by T. M. Smith
Justine smiled at him and took Frank’s hand in hers. “I know, Frankie, I know.” She looked beyond Frank briefly before her blue-eyed gaze was back on him. “It’s more than that, though. Isn’t it?”
Fucking hell. So much for hiding my feelings and keeping it to myself. Frank considered lying to her, telling Justine she was turning nothing into something. Opening his mouth, he couldn’t find the words. Their eyes met and held for a few, intense seconds and the bitter loathing he felt certain he’d see written all over her face wasn’t there. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t lie to her. “Yeah,” he whispered, face down, unable to hold her gaze.
“Hey, Frank, look at me.” Lifting his gaze, he was surprised to see understanding in her eyes. “Have you told Taylor how you feel?” Frank shook his head. “Don’t you think you should?”
Say what now? Frank blinked in surprise.
Before he could answer the million-dollar question, Caleb danced over to the table with three more beers and three shots of Patrón, sounding like a cat in pain as he sang along with the rock anthem, “Sweet Home Alabama,” currently blaring through the speakers. “Who sings this song again?” Frank asked, his foul mood lifting as he watched his best friend lean over to give his wife a quick kiss.
Caleb took the seat across from him and gave Frank a confused look. “Lynyrd Skynyrd?” His response was more question than statement.
“Right.” Frank snapped his fingers. “Then why don’t you let them sing it?” Caleb flipped him off and Justine howled a loud, boisterous laugh. Thankful for the reprieve, Frank pushed all thoughts of Taylor to the back of his mind and decided to enjoy the rest of the night with his friends.
Two hours, six beers, and three more shots later, Frank pulled out his phone and set up an Uber, waving to Justine and Caleb as their taxi left the parking lot. There was never more than a five-minute wait for an Uber in that area, so setting the service up before he was ready to go was a waste of time. Thunder could be heard in the distance, rain starting to softly fall just as Frank settled into the back seat of the gray Prius. They seemed to be the cars of choice for Uber drivers, the Prius and other hybrids that got far better gas mileage. His phone vibrated in his hand, a text message alert. Swiping the screen, he read the new message from Trevor, his favorite flight attendant.
Trevor: Hey sexy pants. I’m on an overnight layover at Love Field, want some company?
Frank grinned, responding with a few quick taps of his thumbs on the keyboard screen of his phone.
Frank: Hell Yes!!!!
Trevor: On my way!
Pocketing his phone, Frank smiled at his reflection in the window. This was just what he needed, to get laid. It’d been…shit, months since he’d satisfied his wants with something other than his hand, Fleshjack, or the large, purple dildo Caleb had given him for Christmas two years before. That joke was definitely on his partner because Frank rode that damn thing at least once a week. Probably the most thoughtful gift he’d ever given Frank, even if Caleb was oblivious to the fact.
~
“Frankie, baby, I need you inside me now,” Trevor whined, his back arching up off the bed when Frank added a second finger, twisting them and tapping the bundle of nerves in his channel. “Fuck!” Trevor’s tight little body quivered, a hiss falling from his pert, pink lips when Frank removed his fingers, replacing them with his latex-covered cock.
Trevor cried out as Frank buried himself in his ass with one hard push. The saucy flight attendant wrapped his legs around Frank’s waist and shifted his hips, allowing Frank to slide even further into his welcoming body. Leaning down, Frank took Trevor’s mouth, the kiss sloppy and uncoordinated, but who fucking cared? It was always like this with Trevor—fast, furious and satisfying. Frank reminded himself to ask his part-time lover exactly what he did to keep his ass so firm and tight that it was like fucking a virgin each and every time he sank into the man.
Feeling his balls starting to draw up, Frank rolled over onto to his back with Trevor straddling him, not wanting their encounter to end just yet. It’d been far too long since their last tryst, and God only knew how long it would be before they saw each other again.
“Ride me,” Frank ground out between clenched teeth. Trevor was so good at following directions. Using his knees for balance, Trevor thrust his hips; the pace he set was both punishing and erotic. He would lift his body up to where just the tip of Frank’s engorged cock was inside him then slam back down.
“That’s it Trev, fuck yourself on my dick, use me, baby.” Frank teased him with words as well as his hands, running his fingers up his toned abdomen to his nipples, pinching and pulling on the sensitive nubs.
“Touch me, Frankie, please,” Trevor begged, eyes closed, lips parted. Frank happily wrapped his fingers around Trevor’s weeping cock and in just two quick strokes, the man shot his load all over both their bellies as he screamed and bucked in the wake of his orgasm. Frank pushed up into him fast and hard until he too found his release.
They fell onto the bed, covered in sweat and come, breathless but sated. After a few minutes, he managed to pull himself up to dispose of the condom and wash up. Rinsing a rag with warm water, he carried it back out to Trevor, but he was already fast asleep. Frank gently wiped his chest and stomach, tossing the cloth toward the hamper in the corner before climbing back into the bed and covering them both with the sheet. Trevor muttered something, rolling over and laying his head on Frank’s chest.
He and Trevor had met nine years earlier when Frank was flying to New Orleans to meet up with some friends from college for Jazz Fest. He could remember how enamored he was with the personable flight attendant from the start. At barely five foot eight, Trevor made up for any inches one might think he was lacking with his bubbly personality. He was charismatic, eccentric, and fan-fucking-tastic in bed. Slender but fit with shoulder-length, jet-black hair and eyes the color of emeralds, Trevor was effeminate and captivating. They’d tried dating, but it was hard to sync schedules so they came to an agreement instead. Friends with benefits as long as it worked for them both. No strings, no commitments, and no hurt feelings if either one contacted the other and found they were otherwise occupied. They’d gone from nights spent in no-tell motels, reserved out of necessity, to Trevor staying with Frank at his apartment when he was in town and they were able to arrange a… sleepover.
Exhausted, Frank reached over and turned the bedside lamp off and pulled Trevor closer, wanting to feel the warmth of the body heat the man emitted. As tired as he was, he couldn’t fall asleep right away. His mind was still playing the conversation with Justine on a repeat loop, as brief as it was, her words moving across the inside of his eyelids when he closed them, like letters on a movie screen.
Have you told Taylor how you feel? Don’t you think you should?
Chapter Eight
Taylor
Spring 2015
Bright lights, loud music, and half-naked, sweaty men promising any number of naughty things in the back room were lost on Taylor at the moment. Bradley plopped down onto the bar stool beside him, ordering another round of shots. If the promise of meaningless, but possibly fulfilling, sex in the bathroom of a bar wasn’t keeping Taylor’s interest, what made his best friend think alcohol would?
“No man, I’m good. I think I’m just gonna head home. See you tomorrow.” Taylor stood and pulled his wallet out, dropping a couple of bills on the bar and nodding at the bartender who was giving him what could only be described as a “come fuck me” stare, but still. Not interested.
“You sure?” Bradley’s words were a bit slurred.
Their friend Kian made his way over, waving Taylor toward the exit while mouthing, I got this and gently maneuvering Bradley off his stool.
“Thank fuck,” Taylor muttered as he left. He was exhausted and cranky, but that was the norm during finals. Thinking about what day it was, how close it was to the ten-year anniversary of his parents’ still-unsolved murder, well, it didn’t make him feel any bet
ter. It made him feel worse, in fact. No, not worse, more like angrier. Why couldn’t they catch the person or persons that killed his mother and father?
Slamming his front door and locking it, Taylor kicked his shoes off and headed toward his room. He quickly stripped, tossing everything into the hamper before going into the bathroom and starting the shower. There was something about the water that always soothed him. It was like the spray from the showerhead washed over him, lessening some of the pain and anger he felt. Leaning against the cold tiles, he let all the tension melt away, climbing out once the water ran cold.
He wrapped the towel around his waist once he’d dried off, then brushed his teeth. His bottle of sleeping pills screamed at him, Take me! Take me! when he opened the medicine cabinet, but he didn’t want to be groggy during his exam the next day. Instead, he turned off all the lights and crawled into bed, right into the waiting arms of a familiar nightmare.
~
“Wake up, Taylor,” his mom whispered, her warm smile greeting him when he opened his eyes. “There you are, sleepyhead. Come on, we’re going to play a game.”
Her words were like cold water, waking him in an instant. Excited, Taylor jumped out of bed and followed her out into the hallway, his warm bed all but forgotten. He didn’t notice the sheen of sweat dotting her brow or the fear in her eyes as she briskly headed toward the stairs at the end of the hall. She reached for the pull cord that would lower the stairs that lead up to their attic.
“Why are we going up there?” Taylor asked, yawning.
“We’re going to play hide and seek,” she responded.
Taylor groaned. “That’s a game for little kids, Mom. I’m thirteen now and thirteen-year-olds don’t play hide and seek.”
His mom knelt beside him, taking both his hands in hers, squeezing them tight. “How about hide-and-seek tonight, and then the next time, you get to choose the game?”
Rolling his eyes, Taylor agreed.
As soon as they were in the attic, Taylor dropped her hand, intent on finding the perfect place to hide. She reached for him before he could take a step, taking Taylor’s hand in a tight grasp, pulling him toward the far side of the attic. He was confused. “I thought we were playing hide and seek?”
“We are.” She continued to pull him along behind her, sticking close to the wall.
“But Mom, it’s not hide-and-seek if you know where I’m hiding,” he whined.
“Taylor, honey, I need you to trust me right now and do what I ask, okay?” Taylor huffed, but before he could answer, his mom stopped abruptly, squatting beside the attic window, pulling Taylor down beside her. Looking up, he saw a flash of light and thought he could hear a car driving past the house.
“Shit!” his mom swore.
“You gotta put a dollar in the swear jar, Mom.”
She grabbed him then, pulling Taylor into a tight hug before releasing him and kissing him gently on the forehead. “Okay, Son, I’ll put a dollar in the jar tomorrow, promise.” Her voice sounded off to him, wobbly like she was trying not to cry. But her eyes filled with tears, one escaping and trailing down her cheek.
He reached up with his small hand and wiped the tear away. “Don’t be sad, Mom, it’s okay, you don’t gotta put a dollar in the jar. I won’t tell Dad.”
She sucked in a deep breath, biting down on her bottom lip. The light that had been shining into the window was gone then, shadowing them in darkness once again, and he could only make out the shape of her face. Ducking past the window, his mom scrabbled to the corner on her hands and knees, beckoning Taylor to follow with a wave of her hand. There was a tiny crawl space wedged between the outer wall of their house and the chimney from the fireplace that was just barely big enough for Taylor to fit into. Pulling the door open, she told him to climb in, but he hesitated. It was so dark that he couldn’t see and it frightened him.
“Here you go.” There was a soft click and the crawl space was illuminated by his flashlight. Smiling wide, he took the flashlight and crawled in, turning and sitting down, knees up to his chest because there wasn’t enough room to stretch them out. His mom handed Taylor a bottle of water and his favorite book, “Where the Wild Things Are.”
“Now listen, son, this is very important.” She waited for Taylor to nod his head. “Don’t make a sound, and don’t come out until I come get you, okay?” Frowning, he nodded again.
“But…” She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, leaning into the crawl space and kissing his other cheek.
“Your dad and I love you so much, Taylor, never forget that, no matter what happens.” She scooted back away from the door, glancing at him once more before closing it.
Taylor could hear distinct noises immediately. The sound of something being dragged across the floor, a sweeping sound; was there a broom in the attic? Straining, he could hear his mom walking back to the other side of the attic, the stairs creaking as she went back down them. Murmurs, words he couldn’t hear clearly, and then the soft thump of the attic door closing.
Taylor read the book twice, careful not to say the words out loud using the voices his dad did when they read the story together before bed. Eventually he fell asleep, jolting upright when he heard the dragging sound again. Expecting to see his mom or dad when the door opened, Taylor gasped and scooted as far back against the wall as he could get when he saw the face of a stranger.
“Hey there.…it’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” the stranger told him.
Taylor shook his head furiously, turning sideways and drawing his knees up to his chest so that he was just out of the man’s reach. The fear was sudden and surreal and Taylor’s entire body was shaking from the adrenaline. “Okay, okay, I’ll just sit here and wait until you’re ready to come out.” The man moved back a few inches and sat down, crossing his legs and waiting.
The man’s actions calmed Taylor a little, but now in addition to being scared he was confused; where were his parents? He remembered what his mom had told him just before she closed the door. “Don’t make a sound, and don’t come out until I come get you.” And so he didn’t. He remained still and silent, expecting his mom to walk up behind the man at any moment.
Taylor didn’t know how long they sat and stared at each other, neither of them moving or making a sound. Once, he looked off to the left and nodded his head, but then his eyes were back on Taylor again. There was a noise…it sounded like a radio and Taylor watched the man reach up and touch a speaker or something that was attached to his shoulder. Leaning away from the wall to get a better look, Taylor recognized the dark blue uniform and silver badge.
“Are you a policeman?” Taylor asked; his voice barely above a whisper.
Smiling, he nodded. “Yes, I am”
“Where’s Mom?” The policeman’s smile morphed into a dark sneer and all the skin on his face disappeared until he looked like a skeleton.
“She’s dead, Taylor. She’s dead and she’s never coming back for you!”
~
Taylor sat straight up in bed, heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears, wondering who the hell was screaming. Oh, wait, that was him. His skin was drenched with sweat, limbs tangled in the damp sheets, heart beating damn near out of his chest. No matter how many therapists he saw or how many drugs he took, nothing had been able to make the nightmare go away. It was branded in his memory, reminding him that he wasn’t okay, that he’d never truly be okay. Not until his parents’ murder was solved and justice was served—maybe not even then.
Tossing the sheet back, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, toes digging into the carpet as he stood and walked toward the bathroom on shaking legs. His small apartment off campus was costly but necessary. The last thing Taylor wanted was a roommate, much less a dorm full of them. His bestie Brad was the only person outside of his family that knew about the nightmares. So on the rare occasion he stayed over, he brought earplugs.
Flipping on the bathroom light he squinted, leaning on the counter and staring at his reflection in
the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, a thick layer of sweat covering his skin, and his hair was drenched, matted to his forehead. Turning on the faucet, he cupped his hands to fill them with water and splashed some on his face, running fingers through the thick, unruly brown locks with the rest so it no longer stuck to his skin.
“Jesus Taylor, get a fucking grip,” he growled. Opening the medicine cabinet, he snatched the bottle of Temazepam off the shelf, twisting the cap off angrily. He absolutely hated taking medicines of any kind because of the side effects. But with a major test in a just a few short hours, he decided that sluggish and lethargic were a far better alternative to flat-out sleeping through class. Shaking one blue and white capsule into his palm, he closed the bottle and placed it back in the cabinet before popping the pill into his mouth, filling his hand with water from the tap to wash it down.
Too tired to deal with anything else, he jerked the damp sheets off the bed and tossed them into the hamper before falling onto the bare mattress with just the quilt. He’d deal with making the bed the next day.…Maybe. Instead of playing the nightmare out in his mind on a repeat loop, Taylor concentrated on the blue eyes that grounded him, made him feel safe the night he lost everything.
He was eighteen years old when he’d first realized that his feelings for Frank were changing, admiration and gratitude morphing into an attraction, lust leading to love. Smiling to himself, Taylor snuggled into his pillow, the pill already making him feel loopy and sedated. Graduation was just a few weeks away and then he’d be back home in Dallas with his family, and most importantly, with Frank.