by Amy Lane
Cash sputtered. “He is not!”
“Oh, he is. So’s Damien. They talk and they joke and they bullshit. And it sounds like babble sometimes. Just words. But when they say the important ones, you know.”
Cash looked around the little tourist town appreciatively. Restaurants were still open, a few bars were as well, but they weren’t in Tijuana with its well-known night life. The people who came here came to relax by the beach or take a guided tour out into the sea. There were lots of wildlife attractions here—sea lions, whales, birds that didn’t nest anywhere but Baja. Twenty-five years earlier, those animals had been endangered, but concerted efforts at conservation had restored the teeming sea life, and knowing that had always made Cash a little hopeful about the future.
Mistakes could be made right again. It just took a lot of hard work and good faith.
Preston was headed for a small taqueria about a quarter mile from the hotel, and as they neared it, Cash thought of a response.
“I make my living with words,” he said. “Writing songs. Making sure people say the right words at the right time. It’s always easier when you write it beforehand. But it doesn’t mean as much. Because when you’re saying something you really mean, your heart or your head or your mouth can get in the way. And you can fuck it up and hurt someone. That’s why it was so easy to run. I could run away and write my happy ending in my head and pretend it was real.”
And for that month with his mother, he’d done that. Had pretended Glen had tracked him down and was there begging him to come back. It wasn’t until his mother told him that she’d failed him—and she wasn’t sure she could have succeeded if she’d tried to parent—that he realized the truth.
She should have been the one apologizing. It was her failure—all those empty years partying, all that yearning for quiet in his head, his heart, his home. He’d been a kid, in his teens, and it should have been her job to help him heal, but she’d bailed.
And it wasn’t Glen’s job to beg Cash to come with him. Glen had found him—twice, Glen had found him. Glen had offered him solace and kindness and care.
And Cash had run away because he couldn’t write a scene in which he would not be vulnerable.
It was his job to come back and beg Glen to forgive him. It was his job to make things right.
“It’s not real in your head,” Preston said, sounding truly shocked. Well, from what Cash could gather, concrete facts were the bedrock of Preston’s personality.
“No,” Cash said. “I know that now. Now I need to make things right with Glen. Let him know I’ve learned.”
“What then?”
They had paused outside the little building, and Cash checked to make sure they were still open. Yes, but they only had about half an hour.
“Convince him to let me stay,” Cash said, and he would have gone for dignity, but he had none, not in this matter. “I don’t want to run ever again.”
Preston drew a breath through his nose and blew it out through his mouth. “You wouldn’t get far,” he said grimly. “’Cause I’d stop you and beat the crap out of you. Nobody hurts my brother. He talks a big game about being an asshole, but you know what?”
“He’s the best of men,” Cash said softly.
“Now you understand. Preacher, Colonel, stay.”
The dogs dropped to their haunches and sat, staring after Preston and Cash as they walked up to the counter to order.
“Are they okay out there?” Cash asked, glancing back to where the dogs sat, postures erect, like sentinels.
“Dogs know how to stay,” Preston said, and Cash had to look at him twice to see if there was any double meaning.
There wasn’t—this was Preston, and he didn’t do innuendo.
But it was very, very clear that knowing how to stay was a quality much to be desired. They placed their orders, and Cash asked Preston what Glen would eat, and Preston asked Cash if he had any idea what Spencer would like.
“Red meat, probably,” Cash said, thinking about the contents of Glen and Spencer’s refrigerator. “I’d go carne asada burritos.”
Preston nodded and added two to his order. They both got horchata to drink while they waited, and Cash sank gratefully onto the plastic seat.
“Have you eaten here before?” he asked. “Is this place any good?”
“Damien has.” Preston drank moodily. “Damien’s been a lot of places. I haven’t.”
“Why’d you come this time?” Cash asked, curious.
“Glen asked me to bring Colonel. He can smell drugs most of the time.”
Cash frowned. “I don’t think we’re looking for those kinds of drugs,” he said. There hadn’t been any substances at Tranquilo Paz to abuse. “This is more like… I don’t know. Rohypnol or something else. Something that would make Brielle really compliant and suggestible.”
Preston cocked his head. “Colonel gets excited if you have ibuprofen in your pocket. He was supposed to work for the police, but he kept confusing Spencer’s aftershave for bad stuff, and he sort of got fired.”
Cash looked outside at Colonel, who lolled his tongue back. “Well, he’s a slacker,” Cash said, feeling a deep bond of kinship. “I can relate.”
Predictably, Preston didn’t laugh. “You’re not a slacker,” he said, taking a deep pull of his drink. “You produced an album. You came to help your friend. Just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean you’ve done all the wrong things.”
Cash scrubbed his face with his hands. That much praise from Preston was unexpectedly moving.
“How are you and Damien doing?” he asked, partly to change the subject, but he also wanted to know. They didn’t have any overt body language in public. Preston didn’t hold hands, and he didn’t touch randomly. His personal space seemed very self-contained. But Cash had seen the way he’d looked at Damien that horrible day in Agujero en la Roca, and maybe some of it was hero worship, but most of it was joy. Damien was Preston’s hero, and Preston’s hero only.
“We are getting married,” Preston said calmly, and Cash almost choked on his drink.
“Seriously? When?”
“That’s for Damien to plan. I told him we were getting married, and he started talking, and then I stopped him because the planning bores me. But we’ll get married. And then he’ll know where home is forever.”
Cash swallowed against the lump in his throat. “What’s that like?” he asked. God, when he’d been a kid, and his dad had been yelling, and Cash had hidden from every adult in the house because he didn’t feel safe with all that noise, home had always seemed like such a curse.
But these past months, after his visit with his mother, he’d come to realize that the house he’d grown up in had never really been a home. The idea that someone he knew had his feet so firmly embedded in the bedrock of home sort of blew Cash’s mind.
But Preston didn’t do words. He concentrated intently for a moment, and when he spoke, Cash could tell they would be his last words on the subject.
“It’s like whether or not he’s there next to you when you wake up, you know he’ll be thinking about you all day. Like every direction you face, you’re looking for your person. It’s how dogs like Preacher and Colonel know what they’re looking for before you even ask. Home. It’s not something you think about—it’s something you are.”
Cash’s eyes burned, and he realized Glen might not be the only one who didn’t get enough sleep the night before.
“That sounds like something to work for,” he said, his voice unsteady.
“You gotta mean it,” Preston said, and Cash just nodded. They didn’t say another word until the clerk at the counter called out their orders and it was time to go.
GLEN hadn’t moved, and Cash was reluctant to wake him up. He’d eaten a couple of his own tacos before another knock came at the door.
This time Spencer was there, trying his damnedest to look bored. When Cash opened the door with his finger in front of his lips, Spencer’s eyes went wide.
“You got
him to sleep?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah.”
“Drugs?”
“No!”
“Don’t get excited—I was ready to put Benadryl in his beer myself. Damien and I are going to go do recon in the boat—”
“But it’s night!” Cash protested, and Spencer tilted his head.
“You are so pretty. So pretty. Just a little doll.”
Cash glared at him. “Okay, smart guy—you two are big bad military men with a select set of skills and shit. I get it. Are you sure you don’t want me to wake Glen up?”
Spencer shook his head. “No, because he’s exhausted and you two got shit to sort. He can come to the island tomorrow.”
“What are me and Preston doing?” Cash asked.
“Ah, not just big brown eyes and fabulous hair—good to know.”
Cash wondered if you could really feel your blood pressure rise. “Ass. Hole.”
“Everyone’s got ’em; some even bottom,” Spencer said sagely, and Cash thought actively about physical violence.
“What. Are. We. Doing. Tomorrow.”
“You and Preston are going to market. There’s a little farmer’s trading stand about a mile down the road—and your friend and the other kids from Tranquilizer Piss’s little cult make the trip there a couple of times a week. We assume they’re boated in, but we don’t know where the boats dock, and we don’t know who the muscle is that brings them, and we don’t know if the kids are brainwashed or drugged or both. So you guys have your own recon to do. Glen will have more deets for you when he wakes up, but seriously, man. Rest up. Relax. Give each other hand jobs or do each other’s hair. Just help him be ready for tomorrow, deal?”
“I’ll do my best,” Cash said soberly, and Spencer nodded like he was relieved.
“Also, thanks for the rec at the taco stand. That was some very decent grub. I’m grateful.”
“You’re welcome,” Cash said, and damn Spencer for not being a complete dick. “I figure you guys are pretty carnivorous.”
Spencer nodded. “Yeah, but I understand the fish tacos are really awesome here.”
Cash gave him a hopeful smile. “I’ve got one left if you want it.”
Spencer sort of lit up. “Thank you, oh pretty one, thank you. I’ll put in a good word for you with Preston. He might not hate your guts by the time you guys go do your thing tomorrow.”
Cash darted inside, grabbed the food bag, and handed it to Spencer through the door. “What time are we up in the morning?”
“Town doesn’t get moving until nine or so. We’re meeting at seven thirty, and don’t worry—I’m on for chow.”
“That’s a deal,” Cash said. “Thanks, Spencer.”
“Yeah, well, keep being worth it.”
Cash closed the door quietly and felt like he’d won a victory over his own immaturity. He wandered back into the hotel room and thought wistfully of the ocean outside, and how he didn’t have a wet suit. One of the few things he could do was surf.
“You could have gone with them,” Glen said from the bed, and Cash started.
“That was so unfair,” he muttered. “I had no idea you were awake.”
“Well, still a little groggy. Gotta admit, the sleep was nice.” Glen rolled over and sat up, the comforter sliding down his still-glorious chest in the yellow light from the lamp.
Cash wanted to touch him, suddenly, and unlike those purely clinical moments of rubbing him down, this yearning was unabashedly sexual. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and reminded himself that Glen didn’t need his come-ons.
“Ready for some food?” he asked, very pointedly not looking at Glen’s chest.
“Yeah. Let me hit the head, wash my hands.” Glen shivered. “Put some sweats on. If we’re gonna spend the evening resting, might as well be comfortable.”
“We could walk on the beach if you want,” Cash said, remembering his earlier wistfulness. Walking on the beach at night with the man he wanted more than anything? Way to torture himself—but in a good way.
“Sure. After dinner.”
He disappeared and Cash flopped backward on the bed, suddenly out of breath. He was here to prove himself. Prove that he meant what he said. Prove he wasn’t all about a one-night stand. Prove that he could stay.
He was not, absolutely not, about jumping into Glen Echo’s arms and begging him for a hot fast fuck against a wall.
Or a long slow screw in rumpled sheets.
Or a medium-power bang bent over a table.
Or Please, oh please, let me suck your cock, Glen, because it was the best I’ve ever had.
Oh dear God. Cash wasn’t going to make it to the end here if he didn’t get a handle on himself—and with that thought came the very literal notion of taking off his pants and stroking himself naked so Glen had to take him.
Cash rolled off the bed in a hurry and set the food out on the table, going to the little fridge and getting the bottle of soda he’d bought especially for Glen.
Then he made the bed. Despite how on fire as he was right now for touch, he was going to need to make things look as innocent and virginal as possible; that is, if he didn’t want to embarrass himself and blow any chance he had for Glen Echo to take him seriously.
He was damned serious about winning Glen’s trust.
Rushing Waves
THE rush of the ocean was one of Glen’s favorite sounds—maybe because it was like the rush of wind on a parachute jump or in a Black Hawk when the doors were open and the air was trying to take the beast from your hands.
But it was as comforting as a maternal heartbeat to him, and walking through the darkness with Cash at his side was the closest thing he’d ever done to flowers and a candlelight dinner.
And he had to admit, Cash was trying.
He’d given Glen his space to eat and then proposed the walk so they’d both get some sleep that night. Not once had he made an innuendo or taken advantage of the fact that they were two men who had been intimate, still closed up in a small space.
He’d practically run down the stairs to the beach to avoid being in the same room for any longer than necessary.
Maybe he didn’t want Glen anymore.
The thought hit Glen hard in the chest, and he slowed his pace by the water, ostensibly to take off his shoes, but mostly to try to get his head around the fact that maybe Cash was just using him to get his friend back.
He didn’t think so; Cash had been pretty honest even when he was promising to run away. But that backrub had been very professional, and Cash was pointedly only looking at Glen’s eyes when they were making conversation.
“What’s wrong?” Cash asked, coming back for him.
“You know,” Glen said, not looking at him, “if you want, you can stay at the hotel when we go try to find your friend. We’re a search-and-rescue outfit—you don’t need to put yourself in danger.”
“The actual hell—”
“Look, the backrub was nice, and I’m grateful that you took care of me and all, but you don’t have to pretend you want me to get me to help.”
Cash was staring at him.
“I’m just saying that—”
“That you are the dumbest asshole who ever flew a goddamned plane.”
And with that, Cash turned around and stalked off, and Glen’s stomach, which had been pretty knotted up with those first doubts, sort of untangled itself. He hurried to catch up with Cash, who humphed and walked faster.
“Cash…. Kid—”
“I am not a kid!” Cash whirled toward him, close enough to punctuate every word with a finger pounding directly on Glen’s sternum. “I am not a kid, and I’m not hanging out with you just so you’ll help me, and you are not any less stupid than you were five minutes ago!”
“Then how come you haven’t looked at me in an hour!” Glen shouted back, grabbing Cash’s wrist.
“Because I still want you!” Cash yelled. He yanked at his hand, but Glen didn’t release him. Instead, he broug
ht up his other hand and began to rub Cash’s upper arm.
“Then why not just say that?” Glen said with a little laugh.
“Because we can’t.” Cash sounded altogether wretched. “Because we jumped into bed too soon last time, and it was awesome. And then I left you twice, and I broke your heart. We can’t bang like bunnies right now—you’ll never believe I want you for real if we do that. But I do want you for real, and I don’t know what to do when you’re wandering around with your shirt off and I’m trying to be a responsible adult who doesn’t jump guys in a heartbeat!”
“Well,” Glen said, smiling. “I did not expect that.”
Cash closed his eyes and raised his face up to the shifting clouds overhead. “I want something real with you so bad,” he said miserably. “I don’t know how to make it happen.”
Glen kept rubbing Cash’s arm, grateful to feel it relax under his touch. “How about holding my hand,” he suggested. Very deliberately, he laced their fingers together, and Cash shifted his gaze to watch him.
“That’s a start,” he said, sounding very pathetic indeed.
“And then,” Glen said, “we’ll walk—just walk, mind you—for a little while more and then go back to our hotel room.”
“And then what?” Cash’s eyes were enormous in the moonlight, and his mouth parted, plump and juicy. Glen wanted nothing more than to plunder it, to take Cash here, on the sand, or to take him back to the hotel room and ravish all of him. His body sang with the memory of exactly how good the two of them were together, exactly how good they could be.
But he’d been listening. I do want you for real.
Cash was trying here. Maybe not smoothly—but there was some earnestness in there. Of course, Glen was inclined to think kindly of him after he’d gotten a backrub and a nap, but he didn’t have it in him to be mean or cold for any length of time.
And he didn’t have it in him to destroy what Cash was working for either.
“Play cards,” Glen said, his mouth twisting since he knew that wasn’t what Cash wanted any more than it was what he wanted. “We go back and play cards.”