by JD Ruskin
LOGAN FELT conspicuous hovering outside of Caleb’s apartment building like a creepy stalker. His thoughts drifted back to his boss as he waited. The past week had obviously strained Klass. Frankly, Logan thought the man should feel guilty for his part in this mess. But he was glad Klass cared enough about Caleb to go along with the plan, seemingly desperate to find a way to reach his nephew.
Logan had debated just following the courier up and shoving his way into the apartment when Caleb opened the door. It was what he wanted to do, but Stacy’s words kept ringing in his head. He couldn’t force Caleb to see him; it needed to be his choice. He didn’t know what he would do if Caleb chose to ignore him.
When the courier approached, Logan stepped in front of him. “I need to add something to that envelope.”
The balding little man frowned at Logan before moving around him. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. Tampering with the mail is a federal offense.”
The guy let out a squeak when Logan grabbed his arm. “Hold on a minute.” Logan saw the guy reach into his pocket. Probably to take hold of his phone or a can of dog mace. He sighed, releasing the man’s arm. “I need to add a note to the mailer before you deliver it. The guy who set up the service called into your office, but you had already left. You can call him and he’ll tell you.
“You mean Mr. Klass? My instructions do say to call him if I have problems making the delivery.” The man sounded thrilled to have a possible solution that didn’t involve being squished by an angry giant.
Logan made a “get on with it” gesture. The courier pulled out his phone to make a call. He stepped back so Logan couldn’t see what number he dialed. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was to the police instead of Klass, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Dabb will rip me a new one if I get arrested.
The man spoke too quietly for Logan to hear on the busy street before closing the phone. He handed over the package without a word. Logan unraveled the string holding the envelope closed and slipped in the note he’d written.
CALEB TOOK the package from a twitchy courier and secured the door. Even though typing made his wrist ache, he was happy for the distraction work brought him. He had been miserable since he had gotten back from the hospital. And itchy. He had been digging through his desk in search of an envelope opener to find some relief from the constant urge to scratch under the cast when the mail came. He had spent all last week taking sponge baths in the kitchen, not being able to deal with stepping into the tight confines of the shower stall. His uncle had been the one to replace the curtain, fluttering around the bathroom looking as uncomfortable as Caleb felt.
This morning, Caleb had had enough, not able to stand the smell of himself anymore. Navigating the shower with the cast wrapped in a garbage bag hadn’t been pleasant. He had nearly lost it when he had had to use duct tape to keep the bag closed. In spite of his efforts to keep it dry, the cast had the musty smell of wet plaster, but he felt marginally clean. Emptying the contents of the package on his kitchen counter, he found a postcard of Wrigley Field on top of the contract he had been expecting. Confused, he flipped it over and noticed that someone had written on the back of it.
When he read the words “Don’t freak out,” he had to close his eyes. He took a quick breath, fighting the sick surge of panic spreading outward from his stomach. He had been both dreading and hoping to hear from Logan with equal fervor. He had turned off the phone, not able to deal with the uncertainty of Logan’s reaction. I sobbed in his lap like a child. He didn’t want Logan to see him as broken and pathetic.
I don’t have to read it, his reptilian brain reasoned. He could just toss the card away and forget all about it. But God help him, he didn’t want to forget Logan. He opened his eyes and read the next instruction: “Don’t assume I don’t know what you’re going through.” He felt his nerves flutter and his stomach began to twist and turn, shooting slivers of ice through his arms and legs. He hated the feeling so much. He took another steadying breath and read the last instruction: “Open the door.” He walked over to the door and leaned his forehead against the wood. Maybe we can just be friends. Logan was a good guy, so it shouldn’t surprise Caleb that he had followed up on the accident. He wasn’t the type of man to walk away without knowing Caleb was okay. It was one of the reasons Caleb felt so drawn to him. Sighing, he unlocked the door and opened it.
Logan was across the hall, leaning against Mrs. Simon’s door. The sight shattered any illusions Caleb had of being around Logan and not wanting him. He was dressed in jeans, and wearing a coffee-colored T-shirt, which showed off the muscles of his chest and stomach. It was hard to tear his eyes away from him. Caleb cleared his throat and said, “Do you want to come inside?”
“Are you okay with—,” Logan said, but he ended up flat on his back before he could finish.
Mrs. Simon leaned over him and said, “What on earth are you doing down there, sonny?”
“Ow,” Logan said, rubbing the back of his head. “Somebody cut down my beanstalk.”
Caleb exchanged a few quick words with Mrs. Simon, reassuring her that he was recovering as he extended his unbroken arm to Logan. Logan accepted the hand up, not letting go until they sat on the leather couch in Caleb’s apartment. Logan had gone to a lot of trouble to see Caleb, but he seemed at a loss for something to say now that he was here. Caleb saved them from the awkward silence by saying, “I’ve missed you, but I think you’re better off walking right back out.” He looked away. “You deserve better than what I can give you.”
When Logan didn’t respond right away, Caleb looked back and sucked in a breath. Logan stared at him with an intense gaze filled with too many emotions for him to interpret. Every muscle in Caleb’s body tensed, making his wrist twinge unpleasantly.
“That’s some self-esteem you got there, if you think I’m such a freaking prize.”
“You are.” He smiled wanly. “I felt almost normal around you and not a candidate for a jacket with extra-long sleeves.”
Logan put an arm around Caleb’s shoulders and relaxed back against the couch. Caleb shivered, and worked hard to remind himself not to be afraid. He trusted Logan, but having Logan witness his panic attack had shaken him. Logan tightened his arm around Caleb’s shoulder, and Caleb felt his dark eyes watching him, warming the side of his face. He had felt a connection to Logan from the moment they had met, but they were not only united by their screwed-upness; they got along well together, and they were easy with one another in a way that Caleb hadn’t experienced with anyone else. He could admit to himself how much he wanted Logan, but that didn’t mean he should act on those feelings.
“You need to understand that I might never get better. I might never leave this apartment again.” Caleb’s wrist twitched under the cast, as if to remind him he would have to figure out a way to take off the cast in six weeks. I could order a hack saw. He closed his eyes tight at the images suddenly racing through his mind.
He heard the deep tone of Logan’s voice over the roar of his own blood in his ears. “I’m not going to give you no ultimatums because I know how useless they are. The state forced me to attend rehab sessions, but they couldn’t make me accept their help. Only I could do that.” He brushed a strand of hair off Caleb’s forehead. “But I won’t apologize for getting you the help you needed.”
Caleb grabbed Logan’s hand. “I needed help and I’m glad you were there to give it to me.” He rubbed his thumb across Logan’s knuckles. “I was just too afraid at the time to see it.”
“Your uncle says he knows a behavioral therapist that’s willing to come to your apartment. I want you to agree to see her. And I want us to keep trying to go out like we did before.”
Caleb paused, waiting for more demands. “That’s it? I just have to try to get help?” He shook his head. “That’s not fair to you.”
“What do you mean?”
Caleb stood and started pacing in front of the couch. “Meaning if it doesn’t work you’ll settle for conjugal visits
instead of the normal couple things like going out or having me at your place sometimes.”
Rising to his feet, Logan said, “You honestly think you’re not good enough for an ex-drunk ex-con package handler?”
Caleb felt his face tighten. “You’re more than that, but there’s no way it can work.”
Logan studied him for a moment before moving forward. Caleb felt his heart rate climb with each step Logan took toward him. He retreated until he ran out of space, his back touching the wall. Raising his hands, he tried to stop Logan’s approach right there, at an arm’s length.
With a firm but gentle touch, Logan moved Caleb’s arms to his sides—being especially careful of the cast—and put his own hands against the wall on either side of Caleb’s head. Caleb’s breathing was coming fast and shallow. Logan moved closer until he stood within inches, crowding his personal space. “One, I wouldn’t let you walk in my neighborhood with an armed guard in tow.”
His eyes locked on Logan because looking away was impossible. Caleb wanted him so much his chest ached, making a panic attack seem like heartburn in comparison. But what he wanted didn’t matter, because he couldn’t let himself be that selfish.
Caleb held his breath. For a moment, he expected Logan to kiss him, but Logan turned his head to the side, and then it was cheek rubbing against cheek, the burning rasp of stubble moving back and forth. Logan froze in place with his mouth next to Caleb’s ear; his body so close Caleb could feel the heat radiating from him from head to toes. His voice sounded strained when he finally spoke again. “Two, I’m better off not going out to places I used to get shitfaced every night.”
Logan pushed forward until they were plastered together; so near Caleb could feel Logan’s belt buckle against his stomach. “Three, we can find new places to go, because you will leave this apartment again.”
Caleb let Logan’s words sink in, hearing his sincerity. He wanted to believe Logan was right. He had had some success, but the farthest he had managed alone was the fifth floor.
“Let me help you, baby,” Logan said in a guttural whisper.
“Will you talk to me if you’re struggling to stay sober?”
In an instant, Logan’s body felt like granite, hard and unyielding. Confused by the reaction, Caleb explained, “I want you to be able to talk to me. I don’t want you to stay silent just because you think I can’t handle it.”
The stiffness melted away as Logan let out a deep sigh. “We’ll help each other.”
Stronger together. This time Logan let him push him back far enough for Caleb to tilt his head and draw up on his toes for a kiss. The first touch was short, light, and dry. Logan didn’t react at all, just stayed impossibly still. Caleb rested his forehead against his chest and breathed him in, savoring his spicy scent before releasing the breath again with a contented sigh.
Logan made a strangled sound, and then there were hands cupping Caleb’s face, and lips descending on his, wet and warm and open. Logan’s tongue plunged into Caleb’s mouth, claiming, demanding, and Caleb gave back as good as he got. Logan tasted both sweet and bitter, and Caleb realized what it meant to crave, what addiction felt like.
Drawing back, Logan said, “We’ll take it slow.”
“You mean take the going out stuff slow, not the sex, right?” Caleb asked, his voice cracking like a teenager’s.
“I was thinking thirty seconds until the sex stuff. That work for you?”
“No,” Caleb said, grabbing the back of Logan’s neck and pulling his head down. “Can’t wait that long.” He pressed his mouth against Logan’s, softening his lips after a moment and tickling Logan’s lips with his tongue. Logan opened his mouth as if to retort and Caleb pressed the advantage, slipping his tongue between Logan’s lips as he stroked the spiky hairs at the back of his neck.
After the kiss ended, Logan buried his face against Caleb’s throat, nibbling at the curve of his neck. He smoothed his hands down Caleb’s sides, over his hips, and settled on his ass.
Logan lifted Caleb until he had virtually no choice but to wrap his legs around Logan and hold on.
He barely prevented his cast from smacking Logan in the back of the head. “We need to talk about your habit of hauling me around like a rag doll.”
“Later, munchkin.” Logan swallowed Caleb’s squawk of protest.
Logan carried Caleb into the bedroom and lowered him to the bed slowly as if he weighed no more than the packages he spent hours hauling around. “Now you’re just showing off,” Caleb griped, before tilting his face for another kiss.
Logan stood upright and toed off his shoes. “I need the workout. Your cooking’s making me fat,” he said, lifting his shirt and revealing rippling abs and not an ounce of excess on his sculpted chest.
Absolute perfection. The thought threw Caleb out of the mood, his self-consciousness rearing its ugly head. What if he’s disappointed in me? What if—With a force of will, Caleb halted the thought. He closed his eyes tightly and pressed his fingers against them so hard that he saw swirling shapes dance on the back of his eyelids. He begged, “Not now, not now,” as if he could bargain with the growing monster of fear lurking in his belly. He inhaled deeply, trying to even out his breathing without hyperventilating. He had only been on Xanax for a week, and he knew the anti-anxiety meds were helping, but not quickly enough to save him from this humiliation.
“Hey,” Logan said, sitting on the bed and putting his arm around Caleb’s shoulder. “Open your eyes.”
Logan’s deep-timbred voice stabbed through him like a physical blow, and he couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath. He desperately wanted to see Logan’s reaction and was terrified at the same time. Would he be horrified and disgusted? Or would his dark eyes be filled with pity? Caleb wasn’t sure which would be more horrible.
A gentle brush of fingers on the side of his face broke his indecision and forced him to open his eyes. He tried to swallow the emotion forcing its way up his throat and was surprised it didn’t simply burn straight through his esophagus. Caleb buried his head against Logan’s chest, feeling the crisp hair brush against his forehead with each breath. “I’m such a freak.”
“You really are,” Logan said, kissing the top of Caleb’s head.
Caleb pinched a pert nipple in retaliation and grinned when Logan squealed like a pig. He felt the adrenaline slipping away, and his breathing returned to normal. Logan didn’t ask if he was all right. Didn’t make him explain the swirling feelings battling in his head: lust and fear and affection all tangled together. Tilting Caleb’s head back, Logan just looked at him, letting every ounce of his caring and desire shine through. Caleb was breathless again but for a much better reason. Fingers curled in his hair, holding him in place as Logan consumed him with his mouth. Their tongues tangled together in wet heat.
Logan broke off the passionate kiss to begin lavishing Caleb’s neck with his tongue and biting lightly. “Shirt off,” he ordered, pulling it up at the collar and making Caleb feel like a kid getting help being undressed when he gently eased the sleeve over the cast.
Caleb lay back on the bed and resisted the urge to squirm under Logan’s intense gaze. Logan lightly fingered the fading purple and yellow bruises on his chest, a frown on his face, as if disappointed they didn’t disappear when he touched them. He kissed a nasty contusion on his pectoral, and Caleb had the dual urge to roll his eyes and gush at the sweetness. He felt warm and gooey like a fresh chocolate-chip cookie and ridiculously cherished.
Caleb traced a hand over Logan’s bristled head, feeling the dents and grooves. Pushing up with his elbows, he kissed Logan’s forehead and asked, “How many beanstalks have you tumbled off of?”
Logan snorted in response and began to move, using his tongue and fingers to torment Caleb. Caleb groaned when he started working his nipples, softly nibbling, fingers running down his sides. Logan drifted lower, kissing, licking, his breath heating Caleb’s skin as he moved downward. Then, Caleb nearly knocked himself silly when he raised his
arms to clench the bars of the headboard and smacked his cast against his forehead. Ow. Thankfully, Logan was too busy spreading Caleb’s thighs and settling between them to notice him being such a klutz.
When Logan mouthed Caleb’s crotch through his sweatpants, Caleb made an embarrassing whimper and he swore he could feel Logan’s smug smile against his dick. The bastard. Then Logan really got going; he lavished the cloth with his tongue, applying heat and wetness and pressure. But not nearly enough.
“We’ll need a lint roller for your tongue if you keep that up.”
“You’re the one who gave me a sweatpants fetish.”
“I’m not in the least bit sorry,” Caleb countered, and they both laughed. Logan slid his hands under Caleb’s ass and massaged the globes, kneading the muscle with his large hands. One finger slid between his cheeks, and Caleb groaned when the knuckle pushed against his rim. Logan finally moved to pull the sweatpants off and to slide back up the bed. Pushing himself up awkwardly, Caleb reached for Logan’s jeans, popping the button and unzipping the fly. He palmed Logan’s package and they shared another kiss.
Logan rolled sideways and took off the jeans with more grace than Caleb could ever hope to accomplish with two working arms. He then turned Caleb on his side, reaching forward to put a pillow under Caleb’s cast. Logan spooned behind him, chest hard against Caleb’s back as they shared a pillow. He bent his head to nibble Caleb’s ear and whispered, “Tell me what you want.”
Caleb licked his lips. He’d only had sex with a guy a handful of times during college. The panic attacks made the idea of starting a new relationship seem impossible. Until Logan. “Min snuck a box of condoms in with the lube.” He felt Logan’s grin against the side of his neck. After getting the required items from the nightstand, Logan got back into position. Caleb shivered as calloused hands brushed over his hips. Logan rocked forward, pushing his wet-tipped cock against his ass. Caleb moaned as Logan slipped a finger into his cleft and began circling his perineum in a maddening light touch.