Beyond the Footlights, page 9
Tanner groaned. “That would take forever. This way, we just cut through the nails and take the whole knee wall out in one chunk.” He glanced at the splintered two-by-fours and remains of crumbled drywall. “Well. What’s left of it.”
Kilmer’s flush deepened. “I’m sorry. I—that isn’t me.” He waved at the destruction. “Not really.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Tanner cleared the extension cord from the rubble and plugged in the saw.
“I don’t get drunk and swing hammers. I—” He slumped against the kitchen counter and began scrubbing at one palm. “I have spent a long time walking on eggshells around here. Trying not to piss him off. You know him. You know what he’s like.” He peered at Tanner, consternation clear on his face, but finally he sniffed and dropped his hands. His right found its way into his pocket and to whatever he had in there that he kept playing with. “You read the letter. You know what—what we were like.” He tilted his head in question.
“Yeah,” Tanner said softly. “I get it.”
“Really?”
Did he need to know Tanner was a trained Dom? Would it help him to know he had someone who understood the lifestyle, or would he clam up or posture or worse, abdicate to Tanner? Maybe what he needed more was a friend without any of those associations. And anyway, how long had it been since Tanner had even engaged in a scene with another man? Years. He was so far out of the lifestyle, maybe he wasn’t really a Dom anymore at all.
“I get the dynamic,” he finally said. “Don’t live it”—which was true—“but I understand it.” Intellectually at least. He’d never been in a relationship like Kilmer and Jacko’s. His scenes had been brief encounters, mostly one-offs, carefully orchestrated to accommodate his own issues and the safety of the men he was with. He didn’t think any of them had ever really achieved the release he’d heard was possible, and that was down to him. A Dom with shortcomings could never really be what a truly submissive man needed.
He shook himself. So not about you, Jones. Stay in the game.
“So you know….” Kilmer bowed his head to study his hands as he spoke.
“Kilmer.” Tanner took a step toward him. “Look at me. Please.”
Kilmer raised his head. His troubled eyes met Tanner’s only briefly.
“Look at me. Talk to me.”
“You must have figured out how we were.”
“Tell me.” He hadn’t heard Kilmer’s words, but more importantly, Kilmer had to own this. He had to acknowledge the problem if he was going to fix it.
Kilmer stared at him, his expression distressed. It was a long time before he spoke. “It was tense. All the time. Whatever we had at the start…. I started swinging that damn crowbar and I—just—needed release. It was stupid.”
“And dangerous,” Tanner added without thinking.
Kilmer snorted. “Yes. And dangerous. And childish. And I don’t drink. Obviously. Jacko doesn’t—didn’t—like it. So… this really isn’t me, you know?” He pushed away from the counter and held out a hand. “Hi. I’m Kilmer Hennessey. I manage the Texas Ex ranch. And I am not a total psycho, I swear.”
Tanner grinned at him and shook the offered hand. “Tanner Jones. Singer, handyman, and too nosy for my own good.”
For a touch longer than necessary, they stood like that, grinning at one another, hands clasped, until Tanner finally hefted the saw in his other hand and nodded at the wall. “Ready?”
“Definitely. What do you need me to do?”
Their palms rasped as they slid them apart, and Tanner immediately missed the warmth of the contact. It had been a really long time….
BY THE end of the day, they were so in sync that supper turned into just another job to tackle and get done. Kilmer didn’t even break stride when deciding it was the next essential task on the list and one they would do together, just like all the others.
“I’ll get the grill heating up, if you want to go get cleaned up,” he offered.
“That’d be great.” Tanner couldn’t stop the grin. The day had started out rough, moved to scary pretty fast, but seemed to be heading toward calm and sane. This was a side of Kilmer he not only understood but thoroughly liked.
“Two burgers do you?” Kilmer asked. “I think I saw frozen fries in there too. Not exactly gourmet, but it is food.”
“Sounds perfect to me.” Tanner headed to the bathroom. When he emerged, most of the dust and construction grit was gone from his face, hands, and he’d managed to get the biggest chunks out of the hair he tied into a long pony down his back. A tray of fries sat on top of the stove. The warm-up light was off and the oven hot, so he shoved them inside and went out the back door to find Kilmer.
He was standing in front of the grill, watching the burgers sizzle. The dog lay at his feet, staring up at him, tail flopping in a halfhearted wag every now and then. At least the lost-puppy eyes fit that hairy face better than they had Kilmer’s. Tanner was pleased to see the man finally seemed better balanced if not exactly happy.
He glanced up when Tanner stepped out. “I’d offer you a beer, but I don’t actually have any.” He gave Tanner a wry smile. “And some asshole dumped my whiskey down the drain.”
Tanner lifted an eyebrow, completely uninterested in apologizing for that.
A flush spread up from Kilmer’s neck. “Yeah. S’pose you’re right. I should probably lay off the booze a bit anyway. Bad habit to get into. Speaking of which.” He looked down at the dog. “You can look just as sad and pathetic as you want, dog. I ain’t your master. You get no free food from me. Go eat the dog food, dumbass.”
The dog spattered a few staccato thumps of his tail against the patio stones, blinked, yawned, and set his chin on his front paws. His eyes remained fixed on Kilmer.
“I don’t think he hates you,” Tanner pointed out.
“Who knows?” Kilmer flipped the burgers and closed the lid of the grill. He moved to sit at the patio table and the dog followed, with the click-click of his nails, to plop back down when Kilmer settled. They hadn’t moved more than six feet.
Tanner opted for leaning in the open patio door. “You think any more about playing bass for me?”
“You know I haven’t played for real in years.”
“Why?”
Kilmer shrugged. “Never seemed to have the time, I guess. The inclination? A reason?”
“Isn’t playing a reason in itself?”
Kilmer seemed lost in thought and didn’t answer. They remained quiet for long minutes until Tanner remembered the fries and offered to go inside and turn them. He kept glancing out the door as he worked, flipping, salting, finding plates and condiments, and generally puttering. Kilmer was lost in his own head and Tanner thought it best to give him a bit of space.
It amused him to watch Kilmer’s hand stray to the dog’s raised head and tickle at the fur until Kilmer realized he was doing it. When he did, he pulled his hand away, said something to the mutt, and got up to flip the burgers. His furry shadow followed him every step of the way back to the grill, only this time, he sat neatly next to Kilmer. His tail worked a bit more enthusiastically when Kilmer’s hand strayed again to play with his ears.
Watching, Tanner thought the whole scene was pretty adorable. The best part was that Kilmer seemed relaxed if thoughtful. The dog obviously calmed him. Tanner had planned on taking the animal back to his place when he left, because Jacko had entrusted it to him. He changed his mind when Kilmer realized once more he was petting the thing, looked down, and sighed good-naturedly.
“Spoiled is what you are, dog,” he said. “Spoiled rotten.”
The attention set the animal’s tail to a full swing, as Tanner carried plates and condiments out to the patio table.
9
SUPPER HAD gone fairly well, Kilmer thought. He wouldn’t have blamed Tanner for taking off when he saw the damage in the living room. Instead the singer had gamely stepped up, not only to help with the mess of the room, but to help with the mess Kilmer was in as well. When he left, after cleaning up the dishes, it had been with a promise to return good and early the next day.
Kilmer was acting like a spoiled brat. He knew it and it had to stop, and yet every time a memory of Jacko reared up from some corner of the house, he wanted to hurt something. He had to get a grip.
“And why the hell don’t you miss him?” he asked the dog, who had curled his lanky frame onto the couch next to Kilmer. “He did better at caring for you than he ever did me, and you just wag your damn tail and pretend we’ve always been besties.” He rubbed his knuckles over the animal’s hard skull, getting more tail thumping in response. “What the hell is up with that, huh?”
The dog licked his other hand and rested his chin on Kilmer’s thigh.
They sat like that for a while, his furry new friend reveling in the scalp massage and Kilmer staring into space. He really wasn’t in the mood for the TV, so there was little else to do but ruminate.
How far back did the troubles go? How long had things been not quite right with Jacko? How often had he stuffed his true feelings into a box and knelt at the man’s feet, hoping things would fix themselves? How much damage had that done to Jacko, who maybe needed his help in a very real way and Kilmer hadn’t stepped up?
Had Rocky been the first affair? Kilmer didn’t really think so. He was used to Jacko’s infidelities but had let himself believe none of them were in any way long-term or serious. He’d ignored them and pretended they didn’t hurt. He’d been lying to himself—and Jacko—for a very long time.
“Fuck.”
The dog lifted his head and licked Kilmer’s face.
“Oh, shut up.” He scruffed the animal’s face between both hands. For a few minutes, they were face-to-face, sharing sad-eyed affection with each other because the one they had learned to give that to was gone.
“Feeling sorry for myself much?” he asked. The dog flopped his head back into Kilmer’s lap. “Figured that’s what you’d say.” He laughed when the dog licked his fingers. “You don’t even have a name and I’m the one being gloomy.”
Still, the dog didn’t seem to mind when Kilmer dragged him onto his lap and proceeded to stroke his ears and muzzle and take comfort in the simple touch of another living thing. Why he’d never thought to turn to the dog before, he didn’t know.
Hours later he dragged himself to the spare room, stripped, and collapsed onto the bed, where he lay awake, fingering the collar he hadn’t been able to remove and wondering why. He blamed the dog’s inability to share the small bed—and therefore sprawling half on top of him—for his lack of sleep.
HE WAS lying on his stomach with the pillow over his head and the dead weight of canine contentment across his legs when a knock at the front door dragged him out of the fog.
The dog was eager enough. He sprang from the bed and ran to the front of the house, nails clacking against hardwood. Kilmer was barely on his feet before the door opened and Tanner was calling through the house. When had the dog developed opposable thumbs?
“Kilmer?” Tanner’s voice was hesitant but definitely advancing through the house toward the bedroom.
“Shit.” He muttered and scrambled, but there were no sheets or blankets on the bed.
“You okay? You didn’t lock the doo—oh!” Tanner appeared for a heartbeat in the bedroom doorway, then disappeared again. “Pants!”
“Fuck, yes. What the hell?”
“Door wasn’t locked!” Tanner called from the kitchen.
“There are, like, twenty-five people under the age of sixty in this town. Who locks their doors?” He found his jeans and hauled them on, tucking his junk safely inside, before making his way out to the kitchen.
“People,” Tanner said. “People lock their doors!” The man looked horrified and Kilmer couldn’t help but grin.
“Well, I don’t. So maybe in future when you walk in, stick to the public areas, yeah?”
Tanner snorted. “Fine. Whatever.” He gave Kilmer a good once-over, though, gaze lingering on Kilmer’s bare chest.
A cool memory of interest slid up Kilmer’s torso and his nipples tightened. He hurriedly smoothed a hand over his pecs, too late to hide the reaction. Tanner’s hungry brown eyes brightened and heat spread into Kilmer’s cheeks.
“So. Uh, you came back.” Kilmer snatched a discarded shirt off the back of a kitchen chair.
“Did you expect me not to?” Tanner moved a step closer, then another.
Kilmer backed up, tripped over the chair, fumbled for it, and missed, getting tangled in the shirt. He winced when the chair hit the floor and bounced.
Calm, moving smoothly and without taking his gaze from Kilmer, Tanner righted the chair. “Why were you still in bed anyway? It’s almost ten.”
Kilmer fumbled with his shirt, but Tanner was right there, in his space, and he had no room. The shirt caught on Tanner’s belt buckle, pulled free of Kilmer’s grasp, and fell to the floor, draped artlessly over the steel toes of Tanner’s boots. He bent to retrieve it. The grace of the movement, the broad stretch of his shoulders, and the way he casually tossed his hair over his shoulder as he stood again left Kilmer unable to breathe. Tanner held out the garment, but Kilmer had to tug to get it back.
“Wasn’t really… on… on the clock,” Kilmer croaked.
Which was true, though ten was eons past Kilmer’s usual rise-and-shine time. He’d known the day was wasting as he lay there feeling sorry for himself, but he hadn’t managed to find the energy to get up.
“Did you sleep?” Tanner asked, peering more closely at him. He moved like he was about to reach for him, but Kilmer stepped back to hastily pull the shirt over his head.
“You here to work or drill your employer?” he asked through the folds of cotton.
There was a distinct pause—just long enough for Kilmer to realize the double entendre and feel the heat rise up his bare chest and over his cheeks. “I-I mean—”
“Work,” Tanner said in a soft growl that sent a stipple of gooseflesh after the heat.
When Kilmer freed his head from the collar of the shirt, Tanner was farther away again, opening the back door to let the dog out. Then he retrieved a cardboard drink tray from the table, and he worked one of the coffees out of it to hand to Kilmer.
“Stopped at Eats and grabbed a bit of food. Thought you might be ready for a break and a snack, but I guess you haven’t actually had breakfast yet.”
“Not your problem,” Kilmer muttered, but he did accept the coffee and then the muffin Tanner handed him.
“I saw Rocky this morning. He cooks the breakfast shift at Eats.”
“Yeah?” Kilmer wasn’t sure if he cared. “How is he?”
Tanner shrugged. “Pretty wrecked. Guess Jacko left him a note too. Guy is some piece of work.”
“Yeah.” Kilmer found he was fingering the chain at his throat and grimaced. “He’s got issues, I guess.” He dropped the links with a painful clunk against his collarbone.
“You think?” There was no way Tanner had missed the gesture, but he said nothing about it as he sipped his coffee.
“Maybe.” Kilmer looked at Tanner. “I don’t know, do I, and I suppose that was half the problem. But it doesn’t matter. We have work to do. I have ideas for the window seat and shelves. You draw?”
Tanner shrugged. “Well enough, I think.” He accepted the abrupt topic change. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
And so they planned and sketched and made materials lists, and Kilmer got a good feel for what Tanner was confident in and what he thought they might need help with. They toured the rest of the house, and the singer firmly donned his contractor hat and offered sound advice on what else needed work. None of his suggestions surprised Kilmer. The house had been a fixer-upper when he’d bought it. Jacko had never been handy with tools he didn’t need to fix guitars, and Kilmer had always had other things to worry about, like the ranch and pleasing Jacko. Home repairs had not featured high on his to-do list.
Now the house was sadly in need of attention, much like the rest of Kilmer’s life.
Halfway through the workday, as his stomach began to demand his notice, Kilmer lifted his head from the job and realized he hadn’t thought about Jacko in hours. Maybe for the first time in months, he hadn’t been preoccupied with his love life. It felt good. It felt… normal.
“Hungry?” Tanner asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t think I have much food.”
“Let’s go to Eats. They make some great lunch specials.”
“Rocky?”
Tanner shrugged. “Probably. He’s been working more than usual and taking the early shifts so he can be free for… I don’t know.” And like that, Kilmer’s good mood vanished.
“Look,” Tanner said. “You live in this town, right? So does he. It sucks. But you can’t hide out in your house to avoid him.”
“Want to make a bet?” Kilmer tossed the screwdriver he had been using to remove a switch plate into the toolbox. “I can avoid the entire town if I want.”
“How? Where you going to go?”
“Work.”
“Where is that?”
Kilmer sighed. “The ranch is about a half hour out. I manage it.”
“Ashcroft’s place.” Tanner wasn’t asking.
“You know it?”
“Who doesn’t? The man is a fucking star. You work for him?”
Kilmer nodded.
“Makes sense. Texas accent, fact you know your way around a guitar. You sing too?”
Kilmer snorted. “Not that you’d want to hear.”
“You run his ranch? For real? You see him every day?”
This was beginning to sound uncomfortably like fan worship, and Kilmer grunted.
“Knew you did something physical, shape you’re in,” Tanner said, surprising Kilmer with the soft growl in his voice.
Kilmer ran both hands down his front, patted at his pockets, trying to distract himself from the mere memory of Tanner’s scrutiny, which had his body tightening all over again. His palm landed on the bulge of the key and the bell. Distraction was achieved as a cool wash of something that felt like shame coursed through him.
