by Ruskin, JD
Logan hadn’t even thought about how he’d explain the job to his PO. His parole agreement required he disclose his job information, but Logan had been reluctant to tell Dabb about it, hoping to put it off until his monthly review. But his PO would likely know the package handler job wasn’t enough to survive on. Jesus. He could have screwed himself if Dabb thought he was bringing in money on the side. He’d think it was drugs. No doubt about it. Dabb had said to think of him as a stalker. He’d be watching Logan to make sure he followed the conditions of the parole. He could be lurking nearby right now. Logan cleared his throat. “My PO, John Dabb, might want to meet with you. I know he’s planning on seeing Klass this week.”
Caleb’s eyes widened, and he started chewing on a fingernail. “I c-could do that. I l-listed my c-contact information.”
Logan hated hearing how distressed Caleb sounded, knowing he was the cause. A guy trapped in his apartment 24/7 felt sorry enough for him to swallow his own fear. Damned if that didn’t sting. The thought threw him for a moment. He hadn’t realized his pride had survived prison. He hadn’t gotten a spotless record without sacrificing it on a daily basis. His pride was a big part of why he’d ended up there in the first place, refusing to ask for help when he needed it and pretending he had everything under control. He didn’t want to be that man again, but he also didn’t want to be anybody’s charity case, and least of all Caleb’s. The man in question had gone real quiet, likely confused by why his generous offer had been met with brooding. “Appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to owe what I can’t repay.”
“Oh!” Caleb’s arms flew up. “A favor. You could do me a favor, so we’d be even.”
“What favor?”
“Pizza,” he said breathlessly.
“You’re paying my taxes and vouching for me with my PO and a pizza is supposed to make us even?”
Caleb’s stomach grumbled loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “Not just pizza, but a pie from Nick’s.” He smiled wistfully, likely remembering a past greasy encounter. “My uncle refuses to pick one up for me. Says I have to leave to get it.”
That comment gave Logan pause. He didn’t want to do anything to get in the way of Caleb getting better. Especially since he’s only doing it to help me. Klass might have the right idea, seeing how much Caleb seemed to love the food at Nick’s. “Then maybe I shouldn’t either.”
“Oh,” Caleb said, his whole body slumping.
“Here.” Logan held out the envelope.
Caleb pushed the envelope toward Logan. “Keep it.”
Logan opened his mouth to object, but Caleb beat him to it. “I’m sure there’s something else you can help me with….” Logan could hear the wheels squealing in Caleb’s head as he struggled to find a way to soothe his wounded pride. It was painful to watch. Even more so because Caleb had so obviously abandoned his own disappointment, seeming to care more about figuring out a way to help Logan. He was pretty sure a puppy kicker would be giving him reproachful looks right about now. He didn’t know how the hell Klass had resisted.
“Couldn’t hurt to get pizza this one time.”
Caleb gave him a dazzling smile, leaving Logan feeling breathless.
Logan cleared his throat. “Nick’s, you said?” The name sounded familiar. “That the place where the pizza makers’ shirts are covered in sauce?”
Caleb bounced in his seat like a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s the one!”
Logan remembered going there years ago. He’d been vaguely disturbed by the place. He recalled the food being good, but the flamboyant pizza makers were a little freaky. They looked like they were murdering the pizzas instead of baking them. Of course, he had been smashed at the time, so that might have been it. “Plenty of places around here that deliver.” He wasn’t surprised when Caleb scoffed at the idea. Caleb knew his food and wouldn’t settle for what he’d deemed mediocre pizza. He pulled an advertisement from a drawer on the coffee table and Logan punched in the number.
“What do you want?”
“A large—no, make that an extra-large pepperoni pizza.” He tugged Logan’s arm. “Do you like pepperoni?”
Logan grinned in response. The restaurant answered the call, and he placed Caleb’s order. He snapped the phone closed. “It’ll be ready in half an hour.”
“Thank you.” Caleb looked at his lap. “I know my uncle means well, but he acts like I can just flip a switch and turn the panic off.” He removed a piece of lint off his sweatpants. “Like I’m just being stubborn or something. I know I’m not doing as much as I should to get better, but I can’t just snap my fingers and make the fear disappear.”
“Do they really have agoraphobic group meetings?”
Caleb looked puzzled for a moment and then gave a sad smile. “I don’t actually know, but I’m guessing they do. Most people with the phobia have trouble going out or to certain places alone, but refusing to go out at all is pretty rare.”
Logan sometimes forgot Caleb never went out. Stupid, considering it was why he had a job. Caleb acted normal for the most part, but staying inside for three years wasn’t normal. The glassy-eyed head cases that lived in Logan’s complex seemed to have more obvious problems, but he wondered if that was true. They, at least, were trying to recover as a condition of living at the halfway house.
“Can I ask what an AA meeting is like?”
“There’s different formats, but the one I go to is about twenty people, all guys except for my sponsor, Stacy, and this perky soccer mom I never woulda pegged as an alky. We sit in a big circle and the leader has us go through the AA literature. Then people take turns talking about what’s going on in their lives. The successes and the stumbles.”
“Does everybody talk?”
“You don’t have to, but it helps. They understand in a way no one else can. You ever talk to another agoraphobic before?”
Caleb shook his head. “I’ve gone to an online bulletin board a few times, but never posted.” He looked at his clenched hands. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“In AA, they always want to know your story. Can you tell me how it started? Or would that freak you out?” When Caleb narrowed his eyes, Logan covered his face with his hands. “Sorry, I’m an idiot.”
Pulling his hands from his face, Caleb said, “You really are,” but his voice was light and teasing.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Caleb made his way into the kitchen and pulled two bottles of water from the fridge. He settled back on the couch and handed Logan a drink. “The first time it happened was during my freshman year at college. I’d been marathon studying, guzzling coffee, and stressing out about final exams. One minute I was sitting in the library with a calculus book on my lap and in the next, I was huddled under a desk, feeling more afraid than I had in my whole life.” He unscrewed the top of his bottle and took a sip of water. “My heart felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to it. I clung to that book, thinking that if I started going crazy, I’d hit myself over the head to knock myself out. Somehow that was a comforting thought because it meant I might be able to stop those awful feelings.” He looked at the bottle and started peeling off the label. “I shook off the experience and the concerned library aide, telling her and myself I wouldn’t put my body through that kind of physical stress again. A month later, it happened again. I stopped going to the library.”
“Did you get any help?”
“Not until my junior year.” His eyes grew distant like he was being sucked back to that time. “I’d go to the cafeteria and see students standing in line and sitting at tables and I just couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I tried going during off times and that helped sometimes but not enough. I couldn’t afford to buy my own food, so I started losing weight.” His hand moved to his stomach, rubbing back and forth seemingly unconsciously. The ill-fitting sweats and T-shirts were starting to make sense. The thought of Caleb being skinny enough for them to fit made Logan’s gut clench.
“One of the lun
ch ladies followed me back to my dorm room after an aborted attempt to go into the cafeteria. This old lady in a hairnet muscled her way into my room and started talking about how anorexia wasn’t just for girls.” He rolled his eyes, but his expression was fond. “She was the first person I told and she was really great about it. She arranged to have meals bagged for me and I could pick them up at the back entrance to the cafeteria. She slipped in pamphlets from the campus wellness center. It was a while before I could bring myself to see the counselors. They sent me straight to the hospital when they learned my mother had had heart problems all her life. When the tests all came back normal, I almost didn’t go back to the wellness center, but I knew I needed help if I was going to graduate. I couldn’t face the idea of telling my mom I’d failed because I was too afraid to go to class. They helped me enough to graduate.”
Logan wanted to say something comforting, something that would chase the haunted look from Caleb’s eyes, but words failed him. He swallowed hard. “It’s probably time for me to head over to Nick’s.” It wasn’t, but if he didn’t get out of here, he’d do something drastic like hug Caleb.
Caleb nodded as if he’d expected Logan to react like an asshole and wasn’t bothered by it.
Logan got up and headed for the door. “I’ll stop off at Foremost and get some Coke. You need anything?”
Caleb leaped from the couch and crossed the room rapidly. He grabbed onto Logan’s arm and said in a strangled sounding voice, “I don’t need it and neither do you.”
Logan stood baffled at the reaction for several seconds until the reason slotted into place. He’d said Foremost, a liquor store, and not a half-dozen other places around here where he could get soda pop. His brain went there without even thinking about it. His eyes began to burn and his throat suddenly felt clogged. “Pizza and beer.” He laughed bitterly and put his hands on top of his shaved head. “What’s more natural than that?” Unconsciously, his brain was already waiting in line with money in hand.
Caleb moved in for a sneak attack. “Let’s pretend we don’t have penises.” He wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist and hugged him hard. Logan dropped his arms, letting them hover for a moment before returning the embrace.
“Do me a favor and don’t freak out,” Caleb said. “I can’t deal with that shit.”
Logan laughed. Caleb was damn good at it. It made Logan wonder why he was so determined to deny himself any comfort when he fell apart. Reluctantly, he pulled away and walked stiffly toward the door.
Caleb followed him, slipping money into his hand. “Call me if you need help… finding the place.”
WHEN Logan returned with the famous pie in hand, he found the door unlocked again and he noticed a baseball game on the TV with the sound turned low. Caleb sat on the leather couch. It looked like it was taking every ounce of his will not to pounce like a starving jackal. Logan set the pizza box on the coffee table. Seeing Caleb’s barely contained glee, he decided Klass had to be wrong in denying him something that made him so happy. Disgusted by his own sappiness, he flopped onto the couch.
Opening the box, Logan said, “Eat before you drool all over the carpet.”
Caleb took a deep satisfied breath before snagging a slice.
Logan started in on his own piece. The crust was crispy, the cheese thick, and the pepperoni spicy enough to make the roof of his mouth tingle. He preferred deep dish, but it had been forever since he’d had pizza anywhere close to this good. The floorshow wasn’t bad either.
Caleb really could charge $9.99 a minute just to listen to him eat the pizza, let alone watch him. Logan had to adjust himself as Caleb’s tongue went hunting for a stray dollop of sauce on his bottom lip. He hadn’t realized someone could purr and chew at the same time, but Caleb was pulling it off. He needed a distraction before he was tempted to find out whether the tangy sauce tasted better on Caleb’s tongue. Tilting his head toward the TV, Logan asked, “Did you ever play in high school?”
Caleb dropped the piece of pizza in his hand back into the box. “I wanted to, but… uh… I needed to get home right after school and help my mom with the housework and stuff.”
Logan was wishing he hadn’t asked when Caleb’s expression brightened again. He retrieved the slice of pizza and said, “The track coach, Mr. Connors, used to let me run on the track in the morning even though I wasn’t on the team. It was always the best part of my day. After about ten minutes, I would hit my stride and everything else would disappear and it would just be me and the sound of my feet pounding on the asphalt.” He hunched forward and focused on eating the slice in his hand. “Did you play any sports?”
“I played football, but I was more interested in the after-game party.”
Caleb accepted this answer without comment. “I doubt I would’ve been very good if I’d had the chance to play baseball. I’m a better spectator.”
Logan faithfully watched the Chicago Bears, but he’d never had much interest in baseball, not seeing the appeal. Too much slow-moving strategy and not enough violence. Caleb’s eyes kept returning to the game, watching with rapt attention and Logan found himself wanting to know more. “What is it about baseball you like?”
Caleb tilted his head as if thinking over the question. “Each pitch has the potential to change the course of a game, series, or season. Perfection is rare and errors can cause everything to spiral out of control.”
“That’s a good thing?”
Caleb smiled. “There’s always another eight innings to get it right.”
Logan was living proof that second chances happened. He hoped that Caleb would get one too. Seeing Caleb lick sauce from his thumb, Logan couldn’t help asking, “Did you know in high school which team you batted for?” He took a sip of water from his bottle for his suddenly dry throat.
“Considering the first time I ever got myself off I was thinking about the first baseman, Mark Grace—”
Logan sputtered and choked, sneezing as the water went up his nose. Caleb thumped him on the back and offered him a napkin. Just when he thought he was going to live, Caleb said, “You wouldn’t believe the batboy fantasies I had.” He smiled sheepishly, seemingly oblivious to the effect his words were having.
Leaning forward, Logan tried to regulate his breathing, but the image of Caleb in a tight baseball uniform, bending over to retrieve a bat wouldn’t leave his head or his cock. Phrases and images from the game filtered through his head: hitting the sweet spot, working the rosin bag over the bat, going deep in the hole, doubleheader…. Baseball was a filthy, dirty sport. Thankfully, Caleb assumed he was still choking. He rubbed Logan’s back and cooed until he recovered.
Logan kept eating after he’d already had enough, because watching Caleb devour the pizza with orgasmic delight fascinated him more than the game. He was reluctant to leave and Caleb didn’t seem inclined to shove him out the door. He felt comfortable here in a way he didn’t feel anywhere else. He knew he was venturing into dangerous territory, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. I’m not planning on putting the moves on him, he told himself sternly. Even though I’m apparently his type. It was just nice to have someone to talk to and hang out a bit. Most of the guys at the warehouse were either married or only interested in going to bars. God, I’m fucking pathetic. The last thought gave him pause. He couldn’t help feeling like he was taking advantage of Caleb’s generosity. Hell, he hadn’t even paid for the pizza.
Caleb leaned back on the couch, his hands on his stomach. Looking deliciously limp and sated, he said, “God, that was so good.”
“But not enough to make us even.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to let me help you get your own pizza next time.”
Caleb stiffened. “I don’t need your help.”
Logan snorted. He was way too familiar with those five little words. His mind gave him a replay of the faces of people who’d tried to help him only to be shot down. He’d taken an almost visceral pleasure in seeing the resignation in th
eir eyes as they turned away from him. All but Michael, but thinking about his former best friend hurt too fucking much. “I had to lose everything before I figured out I needed help.”
He’d sacrificed his future, his friendships, and his freedom for what? To become as much of a bastard as his old man? How could he ever have thought oblivion was worth such a price? More than anything, he wished he could correct those mistakes, but he didn’t deserve their forgiveness. He couldn’t change the past, but he could maybe help Caleb in the here and now. Caleb had created his own personal prison, and Logan was determined to help him break out.
Caleb was quiet for several minutes before he spoke. “W-what w-would we d-do?”
A plan forming in his head, Logan said, “We’d take it one step at a time.”
Chapter 3
RUBBING sleep from his eyes, Caleb plopped on the leather couch. The last time he had left his apartment the police were called. While attempting to check the mail for an ailing Mrs. Simon, he had a panic attack in the stairwell. He had only managed two floors before losing it. What had been the trigger? Voices? A woman walking up the stairs complaining about an unfair parking ticket. Hardly a terror-inspiring situation. But logic had very little to do with fear.
The woman had called the police when she saw him huddled against the wall with his arms covering his head. His memory of the event was fuzzy after that point. He remembered the police attempting to talk to him, but not what they said or his responses. He also remembered the burning humiliation of being carried like a child by Marco back to his apartment. Mrs. Simon must have been the one to call Marco. Or had she called Uncle Harrison and he had sent Marco in his stead? Caleb wouldn’t be surprised.
Today, Logan expected Caleb to risk falling apart again. There’s no way I can do it. Caleb would have to call Logan and cancel the trip out. Logan would understand. It wasn’t like he cared either way. He was just being kind to his boss’s freak nephew. A knock on the door squashed Caleb’s hope of canceling over the phone instead of in person. Maybe I could pretend to be asleep?