Savior

by Rhys Ford

  “It’s been a bit more than two weeks, right? The doctors say he’s shown progress, but I’d rather wait until he’s at least mostly done with physical therapy before we make any decisions about moving back in,” Bear pronounced as he crossed his meaty arms over his chest. Behind him, a soccer game silently played on the big-screen television mounted to the wall, cutting to a cat food commercial featuring a singing tabby. “Suppose something happens and one of us isn’t around?”

  “I am literally standing right in front of you, so stop talking about me as if I’m in a coma in the other room.” Mace lightly shoved at Bear to get his attention and schooled his face not to wince when he realized he’d used his injured arm to push at what was basically a mountain of muscle anchored to the family room floor. “It’s been weeks since I was shot, and even the doctors say I’m healing great. With any luck I’ll be back on the line before you know it and hopefully be able to play on the station’s softball team next quarter.”

  “I think the question to ask is has he been cleared for sex? Because you know damn well he’s not going to do it with Rob here. Not with all of us around,” Gus piped up from his corner of the couch. “It’s hard enough for me and Rey, and I’m not even on the floor with the rest of the bedrooms.”

  “Trust me, we know when the two of you are going at it,” Ivo drawled from his spot on the sectional’s arm and then rolled his eyes when Gus flipped him off. “We can all hear you. The neighbors’ fucking deaf cat can hear you. It’s like Rey is fucking an air-raid siren.”

  “You can’t hear us. The walls are too thick,” Gus protested, but his argument sounded weaker as he went along. He glanced at Bear and asked, “You can’t, right?”

  Bear unfolded his arms and then wiggled his hand back and forth. “Depends.”

  “Depends?” Ivo sneered. “The only way you can’t hear them is if you’re in Oakland.”

  “Can we stop talking about Gus and focus on why we’re all here?” Luke sighed. “We’re trying to decide if Mace should move back to Chinatown right now or wait a little bit.”

  “Okay, let me repeat this again,” Mace groaned as he rubbed at the tension headache forming between his eyebrows. “You all do not have a say in this. I’m moving back home. I love being here, and I love you guys, but in order for me to continue loving you guys, I need to get the fuck out before I kill you. Rob has nothing to do with it, although Ivo is right, Gus. Yes, we can hear you. The walls are thick, but you are probably the loudest one of us. But since Bear hasn’t had a date since forever, he’s kind of out of the running.

  “I want to sleep in my own bed, listening to my own neighborhood. I want to be able to write in my own space, maybe finish that damned book, and Mrs. Hwang—Grandma Yu—is coming back home in a week, so I want to be there to help her get settled.” Mace quieted with a stern look. “Why can’t you guys get it through your heads?”

  “Maybe because they haven’t found your father?” Ivo’s steady gaze caught Mace unaware. “As long as that asshole is out there, he could take you away from us, and I’m sorry if it’s screwing up your love life, because I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Rob, but I couldn’t really give a shit. I’d rather you be sexually frustrated and alive than have gotten your rocks off right before we have to bury you.”

  It was always their youngest who yanked off any bandage covering a particularly tender scab. Maybe it was Ivo’s confidence or brash personality, but he could always be depended upon to walk right in where angels feared to tread. The past few weeks of living in the Ashbury Heights house were wearing down Mace’s nerves. His frustration at having to steal bits of privacy to spend with Rob was growing, along with his impatience with his doctors to medically clear him. The aches only came when he moved wrong and after a long round of PT. His anger at being unable to go on runs with Rey and having to stop after a few kisses with Rob only made matters worse.

  “He already tried to take my life once,” Mace said quietly. “Actually a few times, but can’t you guys see that I can’t let him win? I need things to go back to normal, or at least move past getting shot. Yes, I would love to have sex with Rob. But I’d also love to play tag with Rey or go boxing with Bear.”

  “Yeah, I’m not so sure you weren’t shot in the head if that’s something you miss,” Luke commented. “Who in their right mind gets into a boxing ring with Bear?”

  “Distraction technique,” Gus pointed out. “Ivo’s right. And you know how much it hurts me to say that, but we feel safer with you here.”

  “Yeah, I know, but you’ve got to understand something, Gus.” Mace slung an arm around Ivo’s shoulders and leaned on him. “I’m not going to go back to living behind closed doors because of my father, so tomorrow night I’ll be having Rob over for dinner in my own apartment, and none of you are invited.”

  “I know you like Rob, Mace, but you’ve got to ask yourself something,” Bear rumbled. “Is it worth the risk being someplace your father’s hurt you before? Is he?”

  “I don’t know if he is, but I am.” He exhaled and then gave his brother a soft smile. “I’ve got to start living for me, Bear. Because if I don’t, then nothing I do matters, even falling in love with Rob.”

  Eighteen

  “DO YOU have any candles?” Ivo shouted from the back of the apartment. “I can’t find any candles.”

  “What the fuck do I need candles for?” Mace crouched and flung open the kitchen cabinet he used to store odds and ends. It was useless for storing anything he’d use on a day-to-day basis, just a corner slot with a deep recess that ran along the wall, so he’d stacked it with half-full plastic tubs. He’d marked each tub with a few words in black marker on masking tape, but none of them said candles. Muttering, he pulled each one out and laid them on the floor by his feet. “I’ve got three labeled kitchen stuff. That tells me fucking nothing. What the hell does kitchen stuff mean? What was I thinking? And why the hell is he in the bedroom looking for damned candles?”

  “Because, asshole, Rey’s got more romance in his cutoff toenails than you do in your whole body.” Ivo padded in, holding up a pair of candlesticks with half-burned white taper candles. “Why the hell are you cleaning your kitchen now? Rob’s going to be here in a bit. You’re not even dressed.”

  “I told him casual.” Mace glanced down at his perfectly good pair of 501s and his SFFD T-shirt. “Don’t give me that look. I even shaved.”

  “Why did you invite me here to help you if you’re not going to let me help you?” Ivo rested his hip against the kitchen counter.

  “Because you’re good at all of this kind of shit. You read romance novels, for fuck’s sake.” Mace began to stack the bins back into the cupboard, only to discover they didn’t fit anymore. “How the hell did all of this get in there?”

  “I’ll put all of that away. Just go change your clothes into something dressier. Maybe put some cologne on.” Ivo put the candlesticks down and stepped aside. “What are you waiting for? Go change your clothes.”

  It pained him to admit it, but Mace swallowed his pride and muttered, “I kind of need help getting up. I can’t push up with my shoulder yet. Just give me your hand.”

  “Jesus, you’re a mess.” Ivo was smaller but had a core strength Mace could only admire, especially when he didn’t seem to struggle at all when he helped Mace get up off the floor. “If you end up in the hospital because you and Rob do some funky-ass shit tonight, don’t come crawling to me. You call Bear and eat every bit of crow that he’s going to serve you. And then we’re all going to kick Rob’s ass, because he should know better.”

  “Unlike you, I can go for months without sex.” Mace rubbed at his sore shoulder. “Did you guys ever think I might want to have a little privacy? Not everything is about sex.”

  “Then all I have to say to you is you have some pretty shitty sex,” Ivo snapped back. “And don’t go all Amish on me. I’ve been with you at the clubs. You hook up all the time.”

  “Not since… actual
ly, a few months after Rob started.”

  His admission made Ivo’s eyes go wide and made him laugh. “See, you’ve had a hard-on for him since he started? And all this time I thought he just pissed you off.”

  “He did. The shit he did would get under my skin, and he would irritate the fuck out of me.” Mace regretted his shrug as soon as he did it and rolled his arm back to release the twinge. “And that’s all you’re going to get out of me, baby brother.”

  “Actually, what I’d like you to get out of are those fucking jeans. If they had any more holes in them, I could use them to strain spaghetti.” Ivo bent down and began arranging the bins into the cupboard. “Just come back out here looking like you’d be good enough to eat off of. And while you’re at it, brush your damn hair. You’re looking a little shaggy.”

  WHEN MACE returned, he wouldn’t go so far as to say Ivo’s sigh was heavy, but had they been on a pirate ship, it would’ve pushed them past Tortuga and straight into the Gulf of Mexico. There wasn’t much in his closet, so Mace finally settled on a pair of black jeans and a button-down Marshall’s Amp bowling shirt he’d won in a raffle a few years back. Holding up the only two bottles of cologne he owned, Mace waited for Ivo to respond.

  “Fine, you can keep the jeans, but I’m going to find you something to wear in Rey’s closet. Right now you look like you’re about to go do battle with Danny and the rest of the T-birds,” Ivo grumbled and brushed past Mace. “And after you change again, use the Cool Cotton cologne. But just spritz it and walk through the mist. Don’t actually spray it on you.”

  “I know how to put on cologne,” he objected, mentally storing away the knowledge. “Food should be here shortly. Let me put the oven on warm so it’ll keep until he gets here.”

  The apartment’s speakers burbled and thundered with Mace’s favorite thunderstorm track. They’d spent more than two hours scrubbing the place down until Ivo threatened Mace with bodily harm and the toothbrush he’d been given to get at the grout in the spare bathroom.

  Standing in the kitchen, Mace frowned at how worn out his couches were, but they were hand-me-downs from the main house when they all chipped in to buy the enormous sectional. He toyed with leaving the windows open, torn between the oddness of the storm playing over the speakers and the sometimes-raucous chatter of the bars down below.

  The table he normally used to write at was cleared off and laid out with two place settings, complete with wine and water glasses Ivo had polished to a sparkle. He’d found the only two sets of complete utensils Mace had and let himself be convinced it was okay to mix and match the plates. There’d been a short, hot debate about Mace popping down to Grandma Yu’s to borrow pieces of her everyday china—Mace for, Ivo against—before they finally decided neither one of them wanted to risk breaking anything that didn’t belong to them.

  Mace glanced down at his toes and suddenly panicked at the sight of his bare feet. Concerned, he called out to Ivo, “Should I put on shoes? Is that too weird? I don’t ever wear shoes in the house. Maybe I should put on some socks. Or is that too weird?”

  “You’re wearing a faded bowling shirt you got from an old stoner who was giving away shit out of his storage unit as prizes at his coffee shop,” Ivo reminded him as he walked back into the living room. “And now you worry about your feet? Fuck that. He’s not going to care. Put shoes on. Don’t put shoes on. What I want you to do is change your fucking shirt. Try this blue one. And if that doesn’t work, we’ve got the green for backup.”

  “That’s green? Looks kind of grayish.” Mace caught the long-sleeved henley Ivo tossed at his head.

  “And that’s why you’re not a tattoo artist.” Ivo made a slight grimace. “Okay, not just because you can’t see colors but because you can’t draw for shit. And I’m pretty sure the sight of blood makes you queasy.”

  “Just my blood. I see bloody people all of the time. It’s kind of my job.” He stripped off his shirt, tossed it onto the couch, and then worked the henley over his head. “It’s too tight.”

  “Unbutton the collar, you fricking idiot,” Ivo scolded. “Seriously. How have you survived as long as you have?”

  “Because my goal in life is to dance on your grave,” Mace muttered. The henley was soft, a deep ocean blue, and it fit snugly across his chest and upper arms. Pushing the sleeves up made it feel more comfortable, and as he was about to tuck it into his jeans, Ivo hissed at him.

  “Do not tuck that shirt in. I swear to God, you are like a suburban dad in training. Do you need me to get you a fanny pack?” Ivo sneered. “Maybe you do need those socks. I can run down to the corner and maybe get you some sandals to wear with them. Have you always been this uncool? How the hell have you ever gotten laid?”

  “I do just fine. Fuck you.” He lifted his arms up and twisted to check the fit of the shirt. “You don’t think this is too tight?”

  “Even as shot to shit as you are, your body is the best thing you have going for you, because right now, your brain has left the building.” Ivo tugged down the hem and stepped back to get a better look. “Quit fussing with it. You look good. It’s a nice color for you, matches your eyes. And God, you have hairy toes. If you weren’t so tall, I would say you were Gandalf’s second choice for the trip to the volcano.”

  “Fuck. I told you I needed to put on shoes. I just don’t wear them in the house because of the floors.” The doorbell rang just as Mace was about to head to his bedroom. “Shit. That’s probably the food. Let me sign for it, and if you could throw it in the oven so it doesn’t get cold, I’ll go put on some sneakers.”

  “Who cares what you have on your feet?” Ivo threw his hands up. “Is this like your first date ever?”

  “Yeah, it is. I don’t date.” He opened the door, still half facing his brother. “I didn’t even go to my prom. Up until right now, my idea of a date was knowing the guy’s last name.”

  “It’s Claussen,” Rob said, holding up a repurposed cardboard box filled with Chinese food. “And if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t go to my prom either. But that’s mostly because the guy I was dating at the time was voted prom king, and he didn’t want his cheerleader girlfriend to know I existed. Hey, Ivo. So, it’s a threesome tonight?”

  “Nope, I just had to get him dressed and upright.” Ivo grabbed his leather jacket off of the couch. “The bowling shirt over there is a reject. You can thank me later. Make sure he doesn’t drink anything alcoholic. And Mace, your next round of meds is in an hour and a half or once you start puking from pain.”

  “Thank you for helping,” Mace ground out. “And the pain isn’t that bad. I’m not puking.”

  “You will be if the two of you do anything more than eat and talk,” Ivo warned as he slid past Rob and Rob edged out of the doorway and into the apartment. “Try not to kill him, Claussen. Pretend you’re religious and saving yourself for marriage.”

  “Hey, umm… hi.” It took Mace a second to break his brain off its quest for shoes and focus on the smirking man holding their dinner. “Come on in. Here, let me take that. I can’t believe he let you sign for it. Usually he’s an asshole about it when Ivo’s around.”

  “I think that has more to do with Ivo than him,” Rob said, but he angled the box away from Mace. “You’ve still got to pay for this.”

  “They have my card on file. It’s already been charged.” Mace frowned. “You didn’t give him any money, did you? I should probably call them—”

  “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.” He chuckled, toeing off his Vans. “Let me go put this in the kitchen and you can pay me with a kiss.”

  The throb in Mace’s shoulder was quickly forgotten, burned away by the sight of Rob’s ass in a pair of blue jeans so tight they should have been illegal. His thin burnt-orange cotton T-shirt was the kind of casually distressed garment Mace knew probably cost at least two tanks of gas, if not more. He’d done something different with his hair, a less stylized version of the aggressive spikes he wore at the shop, and the tips appe
ared more purple than cobalt.

  His full, lush mouth tasted the same, and Mace found himself cupping Rob’s face, holding him still so he could savor every last moment of their kiss.

  They pulled apart, gasping for breath, but remained close enough for their foreheads to touch. A hint of orange lingered in Mace’s mouth, and Rob’s breath ghosted a citrus scent in the warmed air between them. Mace allowed his hands to roam slowly down Rob’s stocky chest, over his sides, and then farther downward to Rob’s ass. Rob’s hands made their own journey, stroking the length of Mace’s spine, pinching his butt. Then he laughed at Mace’s mock outrage.

  “You grabbed my ass first,” he teased and bit at Mace’s lower lip. “Now don’t take this wrong, because you’re making me want to do bad things to you—which I shouldn’t—but I am really fucking hungry, and whatever you ordered smells damned good.”

  “It’s been a few weeks,” Mace grumbled, not ready to let go of the delectable man in his arms. “Shouldn’t I be healed up enough?”

  “Dude, when I had my wisdom teeth taken out, it took me two weeks before I could eat anything firmer than orange Jell-O and soft tofu.” Rob slowly extracted himself but stole a quick kiss before he pulled away. “You were shot. I’m surprised your brothers even let you move out of the house.”

  “Yeah, that was an argument.” He was going to have to be satisfied with the kiss and maybe a few more, but just having Rob in his apartment seemed to stir up things inside him that Mace couldn’t readily identify. “Well, why don’t we dish out some plates and we can eat.”

  “Table looks nice. Kind of formal for you and me, but nice.” Rob glanced about the apartment. “But what’s with the army of candles on the kitchen counter?”

  THE TABLE was left untouched. Its glittering utensils and mismatched dinnerware framed a centerpiece of white baby mums and lavender sprigs, and a quartet of candles eventually made it to keep the flowers company, but as pretty as everything was, the chairs looked too uncomfortable for Mace to sit on for any length of time. Or at least that’s what Rob thought when he suggested they eat their dinner on the beaten-up couches in the living room.