Country

by Jeff Mann

  “You little prick,” Brice snarled, stepping forward, hands clenched. For a split-second, he contemplated punching the kid in the face. Then he thought of what had happened to Lucas in that truck, and what most likely had happened to the boy behind bars, and his anger flared up, deflated, and died.

  Jesus. So young and handsome. So wounded and angry. What the fuck am I doing? He’s gone through far more shit than I have. Brice swayed and stumbled backward. He rubbed his face, staring down at Lucas, who stood tense, still poised to offer him a fistfight.

  “You’re all defense, ain’t you? What’s the use? Why should I give a fuck how you…. First Steve, and now….”

  “Steve? Who’s Steve? Hey, are you drunk?” Lucas said, lowering his fists.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.” Brice coughed and took a step back. “I’m going home now. I don’t belong here. You sure as hell don’t want me here. I don’t want to be here. Tell Phil I appreciated the break.”

  “Hey! What d’you mean, you’re going home?”

  “Home. Hinton.”

  “Now? You’re driving to Hinton now?”

  “Yes, I am. Me being here ain’t helping anybody.”

  Brice turned, bumping into the doorframe. Lucas grabbed him by the arm.

  “You ain’t driving to Hinton now, you moron! It’s nearly dark, and you’re drunk. Plus it’s supposed to snow tonight. What kinda fucking fool are you? You’ll end up driving into a tree or over the side of the road.”

  “Leave me be,” Brice said, shaking Lucas’s hand off. “Why should you care? I can’t stand to be here now.”

  “Why? Why the rush?”

  “You being plumb hateful is one damn reason. I think I wore out my welcome with you the day I got here. Why the shit should any man stay in a place where he isn’t wanted?”

  “You ain’t driving anywhere tonight,” Lucas said, grabbing Brice by the arm yet again.

  “Get off, kid,” Brice growled, trying and failing to pull his arm from Lucas’s insistent grip.

  “No,” Lucas said. “You listen to me now—”

  “Shut up and let go of me.” The more Brice pulled away, the harder Lucas held him.

  “Listen to me, Brice,” Lucas hissed between gritted teeth. “You don’t want—”

  “Don’t tell me what I fucking want.”

  For another furious moment, the two men grappled and swayed. “Get OFF!” Brice yelled, slamming his palm hard against Lucas’s chest.

  Lucas staggered backward, wide-eyed. He tripped over the leg of a weight bench, spun sideways, and fell, slamming face first into the side of a Nautilus machine.

  “Damn!” he wailed, dropping to his knees and holding his head.

  “Oh, holy shit,” Brice groaned. In a second, sober with shock, he was kneeling beside Lucas.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He wrapped an arm around the boy. “Here now. Let me help.”

  “You big, dumb, drunk bastard,” Lucas snarled. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Let me see,” Brice insisted, cupping the boy’s chin.

  “No.” Lucas twisted away. “Ain’t you done enough damage?”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Let me see. Keep still,” Brice said. His hands were trembling, with shock and guilt and the feeling of Lucas’s hard body against his.

  Lucas resisted for a moment more before letting Brice examine him. The boy’s right eye was bruising up, but his cheekbones and nose seemed undamaged.

  “Come on,” Brice said, helping Lucas to his feet.

  “Whoa. Dizzy,” Lucas moaned, swaying.

  Brice clasped the boy’s tattoo-sleeved left arm. “Easy now. You’re gonna be all right, I think. But maybe I should take you to the emergency room anyway. Where’s the nearest hospital?”

  “Elkins. Shit, no. No hospital. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Hell, yes. I just need to lie down for a while.”

  “Okay. Come on. I got you. Come on now.”

  Brice wrapped an arm around Lucas’s waist. The boy’s scent was strong. Damn, what a fuck-up I am. Damn, but you smell good. “Let’s get you…where? To your cabin or the lodge?”

  “Cabin. Just up the hill.” Lucas leaned against Brice. “Damn. So dizzy. You asshole. You asshole.”

  “Yep, asshole. I claim that. I got you. Let’s go.” Brice took a deep breath, inhaling Lucas’s rich aroma, before helping the dazed boy out the door and up the hill into the forest.

  “LEMME JUST REST HERE A minute, okay?” Lucas leaned against the back of his couch with a groan. He fingered his swollen eye. “Damn, that hurts. How’s it look?”

  “Like hell. I truly apologize. Can I get you anything?” Brice asked.

  “A bottle of whiskey, a glass of water, and a couple aspirin? Liquor’s in the cupboard across from the stove. Pills are in the bathroom cabinet over the sink.”

  After Lucas had gulped his pills and taken a few swigs of Tullamore Dew, Brice helped him up the stairs to the bedroom. Lucas sat on the bed, bent forward, and fumbled with his shoelaces.

  “Ummm,” he grunted, cupping his head in his hands. “Too shaky. Shit.”

  “Hey, hey. Lemme do that.” Brice knelt by the bed, unlaced and pulled off Lucas’s shoes, then helped him stretch out on the bed and pulled the covers over him. Lucas sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m so sorry, kid. I shouldn’t have…. I really, really, really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You big dumb fuck. I know that.” Lucas gave Brice a pained grin. “Shit just got outta hand. Happens with guys all the time. Why were you so damn drunk anyway?”

  “I got a couple pieces of real bad news today. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “Okay.” Lucas closed his eyes.

  Brice interlocked his fingers and studied the boy’s bruised face. God, what have I done? You could have been hurt bad, even killed, if you’d fallen the wrong way. I want to stroke your face so bad. I want to climb into bed with you and beg your forgiveness and hold you all night. Brice, you are the biggest fucking fool God ever had the deep regret of creating.

  “So you need anything else?”

  Lucas opened his eyes. He looked very, very tired.

  “Naw. Thanks.”

  “Okay. Well, I better leave you to sleep.”

  “Yeah, I could do with some shut-eye. But, hey? Don’t go, okay? I don’t want you to go.”

  Brice cocked his head. “Do you mean….?”

  Grimacing, Lucas shifted, pulling the blankets higher. He blinked up at Brice. “I mean, don’t you fucking dare drive to Hinton tonight. I mean, I want you to stay here with us at Homo Central, Phagg Heights, whatever Uncle Phil’s calling it these days. I mean, I want you to stay here tonight. I’ve been awful to you, I know. But would you please stay anyway? On the couch? There’s lots of extra blankets in the closet over there.”

  Brice smiled. “Sure, kid. Be glad to. Least I can do.”

  “Great. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Brice rummaged in the closet. He found a woolen blanket and a quilt. When he turned toward the bed again, Lucas had rolled over, his back to Brice.

  Brice wanted to sit by the bed and watch Lucas sleep. Instead, he turned off the bedside lamp and descended the narrow steps to the living room. He drank a big glass of water and pissed. Then he sat back on the couch in the dark, wrapped in blankets, and stared at the cold hearth.

  Mommy used to talk about grace. God’s love for the undeserving. Well, there you go. Here it is. It does exist.

  BRICE ROLLED ONTO HIS BACK, GRUNTING AT THE hungover throbbing in his head. Bright sunlight and thick silence filled the cabin. He lay on the couch, remembering the previous evening’s scuffle, quailing at the possible futures that sheer luck and chance had permitted him to escape.

  I’ve got to stop drinking so damn much. Lucas could have ended up in the hospital, or, worse, the morgue. But h
e asked me to stay here anyway. Amazing. I can’t believe it. How will he act today, though? Like a little shit? Or different? I never know what to expect from the beautiful bastard. If he’s surly again, I should just leave, no matter what he said last night. He was probably so stunned he didn’t know what he was saying. Probably didn’t matter whether it was me who stayed over or not. Could have been anybody, I suspect. He just didn’t want to be alone. Why should I hang around here, hankering after a boy I want so damn bad but can’t have?

  Brice’s confused cogitations were interrupted by footsteps upstairs, then the noisy gurgle of a piss-stream in the toilet, then the commode’s flush, and then, after a rustling pause, the thud of Lucas descending the stairs. Here we go, thought Brice. Congenial or crabby, it’s anyone’s guess. Mercurial brat.

  “Hey, brawler. How’d you sleep?” Lucas rounded the couch by Brice’s head. He was fully dressed, in jeans, blue plaid flannel shirt, and heavy boots. He crossed his arms and gave Brice a smile as warm as the sunlight flooding the room. The brightness of his expression contrasted dramatically with the bruised black of his right eye.

  Thank God. He’s in a good mood despite that shiner I gave him, Brice thought, tossing off his blankets, heaving himself into a sitting position, and wincing at renewed pain in his back. Damn couch. Damn aging joints. Ain’t the boy I used to be.

  “I slept fine, though I got a headache after all that damn bourbon I sucked down. That’s a helluva black eye you got. Again, I’m really sorry that—”

  “Forget it. You apologized already.” Lucas gave Brice’s guilt a dismissive wave. “Let’s just not get into a stupid scrape like that again, okay?”

  Brice nodded. “Deal.”

  “Great.” Lucas peered out the window. “It snowed real big last night, just as predicted. You hungry?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Didn’t eat any dinner yesterday.”

  “As I recall, you drank dinner. How about some breakfast?”

  “Sure. Here or down the hill at Grace’s store?”

  “Here. The lodge, that is.”

  “Great.” Brice tried to rise and flinched. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Lucas raised an eyebrow.

  “Bad back. Thanks to all the stress I’ve been dealing with, all the shit that’s on my mind. Runs in the family. Daddy used to be damn near incapacitated sometimes.”

  Lucas offered Brice a hand. “Here. Last night, you helped me. Now I help you.”

  Brice took Lucas’s warm hand and rose with a pained grunt. “Thanks. You feeling all right?”

  “Just fine.” Lucas shrugged, gingerly touching his swollen eye. “Though I ain’t gonna be posing for no spreads in gay porn mags any time soon. Not the first time a big, good-looking guy has blackened my eye. I reckon I’ve made a career of it.”

  “Good-looking? Did you just give me a compliment? Did they just set up a snow-cone stand in Hell?”

  Lucas grinned. “Don’t let your head get all swole up.”

  Brice grinned back. “I doubt you’d let that happen. You’re talking about that trucker punching you, huh?”

  “Yeah. Plus guys in prison. Eric did it regular, to keep me in line. Where’s your coat?”

  “Down at the lodge. Eric?”

  Lucas’s expression grew melancholy. He lifted his black denim jacket off a hook, pulled it on, and cocked his black ball cap over his eyes. “Story for another time. After a few stiff drinks. You like buckwheat cakes and bacon? With sorghum and maple syrup?”

  “Hell, sure. Most mountain boys do. You cooking?”

  “I am, Mr. Brown. It’s your belated ‘Ex-Con-Welcomes-Country-Star-to-Phagg-Heights’ breakfast.”

  “Sounds great. You gonna call me ‘Brice’ now?”

  “Whatever you want. C’mon, Big Brice. Help me shovel out some, and then I’ll mix up the batter and heat up the griddle.”

  Lucas hesitated, surveying Brice and slipping on a pair of sunglasses. “On second thought, with that bad back of yours, how about I shovel us out and you can fry the bacon?”

  “Yep. Sorry to be of so little help.” Great. Now he thinks of me as old, broke-down, and weak.

  “Pore ole man.” Lucas gave Brice a gentle clap on the back. “Needs a young buck to take care of him.”

  Grabbing a snow shovel by the door, Lucas stepped out onto the snow-heaped back deck. Astounded, Brice followed, feeling more smitten than ever.

  BRICE FLIPPED THE BACON AND watched Lucas’s lean frame cross to the fridge for buttermilk. Damn. That butt looks like something Michelangelo sculpted. “I love buckwheat cakes. Y’ever been to the Buckwheat Festival in Kingwood? I went every September when I was in college at WVU.”

  “Yep. Fun.” Lucas measured out buttermilk, poured it into a zinc bowl, added eggs and buckwheat flour, and mixed up the ingredients with a wooden spoon. “I used to get a kick outta the livestock and ag exhibits. Biggest goddamn pumpkin I ever saw was there. One year, I won a raffle and the prize was a colt. After a couple of weeks, Daddy made me sell it, though. Said we didn’t have the money to feed it. I’d already named it Bucephalus, ‘cause we’d been hearing about Alexander the Great in school.” Lucas shook his head. “I cried for a week.”

  “Tough little swaggering shit like you?” Brice blurted before he knew what he was saying. “I can’t imagine you crying.”

  Lucas turned, his face solemn. “I’ve shed a few tears in my life. I s’pect we’re all a little deeper and more complicated than we appear.”

  “Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”

  For a few minutes, both men were silent, backs to each other. Brice tonged up the bacon onto a plate lined with paper towels.

  “This done enough for you?” he said, lifting the plate.

  “Looks like. Bring it on over here. Gimme a taste.”

  “Well, sure.”

  Brice crossed the kitchen, broke off a piece of bacon, and held it up. Rather than reaching for it, Lucas looked Brice in the eye and nibbled it from his fingers.

  Brice gave a low laugh. “You’re a fucking tease, y’know that? You’re like a completely different person today. Did that blow to the head give you brain damage?”

  Lucas licked his lips and wiped his mouth. “I know I’ve been a prick.” He stepped over to the stove, drained a little of the bacon grease into a tin, then placed the griddle back on the stovetop and turned up the heat. “So let’s start over. Let’s pretend we just met.”

  “All right. That would be a pleasure and a relief. I’m Brice Brown. Would you like more coffee?”

  “I’m Lucas Bryan,” Lucas said, stirring the batter. “Yes, please, I’d like more coffee, sir.”

  Brice poured them both fresh cups. Lucas took his and smiled up at Brice, blue-gray eyes free of the guarded caution Brice was so used to discerning in them. Lucas turned and poured dollops of batter onto the griddle. “So you wanna tell me about Steve? The guy you mentioned last night before….”

  “Before a big drunk redneck attacked you? Yeah.” Brice sat on a stool by the kitchen counter, studying Lucas’s broad shoulders, lean hips, and plump butt from behind. “Steve Morgan was my manager. The important word there is ‘was.’”

  “Uh-oh. So…. Uncle Phil told me some things, and I’ve read a buncha shit in gossip rags and country-music magazines and stuff online, but I have no fucking idea how much of it all is true. You wanna fill me in on the real story? From the horse’s mouth?”

  “Hmmm. Maybe after a few shots of bourbon. A little early for that, though. Especially after all I drank last night.”

  “Story’s that painful, huh? Well, how about mimosas? Uncle Phil likes me to mix those every now and then. Nice cheery drink for a cold winter’s day.”

  “Champagne?” Dubious, Brice furrowed his brow. “What’s to celebrate?”

  “Hell, I’m outta prison, after six frigging years. You’re far away from those assholes who’ve been persecuting you. We’re in this big, comfy lodge all nestled up in pretty, snowy m
ountains. We’re here together, and we’re about to have a helluva hillbilly breakfast.”

  “Together, huh? You really want me here?

  “Yep. Don’t make me repeat myself. Long as you don’t shove me around any more. I’ve had enough of that in my life.”

  “No more shoving around, I swear. And you’re not gonna act like a chilly bastard any more?”

  Lucas sniggered. “I’ll do my best. The chilly-bastard act was starting to wear me out, to be honest. Guess it’s easier to be nice.”

  “Hear, hear. All right. Mimosas it is. Sounds great. Mix away.”

  “Okay. You keep an eye on the pancakes. This batch is about ready.”

  Brice complied, flipping the cakes while Lucas popped open a bottle of Freixenet and fetched orange juice. He waited till Brice had plated the browned pancakes before handing him a champagne flute filled nearly to the brim.

  “Healthy serving,” Brice observed.

  “Might help your head. Big serving for a big guy. Here’s to a better future,” Lucas said, lifting his glass. “For both of us.”

  “Well said.”

  They clinked glasses. Brice slurped up a sip. “Tasty.”

  “So, do tell,” Lucas said, taking a big swallow from his own glass before pouring more gray batter onto the griddle. “If it ain’t too unpleasant.”

  Brice took his seat on the stool and stared out the window into the snow. A cardinal was munching on black sunflower seeds at a bird feeder just beyond the glass.

  “Okay. To be brief…I’ve wanted other men since I was about thirteen. I grew up in a little town where everyone thought that being gay was the thing God hates most, where acting on my desires would have gotten me killed.”

  Nodding, Lucas fiddled with his left ear hoop. “I get ya there. Same in Mabie.”

  “No surprise. So I did my best to convince myself I was straight. Had some one-night stands with guys in college anyway, a few heavy infatuations. Then got serious about my music and knew to make it in Nashville—”

  “You’d have to play the lady’s man.” Lucas flipped more pancakes.

  “Yep. Dated a lot, was seen in public with some starlets. Even had kind of a reputation as a rounder. Then I met Shelly. Thought I could love her. Married her. You know how that went.”