Tough Love

by Heidi Cullinan

  Yes, Steve was terrified, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out of what, exactly. “It’ll work out.”

  Chenco said nothing, only squeezed Steve’s hand as he went back to his drink.

  RANDY AND ETHAN’S house truly was impressive. Located in Henderson, it was in a newer development near what had been a pretty swanky area in the 1960s, as far as Steve could tell. The house was about ten years old, in a rather uptight little part of town. From the outside, the house looked like any other slightly ornate display of ostentation. Once beyond the front door, however, it was clear Randy Jansen had made his mark.

  It had always amused Steve how Jansen fussed over his house, cooking and cleaning and playing hostess whenever he had guests. While he’d never shown much interest in having a fancy place when Steve knew him before, he’d made Ethan’s home into a showplace for whomever he chose to entertain. In the absence of the official homemaker, Sam gave them a grand tour—the great room, the dining room, the theater room, the side patio bleeding into the backyard which had a long, narrow pool with raised hot tub and wet bar.

  Everything looked as if at any moment the home might break into an elegant party. The walls were painted deep hues of red and brown and green, the floors gleaming hardwood or stone tile. Heavy crown molding accented the ceilings with an echo of ornate kick boards. The furniture was leather and luxurious, except for the patio, where it was weatherproof fabric nestled inside dark wicker matching the high, rock-and-wood walls shrouding the property.

  The kitchen was gigantic and acutely functional, not just a showpiece that looked nice when caught out of the corner of one’s eye from the dining room, but a working heart where Randy could make his gourmet meals, fancy desserts, and legendary Christmas cookies. It stood as a bridge between the elegant, in-your-face design of the front half of the house and the smaller, more intimate and comfortably furnished rooms beyond. In the cozy nook off the kitchen, for example, Steve recognized some old furniture and knickknacks. Farther on was a game room and laundry—outside of expensive equipment, these rooms might have been found in any house.

  There were cats also, he saw to his dismay, a black-and-white one sitting in the middle of an ornate cat gymnasium in the sunroom and a slightly larger calico somehow managing to take up the entire six-foot couch in the den. Sam stroked and cooed at each one as they passed through on the tour, and both times the animals simply squinted at him and nodded as if yes, this was the kind of adoration they had been put on earth for.

  Jesus, Steve hated cats.

  “They’re so precious.” Chenco crouched to love on the calico’s belly. “I always wanted one, but my mom said no, and of course Cooper would have killed it for fun.”

  Fuck, Steve was going to have to get a cat.

  The black-and-white came in to receive attention too, and Sam bent to stroke it. “This is Salomé, and the one you’re petting is Daisy. Crabtree gave Ethan Salomé as a kind of test during the whole casino thing, but he adopted Daisy on his own. He trained them with a clicker to do all kinds of things. I’ll show you later.”

  “I’d love to see it.” Chenco looked around the room, shaking his head. “This is the most amazing house I’ve ever been in.”

  “They fought forever about moving,” Sam explained as he led them up a set of back stairs, a stark contrast to the curving, open air ones in the foyer. “At first Randy kept saying Ethan needed somewhere fancy because he owned the casino, but Ethan refused. He said a small house kept him grounded. It started to become an issue, though, when he’d want to entertain city officials and other bigwigs, and he’d have to go to Crabtree’s place. Then Randy admitted he wanted a nice house. So they bought this one. It wasn’t their favorite, but it’s centrally located with enough growth they could shroud the backyard and have some privacy. They spent a ton of money on renovations. Added these second stairs, redesigned the whole rear half of the house to make it more intimate.” He blushed as he led them toward a closed door at the end of the hall. “They did some remodeling up here too.”

  Sam opened the door, leading them into the biggest wet dream of a playroom Steve had ever seen.

  Jansen had been at work in here as well, and at this point Donna Reed had on a bustier and carried a whip. The walls were painted a deep red, contrasted with a rich brown that managed to say dungeon and elegant all at the same time. Heavy wood and steel beams crisscrossed the ceiling with sturdy hooks arranged at appropriate places for rope work. Various benches and chairs decorated the periphery of the room, as well as dark-colored chests of drawers and a tall cabinet in the far corner. The lighting was recessed, the ceiling high enough to allow not only full range of arm motion but a flogger’s arc. In the center of it all stood a king-sized Folsom bed, overflowing with pillows and satiny dark gray sheets.

  Sam stood off to the side, cheeks coloring, but his expression made it also clear how proud he was of this part of the tour. “They let Mitch and I help design it. Honestly I think they mostly play in their bedroom, but when we…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I know you guys play, so feel free to use it anytime.”

  Steve and Chenco were given space two doors down, a spacious, open-air room with its own balcony. This was on the more formal side of the house and had clearly been the master bedroom once. It didn’t just have its own bathroom—it had a sitting room.

  “Randy says all this in here can go to storage if you want to move your things in,” Sam explained. “It’s always the guestroom, so it’s a little impersonal. Ethan thought you’d like the sitting room for Caramela. She’ll have her own space at the theater, but he figured this would be good too. If not, let me know. Or them know, or something.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking unsure.

  Steve gave Sam a smile to ease him. “It’s fine. Thank you, Sam.”

  Sam’s shoulders returned to the proper latitude. “Mitch went back to the distribution center in Randy’s truck. He’ll grab your suitcases and a few things he can tote easily. We’ll get the rest when you know where you want to be, he said.” He nodded toward the downstairs as he headed into the hall. “I’ll go make some dinner and let you guys get settled.”

  Shutting the door behind him, Sam left them alone.

  Chenco stood at the window to the balcony. He hadn’t said much of anything during the tour, and he’d even been guarded in the playroom. Steve watched him for a minute, trying to read him, then gave up and slipped his arms around Chenco’s middle.

  “Talk to me, cariño.”

  Chenco laughed, a quiet, almost sad sound. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Steve continued to hold him, swaying slightly when the tension in Chenco seemed to need bleeding off. Chenco stopped tensing and moved with him, a subtle back and forth, and eventually he began to speak.

  “I feel stupid,” he said at last in a whisper. “I shouldn’t be here. This house, that stage—I don’t belong here. This isn’t me. I’m a stupid kid from the valley.” He bit his lip and shook his head. “I know what you said about family, but it still makes me nervous. I should be happy, but things like this don’t happen. I should be back in the trailer, afraid of getting killed. Or I should be losing my home and having to go live with Booker or Heide. All I did was go yell at my dad’s lawyer, and now I have this new life. I’m such an idiot. It’s a good life, amazing, more than I ever wanted to dream of. Why can’t I just accept it? What in the hell is wrong with me?”

  Steve stroked Chenco’s arms, pulling him in tighter, and deepened the sway. “Maybe this is too fast. If you want, I’ll help you find an apartment of your own—here, back in Texas, wherever you want. Not something you owe to someone else—you could get a job here, anywhere, and earn your own way. Tell me what you want, what you need, and I’ll help you get it.”

  By the end of this speech, though, Chenco had tensed again, and when he spoke, his voice shook. “This is the worst of all—how I get more upset the nicer you are to me. Why am I like this? Why do I feel easier when you h
urt me? Why can’t I just let you be nice? Why can’t I let you say you’ll help me, let them try to help me, but if you ask to hit me, beat me, whip me, piss on—” His voice broke, and he hung his head.

  Steve pressed his face into Chenco’s hair. “Bodies are easy. You endured physical pain and humiliation before you met me. It’s never scared you. Nobody ever loved you for you before, though. None of your family ever saw you wearing Caramela and loved her as much as the boy they wanted you to be, the boy you never were, but Mitch did, and he did it without blinking. Nobody ever accepted you simply because you were somebody’s brother, took you in as adoptive family.”

  He nuzzled Chenco’s ear, slipped the soft lobe between his teeth, biting down, giving Chenco what he wanted at last, bleeding the edge off those emotions Steve knew were killing him.

  “Nobody ever looked at you and saw things you needed you didn’t know you longed for.”

  Chenco started to cry softly, his body still tense, everything in him telegraphing he couldn’t take anything more. Steve swallowed the rest, knowing it was too much, too intense of play even for his brave Crescencio. He whispered the remainder to his own heart.

  Nobody ever loved you like you were a goddess, like a jewel, ready and willing to lay everything down to please you, make you happy, to leave his life behind and follow you, watching out for you, guarding and protecting you. Nobody ever loved you without expectation of being loved back, loved you for your pride and strength and all your secrets.

  Nobody ever loved you so much they scared themselves with the weight of it, knowing nothing mattered anymore but taking care of you, because loving you lifted them out of a darkness and fog they hadn’t been able to see anymore. Nobody ever wanted to worship you so badly they were willing to give you whatever you needed, to watch carefully and figure out those needs before you did.

  Nobody ever loved you like I do.

  Steve let those words fall into the quiet. “You’re strong enough for this. You can go to the RGV, or we can slow down—but I know you, Chenco, and I know you want this. This is the real deal, what they—what we—are offering you. I know it’s tough to accept, so take your time with it. But I promise you, it’s real.” He wrapped his arms tighter around his lover. “It’s real.”

  Chenco turned his head and pressed his forehead against Steve’s own. Tears still ran down his face, but he’d come back from the edge. He shook as he spoke, and his voice was a whisper, the words falling from him in jagged shards. “Stay. Please.” His fingers dug into Steve’s arm, his nails small, blunt daggers. “Whatever happens—right now, just for now, please, please stay.”

  Deep oceans of pleasure rolled out of Steve, and he drew Chenco so tight to his chest he knew the boy could barely breathe. Always, baby. I don’t ever want to leave. “You got it,” he said, and pulled Chenco’s sweet, soft mouth down for a kiss.

  Chapter Nineteen

  BY THE TIME Randy and Ethan arrived in Vegas, Chenco had himself so worked up he’d nearly taken Steve up twice on his offer to go back to Texas. If it weren’t for Booker gloating and Lincoln being terribly disappointed in him, Chenco might have. When Ethan took him to the casino for his first rehearsal, however, his armor of pride had worn down to a worthless nub.

  The theater staff at Herod’s set him up with a rehearsal schedule and a dressing room, though the first few weeks were mostly planning and blocking for Caramela’s mid-May debut. Ethan had hired her a choreographer, who while she was good gave Steve a run for his money on being a sadist. Ethan had also instructed Chenco to order a full set of costumes, wigs, and makeup, and when Chenco told him he’d pay him back out of his wages, Ethan had waved a dismissive hand and said not to worry about it. Caramela had her first interview with a local YouTube celebrity, which she ate up with a spoon. Sometimes work was sitting with Ethan, talking about career plans and trajectory—those meetings often included Caryle too.

  At first Chenco was uncomfortable with how much Ethan invested in him. He felt bad saying so to Ethan, but one afternoon as he sat with Randy at the River, he confessed his unease.

  “I mean, I’m not making any money right now. I’ve earned a paycheck since I was sixteen. Now I’m living at your place, eating your food—I’m totally dependent.”

  “You’re earning your keep, from what Slick tells me.” Randy elbowed him. “Ease up, Princess. You’ll feel better once your first performance is under your belt.”

  “They’re not just talking about this show. Ethan wants to bring in a scout during the first of June. He says I could do a tour, if things played out right and it was what I wanted.” Chenco stirred his sparkling water with a straw. “Which is crazy. Everything is happening so fast.”

  This only made Randy smile. “That’s my boy. He loves a wild, impossible hair. I think you’re candy to him. But if this is too much, say so, and he’ll slow down.”

  “It’s not…” Chenco stirred his water faster, turning the ice into a series of collision courses. “I don’t know. I’m so fucking tense I could climb a wall.”

  “Well, if it’s tension eating you, I know a sexy leather daddy who’d love to make you let go.”

  God, and that was the other problem. “Yeah, well…not so much lately.”

  Randy sat up straighter. “Is this new? You two seemed good to me.”

  “I can’t really tell. I don’t know it’s me. I think it’s…him. He’s worried about Gordy. I wish Crabtree would let him go over. I think not knowing makes him worse.” Chenco’s force on the glass was threatening to knock it over. “Or it’s not that at all, and I’m being a jealous bitch.”

  Randy took Chenco’s glass away from him. “Lay it out a little better, babe. Is he ignoring you, or distracted? I know he’s giving you scenes because I heard you howling your head off last night. You don’t feel like he’s into it, or what?”

  Why had he brought this up, exactly? Chenco traced the wet spot where his glass had been. “Distracted, I guess. Or it’s nothing. I don’t know, and I can’t tell. It’s probably that I’m—”

  He’d cut himself off, but of course Randy pushed him. “Probably that you’re what?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.” When Randy opened his mouth to press the issue, Chenco cut him with a glare. “Hooker, I have a sick heel in this bag I would love to shove down your throat if you keep talking.”

  Laughing, Randy slapped a poker chip on the bar and stood. “Well played. Except that gives me an idea, come to think of it.” When Chenco gave him an incredulous look, Randy only waggled his eyebrows and brushed a kiss on Chenco’s hairline as he passed by. “Nope. I’m supposed to stop talking. Catch you later. Stop fussing and let things go well already.”

  Chenco tried to let go, but it didn’t work. Most days were so full of people and information that when he finally called Steve for a ride home, he was so over-stimulated he shook all the way back. Those days Steve was a rock—if Chenco truly needed release, his lover never failed to provide it. The problem, what Chenco hadn’t wanted to admit to Randy, was that scenes with Steve, even heavy ones, were rarely enough to pull him all the way back down. It made him feel lousy, and it made him panic. What if Steve figured it out? Would he leave? He’d said he wouldn’t, but people always said that. People said all kinds of shit.

  Like I love you no matter what and I love you just the way you are and yes, I’ll leave you the trailer.

  The plus side of the chaos of living with Ethan and Randy was he still had Mitch and Sam too. Chenco went with Sam on bike rides around town, showing off his favorite places. Sam picked up a job too, a full-time, non-temp gig which was apparently a very big deal as usually they only stayed somewhere a few months at a time.

  Mitch took jobs, but they were always local runs, and sometimes he was home for days at a time before leaving again. He took Chenco on Vegas tours as well, but most of the time they just went out to dinner. Mitch was always full of interest, asking about Chenco’s life, his plans. He told Chenco about his own life too,
not just what he was doing but what he worried about. When he worried about what to get Sam for his birthday, Chenco was able to tip him off about a new Xbox game Sam had eyed the last time they were out shopping. The birthday party itself had been great too—for the first time since he left Edinburg, Chenco didn’t go to a bar for someone’s birthday—he stayed at home, ate some of the best tamales he’d ever had, and kicked everyone’s ass at Dance Central 2.

  Still, the longer time went on, the more he didn’t just think, he knew something was wrong with Steve and that it had to do with Gordy. The good news was Chenco hadn’t upset him. The bad news was there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He could only keep being frustrated, going out of his mind and trying not to let it show, which was what he did.

  Until one night in late April after rehearsal, Randy met him in his dressing room with a wicked grin on his face. “Hurry up, honey, because you and I have an appointment in the boss’s office.”

  Chenco paused with his shoe half tied and frowned. “I do? We do?”

  “Yep. Cleared it with your papi and everything, so don’t fuss. Meet me upstairs as soon as you’re done. Don’t stop at the bar, and if you do, grab water. In fact, have them send up a pitcher.”

  Once he was dressed, Chenco did as he was told, and when he gave the order for a pitcher of water to be sent to Ethan’s office, the woman tending the bar grinned.

  “Oh yeah? Well look at you go, handsome. Playing with the boss man.”

  Playing with the—what? But though Chenco seemed confused, she laughed and refused to explain.

  When Chenco arrived at Ethan’s office, Ethan was absorbed in the screen of his laptop. Randy stood at the large picture window, bouncing eagerly on his toes.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  “Don’t mind him,” Ethan murmured without glancing up from his work. “He’s overeager, as usual.”

  “Overeager for what?” Chenco asked.