First Rodeo (The Cowboy and the Dom Book 1) Page 4

  “Sure. Sure. I—you want to come up?” He could throw on a shirt and toss his pillow and blanket down the hall. “Or I could come down. Whatever.”

  He wanted to talk with someone about James, so bad.

  “Oh. Well? It’s kind of raining out here so…is it weird if I come up?”

  “Is it? Damn. Sure, man.” He managed to buzz Kevin in—and didn’t that thought make him snort somehow? He felt like the world’s biggest little redneck—before he grabbed his shirt and hid his bedding.

  The light knock at the door was followed by, “Hey. Kevin here.”

  He opened the door on a short, clean-cut, solid-looking guy with dark hair and dark eyes and a six-pack in his hand. At nine o’clock in the morning.

  “Hey.” Kevin stuck out a hand to shake. “Thanks, it’s pouring.” They shook hands and Kevin pulled off his raincoat, dropping it in the hall by the door.

  “I’ve been working with my head down some. Nice to meet you, man. You worked with my brother, you said?” Come on. Sit. Talk to me. I’m so fucking lonely.

  “I did. And we rode in on the subway together every morning.…I’m sorry, I didn’t ask your name, but you have to be family.”

  “Sam. Sam O’Reilly. James was my big brother. Come have a sit. You want coffee?”

  “Yeah. I would love some coffee.”

  He stepped aside, and Kevin came into the kitchen, looking around. “Oh! I brought you beer. Shiner Bock, in bottles. The bottles are hard to find up here. You have to go to this one place way up—” Kevin chuckled. “Anyway, he liked it, so I thought…I don’t expect you to drink it for breakfast.”

  “He did. It was his favorite. Thank you. What grade do you teach? And there’s all this fancy coffee; do you have a preference to type?”

  “I teach third grade. It’s insanity. You have hazelnut? Little cream or milk?”

  “Totally. I’m on it. Third grade. Wow. You must love it, though. I know James did.” He was way faster with the coffeemaker these days.

  Kevin grinned, bright white teeth showing. “I can’t see how you’d want to spend all day with a bunch of kids that would rather be anywhere else if you didn’t.”

  “Right? It’s a calling.” Not his, but thank God for those who had it. He took Kevin the coffee and sat. “It was damn kind of you to stop by.”

  “I’m so sorry about your brother. He was a good guy and a gift to those kids, really. It’s weird in the city to just drop in on people, but I didn’t know how to call, and…I just felt like you’d like to know that. I mean, that people thought that about him.”

  “I do. I did. Whatever. I’m glad you came by. I miss him, and this place is…I don’t know how to find him.” He was losing James, seconds at a time.

  Kevin looked at him thoughtfully. “You should drop by the school. His classroom. He’s all over it. And the fourth grade, the kids he had last year? They did this collage memorial thing. It’s a big deal. Gorgeous.”

  “I don’t want to upset anyone. Maybe I could come after the kids go home? Just to see? Did someone pick up his personal stuff?” Could he ask any more questions in a row?

  “I don’t know about his personal stuff, but I could find out. Come by after school sometime. Ask for Kevin Muller. Or…you want my cell?”

  “That would be great, if you don’t mind.” He grabbed his phone and opened up his contacts before handing it over. “I’m so glad James had friends here.”

  Kevin added a contact for himself—name, number, email. “There you go. Just text when you know you’re headed over. No pressure.” Kevin sipped his coffee. “You know Thomas, I guess.”

  “I’ve met him, yes. He loved James very much.” There. That was nice, right? Hell, he wasn’t even mad at the man. He missed James, and there was all this baggage and shit. Sam was just a reminder.

  “Seemed like it. I only met him one time, but he seemed like a nice guy. James was all smiles around him.” Kevin put down his empty coffee cup. “Listen, I don’t want to take up your time. I’m sure you’re busy. It was really good to meet you.”

  “I…I appreciate it. Seriously. I’m glad he had people that cared here.”

  “Lots. Seemed like he and Thomas were always out with somebody. Thanks for the coffee. Use my number if you want.”

  He saw Kevin to the door, waited while the guy shrugged on his raincoat. “Ugh. This weather. Take care of yourself.” Kevin jogged down the stairs and out into the rain.

  He watched Kevin leave. Okay. Time to harass the detectives.

  Sam caught somebody watching him from down the hall, and he lifted his hand for a wave—either a little man or a good-sized lady, he couldn’t tell with all the shadows. “Mornin’.”

  “Hi.” The figure shifted into better light. “You a real cowboy?” Huh. A kid. Maybe ten, twelve years old, by the look of him.

  “Yessir.” No question. It was one of the things that he knew in his soul.

  The kid took a few steps closer. “Did you guys find Cowboy James yet? We’re supposed to do math homework.”

  “He passed away, man. I’m sorry.” And that was never going to be easier, was it? Probably not. He guessed it couldn’t get too much worse.

  “Oh.” The kid frowned at him. “Are you any good at math?”

  “Yeah. I sorta am. I’m James’s brother. We all liked math.” All of them, especially Bowie, weirdly enough.

  “I’m really bad, and I have a test on Tuesday. James helps me study for my tests. Can you help me on Monday? I mean, unless you have a rodeo or something.”

  “Sure, if your folks are okay with it. You got a name?” God, he could ride. Something to make him feel alive.

  “William. You can talk to Mom sometime, she’ll say yes. Her name is Anna. She’s not home; she’s working. Phone is ringing. Thanks, cowboy!” The kid disappeared through a door that slammed, the sound echoing up the stairs.

  “Lord have mercy.” So, nine o’clock, teacher and kiddo not at school. Weekend, then. Maybe they’d have PBR on the TV today.

  A guy came walking down the stairs and slipped an envelope under the kid’s door, before walking right up to him and handing him one too. “Rent’s a week overdue, buddy,” the guy said.

  “Okay. I’m still trying to figure all James’s bills and all. You need a check? A money order? What?”

  “Cash when it’s late. Check or money order otherwise. There’s a fee after Friday.”

  “Fair enough. Where do I bring it?” He was a little dizzy with all the complications of living life not on the ranch where everything was how it had been for years.

  “Address is on the bill. The office is open Monday. Have a good one.”

  “Yessir.” Okay. Damn. He needed to figure out all this stuff. There was life insurance from the bank and from the school and all. Momma had put it in a bank account and told him he could use it for this sort of thing until he figured out what he was supposed to do. He couldn’t squander the money, he knew that, but this place was expensive for a broke-dick cowboy with a bunch of freelance jobs.

  Lord have mercy. At least he had something to do Monday—find a bank, get money, pay James’s rent, tutor William.

  It wasn’t something fun to do, but it was something useful, which was more than he’d managed in days.

  He’d take it.

  6

  It was definitely Saturday night. The music was loud, the lighting provocative, and Thomas’s favorite club smelled of sweat and leather.

  Thomas nodded to the bartender. “Good evening, Scotty.”

  “Good…evening, Sir.” Scotty’s eyes grew wide as if the boy were looking at a ghost, and it was quite possible that he was. “Uh…single malt?”

  “Fireball.”

  “Oh. Oh wow, okay. Coming right up, Sir.”

  He had no intention of appearing sorry for himself in front of a crowd on a Saturday night, but he needed to knock the edge off his funk before he could really face it. He understood Scotty’s shock, and the boy wouldn�
��t be the only one, he knew. But at some point, he had to walk back into his life again, and there was really no good way to ease into this.

  He’d dressed appropriately but conservatively in all black, the smooth leather pants feeling good against his legs and the black cotton T-shirt cool against his skin. He’d get his drink and find a corner to sit in and sip it.

  It was only a matter of seconds before men came up to him, offering quiet, heartfelt condolences. Nothing loud or overt—just a nod, a touch to the shoulder, a welcome, and within minutes of arriving, he felt lighter, the support woven into the fabric of his community lifting him, letting him breathe. He returned every nod and handshake he could manage, but over the next few minutes, there were many, and he couldn’t be sure he’d properly thanked everyone.

  He’d been there perhaps fifteen minutes, and he’d already learned a lesson. He ought to have come home sooner.

  Scotty touched his hand as he reached for a pen to sign his tab. “Master says no charge tonight.”

  “A get-drunk-free card?” He winked. “Thanks, Scotty.”

  “Shibari in the red room, Sir. I know you’re fond. And it’s quieter.”

  “You’re a genius, Scotty.” Fireball and a show. That sounded like an excellent start to his evening. He made his way through the crowd slowly, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders release.

  He took a deep breath, and there was suddenly room. Not too much. Not even enough. But room in between his ribs that made him a promise that more breaths would come.

  He passed a couple of rooms, lingering for a moment in each doorway, just taking in the vibe, the sounds. The red room was comfortable with its wide couches and moody lighting, and the slightly higher ceiling made it perfect for all kinds of bondage play. Tonight, a Dom he knew well and a sub he admired were putting on a gorgeous display with ropes of several colors and complicated, practiced knotwork.

  He started to sit alone, but a smile caught his eye from across the room, and he made his way over, walking behind the other couches to avoid blocking anyone’s view. Coming and going, conversation, those things were expected, but it was easy enough to be courteous.

  “Clint.” He nodded, making an awkward effort to return the man’s smile.

  One solid hand reached out to him, those near-black eyes focused on him like a hawk’s. “You came home.”

  He took the hand and let himself be pulled down onto the couch. “I…yes. I did. And I’m thinking perhaps I waited a little too long, but there’s no playbook for these things. No prodigal son references, if you please.”

  “Oh, damn. I’d been collecting them. I’m going to have to use them on random waitstaff and the periodic librarian now.” Clint never so much as hinted at a smile, but the warmth in the man’s voice wrapped around him like smoke.

  “I happen to know your periodic librarian enjoys your many talents.” He shifted on the seat so he could look at Clint head on and still enjoy the show. “It’s good to see you. I apologize that I haven’t contacted you. I haven’t been very…intentional in my thinking.”

  “The universe hasn’t been particularly intentional toward you. If you hadn’t come, I would have come to you.” Clint did crack a smile now. “I’m glad you showed up.”

  “Me too.” He’d been coming to this club since before James joined him, after all. It was his place as much as theirs. He knew he belonged here. “I’ve been doing other things, though. Working and…work has been busy.”

  “Of course. It’s strange the way that everything is different and absolutely the same at the same time, isn’t it?” Clint had lost someone years ago, and he spoke from a place of experience.

  Shit. Clint was experience made flesh. It could drive Thomas out of his mind, but it was comfortable and comforting at the same time.

  “That’s exactly it, right? Sometimes I can’t understand how the world still turns, but it does.” He squinted across the room, watching without really seeing. “I met his brother.”

  “Is that bad?”

  That was a fair question, if one he didn’t want to answer. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to decide the most honest way to answer that question. Clint was the sturdiest sounding board he’d ever met.

  “It’s confusing. It made things incredibly complicated for me. I think it might have been easier on both of us not to have run into each other. We have different…he’s just so…” He looked at Clint. “He doesn’t have any idea which way is up. He’s just…caught in a storm. You know?”

  “I can only imagine. This sort of thing devastates a family. Were they close?”

  “Yes. By Sam’s account they were very close. It seems like he clung to James, emotionally at least, to a pretty extreme degree. He feels guilty. He’s determined to personally find James’s…the person responsible. It’s a little off the deep end, honestly. His brother actually called from wherever he is with the Rangers to make sure Sam was on the job. Loudly. I can’t…I don’t even know what to do with that.”

  “So…he’s doing this here from Wherever, Texas?” Clint looked surprised. “Talk about culture shock, regardless, and awful pressure to do something impossible. I mean, we push subs to their limits, but that is torture.”

  “He’s here, living in James’s apartment. We literally ran into each other on the steps about five minutes after the NYPD took the police tape away.” That really had been eerie. “Pushing subs is one thing. They have a net if they fall. This isn’t like that at all. I told him it was insane, that he was delusional to think he could do a better job than the police. He called it ‘Texas justice.’ His family apparently expects him to…I don’t know, hide the body. I told him he needed to think about that. He needed to think for himself. It didn’t go over well.” He took a breath, a lot more worked up than he’d intended. “Wow. Sorry.”

  “No apologies. You have been holding that back for a while.” Clint watched him for a moment. “Was he cruel to you? I can’t imagine James’s brother being cruel, but…well, you’ve met my sister, haven’t you?”

  “No. No, no. Not at all. He was nothing but kind. Compassionate. He…gets it.” He felt strangely defensive about that question. He greatly appreciated Sam’s concern. It was so earnest. Sam was rudderless, lost, cracked along the edges, but still the man had been worried for him.

  “Poor man. I’ll see if I can’t make time to go over and see him. I can only imagine how he must need a friend. I remember that James was utterly overwhelmed by the time he found us, and he hadn’t been dealing with half as much.”

  He sighed at the little flash of indignant Dom in him that was offended at the thought that Clint might have a better rapport with Sam than he had. One of the toughest challenges in his own training had been to accept that bit of insecurity in himself and to appreciate where other’s talents lay in comparison with his own. Nothing about what they did was a competition. The needs, desires, and skills at the club were as diverse as the stars. But if you wanted to get a rise out of him, that was a very good way to do it.

  Clint absolutely knew that. It felt as if he had taken Thomas under his wing the moment Thomas had first walked through the door.

  Thomas tried not to fall into that trap. Instead he remembered how James had been when they met. How overwhelmed he’d been by the city, the size of his school, and the scope of his new job. The way that leaving home to save his own sanity had created chaos in his family. They had gravitated toward each other naturally, but it was Clint who had suggested he take a closer look at what he could do for James. What James could offer him. It wasn’t even that long ago, really, but it felt like forever.

  “He has James’s eyes.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, and blinked himself back into the room, back to reality and away from all the thoughts of Sam that wouldn’t let him be. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure he’d appreciate the company.”

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. That has to be excruciating. I mean, honestly, what about this isn’t?” Clint had
a knowing look on his face. “I’ll make sure that he’s not on a downward slide, perhaps encourage him to go home, hmm?”

  “Asshole.” He crossed his arms and kicked back in his seat. “Don’t do that. That’s not…” Was he really about to say it wasn’t fair? Oh, Clint would love to sink teeth into that one. “What is it you want me to say, Clint? He’s beautiful, and he’s broken, and his need calls to me? I don’t even know how to look into his eyes.”

  “I simply want you to be honest with yourself. I want you to ask yourself why you’re angry at me for suggesting something as reasonable as encouraging him to leave.” Clint was as inscrutable as always. “Lie to the world; tell yourself the truth.”

  What was the truth? Being close to Sam made him feel closer to James, and Thomas worried that their grief could lead to something unhealthy between them. But he’d already convinced himself it was more than that. Words, even thoughts, were incapable of expressing how much he missed James. But it wasn’t thoughts of James that had interrupted his workout or left him daydreaming at his desk.

  And there was an answer to Clint’s question. A very coherent one. “He can’t go back there. Not yet anyway. He couldn’t face his family.”

  That was crystal clear to him suddenly. He leaned forward again, forehead wrinkling into a frown. “I owe him an apology.”

  Clint ducked his chin once—less of a nod than an expression of approval. How many times had he looked for that simple motion, that acknowledgment that he had worked through another tangle? “I do love how the white ropes look on Kristoph’s skin, don’t you?”

  “Beautiful. I’ve always admired Kristoph. I’m also enjoying the look on Armond’s face.” He glanced over at Clint. “And yours.”

  Clint’s eyes smiled, the wrinkles at the corners deepening. “Now, Thomas, you know that I am well known for my lack of expression.”

  7

  If he stared at the whiskey bottle long enough, he thought he could see things in there. Little flashes of dreams, shadows. Every now and again, he thought he saw faces of people who he couldn’t quite remember.