by Jen Davis
Taking a chance? If anyone was taking a chance, it was Robby. But Matt wouldn’t look this gift horse in the mouth. He wouldn’t mess things up—not like he did with Patty. His screw-up had cost him years of friendship.
Somehow, he knew, losing what he had with Robby would be something he’d never get over. And something he’d never find again.
Chapter
SEVENTEEN
Robby
Robby tugged at his shirtsleeves on the sidewalk outside of the Q-Center. Between what happened with Matt and what he had planned for today, he shifted from euphoria to anxiety and back again.
Those kisses. Goodness gracious.
Matt’s inexperience may have been obvious, but what he lacked in technique, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. The man kissed with abandon, like he’d just discovered the secrets of the universe and he thought he could unleash them with his tongue.
He might have been right.
You’d think months of fantasizing about kissing Matt combined with the two kisses they’d shared before would have prepared him for a no-holds-barred make-out session. And maybe they did, a little. But it was different when he knew it was what they both wanted. His body certainly knew where it wanted to go and how to get there. No hesitation, just a descent into a haze of lust fueled by taste and touch.
Matt was into it too. His body had responded beautifully and instantly, arching against him, seeking more contact.
The entire encounter was the stuff his dreams were made of…until Matt’s questing fingers in his hair doused the flames like a bucket of water on a campfire. Memories had assailed him, some hazy, some painfully sharp. All from his handful of nights with Harry. None he wanted to examine too closely. He’d left his old life behind a long time ago, and it was better left dead and buried. Hopefully, Matt would never know how low he’d sunk.
He pushed the feelings down.
Paul greeted him with an enthusiastic wave as he crossed the threshold. The man leaned over the big wooden table, surrounded by four guys hunched over, examining something on the surface in front of them.
“Robby. I’m glad you made it. Take a look at the design Brady made for our parade T-shirts.” The reverend swept his hand over the colorful rainbow and dove artwork splashed across poster-boards on the table.
He lifted the one closest to him and examined it. Art had never been his strong suit, but even his untrained eye could see the talent and passion in the bold strokes. “Awesome. Wait…there’s a parade?”
“Not for another six months.” The reverend held up the other two designs, peering closely at one, then the other before setting them back down. “We want to get all of our ducks in a row. Try out the designs on some fundraising sites and fliers. We’re lucky to have such a talented artist in house.”
Even without an introduction, Robby knew who Brady must be when he turned in his direction. The deep flush in the guy’s cheeks gave him away. But it wasn’t until the young man pulled his gaze up to somewhere around Robby’s chest when a zing of recognition hit.
The dead-eyed boy from Nitro. Sucking in a breath, Robby stumbled back a step.
Brady looked up at his face for a split second, but it was enough. His tremulous smile dropped away, and a sound just shy of a whimper escaped his throat. The guys around him zeroed in on Robby, anger and suspicion in their narrowed eyes.
“What’s your deal, man?” The demand sprang from an older teen with blue chin-length hair and two dumbbell piercings in his right eyebrow. The young man stepped toward him and poked him hard in the shoulder. “You here to cause trouble for Brady?”
Robby held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender and canted his voice low. “I’m not here to hurt anybody.”
A second guy, this one with dark brown skin and cornrows, angled himself in front of Brady. “This is a safe space.”
The first guy bared his teeth. “Go back to wherever you came from.”
Robby dropped his hands to his sides. “I came from a nowhere little town that threw me out on my ass when I was sixteen.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo.” No sympathy from the guy with the braids.
“I saw him with one of the regulars at Nitro,” Brady murmured.
“Get. The fuck. Out.” The pierced guy surged forward, pushing him back with both hands, just as the reverend tried to stop him.
“Marshall—” Too late.
The force almost knocked Robby on his rear. “It was the only time I’ve ever been back there.” He modulated his voice and kept going before Marshall could call him a liar. “But I’ve been to plenty of places like it. You do what you have to when your only other choice is the street.”
Marshall grunted. “So, what’s your story?”
How much could he share? Could he, finally, force some of his old darkness into the light of day? One look at Brady’s bleak expression pushed him to try.
Here goes nothing.
“When I was homeless, for months, I’d use the horny guys I found at the clubs to give me a place to sleep. At least, I could choose my partner when I picked a guy up. I didn’t always have the same luxury at the shelter.”
The guys surrounding Brady loosened their aggressive stances. They must’ve heard the truth in his story.
He forged on. “I met my ex at a place called The Edge. He liked younger guys, and I liked his apartment. And, honestly, for a long time, he treated me better than anyone else ever had. As long as he could run the show. But he broke me down a hundred ways over the years. For a long time, I only existed as someone who belonged to him.”
“But you got out.” Marshall now leaned against the table. The others, even Brady, had dropped into the chairs.
“He—after a while it took more and more to…rev him up.” What Robby wouldn’t give for a bottle of water right now. His mouth had dried up so much, his tongue felt heavy and thick. “We’d double up with another couple. Sometimes, he’d trade me off. Other times, well, I guess the last thing was finally too much. I took the little bit of fun-money I’d managed to save and used every cent to rent a dirt-cheap studio apartment. Slept on the floor. Took cold showers because I couldn’t afford electricity and I ate at the soup kitchen. Then I found a job.”
And he still thanked God for it every day. For the job and for Xander Karras, who took a chance on a broken kid with no experience, no high school diploma, and no idea how to take care of himself. “It took a long time to build something for myself. To buy myself a bed. A pot to cook in. A towel. I went to N.A. Eventually, I got my GED. I got raises here and there. One day I made a friend. Then I made another one. Then I met Sara, who led me here.”
“How did you end up at Nitro? The night I saw you there.” The first words from Brady, spoken in a soft, breathy voice.
Heat creeped up the back of his neck. “When I was younger, Nitro was just a club. It didn’t have a VIP room. I went there the night you saw me because…I was lonely. Looking for someone—anyone—who might want me for a little while.”
Marshall nodded in understanding.
“Anyway, I saw a friend from the old days. He brought me to the back, and I swear it wasn’t what I was looking for.” He leveled his gaze at Brady. “You didn’t see me hook up with anyone because all I did was drink, which I really shouldn’t have been doing either. When I looked around and saw what was going on there, I got the hell out.”
Robby felt lightheaded, and the cotton of his shirt stuck to his back. He’d never shared so much about himself in front of people in his life.
“Don’t let this lot drive you away. It takes us all a while to warm up to new people.” Sara sauntered over barefoot in an African-print sarong-style dress. No telling how much of his sob story she’d heard.
“You think I’d miss the chance to see you again?” Robby caught sight of a mini-fridge against the wall. “There wouldn’t be any water in there by any chance?”
Instead of answering, Paul ambled over and supplied one. The first gulp helped a little,
but it took almost the whole bottle to quench the thirst his storytelling inspired.
Thomas had been right in a way; it was easier to talk about the hard stuff with strangers. Especially other people who might have lived through similar experiences. It wasn’t completely unlike sharing the low points people talked about in N.A. People with the same struggles were less likely to judge you for yours. And even if they did, it would hurt less than it would from someone you loved.
Easier. But still not easy.
When he set the bottle down, the anger and fear from the guys around him had dialed down to a quiet curiosity. The best he could hope for today was a fragile acceptance, and if he could achieve that, it would be a victory.
“I’ll leave if you still want me to go, guys. But I’d like to stay. Support you. Help if I can. Be your friend if you want. I can’t do much with art.” He waved at Brady’s work still splashed across the table. “But I can march with you. I can listen to you. Help you get your GED or get a job. I don’t want anyone to feel as trapped and alone as I was.”
No one rushed to answer, which didn’t surprise him. In the end, Brady tipped his head, brown bangs sliding over his eyes. “You can stay.”
Relief and triumph zinged through his veins. It had been one thing when the center had just been a vague idea he’d latched onto, something to give him purpose. But now he’d seen their faces. Felt the bravado and mistrust curated by who knew what kind of treatment by other people. Now, his acceptance here mattered on an entirely new level.
He already had an idea on how he could help. “Hey, Paul. How much do you know about the empty space for rent next door?”
Chapter
EIGHTEEN
Matt
Patty seemed to thaw a little more every time Matt saw her these days. Today, she was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Her skin was clear of makeup and so healthy, it almost glowed.
And she hummed as she packed Jimmy’s diaper bag.
His eyes widened and he almost choked when her hum turned into full-fledged singing.
Or it did for a moment or two…until she set down the jar of mashed potatoes on the counter with a thud. “Stop gaping, or you’re gonna catch flies with your open mouth. You got a problem with Lauryn Hill?”
He shook his head, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Not at all. My mom loves that song.”
“Where do you think I learned it?” She scooped the jar back off the laminate and into the bag with the rest of Jimmy’s stuff: his favorite crackers, some star-shaped pasta. All stuff Matt had at home, but he wouldn’t interrupt and risk ruining her good mood.
“If it’s not the song—and I know it’s not my singing—what are you gawking at me for?” She carried the bag over and held it out to him. “Do I look bad or something?”
He hoisted the strap over his shoulder. “No. You look better than I’ve seen you in a long time.” Misfire. “I mean, you look great. Really. Like you’re…happy.” It let the grip of guilt he felt over what happened between them ease a fraction.
Jimmy toddled over to his mom and wrapped his arms around her leg. She picked him up and propped him on her hip. “You can stop swallowing your tongue, Matty. I get it.”
Sighing, she pulled a paper towel off the roll and wiped Jimmy’s running nose. “I don’t know if I’d say I’m happy, exactly. But I’m not sticking pins in your voodoo doll, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“You have a voodoo doll of me?” He wouldn’t put it past her to commission one from her grandma.
She glanced at the ceiling for a moment before releasing their son back to the floor. “Yeah, well, I’ve been wallowing in my bullshit long enough. My new job is opening some crazy-cool doors for me. It’s not the way I thought I would use my art, but it has my creativity pumping again.”
They still hadn’t talked about her mystery job. “You never said where you’re working.”
“I’m pulling some shifts at the tattoo place on 5th Street. Everything from answering the phone to scheduling the appointments to taking out the trash. Two guys run the place and one of them just had surgery for a torn rotator cuff. He’s going to be out of commission for a few weeks. Steve can’t handle all the load on his own.”
“Steve?”
She swiped a banana from the counter and pulled down the peeling. “You remember Old Mrs. Peres? The lady down the hall from my mom?”
“The cat lady?” Who could forget all those cats? She must’ve had a dozen. Patty’s mom used to send them down to her apartment with plates of leftovers after the woman’s son moved out to live on his own.
“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed as she chewed. “Turns out Steve is her son. We’d met a few times over the years before his mom passed. He remembered me from the time they had Christmas at our house.”
Oh yeah. The year before the old lady died, Patty’s mom had invited her over for a Christmas lunch. She hadn’t wanted her to be alone for the holiday. Her son had surprised them all by showing up, hung over and in last night’s clothes.
“We got to talking my first day there, about his mom and about art. I did a few sketches for him, and he asked me to bring in my portfolio.” She ducked her head as she took another bite and swallowed. “Long story short, he’s letting me do an apprenticeship with him now.”
From the wonder on her face, apparently, she considered it a good thing, but… “I thought you told me he was kind of a screw-up, the cat lady’s son. Didn’t he have…” Should he say it? “Um, a drug problem?”
“Yeah. But he’s been clean a few years now.” She tossed the peel into the trash can, then rubbed her hands over her jeans-covered thighs. “Andrew—the one with the messed-up shoulder—he helped Steve get straight. Let him apprentice at the shop, and now they’re partners, in the business, not like they’re a couple. Steve wants to pay it forward, help me get my foot in the door. It’s really kind of a competitive field.”
The idea of Patty, focused on her future, with a good job, a career—it felt fantastic. “Sounds amazing.”
“I haven’t been so excited about anything in a long time. I want this, Matty. For me. For Jimmy. I’m not going to blow this opportunity.” The resolve in her voice reinforced her words.
He scooped their son into his arms. “You have no idea how much I hope this works out for you. If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.”
“I will. And maybe we can find a solution to this custody thing.” She slung her purse over her forearm and rifled through it until she found her keys. “Time to go.” On her way out, she stopped at the door. “It’s good to have something to look forward to for a change.”
No kidding. He had plenty to look forward to tonight.
The day with Jimmy passed quickly in a blur of building blocks, tummy tickles, and cartoons, making Matt grateful they hadn’t needed him at the bar today. Even basking in the joy of toddler kisses and nonsense words, his thoughts kept drifting to what might happen next with Robby, especially after he got the text midafternoon, inviting him over after dinner.
His mom was all-too-happy to babysit, so after a quick shower and shave he found himself on Robby’s doorstep, heart beating wildly in his chest. Just as a mild panic climbed toward his stomach, the door swung open and Robby tugged him inside.
Robby gripped his fingers in a firm hold and didn’t release them as they settled on the sofa. “I did something important today.” Pride shone in those milk chocolate eyes.
“You were going to volunteer, right?” He should’ve paid closer attention when Robby had told him last night, but those kisses had obliterated any chance of higher brain function.
Those kisses. He shifted on the cushion as the memories cascaded over his body.
“—met the most amazing people.”
Crap. He forced himself to focus.
“I really feel like I could make a difference there.” Robby squeezed his hand before letting it go.
“Yeah?”
> Robby hopped up and loped toward the kitchen. “This kid, Vin, he’s in foster care. The parents are garbage.” He paused as he rifled through the refrigerator, then popped up with a glass pitcher filled with burgundy liquid. “But he is so talented.”
Gripping the handle in his right hand, Robby balanced the base of the pitcher with his left as he carried it back toward Matt and set it on the coffee table. “He’s an artist. You wouldn’t believe the things he can draw freehand. Brady too.”
Matt tried to find the right level of encouragement. “Sounds…cool.”
Robby swept back to the kitchen and returned with two glasses. “But Vin’s real passion is graphic design. I want to help him. Make sure he graduates. Gets some training. Talent like his shouldn’t go to waste.”
Reaching for the pitcher, Matt made a small noise of agreement.
Robby put a hand on his arm. “You should come.”
“What?”
“To the Q-Center. You should come. Meet everyone.”
The idea of meeting new people never sounded exciting. More like nerve wracking. “I’m not great with people, Rob.”
“I know you feel that way.” Robby’s hand slid back and forth over his forearm. “For what it’s worth, you’re great with me.”
Not so great Robby felt comfortable enough to tell his whole story.
Stop looking for trouble. You’re letting your own insecurities play with your head.
He shook it off. “It’s different with you.” Was it too soon to start kissing again? He eyed Robby’s bottom lip.
“Hey.” Robby snapped his fingers. “Eyes up here.” He gestured to his own eyes. “I’m serious. These kids—well, they’re not all kids. Some of them are maybe, nineteen or twenty. But they need people who they can trust. People who don’t want anything from them. We can change their lives.”
Matt returned his attention to the pitcher and filled the glasses. He sniffed his drink. “What’s in here?”