Refired (Recovery Book 1)

by BA Tortuga

  “Man, I need you.”

  22

  The house phone rang almost right next to his ear, bringing Kris right up in—no, not bed, on the couch. Fuck. His neck popped when he sat up, and he reached for the phone, blinking to clear his eyes, which felt glued together.

  “Hello?”

  “Kris, it’s Dee. You know how we showed the house yesterday? We got three offers, one at asking price. They loved it.”

  Wait. What? “We just put it on the market yesterday, Dee. Someone really wants to pay half a million for this place?” Holy hell.

  “We have two offers and three showings today. I’m feeling a bidding war coming on!” She sounded evilly excited. Dee did love a good bidding war, after all.

  “Go for it. Just don’t let it drag on too much, okay? I need this place gone. Oh, and if anyone wants to buy it mostly furnished, let me know. I only have a few personal pieces here. Mostly art. I can move those to the ranch.”

  Josh was gone. Again. Kris had no idea why he’d thought the man might stay. He’d been a psycho last night.

  Josh had held him, let him cry, let him break down, and never passed judgment on him. That was a memory worth its weight in gold, so he guessed he couldn’t complain.

  “I’ll let the clients know. How soon can you close, honey?”

  “Thirty days. I want out of here.” He thought him and Austin, they were maybe having a breakup of their own. “I can have shit moved out in a week, though, if they don’t want the furnishings. They can pay rent if they want in sooner.” He’d call his designer and let her buy shit back at a steep discount. Most of the furniture had never been touched.

  “Works for me. I’ll call you soon, huh? How exciting! Are you looking to find another property as a residence or are you heading to the ranch for a while?”

  “I’ll set up at the ranch until I decide what to do. Most of my investments I can manage online, you know? Thanks, lady. I appreciate the hard work.” Kris needed to start making calls, arrangements.

  “Anytime!” She clicked off and he rubbed his face, his stubble catching on his palms.

  God, he needed to clean up. At some point he needed to run to Two Spirits to pick up his paintings. Josh’s amazing paintings.

  He looked at the piece above the mantel. The colors, the way he could gauge Josh’s moods by the way the yellows and blues showed up among the reds. This one felt like sex to him, like drowning in kisses. This canvas had a handwritten note on the back in Josh’s weird, pointy handwriting.

  “For Kris. For ever. Love and you and me. J.”

  They’d been in college, and Josh had still been doing art, had been painting constantly. God, that had stopped like a faucet turning off, hadn’t it? One day Josh had been this goofy artist in flares and tie-dye, and the next day he was wearing hipster vests and growing a goatee and spending hours in art history classes.

  Kris was tickled to death that Josh was painting again, even if forever was just a fucking myth.

  Change was in the air, dammit, whether they liked it or not. Kris had the sudden urge to go roping. Shit, did he even have a roping horse anymore?

  Surely he did. If not, the Judge would. Damn, maybe Daddy would want to head to the roping pen. They used to love that. The wheeling and dealing could be put on hold for a while, right?

  Kris rolled off the couch and headed for the bathroom, grabbing his cell this time so he could call Daddy.

  He took a deep breath, and each one felt a little bit lighter, easier in his lungs. Kris might not know where he was living tomorrow, but the confused jumble his life had become seemed to be working itself out. He could get behind that 100 percent.

  Somehow jettisoning the gallery had been the catalyst for getting his shit back together. He hated hurting Josh, and he had. That dream had died hard. Still, Kris felt like it had opened doors for him that he’d slammed long ago.

  Josh felt like he was nursing a huge hangover without the benefit of a drop of booze. He’d gone home to change and get Boomer and spent the night on Zack’s guest bed, after a long few hours of a meltdown so massive that it embarrassed him to think about it.

  He stumbled into the gallery, leaving the Closed sign up. He turned on KLBJ, grabbed some white paper, and started covering the windows. He didn’t want anyone looking in while they cleaned up.

  The phone rang about an hour after he started, and Josh smiled to see Cy’s face pop up. Thank God. “Tell me you’re okay, man. I’ve been worried.”

  “I’m so fucking sorry, Josh.” Cypress sounded almost normal, if a little worried. “I just couldn’t cope. I couldn’t. I know I embarrassed everyone, but God.”

  “I’m not embarrassed, just worried. I’m so sorry, man. I should have listened better when you said you couldn’t handle it. You gave me plenty of warning, and that’s on me.”

  Cypress laughed, the sound genuine. “Nothing is on anyone, then. We’ll just chalk it up to experience.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Are you staying in town? I have a check for you.”

  “Can you mail it to me?” Cy made a soft sound, and it was content as hell. “I’m already home. We napped for a few hours and then headed out. Lonan is sleeping. It’s so beautiful here, Josh. It’s snowing.”

  “Oh man…. This late?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you know, you could bring me my check. In person. I have a space for you until you find one of your own.”

  God, that was tempting. He could just pack Boomer into his Toyota and go. All he had to his name was a suitcase of clothes and a few pieces of art he couldn’t part with. Danny could ship him the art….

  “I’ll think on it,” Josh said.

  “Do. The mountains want you here, and so do I.”

  “You rock, Cy.”

  “Come home, Josh.”

  The line went dead, and he sat on the window seat, head in his hands. Boomer came right up to him and head-butted him, hard, in a clear don’t-be-a-loser move.

  “I know, right. Shit or get off the pot.”

  “Christ, man, how many times have you said that to me? Hey, Boomie.” Danny grinned from the back room. “I opened up the back so we had a straight line to the dumpster.”

  “Thanks.” Josh gave Boomer a stern glare. “No running outside without your harness, buddy. This isn’t the green belt.” Boomer plopped down with a thud. “Good boy.”

  He stood up, shaking off the funk. “Where do we want to start?”

  “Why don’t you paint anymore?”

  “What?” He hadn’t expected that, not at all.

  Danny waved at a large crate set aside along the back wall. “You had no less than fifteen offers on your paintings last night. I mean, they were already sold to a private buyer, but you have real talent, Josh.”

  “I….” He’d been convinced that the way to keep Kris was to do something more respectable. “I got discouraged in art school, I guess.”

  “Well, one, you tell me to do what I love even though the curating jobs open up every forty-five years, so I’ll tell you the same. Go do what you love and let someone else run a gallery.”

  “Someone better at it?”

  “Oh, fuck that shit, man. You and fifty bazillion other gallery owners lost it. You’d have been in the black after this show, and we both know it. I don’t give a fuck about that. Go be happy. You’ve put your time as a responsible adult in.”

  Josh blinked, then threw back his head and laughed. “You give good advice.”

  “I am a brilliant motherfucker. Just ask me, I’ll inform you.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you are. Let’s get the last stuff cleaned out, huh? I have some stuff to do, some phone calls to make.”

  A suitcase to pack and a check to deliver.

  23

  Kris was waiting for Josh to come by and pick up his check for the sale of the gallery, which freaked him right the fuck out, truth be told. What if Josh never spoke to him again after this? His head spun at the idea, even though they were well and truly broken.


  He’d texted Josh that morning with a simple message.

  Sold the house. Have a check for you

  It took a few hours; then Josh pulled up in his crazy old heap of a car. Kris shook his head as Josh walked up the drive, hair braided in two long pigtails, looking for all the world like Willie Nelson fifty years ago, right down to the brown pants and crazy shirt with a huge collar.

  Kris stopped packing his box and allowed himself to stare. Just for a minute. He wanted to be able to see this very picture whenever he closed his eyes.

  The little round Lennon glasses had gone dark with the sun, and Josh looked… not happy, not really, but settled. Like genuinely settled in his bones.

  Kris wished he knew what that felt like, although he had to say for the first time in years he was really getting along with his dad and his sister, enjoying their company without so much heavy goddamn baggage. That had to mean something.

  He opened the door before Josh had a chance to knock.

  “Hey, cowboy. You look busy.”

  The front room did look like a bomb had gone off, because it was his staging area for all his personal items. The furniture, save his Pappy’s nightstand and his Grandma Cerny’s china hutch, was staying with the house.

  “Packing. I have way more kitchen shit than I thought I did. Come on in.”

  “Gourmet Rednecks R Us,” Josh teased. “I have a french press coffeemaker and one of those dog-treat makers.”

  “Yeah? Boomer is your priority. As he should be.”

  “He is my boy.” Josh looked around, shook his head in wonder. “Do you want any help?”

  “Most everything is staying. All my personal stuff is at the house, really.” He’d already crated Josh’s painting and the pot he’d bought in Santa Fe.

  “Cool. You work fast.” Josh took a deep breath, exhaled. “This house never really seemed like you, you know?”

  “I know.” Maybe he was having an early midlife crisis, or maybe he was just figuring out that he didn’t have to have all the trappings of wealth to be a success. Who knew? Kris just wanted to simplify. “Anyway, thanks for coming here. I know you’re busy too.”

  “I am. I have been. Whatever. I want to talk to you a second, about the gallery.”

  “Sure.” Kris tried to keep his brow from wrinkling up in a frown, but he wasn’t certain what there was to talk about.

  “It’s not bad, I promise.” Josh chuckled softly, winked at him in a move so familiar it stole his breath away. “We made about fifty K on the last show after paying Cy. I’m going to keep that, and we’ll call it even. You tear that check up and do… well, whatever you do with it.”

  Kris rocked back on his heels, physically shocked. “Baby, we’re talking two and a half million. Even if I take the five hundred thousand out that I put into the property, you get two million. That’s a helluva nest egg for you.”

  “Maybe, but… I didn’t know that Two Spirits wasn’t mine. I mean, I knew it. I was three years away from working out the money you put in, still…. You paid for me to have a real job, and you didn’t make that money back because I was a success. You made it back because you picked a good location. That money isn’t any more mine than the gallery was.”

  His breath left him, as though Josh had punched him in the gut. “Josh—baby, that’s not true.”

  “Which part isn’t true, cowboy?”

  “That gallery was yours. I put money in, but never heart and soul.” He held up a hand when Josh opened his mouth. “I know I did you dirty by selling it out from under you, but you should be proud of what you did.”

  “I am. I tried my best. I’m not one of y’all—the people who work hard and make money. I work hard and…. Well, I don’t, I guess, but that’s cool. The world needs both kinds.” Josh came up to him, kissed his cheek. “Love you, cowboy. Don’t work too hard. It’s not good for you.”

  “What about—”

  Josh cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “I think we said it all, okay? It’s okay. I know what to do now.”

  Kris blinked, his lips still happy to tingle at Josh’s touch. “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to go home.” With that, Josh just left. Just like that, leaving behind a two-million-dollar check like it meant nothing.

  He never once looked back.

  Josh might know what to do now, but Kris had no idea. None at all.

  24

  Of all the people Josh was going to say good-bye to, Zack was the hardest.

  Losing Kris was like losing a limb, over and over and over, but you got used to balancing on one leg, learned to deal with that because it had happened so often.

  Saying good-bye to Zack was like leaving behind your hero—nauseating and terrifying, but necessary.

  Zack stood on the stoop of Josh’s tiny apartment, hands on his hips. “What the hell is going on, you turd? You missed this week’s meeting, you haven’t called. I’m here to beat your ass.”

  “I’m moving to New Mexico. I need to go. I can’t stay here.”

  “Unitarian Church. Sundays.” At his look, Zack shrugged. “For a while there, I thought we were just going to never leave up there, so I looked it up.”

  Josh started laughing, then pulled Zack into the emptied apartment. “You dork. Want a Coke?”

  “Only if you have Dr Pepper.” Zack chuckled. “Congratulations, buddy. I swear, if Ray didn’t need me here, I’d think about packing up and going with you.”

  “Come whenever. I’m getting a tiny little studio in a town called Cerrillos. It’s about three miles from Cy, and I’ll have room for guests at the house out back. It’s like a manufactured home, but the whole shebang is like, twelve hundred a month.” He was heading out today. After he told Zack good-bye. “Boomer’s going to be a desert dog.”

  “Wow. I’ll be visiting for sure. That Austin to Albuquerque flight is easy peasy.”

  “You tell me when, and I’ll be there.” He met Zack’s eyes. “You are my… I mean, shit. I don’t know how to be sober without you.”

  And he was scared. Really. He just had to pray he was strong enough.

  Zack put a hand on his shoulder, warm and strong and there for him like it always was. “All you have to do is call. Anytime. About anything. I love you, man. Okay?”

  “I love you. You’re my fucking hero. I wouldn’t have made it….”

  “Bullshit. You did it. You. I helped, but you got sober, and you will stay that way, do you hear me?” Zack winked at him. “I could tattoo it on your forehead for you, if you want.”

  “Nah. That would ruin my hipster look. Everyone has to think I drink microbrews.”

  “Josh, man, I don’t know if they have hipsters in New Mexico.”

  “Sure they do. Artists and assorted weirdos too. I’ll fit in.”

  Zack nodded, expression serious suddenly. “You will. It will be amazing.”

  “I think so. I’ve never not been in Austin. I think it’s time to see other places, to live another life.” It wouldn’t be the same, but it would be his, and he was proud of it.

  “Make stunning art and find some pretty man to hump, okay?”

  “One can only hope. Right now I’m dying to hear about Cy and the mountain man. There’s going to be a wild one there.”

  “I bet. You said he’s ginormous.” Zack chuckled. “Lord.”

  “Like a mountain, and Cy’s just skinny, huh?”

  “Yeah. How long ’til you have dreads, do you think?”

  He chuckled softly, and then he just had to shrug. “I’m not closing any possibilities off. I may shave my head. I’m going to just do the things that make me happy for a while.”

  Like Danny had said, he’d been the responsible adult. It really hadn’t worked for him.

  “I’m all over it. Let me know how it works for you. I might try it too.”

  “I will. You’ll get lots of pictures on my adventure. Probably a metric fuckton of calls.” It was a twelve-hour drive, but it felt like an eternity. It wa
s leaving Texas.

  The thought was surprisingly painful, but only for as long as it took him to remember that it was snowing in Madrid, right now. In May. The joy that came with that thought made him laugh out loud.

  “Oh yeah.” Zack just beamed at him. “There you are. Go, man. I’ll lock up here. Ship anything you forgot. The dog bowls are already gone, after all.”

  “Seriously?” When Zack nodded and dangled his extra key as proof that he could do just that, Josh grabbed him and pounded his back before handing his keys over as well. “Thank you.”

  “I love you, man. Go. Call me when you stop to see something wonderful.” Zack walked him and Boomer out and down the stairs. “Go. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

  Josh walked away, waving over his shoulder, because if he looked back, he might not leave. He had to look forward instead. New Mexico was waiting.

  25

  Kris hated the way he and Josh had left things about the gallery. Hated it. Or at least that was what he told himself when he browbeat Danny into giving him Josh’s address.

  How could he have owned a gallery with the guy and never known where he lived once they’d moved out of their house together? Josh had taken all of his mail at Two Spirits, so maybe that was how.

  Josh lived in these skanky-assed apartments off Rundberg, ones that were meant for desperately poor college students, not men who owned a gallery in downtown Austin.

  Kris stepped out of his truck, daring the guy standing on the corner to bother him.

  This was like East Austin used to be before it went hipster and the tax base jumped $100,000. Christ. He took a deep breath and then went looking for 223. At least Josh wasn’t on the bottom floor.

  He knocked, expecting to hear Boomer having a meltdown. Instead he got silence, and when the door opened, a surprisingly lovely Asian dude stood on the other side. What the hell?

  “Where’s Josh?” The question popped out way more tersely than Kris expected.