Pick Up the Pieces

by Tinnean

  Readers Love

  Tinnean

  Greeting Cards

  “… despite being a feel good holiday release, the story isn’t too sweet. It’s well written, Ben and Jason’s personalities are nicely developed, and the plot progresses at a believable pace.”

  —Literary Nymphs Reviews

  “There is so much I loved about this book, it was written really well, the characters were brilliant, the storyline was sweet and romantic and Ben and Jason were ssssssooooooo wonderful.”

  —MM Good Book Reviews

  “I loved the men’s cutesy cards and unique holidays… I liked that both men have very different backgrounds… I liked the secondary characters… A little more tension and heat, and this would have been a nearly perfect story.”

  —Hearts on Fire Reviews

  Bless Us With Content

  “… like any good mainstream historical, Tinnean is able to construct the world during that time period effortlessly. I truly enjoyed the relationship between the two men and the believability of how Ashton emerged as a stronger man by novel’s end was flawless.”

  —Dark Divas Reviews

  Houseboat on the Nile

  “I LOVE the secondary characters of in the book, and this story has stuck with me a lot longer than some I read. If you like spy books or movies and like a multi-layered plot with intriguing characters, then this book is for you.”

  —Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews

  By TINNEAN

  NOVELS

  Bless Us With Content

  Two Lips, Indifferent Red

  SPY VS. SPOOK SERIES

  Houseboat on the Nile

  Not My Spook!

  Forever

  Pick Up the Pieces

  NOVELLAS

  The Best

  Call Me Church

  Greeting Cards

  No One Should Be Alone

  To Love Through Space and Time

  SPY VS. SPOOK SERIES

  The Start of a Beautiful Friendship

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Copyright

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  5032 Capital Circle SW

  Suite 2, PMB# 279

  Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

  USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Pick Up the Pieces

  © 2014 Tinnean.

  Cover Art

  © 2014 L. C. Chase.

  http://www.lcchase.com

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

  ISBN: 978-1-62798-515-4

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-516-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  February 2014

  Dedication

  As always, this is for Bob, who empties the dishwasher, folds the laundry, picks up takeout, runs the vacuum over the carpet, walks the pup when he visits, takes out the garbage, and makes the coffee so I have the time to write.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to everyone who read this online and wanted to see it in print: Tisha, Anita Guerrero Dockery, Cardeno C., Laurie Famigletti Choate, Robert Solon, Jr., Trisha Harrington, Santy D’Lthyn, Robb of CRVBoy, and, of course, Tony.

  A very special thanks to Gail Morse, who was here from the beginning and helped more than I can say.

  Prologue

  AS MUCH as the Greek girls of our community in Tarpon Springs had their lives mapped out, so did the boys.

  Once I grew up, I’d become a fisherman like my father. Eventually I’d marry a nice Greek girl, and we’d give our fathers a new grandson or granddaughter every year.

  That was the way it was supposed to be, only….

  When I was fifteen years old, my father threw me out for being gay.

  I knew what my father thought of homosexuals, had heard him and his friends, the fishermen down at the docks, sneer and tell coarse jokes about them.

  But he was my father. He was supposed to love me, just as I loved him.

  Instead, and as I probably should have expected, he shouted, “Teodore Bascopolis, you stop being gay right now, or else you get the fuck out of my house!”

  Ma cried and wrung her hands, and Acacia, my eight-year-old sister, threw herself at me and held on, but Poppa just stood there with his hands clenched into fists, his face set.

  I had no choice. I couldn’t obey the one, so I obeyed the other, and I got the fuck out of his house.

  Since that time, I’d been a rent boy.

  But it didn’t start out that way.

  Chapter 1

  IT WAS getting late, and it was starting to drizzle, unusual since this was the dry season in Florida.

  Was this God’s way of punishing me for being gay?

  I sat on a park bench trying not to cry.

  “Whatsa matter, kid?” The man standing before me slouched casually, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The rain didn’t seem to bother him.

  I tried to look away, but something about him held my gaze.

  He wore black motorcycle boots and jeans so tight the only place to keep his pack of cigarettes was rolled in the sleeve of his white T-shirt. He had a tattoo of coiled barbed wire around his upper arm and numerous piercings—along the cartilage of his right ear, along his eyebrow. Through the dampness of his T-shirt, his nipples were prominent. His left nipple bore a ring.

  He took the cigarette, dropped it to the ground and crushed it, and blew out a stream of smoke.

  He looked so sexy that in spite of my predicament, I felt my dick hardening.

  I shouldn’t have said anything—he was a stranger—but he also looked so sympathetic that I found myself pouring out the story of my plight.

  “And… and then Poppa told me to get out.” I sniffed hard.

  “That’s tough. You’re a sweet-looking kid. What’s your name?”

  I glanced away, reluctant to tell him in case he was a social worker or something and was going to take me in to the cops, who’d put me into some kind of juvenile home after they called my father and found out he didn’t want me anymore.

  He laughed softly. “Well, I’ll call you Sweetcheeks.” He ran his fingers over the curve of my cheek and down to my chin, and I shivered. Ma used to pet me like that, but this was so different; I wanted to feel it again. “My name is Franky. How old are you?”

  My birthday had been a few weeks before. “I’m fifteen.” I bit my lip. I hadn’t even thought of lying to him.

  “Yeah?” His eyes were hot as they ran over my body. “Sweet fifteen.” I blushed. “You’re getting wet. Why don’t you come with me, Sweetcheeks? I’m pretty sure I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge, and I’ve got
a bed you can use.”

  “Sure.” I wouldn’t mind sleeping with him, if that was what he wanted in exchange for a place to stay. I’d fooled around with some boys in the men’s room at the multiplex, and I’d liked it, but I’d never done much beyond mutual hand jobs.

  We had to walk a bit to catch the trolley that would take us to where he lived. “Cabs won’t go there,” he said, his smile apologetic.

  I guessed it was a good thing Poppa had thrown me out on a Friday, when the trolley ran until midnight.

  The trolley driver gave us a bored look. Franky showed the driver his pass and gave him the fare for me without even asking if I had the money, which was a good thing, because I’d used my last couple of dollars at McDonald’s.

  I walked ahead of him to the back of the trolley.

  “Hey! You’re a redhead! I just noticed! It was too dark to tell before we got on the trolley, and I guess your hair was too wet.” Franky tipped his head to one side. “Are you a natural redhead?”

  “Excuse me?” Was he flirting with me? I liked the thought that he was.

  “Are you a redhead… all over?”

  I realized he meant the hair that covered my groin, and I blushed and nodded. I got the deep-mahogany coloring from Ma’s side of the family. There was at least one redhead in each generation. I would have preferred to have brown hair like Poppa, but my sister, Casey, got that.

  “Cool.” He winked at me.

  I opened my mouth to tell him about Greeks having red hair—not many people knew that—but he started talking.

  I sat beside him and listened while he talked about the cities he’d lived in: New York, Las Vegas, Los Angeles—exciting, glitzy cities I’d read about and wanted to see myself but knew I never would. There was little chance I would ever get out of Tarpon Springs.

  I hung on his every word, at first barely noticing that the trolley driver was watching us through the rearview mirror.

  But then I did notice, and I began to worry that maybe he would call dispatch, and dispatch would call the cops, who would call my father….

  No, that was dumb. Poppa didn’t care. Why would anyone else?

  “Something wrong, Sweetcheeks?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, as I was saying, in Vegas I had this fantastic run of luck. It would have lasted longer, but….”

  The driver pulled up at a stop and opened the door. A bunch of people got on, showing him their passes, and when the trolley started off again, I was relieved to see the driver was no longer watching us.

  After about another ten minutes, Franky pulled the cord that let the driver know a passenger wanted to get off and reached up for the overhead strap. “This is our stop.”

  Our stop. I liked the sound of that. We got off the bus.

  “We still have a bit more to walk, Sweetcheeks.”

  Fortunately, it had stopped raining. “I’ve never been in this part of town.” I looked around.

  “It’s kind of shitty, but don’t worry about it. I’ve got street cred.”

  Street cred? “Are you in a gang?” I didn’t know whether to be terrified or gratified.

  He just grinned, rested his big hand on the back of my neck, and gave a slight squeeze.

  The neighborhood was run-down, rusted trailers, houses missing roof tiles or slabs of siding. In one front yard I could see the mangled corpse of a small animal—a cat, maybe, someone’s pet?—and I shivered and forced myself to look away from it.

  “Why do you stay here?”

  “Oh, I’ll be moving soon. I’m just waiting for some money to come in.” He turned up a cracked and broken walk. “This is my place.”

  It was as shabby as its neighbors. The St. Augustine grass in the front was overgrown, and the streetlight glinted off hubcaps and abandoned bikes.

  He led me into his kitchen and opened the small, dingy refrigerator. “Guess I don’t have as much as I’d thought.”

  “That’s okay. I’m….” I licked my lips, unable to take my eyes off his body, off the way it was bent, his butt stretching the material of his jeans even tighter. “I’m not really hungry.”

  “No?” He straightened and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw my eyes on him, he grinned, and I was mesmerized, unable to stop staring at his full lips. “Well, maybe I can offer you something that you will be hungry for. Come on.”

  He caught my wrist and pulled me along after him, leaving the fridge door hanging open.

  His bedroom wasn’t very tidy. Ma would have been mortified if any of the rooms in our… her house looked like that.

  But then I forgot all about that as he murmured my name—“Sweetcheeks”—and began making love to me.…

  IT WASN’T all about sex, though.

  The next morning Franky said, “We’re going to McDonald’s for breakfast.”

  “Okay.” I followed him to a shed at the rear of the property.

  “We’ll take my friend’s motorcycle. He stores it here, and he won’t mind if I borrow it.”

  “Uh… don’t we need helmets?”

  “Helmets are for candy asses.” He swung his leg over the motorcycle and settled himself on the seat. “Coming?” He waggled his eyebrows, and I blushed but climbed on behind him. I held on to him and grinned into his T-shirt. The wind blew through my hair, and I felt wild and adventurous.

  And when we arrived at McDonald’s, he draped an arm over my shoulder and swaggered into the building.

  After he’d paid for our order and we sat in a booth to eat it, he told me what we were going to do as soon as the mall opened.

  “I’m gonna buy you jeans and shirts and—”

  “Motorcycle boots like yours?”

  He smiled and ruffled my hair. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Cool!” I gave a little bounce and poured syrup on my pancakes. I took a bite, chewed, and needed the bland coffee to wash it down. The pancakes were okay for a fast-food place, but the ones Ma made….

  Thoughts of the family I no longer had caused my eyes to well with tears, and I had to bite my lip hard to keep from bawling like a baby.

  “You okay, Sweetcheeks?”

  “Yes.” I inhaled and blinked rapidly, but finally I could meet his gaze dry-eyed. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for being so kind to me.”

  “You’re my boy, aren’t you?”

  Yes, I was.

  FRANKY BOUGHT me all the clothes I’d always wanted, the brands the cool kids at school wore. Poppa had said he didn’t intend to pay good money for underwear some guy put his name on, or for jeans with a fancy label on the back pocket, but what did Poppa know about it?

  Franky knew, and he cared about me. He wasn’t going to throw me out because I was gay.

  Best of all, he took me to a place that carried the same kind of motorcycle boots he wore. We found an awesome pair in my size. They were genuine leather, with the store’s logo embossed on the front, an inside zipper, and metal loops at the ankle. When I saw the price, though, I put them back in the box.

  “Don’t you like them?”

  “They’re perfect. But they cost so much!”

  “You let me worry about that. Put them on.”

  They felt great, like I was walking on a cloud, and I didn’t want to take them off. Franky must have realized that.

  “Give me your sneakers.” They were still damp from the night before. He put them in the box and took the box up to the cashier. “He’s going to wear the boots.”

  The young man at the register smiled at me and rang up the sale.

  Without blinking an eye, Franky paid for them in cash. We left the store and mounted the motorcycle.

  “What are we going to do now?” I asked.

  He looked over his shoulder and gave me a slow grin.

  “Oh!”

  HE BOUGHT me McDonald’s whenever I felt like it and didn’t rag me about eating vegetables. I didn’t have to go to school anymore, and he didn’t mind if I stayed up until one or two or three in the morni
ng playing video games until he came home from his job, whatever that was. He shared his joints with me, although he’d never let me do even one line of his coke….

  And he made love to me every night.

  I’D BEEN with him for almost two months when he came home one night with a video camera.

  And I let him film us, because it made him happy.

  A few nights later, he brought home another boy. The boy was about my height. He had dirty-blond hair and light-brown eyes, and the clothes he wore were ragged and filthy. I stayed as far away from him as I could when I thought I’d spotted lice in his hair.

  “This is Jaybird. He’ll be staying with us.” Before I could object, he said, “He needs a place to stay, Sweetcheeks. You remember how it was when your old man threw you out, don’t you? Be nice to him.”

  “Okay, Franky.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll get him some clothes.” His gaze went from the boy to me, and he nodded and muttered something to himself, something about doing it in the fitting room?

  No, that couldn’t have been right.

  “Meanwhile, show him where the bathroom is. He needs a shower.”

  “It’s this way.” I walked toward the back of the house, watching him over my shoulder. The boy looked around but didn’t say anything until we entered the small bathroom.

  “You been wit’ Fast Franky long?”

  Fast Franky? “Uh… a while.”

  “How does he treat you?” He took off his shirt, and I was bothered to see track marks up his arm. He scratched them and then vigorously scratched his scalp.

  “He’s good to me. He’s my boyfriend.”

  Jaybird laughed. “Yeah? That’s a good one.” He pushed his pants down his legs. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and I jerked my eyes away from his dick. “You can look at me. I don’t mind.”

  He was thin, with a narrow chest, a sparse growth of pubic hair, and a small, uncut dick.

  “How old are you?”