by Jaime Samms
“He didn’t care, you know. If I was alive or dead when he was fucking, it made no difference to him. If I came to too soon, he’d hit me until I blacked out again and keep going. He didn’t want me to say yes. He didn’t want to know if I liked rough, he didn’t—”
“Len.” Vance tried again, but a hard shiver cascaded through Len.
“No one gives a crap what I like or want.” He stared right at Vance. “Not even you.” Vance moved his head in a negative, but Len cut him off. “If you cared, you’d listen.”
“I am listenin’.”
Len shook his head. The ball of emotion had begun rolling now, and there was no stopping it. The truth flooded out, and nothing could stop the mudslide of fact. “You don’t, though, do you?” He tugged at the buckles of one cuff, struggling and ripping a nail in his haste to get it off. “You don’t listen. You don’t give me what I want. You impose what you think is best, and that’s not the same thing.”
“I’m protecting—”
“I don’t need your fucking protection!” Len ripped the cuff free and threw it. It hit Vance squarely in the chest. Vance stepped back and let it fall. “I don’t need your protection, or your kindness, or your fucking understanding! You have no idea what I need or want. Because you don’t ask and you wouldn’t listen to the answer. No one does!”
Vance tightened his fists. He rolled his shoulders, and Len curled a lip.
“Run, Vance.”
Dark eyebrows caved, and Vance took a step forward.
“You know it’s what you really want. Walk away.”
Vance shook his head. “Give me a good reason not to.”
“If you need one from me, then there isn’t one. You’re no better than Ace. Or my father or the fuck with his kiddy porn. It’s all about you and what you want. You can’t tame me.”
The golden eyes staring down at him were gem-hard and faceted. No warmth touched them.
Len shivered. The ball continued rolling, crushing, trampling everything, and he couldn’t stop it. He watched it crush everything he and Vance had begun to build. He watched it topple the rickety tower of trust. Like a top-heavy Jenga tower, it collapsed and buried Len in the debris.
Vance turned and walked out the front door.
Len heaved in breath after too-short breath. If he moved, his knees would give. If he spoke, his voice would break. If he looked anywhere but at the swinging screen door leading to the front yard, the tears would blind him.
The split happened. As hard as he’d tried to keep himself together, it happened, and there was no missing the bloody rending of his soul. Surely everyone in the room heard it come free from the rest of him.
He was drowning in his own emotional bile as everything turned to shit around him. Everything he touched.
Strong arms folded around him. He didn’t know whose. He didn’t struggle. He couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t stand or think or see.
“I’ve got you,” a voice whispered. “Lenny, I’ve got you.”
That tearing, wet sound was him. His sobbing. He needed to be free of the cloying touch, the constriction, but the arms tightened when he fought them, held him close against a broad chest when he kicked out, and cuddled him close when he formed fists and bared his teeth. Fingers dug into his shoulders, and someone else, taller, leaner, folded around him from behind.
“You’re good, little dude. We ain’t leaving you.”
Lips pressed to the top of Len’s head.
“Get him some water.” He recognized Alice’s voice and tried once again to free himself.
“Just calm down.” It was Clive. Clive hugged him tighter, and he shoved a weak fist into the drummer’s side. Clive chuckled.
“That the best you got?” he asked. “Going to take me out too?” The hold loosened just enough for Clive to look down at him. “You can’t. You can’t get rid of me. Or Jet, or Beks, or any of us. We got your back.”
“I’m sorry,” Len whispered. “Tell him I’m sorry.”
“He knows.”
Len sagged. All the fight drained out of him. He was empty, and Clive held him up until they made it to the couch and he fell onto it. The front door was still swinging lightly on its hinges. The cuff still lay in the middle of the carpet. Alice even stepped over it, as if it didn’t matter, as she came over with a tall glass of water.
“Thanks.” He looked up into her face and found only a soft smile, warm eyes, and gentle reassurance.
She nodded. “Jet’s gone to get you something to eat.”
“Not really hu—”
“Shut it,” Clive said, tucking a lock of Len’s hair back behind his ear. “You need to eat, and then we can talk.”
Len groaned. “There’s more?”
Clive’s smile was wide, but still gentle. “Isn’t there always? We’re fucking rock stars. If there’s no drama, what is there?”
Len wanted to laugh. It was funny. But he was afraid if he did laugh, it would come out as more of a sob, and once he started, he worried he’d never be able to stop.
20
FURY, MADDENING, bright sparks of it, flashed inside Vance’s head. He didn’t listen? He didn’t? What the fuck? When had Len ever, fucking ever offered up even a fraction of the information he’d just shouted at Clive? When had he ever given any of that to Vance? When had Vance ever had the opportunity to listen?
“Thought I taught you better’n this.” Jacko’s deep voice rumbled over the softer sounds of the summer afternoon and the clatter of the screen door as he followed Vance into the yard.
“Not a good time, Jacko.”
“No better time, boy.”
Vance began to walk because he couldn’t stand there and take a dressing-down for something he hadn’t done. “I am not your boy.”
“Acting a lot like it right now.”
“You don’t know—”
“I know a damn sight more’n you, Vance.”
“Len’s messed up.”
Jacko had jogged around to get in front of him, and now he rolled his eyes. “No shit.”
“I can’t—”
“You made him a promise.”
“What would you know about it?”
“I know you. I know you don’t take on anything you think you can’t handle.”
“I was wrong.”
“No, son, you weren’t. You’re just scared.”
Vance flicked his gaze away from Jacko. Little slip of a punk like Len didn’t scare him. He couldn’t hurt Vance. Not really.
“You’re scared you’ll fail him, and son, from the looks of things, about the only thing you could do that would fail him now is walk away.”
“I cannot save him!” It was too much. Len was too much. The bruises and the worry and the constant walking on eggshells were more than Vance could take. He’d always thought he could do anything, tame any wild thing and bend it to his will. He only ever wanted what was best for them. But not this time. This time he’d met his match, and he’d lost.
The look of surprise on Jacko’s face brought Vance’s mental tirade to a halt. “Who said you had to save him?” Jacko asked.
“Isn’t that what we do?” Vance turned and began walking again. He usually thought better when he was moving, doing something. When he had a horse between his legs or his guitar in his hands. God, he missed his music. He was so drained. So barren of anything to sustain his resistance to this never-ending tension in his home and his bed.
“You came to me when you decided to put the bottle down for good, and asked me to help, and what did I tell you?” Jacko’s question saved him from stepping off the self-pity ledge into meltdown.
He blinked at his old mentor and shrugged. “You helped me, Jacko. You didn’t really say much at all. You took the bottle out of my goddamn hand.”
“But what did I tell you?”
Vance thought back, back into the depths of his own black hole, and tried to recall. “You said you could tie me down, but it wasn’t going to stop me wanti
ng to pick up the whiskey again. But you did tie me down. For a while….” He shivered, remembering. It wasn’t his strength, giving in the way he had to Jacko, but he’d been so weak back then. So very lost.
A short, sad chuckle emanated from Jacko. “For all the good it did you.”
“God, Jacko. How many times did you listen to me whine about needing a drink?”
“The point was never what you said, son.”
“Kinda was, though, wasn’t it? I would have taken one if you hadn’t been there to stop me. If you hadn’t been there to hold me down and listen to me cry like a fuckin’ baby.” Vance sighed heavily. “You listened to me,” he whispered.
They were standing at the fence to Krall’s small paddock, and the horse wandered over and pushed into Jacko’s hands.
“They know, don’t they?” Vance said. “Who’s the strong one. Who needs them, and who they can count on to keep them.” He reached for Krall, but rather than let Vance touch him, the horse lifted his head and curved his neck over Vance’s shoulder. The warmth and solidity of the horseflesh against his chest, the gentle tap of muzzle on the back of his head soothed Vance, and he couldn’t resist the urge to lift his arms and wrap them around his muscled neck, drawing on the raw strength and base animal trust.
“They know,” Jacko agreed.
“All that boy wants is someone who won’t walk away,” Vance said. “Someone to see him. To listen.”
Jacko shook his head. “That boy?”
Vance let go of the horse to look at his friend, parsing out the meaning of the cryptic, exasperated comment.
“My boy?” he said at last.
“Are you not sure?” Jacko’s eyes, pale as they were, pierced Vance’s soul, and a cold wind followed where they looked into him, looked at the truth, and demanded it aloud, because Jacko was Master, and no one denied him what he wanted.
Vance swallowed hard. “I’m sure.”
“Then say it. Out loud and often, and where he can hear it. Where everyone can hear it. Or send him home.”
“My boy,” Vance said firmly. “Mine.”
“Then act like it.”
Vance nodded. “Listen to him, you mean.”
“Hear him. Hear what he doesn’t say. See what he can’t talk about, and demand he does. He’ll balk and be afraid and yeah….” Jacko met his gaze squarely. “He might hit you again. Listen to that too, and for God’s sake, don’t let him get away with it. He needs you to call his bluff. Be stronger. Be wiser. Be his rock.”
Vance nodded.
“He needs to be tied down too. I know you see that in him, or you wouldn’t want him as much as you do. He needs it. Why aren’t you doing it?”
“You heard what he said in there. I knew it was bad, Jacko, but… how the hell do I give him what he thinks he wants, knowin’ what’s already been done to him?”
Jacko shook his head sadly. “If you have to ask me that, then he’s right. You weren’t listening.”
“He was off the deep end. He didn’t know what he was sayin’.”
“He was being honest. If I could guess, I would say he was voicing what happened to him, for real, for the first time ever. And you’re out here worrying about how it affects you.”
Vance stepped away from the fence, away from the horse, and away from Jacko. “I haven’t thought about anythin’ but how everythin’ I do affects Len since he came to me. I’m tired. I’m out of ideas.”
“Then you haven’t been listenin’ to your own damn instincts either, Van,” Kilmer said, approaching from the house.
Both men turned to look at him, and Vance noticed Kilmer’s gaze flick nervously to Jacko, but then fix on him. He took a chance, speaking like that to another Dom in front of his own. Especially because Jacko had such rigid ideas about the whole lifestyle. Kilmer, in Jacko’s eyes, shouldn’t even have come out here without his permission, and certainly shouldn’t be addressing another Dom, let alone giving him shit.
But then, Kilmer always was one to speak his mind, do what he thought needed doing, and to hell with anyone telling him no. It had been part of the problem. Vance didn’t like being told no when the only reason Kilmer had said it was to get under Vance’s skin.
“If you really did what felt natural, you’d be in there makin’ him put that damn cuff back on, eat his soup, and stand on his own two feet. You keep offerin’ him a safe place to fall, then movin’ out of the way when he gets brave enough to let himself go. He wants you to catch him. Just do it, and trust that he’s stronger’n you think.”
“You heard him in there, Kil,” Vance said. “You heard how Ace treated him. How do I cuff him an’….” He took a deep breath. “He thinks he’s a masochist, but maybe that’s just the only thing he knows.”
“I heard him say he wants a chance to say yes. Ace never gave him that, and I doubt it was because the asshole thought he would say no. It was control, pure and simple. The brute wanted compliance. No mind or heart. Just a body that bent to his will. And he got it, didn’t he?”
Vance made a sound. He didn’t know if it was trying to be words or thoughts. It was just pain at the thought of what had been visited on his gentle lover. What had been done to the man who would have willingly given Ace what was being taken from him, had Ace just asked.
“Go back in there and give him the option. Give him the chance to say yes, and for God’s sake, don’t step back when he does.”
“And don’t run if he says no,” Jacko warned. “He might.”
Vance nodded. Len would say no. How could he not? How often had Vance offered Len solace and comfort, only to withdraw when Len lost his temper or made a mistake? He could trace back through the last weeks, the times he’d slept on the couch or left him kneeling, waiting, and sent Kilmer in his stead. All the work of guiding and teaching him that he’d left for Kilmer to do in the barn with the horse shit because Vance was scared to screw up. The times he hadn’t asked about the therapy sessions, hadn’t been willing to hear another no from Len. Hadn’t been willing to listen beyond that one syllable to the begging, the fear, or the need Len had to be made to submit, to be told, in no uncertain terms, he could open up and find a safe place to drown in all the emotion. That Vance would always, always throw him that lifeline.
“Shit.”
Kilmer gave him a wry, crooked grin. “You’re fuckin’ dense, Van.”
“Enough,” Jacko growled, wrapping a hand around Kilmer’s upper arm. “I think you need fewer people underfoot.”
“No.” Vance glanced up at Jacko and Kilmer. “Please. Stay. I… might need you.” He looked to Kilmer, knowing in his heart that no matter how much his friend denied it, he loved Jacko and coming out here would cost him.
Unlike Vance, Jacko would go elsewhere to get the compliance Kilmer wouldn’t always give, and it killed Kilmer a little bit more every time Jacko left him alone. Even the idea of sharing made him crazy, and yet Vance knew their relationship wasn’t nearly as closed as Kilmer wished. Even Vance’s friendship was a source of pain for Kilmer when Jacko used it as an excuse to go elsewhere. If Kilmer wasn’t the submissive he was, he would have said something, complained, expressed his displeasure, but he was who and what he was, and Jacko was his Dom. Kilmer would never say a word about the other men. It wasn’t his place. But then, if Kilmer wasn’t the man he was, he would have denied Vance and obeyed his lover to keep the peace, to keep Jacko’s favor, but he didn’t.
Even now, Kilmer nodded. “We’ll stay.” He freed himself from Jacko’s grip and walked toward the house, back stiff. He was defying everything he believed in. Everything he wanted and needed from his lover to give Vance the support of his friendship.
“Don’t take this out on him, Jacko,” Vance said.
“He has to learn—”
“How to practice what he’s preaching?”
Jacko snarled. “He’s mine, and I won’t have—”
“Then stop screwing other men and give him what he wants. Maybe then he’ll act more like
the lover you want.”
Jacko curled a lip but stalked into the house after his lover. Pulling in a deep breath, Vance followed. It was now or never. He had to claim what was his, and there could be no question about being strong enough to hold on to it, no matter how much Len pummeled him and tried to escape. He wanted to say yes, well, this was the test. This was the last chance Vance would get to hang on to Len long enough, hard enough, to wait him out until he did.
INSIDE, VANCE found Len sipping a glass of water, eating stew from a pink flowered bowl, crushed between Clive and Jethro, sunk into the couch cushions where maybe he felt safe enough to breathe. Alice hovered over his shoulder, and Beks sat quietly in a nearby chair. Even Christian was there, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. He stood straight and barred Vance’s way.
“You don’t get to hurt him again,” Chris growled, low and gruff, his expression hard. Light glinted off the bright eyes, and Vance nodded. He had to acknowledge the familial bond, the right these people had to protect what was his, because Len was also theirs. He’d been theirs a lot longer, and oddly, instead of making him bristle, the thought calmed him. Suddenly, he wasn’t alone in this. He had a group of people who loved Len as much as he did, who wanted him better. He didn’t have to fight them.
“I’m not going to hurt him,” he promised.
“Let him eat.”
Vance nodded as Len spooned gravy into his mouth and kept his eyes fixed on the food. He ate mechanically, because they were making him, sipping the water when someone held it out to him. He was doing what he was told because it was his instinctual default and he was out of energy or will to figure out any of it for himself. He was more broken, more utterly shattered than Vance had ever seen him.
Even the night in Boston when he’d finally hurt Damian so badly it couldn’t go ignored, the next day when they’d removed him from the band for Damian’s sake, he had not been this vacant and empty.