by Aiden Bates
“She either threatened or bribed every media outlet in the county.” Jamie continued like he couldn’t see Tommy at all. “It’s hard to sell yourself as a community leader when your firstborn is at Ely State Prison doing six to life.”
“I guess.” Anthony licked his lips.
“I’m kind of surprised Ryan got out at all.” Jamie turned to fully face Anthony now. “Look, Ryan’s got anger issues. He’s full of anger issues.
“He can’t control them. If he could have just reined it in a little, he’d have been paroled early — a kid with no prior record? But he simply could not keep his temper under control, and they had to keep him locked up for public safety. What does that tell you about him?”
Anthony’s skin broke out in goosebumps. He knew too much about men with anger issues. He didn’t think Ryan was like that, but no one ever did until they got too far in.
Tommy staggered back from the kitchen, carrying four drinks. He set one each down in front of Jamie and Anthony, and then retreated with the other two. “He’s not like that. He’s — he’s got a good heart, really.”
He still looked green around the gills, and his eyes shone wetly. “He’s a goddamn saint, is what he is.”
Jamie glowered at him. “How can you say that? You, of all people, after what he —”
Tommy jumped up, spilling one of his drinks onto the concrete floor. “I don’t need to go through all that shit again. Just leave it.” He stormed out of Jamie’s townhouse, slamming the door behind him. Anthony and Jamie watched him go.
“Should we go after him?” Anthony asked after a second. “He can’t even stand, never mind drive.”
Jamie hung his head. “He hasn’t got a car here. Walking it off will be good for him.” He looked fifty years older than he was.
“Look. A lot went down. It doesn’t need to all get dredged up again, least of all because my mom would wring my neck with a clear conscience. Suffice it to say my dear brother fucked up, again. I love him, but he fucked up, he is fucked up, and it can’t be fixed.”
Jamie took a deep breath and picked his head up. He looked straight at Anthony. “Listen. If you can’t stay away from him, that’s your issue. Obviously, you’ve already made your choice on that.
“I guess I can see where he’d have a certain kind of charisma. He’s got his charms, I suppose. But seriously, do yourself a favor and find out what you’re dealing with, would you?
“You’re my best friend, and you deserve better than to get caught up in Ryan’s mess. There’s nothing good for you there, and he can only bring you pain. I don’t want to see you hurt, and Ryan? All he does is hurt people.”
Jamie picked up the remote and clicked on the TV. Any and all attempts to talk about Ryan were over. Anthony cleaned up what Tommy had spilled and settled in to watch. It was obvious to him that Jamie was distressed by the conversation, and by the remembrance of whatever had happened with Ryan.
Anthony had a lot to think about. Nothing he’d heard changed his mind or his heart about Ryan, of course. He knew what he’d felt. He and Ryan had a true connection. Maybe love was too strong a word to use yet, but he couldn’t think of a better one to use right now, and what he felt for Ryan was certainly strong.
He wanted to brush off Jamie’s comments about anger issues, but he couldn’t. They weren’t necessarily a deal breaker, but Anthony did need to know what he was getting into. He’d seen what could happen if a guy had untreated issues in that vein. He wasn’t keen on ending up in the hospital like his mother, or worse.
He headed home when the game was over, mind still full. He didn’t want to go behind Ryan’s back. Ryan had endured enough of people not trusting him.
At the same time, Anthony deserved to know. He had a right to know what he was exposing himself to. The only way to get around it was to ask Ryan directly.
Sure, that would be a great conversation to have.
He went to work the next day, and his mind was still full of questions. He did get a selfie from Ryan, shirtless, which put a smile on his face. Wish I could see the real thing right now, he replied with a smile. Maybe tonight?
Tonight for sure. Come over after work and I’ll pick up some takeout.
Anthony grinned. Things must be doing okay at the shop if Ryan was keen on takeout. Maybe they would have a good opportunity to talk about things tonight.
He spent most of his shift trying to think of ways to bring up the issues around Ryan’s incarceration. They didn’t get a lot of customers on weekdays, but enough that he wasn’t making himself crazy, working himself into an anxious mess about the conversation.
After work, he headed over to Ryan’s garage. Ryan had left a note explaining he was out getting Chinese. Anthony let himself into the apartment through the secret door in the garage. He loved that he was one of two people who knew about it, this special entry that was just for them.
He found himself already relaxing as he went up the stairs. Maybe he’d strip, so he could be waiting for Ryan naked and ready for him when he got here. They needed to have a conversation, a serious one, but it could wait, right?
He was up here, in this place where they’d loved each other. He was surrounded by Ryan’s scent, by Ryan’s things, and that alone had him half hard. Their conversation could wait.
He’d never had this with another person before. He was no blushing virgin, but he’d never had anyone whose mere presence could have him wanting this way. All he could think about was baring himself, so he could be as close as possible to Ryan.
Whatever Ryan had done to put himself in prison, it couldn’t change this thing between them. It couldn’t make Anthony want him any less, with his body or his heart.
He got as far as removing his shirt when someone walked in from the bedroom. Anthony didn’t recognize the man at all. He was blond, with the kind of stylish haircut Anthony saw in fashion magazines. He wore a tight tee shirt that showed off his sculpted body, and white linen pants that showed off his bubble butt.
“Why hello there,” the stranger said, with a cruel smile. His teeth were perfect, in a way that didn’t exist in the real world. They had to be veneers. “I do believe you’re trespassing. I’m willing to give you thirty seconds to leave before I call the police.”
Anthony blinked furiously. “I’m not trespassing, I was invited. My boyfriend Ryan told me to show up.” He frowned. “Are you a friend of his?”
The stranger’s cruel smile deepened. “No. I’m his husband, Peter Roscoe. And your thirty seconds are up.”
10
Ryan pulled the sack of cheap pseudo-Chinese food out of his saddlebag. He knew no one in China ate this crap. One of his few buddies back at Ely, Kai (doing ten to life for armed robbery, because a member of the gang had snitched), had made that very clear out on the yard one day, when Ryan admitted to missing crappy Chinese food.
Ryan knew it wasn’t authentic, but he’d still craved it. It was one of the simple pleasures in life. He hoped Anthony liked General Tso’s Chicken, because he’d gotten a double helping of it. Maybe now that Ryan was on the outside, he could learn to cook and make this stuff for himself and Anthony.
It was funny, he thought as he headed into the apartment. He’d let Anthony get closer than he’d let anyone, even before everything went to shit, but the little details were still a mystery.
He had no idea what kind of foods Anthony liked. He had no way of knowing what Anthony did in his spare time. He kept meaning to ask, but they always wound up descending into sex before they could get into it. And if the eager way Anthony had responded to Ryan’s morning text was any indication, today wouldn’t be any different.
Ryan wasn’t going to complain. They had plenty of time to learn the rest of that stuff. They had the rest of their lives, if Ryan had anything to say about it. Maybe that was too optimistic, but they’d made love. They’d held each other close. Anthony knew about Ely, had seen him through a nightmare, and still wanted to stay.
“Hey, babe, I’
m back.” It still felt wrong to be calling out to someone like this. He cared for Anthony, craved him more than he’d craved anyone.
He might be feeling optimistic, and actively nursing that optimism sometimes, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the other shoe was going to drop soon. That feeling was never stronger than at times like this.
The voice that came from the bedroom wasn’t Anthony’s “Thank God. I thought you’d be gone for hours."
Ryan dropped the bag of food. It crashed onto the carpet, staining it. I’ll never get the security deposit back now, a small part of his brain remarked dispassionately. The rest of him was too busy spinning into a panic to worry about security deposits or spilled dinner.
Ryan hadn’t heard that voice it in years. He hardly believed he still remembered it, all things considered, but when the voice spoke, he remembered it as clear as though he’d only heard it yesterday.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?" He reached for anything he could use as a weapon. He couldn’t keep a gun, of course — as a convicted felon, he was prohibited from owning firearms.
Peter appeared in the bedroom doorway. His thin face was smug, sneering. He’d changed his haircut, and he had a few more lines around the corners of his eyes, but he still looked roughly the same.
He was fit and trim, had clearly spent his days in the gym. He dressed to emphasize that fact, too. Peter wanted everyone to know just what kind of care he took of his body.
Ryan didn’t know him well, but he had no trouble recognizing the man in whose bed he’d woken up all those years ago.
“I belong here. I’m your husband, remember?" He held up his hand, one with a bright gold ring on it. Well, it was gold colored, anyway. Peter was involved, so it was probably brass and would turn his finger green in a matter of hours.
Ryan hadn’t bought him that ring. Ryan hadn’t bought him squat. “You’re not my husband. You’re a drunken Vegas mistake. Now get out.”
“Hm. Too bad the judge didn’t agree when you petitioned for an annulment. Funny how that works." He yawned, like the whole argument was tiresome. “But then again, old Benny was always kind of a pushover, wasn’t he?”
That explained it. “Client of yours? Doesn’t matter. You’re still not welcome here. You’ve been served with divorce papers. You know you’re not supposed to be here. Now leave.” Ten years of trying to get Peter to sign the stupid papers, and he still hadn’t gotten the hint.
“I never signed them. I never would sign them." Peter giggled. It sounded forced. “I’ve been trying to visit you for years, husband dear.” He took a step forward and tried to touch Ryan.
“Stop calling me that. You’re not my husband." Ryan crossed his arms over his chest.
Where the hell was Anthony? He should have been here by now. Not that he wanted Anthony to hear any part of this. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, but he’d be mortified for a sweet guy like Anthony to know he’d spent any time with a maggot like Peter.
“My marriage license says otherwise. My ID says otherwise, too. It says so right on the license. Roscoe, Peter."
His lips curled into a cruel smile. “I told you before, I won’t wait forever. Prison might have been a minor hiccup on our road to eternal bliss, but here we are. Together again, just like we were always meant to be.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Ryan.
Ryan recoiled. “You’re insane. You’re actually insane. How did you get in here? I can’t make this any plainer. I don’t want you here. You’re supposed to only be communicating through lawyers. Get the fuck out.”
“I’ve been telling you all week, Ryan. I’m here for you. We’re finally starting our adventure as husbands." He beamed. “Husband and husband, hand in hand, winding down the road of life.”
“The market for male whores in Culvertown is pretty slim pickings. I’m afraid you’ll have to go somewhere else." Ryan made a shooing motion and thought back to the long string of text messages on his phone. He’d deleted every one of them. “How did you even get my phone number, never mind my address?”
“I have my little ways. A determined man won’t be kept from true love." Peter stepped toward Ryan, hand out.
Ryan raised his fist and drew it back. There was no way he was going to let Peter put his hands on him again.
“Careful, there, darling. You wouldn’t want to be accused of domestic assault, would you? As a convict, you certainly wouldn’t be looking at probation." Peter stroked Ryan’s face.
Ryan turned his head away. Peter’s touch turned his stomach. “Why would you turn up now, seriously? You know I don’t want you. You know every visitation request you sent while I was at Ely was ignored — every single one. I’m not even sure how you knew I was there in the first place —”
“It’s a matter of public record, moron." Peter finally figured out that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the faux affection and straightened up.
“Not by the time my mom finished scrubbing the records clean. I doubt you can even find a birth certificate with my name on it." Ryan smirked. Maybe his mother’s hatred for him had some purpose, after all.
“I didn’t say it was easy." Peter sprawled out on the couch. “How about you go and get me a beer, hubby? We’re going to be seeing an awful lot of each other, seeing as how we’ve got so very much to catch up on.”
“Fuck you. Get out of my house. Now." Ryan pointed to the door.
“No way. There isn’t any incentive in the world that could possibly convince me to walk out on my husband. Not in a million years."
Peter laughed. “Not that this is the place I expected to find you in. I mean, really, Ryan. This is kind of slumming it, don’t you think?" He wrinkled his nose at the old, secondhand couch. “Although I suppose it’s a step up from your last lodgings.”
“You’re free to leave any time you want. In fact, you’re encouraged to leave. Go on, shoo."
Peter jumped up, fury twisting his handsome face. “Uh-uh. No way, no how. I married a Roscoe. That makes me a Roscoe. And Roscoes don’t abandon each other."
“Shows how much you know." Ryan’s mind raced. What the hell was Peter thinking? What kind of a man kept trying to push himself in where he knew he wasn’t wanted? He’d been doing this for ten freaking years now.
“The only part of me that’s a Roscoe is my name, man. And that’s official. If they could force me to change my name, they’d do it. You think they covered up my conviction because they wanted to protect me?
“Ha! You’re high, man. No. They want nothing to do with me. And — now, this part’s important, so listen up — they want nothing to do with anyone who’s got any connection to me.”
Peter’s face darkened, and Ryan’s brain finally made the connection. He’d never taken the time to wonder why Peter had approached him back in Vegas. He’d been too out of it to care.
He hadn’t had any illusions about Peter’s occupation — there wasn’t a sack of mushrooms or bottle of vodka big enough to make him block that out of his memory. Ryan just hadn’t cared at the time. It wasn’t like he was the type to look down on sex workers.
He’d felt shame over his drunken mistake. He’d felt guilt, too. He’d worried that he’d caught Peter up in the shitstorm that was his life.
Ryan hadn’t spent five sober minutes in his alleged spouse’s company. He didn’t even remember the stupid wedding. He’d just woken up with a very legal marriage license.
He’d been willing to give Peter the benefit of the doubt, until the texts started coming in this week. Now, though, he had to be more suspicious. Maybe Peter hadn’t been a drunken Vegas mistake.
Maybe Peter had been digging for gold, looking for that sweet, sweet Roscoe coin.
It would be hilarious, if it weren’t affecting Ryan’s life and his evening plans. There was no Roscoe money, not for Ryan. That meant not for Peter, either.
“This is nuts,” he said, throwing his hands up into the air. “I told you when I left Vegas, and I’m telling you now. Sta
y the fuck away from me. I mean it. Sign the goddamn divorce papers, and get the fuck out of my life.”
Peter grabbed Ryan’s chin. “Aw, getting cold feet? Poor baby. Too bad it’s ten years too late.
“Does your family know what you did? You went off to Vegas and married a hooker — right before you waltzed back into town and dragged the Roscoe name through the mud. Wonder how they’ll feel about having a rent boy for a son-in-law? I think I’ll head up to that lovely mansion in the hills and tell them all about it.”
Ryan caught Peter in a full Nelson. Peter only remembered the old Ryan, stronger than a lot of guys, but nothing like a trained fighter. It had taken Ryan a few years to figure out how to do what needed to be done without leaving marks, but by the time he’d left Ely, he was the best in the house. No one would fuck with him, and Peter was about to get an object lesson in why that was the case.
Peter struggled, but Ryan had him caught tight. He marched him down the stairs and threw him, bodily, out onto the sidewalk. “Don’t you even think about coming back here again,” Ryan snarled. “You have no right to be here. You have a right to sign the papers and send them back to my goddamn lawyer, like you should have done ten years ago.”
Peter picked himself up off of the sidewalk and wiped at the blood on his lip. Had Ryan actually touched him, back in Vegas? There was nothing appealing about him at this point.
It wasn’t his profession, or his age. It was him — his personality, his persistence, his whole agenda. The thought of sex with Peter made his dick wither.
“You’re going to regret that,” Peter said, and looked at the little bit of blood on his hand. “Oh, by the way. I should have given you the message before, but I was so … overjoyed … to see you again after so long.
“Your friend stopped by. I can’t quite remember his name. He was such a cute little thing, in that collared shirt, with those khakis.”
Ryan didn’t need to ask who Peter was talking about. He knew all too well. His breath caught in his throat.