by K-lee Klein
The break-up hadn't been solely Devon's fault and Scott vowed to be the best sport possible in Devon's still mysterious—and unfortunately, not written-down—plans. A conversation with his mother earlier in the week had sparked an almost violent, rebellious reaction in him. She knew how to push every button Scott had, but she didn't know about the wonderful man Scott had in his life. His mother knew nothing about him, but she pressed those strong and damaging buttons like an exact science. Her negative attitude about his lifestyle made Scott more bound and determined to prove her wrong and make Devon proud at the same time.
“Scott? You okay? You're blocking the doorway. Do you need me to grab your Ativan from your bag? Scott?”
Devon's words surfaced slowly into Scott's reeling subconscious. Devon. Motorcycle. Valentine's Day. Diner. Friends. Oh shit. “Sorry. Yeah, I mean no. I don't need it. My brain is still rebooting after being vibrated on the ride over.” He tried to laugh it off, but Devon's eyes told him he was wasting his time.
“If you need to go home, we can do that. Or I can call a cab instead of taking the bike.” Devon loosely wrapped his fingers around Scott's wrist, his thumb lightly pressing over the pulse point that Scott knew he was not-so-sneakily trying to feel.
“I'm fine, Dev. Stop fussing.”
“You're paler than a goddamn ghost and it was like you weren't even hearing me. We can walk right back out. Just say the word. Honesty remember?”
Scott exhaled a calming breath then worried at his bottom lip. “No. I'm good. I’ve got some family stuff stuck in my head. My mother as usual. I promise we'll talk about it when we have a little more privacy, okay?” He leaned up and kissed Devon's soft cheek, letting his scent wash over him, adding to his calm.
He hated the worried glint in Devon's warm copper eyes. And the set of his jaw meant his usually laid-back boyfriend was ready to package Scott up and squirrel him away somewhere quiet. He refused to let his mother's venomous attitude ruin his first real Valentine's date. “So, are we going meet your friends and eat or are you going to let me starve and fade to nothing on my first Valentine's Day?”
Devon examined him cautiously, a glimpse of a calm returning to his eyes. His face brightened as Scott lightly swept his hand over his hip. “Only if you're sure.”
With an aggressive nod of his head, Scott turned from Devon and finally took in the establishment. He supposed it wasn't as bad as he'd anticipated. It seemed clean and organized despite its outward appearance. If anyone knew anything about outsides not matching insides, it was Scott. And Devon was a prime example that things weren't always as they seemed.
He swiveled his head to inspect the rest of the room and a rowdy table in the corner immediately attracted his attention. “Dev, is that one of the guys from your—” He didn't finish his sentence since the guy in question pushed back his chair and immediately made a quick beeline towards them, a dopey grin plastered on his face. Oh, those friends.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Hey, Dev. Good to see ya, man.”
Scott took a small step back when a big guy clenched Devon's hand before pulling him into a chest-bumping hug or whatever men called that alpha male form of bonding that reminded Scott of two gorillas beating each other against their chests.
Devon cackled, smirking from ear-to-ear. “Fuck dude. You make it sound like you haven't seen me in years.”
With a hard slap to Devon's back, the man stepped away, eyes appraising Scott from head to toe and back again. “And you must be Scott. Nice to finally meet you.” He stuck out his hand and Scott involuntarily flinched.
Devon's fingers scratched lightly at his lower back, pressing firmly but tenderly to hold him in place. “Scott, this is Wolfie. He's the bass player for Smokey Grey. Wolfie, Scott Weston.”
The large hand reached out again and with a glance at Devon's reassuring face, Scott accepted it into his own.
“You can call me Will or Wolfie, whatever you want. I'm easy.”
“You got that right,” Devon added with a chuckle.
Wolfie had a sweet disposition and the curliest, yet longest, hair Scott had ever seen on a man. It wasn't afro-curly, more like he'd curled it into big relaxed ringlets all over his head. Surprisingly, Scott quite liked it. “Nice to meet you. It seems I'm at a disadvantage since you knew I existed long before I accidently found out about you.”
It was meant as a subtle tease towards Devon but the loss of warmth at Scott's back hadn't been the reaction he was going for. “I'm sorry—” Devon began.
“Well, that's our Dev,” Wolfie interrupted. “Never did like to share his toys. Always keeping us away so we didn't embarrass him.”
Devon's smirk returned as he shoved Wolfie's shoulder. “You're such a dick.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Fuck you, dog-boy.”
“Bastard—”
“Are you losers acting like children again?”
The female voice surprised Scott and he turned quickly, stumbling over his feet in his haste. That was becoming a common occurrence. Luckily it was Devon's arms that he tipped into or it would have been even more embarrassing. Warmth tickled his ears, spreading to his cheeks and neck as he forced himself to face the owner of the voice.
He found a thirty-something woman with bright red hair and a baseball cap pulled low on her forehead. “Just ignore these morons. They're still struggling to outgrow their childhood, or maybe slipping back into it.” She snorted when she was finished, and Scott thought immediately that she was endearing and very familiar.
“I've met you somewhere before, haven't I?”
“Sure have. One of the gigs back at the end of January. You weren't having such a great day. I'm Charlene and I'm married to this big goofball.” She poked Wolfie in the belly, pulling a dramatic howl from him.
Recognition dawned inside Scott's brain along with an extra flash of blush to his cheeks. Oh, that day. The panic attack. “Yes. I never got to thank you for helping me. I was a mess but I remember your kindness.” He reached out and patted her arm, surprising even himself in initiating contact. Devon squeezed his shoulder in encouragement, or support, or something that felt really good.
“You guys gonna come sit?” Wolfie asked, sliding an arm around Charlene's waist only to have it smacked away. He dipped his head and growled. The look his wife shot him turned his growl to a whimper and Scott couldn't help laughing. He was definitely whipped.
Devon urged Scott forward. “You in the doghouse again, Wolf?”
Charlene shoved Wolfie behind her. “Bastard was supposed to be at Charley's ballet recital yesterday but he never made it.”
“I was at the studio. You know how I get lost when I'm writing.”
“Tell that to your five-year-old daughter, dumbass.”
Scott liked Charlene more and more. “You have kids?”
“Yeah, Charley and one on the way,” Charlene told him, smoothing a hand down her flat stomach.
“But you don't look—”
“Only a couple months along, too early to show. Don't think we even told the guys yet.”
“Well, congratulations,” Scott replied, patting her arm again. “That must be very exciting.”
“Yeah. I was hoping Wolfie was going to carry this one but that didn't work out.” She giggled, and Scott thought he might like to be her friend. It was a rare musing for him. “Hey, Dev,” Charlene clucked, bumping her hip to Devon's. “Cat got your tongue or are you reconsidering letting us play with Scott?”
Scott wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. He forced his voice to stay even and controlled. “Play?”
“That's exactly how she talks,” Wolfie offered, ducking when she swatted at him. “You'll get used to it. He is pretty quiet though. You okay, Devon?”
“Just taking it all in, guys,” Devon replied, lazy and content.
Scott shifted to look into his eyes. He could go along with the fun, and it was surprisingly kind of fun. Thus far. “Sooo,” he drawled, one eyebr
ow quirked suggestively. “Are you ready to share your toys, Devastation?”
Devon laughed and Scott felt the soft press of lips to the base of his skull. “Only if I get to take you home after.”
“You better,” Scott whispered as Wolfie looked uncomfortably away and Charlene snuggled up to him.
“Come on. Let me introduce you to the others.” She smirked behind her shoulder. “You can come too, Dev.”
Scott thought she was very close to perfection.
Devastation, Wolfie, Shadow, Bull and Slide.
Scott didn't know where Smokey Grey had come up with their nicknames. They were over-the-top strange, yet fairly easy to remember.
Because Devon spoke so highly and often about them, Scott had liked Devon's friends, his band, even before he met them. As a unit, they were rambunctious and loud, and touchy-feely towards each other, yet they respected Scott's personal space unless they asked first. Devon stayed glued to his side at first, grounding Scott while he took in the ambiance of the restaurant—something he thought he'd never say about a diner—and the honest friendliness of this foreign group of people.
The only non-band member was Charlene and she fit in like one of the boys, exactly the types of boys, men, Scott usually feared being around. He'd been bullied a lot when he was growing up, and occasionally when he was older as well. How ironic was it that the guys most likely to have given him a hard time were exactly the sort he was now having coffee and breakfast with on his first Valentine's Day. And yet, he was relaxed.
He'd always tried not to give in to prejudices but as he'd been judged for his geeky manner and boring job—not to mention his quirky habits and practices—he'd always judged tougher-looking, rock and roll guys with their long hair and tattoos. Devon had been the first and only rough and tumble, to use his mother's words, man Scott had ever talked to without being ridiculed or sworn at, and now Scott could add Wolfie, Bull, Slide and hopefully Shadow, too.
The Smokey Grey guys were easy-going, pleasant and made Scott feel like part of the group. Wolfie told Scott how much Devon had talked about him even from the first night they spent together. He described it as gag-worthy behavior and Devon had been pining for him from the beginning. Pining was an odd choice of words for a rock and roller, at least that was Scott's opinion since he'd clearly met so many in his lifetime. Stereotyping again, Scott? Shame on you. But in truth, it had been nice to hear since Scott had been completely unaware Devon had even told anyone about their relationship, let alone pined for him. Flowers bloomed in his chest and it gave him a little burst of happy that went straight to his soul.
Once Devon had dutifully led Scott to the table and pulled his chair out for him, Charlene plopped down across from him. She leaned over the tabletop and loudly whispered, “It's okay to be nervous, you know? And there's no shame in having panic attacks. Believe it or not Shadow still has them before going on stage sometimes, so we're all well-equipped at accepting and dealing with them.”
“Thank you. This is all a little intimidating,” he admitted, swallowing around the lump of uncertainly clogging his airway.
Charlene reached to take his hand. “Is it better or worse that Devon is sticking to you like some blood-seeking leech? He's never brought anyone to Bertha's before, that I can remember.” Scott laughed out loud, surprising himself as he snapped his mouth closed.
“Hey!” Devon scoffed, faking a frown. “Leech is a very strong word.”
But Charlene paid him no mind. “He's a little over the top, right? We call him our squishy bear.”
Devon attempted to swat her across the table. “That's a damn lie. Don't believe anything she says, Scott. I'm the tough guy in the band.”
With a snort, Charlene repeated, “Squishy bear. Or Mama bear. He's very domestic. Have you noticed that?” She beamed at Devon's scowling face. “Great cook though. If he's not cooking for you, let me know and I'll smack some sense into him.”
“Babe,” Wolfie chimed in, sliding into the chair beside Charlene. “Are you embarrassing poor Devon?”
“Of course not.” Charlene feigned innocence.
Wolfie tucked an arm around her. “Well what's wrong with you? Squishy bear should always be ridiculed. I think that's part of Smokey Grey's code.”
“You're so full of shit your eyes are brown,” Devon growled.
“Actually, they're the color of the clearest sky and deepest ocean,” Wolfie mused matter-of-factly. Scott snuck a closer look and the man's eyes were in reality brown. What a bunch of weirdos.
“Mind if we join the party?” Scott looked up into brilliant green eyes. “I'm Bull or Brian or whatever,” the guy greeted. Scott was not afraid to admit he was stunning. Poker-straight red hair hung almost to his hips and tattoos covered both arms from fingertips to neck. Scott thought they might be called sleeves?
“Are you going to roast me too?” Devon asked with a smirk.
Bull bent over the table, sneering at his front-man. “I'm not sure I can top Wolfie or Charlene's level of sass.”
“You ain't topping me, man,” Wolfie interrupted. “Haven't we been through this?”
“Be still my broken heart,” Bull replied, faking a sob as he pressed a hand to his chest. From that simple reaction, Scott knew they were going to get along famously. Drama queen oozed from every one of Bull's pores. “So Scott, how much dirt have you heard on Devon?”
Devon groaned. “Oh. for fuck's sake.”
Scott held out a hand and Bull gripped it gently in his. “You’ve got me intrigued. I need all the dirt now.”
“Maybe we can get together later and I'll fill you in?” Bull winked at him then jumped back before Devon could grab him.
“I have a goddamn band full of comedians,” he grumbled. Scott leaned over to kiss Devon's cheek and his beautiful smile returned, along with a sweet blush.
“That would be delightful,” Scott admitted despite Devon's glare. “You play the guitar, right?”
“I'm the guitar player,” Bull teased while Devon shook his head.
“You have beautiful hair.”
Devon growled out loud this time. “That's enough. What are you guys trying to do—”
“Incoming,” a female voice said shortly before a steaming mug was set in front of Devon. “Am I interrupting something, or do you guys actually want to order in this century?”
“Good morning, Dot.” Devon stood to kiss the girl on the cheek and hug her tight. “Scott, this is Dot. She's Bertha's granddaughter. She's a stunner, right?”
“Nice to meet you,” Scott volunteered, struggling to push his chair back.
“Don't stand up, hon. Devon's doing his papa bear thing.” Dot grinned wide, glasses barely hanging on the tip of her nose as she wiggled an order pad in front of them. The big message of the morning appeared to be that Devon was a bear—squishy, teddy, mama, papa. Apparently, all the bears. It was adorable, and Scott was totally on board with the descriptions.
“Hey Dot, can I get the special?” Wolfie spoke up. It seemed everyone on the ground except for Charlene and Scott agreed on that request. “And more coffee. Keep the coffee flowing.”
Dot jutted a hip. “You losers know where the pot is.” When Wolfie whined, she continued, “I don't think grandma would've coddled you either.”
Charlene giggled while she elbowed her husband. “She's got you there, babe. I'll have the light meal with extra fruit. Do you still have that mint green tea?”
“For you, of course.” Dot made some notes on her pad then turned to Scott. “You look way too normal to be hanging with these guys. Usually Charlene is the only one to pull that off.”
“I'm Scott,” Scott announced for want of anything intelligent to say.
“Ah.” Dot looked him up and down, her eyes narrow and one eyebrow quirked into her hairline. “The infamous Scott. I wasn't sure you really existed, truth be told. Figured Devon had made you up but here you are. Welcome and good luck with that one.”
“Um, thanks?”
> “What can I get you, real-life-Scott?”
Scott couldn't see any menus on the table, so he looked to Devon. “Sorry,” his boyfriend confessed. “We've been coming here so long, we already know what we want. Can I order for you, sweetheart?”
“Please.”
Devon touched Dot's arm. “He'll have Bertha's Best. Eggs over-easy with brown toast. Bacon not sausage.”
“Sounds good,” Dot agreed. “Happy Valentine's Day guys.”
“Hey Scott. I'm Steve. I guess you can call me Slide.” Scott searched his brain for the night of the concert. This guy didn't look familiar like the others.
“Nice to meet you.” He reminded himself to acquire some kind of new greeting.
Charlene cupped the back of Slide's head, tugging on his long hair and lifting it straight up on his head. “He doesn't look the same when he's not on stage. He's more recognizable with his mile-high mohawk.”
“Keyboards,” Scott chirped once the memory snapped into place. “You did have very large hair when I saw you.”
“Yeah that's me. Devon's told us a lot about you. Nice to meet you in person.”
“Slide is the baby of the group,” Charlene explained. “And Bull is the oldest.”
“Oldest my ass,” Bull objected. “I've only got three or four years on you guys.”
There was one member missing and he was who Scott had anticipated meeting the most; Shadow. Devon must have seen his half-assed sneaky glances around the diner. He tipped his head to the far end of the long table where a man sat hunched, cell phone attached to his ear. The wavy platinum hair should have given him away, yet it looked different tucked into a bun like Devon’s.
“I think he's talking to Beth's dad,” Devon surmised sadly tilting into Scott's space. “I'll introduce you when he's done.” He kissed Scott's hair then went back to bantering with Wolfie and Bull.
The image of Devon on Scott's doorstep beaten and drunk still resonated painfully inside him. The grief he'd expressed about Beth and Shadow—not to mention the events that had brought him there in the first place—had broken Scott's heart, even more so after Devon told him about their history. He'd also borne witness to the broken compassion in Devon's face during the infamous hug that had thrown Scott over the edge of absolute misunderstanding. The comfort Devon had shown his friend was a true revelation of his character.