Refired (Recovery Book 1)

by BA Tortuga

  “Hey, this is like, a mystical place. I wonder if Cypress has yoga mats.” Zack perked up, just like he always did when he was on a mission. Dork.

  “You just got off a plane….”

  “For you, man. I just got off a plane so I can see you. If you were yoga mats, where would you be?”

  “In the studio. He lives in the studio. This is for parties.”

  “Well, come on. Stretching would be awesome. My legs hate being cramped like that.”

  They headed into the studio, Cy’s art everywhere, stealing Josh’s breath. His fingers itched to just grab a canvas, throw paint on the blankness and make it mean something. “Let me look over here.”

  “Sure.” Zack wandered, forehead creased while he looked at the paintings. You couldn’t get less arty than Zack, really. His soul was all in outdoors and sports.

  “His pottery is what caught my eye first. It’s amazing. The paintings were next.”

  “He has a thing, huh? I mean, I know I’m not very art smart, but I like his stuff.”

  “He’s brilliant.” Josh grabbed two yoga mats and brought them out to the courtyard. “Mats.”

  “Oh, good deal.” Zack looked down at himself. “Jeans bad. Get started and I’ll go change.”

  “You got it.” Yoga. He was doing yoga.

  In Madrid, New Mexico.

  With Zack.

  Christ on a purple crutch.

  He unrolled the mat and began to breathe, in and out, trying to make room in his lungs. He stood tall, then raised his arms over his head, going up on his toes.

  In maybe two minutes, Zack came back, quietly joining him. They moved together, somehow finding a balance. Balance. Yoga.

  He snorted, then started to chuckle.

  Zack gave him a sideways grin. “What?”

  “Just making bad internal puns.” It was a thing, right? Another coping mechanism.

  “Oh. Well, share with the class.” Zack reached out and poked him so he teetered out of his warrior pose.

  “There is no poking in yoga!” He pinched Zack’s butt hard.

  “Ow! Damn, you have bony fingers.” Zack reached out one long arm and snagged Josh, reeling him in to give him a noogie.

  “Asshole!” They landed on the ground in a heap, laughing hard for a short minute, leaning hard against each other.

  Zack just held on, let him rest against that wide chest, offering the best kind of silent support. Comfort.

  “It’s broken.” The words seemed to come out of nowhere, Cy’s voice floating into the courtyard. Josh knew his heart was smashed. He didn’t need to be told.

  “Oh man. That sucks.” Zack’s words made him turn his head, look over. Cy held a double-spouted Native American wedding vase, the pottery cracked clean in half, right down the center. It had been a thing of beauty, delicate and sinuous, the single handle curving up to a shape oddly reminiscent of a steeple.

  Cy’s cheeks were red, slicked with tears. “I’m so sorry, Josh. I thought….”

  “Oh man. It’s cool. It happens, huh? Things crack in firing.” He knew Cypress got super invested in his work, but they had plenty of stuff for the Austin show. They could make it without the vase.

  “No. No, this was yours. I started it the week before you came. I put it in the kiln the night before the party.”

  Josh looked at the broken pieces in Cy’s hands. There was no way to repair it, no amount of slip and care that would make it hold water. The two sides weren’t even connected anymore.

  Shit.

  “Just trash it, Cy. It’s gone.” The words didn’t even sound like him, rough and harsh.

  “I’ll put it in the garden. It will turn back into clay eventually.” Cy sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” And that was it, wasn’t it? All the sorry in the world didn’t matter at all.

  Zack was napping, and Cy was in the studio, the potter’s wheel spinning, and Josh?

  Josh was going out of his mind.

  It had been two days since Kris had left, and there was nothing. Not a phone call, not a text. Josh had almost texted three different times, but each time Zack had just eased the phone out of his hand, then shook his head.

  “It’s an addiction, Josh, as much as the booze.”

  God, was that true? Was that so bad? His addictive personality made him tenacious, right? Loyal. Something good, please.

  He wandered into the studio, feeling lost as shit. There was a blank canvas set up, paints and brushes piled beside.

  God, he wanted to. His fingers actually twitched.

  This wasn’t his studio, wasn’t his place. He couldn’t, could he?

  Josh looked over to Cy, who simply nodded, pointed with his chin to the easel.

  Oh. Oh fuck. Okay.

  The intimidation of working while Cy could watch warred with the need to get all this shit out, put it on canvas where he could see it, deal with it. Process it.

  Fuck it. The canvas was stretched, a pile of palettes sat there, and Josh grabbed one of everything, going to set himself up. The acrylics splurted out, and the scent of them brought memories bubbling up from deep inside him.

  His foster mom teaching him how to hold the brushes, how to mix colors. Hours of live drawing class and color theory classes and learning about the masters. Making art with friends. Making love with Kris.

  The dull pain hit his belly, and this time, instead of trying to breathe around it, encapsulate it, he let it out in a splash of cadmium red.

  Yeah. That was the ticket. He swirled his brush through the paint, slashing it down the canvas, and some part of his pain bled out with it. He stripped off his shirt as the sun poured in through the massive doors, and at some point, Cy put on some driving music, letting the sound fill the spaces between them.

  He went to a safe place in his head, his thoughts swirling like smoke, not battering at his brain.

  One canvas became two, this one bigger, forcing him to reach, to stretch, and that pushed tears out, drew a low moan that got lost in the driving beat of the music. His body swayed, an extension of the paintbrush, which fell to the mercy of his emotions.

  The sun was fading when he stopped, stumbled back, covered with sweat. Zack grabbed him, pressed an icy cold bottle of water into his hand.

  “Drink.”

  The water shocked him, splashing into his belly as his skin got covered in goose bumps.

  “Oh yeah. You need some food too. Did you know this guy’s fridge is empty? Also, have you never heard of sunscreen, you goofball?”

  “Huh?”

  “We’re going to the grocery store. We’re buying food. Real food with which to feed our bodies, comprende?”

  “Your friend is maligning my pantry,” Cypress said.

  “You got no reserves, Cy. You have a desiccated peach, half a bottle of mustard, and some kombucha that smells like hammered death and is totally not safe for the on-the-wagon crowd.”

  God, Zack cracked his shit up.

  Josh grinned. “I think we have to go to Santa Fe to go to the store. Can we go to the Hollar?”

  “We can go wherever food is. Then I’m going shopping.” Zack looked damn near offended. He did like his green smoothies.

  “Cy, do you have a blender? If not Zack will need to get a Magic Bullet.”

  “Is that a sex toy?” Cy managed to keep a straight face, barely.

  Zack made gagging noises. “No. It makes anything but kombucha.”

  “Kombucha is better than sex.”

  Josh and Zack both stared at Cy. “Uh, Cy honey? You’ve been doing it wrong, then,” Josh said.

  Cy shrugged, his cheeks flaming. “Or not at all. Let me wash up.”

  Oh man. He winced, hating that he’d hurt Cy’s feelings. It was Zack, though, who grabbed Cy and hugged. “You and me both, friend. It’s been so long for me that I may have regained my virginity.”

  Cy laughed a little, hugging Zack back. “I can see why you’re his mentor. I could murder a fried something. Let’
s get moving.”

  “Jeez Louise, I’m covered in paint.”

  “Yeah, you were working hard.” Cy motioned to him. “There’s a tub in the back I use for a quick rinse.”

  God, he’d never imagined the challenges of living without safe water.

  Zack made an enquiring noise. “So, do you use rain barrels or tanks or what?”

  “I’m on the co-op, but I collect too. The tubs are rain water.” They all headed over, and Josh started washing off.

  As he stood, Zack made a low, pained sound. “Oh man. You’re crispy.”

  “I was inside.” He looked, but he just seemed sort of pink.

  “You were in the light from the doors being open. Cypress, have you got some aloe?” Zack asked.

  “In the front. There are pots full.” Cy winked at Josh. “I don’t need it unless I burn myself cooking.”

  “Like you cook. Remember, I’ve seen your fridge.” Man, Zack was in fine form. “You guys wash up, and I’ll grab some to crush, okay? Back in a jiff. Drink more water, Josh.”

  “Yes, boss.” Josh grinned at Cy. “He’s a nutritionist and a trainer. Diabetes educator and all-around busybody.”

  “Ah.” Cypress gave him a nod, as if that explained everything. “Mother hen.”

  “Yeah. You know it. Thank you for letting me work with you.” It meant as much as Zack flying out to see him.

  “You should do it again. Every day. Why did you stop?”

  “I’m not good enough.”

  “Did Kris tell you that?”

  “What? No. No, not ever.” Kris didn’t understand art, but hell, the last time he’d been in Kris’s house there in town, there’d been one of his canvasses hanging above the fireplace. “He wanted us to do something that had a chance to make money, you know? He comes from big old money, and stability is a thing.”

  “Huh. So who told you your art sucked?” Cypress came to stand next to him, looking at his canvas with a critical eye. “You have great color, and your shapes are, like, totally New Mexico.”

  Josh shrugged. “Kris’s dad and twin sister sort of explained that Kris deserved someone with a real job, real skills. You know how that is.”

  “I do.” Cypress’s mouth set in a grim line. “They were wrong. If you want, I can put them in my showroom.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “I would be honored.” Cypress clapped him on one shoulder with a paint-stained hand. “Come on. We need yummies.”

  “We totally do.” Yummies, water, and some of that aloe, because ow.

  Damn.

  13

  “You look like hell, Son.” His dad had offered to take him to supper, and Kris was so tired of bouncing around the ranch house that he was even willing to go to the K-Bob’s in Brenham. Baked potato, salad wagon, and a brownie sundae with hot fudge were on his horizon.

  “Thanks, Dad. You’re so kind.”

  “Not my job.” His dad took off his hat and placed it crown down on the table.

  “No?” Kris was wearing his summer straw, which was beat half to hell, but he wasn’t being a high-dollar Austin mogul this month. He was cowboying his ever-loving ass off. Caretakers and part-time cowboys were all good and well, but they didn’t love his land like he did; they did what they were paid to do and that was that.

  “No, sir. I’m your daddy. I’m here to kick your ass if you need it.”

  He offered over a grin. “Yessir.”

  The Judge was fierce and stony, but the man never let him believe for a second that he wasn’t loved, that he wasn’t important.

  “So, what are your plans for the gallery? That’s good real estate.”

  “I don’t know. I had an offer, but Josh isn’t selling.” And no matter what he’d threatened, he’d never sell without Josh’s approval, his blessing.

  “Well, browbeat him.”

  “Not how I operate.” Kris did good business, and he loved Josh, no matter what.

  “You have an unnatural fondness for that man.”

  The thing was that Daddy didn’t give a shit that Kris was queer. He hated that Josh was a drunk.

  “Love looks not with the eyes….” Kris batted his lashes, and Daddy rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah, but you ain’t Cupid, and you ain’t blind, boy.”

  “Nope.” What else could he say? Hell, he could say, hey, I never had kids with Josh and left them with him to die, but that would just start a war.

  “Seriously, how’s business? I know you’ve been at the ranch with your sister. She won’t hardly answer my phone calls, so I know she’s grumpy.” The Judge wasn’t a fool, not even a little. The only weakness that man had ever had was Mom.

  “She’s pretty grumpy in general. Something about her job.” Kris shrugged. Tyna could play some things close to the chest, even with him. “The gallery has a showing in a few weeks, and Josh thinks it will be a real success. My overseas investments are seeing huge returns, even with the recession in Europe. The ranch was a wreck. I need a new caretaker.”

  “Fire the whole crew, then. You can’t trust a one of them.” The Judge nodded to the waitress. “Six-ounce sirloin, mid-well, loaded baked potato, ranch on my salad. I want a glass of milk with my supper and a cup of coffee after.”

  Kris hid a grin. Same as always. “I’ll have an iced tea, ma’am, with the big spud and a salad wagon.”

  “Y’all got it. Help yourself to the salad bar.”

  His dad glared at him. “You give up meat?”

  “Daddy, there’s enough bacon on my potato to clog even your arteries. I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, well, you spent a lot of time in hippie land up the road. You cain’t never tell.”

  “I like it up there.” He watched his dad’s face, just to see what he thought.

  “Well, duh. You do have a house up there and all.”

  “No, I mean Santa Fe. I know you always wanted to go to Colorado on vacation, but it’s amazing up there.”

  “Yeah? They got a decent rodeo, I hear. I want to go up to Cheyenne this summer, see the sites. What do you think? You want to go with?”

  Huh. He must look down for the Judge to make that offer.

  “Guess we’ll see where I am when it gets closer. Thanks, though.” He had so much to catch up on right now, he was half buried alive.

  The waitress came back with Daddy’s salad, setting it in front of him all careful, like she’d had experience with bitchy old dudes. Go figure.

  The Judge just grunted, then started eating his salad, the heavy mustache gathering crumbs.

  Kris hopped up to hit the salad bar, knowing he had to get his head on better. Crunchy shit would help.

  His to-do list kept sliding through his head, the top of the list reading “call Josh and find out when he’s coming home to deal with the gallery and give me back my car.”

  Not that he was worried, but because it was the responsible thing to do. Dammit.

  No. No thinking about Josh. Not with the Judge sitting there. The man was uncanny about that shit.

  He piled his plate high with spinach and peas, cottage cheese and sprouts. Then he blinked at it. Hell, maybe he was a hippie now.

  That would be fucking crazy. He had been raised a beef and iceberg guy. Now he was… eating like he had a heart to keep healthy. Maybe he was just getting old. He poured a bit of ranch on everything but the cottage cheese, then dumped berries there.

  When he sat, his dad made a face. “Christ, Son. Cottage cheese?”

  Kris burst out laughing. “I know! I thought the same thing.”

  “I am fixin’ to have your happy ass exorcised.”

  “Just try it.” This was what he needed. A wee battle.

  “Oh, Son. No matter how old you are, I’m still the daddy. I will always win, one way or the other.” There wasn’t so much as a hint of doubt in the gravelly voice.

  “You got ranch in your mustache.”

  He got a look, quick, half-aggravated, half-tickled, but mostly just ackno
wledging the point as the Judge wiped his mouth.

  “So tell me about the county commissioners,” Kris said, needing to not talk about him.

  “Beau Edmunds is a horse’s ass dressed as a rancher, that Lou Almon is slipperier than an oiled used car salesman, but Patty Albridge? I like her. She ain’t in the shit business, so I can deal with her. She’s got babies, too, so she’s reasonable about things.”

  “Is she single?” He knew his dad liked younger ladies.

  “She is.” There was a hint of red on the tanned cheeks. Oh. Oh, that was something else. Daddy had taken a fancy to someone.

  “You gonna let me meet her?” That was the test. If him and Tyna met the lady in question and liked her, she stood a chance.

  “I’m thinking about throwing a little cookout next weekend. Can you come?”

  Well, he’d be damned.

  “Sure. I’d love to. Do you want me to bring Tyna?”

  “I do. Patty is bringing her two girls and her grandbabies so they can use the pool. Those babies love my pool.”

  “I bet they do.” He pondered. “I’ll come a little early and help with the pool.”

  “Works for me, Son. Here comes supper. Look alive.”

  “Yes, sir.” His phone rang about the time his plate hit the table, and he checked it. Danny from Two Spirits. Dammit. “I got to take this, Judge. Excuse me two shakes.”

  His dad waved his hand. The Judge understood business.

  Kris stood and walked to the lobby. No sense upsetting anyone. “Hey, Danny.”

  “Dude, man. What is going on? No one is here, and it’s, like, been days. There’s mail and bills and shit. Are y’all still in Mexico?”

  “New.” He rolled his eyes. “New Mexico.”

  “Uh-huh. When is Josh coming back, and why isn’t he answering his phone?”

  “He’s not?” Kris frowned, his heart starting to pound. “We had a snarl. I’m in Brenham.”

  “Oh. Well, make up. Tell him to call. I need reassurance and shit.”

  “I’ll call him.” Immediately. Damn it.

  “Thanks, man.”

  He hung up on Danny and punched Josh’s name on his display. The phone rang three times before the sound of a mostly asleep Josh said, “What?”