Rebel_Ballsy Boys 1

by K. M. Neuhold

  “No Tank tonight?” I ask as I pass out the drinks I brought in.

  “That antisocial asshole thinks he’s too good to hang out with us,” Brewer tells me. “Or I guess I should say, he thinks he’s too good to hang out with me, because if I wasn’t here, I guarantee he would be,” Brewer explains with an edge to his tone.

  “What’s his issue with you?”

  “He’s a dickhead?” Brewer guesses. “I don’t fucking know. He took one look at me and hated me on sight. Fuck him, I don’t care.”

  Something about the way Brewer says it makes me think he does care, at least a little. But I’m not going to get in the middle of something I don’t know anything about.

  After the pizza arrives, we end up eating over a game of Cards Against Humanity and laughing until Pixie almost chokes on a bite of crust. Bear rubs and pats Pixie’s back protectively afterward in a way that makes me wonder if something is going on there. Who knew hanging out with porn stars would be like a soap opera?

  It isn’t until midnight that everyone starts to leave, and I help Hendrix clean up.

  “You’ll stay the night, right?”

  I hesitate for a second, out of habit more than anything, before I agree. And then we both strip down and fall into bed together in a tangle of limbs and a chorus of whimpers and moans.

  * * *

  I startle awake with the feeling of a body lying half on top of me, and I scramble out from under it with my heart pounding against my ribcage.

  “Don’t go,” Hendrix complains in a sleepy slur.

  Some of my tension eases at the sound of his voice, but my pulse is still hammering, making it impossible for me to just lay back down. I ease out of bed and head toward the kitchen for a drink of water. Glass in hand, I walk over to the kitchen window and gaze out into the dark night, sipping my water and counting my heartbeats so I have something to focus on. I wish I was home so I could just pack a bowl to get back to sleep.

  “Something wrong?”

  Hendrix’s voice startles me. “No, I always lurk naked in the dark kitchen in the middle of the night.”

  “Uh-huh,” Hendrix says with a cocked eyebrow. His hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and he’s got sleep lines on his left cheek.

  I turn back to the window and sip my water. Hendrix’s strong arms wrap around me from behind, and his lips find my shoulder and then the side of my neck.

  “Talk to me, baby,” he asks, nuzzling his nose against the back of my neck.

  I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves to admit something to Hendrix that I never thought I’d talk about with anyone. I didn’t think I’d ever need to explain it to anyone, because I didn’t anticipate ever having a man in my life I would choose to share a bed with on a regular basis. But I want to share a bed with Hendrix, which means he needs to understand why it’s a struggle for me.

  “I’m not good at sharing a bed, because growing up in the system, bouncing around to different houses with kids and foster parents I didn’t know, my biggest fear was that I’d wake up with someone else in my bed, if you catch my drift.”

  Hendrix’s arms tense around me, and his breath puffs between my shoulder blades, his forehead against the back of my neck. “Did anyone…?” he asks after a few seconds.

  “No. There was one guy who was a little handsy but nothing more serious than some unwanted hugs or tickling. I heard stories, though, from other kids, and it’s one of those unspoken things everyone knows you’re supposed to look out for. So, when I wake up and I’m not alone in bed, sometimes I forget that I’m not a helpless thirteen-year-old in a foster home.”

  “I’m so sorry. I know I’m a pretty clingy sleeper; do you want me to try to give you more space? I could buy a bigger bed. I’ll do anything to make sure I don’t scare you when you’re sleeping.”

  My throat tightens at the naked vulnerability in Hendrix’s tone. I know he’ll truly do anything to make sure I’m happy and comfortable.

  “I fucking love you,” I blurt, and as soon as the words are out, a relieved laugh follows them. That wasn’t so hard.

  Hendrix stills against me and is silent long enough I start to get nervous. But then his strong hands are on my hips, spinning me to face him. He takes the water from my hand, sets it on the counter, and then he grabs my face.

  “I fucking love you back, banana boy.”

  Our mouths clash in a flurry of lips and tongues.

  “Let’s go back to bed,” I suggest when Hendrix’s hard cock presses against mine.

  “Okay, but I have to warn you, I’m not going to fuck you; I’m going to make sweet love to you.”

  “Gross,” I laugh and shove Hendrix’s shoulder. “Race you,” I suggest and then bolt toward the bedroom before he can respond.

  Hendrix tackles me onto the bed, and we fall in a laughing, groping heap.

  “Thank you for taking a chance on me,” Hendrix whispers against my lips as our laughter fades.

  “Thank you for giving me time to come around to the idea of someone being a stable presence in my life.”

  “I’ll always give you anything you need as long as you don’t run away.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

  Hendrix’s arms tighten around me, and he pulls me against his chest. I take a deep breath, pulling his essence into my lungs and holding it there as long as I can. Hendrix won’t leave me. Deep in my gut, I know he’s here to stay.

  And with that comforting thought, I drift back to sleep.

  The next time I wake up, the sun is shining through the crack between the curtains, and Hendrix is once again draped half over me. I don’t panic this time, but I’m sure there will be plenty more panicky nights before I get past this for good, eventually.

  I run my fingers through Hendrix’s hair, giving his scalp a little massage. The thought of him leaving me like everyone else has is like a punch in the gut. It’s scary as hell to let someone have this much power over me. If he wants to, Hendrix could utterly destroy me. And even knowing he won’t, it’s still terrifying.

  Maybe Hendrix was right. Maybe I need some closure.

  “Morning, gorgeous,” Hendrix mumbles, blinking awake with a smile.

  “I think I need to find my parents.”

  Hendrix draws back, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

  “Can we have coffee first?”

  “Of course, doofus, I didn’t mean today. I just meant that I think you’re right; I need closure. Will you help me find them?”

  “Anything for you. That’s what you do when you love someone.”

  My stomach somersaults at his words. Last night wasn’t a dream, I really told Hendrix I love him. And it felt so damn good.

  “I love you.” I test the words in the cold light of day, and Hendrix looks like sunshine is beaming from his very soul.

  “Gross,” he mocks me before rolling on top of me and kissing me breathless.

  34

  Rebel

  It takes the private detective I hired less than a day to find Troy’s mother. All he needed was his mom’s first and last name and date of birth, plus Troy’s own date of birth. Jackie Butler lives only a hundred miles away from Troy, just northeast of San Diego. I don’t know how Troy will take this news. What’s worse is that she is indeed remarried and has new kids. Other kids, whatever the politically correct term is.

  I’m happy that the PI actually calls me at work, so I have a little time to consider how I want to bring this up to Troy. There’s no way I’m doing this over the phone. This is something he has to hear in person.

  We agree to meet over Chinese takeout at my place, and when he rings the bell, I drag him inside for a thorough kiss. He barely manages to put down the food he picked up before my mouth is on his, and we spent a few minutes enjoying each other’s taste, right there in the hallway.

  “Hi,” I say somewhat stupidly when I’ve finally had my fill.

  “Hi,” he says and sends me a goofy smile. I guess our new relati
onship status takes some getting used to for both of us.

  He puts the food on the table while I grab plates, silverware, and sodas. There’s an easy familiarity in this process that makes me feel warm inside. I can see us doing things like this together for...for a long while. Maybe forever?

  I smile. I’d better not tell Troy that. Might just give him a heart attack. He’s come far, my banana boy, but words like forever are bound to send him into a hissy fit.

  “How was work?” he asks after we’re seated at the table, enjoying the delicious orange chicken.

  “Good. We had interviews with five guys for possible new hires. Three were good fits, and I think they’ll be great additions.”

  Troy grins. “You need three guys to replace you?”

  “Dude, you know it,” I laugh. Then my face gets serious. “Babe, the PI called.”

  Troy’s hand stops halfway to his mouth, and he’s frozen for a second or two, before putting his hand down. His eyes meet mine, and I know he doesn’t have words. “He found your mom. She’s alive and doing well, he says. She works as a full-time waitress at a diner.”

  He swallows. “Is she...healthy? I don’t remember much of my parents, but I think they were drug addicts. I remember needles, somehow.”

  That little sliver of information makes me want to hug him and never let go. “Yeah, she is, as far as he could tell. She has a steady job, and…” I hesitate. How do I put this? I don’t want him to get hurt. “She has a family, babe. A new husband and two girls, eight and six years old. She’s doing well, it seems.”

  “He saw her?” Troy asks, speaking slowly.

  “Yeah. She’s close to San Diego.”

  “I have sisters?”

  I nod. “Yeah. two. Half-sisters, though. She remarried.”

  “Did she divorce my father?”

  And now comes the truly heartbreaking part. “No, babe. Your father passed away, years ago.”

  He swallows again, and his hands clench into fists. “Does he know the cause of death?”

  “Drug overdose. He was found dead in a known drug house, according to the PI. No one claimed the body, so he was cremated by the city.”

  “Oh.”

  I wait for him to say more, but his eyes glaze over. I don’t know if he’s thinking and needs time or if he’s unable to process. I wish I knew what to do. I want to make him feel better, somehow, but I have no idea how.

  “Did I ever tell you about Elise?” Troy says suddenly.

  I’m pretty sure it’s a rhetorical question since we both know he’s told me shit, but I answer him anyway. “No. Who was she?”

  I have no idea what he’s gonna say, but when he speaks, it’s not the answer I was expecting. “She was the only mother I ever had.”

  This time, I know I’m not supposed to say anything, so I listen as he shares a heartbreaking tale of finding parental love, only to lose it just as quickly.

  “After she died, I had two more foster families, and after that, it was group homes all the way till I aged out of the system. Nobody wanted me anymore. I was too old and had too much of a reputation for being difficult. Elise, she was the only one who ever loved me unconditionally.”

  I wipe away the tears on my cheeks, not embarrassed in the least that he sees how much his pain affects me. “And me,” I add softly.

  “And you,” he repeats. He breathes in deeply, then exhales slowly. “Do you think she’d want to see me, my birth mother?”

  “The question is do you want to see her. Do you want to hear from her what happened, why she gave you up?”

  “What if she rejects me all over again?”

  I want to reassure him that that’s not gonna happen, but I can’t. There are some seriously fucked up people in this world, and I have no idea if his mother is one of them. She already abandoned her son once. Who the fuck knows if she’ll do it again?

  “If she does, then at least you’ll know. You’ll never have to wonder ‘what if’ again. And no matter what happens, I’ll be here.”

  He lifts those stunning golden eyes up to meet mine. “I know. I know you’ll be there. It’s scary as fuck, all of this, but let’s do this. I wanna meet my mother.”

  * * *

  The PI gave me a phone number, but Troy and I decide not to call her. He wants to just drive down and sort of confront her, and I’m on board with that. We have her home address and the diner where she works, and so a few days later, on a bright and sunny Saturday, we make the trip south.

  Troy doesn’t say much while I drive, but he does reach out every now and then to put his hand on my leg, so I know he’s just trying to process it all. I get it. It’s not every day you get to meet the woman who left you at a police station when you were six years old.

  I’ve honestly tried to imagine myself in his shoes, but I can’t. I can’t even fathom my parents doing anything like that. God, they’re crazy at times, but they love me with all they have—Marley, too. Until I met Troy, I never fully appreciated that, I think.

  “Wanna try the diner first?” I ask Troy when we get close.

  He nods. “Yeah. Seems safer than showing up at her house unannounced, especially with my...my sisters. They’re young, and I don’t want them to have to witness it if it goes badly.”

  He’s such a softie underneath that cool, prickly exterior. “Okay, babe.”

  Ten minutes later, we pull up in the parking lot of an old-fashioned diner. It’s just after two, so we’ve missed the lunch rush, and it looks like it’s relatively quiet. We don’t even know if she’s working, but there’s only one way to find out.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  “God, no, but let’s go,” Troy says, his face pale.

  I wanna grab his hand as we walk to the entrance, but I hold back. He’s always been reluctant with PDAs, and maybe he doesn’t want the first thing his mother sees is that he’s gay. For all we know, she could be a homophobic bitch. But right before I open the door, he reaches for my hand and laces his fingers through mine. I press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m here, no matter what.”

  “I know,” he says, and his eyes show me that he means it. It fills me with joy that he’s starting to believe I mean it when I say I love him.

  Hand in hand, we walk inside where a young blonde approaches us right away. “Hi,” she says with a friendly smile. “For two?”

  I look at Troy, but his eyes are darting through the diner.

  “We were wondering if Jackie is working?” I ask.

  Blondie looks at us quizzically for a second but then nods. “Yeah. Hold on a sec, and I’ll get her for you.”

  Troy’s grip on my hand becomes rather painful, but I don’t say a word. A few bruises seem like a small price to pay for being there for him.

  Half a minute later, a forty-something woman walks toward us. Her face is friendly and open, but with deep and tired lines that show a hard life. She has dark blonde hair, tied back into a neat ponytail, and her pale blue uniform hangs loose around her slender frame. As soon as I see her eyes, I know who she is, because it’s like looking at Troy’s.

  “Hi,” she says with a friendly smile, looking at me first. “Dani said you were looking for me?”

  Her eyes travel to Troy, and she freezes. She’s maybe twenty feet away from us still, but she halts on the spot.

  “Oh my god,” she whispers.

  It takes a her a few seconds to take three faltering steps in our direction, and all that time, Troy doesn’t say a word. He merely stares at her, the same way she’s staring at him.

  Tears fill her eyes, those same golden eyes I love so much. Her voice breaks when she speaks.

  “Troy?”

  35

  Troy

  My mouth goes dry, and the only response I can offer is a slow nod.

  Jackie’s hand flies up to cover her mouth, and her shoulders start to shake, tears streaming down her face. I squeeze Hendrix’s hand even tighter, and I catch him flinching out of the corner of my eye. I force my
self to loosen my grip a fraction.

  “Jackie, we were hoping you’d have a few minutes to talk? Or, if not now, maybe after your shift ends?” Hendrix asks in an even voice, and I swear I could kiss him.

  “I can take a break,” she manages to say once she gets herself under control. “Have a seat at that booth, and I’ll bring us some coffee.”

  When she steps away, I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “How are you doing?” Hendrix asks, rubbing soothing circles on my back.

  “Okay so far.”

  He steers me over to the table Jackie pointed us toward, and we sit down. She returns a few minutes later with a carafe of coffee, and it looks like she’s gotten herself together a little better and dried her eyes.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she says.

  “That makes two of us,” I finally manage to croak out words. “I need to know why.”

  Jackie nods with a resigned expression. “I was a shitty mom, kid, no two ways about it. Frank knocked me up when we were only seventeen, not even out of high school. My parents flipped out, told me I had to get an abortion. When I refused, they kicked me out. I regret a lot of things in my life, but I don’t regret that choice.”

  I swallow around a lump in my throat and nod. My leg bounces under the table, and Hendrix reaches under to put a hand on my knee.

  “Why not just give me up right away, then? Why keep me until I was six and then dump me?” Was I bad? Unlovable? Disposable?

  “I wanted to do right by you. And at first, everything seemed like it might be okay. We weren’t going to be living the high life or anything, but Frank got a decent job, and we were a family. We used to take you on fun little outings every Sunday. We’d go to the zoo, the park, the arcade. Your little eyes just lit up when you saw all the colors and lights of all those games at the arcade.”