by M. Tasia
He was so screwed.
Chapter Seven
It had been two days since Saint woke up and found himself in Max’s arms. How he ended up in that position he didn’t know, but the easy way in which Max had brushed it off confirmed the attraction wasn’t exactly mutual. Saint hadn’t slept so well in a long time. The fact that he’d not woken up screaming was a miracle, and he could have cried.
He guessed Max’s indifference was for the best in this situation. It wasn’t as if Saint was a whole or completely sane person anymore. He, above all others, knew the precarious position his physical and mental health were in. He didn’t need to share that with anyone.
Maybe if he went out and got laid he’d get his senses back. It wasn’t as though he’d had a prolific love life, considering he’d lived under his father’s thumb, but Saint had a few friends with benefits in the past. However, having to hide it in order to protect Johnny never boded well for longevity or any level of meaningful. He wasn’t the usual one-night-stand kind of guy, he wanted a connection, but maybe that was exactly what he needed.
“Finn,” Saint called out from his office. There were hammers, saws, and drills playing a symphony in his building, and for a moment he worried the young man might not hear him. He reached for his cell at the same moment as Finn came running through the door.
“Hey, boss, what do you need?” Finn asked with a concerned look on his freckled face. Saint had given Finn his own cell, which he was clutching in his right hand.
“I’m fine. I was…um…curious if there were any gay bars or clubs near here?” Saint asked, knowing Finn was gay and had been living in LA a lot longer than him.
Unfortunately, before Finn had a chance to answer, Miguel came through the door followed by Max. “What? You looking for a little fun? I can lead you in the right direction, my man,” Miguel offered, as if perhaps finding a hookup was an everyday affair. Hell, how would he know, maybe it was.
Mortified at being discovered, Saint tried not to fidget. Asking Finn was one thing. The kid would never repeat anything they’d discussed, but now it was out there for public discussion. Damn it.
Miguel sat down on the orange-flowered circa-1970s couch Saint had found on the second floor and got comfortable even though Max was still standing in the doorway. Finn sat down in one of the adjacent chairs and the two began discussing the merits of the different locations.
“Redline on Sixth is popular,” Finn suggested.
“What about the Golden Gopher on Eighth? It’s usually not difficult to pick someone up there,” Miguel suggested with a grin on his face, making Saint wonder if the man frequented the bar.
“True enough, but there’s also the Precinct on Broadway,” Finn replied.
Miguel asked, “You go there often?”
Saint tuned out their conversation and turned to Max, who still hadn’t said a word. “Is there something you need, Max?” They were friends and both gay, so discussions about going out shouldn’t have bothered the guy. Even though Saint wanted to be swallowed up in a hole. He imagined one of those snake/worm things he’d seen in a movie, gobbling him up whole.
Max looked down at the file folder he held in his hands and finally snapped out of it. “Yep. I wanted to go over shipping the handrail, spindles, and a few wood moldings to my shop in Pasadena for restoration. My guys are ready for them.”
“Okay. Do you want to have a seat?” Saint asked as he glanced over at the two conspiring in the corner and shook his head. “Anywhere but over with those two.”
Max stepped forward and sat in one of the plastic patio chairs in front of Saint’s desk before opening the file. “I’ve taken pictures and catalogued where each piece was located. They’ve been wrapped and tied down to reduce any risk of damage on the trip over.”
Max handed the pictures and log to Saint, who noted how meticulous the records were—the same as yesterday and the day before. The two of them shared the same vision for this building—restore as much as possible before considering putting in newer options. Of course, all the infrastructure would be new. Case in point, the water pipes. However, they would save as much of the original building as they could. The art deco designs combined with the turn-of-the-century Art Nouveau style made for an interesting, if not a unique look.
“Great, everything is moving along nicely. When will the scaffolding and screens be put up out front?” Saint wanted the façade to shine, as it had over a century ago. Though he realized this restoration would take years, every step of the way seemed like a milestone.
“The beginning of next week. I’m finishing up a job in Beverly Hills and should have at least ten more guys available to work on your building.” Max took the folder back before continuing, “You really going to go out all by yourself?”
“I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.” Saint wasn’t sure which one of them he was trying to convince. However, he was surprised that Max’s question hadn’t set him off.
“I know you can, but you’re not familiar with downtown. Some areas aren’t safe, and neither are the men you’d pick up there.” Max’s expression was unreadable.
“Look, I appreciate your—”
“We’ll all go out. We’ll be your wingmen,” Miguel announced as he stood from the couch and stretched out his big body. Finn couldn’t take his eyes off the guy.
“My wingmen?” Saint asked, not bothering to pretend they weren’t talking about finding him a man. “You’ll help me go out and get laid? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, come on, Saint, please. I haven’t been out in forever,” Finn whined. “I want to dance and have some fun.”
Damn it, he couldn’t say no to the kid. Finn had worked so hard around here and never complained. “Fine, but I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him, don’t worry. Max can help you in your quest for dick,” Miguel stated with a huge smile. Max wasn’t smiling. “It’s decided, we’ll come pick you guys up on Saturday night and we’ll hit the town.”
Finn literally jumped up and down clapping his hands before he and Miguel walked out of the office. Leaving Max and Saint behind, as if the two of them had agreed to this arrangement.
“Max, you don’t have to go,” Saint offered because the man didn’t look particularly excited about the prospect of being his wingman. “It’ll give Finn a chance to go out. He deserves it. Miguel will be there for him, and as I’ve repeatedly stated, I can take care of myself.”
“No…no, I’ll come along.” Max stood as he spoke.
“Oh…good, okay. Well, there was something else I’d like to talk to you about.” Saint braced his hands on the desk and slowly stood. The doctor in the ER had been on the mark when he’d said Saint had thrown his recovery back at least a month. Hell, going out to pick someone up should be his last concern considering his physical issues. He’d promised Finn, he had to go. However, the scars and his inability to move fully at half strength was a concern. What had he gotten himself into?
“Saint, are you okay?” Max’s voice was closer now and brought Saint back to the here and now. “Do you need to sit down?” Every word Max spoke was laced with concern. He understood him and cared. Maybe Saint could find someone like him—although he doubted that.
“No, I’m okay. Just thinking.” Saint walked around the desk and farther away from Max. “I wanted to go over what I need done with the original bar.”
Max followed him to the adjacent room and to the bar made out of intricately carved hardwood. Various scenes were depicted on the front and sides, working their way up the back wall and across the spots where bottles of liquor used to be displayed and stored. He understood the fridges underneath would have to be replaced, but he would try to save the decorative fronts.
“This is important to me,” Saint began to explain as his fingers sought out the same carving every time. It had become instinctive. “I want this piece given the utmost care, please. It would…um…hurt me if it was destroyed.” Ma
x watched as Saint’s fingers outlined the gentle rise of the carved gate. “If there is a way to protect this carving, I would be grateful.”
“Let me have a look,” Max said before he walked around the bar, inspecting every part as he went.
When the wait became too much, Saint had to ask, “Can you do it?”
Max looked him straight in the eye and said, “If it means that much to you, I’ll restore it myself.”
Relief washed over Saint, and he had to place one hand on the bar top to steady himself. “You have no idea what that means to me. Thank you, Max.”
One of the construction workers cut off the question Saint could feel was on the tip of Max’s tongue. The man barged in and began demanding explanations for something or other. Saint took that as his opportunity to make his escape back into his office, and this time he shut the door.
Saint wasn’t ready to share that precious part of his memories quite yet.
***
Max was ready to kill Miguel. What had he been thinking saying they’d go out and help Saint pick up a guy? That was the last damn thing Max wanted. Waking up with Saint in his arms had been the single most exhilarating experience he’d had since Max had come out. That was the feeling—the rightness he’d been searching for since he knew he was attracted to men.
He hadn’t known how to act at the time and thought maybe Saint wasn’t ready for what Max wanted, so he’d brushed it off as if it were normal friend behavior. When in truth, Max wanted to keep himself wrapped around Saint and sleep away the day in each other’s arms. Of course, Saint had had nightmares throughout the night, but Max had managed to calm him every time.
Now he needed to find his best friend and pummel him to within an inch of his life. “Miguel,” he yelled.
The unrepentant bastard had the nerve to smile at Max as he made his way down a damn ladder over one of the door moldings. “Yes, boss.”
“Don’t you ‘yes boss’ me, you asshole, get down here. We need to talk.” Max wasn’t in the mood for games. He cared about Saint. The grumpy, bristly bastard had grown on him.
Miguel reached the bottom of the ladder and joined Max at the back of the main entrance. “I know what you’re pissed about,” he said with a knowing smile Max want to knock off his face.
“Oh, do you? The fact that you volunteered us to help the man I can’t stop thinking about get laid by some no-name willing body. Please, tell me how pissed I am. I dare you.” Max didn’t even recognize his own voice. The hard edge wasn’t normal for him.
For the first time Miguel stopped and took a moment to think before he spoke, which was progress. “Did you want him to go out there by himself, without people to watch out for him?”
Max thought about that option and found Miguel might have a point—”might” being the operative word. “He’s not a child.”
“No, he’s not. However, in his current state do you honestly believe he could defend himself? What if some asshole doesn’t back off? I’m sorry you’ve been temporarily blinded, but Saint is one hell of a handsome man. Guys will be lining up to meet the newbie. Besides, if you’re so damn interested, grow some balls and tell him.”
“Grow a pair of your own.”
Miguel reached down and cupped himself. “Got a big set right here.”
“So the fact that Finn intends to go dancing plays no bearing on this decision?”
Miguel had the decency to look a touch guilty. “Well, we can’t have something happen to the kid.”
“That kid is approaching his mid-twenties and has lived on the streets,” Max grumbled as he turned to walk away. “Not such a big set after all.”
Miguel laughed deeply as he always did. “Yeah, maybe there’s a support group we can join.”
Max couldn’t help but laugh back. That was his best friend, always watching out for others and never taking himself too seriously. Miguel had seen and done things as a Marine that Max knew he’d never recover from and that now Miguel preferred to keep things as light as possible.
Max understood his friend’s reasoning, and it made sense. The only problem was Max would be watching man after man try to pick up Saint and would be unable to do a damn thing about it.
Shit.
Chapter Eight
Saint stood staring at himself in the cracked, wood-framed, full-length mirror, another rescue from one of the rooms upstairs. His curly blond hair was styled back. He’d even shaved, and dressed in what he thought looked good, his black jeans and boots with a charcoal gray V-neck shirt. He couldn’t help but notice his partially gloved hands and traced the outline of the bandages on his stomach with his thumb.
What the hell am I doing?
He huffed and ran the tips of his fingers through his hair. He’d never set foot in a gay club in his life, too risky. He never knew when his father would use any excuse as reason enough to go after Johnny. All Saint’s hook-ups had involved colleagues in the medical community, preferably during out-of-town conferences. Not once did he go out to try to pick up someone. When he’d asked Finn for suggestions, Saint had been brash and jumped the gun. Now all he wanted to do was crawl into his worn jeans and stained t-shirt before settling down in front of the television. Like he and Finn had done most nights.
To top it all off, Max had been MIA for the last three days, leaving Miguel to lead the work on Saint’s building while Max finished another job. Saint couldn’t help but wonder if Max was pissed about having to hang around the city when typically he returned to Temecula. Which brought up a whole other concern—Emma. Saint wondered how she was settling in, and he hadn’t gotten an update in days.
The more he thought about it, the more he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He didn’t even want to get laid anymore. Shitfuckdammit.
“What’s got you looking so worried?” Max’s voice broke Saint out of his spiraling thoughts. Tall, dark, and damn sexy casually walked into Saint’s temporary bedroom and came to stand in front of him. “You look great, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Thanks, but I don’t feel great.” His hands sliced through the air in agitation. “I can’t go.”
“Are you in pain? Is something wrong?” Max asked while leaning forward and taking Saint’s injured hands into his own to inspect. Saint couldn’t help but notice the heady scent of Max’s cologne, or the way his jeans hung low around his hips, revealing a glimpse of that defined V line disappearing below his belt. The man was simply gorgeous. His stunning green eyes drew Saint in, and he had to physically stop himself from leaning forward.
Leave it to Max to be concerned about his welfare. Friends. We’re friends. It had been a long time since he could say someone truly cared. Well, except for Johnny. His brother loved him no matter what. Saint knew that now. “No, physically, I’m good. It’s… I’m having second thoughts.”
Saint despised appearing weak in front of anyone, but Max felt different from anyone else. “Hell, I should be going out now that I’m free to. It doesn’t matter if I’m unappealing.” Saint raised his shirt to show his multiple bandages. Damn. “What’s wrong with me? Where did my confidence go?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect, and if some guy can’t see that, then it’s his loss.” There was a definite edge to Max’s voice, but Saint was too consumed by fear to pay it much attention.
Max was still holding Saint’s hands and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to release him. “Max, I’m broken, messed up, and traumatized, or whatever you want to call it. You, of all people, should understand that even from only knowing me for a few weeks. I’m not talking about my physical issues when I say that. I’ve got no right to be considering going to a club or having fun at all. Half my group didn’t make it out of that jungle.” Saint pulled his hands away from Max and turned away, embarrassed he’d let that last part slip out. He couldn’t even keep his thoughts to himself anymore. How close was he to the edge?
His mind raced in a million different directions—guilt, fear, disapp
ointment, self-loathing, pain, confusion, all and more came rushing at him out of nowhere. Was he having a panic attack? He was definitely having a hard time breathing. Saint sensed Max coming over to stand behind him, but he refused to turn around and see the condemnation in Max’s eyes, or worse, pity.
Instead of forcing him to turn, Max simply wrapped his arms around Saint. Crazy enough, his support and strength calmed Saint and allowed him to catch his breath. “We don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to. But if you decide you want to try it out, I’ll be right there beside you.”
“I’ve never been weak a day in my life. Needing someone to hold my hand while I get up my nerve to venture out into the world? God, I’m pathetic. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.” It was true, he didn’t. Saint’s bravado, swagger, and confidence seemed to have vanished along with his ability to perform surgery. Since losing his vocation, he knew now how deeply rooted his self-worth was in his ability to help others. You’re worthless now. His father’s words echoed in his head.
Was he worthless?
“Have you ever thought of talking to someone about what you’ve been through?” Max asked as he pulled Saint tighter to his body. “It could help.”
“Yeah, it’s crossed my mind a few times. Every time I work up the nerve to make the call and set up an appointment, I freeze. The thought of reliving all that bullshit takes me to some dark places I’d prefer not to go.” His nightmares took him there often enough without willingly digging it up himself.
Max held him securely without saying a word, which Saint appreciated more than he could say. He didn’t need someone telling him he should suck it up and be thankful that he was alive. Though he doubted Max would do something like that. However, quite a few people had to share their opinions on how he should handle his recovery over the months without asking him how he wanted to handle it.
“You guys ready?” Finn asked by yelling from the hub area. The excitement in his voice was unmistakable.
Max turned Saint around in his arms and said, “I have an idea. Tonight, you’ll be going out with me. No pressure, no expectations, only us, and of course our willing accomplices out there.” Max motioned with his thumb in the direction of the hub.