Beyond the Footlights, page 7
Kilmer shuddered back to himself and the cold reality of his situation. He scrambled to his feet. “I gotta—” He glanced toward the rear of the house where the bedrooms and bathroom were.
Tanner nodded. “Shower.” He waved his other hand, extended by the length of a pair of tongs. “I have bacon on.”
“You’re making breakfast?” He stared at the tongs, then Tanner, then toward the kitchen on the other side of the low wall. “Why?” Did he even have bacon in the fridge? He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten here, let alone cooked anything.
“You need to eat. The speed you soaked up that booze last night makes me think it’s been a while since you had a real meal?”
Kilmer thought about it. “I—uh.”
“What I thought. Go clean up. I’ll wait to put the eggs on.”
“Why are you still here?” Kilmer asked.
“You need care,” Tanner said simply and walked around the counter to the stove. “Off you go.”
Like Kilmer was three, or helpless. Or had a beast of a hangover and a broken heart. Like he needed looking after.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“Go shower.”
Kilmer glanced at Jacko’s bass sitting on the kitchen table. He supposed if Tanner was going to walk off with any of his stuff, he would have started with that. He pulled in a deep breath, running a hand over the case as he passed, then shut himself in the bathroom.
TANNER LET out his breath as the bathroom door closed and locked. He had been sorely tempted to leave when the sun came up, but just a glance at the way Kilmer’s brows puckered and his lips turned down, and he hadn’t been able to walk out.
“Idiot. You do not want to be doing this.” He’d told himself that about a thousand times in the two hours he’d been up, but to no avail. He was still here. He was still worried. He still needed, in the deepest part of his soul, to help, to care, and make whatever this was right.
It wasn’t even about his attraction to Kilmer. Attraction he wouldn’t deny. That was a physical draw, easily ignored. It was the need—to mend the wound, fix the break, and heal the hurt—embedded in Tanner’s DNA that moved him. It awakened more strongly every time Kilmer looked into his eyes.
The shower came on after a few minutes. He turned the bacon. The place was otherwise silent. Tanner had not failed to notice the empty shelves in the living room. His curiosity tempted him to wander the house, if only to see what Jacko might or might not have left behind, but he managed to focus on not burning the bacon instead. A few minutes later, the shower shut off.
He thought he heard a door creak. Tanner risked a glance, only to see a flash of brilliant white towel and golden-fuzzed legs, and then the bedroom door closed.
Before long Kilmer reappeared, dressed in loose jeans and a thin, well-loved T-shirt.
Tanner turned to study him. He was pale, but that was understandable given his inebriation the night before. He had to still be feeling that. Tanner had hoped Kilmer finding himself back in his own home would help him shed some of that lost-puppy-dog look. Instead the bright sunshine coming in through the living room windows intensified his forlorn appearance. He said something quietly but remained in the doorway.
“Pardon?” Tanner asked gently.
“Said you don’t have to stay.” Kilmer leaned on the doorframe and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You don’t have to keep telling me that,” Tanner decided. He poured a mug of coffee and handed it to Kilmer. “Start with this. Bacon’s about done. I’ll get the eggs on. Think you can manage toast?”
Kilmer shrugged. “I have bread?”
Tanner turned back to his task. “Not any that wasn’t green and fuzzy. I picked up fresh from the farmer’s market while you were asleep, since I had to go pick up the dog anyway.” He jerked his head at the floor next to the stove.
“The dog.” Kilmer blinked at the animal, then at Tanner. “You had his dog?”
Tanner shrugged, searching for a neutral response. “He asked me to look after it.”
“Sure.” Kilmer’s throat worked. “Someone had to.” He shook himself, then turned his attention resolutely away from the animal. “What do I owe you for the food?” Kilmer patted his pockets and glanced around as if looking for his wallet.
“Nothing but a promise to choke down a little of my very mediocre cooking.”
Kilmer watched him for a few minutes but finally conceded to the deal. “You know this isn’t anything to do with you, right?” Kilmer asked. “You didn’t make them fuck each other. It just happened.”
“I know. I’m sorry it did.”
Kilmer said nothing but stared into the toaster as if the bread slowly darkening was the most fascinating thing.
THEY ATE out on the back patio, mostly in silence, while the dog roamed the yard, sniffing around the perimeter and looking sad. Asshole probably missed Jacko.
Kilmer showed his approval of Tanner’s sunny-side-up eggs and maple bacon by polishing off everything on his plate. Even if there were no toaster waffles. He felt a tiny bit more human for the food, because Tanner was right, he hadn’t eaten in too long. He tried very hard not to notice the look of satisfaction Tanner shot at his plate, then at him. He absolutely would not read anything into it, no matter how nice the man was being.
Once the food was gone and they were both nursing the last of the coffee, he brought up the elephant.
“How long did you know about Jacko and Rocky?” Kilmer asked.
Tanner sighed. “Shouldn’t you be having this conversation with Jacko?”
“Hard to do when he’s moved out and I don’t know where he went.”
Tanner sat forward. “He didn’t tell you?”
Kilmer tried but failed to dredge up a give-a-damn. “Nope.”
“Don’t you want to know?”
“Nope.”
“Jesus. How bad was it between you two?”
“Bad enough he was fuckin’ someone else and didn’t care if I found out. Or how I found out.”
“Shit.” Tanner sat back in his chair with a sigh. “That’s messed up. You know that, right?”
“You have no idea.” Kilmer couldn’t stomach another instant of the conversation or the coffee. He had a sudden and visceral certainty he did not want Tanner to know the full story of his discovery of Jacko’s and Rocky’s interactions. He got up, grabbed the pile of dishes, and headed for the kitchen.
“You want help with that?” Tanner asked, following.
“No, man, you can take off. I’m officially fed and was never your problem to begin with.”
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Tanner asked.
“I’m a grownass man, Tanner. I’ll be fine.” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice and turned abruptly to apologize. Tanner was on Kilmer’s heels and he just about dumped the plates at their feet in surprise.
“You know that even grown men get worked up enough to drink themselves into a stupor over lost love and broken hearts. It isn’t all that unusual.” He spoke so low, so soothingly, Kilmer could imagine melting into the words and actually letting the man….
What? Letting him what, you idiot? You don’t fuckin’ need another man. You only barely survived the last one.
“You need to stop.” Kilmer glared at him. “I don’t need care. I need to be left the fuck alone so I can clean this dump up and get it on the market and get on with my fucking life.” He slammed the dishes onto the counter with a clatter.
Tanner glanced around the little house and suddenly Kilmer could see it through a stranger’s eyes. With its dusty shelves, nicked doorframes, and chipped paint, it would take a fair amount of cosmetic finessing to get the place ready to be rented or sold. Kilmer wondered if he had the same look of neglect that lingered in every room.
“You know,” Tanner said, “I could use a day gig.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m a contractor. Handywork mostly. Interior fix-ups. I can do electrical—got a license for that—and simple plumbing. Woodwork, cabinetry, painting. Basic stuff. You want to get this place off your hands faster? Give me a job.”
“You just don’t get back off unless someone tattoos it across your forehead. Do you?”
Tanner grinned at him, making Kilmer step back from the blinding light of the expression. “Let’s just say I know when I see a guy who could use an impartial friend. And”—he waved a hand at the guitar still on the table—“you seem to know your way around the bass. I could use someone to replace the last jerk-off who seems to have cut out on me without notice.”
Play? He wants me to get onstage? Kilmer didn’t know what to do with that invitation, so he said nothing.
“I mean, last night you looked like you knew what to do with it. So I thought maybe….”
The frown that cranked Kilmer’s lips down must have been forbidding, because Tanner held up a hand and stopped talking.
“You don’t have any friends who could play?” Kilmer asked, trying to bide time to think.
Tanner shrugged. “Not handy like you.”
“You want me to get up onstage with Rocky?” Not that he had any real reservations about that. Rocky was a decent kid. He didn’t deserve to suffer the fallout of Jacko being a douche. In fact if that had been his first experience, Kilmer felt obligated to make sure he understood that wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Tanner shrugged. “If you think you can. I don’t think he’s a bad guy. Misguided. A little green. Probably a little shell-shocked at this point.”
“You think I should care how he feels?”
Tanner shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe just meet him. See for yourself he’s a good guy.”
“We’ve met,” Kilmer said, forcing his voice flat so as not to give anything away.
“Oh.” Tanner seemed to digest that. “I see.” He grimaced slightly. “Right. But… he’s not a bad kid. Give him a chance.”
Kilmer snorted. In his experience no one was this nice who didn’t want something. But then, he supposed Tanner had all his cards on the table, hadn’t he? He’d asked for a job and a bass player. If he was a half-decent handyman, then maybe Kilmer could get this damn house off his hands that much faster, and maybe even without having to spend a lot of time here. He didn’t have to go whole hog and play in his band. Probably.
He glanced at the bass and sighed. It had felt good to hold it last night. It had been a small window of calm in the evening, when he’d had the thing in his hands. Vance’s advice filtered through the hangover to spark in his brain, and he sighed.
“Fine,” he said at last. “You can help me fix the place up if you can start today and work tomorrow. Two-day trial. If I like your work, I’ll keep you.”
Tanner grinned fiercely, and the shock of it zapped Kilmer to stillness. He had so not just said he’d keep the guy. Had he?
“We’ll see who keeps who,” Tanner said softly. “I’ll be back in an hour.” And he was gone, out the front door and down the steps, before Kilmer found the sense God gave an inbred goat.
A moment later he was distracted by the dog nudging his nose into his palm, and he looked down at the beast. “What do you want?”
The dog wagged his tail, then sat down next to him to stare out the front door too. When Kilmer found himself fondling the mutt’s ears, he stopped, only to feel the weight of the animal against his leg. He scratched the top of his head but said nothing.
7
MIXED FEELINGS flooded Kilmer as he closed the front door. It was a relief not to have the near stranger scrutinizing his every move. He wandered to the kitchen to find a last cup of coffee in the carafe and deal with the breakfast dishes. On the other hand, the house was so still and silent. Breakfast had been good. The company had been awkward, but at least it was company.
“I’m losing my mind.” He sipped the almost-cold brew and leaned on the counter, staring at the microwave and trying to work up the enthusiasm to walk the six or so steps it would take to get to it.
He had no energy for anything. His head hurt. His hands shook slightly. He still felt hollowed out. But feeling sorry for himself was not going to get the reno done, so he made himself move, set his drink to heat, then went out the back door to the house’s detached garage.
The place stank of motor oil and exhaust. It reminded him of Jacko and his constant tinkering with his bike and his fancy truck. Kilmer’s chest hurt.
Quickly he sorted through his tools, found what he’d need to patch drywall holes, wash walls, and rip out the rickety seat under the living room’s corner windows. He could design a much more functional nook for that area, and if Tanner worked out, maybe he could build what he had in mind.
He kept his back to Jacko’s tarp-covered motorcycle and refused to imagine where the man might be.
Once he’d packed the tools into a couple of plastic buckets, he hauled them into the house and retrieved his coffee. A thin dark skin had formed on the top of the drink from the cream fat, and he wrinkled his nose.
“Fuck it.” He dumped the whole mess down the drain and found a mostly full bottle of whiskey in the cupboard. Not like he planned to drive anywhere today anyway. A little hair of the dog would do his head some good.
He poured a stiff glass, leaned on the counter, and found the dog watching him.
“Fuck off.” He downed the whiskey, then poured more before going to the master bedroom for a pair of work socks. At the doorway he braced himself for the same empty atmosphere that pervaded the living room, and fortified his nerves with a healthy swig of the drink.
Inside he found the empty shelves and dresser drawers he expected. Jacko’s clothes were gone from the closet, and his musical equipment had also been taken. Curiosity getting the better of him, he pulled their toy chest from under the bed. The lock on it was gone and when he opened the box, he found chaos. Every toy had been mangled, broken, cut. Everything was destroyed. A note was folded into an envelope addressed to him.
He plunked onto his ass, between the bed and the wall, and pulled out the page covered in Jacko’s messy scrawl. A key slipped out, which he closed into a fist without looking.
Boy,
The last time I use that term for you.
Kilmer crumpled the page and let his head thump against the wall.
“Fuck you too, old man,” he grated and finished off the generous amount of whiskey in his glass. He hurried to the kitchen for the bottle to refill it, then sat at the table and spread the letter in front of him. He placed the key on the table, ignored.
Don’t rightly know where to start. You’ll see I’ve taken all my things. I left my bass, the one you love, with Tanner Jones. He sings in a band called Down Home at the bar. You bring the note I left with the bar manager to him, and he’ll give it to you. It’s yours. Not compensation enough for everything, but maybe it’s a start.
I look back on that night, and kid, I know I did wrong. I can see it now, how you were, how it hurt you. I should have stopped it. I didn’t, at the time, see your pain. I was a daft fool, all this time, about how I treated you. I was pissed off, and I did not deal with it like I should have.
First thing I drill into the Doms I train is Deal With Your Shit.—Each little word was underlined in dark scribbles—Don’t take it out on your subs, and dammit, boy—that word, boy, was crossed out—Kilmer, I did not do that myself. There is no way to make that right.
I wish I could give you a better explanation than this, but I don’t have one. I did wrong. I’ve been doing wrong for a long time, now, ignoring the fact I know I’m not what you need, not letting you go to find it. I waited and waited for you to tell me this. That you weren’t happy. Not fulfilled. I knew it was true, and dammit if I didn’t put it on you to speak up instead of having it out way back at that damn party when it happened. Or even before, when I first saw it coming.
Oh hell. I know it was going on before that. That was just a symptom. I was so pissed at you for not steppin’ up that I put all the blame on you, and it wasn’t all your fault. I wasn’t the Dom I could—no, should—have been, and for that I am truly sorry.
Don’t let my stupidity scare you off finding the Master that can give you what you need. He’s out there. You have to be patient. You have to be honest. You have to be true to and about yourself. You deserve that guy, wherever he is.
Good luck to you.
Jacko.
P.S. In case you were gonna worry, don’t. I’m fine. I’m going on the road with Vance. Until then, I’ll stay away. Give you your space. Lord knows, I need mine. I fucked up, and I have to figure out how I let it get so bad. Got my own work to do, kid. Do me a favor. Don’t hold this against Rocky. He’s a good kid. If you can, watch out for him. Don’t let him fall into bad patterns, yeah? I know that ain’t your responsibility. I don’t blame you if you tell him to go fuck himself, too, but just… try and not hate him. Put that on me.
Oh. And toss these toys. Start over. Fresh. Key to that chain around your neck is enclosed. Maybe let Vance help you take that off. Well. Take it easy.
P.P.S. The dog is with Tanner.
J.
Kilmer fingered the gold chain resting against his collarbone. He hadn’t given the thing a single thought this whole time. It was so much a part of him, had been since the day Jacko had put it on him nearly four years ago, that he hardly ever paid attention to it. Now it felt like a weight around his neck.
He stared at the guitar case. The only thing Jacko had left him. Unspoken advice to start playing again? Who knew? He was tempted to toss the thing out the front door and back the car over it. But that brought to mind witnessing Len doing something similar to the guitar his best friend had given him.
Len had thrown his guitar down the stairs in a fit of rage, rendering the thing virtually unplayable. God. Even that was tied up in Jacko. Len had brought the instrument into Jacko’s repair shop to get it fixed. It was how Len met Jacko, and he went on and on about how nice the older man had been. How helpful and understanding.
