Chenco paused to wipe his mouth, as if the gesture would take the dark memories away. “He swore at me every day, and I barricaded my door at night because I never quite trusted him not to fuck me up. He told me about you, Mitch, but he promised you’d come back someday and kick the shit out of me, which was why I was so nervous after I saw you at the funeral. That and—” Chenco cut himself off and glanced at Steve.
Steve nodded. This wouldn’t be comfortable for Mitch, but it was important for Chenco to have this cleared up.
“That and what?” Mitch prompted.
Chenco bit his lip as he met his brother’s gaze. “I found your high school journals.”
Mitch averted his gaze to the patio tile, his face burning with shame.
“Why would this be bad?” Sam nudged his husband. “What did you put in—? Oh. You told me about this. How you bullied the guy I remind you of. You wrote in a journal too?”
Mitch looked like he’d love to crawl under his chair. “I wasn’t in a great place then.” Forcing himself to lift his gaze, he turned his focus to his brother. “I’m sorry you found those. I didn’t think they were still around.” He grimaced. “I know I burned the ones where I finally figured everything out. Probably should have left them so you didn’t think I was as big a dick as our dad.”
“It’s okay.” Chenco didn’t appear entirely at ease, but he seemed a lot less tense than he had when Steve had first tried to explain about Mitch. “I can’t imagine it was easy growing up with him.”
Instead of answering, Mitch gave a sharp snort of derision and drained the rest of his beer.
Sam stroked Mitch’s arm before turning to Chenco. “Why did you stay? Did he not treat you as badly?”
Chenco shrugged. “I had nowhere else to go. He treated me like a dog, but I gave as good as I got. Threw all his shit right at him. I didn’t do drag at first when I lived with him, but when he found out, he came at me with a knife. I got it away from him, said I’d call the cops, and he laughed. I locked up the knives after that. It was grim for a while, but then he had the second stroke, and he had to move to the home. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t argue or say no anymore. I paid for it because he said I would get the trailer, which turned out to be a big lie. I got him back, though. When he lay there drooling, I’d tell him all about my hookups because he couldn’t stop me. I made up shit, nasty crap just to watch him squirm.”
Randy stared at Chenco in open admiration for several seconds. “Crescencio Ortiz, I want to fucking have your baby.”
Chenco grinned, a wicked split of his lips. “Bend over and I’ll give you one.”
Everyone laughed, and Chenco eased now that his story was out. He’d found his real family, the people who he was just discovering, who Steve knew even after this one night would lay down just about anything to help. Steve watched the connection unfold, glad for his friends, glad for Chenco.
He tried to tamp down the part of himself that wanted to join in, find a place in the happy family too.
At three thirty they headed for bed, and when Steve suggested Chenco stay over, he didn’t fight. Steve gave him the last open bedroom, ignoring the quiet invitation in Chenco’s gaze, then went downstairs to clean up.
Randy was in the kitchen, nursing a whiskey neat. He raised it in toast as Steve sat beside him. “Job well done tonight, Monk. Though from the look of things, we might have to get you a new nickname soon.”
Steve reached for his packet and papers and rolled a cigarette. No, he shouldn’t be turning in his cowl. But Jansen was right. He wanted to.
Randy ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “Haven’t discussed it with Mitch yet, but I’m figuring we’ll be staying longer now than originally planned. This okay with you?”
With a nod, Steve tucked the packet into his pocket and lit up. “Stay as long as you need.” Bring Chenco over as much as you can.
“Can’t help but wonder where he’s going to end up living. He doesn’t sound like he’s made any alternative plans yet. Looks to me he could use some help finding a place. Probably has friends here somewhere, but staying with them doesn’t answer the long-term. Which somebody’s got to consider, even if the kid won’t.”
This was his cue, Steve knew, to say it was okay for Chenco to stay at the hacienda, to offer to help Randy find a place for Chenco to live full-time. This was when he could confess he was interested in maybe Chenco staying here after the others had left, with or without the hanky-panky.
Steve reached for the bottle of Jamesons.
Randy pulled a clean glass from the cupboard behind him and nudged it over. “I checked the feeds earlier. Gordy was okay all night. Nobody ever went near the cannery, and he seems pretty calm. He disappeared for a while—probably foraging or something.”
As ever, talk of Gordy brought an additional cloud down on Steve’s already murky thoughts. There’s your reminder of why you should steer clear of this. Except he knew he wasn’t going to.
He was pretty sure Jansen knew it too.
“Thing I need to know,” Randy said as Steve sipped, “is how tight I can play this. There’s a clear path here, I figure. Kid wants to be a showgirl, and I live in Vegas. Sam and Mitch come through regular now, and with Chenco there it’d get even more frequent. Of course, there are other considerations, like the uptight mom in the burbs he wants to reconnect with.” Randy picked up his whiskey glass and swirled the liquid around the bottom. “There are a lot of angles. Obviously what the kid wants is the most important thing. Thought I’d ask what you wanted me to do, though, before I lay too much pipe.”
Steve took a long, slow drag, watching the smoke curl as he exhaled. Tell him you don’t care. Tell him you don’t do this anymore, that he’s a sweet kid, sexy as hell. He’d make a great masochist for somebody else, but you’re too fucked up to get into this anymore. The voice of caution rung in his head, but as Steve remembered the way Chenco had looked in the firelight, the way he’d smiled and blushed when his gaze had met Steve’s, need edged out sense.
“Play loose,” Steve said at last, swirling the whiskey against the sides of his glass. “For now.”
Chapter Seven
CHENCO TRIED NOT to get attached to his brother and his friends as he didn’t harbor any illusions Mitch and Sam would stay in the valley for long. Still, it was great to head over to Steve’s place for a barbecue after work several nights a week, to sit around the fire pit and listen to everyone tell stories. Mitch had a million of them, having traveled all over the country and into parts of Canada, even to Mexico on a few occasions. Chenco’s favorite tale was Mitch’s attempt at the ice roads in Canada, just like the TV show—clearly this was a sore spot between husband and husband because Sam became grim and left the room for that one.
Sam, actually, was one of Chenco’s favorite parts of gaining a brother. He was only two years older than Chenco, and in a room full of men who liked to remind Chenco of the jobs they’d held when he was in diapers, Sam was an instant ally. Mitch’s husband also turned out to be a huge pop-music nut, which made him interested in Caramela’s set list. When he found out how little Chenco used the internet, Sam immediately sat his brother-in-law down in front of a laptop and gave him an education in pop blogs and message boards. Chenco didn’t get as much out of it as Sam wanted him to, but he enjoyed hanging out with his new friend.
Sam never hesitated to enthusiastically drag Chenco into activities or conversation, but everyone else measured Chenco, welcoming but not wanting to overstep. Randy teased Chenco, but not half as badly as he did anyone else. He cooked for Chenco too, and took his dietary fussiness as a personal challenge. Every time Chenco came over, there was a new Chenco-friendly item in the fridge or pantry.
Randy told stories as well, but mostly Randy watched. Sometimes Chenco felt like a bug in a jar around the man, and he wished he knew what Randy had decided about him.
They went out together too, all five of them, to dinner, to bars, and once to Heide’s show at Lasers.
It was fun, appearing at the club in a herd. Better still, Lincoln seemed to love them when they all hung out together after Heide’s show had finished, though Steve hadn’t been able to hang around, saying he had to check on something back at the house. The next day he and Chenco got together at Taco Palenque after Chenco finished work, and Lincoln didn’t hold back.
“They’re good for you. They respect you, they clearly want to support you and help you, and the big leather daddy is so hot for you he’s about to blow up.”
The comment made Chenco sit up straighter in the booth. “He is?”
Lincoln rolled his eyes and swirled his straw into his soda. “Yes. The eye fucking is intense, and if someone is ever stupid enough to hit on you while he’s in the room, they’ll be swallowing their teeth.”
Chenco chewed on this, wondering if it could be true. He’d about given up on the idea Steve would ever be interested in him. “He’s into BDSM. Like, way.”
Lincoln’s expression became guarded. “This is a problem for you?”
What did the look on Lincoln’s face mean? That BDSM was bad, or Chenco was a prude for not wanting to be involved? “I don’t know. I mean, Booker talks it up all the time, but Booker’s a crazy crackhead.”
“Have you tried BDSM?” When Chenco turned as red as the booth table, Lincoln laughed. “Okay, that’s a yes. Was it good, or you don’t know this either?”
Chenco stared at his hands. “It was only a little, but it was…good. I just…I don’t know. I didn’t think I was that person.”
“Well, if you are, make friends with him. If you have an S&M streak in you, it’ll probably go back to dormancy about as well as your queen would.”
This was, actually, exactly what Chenco was afraid of. “I have enough going on right now. I don’t need sex games too.”
“Sex games aren’t work, honey, they’re fun.” Lincoln tapped his straw up and down in his drink and stared wistfully out the window. “Damn, but it’s been a while since I indulged. There’s nobody here I want to play with, though. Maybe I should go read Mr. Benson, jack off, and call it good.”
Chenco’s jaw fell slack. “You do BDSM?”
“I have, yeah. Not much lately, but I’ve dabbled. I’m not full on in the lifestyle, but I like nosing around on occasion. For some people it’s very serious. I dated a guy who was way into it once, and he took me to meetings and the whole thing. I couldn’t go that far, and this realization bummed him out, so we broke up.”
Chenco could see this happening with him. “I think Steve is one of those guys, the ones who take it seriously.”
Lincoln narrowed his gaze. “Okay, hold on. I’ve been thinking he looked familiar, and now I suspect I know why.” Lincoln rubbed at his jaw as he stared down into his drink. “I’m amending my earlier suggestion you explore your masochistic side. Do it, but not with this guy.”
Wait, what? “Why not? What do you know about Steve?”
“Not much, I’ll admit. Let’s just say I’ve seen him in action, and I’ve heard stories.” Lincoln shook his head with a grimace. “Be careful. When I said I was going to go read Mr. Benson—this guy as far as I can tell thinks he is Mr. Benson.”
“Who is Mr. Benson?”
Lincoln waved an impatient hand. “Mr. Benson is a novel whose title character is to the leather community what Edward Cullen is to a teenage girl or her middle-aged mother, except most leathermen would knife me for saying so. The book was big in the early ’80s. I think it’s reached cult status in part because it couldn’t be written now, not with AIDS and the whole LGBT politically correct parade. Benson is the Dom of Doms, the leather daddy everybody wants. Even now you catch men wearing shirts saying they’re ‘looking for Mr. Benson’. Which is great, but let me tell you, Benson doesn’t exist. Fantasy is fine for a novel, but when it walks and talks, something nasty is waiting underneath.”
Now Chenco’s stomach hurt. “You’re telling me Steve is nasty?”
Lincoln hesitated before speaking. “He used to show up at the local leather bar with this guy all tricked out in puppy gear. The puppy gear wasn’t the problem, mind you, and neither was their play. It was all clearly consensual. It’s just…the dynamic the two of them had. You could smell the mess.”
“Mess?” Puppy gear?
It was clear Lincoln struggled to find the right words, censoring what he truly wanted to say. “Sex games are supposed to be fun, like I said. Whatever he had going on with that guy wasn’t fun. I always thought they were playing out some weird, old drama, like every aspect of their lives together was a fucked-up scene they never resolved. I doubt they were dating, though the looks the sub gave Steve, probably they had at one point, or he wished they would.” Grimacing, Lincoln slouched in his seat. “You know what, forget it. This was years ago. Be careful is all. Don’t rush into anything with him. If he’s still into what I saw him doing to his puppy? It isn’t for you. There are a million flavors to playing, a million guys to play with. If he doesn’t feel right, pick somebody else.”
Something hollowed inside of Chenco at these words, making him feel lost and sad. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t like Steve had made so much as a move on him. “Well, no matter what you saw, he’s not interested, and we haven’t done anything.” Except he petted me once, and I think about it all the time.
Lincoln cocked his head. “You blush like you have done something, and you said you had. It wasn’t with him then?”
Flustered, Chenco felt his ears burn. “I’m done talking about this.”
Lincoln didn’t look happy. “Fine. You’re a big boy, you can play with Mr. Benson if you want to. Just don’t be shy about using your safe word.”
“Safe word?”
Lincoln threw up his hands.
THE CONVERSATION WITH Lincoln about Steve echoed in Chenco’s head for days, and quickly it felt as if his whole life were perched on a pivot. It was as if he had to move, had to decide, except he wasn’t exactly sure what his options were. On one side was darkness and uncertainty—finding a new place to live, contacting Cuevas to tell him he still didn’t have a will, wondering how many times the lawyer would tell him, “It’s all right, take your time,” and when Chenco would be told to load up the Nova and get out.
On the other side was laughter and light, the happiness filling Steve’s house and the men Chenco had hesitantly begun to think of as his family. They never brought up the trailer, and they made no move to return to their regular lives, except for Steve who often disappeared into his office to work. They invited Chenco to stop by whenever he liked, and if he went more than a day without contact, one of them would invite him over. Several times he’d stayed the night.
What caught Chenco up were Lincoln’s warnings. He’d gone to the library and looked up puppy play on the internet, which had been an eye-opener. He’d have done more recon on BDSM in general, but a young mom and her kids came to use the computer next to him then, and he’d closed the browser before she’d have to explain things she probably didn’t know the answers to herself.
Nothing sexual or otherwise happened between Chenco and Steve. Several times he caught Steve watching him, but this was all. Chenco felt as if someone needed to move, but he didn’t know what play to make. Occasionally he was annoyed Steve didn’t make the choice for him, but mostly Chenco hovered, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
One night in early March as he sat around the fire pit with the others, something did.
Randy had gone into the house to use the bathroom, but within a minute he had come back out, his face grave. “Monk. You’ve got trouble in River City.”
Mitch stood without a word, watching Steve. Steve’s mask of anger scared Chenco. He disappeared into his office, came out looking angrier, then nodded at Randy and Mitch, who followed him out the front door, stopping to brush a kiss across Sam’s cheek before he departed.
Sam seemed distinctly unhappy, but outside of a murmured, “Be careful,” he said nothing, only watched the three
men leave.
Chenco’s hair stood up on the back of his neck when he realized Mitch and Steve had both left the house toting guns. Randy had a baseball bat. When Chenco turned to Sam in horror, ready to ask what the fuck was going on, Sam crumbled, sagging against the kitchen counter and hugging himself with a forlorn expression on his face. “I hate it when they do this. I wish they’d just call the police.”
“What’s going on? What are they doing?”
Sam’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “Steve’s family had a cannery next to the orchard. It’s abandoned now, and the gangs love to torture a homeless man who lives there, an old friend of Steve’s. Steve has a video feed set up to monitor the place, and when the gang comes, he goes over and shoots at them until they leave.”
Chenco sank into a chair. “Are you serious?” He realized this man’s husband, Chenco’s brother, was out there risking his life—Randy too, and Steve.
Steve. Chenco’s gut clenched in fear.
Sam ran a weary hand through his hair. “I’ve asked Mitch not to go, but he says I don’t understand. He’s right, I don’t—this is insane, and I hate him doing it. The last time Gordy got hurt, and they asked me to stitch him up. Mitch and I got into a huge fight because I wanted to take the man to the mental hospital, but apparently that’s a touchy subject. I wish we would leave so this wasn’t an issue anymore.” He shook his head, shoulders drooping. “Sorry. I don’t really mean that.”
Oh, he did. “Are you…are you staying for me?”
He felt self-conscious, like this had been rude to ask, but Sam only smiled sadly. “Of course. Mitch wants to get to know you, wants to help you. Everyone does.”
“Help me?” Chenco repeated.
“Yes, help you. You’re about to be thrown out of your home, you seem a bit frazzled and lost—they want to help. I do too. We can’t quite figure out how to do it yet, but I think it’s because you’re not sure what you want.”
Tough Love Page 9