Scotty was no longer sitting on the bed but instead stood reading some newspaper clippings that Drake had yet to assemble on his wall. He cringed as Scotty flipped through them, lifting up the top article to see the ones below. Willy’s smiling face stared back at him, and Drake couldn’t get another drink fast enough.
He’d always been a firm believer that the faster you drank, the more the fluid was medicinal rather than a folly. Already he could feel the effect of it on the muscles in his back. They’d been stiff with tension, and now his ribs had loosened.
Scotty looked up from the newspapers, his eyes wide but still not accusatory, and watched as Drake set the glasses down and poured his drink.
Drake started to pour some into the glass for Scotty but stopped after Scotty gave a minute shake of his head. Sighing, he poured more into his glass. Scotty stayed at the desk, still watching him, his fingers lingering on the newspapers.
Drake took a long swallow, breathing out the smooth, burning sensation left on his tongue. In, one, two, three, out, one, two, three. Then he continued, voice rough. “So, uh, anyway, my dad didn’t get a chance to do anything to help us, because instead of getting his weapon and calling for backup, he came for me.”
Drake downed the rest of his glass and set it down with a loud crack on the table. Scotty jumped at the sound but didn’t make another move.
“The shadow on the wall, it did turn out to be a monster, but it wasn’t like anything I ever could have imagined then. The first man who came up the stairs already had his gun drawn. And while my dad could have been prepared, could have at least tried to get us out of there, he had taken care of me instead. He’d shoved me behind him and put out a hand in surrender. I remember that. I remember he had his hand out telling the man not to shoot, but the man in the mask didn’t even give him a second glance. He shot him, three times in the chest.”
Drake reached for the bottle and tried to pour some more scotch into his glass, but his hand trembled too much. Liquid sloshed, more hitting the table than the glass. Scotty reached out, laying his hands atop Drake’s. Their eyes met and he gently removed Drake’s fingers from the bottle. He kept the bottle in one hand while the other stayed on Drake’s, offering a comforting touch. He ran his thumb over the back of Drake’s hand soothingly.
After pouring a small amount into the glass, Scotty slid the bottle out of Drake’s reach. Drake wanted to resent that action—he wanted to reach out and grab the bottle back from Scotty—but the look on Scotty’s face wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t trying to hurt Drake; he was trying to help him. So, Drake put his glass to his lips and took a small sip, savored it, then swallowed.
“I screamed as he fell back on me. And while we laid there in a puddle of his blood, my mother and sister were dragged from their rooms by the other men. When my mom saw my dad, she screamed the worst scream I have ever heard in my life and fought against the men and got loose enough to try and save my sister. But nothing she did stopped them. Instead of just shooting her, they beat her. They beat her to a silence, and when they were done, they shot my sister in front of her and then turned the gun on her.” The memory assaulted Drake, and he couldn’t stand any longer. Telling the story for the first time in over a decade was taking its toll. His knees slackened and he started to droop, but Scotty rushed forward and put a steadying arm around him before he slipped to the floor. They stumbled together toward the bed, the soft mattress giving way under the weight of their bodies.
Drake crumpled on the bed. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he tried to obliterate the visual from his past, but no amount of damage to his eyes could erase what his brain had endured.
“Jesus,” Scotty whispered. He petted Drake evenly, his hands a soothing rub against his back and along his arm.
Drake fought to pull himself out of his nightmare to look up at Scotty, to be strong. He hadn’t wanted to be this weak. He knew he was stronger than this, but his voice cracked when he tried to speak, and he snapped his mouth shut. He hadn’t cried about that night in a long time, and he wasn’t going to cry now.
“I was still under my dad’s cooling body, hiding, hoping they wouldn’t notice me. I remember holding my breath so they wouldn’t even be able to hear my breathing. I tried to lie completely still, but before they left, one of them spotted me.” Drake wrapped his arms around himself. “He kneeled down and waved at me, like you would to a spooked kid lost in the park.” Drake looked at Scotty, who stared back at him in horror. “The fucker waved at me! Then pulled his gun and shot me. I lost a kidney, a part of my intestines, eight months of consciousness, and my entire family from that single night.”
Drake swallowed hard and looked away from Scotty. He let his chin fall to his chest and stretched the muscles in his back. Scotty’s hands continued to move along his body, a beacon of comfort. Time passed and the silence thickened. Finally, Scotty gently claimed Drake’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned Drake’s head toward him. Their eyes met. “You know that it wasn’t your fault, right?”
Drake laughed, a deep guttural sound, more a sob than a laugh really. “Trust me, I have been through enough counseling to know that none of it was my fault. That doesn’t stop it from feeling like it was my fault. I can know it all I want, but the voice in the back of my head still wonders how things could have been different if I had just listened to my dad and stayed in bed.”
“Maybe nothing would have been different.”
Drake shrugged, a lifeless lift of shoulders. “Maybe.” The word came out barely louder than a whisper.
Scotty slipped from the bed and dropped to his knees. Drake startled at the movement but couldn’t go anywhere as Scotty shuffled the small distance to position himself in front of Drake. He cupped Drake’s face in his hands. “You are an incredibly remarkable man.”
Scotty brushed a hand up Drake’s cheek, tracing his thumb under Drake’s eye, pulling away a drop of moisture that Drake hadn’t even realized he’d released.
“You pulled yourself out of the ashes and created a life for yourself. There are many others who wouldn’t have been able to do that.”
Drake caught Scotty’s hand with his own, stopping the soothing caress. “Don’t judge me yet. You haven’t heard everything.”
Instead of pulling his hand away, Scotty twisted his wrist so their fingers could interlace. He pulled their connected hands to his lips and laid a gentle kiss along their knuckles.
Drake sucked in a deep breath at the feel of Scotty’s lips. The aching in his chest no longer originated from pain alone. Now, the ache had shifted and it felt like something else. Like something more.
Hope? Desire? Love?
“The Boredega cartel is the largest drug-running cartel in the Midwest. It’s been growing strong since the late ’80s and only getting bigger and more powerful. Over the years there have been multiple operations trying to bring the cartel down, but so far no one has been able to figure out where Boredega’s headquarters are. As for the man, Boredega himself, it’s become a popular theory that he doesn’t even really exist.
“Multiple operations, multiple organizations, and no one can get far enough into the damn cartel to make a fucking dent. Every time someone thinks they’re getting close, the whole investigation comes crashing in on them, usually taking everyone involved down with it.”
Drake took the framed photo from the bed, where Scotty had placed it earlier. He turned it around, undid the back, and pulled out another smaller photo. He handed the picture to Scotty.
“That’s my dad and his partner, Rouley. My dad was the lead investigator in a Boredega case. It was the investigation that had delved the deepest into the cartel, and they’d had a man in custody who had, for all intents and purposes, seemed the most likely candidate for Boredega. Before they could go to trial, before too much information could be unearthed, a sniper took out the proposed Boredega, and then slowly, every single person working on the case was killed in some fashion or another.”
/> Scotty was still crouched at Drake’s feet, one hand holding the photo while the other moved back and forth along Drake’s forearm.
“When I woke up from my coma and my memory came back, I was a mess. It took years for me to be able to function like a human being again and even longer than that to be considered anything resembling normal. I grew up in witness protection and in the system. Basically, once the hospital deemed me sane enough to rejoin society, I was thrown into foster home after foster home and was just another damaged kid in a long line of equally forgotten and broken children.”
Mouth dry, Drake eyed his bottle of scotch, but in order to get it he would have to break contact with Scotty, and he wasn’t sure if he could take the isolation that would come with that. Distracting himself by running his fingers through Scotty’s light hair, he ignored the bottle on the table.
“Since I woke up, the only thing I’ve been able to think about is Boredega. My entire life has led me to this,” Drake said, indicating the closet. “I created contacts, made friends, found ways to change my identity. I got my inheritance when I turned twenty-one, and I invested it all in Semblance. I needed a tool to be useful, to get noticed.” Drake huffed a derisive laugh. “It didn’t take long for them to approach me.”
Drake paused, the silence a heavy weight. “The only thing I have left is revenge. I always wondered why my entire family died and I lived, and the only thing that makes sense, any sense at all, is that I was spared so I could finally take them down.”
Scotty sat tall on his knees. “Jesus, Drake!” he said emphatically, taking Drake’s head in his hands. “Why haven’t you gotten the police involved?”
“The police had their chance. They tried to take them down, and I lost my entire family for it.”
Shaking his head, Scotty pulled Drake toward him, forcing him to look him straight in the eye. “You can’t take down the entire cartel by yourself, Drake. You’re one man infiltrating a trained army!”
Drake swallowed, diverting his eyes from Scotty’s worried ones. “That’s the point. What better way to take them out than to gain their trust, work my way through the ranks until I’m face-to-face with Boredega himself, and pull the trigger. They aren’t expecting a single missile. They’re always looking for the mass attack.”
Scotty searched Drake’s face. Drake wasn’t sure what Scotty was looking for, but he was sure he didn’t find it. Scotty’s eyes dulled a little at the lack of confirmation he found. He tilted their heads so their foreheads were touching.
“You aren’t planning on coming out of this alive, are you?”
Releasing a strangled breath, Drake shuddered at the bleakness of Scotty’s voice. “I don’t know if I would know how to live if I did somehow make it out alive.”
Making a whimpering sound in the back of his throat, Scotty pulled Drake tight against him. Their lips met in a flurry of movement, both seeking reassurance and both looking for comfort. Although Drake desperately wanted to fall into the kiss, lose himself and not look back, he couldn’t. He held a piece of himself back.
“I can teach you how to live. Let me teach you?” Scotty said, pulling back only far enough to say the words against Drake’s lips. “Please, let me teach you.”
A piece of Drake that was locked away, a piece of him that had been told that hope and love were not things he had a right to, pushed against its barricade. The sturdy walls felt the force of the wrecking ball at Scotty’s words, but no matter how hard that piece of him tried to dislocate itself, it stayed trapped. For Drake had worked hard to weld its cage.
Unable to say anything, unable to do anything, unable to make anything better, Drake pressed his lips back to Scotty’s and prayed to any god that would listen that he could keep Scotty safe.
Chapter 18
CLOSING THE medicine cabinet door, Drake stared at his reflection. He hardly recognized the man looking back at him. There was something more to him than he ever remembered seeing before. Was it happiness?
That couldn’t possibly be it. Happiness was something that he thought lost to him. Would he know it if he did feel it? How could he since happiness had been such a long-ago and distant pleasure?
After Drake’s confession, he and Scotty had lain in bed and held each other. Or rather, Scotty had held Drake, offered him comfort that Drake hadn’t realized he needed until then. Scotty soothed him while he grieved in a way he hadn’t grieved for his family in a long time, tears and heartache replacing his anger and need for vengeance. Somehow that closeness, that ability to be held, had calmed something deep within him. The raging beast deep in his soul, for once, in so long many years, finally felt calm, at rest.
Tinkering from the kitchen made Drake smile. The sounds of a shared home were another one of those things he never thought possible for him, but hearing cabinet doors open and shut and the delightful smell of something waft from the kitchen brought another shred of lightness to his chest.
Taking another long look at the stranger in the mirror, Drake let a hopeful smile touch his lips before turning to follow the delicious scents.
“I don’t understand how you can make something smell that good with the food I have in the kitchen.”
Scotty turned slightly to look back at Drake with a wide smile before returning to his work of mixing up a batter of some kind.
“What can I say? It’s a God-given talent.”
Approaching Scotty from behind, Drake snaked his arms around his chest, pulling their bodies tight. “What are you making?”
“Banana nut pancakes.”
Drake whistled. “I had no idea I even had the ingredients for that.”
Scotty shrugged. “Eh, I may have fudged some parts of it by using a Jiffy mix you had stashed away.”
“How dare you? You are a cooking liar and a cheat.”
Laughing, Scotty turned his head and pressed a quick kiss to Drake’s cheek. “When the national cooking board comes to take me away and throw me into pancake jail, will you visit me?”
Drake rested his chin on Scotty’s shoulder. “Hell, if you keep cooking like this, baby, I will bust you outta that place.”
Scotty sighed dramatically. “Mama always said the way to a man’s heart was through his belly.”
Leaving a chaste kiss behind Scotty’s ear, Drake moved to set the table. “Your mother sounds like a smart woman.”
Setting the table for two made a part of Drake’s chest hum. Placing a hand above his heart, he massaged his chest, back and forth, letting the truth of his actions settle in. He wasn’t just a “me” any longer. By setting down that second place setting, by allowing the man who was now moving comfortably through his kitchen into his home, into his life, he had become an “us.”
The thought brought a rush of butterflies into his belly and a lightness to his head. He had to place a hand on the table to keep standing straight.
But along with the giddiness, the joy at having something he never thought was possible, was a black fog of panic. He pushed it down and away before it could fully materialize and take away this moment, this time he had to feel completely and utterly unlike himself.
“Okay, let’s eat,” Scotty said, putting a plate of heaping pancakes on the table. He paused at Drake’s side, looking him up and down, taking in Drake’s dramatic position. “Are you okay?”
Letting out a breath with a laugh, Drake leaned forward to kiss Scotty softly on the lips. Smiling, he said, “Yeah, I think I am.”
Scotty placed a hand on top of Drake’s on the table, his fingers caressing over his skin, once, twice, and then he moved away enough to sit down. He picked up the serving fork and stabbed two pancakes, placing them on Drake’s plate.
Taking the cue, Drake sat down and watched as Scotty served them both. Plates loaded, they ate in a peaceful silence that was only broken by the occasional moan of delicious pleasure.
This was the life Drake had missed, the contented life. The share the morning with someone and enjoy breakfast life. Holding someo
ne all night and talking. Trusting someone enough to tell your deepest darkest secrets to and still have them in your arms in the morning.
It was almost too much to believe, almost too good to be true, but maybe, just maybe, his life could be more than anger and rage. Maybe he could find a way to sink into the bottom of the cesspool with the rest of the monsters and see the sunrise. Maybe he could be someone that he could be proud of, that Scotty could be proud of.
“Hello,” the voice interrupted Drake’s thoughts, snapping him back to reality. “Earth to Drake. You in there?”
Drake shook his head with a smile. “Um, yeah, sorry. What did you say?”
“I said that I had to go home and get new clothes before work, since my shirt was… irreparably damaged yesterday.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Drake smirked with a cocky raise of his brow.
“Um-hmm, and once I sew the buttons back on it, I might even damage it again.”
“You’re going to sew the buttons back onto it?”
Scotty scoffed, “Really? That’s what you chose to focus on in that statement?”
“I’m just saying that those shirts really aren’t that expensive.” Drake dodged Scotty’s smack with a grin. “We could just buy a pack of them.”
“Just for that, you can stay here and wash dishes while I go take a shower.” Scotty pushed away from the table.
Drake bit his lip. “But I need a shower too.”
With a smug grin, Scotty leaned down so their noses were practically touching. He nuzzled forward, giving an eskimo kiss. “You should have thought of that before you opened your big mouth.”
“But you like it when I open my big mouth.”
Scotty pressed forward so their lips were touching and, true to his word, groaned when Drake opened his lips so his tongue could slide through. What had started off as tender and light, quickly grew deeper and hotter. It was a battle of tongues and teeth where there was no winner.
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