by K. C. Wells
Mr. Peterson was still talking.
“You’ll be sent any pay that is owed to you, along with your P45. For now, I’m going to have to escort you from the building. You are no longer welcome inside the store—either as an employee or a shopper. Should you be seen on the premises again, we will have to take legal action against you. I’ll take you to your locker to watch you remove any personal belongings before I show you to the exit.”
This can’t be happening. Rob was trying so damned hard to straighten out his life. He’d found a job, he had his own place. He…. Fuck. This is a disaster.
Mr. Peterson stood and opened the door. Rob got up, took two steps, and stumbled out onto the shop floor. Mr. Peterson followed him to the locker room, then watched him like a hawk as Rob pulled a couple of tattered books and a pair of trainers from his locker. Then it was time to walk through the store, everyone watching them as Mr. Peterson escorted Rob to the main doors and waited until he stepped off the property.
Rob stood outside, shaking. What the fuck am I going to do now? He’d spent most of his saved money on trips to London, and what little he had left wouldn’t cover his bills or rent for the next month.
He was screwed.
He trudged across the car park, his mind already turning over his options. I could go back to my parents’ house. Except the thought of admitting that he needed to come home soured his stomach. He didn’t want to see his mother. If he could avoid her for the rest of his life, that would be fine with him. So, no, that wasn’t an option he wanted to consider.
That left the issue of a job. His applications so far had proved unsuccessful, and now that Rob had lost this one, he might never get another. He wasn’t naive. Word gets around fast, and bad news even faster. Who would want someone who had the reputation for being a thief to work for them?
He got home functioning purely on autopilot. When he walked through the door and glanced around his flat, it struck him that pretty soon this wouldn’t be his anymore. Landlords tended to take a dim view of tenants who couldn’t pay the rent.
Rob sank into his armchair, his head in his hands. He’d come so far, and now he was being thrown back all the way to the starting line. There was nothing to be done but take out his phone, call his parents, and get the whole thing over with. He’d move back to their house and the lies would continue.
Rob groaned out loud. He couldn’t stand it anymore. The whole thing made him sick to his stomach. Right now, all Rob wanted was something solid in his life…. Something he could cling to.
Or… someone.
His heartbeat raced and his breathing quickened. I can’t. Can I? The whole idea had the potential to blow up in his face like everything else, but he had to try. He got out his phone and scrolled through the Contacts page, but when he went to touch the button to dial, his hand shook so badly that he decided it probably wasn’t a good idea. Instead, he grabbed a bag and threw a few shirts, a couple of pairs of pants, socks, and underwear into it. Then he searched on his phone for the site for booking train tickets.
His heart was still pounding when he typed in his destination—London Euston.
One way or another, Rob’s life was about to change forever. And he had to admit, he couldn’t decide if he was thrilled or terrified.
VIC GLANCED at the clock. It was already half-past nine, and for the last few weeks, Rob had been at his door by seven.
He doesn’t have to share his itinerary with you, does he? That might have been true, but it concerned him more than he thought it would that Rob wasn’t there. Did he say he was definitely coming?
Rob’s face rose up in his mind, and Vic heard the words again. “Yes, I’ll be here.”
Then where is he? For some inexplicable reason, Vic’s heart was racing. Something’s wrong.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Rob’s number. It rang three times before a gruff voice answered.
“Hello?” There was a lot of noise in the background, a loud mixture of music and voices. “Can’t hear ya. Lemme step outside a minute.”
Vic had never heard Rob sound so rough. “Rob?”
“Yeah. Who ziss?” Quieter now, his voice accompanied by the familiar hum of traffic.
“It’s Vic. Are you okay?”
“Oooooh, Vic.” A pause. “Shit, it’s Friday. I’m s’pposed to be at your house, aren’t I?” Rob groaned. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
Vic didn’t want his apologies. He wanted to know what the fuck was wrong. “Rob, where are you?”
“Oh, I’m at… hang on.”
Rob called out to someone. Then, a moment later, directions were yelled back. Vic got up from the couch and grabbed his jacket.
“Okay, I’m at Flannery’s Pub. Why you wanna know?”
Shit. Rob was in London. Vic hadn’t been in Flannery’s, but he’d seen the place a few times. And Rob definitely sounded the worse for wear. Just how much has he drunk?
Vic snatched his keys from the hall table and hurried out the front door. “I’m coming to get you.” He opened the car door and got behind the steering wheel. “Stay where you are.”
“Nah, don’t bother. I got beer, so I’m good.”
Vic slipped into Dom mode. Rob needed to hear him, and he needed to obey. “You’re going to stop drinking. Find somewhere to sit in the fresh air. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” The wheels spun as he pulled out of his driveway.
“Nah, mate. You don’t want to come get me. Hell, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me if you really knew me.”
Vic shoved the phone into the center console and went to hands-free mode. “Oh? So what are you really like?”
Rob’s voice poured out of the speakers. “I’m a liar. I couldn’t tell the truth if my life depended on it.”
Vic clamped down on his fear and irritation. “What’s the truth, Rob? You can tell me.” Automatically he followed the road signs for central London, his mind in a whirl. What the hell has happened?
“Nah, it’s because of you that the truth is messing me up.”
Me? “What do you mean? Rob, you need to tell me.”
“No!” Rob’s groan went right through him. “I can’t.”
“You have to,” Vic demanded. “Because whatever it is that you’re not saying is clearly tearing you apart. Tell me, Rob.” His heart ached at hearing the pain in Rob’s voice.
“You wanna know the real reason I went to a BDSM club? Because of Alex, my brother.”
Vic waited, unwilling to interrupt. Keep talking, boy. Let it out. He put his foot down and shot through the traffic, keeping a wary eye out for any police cars.
“He’s different now. He’s strong, fierce. He’s become a good man, nothing like the brother I knew. An’ the more I thought about it, the more I realized it had to be down to what he and Leo did. So I went to the clubs because I thought… I thought maybe I could find someone who would do that for me. Make me into someone I didn’t hate.”
The self-loathing Rob plainly felt was there, in every word, and Vic wanted more than anything to grab him and hold him close, to tell Rob there wasn’t a hateful bone in his body.
“Then I met you and…. Fuck, you were nice to me. You didn’t treat me like I was shit on your shoe. You acted like I wasn’t this horrible person and that I wasn’t fucked-up in my head.”
“You’re not,” Vic insisted. “You’re looking for something, yeah? Maybe you went about it the wrong way, but there is nothing wrong with what you want. We all want that one person who helps us become something more.” Hell, even he wanted that.
There was a moment of silence, and Vic began to panic.
“Rob? You still there?”
“You don’t get it.”
Vic was so relieved to hear Rob still on the line that he exhaled a long breath. “Tell me, then. Tell me what I don’t get.”
“I don’t want just anyone. I want… I… fuck. I want you.”
Chapter Twelve
WHAT THE fuck?
Vic thought for
a moment that he was hearing things, that some part of his brain had decided to play tricks on him. Then he realized he was forgetting one vital piece of information.
Rob was obviously drunk.
That one thought was enough to set him upon a course of action.
We’ll discuss this when he’s sober. If it turns out it was the booze talking, all well and good. What lad in his twenties hasn’t got plastered and let his mouth run away with him?
And if it wasn’t just the booze? That was a subject best handled in the cold light of day, when Rob had had a chance to reflect.
Either way, Vic had a boy to find and put to bed. Time enough to discuss this in the morning.
“Rob? Where are you now?”
There was a pause. “Outside Flannery’s.”
“Stay there, okay? You do not move from that spot, do you hear me?”
“Sure, whatever.”
Not good enough. “Repeat it back to me. Tell me where you’re going to be when I pull up outside that pub.”
“Outside, all right? I’ll be here. God, you’re bossy.”
Vic shook his head. You have no idea. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.” He disconnected the call and gave himself completely to the very serious task of hurrying through the streets without attracting the attention of the various speed cameras along the route.
Twenty minutes—and a lot of swearing—later, Vic spotted the pub and pulled the car toward the curb. The pavement in front of the place was filled with people drinking, laughing, and talking. He scanned the crowd, searching for Rob. It wasn’t until a group of three or four people moved off that Vic spied him. Rob was leaning against the red brick wall, an empty pint glass in his hand and a bag at his feet, his head bowed, the picture of dejection.
Vic wound down the window. “Rob! Over here!”
Rob lifted his head, blinking as his gaze flitted in Vic’s direction.
“Here! You need to get in quickly. I’m on double yellows.” Not that he expected to find a traffic warden strolling along so late at night, but there was a first time for everything.
Rob rolled himself into an upright position and stumbled over to the car, the bag slung over his shoulder. He leaned on the door sill. “Hey. You were fast.”
Vic growled. “And I’ll have to drive even faster if a copper spots me, so stop talking and get in the fucking car.” When Rob pulled the door open, Vic let out another growl. “And leave the glass, for God’s sake. Put it on the curb if you have to.”
Rob set the glass down at the base of a lamppost, stumbled into the passenger seat, and tossed the bag onto the back seat.
“Seat belt,” Vic barked out as he indicated to pull away, glancing into the rearview mirror. “And I thought I told you to stop drinking.”
“It was water!” Rob yelled, before slumping farther down into the seat. “Sorry. S’been a shit day.” He tugged the belt across his chest, his fingers fumbling as he tried to lock it into place.
Those words robbed Vic of his irritation. Plainly something had happened to push Rob over the edge. Vic let out a sigh. “We can talk about that in the morning. Let’s get you home.”
Rob snorted. “Home. What’s that?” He closed his eyes and within seconds his breathing had changed.
Vic drove home at a much steadier pace, his mind turning over Rob’s words. Maybe him saying he wanted Vic was the alcohol talking, and maybe it wasn’t. Vic wasn’t about to go there.
Let’s see what happens tomorrow.
Forty minutes later, he helped a groggy Rob into the house, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. He sat him on the edge of the bed and stripped off his shirt before he pulled back the duvet and allowed Rob to flop onto the bed. Vic smiled as Rob’s eyes closed at almost the same moment as his head hit the pillow.
Vic sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the sleeping Rob. What is it about you? He reached out, hesitant, and stroked Rob’s cheek, keeping his touch light. Rob stirred slightly, his lips parted, and a whisper-soft sigh escaped. When Vic withdrew his hand, Rob made a low noise of discontent, his forehead furrowing.
“Hey,” Vic whispered. “Sleep. Leave all those things that trouble you behind you.” He trailed his fingertips across the worry lines, the connection gentle and fleeting. When he was certain Rob was asleep, he got up and left the room, closing the door as quietly as possible.
Vic had a feeling sleep wouldn’t come to him as easily.
ROB WOKE in the morning with a groan. His mouth tasted like he’d licked an ashtray, and his head would have been better off if it had split. His bladder felt as though it was ready to burst, so he got up and padded into the bathroom. After he finished, he flushed the toilet, then stepped in front of the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale.
Rob trudged back into Vic’s guest room. How did I get here? What the hell did I do last night? He remembered getting on the train, his stomach in knots because…. Shit. It hadn’t been a dream. He’d really lost his job, and the next thing on the list would be his flat. He knew why he’d come to see Vic: he didn’t make Rob feel like he was a total loser. When Rob got off the train, though, he realized that there was no way could he dump this all on Vic. The man had been nothing but nice to Rob, and Rob… liked him.
The thought was an alien one, because Rob didn’t like a whole lot of people. Vic was different, though. He was kind, funny, and even a little goofy at times. When Rob thought about Vic, his stomach got fluttery in a way it never had before. All the time he spent with Vic only made him wish for more. Hell, turning up to see him like this was getting to be a habit, and a new one at that. Even when he’d been friends with Jamie, he hadn’t enjoyed being with someone so much.
What is it about Vic? Why do I feel the way I do? Simple things, like watching a film, take on a whole new meaning when I’m with him. Rob found himself grateful for every moment they spent together.
In a burst of lucidity, his words from the previous night came back to him. Why the fuck did I tell Vic, “I want you”?
Rob groaned and got back to bed. Maybe if he went to sleep, he could pretend it had never happened. Maybe Vic will forget. Even as the hopeful thought passed through his mind, Rob knew there was fat chance of that happening. Okay, so he didn’t know Vic all that well, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the man had a memory like an elephant.
Rob turned over in bed, and something on the bedside cabinet caught his eye: a few aspirin and a bottle of water sat waiting for him. Gratitude flooded through him as he cracked the bottle and downed the pain killers. Then he lay back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the medication to do its stuff.
As if things weren’t bad enough, I had to go and open my big fucking mouth. The last thing he’d intended to do was let Vic in on the feelings he’d been having. It had taken Rob long enough just to admit it to himself. He wanted Vic. For…. Well, he wasn’t sure what, but he knew that being with him made Rob feel like a better person.
And now I’ve gone and cocked it up.
Except that felt like an understatement. He could only imagine the horror Vic must have felt to hear Rob’s revelation, especially after Rob had called him a poof.
He threw his arm across his eyes. “Now what the hell do I do?” he whispered to the quiet room. He lay there for what seemed like hours, dreading the moment when he’d have to go downstairs. On the one hand, Vic might not say anything, which Rob felt would be a blessing. On the other hand, he could demand to know what the hell Rob was talking about. If that happened, Rob had no idea what he’d say.
You can’t hide up here forever, you know. Staying in bed won’t solve anything.
Reluctantly he sat up and scanned the room for his shirt, which he spotted draped over a chair in the corner. He picked it up and sniffed it, grimacing at the odor of stale beer. Yeah, he’d definitely been to a bar, and from the smell of it, had been a little clumsy. He slipped the shirt over his head, doing his best to make himself at least somewhat presentable. Then it was time to lea
ve the haven of his room. When he opened the door, the house was silent, which didn’t help Rob’s nerves. If Vic is still asleep, what do I do? Sit in the kitchen and wait for him? Try to sneak out and go back to Manchester and pretend it never happened?
He’d already run to Vic to get away from one set of problems. What good would it do to compound that? Then he’d have nowhere to go and he’d lose the only real friend he had.
Shit, when did I start thinking of Vic as a friend? Probably the moment Vic had sat across from him at the restaurant and made Rob laugh. But then there had been the films and dinner and… other things.
Yeah, don’t forget the other things. As if he could.
“Rob? I’m in the kitchen.”
“Coming,” Rob called out, his voice cracking. He stepped into the kitchen to find Vic sitting at the table, his large hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Across from him was a thermal travel mug with steam wafting from the opening.
“It’s the biggest mug I had in the house,” Vic said with a smirk. “I figured this morning might call for it.”
Rob pulled out the chair, sat, and grabbed the coffee. “I need this.” Even the aroma gave him a much-needed lift.
Vic didn’t react for a moment. He drank from his mug and then regarded Rob with a more neutral expression. “You seemed like you had fun last night.”
Rob wished. Going to that bar had had nothing to do with fun. It had been about forgetting everything, at least for a while.
Funny how problems are always still there when you sober up, though.
“No, not really.”
“Did you want to talk about it?”
Rob could scarcely contain his surprise. Maybe he doesn’t remember after all. Rob could live with that. “There really isn’t anything to say.”
Vic stood and poured himself another cup. “I think we both know that’s not quite true. You made some pretty startling claims last night when we spoke on the phone.”