Love Him Free: Book One of On The Market

by Lindsey, E. M.

  @SylentOfficial: better than most. Better than my brothers.

  @thechametz: I’m…sorry?

  @Sylent Official: LOL. No worries.

  @SylentOfficial: what is chametz?

  @thechametz: it’s Hebrew for bread. Or leavened things. The stuff we can’t have during Passover. It’s also the name of my Bubbe’s bakery.

  @SylentOfficial: u run social media?

  @thechametz: I run the shop. My bubbe left it to me when she died.

  @SylentOfficial: Sorry.

  @thechametz: it’s fine. Um.

  @SylentOfficial: is a good job? Bakery?

  @thechametz: it’s a job. It’s not doing well.

  He stopped. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck! Simon, what is wrong with you?” He dropped his head to the desk and took in a ragged breath. He’d spent so long keeping this to himself, and he was horrified at how fast he’d cracked to a total stranger.

  @thechametz: please don’t say anything about it on twitter. I’m trying to figure things out.

  @SylentOfficial: that y u know how hard life is sometimes?

  @thechametz: lol yes.

  @SylentOfficial: send video w ur face. ASL need expressions.

  Simon flushed red-hot but he wasn’t about to deny that request. Not just because it was Sylent, but also because he was right. He’d denied him half the language by showing only his hands.

  Pulling up his webcam, he angled it at him and tried not to grimace at his face. He’d be such a disappointment, he knew. Sylent was never seen outside the company of gorgeous men with chiseled jaws and flawless skin. Simon was a little chubby and round-faced with a wide nose and full lips and freckles across his cheeks like someone had flecked brown paint at him. His hair hung in short ringlets over his forehead, and his age showed in his eyes.

  But Sylent had asked.

  ‘Sorry about the other video. Thank you for talking with me tonight, I needed the chat. I hope things work out for you soon.’

  He felt waves upon waves of panic as he attached the video to the chat, then hit send. His breath lodged in his chest as it loaded. It was less than twenty seconds long, but Sylent was taking triple that.

  Then the chat bubbles rose and fell, and rose and fell. Then disappeared.

  Simon was about to close his laptop with a hard slam and regret every choice he ever made up to this exact moment when a video popped up in response. His hands shook violently, but he managed to click it open anyway.

  There was loud noise in the background—kids laughing somewhere, a dog nearby barking. But none of that mattered. None of that, as Sylent filled the screen with his wide shoulders and massive biceps. His lips curled into an easy smile as his impossibly large hands lifted and signed with a practiced grace Simon would never have.

  ‘Thank you. You have a great face. Your message meant a lot to me. Can we talk again soon?’

  Simon would have fainted, if he’d been a man with a weaker constitution. As it was, he could barely get his fingers to cooperate as he clicked on the chat and started to type.

  @thechametz: I’m Simon.

  @SylentOfficial: Rocco.

  @thechametz: I have to sleep soon, but we can talk later.

  @SylentOfficial: looking forward to it. Good night.

  Simon closed his laptop for lack of any other response, then slid into his bed because he knew his knees wouldn’t support him. This was the man who starred in every single one of his fantasies. A man that was safe to want because he would never, ever be in Simon’s orbit. But now, here he was. Now, he knew Simon’s name.

  And he’d given Simon his.

  It would probably come to nothing. Rocco was upset, and probably lonely, and probably tired of the drama around him. Simon was just space from that, and he couldn’t blame the man for needing it. He was happy to provide, in fact.

  Turning on his side, Simon’s erection brushed against his sheets, and Rocco’s face appeared in his mind. This time, though, it was real. It was without stage makeup and good lighting. It was soft, and sleepy, and a little sad. And that smile was just for him.

  He breathed, and he imagined those hands touching his thighs. It was all he needed—the only thing he needed. He spilled against the sheets, then gulped down the breath he was holding and uncurled his hand.

  Simon could not be this man’s friend. He wouldn’t survive it.

  Chapter Four

  Rocco hadn’t dealt with this level of frustration since before Eric—and that alone was enough to send his vision blurry in white-hot rage. Four interpreters had turned him down due to the nature of his work conflicting with their personal beliefs, and he wanted to shake them all and ask them what right they had to decide who was worthy of communication and who wasn’t. But it was pointless.

  The best he could do was file complaints and ask Lorenzo to keep working. Lorenzo wasn’t the most fluent, but he was by far the one who had worked hardest out of all the siblings. No brother wanted to talk about fucking in front of their siblings though, even if it was for work, but that was the position Eric put him in.

  Especially now that Xander had filed his suit.

  “They want to retain exclusivity rights on your filming career for the duration of your agreed-upon contract,” Anthony told him, brow furrowed behind his desk. Lorenzo stood at his shoulder, and Rocco appreciated that Anthony, at least, gave him the benefit of eye contact.

  ‘What the fuck does that mean?’

  “It means,” Anthony said, and took a deep breath. “It means they let you out of the contract, but they retain their percentage if you release any films. And it means they prevent you from working outside of the studio for pay.”

  Something niggled in the back of his mind. ‘For pay?’

  Anthony sneered. “Yes.”

  ‘So, I could work for free?’

  At that, Anthony’s face fell into something like shock. “Why would you work for free?”

  Well, he wouldn’t, normally. He didn’t do shit for free. Not conventions, not appearances, not photo shoots, and certainly not films. He’d never worked for free in his life. But he’d been lining both Eric and Xander’s pockets since he started in the industry. First Eric, then Xander when Rocco signed him on as his agent, had benefitted from his film career—and they wanted to see that he continued to provide. The thought made him sick with rage.

  ‘What if I just pay the fee and refuse the rest?’

  “He’ll take you to court,” Anthony said. “It would prevent you from doing any work until it settles, and that could take…”

  ‘Forever,’ Rocco signed with frustrated hands. He knew Xander’s legal team was capable of it. He’d seen it happen more than a dozen times. It wasn’t always just about throwing money at a problem, and there was every chance they’d offer it—so long as it broke Rocco, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and for the first time in a week he didn’t feel frustrated. Maybe it was a text from some website trying to get an interview—maybe it was a co-star trying to capitalize on all the attention he was getting right now.

  But more than likely, it was Simon. More than likely, his sweet, freckle-faced baker was saying good morning, because that was a thing that was happening now. If this had been just days prior, Rocco’s entire attention would have been fixed on the situation and how to make sure Eric couldn’t take any more from him, but that message from Simon changed everything.

  He wasn’t even sure why he watched it. He’d seen hundreds of fans over the years fumble their way through YouTube ASL trying to get his attention, but something about Simon caught his eye. Maybe it was Simon’s slender fingers, or the way his pale skin was marred with dark scars that looked like burns. Maybe it was the way his signs were sweet but classroom formal and a little shaky on grammar.

  Maybe it was just that Rocco needed to reach out to someone, and Simon was convenient.

  And that could have been it—at first. Then he’d seen Simon’s wide, soft eyes, and the wa
y he smiled shyly like he wasn’t quite sure he belonged in the world. It was obvious Simon was a fan, but he didn’t treat Rocco like a character or some internet personality. He just talked to him like he understood.

  He knew a little about him now. That he was working in a failing bakery, that he was trying to get his brother set up before he had to shut the doors. He knew they had two just-misses at UCLA, a fact Rocco felt some sort of guilt for because he knew back then, he wouldn’t have given a guy like Simon the time of day. But now…

  A hand waving at him regained his attention, and he rolled his eyes. ‘I need time to think.’

  “You have some,” Anthony replied, “but not a lot.”

  Rocco’s jaw clenched, but he nodded and rose, extending his hand for a quick shake before storming out. Lorenzo was quick at his heels, but he didn’t attempt to say anything until they were in the parking lot by their cars.

  ‘Are you going to stay at Pietro’s?’ Lorenzo asked.

  Rocco dragged a hand down his face, then rolled his eyes up toward the low roof of the parking garage. ‘I don’t know.’ In truth, his brother was so far under his skin, if Rocco stayed any longer, he might explode, and he didn’t need that over his head while dealing with Eric and Xander. ‘I might head out of town for a few days.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s a good idea?’ Lorenzo challenged, but at the look Rocco gave him, he backed up and rubbed his fist over his chest in a circle. ‘Sorry. I just want you to be okay.’

  Rocco softened a little, and he let his hand rest on his brother’s shoulder for a moment. ‘I’ll be fine. I just need space.’

  Lorenzo nodded and let Rocco go without a further fight.

  Rocco felt some measure of relief when he got back to Pietro’s house and found the place empty. He wasn’t sure where his brother or the kids were at, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He gathered James to his chest, then laid down on his bed and pulled his laptop up on his knees.

  When he had it situated, he opened his phone and found two texts from Simon. The first was a photograph of him—a selfie holding up a bit of something that looked like darkly toasted pastry, and there were crumbs on his cheek.

  Simon: This is the last of the jachnun my brother made me. I’m eating it all, even if it’s stale and disgusting.

  Rocco laughed to himself, and stroked his thumb along the side of Simon’s image. He liked him—god help him. He’d never inflict this life and this stress on a sweet man like Simon, but the more they talked, the more he wanted something beyond an internet friendship.

  Rocco: I need 2 get hell out of here.

  Simon: you should come to cherry creek. Mountain air will do you good.

  Simon: I’m kidding, you don’t need to show up in this little town, you’d go insane.

  Rocco: if it mean seeing u, would b worth it.

  He set his phone aside, then opened up his maps and tracked the journey from Santa Monica to Cherry Creek. His eyes widened when he saw seventeen hours and twelve minutes—an impossible drive, but an easy flight. Yet, he didn’t think he’d go unnoticed at the airport, and a part of him thrummed with possibility of a road trip.

  He could make it in a day if he pushed himself. With food stops, bathroom, and walking James, it would be almost twenty hours, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. He’d road tripped with friends and slept in back seats and ate shitty roadside diner burgers. Once upon a time, his routine didn’t depend on protein shakes and hours on the treadmill.

  He didn’t realize the decision was made until James licked him in the face. “Road trip,” he said aloud to the pup.

  James licked his nose again, and Rocco smiled.

  Easing the dog to the side, Rocco rolled off the bed and began packing without thought. After all, he had nowhere to be. Anthony would take weeks to sort out this issue with Xander—and chances were high Xander would win. So why stick around for nothing? Why subject himself to the constant fear that Eric might come looking for him.

  No, he needed this. Even if Simon was just being polite and didn’t want to see him at all, it would be worth it. He zipped up his case, then grabbed James’ travel crate, his leash, his supplies. It took him three trips to fill up the car, but an hour after his decision was made, he was behind the wheel.

  Simon: flattery will get you nowhere.

  Rocco: lol I guess we c.

  He sent a smiley face, then a heart, then threw his phone on the seat next to James and turned the car on. It rumbled to life beneath him, his foot hit the gas, and then—without another thought—he was on his way.

  * * *

  Rocco had never been so exhausted in his life by the time he pulled up to the only vacant resort in the tiny town. The old Victorian B&B near the downtown area had their no-vacancy sign up, but the Cherry Creek Lodge’s parking lot didn’t seem full.

  He knew he looked a mess as he stepped out onto the pavement and stretched his back. He’d caught a few hours at truck stop just outside of Grand Junction, then he’d pushed it all the way to the small town.

  He thought he was going to fall asleep at the wheel, but as he twisted and turned through the dawn-lit roads that wound around the tall mountains, he found he had a second wind. Cherry Creek itself had a timeless feel to it. Rocco had traveled enough that he could easily compare it to little Dutch cities that were forgotten in time, and he liked it.

  It was modern enough though, as he passed by a couple of parked food trucks, and a fire station. There were school zone crossings that were just starting to flash when the clock hit seven-thirty, and a couple of gas stations along the way.

  He tucked James into his carrier before grabbing his suitcases, knowing the poor dog needed some time to exercise after being stuck in the car. But, everything hurt, and he wanted to sleep for a year. The other half of him, though, wanted to comb the town for Simon, but he found himself wanting to make a good impression. It was bad enough he rolled into town with no notice like some kind of stalker, and he damn well knew celebrity status didn’t give him that right.

  A shower would help, and actual food. He just had to pray he didn’t get some asshole who balked at using his phone app at the front desk. He had his standard reply waiting for him that he never erased—do you speak ASL. For every two-dozen people who said no, one said yes, so it was always worth it.

  He didn’t have a lot of hope for a small town like this, though. He already felt like an outsider with his sports car, small dog, and designer shades and the fact that he probably looked like some reality TV star coming off a coke binge. Places like this boasted little old ladies knitting in rocking chairs. They boasted adorable, freckle-faced Jewish bakers whom he could fluster with a single text.

  He breathed through a sudden burst of want, then forced himself into the lobby. He could smell breakfast somewhere off in the distance—probably a buffet of some kind. It made his mouth water, but the last thing he wanted to do was deal with a crowd of people after his drive.

  He tucked James’ carrier under his arm, then approached the counter where an attractive man was staring at the computer like it was speaking an alien language. He looked at least Rocco’s age, if not older by the flecks of grey and wrinkles around his eyes, but that didn’t take away from the sensual curve of his mouth, or the way he dragged his gaze up and down Rocco’s body. He opened his mouth and said something, but Rocco’s brain was too far gone to have a hope of understanding, so he slid his phone across the desk and watched for any signs that the man was annoyed.

  Instead of waving him off, or trying to speak again, the man lifted his hand spelled A, B, C. Rocco couldn’t help his smile. Conversing in the alphabet would take a hundred years, but it was something. He tapped what he needed on his phone, and when the guy asked for his name, he tossed a credit card down and hoped it would be enough.

  A moment passed, then the man pulled out a map and gave him directions with the swipe of a marker, then handed an over an honest to god actual key w
hich was cool and sharp against his palm. Rocco tipped him a nod before hugging James’s crate a little closer and dragging his suitcase behind him. He just wanted sleep, then a long shower, then a hot meal.

  Then, he wanted to find Simon, and he hoped to god he was going to be welcome.

  Chapter Five

  Simon stared down at the flyer, then back up at the man standing at the counter, and he knew instantly he wasn’t going to be able to tell Fitz’s soft doe eyes and pouting mouth no. And he knew Fitz was turning on the charm. That’s what he did. Simon had known Fitz for as long as he’d been in Cherry Creek. For Simon’s brief stint in the Scouts as a kid, Fitz and his best friend Ronan had ruled the roost. They weren’t mean, either, just loud and a little too boisterous about trying to include Simon in their activities.

  They were some of the few who hadn’t mocked Simon about his accent, or his very apparent anxiety, but they never quite made him feel welcome, either. Bubbe had let him quit, though, long before a fire almost killed Fitz on a camping trip. Simon hadn’t seen him for months after that, and when he finally got back to school, he was quieter.

  To this day, Simon was amazed he’d become a fire fighter, that he’d stuck with it long enough to assume the role of chief, but it made sense. He’d never shied away from his scars, never hesitated when wearing short sleeves, or extending his scarred hand when meeting new people.

  Fitz had been the sort of man Simon had always wanted to be—the man he knew he never could. The sort of charismatic, happy-go-lucky man who took tragedy with the same enthusiasm as he took joy. Simon did like that about him. He liked that Fitz had matured into a kinder, softer person. He liked that he never hesitated to try and include Simon, even when it meant encroaching on his quiet time Wednesday morning.