Driven, page 11
“Who tells a seven-year-old to be a man? From then on I kept my preferences to myself, but they knew. Amelia kind of worked it out for herself when she got a little older. She and my dad were always cool about it if something came up, a story on the news about legalizing gay marriage, or a couple adopting. Mom on the other hand would just look away or leave the room. I’m not sure what her issue really was, but I never brought it up to her again.”
Oliver sighed and put his hands on the bed behind him, leaning back slightly. Typically, it was painful to think about the past, even worse to talk about it, but for some reason, it felt good to share his story with Simon.
“So in case you didn’t get it from my little story there,” Oliver said with a grin, “yes, I’m very definitely gay.”
Simon sat there in silence, hunched forward, his hands clasped between his knees. Oliver started to worry again. Maybe Simon really wasn’t gay or maybe he was still working his preferences out. Maybe that kiss, the hand-holding, had just been an experiment. Oliver sat up, concerned that the only friend he had made in years was going to drop him and bolt from the room.
“Hey, it’s okay if you’re not,” Oliver said quickly. “It’s not like I’m going to force myself on you or anything. We can just be friends, can’t we? I’ll even make sure we don’t use the bathroom at the same time if we’re out… ya know, so you don’t have to be concerned I’m trying to sneak a peek at your junk or something.”
Simon looked over at him, eyes wide. “Do people really do that? Check each other out at the urinals?”
Oliver grinned. “Even straight guys will do it. It’s not a ‘gay’ thing but more of a competitive kind of thing. You’ve seriously never peeked?”
“No! Peek at the wrong guy and my head would probably be in the urinal, and I’d be missing some teeth,” Simon said, aghast at the thought.
Oliver’s shoulders moved up and down. “To each their own.” He threw himself back on the bed, arms over his head as he stared at the ceiling.
Simon continued to lean forward, his knee bouncing up and down with nervous energy. “My family knows,” he finally said.
Oliver continued to lie on the bed, not wanting to sit up in fear he might interrupt Simon’s confession. “What do they know?” he asked, closing his eyes.
“They know… that I’m gay.”
“Are they cool with it?” Oliver opened his eyes and crossed his fingers for his friend.
It was Simon’s turn to shrug. “I’m not sure they love the idea, but they’re not trying to change me or anything. I’m sure they wish I wasn’t. Now they have two problem children, ya know?”
At that, Oliver did sit up. “It’s not a problem. Don’t think of yourself as a problem. If anything, they’re probably just worried about how others will treat you.”
“Maybe” was all Simon said.
“Are you out to your friends?”
Simon turned on him quickly. “No way.”
“Why not? They seem like cool guys.”
“I, uh….” Simon rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I got picked on a lot in school for my name. I guess people thought it was geeky. I was lucky to have a couple of cool guys stick around and stick up for me. I was worried that if I told them, they’d all ditch me too.”
Oliver looked Simon up and down. The guy was not anywhere near what people would consider a geek. He was on the thin side but had the well-defined muscles of a runner or a cyclist. He had a fashionable haircut and didn’t wear thick glasses or clothes that might be construed as nerdy. Oliver wasn’t getting geek in the least, and he could appreciate a little geekiness.
“I don’t see it,” Oliver said at last.
“Don’t see what?”
“Did you wear your pants real high and have glasses then or something? I do not see geek at all when I look at you.”
Simon smiled. “I did have glasses, but that was about it. Who knows what set them off?”
“Well, if they are really your friends, they won’t care about your preferences. Besides, you’re not in high school anymore. The game changes, ya know?”
Simon turned and looked at Oliver, eyes hopeful.
“Maybe you’re right,” Simon said. “Maybe this is the time in life to weed out those who wouldn’t be comfortable with it. I’m an adult now or something, right?”
“Or something,” Oliver agreed with a grin.
Simon clapped his hands in glee like a little child getting a gift on Christmas. “I’m so happy I could kiss you!” he said.
Oliver felt his pulse speed up. “So what’s stopping you?” he said with a wink.
Chapter Twenty-five
“NOTHING, I suppose,” Simon responded, his eyes growing dark with lust as he leaned in. Oliver met him halfway, eager to get a second dose of the far-too-quick peck of last time. The kiss was tentative but only for a moment. Mouths parted and tongues slipped out to explore dark foreign caverns. Simon scooted closer, putting his hands on Oliver’s hips. A small moan escaped, but it was impossible to tell from whom. Oliver brought his hand up to tenderly cup Simon’s cheek, while the other hand ran through the multicolored locks. Oliver’s mouth left Simon’s, traveling up the sharp line of the other boy’s jawbone to his ear.
“Oh God,” Simon muttered, tilting his head back to allow for better access to his neck. Oliver rewarded the action by gently sucking on Simon’s neck.
“You taste so good,” Oliver whispered as he made his way down Simon’s neck to his Adam’s apple. He sucked harder there, eliciting an almost guttural groan of pleasure from his partner.
Simon’s hands started to wander up Oliver’s back, squeezing and kneading as he went. They made their way up to the dirty-blond locks and tugged at them.
“I like that,” Oliver said, breaking his connection at Simon’s neck to encourage the behavior. Simon tugged harder, knotting his fingers into the strands.
“Yes, yes,” Oliver moaned before pushing Simon down onto the bed. He gently bit Simon’s lip, tugging slightly before letting it slip between his teeth. He lay on his side, his mouth busy devouring Simon’s while his free hand traversed the hard plains of his partner’s body.
Simon’s hands continued to pull on Oliver’s hair, keeping their heads close together. He squirmed under Oliver’s touch but made mewling sounds of pleasure, signaling that he didn’t want the exploration to stop.
Oliver found a nipple through Simon’s soft T-shirt and gently pinched it. Simon almost launched off the bed in response. Beyond pleased with the discovery, Oliver took his time, gently pulling and pinching, the sensitive area.
“I’m not sure I can take any more,” Simon panted between kisses.
“Oh?” Oliver said. “Not sure you can take this?” He allowed his hand to travel down and graze Simon’s most sensitive area, happy to feel Simon was as excited as he was.
“Jesus,” Simon hissed, his hips rearing up.
Things were moving much quicker than Oliver had imagined in any of his lurid daydreams, but Simon wasn’t telling him to stop or slow down, so he was going to see just how far the two of them were willing to take things.
His hand hovered just over the metal zipper. Oliver imagined he could already hear the telltale sound of the metal teeth losing the grip on their partners and allowing access to the greatest of treasures.
“Should I?” Oliver asked, his voice thick with lust.
“Yes, God yes,” Simon said, arching his hips toward Oliver’s waiting hand. As that hand descended, ready to probably make it the best night of Oliver’s life, there was a loud crashing sound downstairs. The two boys looked at each other and groaned, almost simultaneously.
Oliver sighed as Simon sat up and ran a shaky hand through his hair.
“We should probably go check that out,” Simon said.
“I didn’t hear any crying or screaming, so no one’s hurt. Maybe it can wait?” Oliver asked, hope in his voice.
Simon grinned as he shook his head. “Probably better not to.”
“Damn your good-boy tendencies,” Oliver muttered as he stood and adjusted his pants, not so nonchalantly. He left the room and made his way down the hall, Simon on his heels. When they got to the stairs, Oliver heard voices, male voices. He put a hand up behind him, urging Simon to stop and stay where he was. He crouched and tried to peer down the stairs to see if he could see what was going on. Were they being robbed? Who would bother the two nice old ladies?
“Do you see any sign of him living here?” one voice asked.
“Nothing definite. Should we check upstairs?” the other asked in return. There was a loud sigh in response.
“Marcus will be pissed if we don’t do a thorough job. You know how he is.”
Oliver’s heart rate sped up. They were looking for him. Marcus had somehow figured out where he was, and he wanted something from him. He glanced over his shoulder at Simon and knew he had to protect him at all costs.
“Get back to the room and lock yourself in,” he hissed at Simon. “Go quietly, as if your life depended on it.”
“What about you?” Simon dared to ask. It was obvious he wasn’t moving until he got an answer.
“I’ve got to defuse this. I’ll be fine. Seriously, go now.” Oliver gave him a little shove. Simon looked defiant, but when he heard the men coming near the stairs his eyes grew wide as he looked over Oliver’s shoulder. He took off, quick as a rabbit and just as quiet.
Oliver took a step back, the stairs letting out a horrible creak he was sure could be heard down the block. The men immediately stopped talking. He imagined their ears perked up like well-trained Dobermans. He hoped to hell they weren’t armed, then again, their fists were probably weapon enough, especially for someone like Oliver.
Did he stay? Or did he run? There really wasn’t anywhere to go. Maybe Marcus just wanted to talk. Was that possible? Maybe he should just give himself up, to keep Simon safe, to keep the twins’ home from being damaged any further. He couldn’t imagine they’d want him to stay anyway if his presence was going to cause this kind of trouble.
Taking a deep breath, he stood to his full height, ready to face the music like a man. Maybe these actions would help gain him good karma. He raised his foot to move down another step and bright light flooded the downstairs. The twins must be home. He had to get these guys out before the women got in. He couldn’t risk them being hurt.
“Shit, the broads are back,” one of the men muttered.
“I ain’t going back to jail for giving some old lady a heart attack. Let’s go. We’ll tell Marcus we couldn’t find him,” the other said.
“Yeah,” the first responded. “Out the back.”
Oliver could hear their footsteps headed toward the kitchen. The next sound his ears caught was the familiar wail of sirens. Who called the cops? Oh! Maybe Simon had a phone on him. The two men must have heard the sirens too because they hustled out through the kitchen, slamming the door behind them.
His body turned to liquid as the tension of the situation was cut short. Crumpled on the steps, he held his head in his hands, thinking of how awful it could have gotten. A hand landed on his shoulder, almost causing him to jump out of his skin.
“It’s just me” came Simon’s familiar voice. “Are you okay? Did they see you?”
Oliver shook his head and found his whole body was shaking, from fear or adrenaline he wasn’t sure. Simon sat down on the step next to him and put an arm around Oliver’s shoulder. They were still there, sitting in silence when the cops came in the front door, guns at the ready, pointed their way.
Chapter Twenty-six
THE SITUATION was quickly explained, and the cops went about their job collecting information, dusting doorknobs with powder and picking up pieces of glass. Oliver and Simon were questioned separately to make sure their stories matched up. Oliver left out that the men were there for him and that Marcus’s name had been mentioned. It was something he would only reveal to Richards. If he told these cops, they would probably think he was in on it or just haul him down to the station for having any kind of connection with the known pimp/drug dealer. As it was, several of the cops were already casting suspicious glances at Oliver once they ran his name and saw he had a prior.
The women doted on the boys once they were allowed back into the house. Even Tude showed authentic concern for them, puttering around to get them blankets and drinks.
They dubbed it a failed breaking and entering since nothing was taken. When the cops were finally clearing out, one told them they would keep someone posted outside for the night to make sure no one came back to try and finish the job. The twins thanked them profusely. Another cop escorted Simon home so they could talk to his parents to see if they heard or saw anything that could be helpful to the investigation. Oliver didn’t even get a proper good-bye, just a sad smile and a wave as Simon was led out the door.
Oliver sat in the chair, wondering what he should do. Should he leave? Even if he did, there was no guarantee Marcus would know he was gone, and he might try to get back into the house. He could just hunt the man down and turn himself in, but he had no idea what Marcus wanted with him, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to find out. He felt that if he stayed, he would just be bringing more trouble to nice folks who had treated him well, and he didn’t want that.
Tude and Vera fluttered around, trying to make a list of all the little knickknacks that got broken so they could contact those who had already reserved them as well as get money from the insurance company. Because he couldn’t say whether the shelf by the door had two little figures or eight, he was pretty much useless. Staring at the hole in the window, he decided there had to be something he could do to patch it up for the time being.
“Can I go check out the shed?” he asked.
“At this hour? It’s dark, dear,” Vera said, stopping by the chair where Oliver was seated.
“I know, but maybe you guys have something out there I can use to fix the window for the night.”
“Now there’s a bright boy,” Tude said from across the room. “There’s a flashlight in the pantry. Get a move on. We don’t want to hear bang, bang, bang when we’re trying to sleep.”
Springing to his feet, Oliver hurried to the kitchen pantry to find the flashlight. Once outside, he cautiously swept the light around the expanse of the backyard, making sure no one was lurking in the shadows waiting for him. The coast seemed clear.
He made his way to the old wood shed and pulled the door open. Dust motes danced across the narrow beam of light. Oliver thought he saw things scurrying in the dark, insect or rodent he didn’t know. He didn’t really want to encounter either, but it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. When you lived on the streets, you were often encroaching on their homes. Sure you were bigger than them, but no one wanted to be bitten by anything while sleeping.
Oliver put the thoughts of spiders and rats out of his mind as he swung the flashlight around looking for some tools and maybe a piece of plywood. He found all the tools neatly lined up on the wall. Wrenches of all sizes, a couple of hammers, and some things he couldn’t name if his life depended on it. Below the tools were little drawers, neatly labeled with words like penny nails, nuts, screws, and tacks. He pulled one of the handles, and the drawer opened smoothly. Either it was used more than he thought, or someone had taken a lot of time and care in making the cabinet. He grabbed a handful of nails and shoved them in a pocket. Leaning a little farther, he grabbed one of the hammers off the wall as well. Passing the flashlight over it, he wasn’t surprised to find it was shiny and pristine, no rust to be found. He tucked it into the waistband of his pants before swinging his light into the corner. He found the mower Simon must have used weeks ago. There was some potting soil and terra-cotta planters. Looking in the other corner, he found an old window, paint flecking and glass wavy. It must have been original to the house. Leaned up behind it looked to be some pieces of wood. Hopefully there would be a piece sized just right to fit the window. Upon searching he found something he thought could work. He left the shed with all his equipment and headed in.
When he entered the kitchen he heard the deep baritone of a man’s voice. His heart plummeted, thinking Marcus’s men had returned. Hammer in hand to defend himself and the homeowners, he peered around the corner into the living room, steeling himself for battle.
“While it’s not a bad choice of weapon, it won’t hold up to a gun. If your aim is good, I suppose you could toss it at my head, but then I’d just step to the side, and then you’re out of a weapon all together.” Richards leaned on the couch, a hand on the butt of his revolver.
When Oliver sagged in relief, Richards chuckled. He walked over and grabbed the board. “Here, I’ll help you put this up.”
With the two of them, they quickly got the window fixed. There wasn’t much discussion between them as they worked. The twins thanked them and then retired, claiming exhaustion from all the night’s adventures.
Oliver looked down at the hammer in his hand. He motioned for Richards to follow him as he trekked to the shed to put it back where he found it. Richards followed, quiet, waiting for Oliver to speak first.
“What brought you out here tonight?” Oliver asked as he flicked on the flashlight to show the way. “Did you hear the address or something over your radio?” When Richards was quiet, Oliver knew that wasn’t the reason. “You were gathering more info against Marcus, right?”
