by J. S. Finley
“Nope, not bad. I got a deal because I work with someone whose sister is with Union City government. The pass is only fifty a month.”
He shook his head and leaned in, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “Wait, how much is your rent?”
“Fifteen hundred. It’s a small place.”
“Fuck, I was paying thirty-five hundred.”
“Well, your expenses just went way down. My place isn’t in a nice building like yours. It’s old, but the location and price were perfect.”
Mike chuckled. “I like your place. It has character.”
“Thanks,” Lane said.
They entered the building and headed up the stairs. The building was only four stories tall so there wasn’t an elevator. It was nice but weird moving in with Lane. He’d lived alone, and obviously, he hadn’t really made the place his home, but now he would be sharing. This move had pointed out how fragile his life had become. It had been easy to lie to his friends, somehow make them think he was happy, but he hadn’t been happy in years.
Depression hit hard. He stood in Lane’s bedroom, staring at the wall. He’d fucked up so much in his life, and Benjamin was dead. Why hadn’t it been him? He’d become nothing, and he had nothing. His head ached, and he dropped to the bed, putting his head in his hands.
The door creaked open. “Hey, are you okay?”
He looked up, his brain hazed with pain. The past, the present, all the bad things swam through his thoughts. He shook his head, trying to force the worst of it away.
“I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know. I have these thoughts. I get so angry. I’ve accomplished nothing.”
Lane moved closer and his words were slow. “You have your own company.”
“I-I…” He couldn’t say it out loud. The urge to free the words filled him, but he couldn’t voice his thoughts. He bit his forefinger, using the pain to calm down.
Lane knelt in front of him. His eyes were wide, his smile loving. “You can tell me anything.”
“Anything?” Anger and pain swirled together. He felt like a time bomb about to go off. “Anything?” he said louder.
Lane lifted his brows and stood, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not walking away. I’m here to stay. Yes, you can tell me anything.”
He put his head in his hands again and closed his eyes. “I feel like a monster is trying to claw its way out of my skull. I don’t know how to stop it.”
Lane placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He said nothing, just sat on the bed and held him. It was sweet. His anger rose for a moment, then he pushed it away.
“What did Sharron tell you to do when you felt this way?”
“To focus on something good.”
“What is your good?”
“You.”
“What about me?” Lane asked quietly.
“When we were stateside we used to get ice cream. I remember this one time you had it all over your hands and chin. You were a mess, and I think I fell a little bit in love with you that day.”
Lane nodded and ran his hand over Mike’s chest. It felt good to have Lane touching him. Like soft rain on flowers, it soothed him.
“I remember the day. It was so hot.”
“We laughed, and I ended up spilling water down the front of your shirt. You were wearing shorts. They clung to you when you were wet.”
Lane chuckled. “I remember that.”
He blew out a breath, trying to get everything under control. “I had good days with you.”
“I want to have more good days.” Lane picked up his hand and kissed his knuckles.
He turned and ran his other hand through Lane’s hair, cupping the back of his neck.
“I don’t want to lose you.” Desperation filled Mike.
“I never want to lose you.” Lane leaned in and gently brushed their lips together.
He pushed Lane to the mattress and stretched out over him. They moved against each other, slowly grinding as they tugged off their clothes one article at a time. It was sweet like honey, and sultry as a hot day in the south. Lane was his happy place. He still needed help, but he had hope now. Their lust burned hot, but they moved at a slow pace, like a dull roar from a jet engine. It burned for a long time, leaving both of them dripping with sweat by the time they finished.
After cleaning up, they dropped into bed and slept the rest of the night away. It was after eleven in the morning before they both woke. He had a few calls to make for work. It would be helpful if he could get a handle on his company and really drill down into what he wanted in life. Lane was a given, but everything else could change, and he would still be happy.
After having sex again and taking a short nap, they went out, dancing at a club until the wee hours of the morning. It wasn’t as good as the first night, but they had fun.
The next day, they woke after two, and he called Sharron to make sure his appointment was still on. He was dealing with his anger, but it had a way of exploding, and he’d almost lashed out at Lane more than once.
Two singers wanted him to do security in DC in a month, and he agreed to the contracts. He wasn’t looking forward to working again. It was thoughts like this that made him want to change professions. Initially, he had enjoyed his job, but now, it was too much.
He was looking forward to their Skype call with the guys, but he really didn’t want to reveal he and Lane were a couple. It was too fresh, and he worried he would screw things up. All of the guys knew what a fucking jerk he’d been to the women he dated. He felt differently about Lane, but his dating history was bad.
Lane was excited to hear what was going on with everyone and talked about it while they ate. Though he’d wanted to talk to the guys earlier, dread filled Mike as the call approached. He knew Lane wanted to tell everyone, and he understood, but he couldn’t take the pressure.
“So while we’re on this call, can we really not tell anyone about us?” Mike bit his lower lip, worried Lane wouldn’t agree.
Lane’s gaze flashed away before returning to him. He looked sad. “Are you sure?”
He nodded, wishing he could reveal the truth, but fear held him back. “Yeah.”
Hurt shown in Lane’s eyes. He wanted to tell Lane it was okay to tell their friends, but he couldn’t face the questions or the ribbing—not yet.
He went into the bedroom and Lane did the call from the den. He was distracted when the call started. Everyone was there and Lane said something. He should be in the den with his lover. Guilt filled him.
“Hey, it’s good to see you all,” Mike said.
“We’re going up to Virginia in the next week or so to bring my stuff here.” Clay looked so happy, and jealousy filled Mike.
He was happy for Clay and Thomas. The pressure to go in and sit by Lane built. A part of him wanted to tell the guys the truth about where he was living. His palms started to sweat. No way he was ready to tell them everything. Maybe in a few weeks he could reveal the truth about his PTSD and where he was living.
“You decided to move in permanently?” Jake asked.
“Yeah. So about that. The guys at the department where I worked decided to try and kill me the other day,” Clay said.
“What?” Mike shouted. Anger filled him and blood roared in his ears. He forced a calm he didn’t feel so he could hear what Clay had to say.
When Clay leaned in and kissed Thomas’s cheek, Mike felt even more guilty. He should tell everyone about him and Lane, but right now, Clay and Thomas needed their support.
“Thomas saved me,” Clay said.
“What happened?” Mike needed to know more.
Clay leaned closer to Thomas as he began speaking. The story was wild and involved them running through the brush on an island, barely escaping by getting into the water and swimming to the boat. He was holding his breath, listening to Clay as he revealed how he and Thomas had almost died. Thomas kissed the side of Clay’s head and sighed.
After Clay finished his story, Mike
shook his head, wishing he had Lane by his side. He should tell them what was going on. He needed to let them know the truth. As the conversation began to wind down, Mike cleared his throat.
“Um, I’m moving to Jersey.”
“Wait, doesn’t Lane live there?” Jake asked.
“Yeah, he does,” Mike said.
“Cool,” Brent said. “By the way, we’re looking at houses in Florida.”
“You’re coming back? That’s awesome,” Thomas said.
They talked about Jake and Brent’s possible move. Everyone seemed happy. Lane looked a little sad, and he knew he’d disappointed his man. The guys asked him a few questions about his move, but he gave short answers, trying not to reveal where he would really be living.
The call ended, and he sat back, guilt filling him. He should go out and talk to Lane, but he wasn't sure what to say. After a few minutes, he heard Lane in the kitchen. A pan clanged then a cabinet door slammed. What had he done? He was falling in love with Lane, but he wasn't allowing Lane to share their happiness.
9
Lane hated that Mike was embarrassed about them. He wished his friend could be open, but he guessed he wasn't important enough. He should take it as a good sign that Mike told the group he was moving to Jersey, but he hadn't mentioned their relationship.
The door opened, and instead of bitching about his insecurities, he decided ignoring the issue would be less of a hassle. Mike would eventually come around. Maybe.
“I'm making some eggs and bacon. Want any?”
“Sure.” Mike moved to the den and stared out the window. Lane wanted to go to him, to get him to realize the guys would be fine with their relationship, but he couldn't. He had to eat and head into the city to work.
Lane cracked three extra eggs and put four extra strips of bacon on the tray. Once it started cooking, the food smelled delicious. Mike stayed at the window until Lane said the food was done.
They ate in silence for a while, and he guessed the moodiness was part of the process with Mike.
“The guys seem good,” Lane said.
“I can't believe someone tried to kill Clay and Thomas.”
“I know. It's crazy. I wish I could have been there to help.”
Mike nodded but didn't say anything. He finished his meal and washed his plate. He turned from the sink to find Mike still sitting in the same spot, only half his food eaten. Lane felt odd leaving for work, but he had to go. He kissed Mike goodbye and caught the bus into town. Mike said he was going to work a little, but Lane worried about him.
His shift wasn't too strange, although they did get a guy with a pill bottle stuck in his rectum. He said he fell on it, but Lane knew better.
After his shift, he grabbed some food and headed back to his apartment and Mike. He was looking forward to some snuggle time with his lover. The place was quiet, so he stripped and took a quick shower. Mike was sleeping peacefully when he crawled into bed. It was weird, but good. He liked watching Mike sleep, and he tried to keep his eyes open, but soon he drifted off.
Lane woke to Mike punching him. The hit wasn't good but still fucking hurt. Lane blocked the next punch by lifting his arms. Then Mike started to choke him. He struggled, fighting off Mike's hold. It was difficult since he’d just woken and hadn’t been ready for the punch. Mike got a good grasp on his neck before Lane was able to use both hands and shove him away. He rolled off the bed and tried to escape but Mike grabbed his ankle. He stumbled and Mike came after him.
“Mike, stop,” he yelled as he was shoved against the wall. He fought back, slapping at Mike's hands, but it seemed useless.
“You can't do this,” Mike yelled.
Lane screamed and pushed at Mike, trying to wake him from his weird semi-awake dream. Mike got in two more good punches, hurting Lane each time. Finally, Lane gave a good enough shove and pushed Mike to the mattress.
Mike bounced, his eyes blinking rapidly before they grew wide. His lips stretched into a howl as he curled into a ball and buried his head in the mattress.
Lane gasped for air and licked at his lip. He tasted blood. The attack had been bad. He wiped at his face, wincing in pain. Mike might have broken his nose.
Anger churned, but he knew it wasn’t Mike’s fault. His heart squeezed, and he limped to the bed and sat. He stretched out his hand, pausing before putting his hand on Mike's back. Mike cried quietly as he shivered. Desperation filled Lane. They couldn't live this way. He couldn’t fight off Mike every single night. Something had set him off, and they needed to figure out what had done it.
An urgent knock sounded at his door. He reached for underwear and shorts, figuring this wasn’t going to be good.
“Police, open up.” Was called out in the hall. “There was a disturbance reported.”
“Oh shit,” Mike said. He groaned as he sat up, tears still streaming down his face. “Lane, I didn't mean—”
“I know. I need to answer the door,” he said as he pulled on his shorts and grabbed a shirt before he left the room. He paused and glanced back in, wishing he could take this demon from Mike, but knowing he couldn’t. “Get dressed. We’re going to have to answer some questions.”
His steps were slow, his heart heavy as he headed to the door. He looked like shit. There was no hiding the truth. Mike had beat the crap out of him. But Mike wasn’t an abuser. He had issues, and he needed help, but he hadn’t done this because he was angry or wanted to hurt him.
He pulled the door opened and waved the cops in. “Might as well come in. Do you want any coffee?”
“No, sir. Do you need to step outside?” one of the cops asked.
“No. It looks bad. I know, but I’m fine.” He looked up and saw two cops who looked on edge. “Really, everything is fine. I know how it looks. It’s not as bad as it seems.”
The cops looked doubtful. “Do you have a firearm on the premises?”
“Yes, it’s in a drawer, the ammunition is hidden in a case. The key is on a ring that would be hard for anyone to find.”
“Is there someone else here?” The other officer asked.
He nodded. “Come on out, Mike,” Lane called into the bedroom.
Both cops put their hands on their guns, and his heart sank.
“He’s a good guy. He just—”
Mike stepped out of the bedroom, his eyes red, his nose running. He looked like hell. His gaze flashed to Lane and he shuddered. Mike shook his head and groaned.
“I’m so sorry.” Mike stood by the bedroom door, one hand covered his mouth as his brows pinched together and a sob escaped. He took one step and spoke. “I didn’t mean—”
The cops stepped between him and Mike, and Lane’s heart sank even more. He’d seen his share of domestic abuse victims in the ER. He knew how bad this looked. Many of the people who made excuses, were lying to themselves. He’d shaken his head plenty of times when people went back to their abuser. But this really was different. Mike hadn’t hit him out of anger. He wasn’t an abuser. The cops, the medics, the nurses, and if they ended up in the ER, the doctors wouldn’t believe anything he said.
“I know this looks bad. We were in the military together. He’s just dealing with some stuff.”
“I need to be admitted,” Mike said just barely above a whisper.
Lane shook his head. “We should call Sharron before you do anything.”
One of the cops held up his hand. “Who is Sharron?”
“His therapist,” Lane said. “He has an appointment today.”
The cops looked at each other before one of them move closer to Mike and nodded to the door. “How about we step outside.”
“Really, he’s not a danger to me. He’s awake now, and he’s not going to hit me.” A sick feeling turned Lane’s stomach.
“I think we’d like to hear you say it without him in the room with you,” one of the cops said.
Lane met Mike’s gaze, wishing he could pull his man into a hug. “Please talk to Sharron before you do anything.”
&
nbsp; Mike was at the door, about to leave when he turned. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really didn’t mean to do this. I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, really it’s okay. We’ll figure this out. Sharron can help.”
Mike left the apartment, and Lane reached up to wipe his face but winced in pain. He’d forgotten about his injuries. His head was starting to hurt, and his heart pounded with fear that something would happen to Mike. He was in love with the man, and no one would understand this wasn’t abuse, not in the traditional sense. Mike had just lost control.
The door pushed open and an EMT stepped in. Lane recognized the guy. He didn’t come over to the hospital where Lane worked often, but there were a few times they transferred patients from Jersey to Sinai when the injuries required it.
The guy came over and assessed Lane’s injuries, shaking his head. Then he met Lane’s gaze and recognition shown in his eyes.
“I’m Leo Sanchez. I know you, don’t I?”
“Yeah. I work in the ER over at Sinai.”
Leo nodded. “Hmm, what happened?”
“I’m fine.”
The guy lifted his brows and shook his head. “Let me get you cleaned up, and I’ll assess your injuries after we get a look.”
The cop was still there taking notes. “Could I have your name?”
“Lane Ashford.”
“And your boyfriend?”
“Mike Brewer.”
“Lane, you’ve seen people come in with injuries like this,” Leo said.
He nodded as sadness filled him. Everyone would assume Mike had done this because he was a jerk. That wasn’t the case.
“I need to see Mike,” Lane said.
The cop gave him a hard stare and shook his head in a way that made Lane think he wasn’t going to go easy on Mike. “Listen, why don’t you let us talk to him.” The cop shrugged. “Sometimes with guys, you know, they get angry. Maybe we can tell him how it’s going to be if he keeps doing this. Maybe a trip to the station will help him gain perspective.”
Anger made his heart beat faster. Mike’s perspective wasn’t off, and going to the station would only make things worse. “He didn’t do this on purpose.”