David, Renewed

by Diana Copland

  A baseball cap covered his curly black hair, but when he looked up his chestnut eyes, surrounded by thick black lashes, were arresting. There was one particularly angry scar bisecting a brow and curling around his cheekbone, but other than that, his smooth, golden brown skin was healed. He nodded in greeting but didn’t offer his hand, his shoulders hunched and his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. David ached looking at his body language, the way he held himself withdrawn even when surrounded by his friends.

  “So, that gives us six guys.” Gil surveyed the group, then looked back at the house.

  “Actually I think David and I should only count as one.” Michael gave David an irritated look.

  “Speak for yourself, Mary,” David shot back and the other men laughed.

  “Let’s start in the living room and work our way to the back, okay? I think we should load the couch first. Vern, why don’t you stick with me? You, Manny, Jackson, and I can grab the heavy stuff. Michael and David, why don’t you put the lamps and smaller pieces in the back of the GMC? We want to make sure they don’t break.”

  It made David feel a bit marginalized, but he also could see Gil’s point. They started toward the house and David grabbed Gil’s arm, halting him. He put his hand in his jacket and pulled out a check, placing it in Gil’s hand.

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “Really.”

  Gil winked at him, squeezing his hand before putting the check in his front pocket without opening it.

  They spent the next three hours emptying the house of all the furniture plus a few other things. It wasn’t long before the heavy outer jackets were abandoned. Jackson and Manny were whipcord lean with broad shoulders and impressive biceps, but Vernon and Gil were built along the lines of a mountain range. For an older guy, Vernon had a spectacular body, shown to advantage in a tight dark T-shirt.

  “Wow, Vernon,” David said the first time he saw him without the jacket. “That’s… impressive.”

  Vernon grinned and flexed his bicep. It was bigger than David’s head.

  Several times over the course of the morning, people would call out “Does this rug go?” or “What about this mattress, man?” David started to answer, but Gil overrode him with “Everything goes. If David doesn’t want it, he can put it on Craigslist.” They systematically emptied each of the rooms, rolled up the rugs, gathered up the lamps. As more and more was placed in the box truck and the back of Jackson’s pickup, David was still convinced he hadn’t paid nearly enough for all of it. Even the extra five hundred dollars he’d added to the check he gave Gil didn’t make up for it. When Vernon appeared on the front porch with tools and began to unscrew the bolts holding the swing in place, David stopped in the middle of the lawn, his hand over his mouth in dismay.

  An arm draped over his shoulders and for a moment, David thought it was Michael. But then his sense of smell kicked in. It was Jackson with his arm around him. Heat slid down David’s spine as his body registered the strength in his arm, the muscled ribcage against his side. Jackson had put his arm around him the day before, when he’d been panicked, but this was… different.

  “What’s the matter?” Jackson asked, his voice pitched low.

  It took David a moment to remember. “The swing,” he murmured, turning his head. Jackson’s face was so close, his eyes on a level with David’s. “It’s too much.”

  One of Jackson’s brows arched. “You don’t want it?”

  David inhaled deeply. “Oh, I want it. From the moment I saw it, I’ve wanted it. You know that.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  David exhaled in consternation. “I didn’t pay enough for everything as it is, Jackson. Not all the different bedroom furniture and the swing….”

  Jackson squeezed his upper arm and turned his mouth to David’s ear. His breath brushed David’s skin and gooseflesh rose on his arms. Jackson smelled like spicy cologne mixed with healthy, clean sweat and the scent went straight to David’s chest, then headed south. “When Gil told you his dad had investments?” he said, so softly only David could hear. David nodded. “He didn’t tell you that his dad was loaded. Seriously loaded. Let him do this, okay? He likes you.”

  “Okay, but it doesn’t feel right to me.”

  Jackson’s hand slid to David’s nape and rested there. David fought the urge to close his eyes and lean into the calloused hand.

  “So hire him to do some work at your place.”

  Jackson was so close, David could see the flecks of darker blue in his sky-blue eyes, and he had to grasp for what he’d been going to ask. “What does he do?” he finally managed. How silly that he didn’t already know. Jackson gave him a relaxed grin.

  “House painter. A good one. And that kitchen of yours is a crime against nature.”

  David laughed. Actually the bathrooms were worse. The tile in the bath off the master was light blue but the walls were yellow. Yeah, he could definitely hire Gil to paint. And then he might not feel so guilty about what had to be considered the deal of the century.

  Vernon passed them, the swing held in one strong, misshapen hand. “Come on, lovers. There’s still work to be done in there.”

  Jackson flipped him off casually and went back into the house, and David could feel the heat as it filled his fair skin. Lovers? He could only wish. The tingling ghost of the touch of Jackson’s hand at his nape still lingered.

  “Very subtle.” Michael came to stand beside him. “You’re cool as a cucumber. As long as people ignore the fact you all but humped his leg.”

  “I will fire you,” David muttered.

  “You won’t. Then you’d have to do your own job.”

  “You’re obnoxious.” David elbowed him in his ribs and Michael made an aggrieved sound and rubbed the spot.

  “Asshole.”

  “Princess.”

  Michael crossed his arms. He’d lost his sweatshirt at some point and he looked very young and very thin. “And what’s wrong with that I’d like to know? Believe me, if I was a princess, I wouldn’t be schlepping your shit around.”

  “Sure you would be,” Gil said, walking by and patting Michael on the shoulder. He almost knocked him to the ground. “Think Cinderella. She could schlep circles around you.”

  Michael huffed in exaggerated outrage even as Gil closed the back of the huge box truck and slid the bolt home. “We ready to roll, girls?”

  “Speak for yourself, pal.” Michael pulled his hoodie back on. “I’ll have you know I’m very manly.”

  “You keep telling yourself that,” Vern teased. “Those skinny jeans are so tight I’m surprised they don’t cut off circulation to that part you think makes you manly.” He gave Michael a wicked grin as he blushed. “But I do want to thank you for the scenery. You have a mighty nice ass there, sweetheart.”

  “I….” Michael seemed at a loss. David swallowed a grin; he didn’t think he’d ever seen Michael at a loss for words.

  Gil grimaced. “Jesus, Vern. Leave him alone.”

  “What?” Vern spread his hands, looking honestly surprised. “It was a compliment.”

  “Just… try to stop being a jackass.” Gil trudged past David and Michael, Vern winking at a still-speechless Michael as he passed.

  Manny gave them a small, shy smile as he followed them.

  Michael stepped closer to David’s shoulder. “Okay,” he murmured, “so what’s Manny’s story?”

  “Later,” David promised, pulling on his own jacket before climbing into Jackson’s truck.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SIX HOURS later, David sat sprawled on his living room floor, looking around at the men draped across the furniture and at the pizza boxes, empty plates, and beer bottles in various stages of completion that, very thoughtfully, mostly sat on coasters. His furniture, he thought with a low thrum of pleasure, looked as magnificent in the space as he’d known it would, even with six tired men lounging on it. And on the floor. And in the ugly recliner, which had been shoved to one side.

&nbs
p; They were all exhausted, but they’d busted their collective asses. David’s bedroom was set up, as was a guest room with the ornate French furniture, and a home office in the third. The brass bed and the white furniture were taking up temporary residence in the back of his garage, which still left room for his little car. And David hurt in places he didn’t even know he had.

  If he was sore, he could only assume the others had to be so much worse, but the only one bitching was Michael.

  “I’m not built for manual labor,” he whined from his spot in the recliner. He was so tired he’d dropped into the ugly chair without even complaining about the upholstery.

  “Good thing,” Vernon growled from his spot in the rocker. “Because you didn’t do much.”

  “Hey.”

  “Be nice, you old bitch.” Gil kicked Vernon’s foot from his spot on the sofa. “He worked hard. I didn’t see your sorry ass carrying a dozen lamps and throw rugs out of the house.” Vern grumbled under his breath and Gil sent him a teasing smile. “If you can’t be nice, I won’t invite you to play with us anymore.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Vern grimaced. “Baby, if this was your idea of playing, it’s no wonder you can’t get laid.”

  Gil’s broad face filled with embarrassed color.

  “Time out.” Jackson made a T with his hands from where he was sprawled on his back on the floor. He’d had at least three beers and to David’s delight his usual quiet, almost pensive nature had been replaced with a loose-limbed grace and a gently ironic sense of humor. “Ten yards for excessive bitchiness.”

  Everyone but Vernon laughed. Vernon gave him a scowl, and to David’s amusement, Jackson blew him a kiss.

  David studied each of the men in turn. Gil, the gentle giant, Vernon, the crabapple with a decent heart at his core. Michael, watching Gil with surprising interest, as if trying to figure him out. David would pursue that topic later. His gaze moved on to Manny, who was sitting next to Gil on the sofa. He’d removed his baseball hat, tossing it on the coffee table, running his fingers through his damp, curly hair. The beer seemed to help him loosen up too, and he wasn’t as self-conscious about his scars.

  David was glad. He liked these men, even irascible Vernon, and he wanted them to be comfortable in his home. He wanted to pursue friendships with them, and it was freeing to know he wasn’t going to have to listen to Trevor’s bitching and snotty comments about how they weren’t “on the same level” as he was. He even wondered if he could maybe reconnect with the friends he’d allowed Trevor to run off over the years.

  Someone nudged his foot. Jackson’s booted foot lay between his, and David followed the long line of his body up to his face. His arms were pillowed beneath his head and he watched David with a slight smile. He looked amazing, even after a day’s hard labor, and David’s heart lifted looking at him.

  “You okay?” Jackson mouthed, dark brows lifted. David returned his smile, nodding. Jackson winked at him and closed his eyes.

  A persistent buzzing sounded nearby and Jackson jerked, then rolled onto his hip to reach back and pull an iPhone out of his back pocket. He sat up, frowning before punching a button on its face and bringing it to his ear.

  “Henry,” he answered briskly. He listened for a few moments and the color drained from his face. “Where?” he asked, his voice hard. “I’ll be right there.” He disconnected the call, then sat for a moment, staring blankly at his phone.

  “Jackson? Man, you okay?” Gil sat forward.

  “I… it’s my mom.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket and pushed to his feet. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Is she okay?” David stood as well, wincing at a stab of pain in his lower back as Jackson began to pat down his pockets, apparently looking for his keys.

  “I don’t know,” he answered faintly. “That was the neighbor. I guess she fell….” He continued to look for his keys, growing more agitated.

  “I’ll drive you,” David offered.

  A frown pulled down the corners of his mobile mouth. “No, I can….”

  “You’ve been drinking, Jackson.” David gentled his voice. “The last thing you need is to get pulled over.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Dude, you can’t even find your keys,” Gil pointed out. “Let the man drive you.”

  “I… okay.” Jackson wasn’t happy about it, but he apparently didn’t want to argue about it either.

  “That’s our cue, boys.” Gil grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch and shrugged into it.

  The other men were on their feet, collecting jackets and heading out the door, telling Jackson they hoped his mom was okay. Michael paused before he left, touching David’s elbow.

  “Call me,” he said, his voice quiet, but the words were no less emphatic for their volume. David nodded, then locked the door after him.

  “We’ll go out through the back.” David turned off the lights in the dining room as they passed. The house fell into shadow behind him. They went through the kitchen and down the step to the service porch.

  The Yaris was parked in the garage, and the lights of Gil’s box truck lit up the doors briefly as he backed out of the driveway. It was after five o’clock, but it got dark earlier and earlier this time of year. They went into the shadowy garage and Jackson jogged around the back of the car as David climbed in behind the steering wheel. He opened the garage door with a press of a button.

  “Where am I going?” He started the car.

  “Fourteenth,” Jackson answered, clearly distracted as he fastened his seat belt. “Take Meadow Wood south. That’s the closest route.”

  Other than giving terse directions when they reached intersections, Jackson didn’t say anything, and David didn’t try to engage him in conversation. When they turned onto the street where Jackson’s mom lived, Jackson cursed under his breath. An ambulance was in a driveway halfway down the block, red and blue lights rotating, cast weird shadows on the people milling about at the curb.

  “I take it that’s it?” David stared in concern.

  “Yeah.”

  Jackson was out of the car before David had pulled to a complete stop, and he ran across the lawn as David parked in front of the house.

  David jogged after him, pushing between two of the neighbors in time to see paramedics emerge through the front door of the nondescript little house, a gurney between them with the head raised. An older woman with shoulder-length, wavy white hair lay on it. There was a thick bandage around her head that was already soaked with blood. Jackson was speaking to the female paramedic at the rear of the gurney when David arrived.

  “…said she lost her balance and fell against a bookcase in the office,” she was saying. She leaned toward him slightly. “Does your mom drink?”

  Jackson shook his head. “No, she has MS.” The woman nodded.

  “She’s pretty out of it. She couldn’t even tell us what medication she’s on.”

  “I have a list in my phone.”

  “Jackson?” Jackson’s mom spoke, her voice wavering. She held out her hand and he took it in his, wrapping his long fingers around her small palm.

  “I’m here, Mom. What happened?”

  “I was paying bills, and when I stood up from my desk, I… got so dizzy.” She took a deep, shuddering breath on what sounded like a sob. “I’m so sorry, honey. I couldn’t remember your phone number. I’m so sorry.”

  “Hush.” Jackson rubbed her arm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.”

  “The only number I could think of was Evelyn’s. I’m ruining these clothes. And there’s blood all over the floor….”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.”

  “You already have to take care of too much.” Now she was crying openly, tears streaming down her cheeks, and it broke David’s heart.

  “Hush, Mom. It’s okay.” Jackson spoke to her so gently, bending his head to kiss the knuckles of the hand he held. “It’s all going to be okay.”

  T
hey loaded her into the open back of the ambulance and the paramedic spoke to Jackson. “We can’t let you ride in the back, but we’re taking her to Holy Family. If you could get her insurance and medication information and meet us there, that would be great. Does she have an advanced directive?”

  David’s hands curled into fists. He knew what that meant. Jackson nodded, running his hand through his hair.

  “Jackson!” His mother sounded panicked, and Jackson leaned in through the ambulance door.

  “It’s okay, Mom. They’re going to take you to Holy Family and I’ll meet you there.”

  “You can’t come with me?”

  “I can’t, but I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

  Jackson’s mother subsided into the padded top of the stretcher. Jackson saw the male paramedic lean in and speak to her softly, his hand over the one clenched in her lap. Slowly her fingers relaxed.

  “How bad is it?” Jackson asked as the female paramedic closed the back doors. She paused.

  “It’s pretty bad. Head injuries always bleed a lot, but this one is significant.” She ran around the side of the ambulance, and Jackson and David stood in the street as it pulled out of the driveway, heading off with the siren blaring.

  Jackson stared after it, such a lost look on his face that David’s heart rolled over hard.

  “Jackson.” He touched his arm. “You need to get your mom’s stuff together.”

  Jackson looked at him, then blinked and nodded. “Right, right.” He went into the house and David followed.

  An older lady stood inside the door. She was trembling.

  “Honey, I’m so sorry,” she said to Jackson. “I probably should have waited but she was bleeding so much and the cut is so awful….”

  “Evelyn, you did exactly right.” He squeezed her elbow. “Thank you for taking care of her.” He disappeared down a shadowed hallway, and moments later David heard drawers being opened.

  The woman looked up at David, her eyes wide and frightened. She had blood on her hands and some on the sleeve of her housedress.

  “You’re going to want to go get cleaned up.” He gentled his voice. She looked down at her hands and exhaled heavily.