Behind the Stick

by K. Evan Coles

  “I’m sorry,” Kyle muttered. “I should have talked to you about it. I just didn’t know how.”

  “Why did you decide to go in the first place?”

  “I…I need to talk to someone about what happened.”

  Hurt flared in Luka’s chest. “Why can’t you talk to me about it?”

  “I don’t want to worry you! You’ve been treating me differently since that night, Luka, and I’m worried I’ll make it worse. You won’t even look at me anymore.” The pain in Kyle’s voice was clear. “Is it the scar? Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “Of course, it’s bothering me!” Luka said.

  “Oh.” Kyle’s expression turned flat and closed off. “I didn’t realize it would matter so much to you.”

  “How could it not?” Luka stared at Kyle. His heart ached every time he saw the reminder that it was his fault Kyle had been injured. “You say you didn’t want to worry me, but how could you not tell me about going to therapy?”

  “I wanted to deal with how I was feeling without impacting you. Or our relationship. But apparently, it has anyway.”

  Luka swallowed hard. “Is the therapy helping?”

  Kyle looked away. “I thought so. Now I’m…I don’t know anymore. I need some time to think about everything.”

  Time to think.

  So, Kyle didn’t want to be around Luka right now either. Maybe that was for the best. It would be better for them both if they had time apart to think about what came next. Time and distance might help. Luka had been trying to distance himself from Kyle in the past few weeks anyway, so he could do this.

  “Time to think would be good,” he said softly. “Actually, I think I need that, too.”

  Kyle’s throat worked. “Do you…want me to go?”

  Luka laughed awkwardly. Why were his thoughts spinning like this? He couldn’t even think straight, and now Kyle’s face had gone a sickly shade of pale. “I’m not kicking you out or anything.”

  “That’s not what I asked, Luka.”

  “Yeah, maybe that would be for the best.” Luka knew he sounded stiff, but how did he tell the man he loved to leave? Not because he wanted Kyle gone but because it was best for them both?

  Luka couldn’t change who he was. He glanced down at his hands. He’d never been ashamed of being biracial. Guilt washed over him now for wondering how things would have happened differently on that Brooklyn street had he and Kyle been the same race. If Luka had been different—had looked different—would it have happened? Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference, but what if it had? Kyle had been injured because of his relationship with Luka. Nearly killed. Maybe Kyle really was better off with someone more like himself.

  Kyle would be safer.

  Maybe they both would.

  Kyle’s expression was grave as he stood and crossed in front of Luka. Luka scrambled to his feet, and Kyle paused in front of him. Oh, God, the hurt in his eyes nearly killed Luka, but this was for the best. It had to be. Nothing made sense at all, but if he could just protect Kyle from getting hurt again, that was all that mattered.

  Kyle didn’t say anything more and neither did Luka. He watched Kyle bundle up again with stiff, jerky movements.

  “Be safe,” hovered on the tip of Luka’s tongue as Kyle stepped out of his apartment but the words weren’t a magic talisman. They wouldn’t protect Kyle from the dangers of the world. Nothing could.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kyle’s phone buzzed on the nightstand and he went still, black button-down shirt in hand. He watched the screen light up with an incoming message, and the mix of hope and dread that filtered through him weighed heavy on his heart. After the notification faded, he forced himself to set down the shirt and move toward the phone. He tapped the screen and his insides tightened further at Luka’s words.

  Hey. Just checking in.

  Kyle stared at the little speech bubble for a long time.

  Working the next few nights, he replied at last. What’s up?

  The usual—work, eat, sleep, repeat. Broke in a new pub in 2 Bridges w Luis and Stefan. Decent drinks, pretty fun.

  “Great,” Kyle murmured. “Glad one of us is having some.” Because what could he say to a guy who’d bypassed the bar Kyle owned in favor of a pub so far downtown it was practically in Brooklyn?

  Kyle sat down on the mattress, the task of getting dressed forgotten. He sent a thumbs-up to Luka, then set the phone face down on the nightstand and wondered again how the fuck his life had turned so completely upside down in such a short time. Kyle hadn’t felt this lost in years.

  He’d been numb after Luka’s oh-so-polite dismissal. The trip back home that night had passed in a blur, Kyle functioning on autopilot through over a dozen subway stops. He’d only truly come back to himself after he’d reached the stairs to his building. He’d gone inside and gotten drunk, a thing he almost never did alone, though it seemed like a fine idea after getting kicked to the curb. He’d needed to shut up the voices in his head, too—voices that had squeezed his heart and threatened to steal his breath. That had told Kyle he wasn’t worth anything—never had been—and only pure, dumb luck had kept Luka from figuring that out on day one.

  That drunktastic strategy had worked only as long as it took the booze to work its way out of Kyle’s system, and all he’d been left with by morning was a hellacious headache and a sour gut. He’d skipped yoga in favor of more sleep, then headed for the bar in the late afternoon where he’d worked until close and stayed locked in the bar all night working to refine Under’s latest menu. Kyle had headed home after the city started to wake so he could start the cycle all over again, minus the bourbon drinking that solved nothing.

  No matter how many days passed, nothing about his conversation with Luka made any more sense or felt less awful. Luka had started messaging again, too—a development that only increased Kyle’s mental turmoil. He tried to view the messages as a sign Luka wanted to work things out, but outside of asking how Kyle was feeling, the words in the speech bubbles were so bland and impersonal they could have been sent by a stranger. Worse, they were worded in such a way that Kyle felt in his gut he’d become an afterthought for Luka, more a task to be checked off than a real person who needed contact.

  What did you expect? You’ve got a two-inch scar on your face, and Luka can’t bear to look at you.

  Kyle’s stomach hurt. He didn’t know what to expect, from Luka or even himself, and he just wanted to bury his head in his arms and hide.

  Not an option, he told himself exactly as he imagined his therapist would if Kyle had said the words out loud during a session. But even Kyle’s internal voice sounded strained and weak, as though it belonged to someone else.

  A sudden knock sounded at the door, the sound ripping through the buzz in his head like a gunshot, and he bit back a yelp, his whole body jolting.

  “Kyle?” Jesse’s voice echoed through the silence in the apartment along with another knock. “It’s Jes and Cam. Okay if I use my keys, babe?”

  Kyle reached for the discarded shirt with unsteady hands and dragged it on, then got to his feet. Jesse had taken to knocking and asking permission to enter in recent weeks rather than letting himself in as he’d always done in the past. Carter, Riley and Malcolm were doing the same, a change Kyle suspected had everything to do with the fact he was as jumpy as an over-caffeinated Chihuahua.

  Fuck, being on edge all the goddamned time was exhausting.

  He walked out of the bedroom, working at the buttons of his shirt as he moved. “C’mon in, guys,” he called.

  The deadbolts on the door clicked and slid open one after another, and the door swung open to reveal Jesse and Cam, both loaded down with bags.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” Jesse said with a smile nowhere near typical levels of Murtagh-brightness. He and Cam stepped inside. “We were hoping we’d catch you.”

  “You didn’t answer when we called,” Cam added, “and we thought maybe you’d gone out to do errands.”


  “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear my phone.” Kyle frowned. He’d zoned out after messaging with Luka. Had he turned his phone off?

  “No worries.” Jesse closed the door and locked it, his grin wider, though his gaze stayed sharp. “We come bearing food and grooming products.”

  “Okay, and what the heck does that mean?” Kyle asked.

  “I figured we’d throw dinner together, and I’d show you how to take better care of the growth on your face.”

  Kyle’s stomach dropped lower than his feet. “Why?”

  “Well, as hot as you are, you still need some grooming,” Jesse said. He and Cam set the bags down and crossed the room toward him. “Your beard is starting to wear you, babe, instead of the other way around, if you know what I mean.”

  That’s the whole point, Kyle thought in a rush. If people are looking at the beard, that means they’re not looking at my—

  He fought off a flinch as Jesse laid his warm palm against Kyle’s right cheek.

  “Cam makes a hell of a roasted chicken,” Jesse said, his voice low and sweet. “I also brought a big-ass bag of the best beard products money can buy. We’re talking Murtagh tested and approved, so you know they’re good.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that we’re crashing your Thursday night,” Cam threw in with a soft smile. He stepped up to Kyle’s left. “We brought enough food for at least four if you’re expecting anyone for dinner.”

  Kyle huffed out a weak laugh. He wasn’t on shift for another five hours, but he’d planned to stop in at the reopened Burger Barn to say hi to Maya and Nestor, then spend the afternoon at Under, researching recipes and filling out paperwork so he could ignore the shambles of his personal life. He recognized the gleam in his friends’ eyes however. Neither Jesse nor Cam would leave before they were good and ready, and arguing with them would just make them dig their heels in harder.

  “I’m not expecting anyone,” Kyle said, “but let me change my shirt if we’re gonna cook.”

  He let out a soft ‘oof’ when Jesse pulled him into a hug, and Cam was on them a second later, long arms dragging Kyle and Jesse in tighter.

  “First, you have to greet us properly, you fucking heathen,” Jesse murmured. “So rude.” The petulance in his tone brought a real smile to Kyle’s face.

  The three spent the next hour jockeying for position in Kyle’s tiny kitchen. They chatted about a low-key celebration of Kyle’s birthday during Under’s private party the following week and a much noisier affair planned for Southampton a few days after that, and Kyle assured his friends he’d be okay with both. He didn’t really feel like any kind of party, and he’d have to explain away Luka’s absences, but Kyle would work it out. He’d always been good at telling half-truths when the occasion called for them.

  Despite his earlier dark mood, Kyle felt looser and more buoyant than he had in weeks. Jesse and Cam had brought several bottles of very good wine as well as two large chickens, and once the birds and an enormous pan of root vegetables were roasting in the oven, Jesse inclined his head in the direction of Kyle’s bathroom.

  “Okay, you. Time to get your beard on. Bring your wine and try not to get any hair in it.”

  Kyle worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m…I don’t want to trim much,” he said, “and nothing sharp near the scar.”

  “Does it still hurt?” A furrow worked its way between Cam’s eyebrows.

  “It doesn’t hurt so much as zing. I know that’s not the right word, but I don’t know how else to describe it.”

  “It’s sensitive,” Jesse guessed.

  “It can be,” Kyle replied. “I’m working on desensitizing it, but the thought of something catching there…” A shudder worked its way along his spine.

  Jesse rubbed Kyle’s shoulder “I get you. Why don’t I show you what I brought, and you can decide if anything could pose a problem?”

  And that was how Kyle ended up perched on a barstool in his bathroom while his friend walked him through caring for the facial hair he’d grown in the wake of the injury to his face. He was overdue for a clean-up in general, Kyle saw now. On top of not shaving, he’d put off getting his haircut, too, and the longer, bone-straight locks and beard shone shaggy and almost blue-black against his pale skin.

  Jesse raked the hair off Kyle’s forehead with a fond smile. “If you grow a man bun, I’m going to punch you so hard.”

  “Promises, promises,” Kyle muttered.

  “Kinky. Okay, first, you moisturize.” Jesse held up a small brown bottle with a dropper. “Your beard’s full, so I say go oil instead of balm.” Taking Kyle’s hand, he squeezed four drops onto the palm.

  Kyle rubbed his hands together and breathed in vanilla and bourbon. “Oh, wow.”

  Jesse chuckled. “I had a feeling you’d like that.” He oiled up his own palms and led Kyle through the motions of moisturizing his beard and skin.

  “This feels nice,” Kyle said, mostly to himself.

  “Right? Now, I know you’re leery about sharp edges,” Jesse said, “but you need to comb the hairs out so you can see where it needs trimming.” He held up a flat brush in one hand and a wide-toothed comb in the other, both fashioned out of warm-toned wood. “These are designed to be super smooth. Start with the brush and work your way up to the comb with time.”

  Kyle nodded and swallowed down the itchy feeling skittering under his skin. “Okay.”

  With some guidance, he used the boar-bristle brush and a pair of shears to groom his beard to a length slightly greater than Jesse’s more tailored style. Satisfaction thrummed in Kyle’s chest as he uncovered the shape of his face. He’d never gone longer than a week without shaving before, and though he didn’t look at himself in the mirror much these days, the lush beard felt both comforting and strange. Kyle looked better with some clean-up. He felt better, too, and that was a nice change.

  “You know, I prefer you with stubble, but this wolfman thing is a good look on you,” Jesse murmured, his eyes on Kyle in the mirror. “Not that I’m surprised.”

  The open admiration in his gaze warmed Kyle’s insides. Maybe he didn’t look so bad with the scar under wraps.

  Jesse caught his eye. “You’re really carrying a hipster-fuckface vibe right now though, and it’ll be way over the top if you wear those stupid suspenders of yours.”

  Kyle smiled. “Think it’d be too much if I rocked a bowtie, too?”

  “I’d probably hump your leg,” Cam said from the doorway. He grinned bright as Kyle’s and Jesse’s laughter echoed around them. Kyle noticed the camera in Cam’s hands then, and his shoulders tensed up all over again. Before he could protest, Jesse handed him a compact electric trimmer.

  “Use this to clean up any hairs on your cheeks and neck. You could change the lines on your face, too, but I wouldn’t—the shape you’ve got going works.” Jesse stepped behind Kyle and pressed against his back, reaching around Kyle’s body and guiding his movements.

  Despite the task at hand, Kyle’s brain wanted to focus on the camera that told him Cam was capturing images and probably had been all along.

  “What’s with the camera?” he asked, though he didn’t dare look away from his reflection.

  “Are you kidding?” Cam asked, a smile evident in his voice. “I’ve got two beautiful men engaged in exaggerated grooming behavior right in front of me—do you expect me not to record this for posterity?”

  “That’s Cam’s way of saying he needs fresh images for his spank bank.”

  Jesse’s dry tone pulled another laugh out of Kyle, but luckily, Jesse had turned off the trimmer in time to prevent any damage from being done.

  It feels good to laugh, Kyle thought.

  The timer in the kitchen sounded, and Jesse stepped back around Kyle while Cam slipped out to see to his chickens.

  “I wasn’t lying,” Jesse said. He set the trimmer down and turned so he could rest his ass against the sink. “It’s been a while since you played with Cam and me, and we miss you. Cam says
you haven’t been around for gaming either.”

  The words tugged at the frayed edges of Kyle’s heart. “I know. I miss you, too. I just need to get my head back together some more. Especially now that…” Kyle bit his lip.

  Jesse shifted forward until he stood between Kyle’s knees and slipped his arms around Kyle’s neck. “Especially now what?”

  Now that Luka doesn’t want me.

  Kyle closed his eyes. Saying those words out loud—admitting Luka was all but gone from his life—made it too real. And damn, they hurt.

  “It’s nothing,” he murmured instead. He wound his arms around Jesse’s hips and pressed his forehead against the tight torso in front of him. “Thanks for this, Jes.”

  “Of course,” Jesse said. “You want to talk about it, babe?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay.” Jesse stayed quiet for a beat, then pressed a kiss against Kyle’s hair. “Anything you need, you call.”

  * * * *

  “You look well, Kyle,” Dr. Okafor observed. He and Kyle settled into a pair of oversized chairs upholstered in pale blue wool.

  “It’s the beard.” Kyle ran his fingers over his jaw. “Some friends staged an intervention a few days ago and helped me get it under control.”

  Dr. Okafor raised his brows, his interest clear. “Ah. I hoped to hear you’d gotten more than a few hours’ sleep, but I daresay it was time well spent. You look refreshed.”

  “It was nice hanging out with them.” Kyle licked his lips. “Nice doing something for myself for a change, I suppose. I had dinner with some other friends yesterday, too. Outside of work, I haven’t been going out as much.”

  “Any particular reason why?”

  Kyle leveled a look at his therapist. “You already know the subway makes me nervous sometimes.”

  “I do. We’ve discussed that you could always call for a car. Is there more to it than that?”

  “Yes.” Kyle frowned. “I’ve been feeling…disconnected from myself since the night I got jumped. At first, I thought it was the concussion, but now I think maybe it was a reaction to what happened. Coming here and talking to you helped me see that.”