Cash stared. “You have a plan?”
“Of course I have a plan,” Glen said, irritated. “I’ve known where she was for a month. I got the most recent intel last week. I was just waiting for you.”
Cash’s lower lip started to wobble, and Glen stared at him in horror. No. No. They’d done this once. Glen had held him as he’d cried, had warmed him as he shivered, rocked by the rawness of emotions Glen hadn’t plumbed yet.
And the next morning, as Glen had been texting Damien, God had destroyed what was left of Hole in the Rock and dropped the main wall of that little general store on Glen’s back. Cash had been spared by a falling counter that had kept him safe.
Damien had hauled them both out the next day, but the damage had been done. Glen’s shoulder had been crushed, and Cash’s spirit had broken. Damien could get them both to a hospital in Jalisco, but he couldn’t undo the long hours in the dark, rationing water bottles to stay alive and baring their souls to each other in a way Glen had never bared his soul to another human being.
And nobody could make Cash stay.
“Glen—” Cash choked out, but Glen had stood up and was running for his bedroom.
“I’ve got to call Damie,” he said. “He and Preston are probably planning a wedding or some bullshit. I’ve got to call him and tell Preston to bring the dogs and shit. And I need to call Elsie. I’ll… there’s blankets in the closet. You can sleep on the couch. Don’t mind Spence. He’s petting the Labrador retriever at the bar down the road. Watch television or—”
And that’s all he could do.
Because his heart was screaming to take Cash into his arms and comfort him, and his mind was telling him that the last time he’d done that, he’d barely walked away.
But as he rounded the corner, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his sweats and starting to make plans, he was haunted by his own voice, mocking his hasty retreat.
Men stay.
Yeah, well, this one didn’t. Not tonight. Not ever again.
Voices in the Dark
CASH managed to pull himself together after a few minutes, and he hated himself—a lot—for breaking down.
God, way to convince Glen he’d grown.
He wiped his eyes on his T-shirt and started wandering around the kitchen, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, then wiping down the counter. When he was done there, he did as Glen suggested, grabbing blankets from the closet and setting them up on the couch. He’d just settled in and was staring into the dark, thinking that this apartment was pretty nice for a mancave, when the front door opened and Spencer ambled in.
He was about to flop down on the loveseat, remote in hand, when he noticed Cash staring at him and paused.
“You’re sleeping here?” he asked, obviously surprised.
“Yes, but I’m not tired.”
“Well, duh. It’s barely nine. Why isn’t Glen out here? Or you in there? The fuck?”
Cash had to laugh. The difference between this guy and Damien, who walked and talked like a real live TV hero, was like night and day. But he suspected that besides both of them being stupid-good-looking, they were equally dead-on loyal to Glen, and that was good.
“He had some… uh, calls to make.”
Spencer’s eyes were sort of sleepy-looking, but now they sharpened. “You’ve been crying. What did that asshole say?”
“Nothing,” Cash admitted. “He just… just solved all my problems in about three sentences. Reminded me of how much more I would have had if I’d stuck around.”
Spence grunted. “Like him. You would have had him.”
“Yeah.”
“Bailed on him. Twice.” Spencer sounded like he was pondering.
“It’s great that you know that, by the way. I’m so happy the whole world knows.”
Spencer hardly rolled his eyes. “Why? Like, seriously. The fuck would you do that for? You don’t look brain-dead.”
Great. A guy who spoke in grunts and probably scratched his balls as a come-on was lecturing Cash on being stupid.
But then….
“I was scared,” Cash whispered.
Another grunt.
“Everyone’s scared,” Spence said after a minute. “You bang everything that moves, nothin’s gonna move you.”
Cash stared at him. “You might not be stupid,” he said, a little dazed.
That earned him half an eye roll. “Can’t say the same.”
Cash sputtered for a second. “I… he ran out of the room. No means no!”
Spence stared at him. He’d turned the TV on, and in the faint glow from the big screen, Cash could appreciate that Glen’s new roommate was really shockingly good-looking, like Rock Hudson had been shockingly good-looking. He didn’t have Damien’s way with people, but damn. At the same time, Cash had spent the last five months not able to look at another man, period.
Spencer Helmsley didn’t do anything for him, and the guy who did had fled in terror. After holding him close and making him feel the only safety he’d known in his entire life.
Aces.
“No means no,” Cash repeated into the suddenly uncomfortable silence.
“Did he say no?” Spencer asked.
“He ran away.” What was this guy not getting?
“Yeah, but did he run away because he wanted to say no, or did he run away because he wanted to say yes? I mean, most times that’s pretty obvious, and you just let the guy go, but this guy’s been waiting for you to show up for five months. I mean, you know. Couldn’t hurt to check.”
Cash closed his eyes. “Couldn’t hurt to give him some space.”
Spencer blew a raspberry. “Space. Hah.”
“You’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than a condom, have you?” Cash snapped.
“Actually yes, yes I have. Have you?”
Cash listened to the shattering of his glass house and deflated. “Look, whatever you were going to watch, just press Play.”
“What are you going to do? And by the way, we’re wheels up at 9:00 a.m. If you want to hash things out with him, I suggest you get a move on. All reports say he got zero sleep last night.”
“Whose reports?” Cash asked, curious.
Spence let out a faintly evil laugh and then passed over his phone, which displayed texts from Glen.
You asshole—you do dog transport next. Huskies, are you fucking kidding me?
And it’s one a.m. and the fucking dogs are on another round of “Open my crate goddammit!” It’s their favorite song.
And it’s two-thirty and they’re discussing politics. You could learn something, Spence—the red-coated one has a solid platform.
Damien has promised to bring Preston next time we do this. My brother the fucking dog whisperer—where the fuck is he now?
And… they sleep. It’s four goddammit in the morning. Unbefuckingbelievable. You owe me for this.
That last one, Spence had actually answered.
Sorry, Glen. I turned my phone off at twelve. How was the concert? Did they do “I wanna hump your hand!”?
Cash muffled a laugh. “You,” he said with emphasis, “are a horrible human being.”