Rick: (Joey - Part 2)

by Angelique Jurd

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Charlotte wipes her mouth with her napkin and sips her wine. Nods. “Ask away.”

  “What were his other… um…” He chews his lip, trying to decide on a word.

  “Boys?”

  Joey suppresses a shudder. That is the right word after all, even if he doesn’t like it. “Yeah. What were they like?”

  Charlotte has another mouthful of gnocchi then points to his plate with her fork. “You eat, I’ll talk.” She waits until he has a mouthful of spaghetti before continuing. “Most of them were just curious about the lifestyle, trying to figure out what they wanted from it. They never lasted very long.”

  “Most of them?”

  “There was one guy early on who wanted to try and convince Rick it was all just a game rather than a lifestyle and when it became clear that Rick didn’t agree, he vanished into the sunset. And then of course there was Harrison. Gold digger with a substance problem and from what I gather a talented mouth. In my opinion it took Rick way too long to send him packing. Since then he’s really only had scenes at the club.”

  “Until me.” Joey sips his water, eyes fixed on the tablecloth.

  “Until you.”

  “Were they littles? Like real littles?”

  Charlotte frowns. “Joey, there are lots of ways to be a-”

  He cuts her off, twirling his fork in his pasta. “But were they?”

  “If you mean did they age-play, yes. Some of them. Most of them. Why?”

  “And is that what he liked? What he wanted?” Lifts the fork to his mouth.

  “Did Rick want them to age-play do you mean?”

  He shoves the pasta in his mouth. “Mmmmhmm.”

  “At the time I think he enjoyed it yes but -”

  “When he does … scenes … at the club, are they age-play?”

  Twirl. Lift. Shove.

  “Some of them. Why?”

  “Who chooses how the scene is played?”

  Twirl. Lift. Charlotte catches his hand and presses it back down.

  “Joey, that’s enough. Look at me.” Charlotte waits until he lifts his gaze to meet hers. “He loves you.”

  “I can’t give him what he wants.”

  “He wants you.”

  Joey pushes his plate away, no longer hungry. Shakes his head. “Why? I’m not a real little, I can’t do those things. I’m bro-”

  “You done with your pity party for one?” Charlotte asks not unkindly. Joey jerks back in his seat. “Look kid, I know what you went through was brutal. Vile. I agree with Rick, that son of a bitch Danvers deserves to rot in hell for what he did to you. But you have got to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You have friends here, people who care about you and who want to help. Who can help. And leading that charge is Rick Southwell. Trust me when I tell you, he’s one tough mother but they don’t come much better than Ricky.”

  “But I can’t even call him…” The words trail off as Joey runs his finger along the table edge.

  “Daddy? So? Who gives a fuck?” A woman at the next table frowns at them; Charlotte smiles back at her. “You think he gets off on the label? I’m not sure what language you need this in, but he fucking loves you.” The neighboring diner clears her throat, frown now turning into a glare. “Lady stop listening to conversations that don’t concern you and you won’t be fucking offended okay?” She turns back to Joey, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised. “What’s really bugging you?”

  Hand trembling, Joey picks up his water and gulps down the last of it. “I don’t know. I know how that sounds but it’s true. If I knew what the problem was, I’d be able to fix it, but I don’t.” He signals a passing waitress and asks for more water. Charlotte points to her wine glass and the waitress smiles. “The other night, I was going to tell Rick I love him, but I chickened out. Then Blake turned up and everything went to shit you know? I feel like it doesn’t matter what I do, he’ll always be there. I’ll turn some corner and run into him again.”

  “Not if Rick has anything to do with it.”

  “That’s part of the problem though.” Joey pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t know what Blake’s like. If anything happens to Rick, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “Is that why you were going to leave?”

  He peers at her from under lashes. “He told you?”

  Charlotte chuckles. “Sweetheart we’ve been friends forever, there’s not much Ricky doesn’t tell me. Including that he’s scared you have some half-assed idea that running off in the middle of the night will keep him safe.”

  “That’s what I was going to do but he wouldn’t let me go,” Joey whispers. He considers Charlotte’s words again for a moment then narrows his eyes. “That’s why you’re babysitting isn’t it? He thought I’d run if there wasn’t someone with me.”

  Shrugging, Charlotte sips her wine before answering. “You did it once before.”

  “That was different, I had to get …” The protest dies on his lips as he realizes there is no difference. He’d still be running from Blake and Blake would still find him, but Joey would be alone. On the other hand, what if Blake does something to Rick? Frustration swamps him and for a moment Joey wishes he liked the taste of alcohol. He drags his fingers through his hair with a despondent sigh. “I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m going around and around in fucking circles.” The woman from the next table stands up with a huff. “Oh, fuck off lady.”

  Wine explodes from Charlotte’s mouth and nose with such force that Joey is showered with Chardonnay. Spluttering and coughing, she gropes for a napkin as a waitress hurries over to see if she’s alright. Joey takes the napkin and wipes his face; he’d even surprised himself with the words.

  “Do you love him, Joey?” Charlotte asks when she can finally speak.

  Does he love Rick? Oh, God yes. Rick is … Joey shakes his head. He can’t explain it. Isn’t even sure he understands it. He just knows that when he’s with Rick, everything feels right. He feels right. He feels safe. It’s more than that though. It’s the little flip his stomach does when he looks up to see Rick walking toward him. The zing of pleasure when they kiss. The way he can say what he wants - absolutely anything - without fear of finding himself on the floor, bleeding and dazed. Gentle words Rick uses to ask for permission in bed. Soft t-shirts that don’t itch and cups of hot chocolate when he’s lost in a new book. A little white kitten with gray ears and paws that chases his laces when he’s putting his shoes on. None of that is what Joey says though.

  “He’s not ashamed of my bear.” Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. Sniffing he ducks his head.

  “Then let go of the rest of that shit. Rick doesn’t care about any of it. He just cares about you.” Charlotte covers his hand with her own. “It’s time to stop running, sweetheart.”

  “What if he changes his mind?”

  Charlotte bursts into laughter and raises her hand for the check. “Oh honey, trust me when I tell you, I know that man well enough to say there is no danger of that.”

  ♦♦♦

  Rick

  Rick rubs his eyes and stretches. It’s nearly nine-thirty and he’s still not finished with these damned contracts. It’s all very well saying you should be working on your business while others work in it, but some days he misses the actual PR and comms work. He leans back in his chair, letting his head tip back so he can see the living room. On the sofa, Joey is sound asleep, his bear tucked under his arm and Finn curled up on his chest. His other hand, still with a loose hold on his kindle, rests on the floor.

  Rick sits back up, taking care to not make a sound, and turns his chair so he can watch him sleep. As has become his habit Joey is wearing light cotton pants and a t-shirt, this one with long sleeves he’s pushed to his elbows. The drawstring of the pants has worked loose and shifting in his sleep has dragged them down to reveal the sharp jut of his hip bones and the line of hair running down from his navel.

  Not for the first time since Joe
y appeared in his life, Rick wonders how he got so lucky. Physically, Joey is everything Rick loves. Tall, lean, cat-like in his movements. Rick doesn’t hate the longer hair either. The shy submission - not because he wants to get off but because he is naturally submissive - and the occasional bursts of sass that seem to surprise Joey himself, are also appealing. Those are the things that the world sees and loves about Joey; the things Rick has to share.

  The world doesn’t see the scars - Rick has counted them while Joey sleeps at night and there are over fifty across his body - not really. As long as they don’t make the observer uncomfortable, scars are no different to moles or freckles after a while. Just a part of a person’s physique - at least for the world. Mangled fingers are just one of those things that make up Joey Harkin when someone describes him, like the color of his eyes. People don’t see the suture points, the ragged edges. The small white knot of tissue in his groin, that he now knows is the result of an ill-fitting cage, or the flesh of his nipple burned and twisted at the end of a cigarette. Rick has caressed them. Run his tongue over them. Committed them to his memory.

  Misshapen fingers are a reminder that Joey endured cruelties Rick can’t even begin to imagine. Doesn’t want to imagine. He never knew that Joey. Knots of muscle and twitches of nerves bear witness that Joey survived through sheer will. He didn’t know that Joey either - although he met him one afternoon in his office. But every scar is also a reminder that this Joey, stretched on his sofa, is his Joey. His boy to love and protect. As long as Rick is around, nobody will ever hurt his Joey again.

  As if summoned by the thought, Joey opens his eyes. Yawns and stretches, then rubs at his nose with the back of his hand. Easing the kitten to his lap, he sits up, still half asleep. He looks, Rick thinks, ridiculously cute in his befuddlement.

  Deciding that no contract is more important than the sleepy man on the sofa, especially after the past few days, Rick hits save and shuts his laptop down. Crosses to the room to the sofa and drops down beside Joey.

  “You’re cute,” he tells him. Joey wrinkles his nose.

  “Finn’s cute. Bunnies are cute.”

  “And so are you, sleepyhead.”

  “Sorry I fell asleep.” Joey rests his head against Rick’s shoulder.

  “Don’t be. I had work to do and besides you were -”

  Digging his elbow into Rick’s ribs, Joey squints at him. “Don’t you dare say cute again.”

  “I was going to say you were only asleep for a little while.” He pulls Joey into his arms and kisses his cheek. “But you were cute too.”

  Joey groans a protest and snuggles in against him. Jumping down from the sofa, Finn stalks to the kitchen, tail pointed straight up as if to say neither of them are cute, but both are quite ridiculous.

  “That kitten has the most expressive tail I’ve ever seen,” Rick remarks and to his surprised pleasure Joey giggles. “I like hearing you laugh.”

  After a couple of seconds Joey sobers and settles back into Rick’s arms. His breathing evens out and Rick is starting to think he’s gone back to sleep when he speaks. “I know you said I’m your … boy… but I’m a bit old for a babysitter don’t you think?”

  “Hmmm? What do you mean?” Rick smothers a yawn against Joey’s neck. Now that he’s stopped working, fatigue is creeping up on him.

  “Charlotte.”

  “What? Oh. Well, I just thought you’d like the company. I didn’t mean you needed someone to look after you.”

  “Yeah, you did but that’s okay. I’m sorry I worried you.” Rick stiffens, braced for whatever’s coming. “I just don’t think you realize how far Blake will go or why I’m really scared of him. I don’t want him to hurt me or you, and even though I think it would be safer if I did, I promise I won’t leave.”

  Rick closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “Joey -”

  “Let me finish. I’m sick of him controlling my life. That was why I ran away from him in the first place but he’s still doing it and I don’t know how to stop him. But I’m done running.” A lock of hair falls over Joey’s eyes and Rick pushes it away. “You have to promise me you’ll take this seriously. He’s dangerous and if anything happens to you…” Joey stops. Swallows whatever was supposed to come next. The look he gives Rick is so earnest, so intense, Rick can feel the hair on his neck stand up.

  “I promise.” He drapes Joey’s legs across his lap. Kisses his cheek.

  On the coffee table, Joey’s cell phone vibrates but Rick grabs his hand when he tries to reach for it and shakes his head. No. “It’s either someone from work or that brat Maisie and in either case, they can wait until tomorrow.”

  “But -”

  “But nothing. It’s time for bed. Come on, before you fall asleep on me and I have to carry you up again.”

  Joey’s pout is far more appealing than it should be on a man of his size and age. “You like carrying me up.”

  Rick pushes him to his feet and gives his ass a gentle smack. “Get your stuff and let’s go.”

  He waits while Joey finds Finn, his bear, his Kindle, and finally his phone, then follows him up the stairs. Leaving Joey to deal with it all, he goes to the bathroom first. As he squeezes toothpaste onto his toothbrush, he stares at his reflection wondering if it’s time for the beard to go. He’s running his fingers through it when a startled cry makes him drop both items in the sink and hurry out. Joey, seated on the bed, is staring at his phone, face chalky in the lamp light.

  “I told you not to look at that.”

  Joey holds the phone out. “It was an unknown number and I thought it might be a client.”

  Frowning, Rick takes the device and squints at the message on the screen. His heart pounds when he realizes who the sender must be. How the fuck did he get Joey’s number?

  Hope you’re happy.

  “Son of a bitch! Does he mean he's okay wi -”?

  Joey cuts him off. “No. He doesn’t.” He looks up, shoulders slumped in defeat. “How did he find my number?”

  “Probably rang the office. I know it’s not on the website.” Thank God, they haven’t updated those damned bios yet. “I’ll talk to Mark LeGrand tomorrow and see if there’s anything we can do to track the number, though I imagine there isn’t.”

  Mark LeGrand is the attorney Southwell and Matthews keep on retainer. Rick had spent three frustrating hours with him earlier that day trying to find out what, if anything, could be done about Blake fucking Danvers. Like Carter, Mark had been apologetic but adamant - unless Joey lays charges and testifies, there’s nothing to be done. Even if Joey can be convinced, he has to file the charges in Portland.

  “Hopefully he saw that Joey is well protected and will get the hell out of Dodge,” Mark had said as they finished up.

  Rick wants to believe that too, just like he wants to believe that the text message in front of him is innocuous but it’s clear Joey doesn’t. He thumbs the phone off and puts it on the dresser. Sits next to Joey on the bed.

  “There’s nothing we can do tonight so we may as well get some sleep and I’ll call Mark in the morning.”

  ♦♦♦

  An incessant ringing forces its way into a dream in which Rick is in a hammock with Joey, feeding him chunks of tropical fruit. As he shakes the remnants of the fantasy away and searches for his phone, Joey stirs next to him. When was the last time either of them had an uninterrupted night’s sleep? His fingers close around the device and he lifts it to his face. Peers at the screen. Ian. Why is Ian calling him at one-thirty in the morning?

  “Ian? What’s wrong?”

  Hair sticking out in every direction and eyes bright with worry, Joey sits up, mouthing questions. Rick holds his hand up. Wait.

  “Rick, I’m at the hospital. Maisie was attacked on their way home from their night class. They're in the hospital.”

  “Fuck! Which hospital?” At the word hospital Joey explodes into movement, grabbing for the phone and pulling on Rick’s arm. “Damn it, Joey, wait!” Rick holds him at
arm’s length. He listens while Ian gives him the details. “Okay we’ll be right there.”

  “Rick?” Ian’s voice trembles

  “Yeah?”

  “I think it was Danvers.”

  Schooling his features into a mask of calm, Rick wills himself to not let Joey see something is wrong. “Why?”

  “You’ll see when you get here.”

  The line goes dead. Rick takes Joey by the shoulders and explains in a firm, calm voice what he knows.

  “It was him.” Joey wraps his arms around himself and begins to rock. “I know it. It was him. That’s what the message was about.”

  “Joey, listen to me. You’re probably right but we don’t know that for sure yet. Right now, we need to get to Central and find out how bad it is. Are you going to be okay?”

  In response Joey throws back the covers and goes to the closet. Starts pulling out jeans and shoes. Rick goes to him, turns him around, and studies him closely.

  “If this is going to be too much, you need to stay home. I can’t help Ian if I’m worrying about you. Are you sure, you’re going to be okay?”

  He’s relieved when he sees a spark of defiance in Joey's eyes. “Maisie’s my friend and I’m going to see them, and you can’t stop me.”

  “Okay, baby boy, calm down. Nobody’s going to try and stop you.” Rick presses a kiss to the side of Joey’s mouth. “I’ll call a cab.”

  ♦♦♦

  Joey

  Joey stares, unseeing out the car window. This is Blake’s doing. He doesn’t need to see Maisie to know. The text message tells him everything. Blake must have sent it just before he did it. Rick says it might be a coincidence, but Joey can see in his eyes he doesn’t really believe it. He’s just not sure how Blake knows who Maisie is or that they’re friends or how he got to them. Of course, he doesn’t know Blake as well as Joey does. He sighs. He’d tried to tell them that Blake would find him. That he was dangerous.

  The cab driver pulls over at the hospital entrance; Joey waits while Rick pays. Rick calls Ian as they go in to find out what floor they’re on and tells him they’ll only be a minute. They get lucky with the elevators and in minutes are on the second floor. Trailing behind Rick as he strides toward the nurse’s station Joey spots Charlotte and Carter at the other end of the corridor with two police officers. He nudges Rick and points.