by J. M. Dabney
He pulled his phone from his sleep pants and his heart stuttered in his chest at the no new messages. He stroked his thumb over the screen and went to tap the shortcut to call Lucky when the click of the lock had him pivoting towards the door.
Lucky’s dreads hung around his drooped shoulders. The man’s misery was palatable. Lucky closed the door behind him, but stood next to it and shoved his hands into the pockets of his holey jeans. His hand began to ache from where he had it clenched around his phone. Lucky’s lashes were damp and spiked, as red as his own.
The silence between them was thick and suffocating.
“Priest, I’m—”
Lucky jerked his hands from his pockets and scrubbed them over his face as he fell back against the wall. A sob caught in Lucky’s throat and he curled more into himself.
Priest couldn’t take it, he dropped his phone and quickly strode across the room. He wrapped his hands around Lucky’s wrists and pulled his hands from his face, tears steadily flowed from Lucky’s eyes. Leaning in, he cupped Lucky’s face in his hands and placed soft, lingering kisses all over his face, his eyes, cheeks tasting the saltiness of tears. He hesitated when his mouth touched Lucky’s, and their shuddering breaths mingled.
It was a hesitant dance, advance and retreat in tandem. Their lips barely touched as he darted his gaze repeatedly from Lucky’s down to his mouth. It was as if his heart was hammering out of his chest worse than any panic attack he’d ever had. This wasn’t the fear, but something else, like the session at the workshop but more intense.
Lucky’s lips trembled against his before soft presses, almost as if Lucky was afraid.
“Do you understand how many nights I watched you sleep and wanted to feel you—all of you.” Lucky’s tentatively traced Priest’s lips with the tip of his tongue. “How much I wanted to love you,” Lucky asked then slanted his mouth across his.
He felt himself move, Lucky slowly walking him backward towards the bed.
“Why,” He asked brokenly.
“I just—”
Lucky laid them on the bed; he realized Lucky turned them onto their sides so he wouldn’t feel trapped. The thick ridge of Lucky’s dick nudged his own. It was the first time in years he felt a hard cock against his, and he gasped as his body responded.
“Why?”
Lucky’s left hand came to rest on his hip and tugged him just a bit closer. He couldn’t stop shaking as his body felt as if it were overheating. His face felt on fire. His cock and balls ached, Priest hadn’t felt a physical response in so long. The intensity of it was overwhelming.
“You trusted me. Fuck, I knew bad shit had happened before you came to me and you trusted me to hold you—to keep you safe.”
Priest worked the buttons on Lucky’s shirt free, wanting warm, smooth skin against his hairier body. When his bare chest pressed to the skin he exposed Lucky shook and groaned. Lucky arched and rubbed against him.
“S’long, no one since I’ve had you in my bed.”
He froze at Lucky’s confession. He’d been sleeping in Lucky’s bed off and on since he'd moved in.
“I don’t know if—”
“We’re good as is. Just don’t leave me, please, Priest.”
Another sob shuddered against his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Lucky’s neck, and Lucky tucked his head beneath Priest’s chin. Tears burned his eyes as Lucky desperately clutched him to his body. They laid there breathing each other in, Priest matched his breaths to Lucky’s and felt as they both relaxed. There were so many questions he wanted answers to, but it was already too much for one day. Priest wanted another night safe in Lucky’s arms and to know he never had to be afraid again. Lucky loved him, practically confessed it, but he wasn’t as brave, and he hated himself for it.
11 DOES HE KNOW HE’S KILLING ME?
Priest had been right about his mother wanting to humiliate him even after death. He’d sat there holding Priest’s hand while the bastards strip him of any inheritance. His pretty bear didn’t give a fuck about things like money or property, but being the subject of condemnation broke another piece of Priest. Priest had been unusually silent since they’d flown home two days before. They’d all tried to get him out of his shell; it was almost like the Priest who had arrived at Twirled three years earlier. Priest hadn’t slept in his bed in days; the last night was at the hotel before they’d flown home.
He wasn’t the same either. Because of who and what he was he’d taken a beating plenty of times, some of his so-called accidents over the years weren’t accidents. He’d learned to fight because he had no other choice, but since Priest came into his life, he hid it never wanting Priest to see him capable. It hadn’t worked; the rage had taken over when that bastard said Priest needed a heavy hand.
Priest needed to be loved, treated with gentleness, and he’d done everything in his power to do that for the man he loved. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Priest, wake up with Priest tucked to his side or a Priest blanket with the man entirely draped over him. He wanted that inked ring around their fingers. He just wanted the fucking right to tell everyone Priest was his and not get that look from everyone; the one that said he didn’t have a chance.
No one could call him much of a catch. He was skinny and funny looking; he made himself a target just by being him. He did try to be normal once and it was the worse fucking day of his life.
He watched Priest from under his lashes as he pretended to sketch. What if things never went back to the way they were before? What if Priest never again wanted to sleep in his bed or touch him just to know he was there?
He didn’t think he could survive it. He set this sketchpad aside and stood with his backpack in his hand. “Hey, I’m out, I got somewhere to be,” He called out, Priest looked up but didn’t offer him the smile that was all Lucky’s.
Did Priest realize he was killing him?
He shook his head, he wanted to run from the shop, but he kept his pace slow and lazy. He could feel the looks of pity he’d been getting since he’d told the guys what happened. There was one person who would give him great advice without trying to skewer him with sarcasm or I-told-you-so’s. He just hoped he was home.
He hopped on his bike, started it up and sped off in the direction of Scary’s house.
# # #
Twenty minutes later he stood on Scary’s porch and knocked on the door, Elijah’s car was in the driveway. Tank’s bike wasn’t there, and he knew Scary was at the shop until dinner time with Elijah, Juvie and Tank then off to Brawlers. Soft footsteps sounded on the other side, and the door opened to reveal a surprised Elijah.
“I fucked up.”
“That’s nothing new, but come on in, coffee,” Elijah asked, the man reached out and grabbed his forearm pulling him into the house.
Juvie would be at school for another two hours.
“No, I’m okay.”
“Okay, come on in the office, I have to send an email, and then I’m done for the day.”
“If you’re busy I can—”
“Shut up and get in my office.”
“Being with Scary and Tank have fucking corrupted you, and I mean that literally.”
“None of your bullshit—”
“Cussing, pod person Elijah.”
“Yea, yea, they’ve ruined me. So, start talking.”
“You know we went to Priest’s mother’s funeral.”
“I heard that was a clusterfuck. Scary’s word, not mine.”
Elijah walked toward what he knew Scary had turned into an office for Elijah to work from home. They entered and Elijah walked behind the desk and set down. He took a seat on the couch.
“Yea, that’s a fucking understatement. I don’t want to give away Priest’s secrets.”
“Anyone who knows Priest can tell he’s had a bad time of it and I don’t need details, that’s something between you and him. So just give it to me from your side.”
“First Priest’s mom dies; his Dad has a lawyer call to
inform him and tell him about the reading. That turned into everyone around Priest getting some bullshit inheritance while he sat there getting ignored and treated like a fucking leper.”
“That had to be hard for him. To leave that and have it thrown into his face on the day he can’t get closure because his mom isn’t around the tell him why.”
“She blamed him for what happened to him, fucking blamed him. Like he asked for that fucker—” He cut it off, he didn’t want to give away secrets not his to give. It was going to be tough as fuck to tell Elijah only half the story and get the advice he needed.
Elijah finished sending whatever he had to and stood, coming to sit on the couch beside him. Elijah curled his legs under him. “Parents aren’t always fit for the job. Our parents weren’t and I turned into a twelve-year-old taking care of an infant while they were off still partying and traveling. But I’m sure what we went through is nowhere near what he did.”
“I punched someone—”
“You, pacifist, hippie Lucky Trenton resorted to violence.”
“Yea, yea, me, but you’ve seen me—”
“I know, you’ve gotten into a few fights at Brawlers but you were always between Priest and danger, so it isn’t the first time.”
“I threw the first punch. Fuck,” he dropped his face into his hands and scrubbed them over his stinging eyes. He wouldn’t fucking cry again. “When I saw his face, I knew I screwed up. He was frightened of me—me. I’ve loved him from almost the minute I saw him. He was so big and sweet, shy, that little belly of his—”
Elijah chuckled and ran his fingers through his thick curls before resting his head in his hand. “No one that sees you around him thinks your feelings are anything platonic.”
“Priest does.”
“When you’re in an abusive relationship, and you get out, every experience is colored by it. The way you see yourself and the world around you, people who treat you kind have ulterior motives. I’m not saying it’s always the case, but depending on the severity it takes years to work through it, and sometimes people never do.”
“We kissed.”
“You always kiss, people who don’t know y’all already think you're a couple.”
“No, the night before we left, a real kiss, but he told me he didn’t think he’d ever be ready. I said we were fine as is.”
“You lied to him.” The shock in Elijah’s voice was evident.
“I did because I don’t want him to leave me. I’ll take the nights of cuddling him or the touches that won’t ever lead anywhere; I can live with that if I have him.”
“You’re setting yourself up as a martyr, Lucky, how long has it been since you’ve been with someone other than Priest?”
“Almost three years, since the first night he spent in my bed. I knew I could never have him, so I tried to forget how I felt in hook ups, but it never worked, and I always felt guilty when I’d see him the day after like I fucking cheated.”
“Does he know that?”
“I told him it'd been no one but him since we started sleeping together.”
“Listen, this is my advice, it’s nothing but an opinion, but Priest needs space. His past in all its fuckeduppedness was thrown in his face. All that brutality and pain, the emotional damage is back, and it’s like reprocessing it all over again. It’s going back to step one and seeing you resort to violence, his vision of you colored by your actions and his past. All mixed up and warped.”
“But what the fucker said, Priest is the sweetest and most loving man I’ve ever met. He’s perfect and someone being able to say those things—to suggest Priest needs a heavy hand. How could anyone put their hands on Priest without any other intention besides loving him?”
“People are fucked up in the head; you know how hard it was for Juvie to adjust from what she went through to living with us. She’s still not exactly settled; sometimes she still has moments when she feels unsafe. We talk her through it and make sure she knows that she’s loved and permanent in our lives. That her Daddy, Dad and Papa love her more than anything. You just need to reestablish what you and Priest had, no, it won’t ever be the same, but maybe, in the end, this will strengthen what you two have.”
“I don’t ever see that happening, you didn’t see his face.”
“Then give him some space, some time to think and analyze what happened. The kiss must mean something. It’s s small step, but maybe a move forward. I have to go get Juvie and Princess from school in about forty-five minutes, you want to hang out?”
“No, I think I need a bit of a ride to clear my head. It’s been awhile.”
“Then,” Elijah cupped his face and leaned forward to kiss his brow.
“What the fuck, this better—” Scary roared from the doorway, and Elijah laughed.
“Oh, please, like I can handle another man, you and Tank are more than I can deal with now.” Elijah slid off the couch and went to Scary and lifted onto his toes to kiss the man’s frown. “Lucky, take your ride, get your head straight and have a long heart-to-heart with Priest. Don’t let it fester.”
“Thanks, Elijah.”
“You coming with to get our daughter and niece or are you going to brood?”
“I was hoping for a quickie.”
“I’ve got thirty, you up to the challenge,” Elijah’s voice was flirty.
“Bedroom,” Scary ordered.
“And I’m gone, that’s just fucking disturbing.”
Lucky escaped as quickly as possible and found himself a half hour outside of town with no idea how he got there. The road deserted, the sun was shining and the rumble of the engine loud in his ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out on his own.
He tapped his toe to change gear and took off faster, safe in the knowledge no cops were around to ticket him. He savored the wind in his face and the scent of hot tar baking under the sun. For a few hours he wanted to lose himself. Find his center, he needed Priest he just had to figure out how to get his man back.
A horn sounded behind him seconds before someone bumped his back wheel, his tail end spun out, and nothing would save him from the long skid and possible road rash. His bike went sideways, the pain excruciating, and a bumper rammed into his helmet sending him into a spin off the side of the road. All he knew was pain as he felt himself flying over the embankment, the smell of smoke hit him just as everything went black.
12 WHERE THE FUCK IS LUCKY?
The asshole in the police uniform in front of him was quickly pissing him off. “He always comes home.”
“Mr. Beall, I’m sorry, but Mr. Trenton is an adult, and there’s nothing to prove he isn’t just spending the night away from the house.”
“Listen, he always comes home, and he never goes this long without calling me. I want to file a missing—”
“He’s been supposedly missing for eight hours. I’m sorry, but department policy is we can’t consider a report until at least forty-eight hours has past unless you have some reason or proof of foul play.”
“I know Lucky, and he wouldn’t worry me—”
“I’m sorry about your—partner.”
He hated that damn pause. Homophobic asshole.
“I don’t give a shit about forty-eight hours my Lucky wouldn’t do this to me.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come back in two days.”
“Fine, if you won’t do shit but sit on your fat, donut-eating ass,” Priest spun on his toes and headed for the door. “I’ll take care of it myself.”
He pulled out his phone and called Lily.
“Priest, is my least fucked up child showing his ass again,” Lily’s amused tone didn’t bode well.
“So, Lucky isn’t there,” He asked as he walked outside.
“What do you mean?”
“He hasn’t come home. Lucky never—”
“Did you go to the police station?”
“Yes, but they’re saying they can’t do anything until he’s missing for forty-eight hou
rs.”
“Why didn’t you fucking call before now?”
“I didn’t want to worry you until—”
“That’s no excuse. Get everyone to Twirled House, Damon and I will be there soon.”
She had disconnected the call before he had a chance to answer. He stood beside his bike and stared down at his phone. He’d already told Zerk and Landon, Trouble and Brody. He hit the speed dial for Elijah.
“Priest,” A sleepy Elijah answered the phone.
“Lucky’s missing.”
“What—when I just saw him this afternoon.”
“He came to see you, when?”
“It was about one. We talked for about an hour, and then he took off saying he needed to go for a ride.”
“Where was he going?”
“I’m sorry, he didn’t say.”
“Oh, was he okay when he left?”
There was a long pause on the other end, “He was a little upset. He needed someone to talk to. Let me call Scary and Tank, is everyone meeting up at the house?”
“Yes, Lily and Damon are on their way. I’m leaving the police station. They wouldn’t let me file a report until he’s been missing—”
“Forty-eight hours. He’s an adult.”
“I don’t care if he’s an adult. He wouldn’t stay out this late without at least texting me.”
“We’ll take care of it, Priest, get home, and we’ll figure it all out.”
“What did he have to talk to you—”
“I don’t feel comfortable saying. He needed to talk.”
“About me,” He asked.
“I’ll see you in a few, Priest.”
He disconnected the call and shoved his phone into the pocket of his jacket. He lifted his hands and covered his face as another round of tears began, but he didn’t have time. What if he was just out for a ride?
Nothing had been right between them since the funeral. It had taken everything in him not to go to Lucky’s bed. To just curl up beside him and be okay again. He threw his leg over the seat of his bike, he started it quickly and headed toward home.