Tanner.
Tanner made a face. “Who the hell knows?”
Okay. So buttery voice? Check. A coil of tension in Kilmer’s gut loosened ever so slightly.
But Tanner kept talking. “Those two’ve been fucking around for weeks. My guess is they had a fight and bailed in different directions. Bastards.”
The coil twisted into a tight knot without warning. Weeks?
“What do you mean, weeks?” he asked without thinking, swiveling slightly on his stool to face the singer.
Tanner turned to him. “Who are you?”
Kilmer grimaced. “Was. Jacko’s….” He didn’t even know how to finish that sentence, so he left it.
Tanner grimaced right back. “Shit. Dude, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t call me that,” Kilmer said, the twist in his gut cementing into a lumpy ball.
“Sorry.” Tanner held out a hand. “Tanner Jones.”
After a moment Kilmer took the offer. “Kilmer Hennessey.”
“Look, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” Kilmer snapped. “I know what he was doin’. Forget it.” He really didn’t want to talk about it and saw no reason to put this guy in the middle of his personal business. “Sorry he ditched the gig. That was unprofessional.” And not like him at all. And why the ever-loving fuck am I apologizing for Jacko?
Tanner drew his brows down over his dark eyes. “He can be… difficult,” he said finally.
Kilmer snorted and downed the rest of his beer, indicating to Bob that he’d have another.
“Rocky liked his… well.”
“I bet he did,” Kilmer growled.
“Look, I’m just—something weird happened.”
“I know.”
“I mean they had some sort of fight, and Jacko had all his shit in his truck last rehearsal and he said he was taking some time. Rocky was pretty—I don’t know, man. You think Jacko did something to the kid?”
Kilmer sighed. Was he fishing? Or just looking out for his friends? “Somethin’ happened. I was there. It was nasty. Rocky’s okay. He needs a few days to settle. I have no idea about Jacko. I kicked him out and I don’t give a flyin’ fuck where he went.” He grabbed the beer Bob brought and polished it off in two long swigs, then asked for another. “So there, total stranger, is my love life on a platter.” He turned a searing gaze on Tanner. “Okay?”
Tanner glared right back. His jaw was set, and his brown eyes shot molten sparks at Kilmer that made his blood boil and his bones melt a little. “Look. I’m sorry about Jacko being a jerk. We’ve been working together since January to get this band going, and this isn’t like him. He’s my friend. They are both my friends. Don’t shit on me because they fucked you over. It wasn’t my fault.”
Kilmer swallowed. “Right.” It wasn’t Tanner’s fault. Of course it wasn’t. And the confirmation that Jacko was acting odd was a tsunami sort of relief. Overwhelming, but devastating. How long had Jacko been off and Kilmer been too wrapped up in his own selfish disappointments to notice?
“I’m sorry,” Kilmer mumbled, swigging at the next beer. “I am. Shouldn’t’a got snippy like that. I know it ain’t your fault. Ain’t mine or Rocky’s. Hell, f’r’all I know, it ain’t even Jacko’s.”
They sat in silence for a while, Tanner nursing his water and Kilmer making fairly short work of his third and most of his fourth beers.
“Look,” Tanner said at last, swiveling on his stool to face Kilmer. “I know this isn’t any of my business, but if he was going to screw around on you, don’t you think you’re better off?”
Kilmer shrugged as he picked at the label on his beer. “I have no idea anymore.”
Tanner waved at his ear. “Sorry?”
“Said I have no idea anymore.”
“You’re probably not going to figure it out at the end of a six-pack either,” Tanner pointed out, motioning to Kilmer’s nearly empty bottle.
Kilmer looked over at him. “You’re right. It ain’t your business.” He drank the last swallow of his beer and ordered another. Who was going to tell him no, anyway? Jacko had strict rules about alcohol, and for good reason. It didn’t mix with a scene, but that was hardly something Kilmer had to worry about now.
5
TANNER REMAINED on the barstool next to Kilmer until it was time to get back onstage. He wasn’t exactly sure why. He didn’t owe the guy a thing. Sure, he felt bad that Jacko had made such a mess. But it wasn’t Tanner’s business. Kilmer had flat-out told him so.
Yet Tanner remained where he was and didn’t move when Kilmer’s shoulder pressed to his or when Kilmer’s weight listed into him slightly. Why he felt he should hold the rapidly tanking man up in any way, he didn’t know. The guy was easy enough on the eyes, but Tanner knew a train wreck waiting to happen when he saw it.
He wasn’t moved by Kilmer’s sandy locks falling into his troubled blue eyes. Or the faint hint of a dimple that, at the moment, was flattened out by a sad frown. The muscled body leaning into him was not a factor either.
“I’m fucking delusional,” he muttered.
“Wha—?” Kilmer peered at him.
“Nothing. Man, you gotta sit up. I’m on in five.” He carefully settled Kilmer back onto his stool. “You gonna be okay?”
