Got the Blues

Chapter 3-2

They walked in silence back to the south lot, where Beau’s truck was parked. Beau hadn’t parked in East Franklin Lot since last year, even though it was closer to the academic buildings. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to walk through that lot again, not after last year’s attack there. Even now, in a different lot, his fingers tightened on Vin’s as they passed between rows of cars. If someone was ever stupid enough to jump out at him and yell, “Boo,” Beau was positive he would have a heart attack and die. And then kill the person who thought they were so f*****g funny.

Vin didn’t say anything either. Unusual. Vin was usually running his mouth a mile a minute. Vin didn’t like to be alone with silence for any length of time.

Beau turned and smiled at his lover, so serious. Vin was looking ahead, trying to find the F-150 among the clusters of parked cars. The yellow lamps changed all the car colors, turning them the same wash of amber colors, like an old photograph. He was chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Hey,” Beau said as they finally reached the truck. “You okay, man?”

Vin shrugged. “Mind if I smoke?”

“You know I don’t,” Beau said. They leaned against the driver’s side. As always, Beau ran a surreptitious hand over the body of his pickup. The dents weren’t noticeable anymore, except in a few places where the welding left just the faintest seam. He couldn’t see it from a distance, but he knew, instinctively, where each one was. Each place his body had struck the vehicle in the fight, each indent where Chris Contreras had swung his bat, taking his rage and fear out on the truck while Beau had been prone and helpless on the pavement.

Vin lit a cigarette; the whiff of tobacco momentarily drove away the remembered stench of blood and urine. Chris had pissed on him after he’d beaten Beau to a pulp. Beau wondered if he should save his money, get a new truck. Something that didn’t constantly stir up those memories. Would it even help? The worst part, the very worst, was how helpless he’d felt. Beau was a trained martial artist. He’d taken 20 wins on his high school wrestling team, which while it hadn’t been a state record or anything, was still completely respectable. One crazy, angry man with a bat had wrecked that confidence, had pulled Beau out of the smug, self-assured world where he lived and shoved him into terror.

Vin leaned up against the wheel well. “Kinda sucks, you think?”

Many things sucked. “Yeah.”

“You know, it’s my senior year,” Vin began.

Beau glanced at him, askance. What the hell was Vin leading up to with that line?

“Reckon so,” Beau said. His stomach clenched up and behind that was a desperate fear. Maybe that history would continue to repeat itself. Ann-Marie had given up so much, so much, to come out of the closet and be with Shan. Beau had done the same, to be with Vin.

“Time to grow up,” Vin continued, looking out toward the trees that lined the parking lot. “At least I don’t have to worry about a job.”

“Grandparents already lined up which company’s board you’ll be on?”

“Several, I expect.” Vin flicked ash off his cigarette, then inhaled again, the cherry lighting his face up somewhat demonically. “Or I could just do whatever I wanted to, live off my trust funds. Or volunteer work. My grandmother’s always pushing me to give back, so maybe I’ll take a year and run a soup kitchen.”

“Fortune’s only son,” Beau muttered, not sure where Vin was going with this, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear it, either.

“Well, I’d run it out of Chicago,” Vin finished, looking straight at Beau.

“You’d be close by,” Beau said. His stomach slowly unknotted itself.

“Did you really think I was winding you up to leave you?” Vin flicked his cigarette again.

Beau chuckled, nervous, forcing it. “I think you were deliberately f*****g around, just now, to see what I’d do.”

“I don’t know what’s going through Shan’s head. I can’t imagine—” Vin stopped talking, tossed his butt aside in the parking lot, and turned to Beau, every sort of imaginable anguish written out on his face.

There was nothing more to say.

Beau drew his lover into his arms, in a tight embrace. Vin’s heart was frantic under Beau’s fingertips, even through a jacket and vest and T-shirt, loud and anxious and throbbing. Beau ran his fingers through Vin’s hair, product-perfect waves of highlighted medium brown. Vin smelled of fancy shampoo, cologne, smoke, and coffee. It was a rich, masculine scent that never failed to stir the swirl of wanting in Beau’s belly.

“You know that I love you, right?” Vin said, his voice muffled against Beau’s throat, breath warm.

Beau, somewhat taller than his boyfriend, rested his chin on Vin’s head, pulling him closer, feeling the cold of the truck’s side against his back where his shirt had rucked up.

“I know.” Of course he knew that. “I love you, too.”

Vin tilted his head up and Beau kissed his forehead, the flat planes of each cheek. Vin opened his mouth, inhaled. Beau slid one hand around Vin’s lower back, pulled him closer, the other hand cupping his chin, holding that teasing, torturous mouth just where he wanted it, thumb caressing the stubbed skin of Vin’s cheek. He descended on Vin’s mouth, tasting the sweet flavor of tobacco. Soft kisses, easy and light, not giving in to Vin’s wordless demands to thrust his tongue in. Nuzzling, playful kisses, meant to drive his lover wild with wanting, until they were both so spun up in each other that nothing else mattered.

He couldn’t hold out as long as he’d wanted; Ann-Marie’s grief had upset him and Vin wasn’t the only one who wanted some sort of reassurance. He deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering the depths of Vin’s mouth, tasting, exploring, and then just plain f*****g Vin’s mouth with his own. The mingled sound of their harsh breathing, air rushing in and out of their lungs, was erotic and close. He could feel the cool exhale against his ear and throat. Beau slid his hand down, worked the thin T-shirt out of Vin’s jeans, put both hands beneath to hold and grip that firm skin, caressing and eager.

Vin reached up, grabbed a handful of Beau’s hair and yanked, bringing a tingle of pain across Beau’s scalp. He slid one thigh between Beau’s, his c**k hard and hot against Beau’s leg.

Vin was eager, hurried. One hand cupped the back of Beau’s neck, Vin slid the other down Beau’s chest, found the buttons on his shirt and slid one out of the placket.

Beau shivered as cool air rushed in to fill the void, down along his chest and across his belly. His skin erupted in gooseflesh. “Jesus, it’s a little public out here,” he muttered into Vin’s ear.

“So?” Vin’s clever, quick fingers found Beau’s belt buckle and worked it, rubbing the heel of his hand against Beau’s groin. Beau surrendered to the temptation of Vin’s wandering hands. He let his head loll back against the truck’s window, staring up at the stars. Vin opened up Beau’s fly, his fingers pressed inside, seeking, searching, finding. Oh, God.

Somewhere, across the parking lot, Beau heard the sound of a scrape of boot against gravel. A car door slammed. He shivered, remembered, tried to forget and remembered just the same. His back slammed against the truck, hard, hurtful. The bat whistled through the air, a clear home run in the making. Glass broke, rained down on his skin.

Beau jerked away from the sounds, from the memory, all thoughts of lust and longing burned to gray, cold ash. His belt was undone, zipper wide open. He shuddered, pulling his hands up to protect his head.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Vin was there, oh, thank God for Vin.

Beau trembled all over. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I…Not here. I…God, I’m sorry.” Beau couldn’t meet his lover’s eyes. Shame and fear and hatred and a mixed bag of loathing and longing swept through him, leaving him empty, hollow, and desperately confused. Beau panted for air; he couldn’t breathe. The air was bad, useless. No matter how much he sucked in, he still craved oxygen.

“No, honey,” Vin said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I should know better.” Vin helped Beau button his shirt, tucked it in, and buckled the belt up for him. Beau did up his own zipper, the sound too loud in the sudden quiet parking lot.

“You can’t help it that I’m weak,” Beau said. He cast a despairing look around the parking lot. So normal, so unthreatening, so bland. Full of shadows and fear and darkness, laying on the asphalt, feeling all the warmth and life spilling out of him. Too cold to hurt so much and hurting just the same.

“You’re not!” Vin was angry, suddenly. “Stop talking like that. What happened to you—” Vin shivered. “f**k, Beau, I still have nightmares about that. Now, give me the keys, you’re not fit to drive like that.”

Beau nodded. He wasn’t. Not fit at all.