by Elle Keaton
“Who is this?” Micah asked as Xena bounded toward him, leash flying. He bent down and held his hand out for her to sniff.
“This is Xena, Joey’s dog.”
“Oh yeah? She’s a beauty.” Micah had dropped to his knees so he could give Xena scratches and pets all over. The dog was in heaven, rolling onto her back to give Micah better access to her tummy. Buck snorted. Some watchdog.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Micah, you are going to be covered with dog hair and spit,” Adam groused. Nice to know Adam hadn’t changed that much.
“I don’t care,” Micah replied with a smile. Buck had to smile, too; even he could tell that Adam wasn’t serious. Adam turned away from the spectacle his boyfriend was making of himself with what appeared to be Skagit’s most shameless dog.
“Buck, nice to see you again. Sorry it’s under stressful circumstances. Can we talk here, or would you like to go someplace else?”
Buck needed to be at the shop if Joey came back. When Joey came back. Despite the fear Buck had seen on his face when he got into that sedan, Buck had to believe Joey would return. For the first time in his life he sensed a break in the clouds, a future he could lay his hands on. A question he maybe could answer the right way.
“Here is good. Let me close up the doors first and grab a couple folding chairs; they’re around here somewhere.” Xena followed him as he headed out toward the last bay.
Weir had said it the day before, but Buck had hoped it wasn’t true. It was true.
“That address you gave me last night, it’s one of Matveev’s. We had been keeping an eye on it, but since he had supposedly been seen in Chicago as well as there being no sign of him after the shooting incident…”
Shooting incident, as if Adam hadn’t been fighting for his life. Buck saw how Micah gripped Adam’s hand tighter.
“There was never any evidence of him having returned. Frankly we don’t know where he is. Even the guys who tried to take me out were far from Matveev’s immediate sphere of influence.”
“So, what does this mean? What is Joey doing?”
“My team and I agree, somehow Joey has been swept up in this Matveev mess. We just don’t know how yet. The team is returning. I am still on leave; the doc hasn’t cleared me for duty yet,” Adam glowered, “but it makes more sense for me to be here than not.”
Somehow Joey had been coerced by the Russian mob Buck and Micah had recently tangled with, leading to the damaging of his second favorite car, his 1976 Mercury Marquis. The Duke was stashed in Buck’s garage at home, awaiting repairs.
He’d bought the beast from a little old lady out in the county with only 7,000 miles on it. He’d done the math: that was two trips a week to the local grocery store for approximately thirty years. Since the gas station was right next door to the grocer’s, she hadn’t had to go anywhere else. God knew why she thought she needed a car that sat eight, the cargo area having a hidden set of seats. The Duke had been pristine, until Micah and his bright idea to go up to Baker.
Buck would never again be able to listen to Cream, Bad Company or the James Gang to calm himself down. Early Clapton now caused his heart rate to skyrocket. Since the incident his state-of-the-art sound systems had been quiet, both at home and at work.
He’d never admitted to Micah how scared he’d been flying down the mountain that day, how his life had flashed before his eyes and all he had was regret for the things he hadn’t done. Hadn’t acted on. Hadn’t admitted. Instead choosing to live in the shadow of a dead man, wishing that one of the two people whose love he’d craved could have loved him for who he was instead of who they wanted him to be. But one had died years ago, and if he was alive, there would still be nothing Buck could do about what his father believed. The other had left. Buck was officially the last living Swanfeldt in the valley.
Adam reiterated what Weir had asked of him: that Buck cultivate Joey, not ask any questions. Try to get him to trust Buck. Basically, to act like a complete idiot about what was going on. Like he couldn’t see that Joey had gotten himself in some kind of trouble.
Their discussion took at least an hour. Buck’s nerves were beyond twitchy; he couldn’t stop his right knee from bouncing. All of them were concerned that Joey would return at any time, accompanied by the Russian mobster. Adam said from Buck’s description the guy was not “Dmitri,” but either Andriy Sokolovic or Sacha Bolic. Both originally from Bosnia, they came to the United States as young men fleeing the war there.
The man’s identity was a process of elimination, as two of Matveev’s local henchmen had been killed before Christmas and another was still in the hospital with his jaw wired shut, leaving only these two choices. What the men were up to in Skagit, the team didn’t know. What they did know was that someone who normally was a regular standup guy was acting way outside of his normal behavior.
Nineteen
When the Swanfeldt’s Auto and Body sign had become a beacon of hope to Joey, he had no idea. The sight of it outside the car window nearly brought him to tears. He’d been on the verge all day, barely managing to shove the terrible feeling of hopelessness away under lock and key in a far recess of his brain.
Shivering with cold, standing in the growing dark in front of Buck’s shop, he almost couldn’t bring himself to knock. If he wasn’t still there, Joey would cry. Sacha had let him go with gruff instructions to keep himself available; the “and keep quiet” was implied. He had no way of getting to his mother’s house; the three-mile walk might as well have been twenty. Terrified and far beyond exhausted, Joey felt like he was floating above himself.
The metal shop door opened with a hideous screech before he could convince himself to knock. Buck stood in the doorway, his strong figure backlit by the shop’s fluorescent lighting. Joey’s legs, which had borne him so far in this life—through shifts lasting over twenty-four hours, through grief for families and patients, through nursing school when he didn’t have a car, dancing all night long at any variety of clubs—wobbled.
Buck gently pulled him inside. The shop, lit by only a single bulb, had seemed much brighter when Joey was outside. Without consciously considering his action, Joey let his body’s forward motion bring him in contact with the warm strength Buck was offering him. Buck’s arms came around Joey, holding him tightly. A momentary promise of safety. The tears Joey had been holding back burst through his defenses. Joey laid his forehead against Buck’s strong shoulder and let his weary tears fall.
Buck’s embrace surrounded him in a cocoon of warmth. Soft lips trailed across his cold cheek. Needing to feel something other than the fear he had been drenched in for days, since the first note was left on his car, Joey lifted his head, his lips meeting Buck’s. Their kiss was slow, warm, sensual. There was no aggression; no taking, only giving. His universe reduced to Buck holding him, helping him feel safe, alive. Buck was so much bigger than Joey it was impossible not to feel safe in his arms.
It was Buck who broke off the kiss before it turned to something more needy. He pulled back a little, gazing down at Joey with barely concealed concern.
“You okay?”
No. “Yes, just a rough day.”
“You were gone a long time.”
Xena tapped up to Joey’s side and nuzzled his hand, begging for pets and scratches.
“Yeah, my, uh, friend needed some help, a little more complicated than I expected. Thanks for taking care of Xena.”
“She’s a doll. Anytime.” Buck stroked the big dog. “I’m thinking a dog is what’s missing from my life.”
“A dog?” Joey teased. Jesus, how could he flirt right now? His survival instinct was seriously fucked up.
Buck’s eyes had the most amazing laugh crinkles when he smiled. How had Joey never seen him? Where had Buck been hiding while Joey had been searching for his Prince Charming?
Maybe it was his family life; maybe it was how Joey was wired, but he’d always known he was gay and had never worried about it. Not just a little gay, but gay. As the much-youn
ger youngest child he had grown up with an enormous children’s movie collection dating back to the mid-1960s. All the classic Disney heroes and heroines, all the cheesy family films like the original Parent Trap, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and Mary Poppins. Later movies like The Princess Bride, Star Wars (oh, Han), and his Tom Cruise phase (regardless of what the guy was into now, he had been hot). These movies had instilled in Joey the belief that there was a prince for everyone.
He’d searched for his prince high and low. Never once had he questioned the movies, which only examined heteronormative relationships (and unrealistic ones at that). From when he was a little boy, he had believed. Believed hard. Three of his siblings were happily married; he had scads of nieces and nephews. He wanted his turn.
Telling his parents he wanted a prince instead of a princess apparently happened during a showing of Beauty and the Beast. His favorite. He didn’t remember it, but his mother loved to tell the story to anyone who would stop and listen. Joey never had to come out; his mother did that for him, made it no big deal. He would forever be grateful for her unquestioning support. In some ways, though, it had made it harder, his bar set high for that prince his mom promised would come.
Despite test-driving a lot of possibilities, Joey had never come close to finding his prince. Before his dad had been lost to the ravages of dementia, he had been the more realistic parent. He’d taken Joey aside a few times after painful breakups to try to help him gain perspective. He missed his dad so much.
When he’d come back to Skagit after nursing school, Joey had put his big dreams behind him. A good thing, right? He’d already looked under every rock in the great Pacific Northwest. Any possibilities he’d missed in Skagit couldn’t be worth the effort. The past few years he had limited himself to heading to Seattle when he needed his itch scratched. Easier for one thing, no entanglement for another. Even though that was what he wanted: entanglement.
“No, not just a dog,” Buck responded, without looking Joey in the eyes. He dropped his hands from Joey’s shoulders, and cold crept in where they had been gripping him. “You and Xena need a ride? You decide about your car? I could, uh, probably figure out some kind of loaner if you want. I got a few in the yard.”
Joey had to think, because crud, he had totally forgotten that his car was a pile of scrap metal. He nodded. Yes, he needed a car. He couldn’t just ask Buck for rides all the time, and he needed to be able to take care of whatever this clusterfuck was without getting his mom involved. And, right: work, too, because paycheck.
“Okay, so here’s the deal. With Miguel out for a couple weeks I got the shop car kinda freed up. That’s the one you drove last night.” Buck pulled a heavy ring of keys from inside his coveralls.
Wow. Joey had never in his life thought coveralls were sexy; he was starting to believe he needed to reconsider that position. Buck removed a single key from the ring, lifted Joey’s hand, and placed the key—still warm from Buck’s body heat—into his palm before curling Joey’s fingers over it.
“Gas tank is full. She’s not pretty, but she’ll run for a long time. Sorry about the crap in the back; it’s kinda outta sight outta mind.”
Returning to the dark evening outside Swanfeldt’s, Joey felt exposed. The shop was safe; outside was…a dangerous place these days. Joey made sure Xena had space to sit on the back seat before she hopped in, her tail wagging like crazy. Joey slid into the front seat and turned the key in the ignition. Just like last night, the car started like a dream, the engine purring under the hood. Buck motioned for him to open the window and leaned down, resting a muscled forearm on the door frame.
“This girl’s got a little extra power. Just so ya know.” He ran his other hand lovingly along the top of the car. “Sheila here likes it when you punch the accelerator.” He tapped the roof and stepped back. It was time for Joey and Xena to head home.
Twenty
Buck felt a momentary pang of guilt watching the taillights of the beat-up GTI fade from view. After the meeting with Adam earlier, they’d agreed to put a tracker on any car Buck could get Joey to take. He kept telling himself it was for Joey’s own good. No way was someone special, who cranked Buck’s libido like Joey did, going to just drive off. However he was mixed up with these Russian mafia guys, Buck and Adam (Micah, too) were going to get him out.
They knew he was being coerced, it was the into doing what that they didn’t know. The shredded piece of paper he’d found under the driver’s seat with a picture of Joey’s mom coming out the front door of her house, next to a shot of a specialized nursing home for people with memory issues, pointed toward Joey protecting his family. Something Buck needed to mention when he saw Adam.
The man was obviously exhausted, his beautiful face drawn, his hazel eyes clouded by fear and hopelessness. Buck felt kind of bad kissing him again when Joey’s defenses were down, but he hadn’t been able to resist. Hadn’t felt bad enough not to kiss him; Joey called to him viscerally. When the gray sedan had pulled into his front lot and he’d finally seen Joey pop out of the passenger door, Buck had let out a lungful of air he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.
Kissing him with quiet desperation because Joey had finally returned maybe hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had, but after their first kiss this morning he’d needed to taste more of him. To prove to himself he hadn’t been imagining anything. That first kiss was almost all Buck had thought about all day. How incredibly selfish of him, knowing Joey was going through something dark and terrible. Even so, Buck was pretty much entirely focused on the way Joey’s plush lips had felt against his own, with how his body responded to Joey’s, Joey’s scent. He’d wanted to experience it again, so he’d taken another kiss.
Not imagining anything.
Miguel was waiting for him when he got home. Buck hadn’t seen him since the previous morning when he’d fled from Weir.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Miguel asked before Buck could ask him the same thing. “Why there was a Fed here yesterday?”
“Pain meds finally wear off?”
“Fuck yeah, I’m sharp as a tack now.” Buck doubted that, since Miguel’s face looked tight and his eyes were still cloudy with pain.
Buck groaned. He so did not want to talk about this. “Yeah, okay, you want to tell me why you ran away yesterday when the Fed showed up?”
“I didn’t run.” Miguel pouted.
“You totally ran.”
“I take every nice thing I ever said back; you are a complete asshole.”
Buck snorted. “I am the least asshole-ish person you have ever met. In fact, I think you’re staying at my house instead of that firetrap over on Alberta because I’m a nice guy.”
Miguel leaned all the way against the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. Buck took the opportunity to kick his shoes off and strip out of his coveralls. He had more than one pair, but they all needed to go into the washing machine. By the time he’d made it back from the laundry room, Miguel appeared to have made up his mind about whatever he had to tell Buck. Buck sat across from him in his favorite overstuffed chair, sensing that Miguel needed a little space if he was going to get his story out.
“It’s dumb.”
“It can’t be dumb if you hide from law officers and live in a dump. Gimme a break, we’re both smarter than that.”
“So I was dating this guy.” Miguel saw Buck’s confused expression. “What? I’m bi, okay?” He shook his head. “Anyway, we were dating for a while. He was a suit, and I think he got a kick out of me being Mexican and a grease monkey. I finally figured out that he got his kicks off on humiliation, not a scene I have ever been into.”
There was just so much Buck did not know.
“I broke it off with him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He tried to have me arrested for ‘stealing’ gifts he had given me. That was real humiliation.” The emotion in Miguel’s eyes told Buck it wasn’t something he was over yet. Not even close. He made an encouraging sound
to keep Miguel on his story.
“So after that, after me having to prove he’d given me the stuff, I gave it all back to him. I didn’t want it; the stuff was tainted by his hate and jealousy. I shoulda just tossed the crap, because he retaliated. Long story short, he got me fired from my job and evicted from my apartment. I think the whole time he was thinking, ‘Yeah, I can knock this Mexican piece of shit down; he’s weak, and then I will own him.’”
“You don’t have to tell me any more,” Buck interjected.
“Oh, hell no, you get to know the whole thing. Then he got his cop buddy in on the game. Every time I came close to getting back on my feet, somebody would ‘find something out’ about me. Jobs, apartments, all fell through. He misjudged me, though. I grew up in the system. I’ve never had anybody, so having nothing was like going home. But the cop guy made it crazy hard, and it turned out my ex had been boning him on the side while…it just got so fucking complicated. The cop guy, he has resources, and I couldn’t let him—any cops know where I am. I’m pretty sure they both want to kill me for getting away.”
“Miguel, that’s abuse. There are good cops out there who will help you.”
“Gotta say my track record with cops has an ‘F’ for failure, flunk, whatever. No cop anywhere wants to help some lowlife, half-educated, not even real Mexican because I grew up in the American foster care system…guy.”
Miguel had become one of Buck’s best friends. Probably his only friend, if he was going to be honest. Also, one of the smartest people he knew. Over the last three years they had discussed and argued, well, it seemed like every subject under the sun. If Miguel thought he was uneducated, what did that make Buck? He hadn’t gone to college, only tech school.
The guy always had a book in his backpack. He’d dragged Buck to the used-book store a couple of times. One time he’d insisted they have their own book club, but they could only buy books from the twenty-five-cent bin. There had been two copies of Dancing in the Light by Shirley MacLaine. They’d both gotten about a third of the way through before admitting there was no way they could finish.