by Rhys Ford
“What does?” Rob stroked up and down Mace’s thigh with his graceful fingers, a comforting touch he probably didn’t even realize he was doing, but it was an intimate gesture, something a man would do to show his lover he was listening. “Start wherever you want to start, but dude, this shit is tearing you apart, and no one’s going to be able to help you if you don’t talk about it.”
Mace finally looked up and drowned in the golden gaze of a man with a pretty mouth and apparently a beautiful soul. The itch he had for Rob was threatening to blossom into something bigger and deeper, a tantalizing will-o’-the-wisp of an emotion, but Mace feared he would be doomed if he followed.
God, he ached to be loved. He wanted nothing more than to fill the emptiness inside. No matter how hard he fought to secure a place among the brothers, he knew their affection was built on a lie, a construct of the person he’d thrown up to shield their eyes from the monster he’d been. There couldn’t be any forgiveness for him, not with what stained his past, but the festering decay of his memories needed to be cut out, even if it left gaping holes in who he was.
He would begin to strip away the lies starting with Rob, and then he would stand before the four men he loved more than anything else in the world and beg for them not to throw him out. But no matter what happened, it was time for him to break free of those chains.
“We were driving around in a van, one that didn’t have any windows on the sides. It was my father and three of his friends. I was about nine, I think. It’s fuzzy because… you see, he would lock me in a closet or bathroom when people would come over, because he couldn’t show my face. If I did anything wrong, he would put me into the darkness and leave me there.” Mace went back to picking at his thumbnail, comforted by the click-click. The ever-present hunger was back in his mind, and the hollow pressure built in his belly and stretched back toward his spine. “I could never tell how long, but there were times when I was so hungry I scraped paint off the walls to eat. I would piss myself, and then when he let me out, he would beat me because a dog knew better than to go to the bathroom inside the house.
“I could hear them talking but then there would be long stretches of silence, and sometimes I wondered if he forgot me. He started going out for longer periods of time, locking me in there with Gatorade bottles and those neon-orange peanut-butter-and-cheese-cracker packets. I’d have to make them last, but I never knew how long he’d be, so sometimes I ran out, and I’d get so thirsty,” Mace confessed with a chuckle. “It’s stupid, but now I always have a water bottle on me, and I can’t stand the fucking silence or the dark. I hate closing my bedroom door. I hate the sound of the lock on the front door, but it’s not like I can leave it open. If there’s noise, then I know I’m alive. There were quite a few times when I wondered if I was actually dead, because it never ended.”
“What were you saying about the van?” Rob pressed against the spot. There was something in Rob’s voice, something thick and dark, but Mace still couldn’t meet his eyes. “What does that have to do with the scar?”
“The scar… he put that there because I needed to learn a lesson. Because I….” Mace moved forward and pulled away from Rob’s touch. He wouldn’t be able to speak if Rob continued to touch him. It was hard enough not to wrap his arms around Rob and hold him until the sound of the rain sluiced away the stickiness left over from that horrible night. “He told me we were going to go out and get something to eat, but instead, we drove around for… I don’t know how long, but it was like the city got quieter and quieter as we went. One time we stopped for gas, and they started in about going in to have a talk with the guy behind the counter, but my father said it was too… open. Too many people. I didn’t know what he meant then, but later on…. He didn’t want anyone to see what they were doing, because they’d already made up their minds to kill someone. They just didn’t know who.”
Rob sucked in a breath and clenched his fingers, digging into Mace’s thigh. “Fuck. Mace….”
“I fell asleep in the back of the van. It didn’t have any seats, so I was on the floor, leaning against some carpet. I woke up when the van suddenly stopped, because I hit my head on the side.” Mace grimaced and rubbed at a spot on the back of his skull. “I gashed it open, and I started to sniffle, but my dad told me to shut up. Then everything… kind of went to shit.”
That night, the van’s doors had opened up to a deluge not unlike the one pounding at the apartment’s windows. It was as though even the storm was frightened of the past, flogged on by the whipping frenzy of Mace’s shrouded memories. He’d cowered against the cold steel of the van’s bare metal walls, his legs cramped and twisted from being curled up in a ball.
“I don’t know who the guy was. I think he was Hispanic. I don’t know.” His breath was hot, but a chilling numbness spread through Mace’s limbs. “It had to be two or three in the morning, because nobody was around. And maybe this guy missed the bus or he just walked but… they pulled the van in close to him, and my dad pushed open the side door before it even came to a full stop. I remember crying out, thinking he was going to fall and hurt himself. Then I wondered if they were stopping to pick up this guy because he was their friend and it was raining.
“It’s kind of stupid what your brain does when you’re a kid. It tries to make sense out of things even when you know in your gut something’s wrong. Your brain tries to make it okay. And it was okay until my dad caught the baseball bat one of his friends tossed at him and swung it against the guy’s back.” The crack of wood on bone resonated in Mace’s mind. It became a drumbeat, an uneven roll of percussive strikes with the occasional slap of the bat on the concrete stretch separating the two buildings the man had cut in between. “They wouldn’t stop hitting him. And I didn’t understand what he was saying, but he was begging, there was no mistaking that. He was begging for his life and maybe his family. I don’t know.
“I started screaming, and my dad looked up. I wanted them to stop, but when he did, his face was… he was splattered with blood, and you would’ve thought he was bathed in chocolate, because he was ecstatic, like he’d seen God.” Mace bit his lower lip hard enough to cut it, and Rob made a worried sound and slid his thumb across Mace’s mouth.
“Don’t do that,” Rob admonished. “You didn’t have anything to do with that. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up over it. That’s your father—”
“He grabbed me from the van,” Mace said. He shook his head as he grabbed Rob’s hand, kissed his fingers, and let it drop. “He rushed at the open doors and grabbed me by my shirt, holding the bat in his other hand. He dragged me across the ground. He didn’t care that I wasn’t walking or that he was tearing open the skin on my legs because my sweatpants were too big and they were getting pulled off. We got close to where the others were, and he threw me down on the ground. Then he grabbed my hair and held the bat out, and when I wouldn’t take it, he bent my fingers open and wrapped them around the grip.
“That’s when he told me I had to prove to him that I loved him, that I’d do anything for him.” He choked on his words as he forced the barbed truth to leave his throat. The smell of blood was in his nose, a constant metallic aroma he always associated with rain, but Mace pushed on. “He punched my face and told me if I didn’t do it, if I didn’t help them beat this man, he would use the bat on me and leave me there.”
He paused to catch his breath, then said, “So I began swinging.”
IT WAS painful to hear and even more agonizing to watch, but Rob knew he couldn’t turn away from Mace. Too many people had. And those who’d reached out to him had done so only to inflict unimaginable trauma. His dark lashes were matted with still-damp tears, and speckles of dried blood dotted his lip where Mace had worried at his flesh with his teeth.
Seeing Mace relive that night was like watching an angel being condemned for crimes he didn’t commit and then plummet from the heavens as he fell from grace.
One thing was certain—the only one who felt guilty about th
at night was the man who sat next to him on the couch, broken and torn apart by a father who should’ve loved him, who should’ve protected him. For the first time in his life, Rob was grateful for his father’s apathy. Despite all of the subtle slurs and jabs he’d suffered through growing up, his family had never tried to turn him into a monster.
He was also damn sure Mace’s father had failed to do that to his son.
“You aren’t responsible for any of that,” Rob assured him, but it seemed as though he was speaking to a shadow, because Mace only stared off into the distance, his attention fixed on something Rob couldn’t see. “I need you to hear me. You’ve got to know that—”
“My mother turned me back over to CPS,” Mace whispered. He ran his hands through his hair. It was too short to tangle but long enough to stick up, and Rob resisted the urge to stroke the bristly locks back down because he wanted to give Mace some kind of order in his life, no matter how small. “When they finally found me, she couldn’t stand to look at me. She saw the scar on my shoulder and told me she couldn’t take me home. He’d had his friends hold me down, and they carved that into me that night because I’d become one of them. I didn’t understand what it meant, but I found out soon enough once they found me.
“She fell in love and married a guy while I was gone. Had a couple of kids, and then all of a sudden, I show back up with this thing on my back and my soul twisted up. I was all ready to go home. I didn’t even care that there were other kids or that I had to share her. I just wanted to go to someplace he wasn’t.” Mace closed his eyes and turned his face away from Rob. “I only saw her long enough for her to tell me I wasn’t going with her. And that night I had the crazy idea that if I could somehow get that mark off of me, she would take me home. So I tried to dig it out with a fork I got from the cafeteria. That’s why it looks the way it does, because… I just wanted to go home.”
It was the final bit of truth that broke Mace. One moment he was as pale and stiff as a piece of marble, a beautiful statue carved by a master hand, a thing of beauty with hairline cracks barely noticeable to the naked eye, and then a moment later, he was flesh and bone, curled up into a ball and weeping uncontrollably.
Rob wept with him.
He grieved with Mace and sobbed for a little boy who’d had his entire life stolen from him and then was left to pick up its shattered pieces. In the moments between crying jags, Rob sent rusty prayers to a God he’d turned his back on years before and gave thanks to fate for bringing Mace to Bear’s family.
“I can’t ever get clean,” Mace confessed through a barrage of hiccups. “And there’s things that I do that I can’t stop, like needing the stereo or TV on or having a nightlight in the bathroom. It took me five years to stop stashing food in my stuff, and I fucking hate the taste of those goddamned crackers, but I still buy them because… you just don’t know… it’s like a safety net. I’m never going to eat them, but I know they’re there, so I have something to fall back on. And they get bugs. After a fucking year, they get these little bugs, and I have to throw them away, and I keep promising myself I’ll never buy them again, but I fucking do.
“I’m too fucked-up to have somebody in my life, and now that my dad is out, I’m scared shitless he’s going to hurt somebody I love. I can’t risk Bear and the others.” Mace pulled Rob’s hand toward him and cradled it against his hard abdomen. “You drive me crazy, and I’ve been wanting to see what you tasted like for… shit, since the day you first walked into the shop.”
“If you want the truth, you kind of make me insane.” Rob made a face, caught between comforting Mace and confessing something he hadn’t even been willing to admit to himself. “I kind of… like you. Even when you’re an asshole and bossy, you turn me on, and I think you’re crazy if you believe no one will love you. Yeah, your dad fucked you up good, but your brothers… man, I wish they were my family, because I know they’re going to be here for you. I’m going to be here for you. After what happened today—everything that happened today—there’s no way in hell I’m going to walk away from you, not when you’ve shown me that you’re the strongest and best person I’ve ever known.”
Eleven
EVERYTHING WAS too raw, abraded past the skin of Mace’s emotions and in the midst of Mace’s breakdown. Rob felt himself swept away by the sorrow pouring out of the man sitting next to him. Rob held Mace until he couldn’t cry anymore and then bundled him in a blanket and put him to bed. He left a white-noise machine on and cracked the bathroom door open so the nightlight would spill into the bedroom.
When he closed the front door, he promised himself he’d circle back, dig back into the pain festering in Mace, and do whatever it took to break through the mask Mace wore to keep the broken pieces of his heart safe from hurt.
FIVE DAYS later they still hadn’t talked about what happened between them, and Rob was pretty sure Mace hadn’t said jack shit to his brothers about Mace’s father approaching him in the parking garage.
If Rob was being fair, Mace seemed to constantly be at the fire station, pulling extra shifts and covering for Rey as Gus’s custody case came to an end. He’d had to reschedule a couple of clients around the celebration party the brothers would be holding in an hour, and his invitation to the festivities came with a subtle hint from Ivo that his help setting up would be greatly appreciated.
And by subtle, Ivo pretty much looked at him and said, “It’s free beer and food. Show up at four and help me get the tables set up. I’ll make sure you get the first hamburgers off the grill.”
Hamburgers were the least of Rob’s worries, but it was as good of an excuse as any to corner Mace that evening.
By the time Rob returned with a rolling steel chest he’d filled with ice at the burrito place a few doors down, the shop had gone from empty to packed with familiar faces that Rob had only seen in videos or on CD cases. It seemed like the brothers were hooked into a social circle that included rock stars, police officers, and the occasional performance artist, one of whom showed up with a bag full of long balloons and was currently twisting his way into making a googly-eyed walrus.
He found Mace in the crowd as soon as he came through the front door.
Even worn down around the edges and bone tired, Mace in old jeans and a thin T-shirt was enough to make Rob’s mouth water.
“Jesus, why the fuck do you have to be so damned hot?” Rob grumbled as he dragged the ice chest across the reception floor. “Just you breathing messes up my brain.”
It didn’t help to know how Mace’s stomach muscles rippled when Rob licked at his nipple or the delicious, slightly stinging pleasure of Mace’s fingers when they tugged through his hair, pulled Rob’s chin up, and exposed his throat to Mace’s teeth, or how Mace’s eyes seemed to darken and his jawline grew hard when he met Rob’s eyes from across the shop’s floor.
“You better wipe that expression off your face before one of the other owners sees it,” Lilith whispered into his ear, “because right now you look like you’re starving to death and he’s the biggest piece of macadamia nut brittle cheesecake you’ve ever seen.”
“Shut up!” Rob glanced around him, hoping no one overheard her. “I like this job. I like this shop, and the brothers not only know their shit, they share it, so I’d kind of like to not get fired. I’ve also got bills.”
“Well, since I’m your landlord, we can take rent off the table. That’ll cut things down.” Lilith eyed Mace and murmured in appreciation. “He looks a hell of a lot better up close than he does washing down that fire truck. That is the one, right?”
“Once again, zip it, Lil,” he muttered. “Help me get this—”
“Hey, let me grab that.” Bear had cut through the crowd, and gave Rob a welcoming nod. “Why don’t you guys grab some food and mingle? Thanks for helping out, and don’t let Ivo con you into doing anything else. He shouldn’t have drafted you to begin with, but I really appreciate it. Means a lot to me and the guys.”
Bear grabbed the heavy steel
ice chest by the handles and hefted it up as though it was empty and made of Styrofoam. The man was pure muscle, his 415 Ink T-shirt strained across the bulge of his biceps, and Lilith growled somewhere deep in her throat. Either Bear didn’t hear her or he politely ignored her sensual moan.
“Down, girl,” Rob muttered back at Lilith. “Besides, he’s gay. And when did you start going for the ‘one blue ox away from lumberjack’?”
“That bit of lovely is more stevedore than lumberjack.” She hooked her arm into his as she teetered on her high heels and leaned against him for support as they began to work their way through the crowd. “And that’s the best part about being omnisexual—I can have lots of types. As my Ma-Ma said, don’t limit your choices.”
“She said that about dim sum, not men.” Rob snagged a Finnegan’s special brew from one of the steel washtubs filled with ice, popped the cap off, and handed it to Lilith. “She also said that about sushi-boat restaurants. And taco shops. Actually, I think that was pretty much her standard opinion about anything with a limited menu. It’s why you had to lie to her about where you got her burgers, remember?”
“It applies to men.” She shrugged and rustled the curls of her dusky-rose wig. Then she tugged the hem of her short black bandage dress, and Rob watched as Lilith put on what he called her game face. “I’m going to see if I can talk to one of the Crossroads guys. Maybe I’ll get lucky and—”
“Don’t corner anybody.” He rolled his eyes when she sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe I’m the one who’s the adult here. I asked if you wanted to come because I thought you might like talking to some of the other artists or to just grab some free food. So, new rules.” Rob dropped his voice down to a whisper. “One, no hitting on any of the musicians, especially Miki St. John. I don’t want to have to pull your face out from between his teeth. Two, don’t hit on any of the brothers. Yes, a couple of them are bisexual, but I don’t want to be coming out of my bedroom and see one of my bosses naked in the living room. Which leads me to three, no mentioning anything about me and Mace, because if I’m going to find one of my bosses naked in the living room, it’s going to be because he’s there for me. Can we agree on that?”