All Wheel Drive

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “Sure.” Healey thumbed Diego’s barbell before giving it a kiss, after which he felt like a tool.

  Diego smirked. “You really dig that piercing, huh?”

  “I do.”

  Diego’s expression turned calculating. “You pierce something, if you like it so much.”

  “Oh. So that’s how it’s going to be?” Diego’s challenge made Healey purr. He was not averse to the idea of piercings. “What’d you have in mind?”

  Diego let his gaze drift over Healey’s body. It was a hungry perusal. A shockingly intimate one. He pinched one of Healey’s nipples.

  Healey grunted with pleasure. “I could do that.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m in.” He already had morning wood, and now it throbbed with longing. “Anything else?”

  Diego’s big hand cupped Healey’s balls. Rubbed his taint. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

  “You’re going to kill me.” And what a way to go.

  Without giving permission a single thought, he ran his hand down Diego’s side and over his hip. A gentle nudge made Diego’s knee fall forward.

  For a second they both stared at it. Then Healey reached out to put it back, and Diego stopped his hand. “No.”

  While Diego put it back, Healey pulled away with an awkward groan. “Sorry.”

  “Naw. Shit.” Eye roll. “Nothing’s off-limits. I’m—”

  “You said the word no, okay? It’s fine. It’s all good.”

  Diego’s nose-wrinkle was . . . out of character and cute. “I’m still getting used to this.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m glad. Because I don’t.” Diego used momentum to bring himself upright. Then he swung his legs over the side.

  Healey couldn’t read his expression. “Which bathroom do you want me to use?”

  “Use this one. It’s fine.” Diego focused his gaze on some point over Healey’s shoulder.

  Sensing another potential landmine, Healey took his time getting out of bed. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to just—” Diego transferred himself to his chair “—do my thing. Don’t mind me. I’ll be done when I’m done.”

  Now, Healey understood.

  The access Diego granted him was unprecedented. His heart read it as acceptance. As a step forward. As a relationship milestone.

  At the same time, Diego didn’t need to prove anything to him.

  “If you’re more comfortable, I’m happy to give you privacy.”

  Diego’s fingers drummed. “I didn’t give a shit about privacy before this happened to me. That’s the thing.”

  Healey took a frank look at Diego’s body. “It’s not like you’ve got anything to be ashamed of.”

  “It’s not anything like shame.” Diego squinted as if he were trying to see through the floor. “Half of my body divorced me, and now I’m like some weekend dad, only my kid is a surly teen motherfucker I have to reacquaint myself with every time I spend time with him. I don’t really know or understand him anymore. I can’t control him. Can’t get him to do what I want. But I still have to drag him around with me wherever I go. I can’t explain how I feel any better than that.”

  “Using that analogy, you love this kid. Right?”

  “I’m too tired for my Mensa test today,” Diego bitched.

  Healey wished he could do better too. A better boyfriend might know what to say to make things easier. In this instance, he didn’t trust himself to react without more data.

  “I don’t know what you need.” He gave Diego his game face. “But whatever it is—privacy, an extra hand, a jet pack . . . whatever—I’m in. As long as you tell me. I’m sorta smart. Not psychic.”

  Diego’s eyes widened. “I can have a jet pack?”

  “Not like you think.” Healey smiled at a memory. “Shelby used to play field hockey with a leaf blower in a pack on the back of her wheelchair. Her friends took turns pushing her while she mastered ball-handling. The only problem was games got called on account of limited battery power. Weight issues.”

  “Oh, batteries. That was your mistake. Those things are shit.”

  “Di-AY-go.” Healey chided in Shelby’s voice. “We are not monsters. We don’t strap a gas-powered engine on the back of a little girl.”

  Diego pouted. “It’s not a real jet pack, then.”

  “No, but it was awesome. You had to aim the air stream just so, and the ball would go flying, and then they’d all take after it like little brightly colored penguins. The other players used their sticks, and Shelby’d blow. Whooosh.”

  “I could get behind that.” Diego nodded. “If only for yard waste.”

  “Anyone can get a leaf blower, man. This was a full-on Ghostbusters-style backpack with sound and blinking lights and a laser sight.” He picked his phone off the nightstand. “I’m going to get it for you . . . Let me text Nash right now and see if it’s at the garage still . . . There’s no way Pop got rid of that. It was—”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “What is it?”

  “New message from Ford. ‘Get a lawyer. Watch your back.’” Healey swallowed. “Okay. There’s nothing scary about that at all.”

  “Let me text my stepdad. You know he’s a lawyer, right?” Diego picked up his cell and started typing, but before he got very far, he hesitated. “If you want, I mean. I don’t want to overstep. But if anyone will know if something is actionable—”

  “Sure.” Stunned, Healey thumbed a quick reply to Ford. He got an autoresponse in return. No end date. Just, I have no connectivity. I don’t know when I’ll be back. If you need something, please refer to my family.

  Was anything Ford said even true? Or was this lawsuit some nebulous idea that had Ford’s anxiety ratcheting up for nothing? Was it because of the meds? His dreams, his paranoia?

  Had Ford worried and chewed on and fretted over the consequences of the accident until he believed he ought to warn Healey to make plans to deal with it? Until it had become so frightening and real that he’d felt the need to act on his fears? Because that had happened before, over tests and taxes. Over imagined slights from neighbors.

  How real was the problem?

  Healey never knew. The hardest thing he’d ever done was accept the fact that Ford’s reality was suspect. That even with a terrific mind like his, he could still get things terribly, horribly wrong.

  Diego asked, “Have you gotten anything from these people who are supposed to be suing you?”

  “No. But I’m not sure anyone knows where I am.”

  “Believe me, they could find out in minutes. You aren’t trying to hide anything. You’ve used your credit cards, your cell phone.” He gave the smartphone clutched in Healey’s hand a little poke to prove his point. “Plus Spencer’s Twitter feed has hinted at your location at least once because of Nash.”

  “You’ve been cyber-stalking me?”

  “Maybe.” Guys didn’t really do that did they? It was . . . boyish. Earnest. Endearing. It was another nail in the lid of Healey’s heart-coffin, slamming down. Putting an end to the two of them being some temporary fling . . .

  “My life is going to be a circus,” he confessed.

  “I always wanted to join the circus.” Diego’s mouth softened into an almost-smile, but his fingers tapped. Healey looked pointedly at them. Diego stopped, shook his nervous hands in the air, and then folded them in his lap. “Obviously, I’m crap on the high wire. But I can function as a pretty good net.”

  Almost too touched to speak, Healey nodded. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “I should . . .” Diego jerked his head toward the toilet. “I’m going to need coffee and some kind of food after all the bio-medical engineering.”

  “All right. I’ll be in the kitchen figuring it out.” Healey caught Diego’s hand before he could leave. “Thanks. I mean that.”

  “Sure.” Diego’s expression warmed Healey right up. “Don’t forget. We have a date to get your nipples pierced.”

&nb
sp; Healey nuzzled into the skin behind Diego’s ear. “I am counting the hours.”

  In the kitchen, Healey discovered a refrigerator stocked with fresh food. Some spices in the cupboard. Bread. He began breaking eggs into a bowl he found, enjoying the clean workspace and the homey chore of cooking for Diego for a change.

  His gaze fell on the picture of Diego and his mother. If it was just the two of them, Diego had probably learned his way around the kitchen at a young age.

  In point of fact, both Healey and Nash had learned to feed themselves and Shelby while their dad had worked long hours at the garage. Their single-parent household made being tough and independent a necessity.

  Ford had grown up with a stay-at-home mother who’d nevertheless employed a string of nannies and housekeepers. But Ford was strong and stubborn, and he’d been independent by nature, not necessity.

  A self-described control freak, Ford took losing control over his emotions as the ultimate betrayal. There was a metaphorical parallel between Diego’s divorce-from-his-body and Ford’s wayward brain chemistry. It was as if Ford’s rational mind took off on him, like a cheating spouse—it was worse than a divorce, really, because when Ford’s rational mind came back, he had to deal with the fallout from the wreckage his absence left behind.

  Nobody liked to lose control.

  Healey’d lived in Ford’s invisible fun house for a long time. He couldn’t see the things that made Ford so angry or sad or frightened, but the emotions were tangible—as real as the wheelchair Diego sat in. Healey’d wanted to be with Ford. And now he wanted to be with Diego.

  So what did that say about him that from the moment of Ford’s diagnosis, he’d lost faith they’d stay together.

  Was he a quitter? Or disloyal?

  Had he given up too soon? Given Ford even more reason to distrust?

  He heated up a pan before putting some bread into the four-slice toaster. Four slices? Boy must like him some toast. He went back to scrambling eggs. Thoughts of Ford—memories—some good, some bad, flooded back.

  A squeak on the wooden floor made him turn. Diego, fresh from a quick shower, had rolled in and was watching, waiting while he stood there, not stirring a bowl of raw eggs.

  How long had he been standing there?

  “Cecil’s the man—he’s got connections everywhere. He’s going to help. He’ll try to get you in to see Ford. Is that what you want?”

  Healey wished he didn’t. The caution on Diego’s face—the almost wounded resignation—hurt him too.

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s probably not the best idea. But I want that very much.”

  Later in the day, as Diego negotiated the terrain leading to Fjóla’s place, Healey was struck again by how much thought went in to using a chair. The chair was why Nash had lost his shit when Shelby announced she wanted a year abroad. She had to plan a strategy for getting from place to place well ahead, anywhere she went. She could get stuck, get tipped, get injured. It made them all sick to think about it.

  Still, they had to stand by and watch and wait. They couldn’t help because that took something fundamental away from Shelby, something wholly personal and profound and essential. And it was fucking hard.

  As with Shelby, Healey wanted to be mindful of these things. He had to let people do things for themselves or accept the sometimes salty consequences. Healey went up the path and rang the bell. By the time his pop answered the door, Diego’d caught up with him.

  “Hey.” Pop’s wide grin made him feel ten years old again. “Welcome. We were just making popcorn. Come on in.”

  He held the door open as first Diego and then Healey entered.

  “Come on back. Nash and I are going to watch a movie.”

  Healey got a glimpse of the screen. “Airplane?”

  Pop nodded. “It’s still Nash’s favorite.”

  “Whatta surprise.” Healey gave Fjóla a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, pretty lady.”

  Fjóla pinked up. “Flatterer.”

  “It would only be flattery,” said Diego, “if it wasn’t true. Hey, you.”

  She came over and hugged him tightly. “So good to see you again, Diego.”

  “You’ve met?” Pop asked.

  “I was hired to work with the actors.” Fjóla nodded. “But the Wolf’s Landing production crew has been a pet project of mine. Meditation and yoga is magic for stress.”

  “She suggested Adaptive Yoga for me,” said Diego. “It’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be.”

  “Your upper body is very strong. Yoga can be part of the program to help you keep it that way.”

  Healey tried to keep his face blank, but lost control when his brother turned a knowing gaze his way. He returned the look with a quirk of his brow.

  “Captain America would kill for Diego’s chest,” Healey boasted. “Just sayin’.”

  Diego threw a self-satisfied smirk his way.

  “I came because I need to tell you guys something. It looks like there are going to be lawsuits involving my accident. I’m named as a defendant—”

  “So they plan to blame you?” Nash’s outrage was palpable. “To make it your fault that—”

  “I don’t think that’s the case,” Diego offered calmly. “My stepdad, Cecil, will get in contact with Ford’s family’s lawyers to let them know he’s representing Healey. When I talked to him about it, he didn’t seem all that concerned. It’s standard to cast a big-ass net in these situations. It puts pressure on everyone. Whoever blinks first, settles.”

  Pop sat heavily. “Is this because of the accident? Or because of Ford?” He caught it when Healey and Diego exchanged glances. “What is it?”

  “It was Ford who let me know about the lawsuit—”

  “Ford’s suing you?”

  “No. I only mean—” Healey shook his head. “I don’t know for sure if anyone is suing me. I don’t know anything but what Ford told me.”

  Pop made a distracted, disbelieving sound.

  “Ace. What can we do?” Fjóla joined them. “There must be something.”

  “I hate this.” Pop sighed. “Ford is such a decent kid. He’s got a real good heart. It’s tough to be that smart, you know? Not that I’d know or—”

  Fjóla kissed the rest of his words away.

  Healey studied his pop, wondering again if the resemblance between them went deeper than simple looks. No doubt his pop’s thoughts ran along similar lines.

  “You know . . .” Pop looked at his hands. His glasses were perched in his wavy silver hair, which, wow, was way too long. “I wasn’t a very good role model.”

  Nash frowned. “Knock that off.”

  “You worked hard for your family,” Fjóla said gently. “Your children grew up knowing they were loved. You seem like a wonderful father to me. A good man.”

  Pop reddened. “Maybe you’re a little bit prejudiced, huh?”

  “All the way prejudiced.” Her warmth suffused the very air. “Go Team Ace! It’s such a shame about Ford though. Is he in terrible trouble?”

  “Yes. I think he might be. On the positive side of the ledger,” Diego offered, “Ford’s health will be re-evaluated, and possibly, he’ll get better treatment in a residential program.”

  Healey had heard that before. “Another round of pharmacological roulette.”

  “Slow down, science boy,” Diego teased. “I thought you were a believer.”

  “In gravity. Not Big Pharma. You couldn’t pay me to break bread with those jackals. Not since my EpiPen went over a thousand bucks.”

  “You’re allergic to something?” he asked seriously.

  “Bees.” Healey nodded. “And amoxicillin.”

  “How oddly specific.” Diego took out his phone. “I guess I should make a note, if we’re hitting the road together”

  “You’re going somewhere?” Ace asked.

  “We’re thinking about a road trip,” Healey answered for both of them. “I’m ready to take a break. See some sights. Diego’s not working right n
ow. We thought it would be fun.”

  Diego put his phone away with a wink. “I don’t know, man. There are bees everywhere.”

  “Fewer and fewer every year.” Pop’s forehead wrinkled like he was getting one of his ideas. “I’d like to try beekeeping—it’s been a lifelong ambition of mine. I wonder if there’s a way to do it here?”

  “In Bluewater Bay?” asked Nash.

  “In my backyard?” Fjóla stopped with a handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth.

  “But I’m allergic,” Healey said.

  Pop glanced between Healey and then at Diego. “You should both keep EpiPens on you at all times if Healey’s going to be around bees. Last time, he just got hives all over his upper body, but they said the reaction can increase, and there’s no way to know what the effect will be next time.”

  “Probably best not to borrow trouble.” Fjóla’s fond expression included all of them. “Popcorn?”

  Nash blanched and turned to Healey. “I’m warning you now. There are anchovies in there.”

  “In the popcorn?” Diego asked, incredulously.

  With a defiant glance Nash’s way, Fjóla passed Diego the bowl.

  Diego gave the popcorn a look, and with a what-the-hell gesture, he took one of the red-plastic cups off the coffee table to scoop some out. Everyone stared while he tasted the anchovy-laced snack.

  “I didn’t see that flavor coming,” he said finally. “I can’t tell if I actually like it, or if my taste buds have finally given up on me.”

  “You might or might not like it?” Fjóla asked. “Not inspiring praise.”

  Healey shot Diego a pointed look. “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

  Diego jerked his head toward the seat next to his wheelchair, and Healey scooted into it. A fond smile creased his lips as he leaned forward to whisper in Healey’s ear. “You know what’s what.”

  Exchanging another look, this one full of promise, Healey shifted so their shoulders touched. Fjóla brought tall, cold glasses of iced green tea for everyone before starting the movie. Nash belly-laughed at all the well-worn but crude jokes while they took turns with the dialogue.

  “You guys have this memorized?” Diego asked.