by T. M. Smith
Taylor is going to hate you when he learns the truth, when he finds out who you really are. Blair squeezed his hands into fists, cracking his neck before opening the door in his mind labeled “Kian” and shoving his concerns and questions about anything concerning Taylor into the dark room. He slammed the door and visualized a key locking it, then disappearing. Inhaling a deep breath through his nostrils, Blair began typing, his mind now clear and solely focused on work.
Chapter 4
Mannie
Winter 2013
“Hey bro, happy birthday.” Pete squeezed his shoulder, winking before sliding past Mannie and kicking his shoes off by the door. Dropping the gift bag with the word “Celebrate” etched out in gold glitter on a black background on the table, Pete hugged Sharon, kissing her on the cheek and handing her the bottle of Jose Cuervo and a bag of limes.
“Oh la la, it’s going to be a parteeeeeee tonight!” Sharon waggled her eyebrows as she sashayed into the kitchen. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell in loose curls down her back, her Arizona summer-tanned skin a stark contrast to the white off-the-shoulder sweat shirt she wore. Tony slapped her on the ass as they walked past each other, ducking as she swung the bag of limes at his head, the pair laughing and grinning at each other. A pang of jealousy pinched Mannie, his joy dimming just a smidge. Would he ever find someone to truly love him the right way?
“Penny for your thoughts.” Zoe sidled up next to him.
Chuckling, Mannie wrapped an arm around the petite pixie, pulling her close. “Trust me, Zo. You do not want to take a stroll through this fucked up minefield of a brain.” He spoke with a playful tone, and the short girl rolled her eyes, smiling, but her body stiffened almost imperceptibly at his words.
Just sixteen and stunning, Zoe had been with them for almost a year now. From what Zoe had told them, her mother was a drug addict that began whoring her daughter out for crack at the tender young age of twelve. Tony had stumbled across the waif of a girl in an alley in downtown Phoenix when leaving a halfway house that he visited twice a month to counsel the youth. He had to coax Zoe into the car with the promise of sex for money, which of course was a lie, but it brought Zoe to them, to the house, and most importantly, to safety. Five feet tall and maybe ninety pounds, Mannie could still remember her disheveled hair, ratty clothes, and the bruises that dotted her ebony skin. That was what got him that first night she was there, the fact that as dark as her skin was, the bruises still stood out like a flash of metal on a stormy night. It took months of her continually propositioning every man in sight and being turned down, them always quick to explain why before she broke down into tears, before she started to settle in. Her young psyche had been nurtured with hate, sex, and poverty, her body the only bargaining chip she thought she had. Slowly, patiently, Sharon and Tony had bathed Zoe in love and truth, showing her what a real family, what real parents should be like. That was how they were with everyone in the house.
“Good lord, Mannie. You’re only twenty-two. Don’t start acting like an old man already.” Zoe shoved him playfully.
“Huh?” He blinked, smiling down at her. “What are you talking about?”
“You were staring off into space with this stupid look on your face. You got the dementia already?” He really didn’t know if she was kidding.
Tony snapped his fingers to get their attention. “Everyone, gather around.”
Sharon appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with a cake that held twenty-two goddamn candles. Mannie groaned; he’d told them not to do this, but they did it anyway. Pete was right behind her, his booming voice quickly rattling the walls as he began an odd rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” Tony, Sharon, and Zoe joined in so that it sounded like a chorus act. “Oh, good lord,” he muttered.
Sharon set the cake on the table and he bent to blow out the candles, wincing when Zoe smacked him on the arm. “Not yet, you gotta make a wish.”
A wish, for what? Money, love, happiness? He was safe and away from the man that had abused him, away from the one that tried to kill him, away from his homophobic family. He had a life here in Phoenix, had a family not bound by blood but by circumstance, and that family loved him far more than the one God had given him to. He had a job, his own money, and his own life, and though he still felt the wounds from his time with Bruce as if they were gaping and fresh every damn day, he was happy. So that was what he wished for, that the people surrounding and supporting him would be happy and safe each and every day.
Cheers and applause bounced off the walls of the small dining room along with the smoke from the candles. “Here, open mine first.” Pete shoved the black bag into his hands as Sharon sliced the cake, sliding pieces onto the paper plates with the words “Happy Birthday!” printed on them in bold lettering.
Skeptical, Mannie pushed the sparkly tissue paper aside and pulled the box out. “Oh…my God.” The image of a skin-toned double-headed dildo adorned the box. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sharon shoved the box down into the bag, whirling around and smacking Pete on the arm. “There is a child in the room!” She smacked Pete on the other arm. He was trying to dance backward, away from the slapping hands while Tony and Zoe laughed hysterically.
“Ouch, would you stop that?” Pete bobbed and weaved, putting the table between him and Sharon.
Zoe snorted, plopping down into one of the chairs; reaching for a plate she shoved half the piece of cake in her mouth at once. “Sweetie, slow down. No one is going to take it away from you, you’ll choke.” Sharon turned her attention to Zoe, the mothering gene kicking in. Mannie caught the not-so-subtle wink Zoe shot at Pete and sat down beside her, shaking his head. Lord, but he loved these people.
Chapter 5
Blair
Winter 2015
Sleep tugged at the corners of his consciousness, his limbs heavy, weighed down. Voices penetrated the hazy fog clouding his mind. His parents? Wait, where am I? Blair struggled, finally breaking the surface of the river threatening to drown him. The light was bright, too bright; it cut through his head like a knife. The room was foreign, unfamiliar, and there was an incessant beeping in the background that would surely drive him mad. “Turn that fucking thing off.” Coughing, he flinched, the pain in his stomach making him nauseous. “Jesus, fuck!” Instinct had him turning sideways, dry-heaving, the pain suddenly excruciating. “Why is there a hippopotamus sitting on my chest?” He coughed again and winced, trying hard to inhale without it causing a bone-deep throb that resonated out through his rib cage.
“Hey, shhh. Lie down, Son. You’re gonna pull your stitches, and they’ll have to operate again.” His father’s rough, weathered hand hesitantly touched his shoulder, gently guiding Blair onto his back.
“Dad? What are you…are we—am I in the hospital?” The sharp smell of antiseptic stung his nostrils. Yep, he was in the hospital. But why? Closing his eyes, Blair waited for the pain in his abdomen to subside to at least a bearable agony as he fought past the cobwebs in his mind. He’d been watching Taylor’s apartment when a reporter arrived; then Rory called and…he sat up fast, screaming out in pain. “Taylor? Where’s Taylor?”
“You’re a stubborn cuss, that much is certain.” Lewis Cummings pushed him back down. “Stay.” Squinting past the harsh, yellow light above his head, Blair saw his father’s blurry finger pointed at him. Though his tone was adamant, almost imploring, his steel-blue eyes were clouded with concern.
The door swung open and Blair turned to see his mom rushing into the room, a man in scrubs right behind her. The smile she offered him was strained but genuine. It gutted him, the true fear he saw in her eyes. “Well now, it’s good to see you awake, sweetie. You had us all worried for a little while there.”
Scrubs leaned over him, lifting Blair’s wrist to check his pulse. Squinting again, he read the name badge, Brody RN. “A little higher than I’d like.” Brody said out loud to no one in particular. He buzzed around the bed, checking his vitals and admoni
shing Blair for trying to do too much too soon. “Take it easy, you hear me? You were in surgery for several hours and lost a lot of blood. It’s gonna take your body some time to heal, so don’t push yourself. If I have to come in here again, I’ll have an orderly tie you down. You gonna behave?” Blair nodded numbly. “Good. I’ll give you guys some time alone and send in some supper in about an hour.” Brody smiled down at him with a wink, stopping to speak briefly with his parents before leaving the room. As soon as the door closed, his mom was on him like white on rice.
“Oh my God, Blair, baby, you had us so worried.” Tears streamed down her face. He raised a shaking hand, wiping them away with his thumb. Blair didn’t know which was worse—the pain currently spiking every cell in his body, or the despondent look in his mother’s eyes. “You wouldn’t wake up. We sat here, watching the clock slowly move, and still, you just wouldn’t wake up.” Her hands were all over him, hovering at first as if she were afraid she’d break him.
“Honey, come on, stop fussing over him.” Lewis rolled his eyes, and grabbed his wife’s hands, clasping them in his. It was such a familiar gesture, so easy and true, that it made Blair chuckle. He couldn’t help it. “See, the boy’s fine, Judy. Just a little banged up is all.”
Oh, snap. Those were the wrong words to say. Blair would have flinched for him if he thought it wouldn’t cause him an enormous amount of pain. “Just a little banged up?” His mother glared up at his father. “He was stabbed with a machete, Lewis. Stabbed! Falling down the stairs in third grade was banged up. Riding his bike over a steep hill when he was fourteen and breaking his arm was banged up. Stabbed, Lewis! Stabbed is not banged up!”
Eager to avoid the storm brewing, Blair took pity on his father and groaned, loudly. “What’s wrong, honey? What can I do?” Just like that, his mom’s tone lightened, and all her attention was on him.
“I’m good. Where’s Taylor? I need to talk to Taylor,” he begged. Vivid flashes of the aftermath of the scene that unfolded at Frank and Taylor’s apartment had been playing on a continuous loop in his mind since he woke up: Getting into the apartment through an unlocked window in the bedroom—he made a mental note to verbally berate both men for that obvious lapse in judgment—and quietly making his way toward the living room. His heart damn near pounding out of his chest when he saw Landry threatening Taylor with the large cutting knife. The image of that knife flying through the air taking his breath away, Blair seeing it a second too late to move, the blade slicing through his flesh like butter.
“He was here for a while. Such a nice young man.” Judy sat down on the bed, taking his hand and smiling down at him. “We talked for hours. Well, he talked and I listened while your father snored.” She turned to her husband, reaching for him with her other hand, kissing his cheek before turning back to him. “My God, Son. What that poor boy has been through, losing his parents so young. I think he really wanted to be mad at you for the whole undercover thing. But I could tell he was genuinely worried about you. And then his partner came to pick him up and check on you—those two are absolutely adorable, so in love. Oh, your coworkers were here, Rory and Connie. They said they’d come by tomorrow.”
She continued to talk, telling him about Timothy’s school play and Corrine’s terrible twos. He found a certain comfort in the one-sided conversation. It dawned on him then that he had something in his life that many either took for granted or didn’t have at all—his family. Taylor’s had been violently jerked away from him while he was safely tucked in a cubby hole in the attic. There’d been no choice offered, no reprieve. The first thing he would do when he was out of the goddamn uncomfortable hospital bed was go to Taylor, and apologize profusely, beg for forgiveness. Because right or wrong, however it was that he came to be a fixture in Taylor’s life, Taylor was part of his family and he couldn’t, he wouldn’t lose him.
A cell phone rang, and Blair instinctually looked for his, but it was his mom’s. “Oh, it’s Rachel. She’s been calling every hour.”
“On the hour.” Lewis shook his head, sidestepping his wife’s attempt to smack him.
His mom put it on speakerphone so that anyone within a five-mile radius could hear Rachel go from sobbing to shouting to laughing and then back to sobbing when she heard Blair’s voice. “Are you pregnant again?” Blair asked.
“Blair Edward Cummings, don’t you take that tone with your sister.”
“But, Mom, she’s crazy,” Blair whined like he used to when they were kids and Rachel would dress him up like a rabbit so they could have tea.
Judy bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing as Rachel’s colorful comeback bounced off every flat surface in the room. “You do realize she’s going to whip your ass as soon as the stitches are out, right?” his dad warned. And he did, but it was just too much fun.
Sliding a finger over the screen, his mom put the phone to her ear and went out into the hall to finish the call with his sister, leaving Blair and his dad alone. The silence was a barrier between them which was not only awkward but strange as well. They’d never had a problem talking to one another; why now? Oh, right. I almost died, that’s why. “Listen, Dad…”
Lewis Cummings held up a hand, shaking his head of graying hair. “No, do not apologize to me for getting stabbed.” Fingers twisted around the small railing at the foot of the bed, his father leaned forward and shook his head. “Your mother and I had a conversation when you first told us you were taking the job at the Bureau. We knew the danger that came with the title, the risks. I won’t lie and tell you there haven’t been any sleepless nights—especially during your weeks-long blackouts every summer. We’ve worried and wondered. But on the other side of that, Son, we’re so proud of you. We know you’re doing what you want to do, and we respect that. So you respect us too, and don’t go trying to apologize for something that was out of your control.”
Damn, he couldn’t argue with that logic. “You know, I wouldn’t be the man I am without your love and support. Having you and Mom there, in my life every step of the way, it guided me and kept me grounded.” Eyes blurry, he sighed, looking toward the door, really wanting his mom to burst into the room so he’d stop blubbering like an idiot.
“We love you too, Son.” The raw edge of his father’s tone damn near did him in. Thankfully his mom, now off the phone, floated back into the room, all smiles and sunshine. Before more pesky emotions and feelings could be shared, Brody blew through like a tornado and injected a syringe of blissful ignorance into Blair’s IV.
***
Soft-spoken words roused him from a strange dream where Rachel was the Queen of Hearts, screaming, “Off with his head,” and Taylor’s face, sprouting from the top of the King of Spades card, eyes red with murderous intent, stalked toward him. “Jesus, stop shouting and just kill me already,” he groaned.
“Trust me, I did give the option some serious thought.” Taylor chuckled. “But it seems someone beat me to it.”
Blinking proved to be a more difficult task than it should’ve been; his eyes were dry, itchy and swollen. “Seriously, Blair. How do you feel? Do you need me to buzz the nurse’s station?” Taylor reached for the remote lying by his head on the bed.
“No,” he declined. “Pain’s a dull throb right now. I could use some water, though.” It was almost embarrassing, Taylor holding the straw up to his mouth so Blair could quench his thirst. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” His friend gave him a tenuous smile, setting the cup on the bedside table before sitting in the chair and dragging it closer to Blair’s hospital bed. “Listen. I’m not going to pretend everything is okay because of your current predicament, but I had a lot of time to think during the long wait for you to wake up after surgery.”
Blair moved over onto his side, hissing as he pushed the button to raise the head of the bed. “Well, don’t keep me waiting. What did you think about?”
“Even with a hole in your belly, you’re still a pain in the ass.” Taylor snorted, rolling his eyes dramat
ically. “Joking aside, Blair, I’m not sure how I feel about all this anymore. I was so fucking pissed at you when Rory came clean, but even as angry as I was, I understood deep down that all the lies were a necessary evil until the person that murdered my parents was found. Add to that the pain of learning my dad wasn’t really my dad, that my father was a psychopath that murdered my parents and then tried to kill me…” Taylor bit his bottom lip, looking away, obviously gathering his thoughts. “As much as I wanted to hate you, when you got stabbed it made me realize how short life is and that there isn’t any promise of a tomorrow.”
Eyes misty, Taylor stared down at his feet. “You’re still one of my best friends, Blair. I won’t give that up—I’ve already lost way too much in my life, and I won’t add you to that list.” When Taylor looked up at him, a flash of anger sparked in his hazel eyes. “Your cover story, Kian, about your parents.”
“Wait.” Blair tried to sit up, hissing at the pain in his chest. Taylor reached for him but Blair waved him off. “Listen, just…listen. I had no input into what my cover would be, Taylor, I swear. And none of us thought we’d even still be shadowing you or the Stones for so long.”
Breathless and hurting, he plopped down on his back, warm tears trailing down his cheeks. “I’ll never be able to apologize enough, Taylor, but we can work through this, I promise.”
Snorting, Taylor faced him with a half-assed grin. “I know we will.”
And they would. Of that much, Blair was certain.
Chapter 6
Mannie
Fall 2016
When Mannie’s cell vibrated in his pocket, he pulled it out and considered forwarding the call to voice mail until he saw Petey’s name flash across the screen. Swiping his thumb over the green phone, he answered. “Hey, what’s up?” Mannie pushed away from his desk and stood, rolling his shoulders as he walked toward the kitchen for a drink.