Fault Lines Box Set

Chapter 6-1

Chapter 6“Are you busy?”

Rory hadn’t meant to come; he’d sworn off coming back altogether. After the incident with Gabe, he had decided he was going to be the better person in their relationship. He was going to make it work. He was going to prove to Gabe that there was nothing to be ashamed of, that they were meant for each other: soul mates, best friends with benefits, blah, blah, blah. Yet there he was, staring into the eyes that still haunted his dreams. There he was, telling himself he was only there for the benefit of the manuscript. There he was, ordering himself to ignore the belt buckle that hung right there, glinting in the sunlight, winking at him.

It had been three weeks and Danny was as gorgeous as ever. He was wearing his hair long but had twisted two skinny ropes behind his ears that he had tied together in the back with a thin purple ribbon. The richness of the color against his black hair was beautiful and the combo perfectly matched the snug black T-shirt with the purple slashes. Tight black jeans finished the look—that and the black leather belt with its evil, cloying, eye-catching buckle.

“Actually,” Danny said, still leaning in the doorway where he’d propped himself when he’d seen it was Rory, “I’m kind of on my way out.”

“Oh.” The sinking feeling in Rory’s stomach went far deeper than what would be considered reasonable. Especially since Danny had no idea he’d be stopping by.

Danny shrugged. “I was going to make something to eat first. I guess you can come up while I do that, if you want.”

Rory held up a file folder. “I was kind of hoping you might help me out a bit. Can you eat and read at the same time?”

“That depends. How much reading?”

“About fifty pages.”

Danny winced.

“What if I cook for you? You read, I cook, you eat?”

Danny’s expression lit up with a grin and he grabbed the folder. “Deal! But you do dishes, too.”

Rory followed Danny from the door to the kitchen. “What were you planning on having?”

“A sandwich,” Danny replied, flopping into one of the mismatched chairs that circled the table. “But I’m open to ideas if you think you can do better than that.”

Rory peered through the cupboards. They were pretty bare, but as he remembered it, a young single guy didn’t need much stuff. That probably was even more true if that single guy worked at a grocery store. He spied a can of spaghetti sauce and bag of noodles and decided it was a good start.

“So, this is…” Danny prompted, mumbling around his fingers, his attention already on the small stack of paper.

Rory grimaced at the one and only pot he could find in the kitchen—in the sink, and filthy. He filled the sink with water, squirting in a healthy shot of soap. “My new manuscript.”

“Really? And you want me to read it?”

Rory turned back to Danny, smiled and shrugged.

“Really.” Danny repeated, this time removing the question in the intonation and making it a statement, albeit a surprised one.

“Don’t get too excited. You haven’t read it yet.”

Rory went back to the dishes and had his hands buried in dishwater when he felt Danny’s arms circle his waist. Danny briefly pressed their bodies together. “Thanks, Rory. I really appreciate you doing this.”

Rory swallowed the tightness in his throat and responded with a tease. “What? Your dishes?”

“Ha! But no. Letting me read this. You have no idea what that means to me.”

“Like I said, you haven’t read it yet. But you said you were a fan of my earlier stuff so maybe you can help with a fair opinion.”

“Not a fan,” Danny corrected. Rory heard the kitchen chair squeak as it was moved so Danny could sit back down at the table. “Your biggest fan.”

Rory pulled the pot out of the water, and after a quick swipe with a towel, he filled it and set it on the stove to boil. “I would argue with you,” he said, turning his attention to the fridge. “But I’ve had few fans quite as…let’s say, as friendly as you have been.” He paused and laughed. “Okay, I haven’t had any.” He managed, to his great surprise, to find both an onion and green pepper in the fridge. “Cutting board?” he asked, rolling his eyes at the raised eyebrow he got in reply. He improvised with a flattened cardboard box. “Frying pan?”

Danny nodded his head towards a lower cupboard, not lifting his eyes from the sheets of typing in front of him.

As the water boiled and the veggies sizzled, pages were turned. While the pasta was added, stirred, salted, and the veggies were topped with the can of sauce before being covered and set to simmer, pages continued to turn. As the pasta was rinsed and plated, Danny read. He didn’t once turn away from the story, even to eat. He did eat carefully, doing his best to avoid damaging the papers in an almost comical display of caution, and he didn’t say a word. Danny kept reading as Rory did dishes and packed up leftovers, and even while Rory swiped at various surfaces in the kitchen and swept the floor.

It took Danny just over an hour before he closed the folder and slid it forward. He accepted the beer that Rory handed him and took a long drink from it.

“So?”

“So.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Danny nodded. “It’s really bad.” He had another drink. “Really, really bad.”

Rory dropped his head on the table with an exaggerated groan. “I know! I know it is! Why is it so bad?”

Danny reached across and patted the back of Rory’s head. “Well, I’m not sure how to answer that exactly. Bad writing, bad characters, bad plot. Mostly it’s just bad.”

Rory lifted his head and glared. “That was a hypothetical question, Danny.”

“Oh!” Danny grinned. “Sorry.”

Rory dropped his head again, his forehead clunking hard. “You have to help me,” he whined. “Make it better. I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t submit another novel like the last one. I might be forgiven for one bad book, but nobody will forgive two. Especially not two in a row.” Rory sat up, propped his elbows on the table, and put his chin in his palms. “What can I do to make it better?”

Danny set down his beer. He picked up the folder. “You want me to make this better?”

Rory nodded.

Danny wiggled the folder. “You’re sure?”

Again, Rory nodded.

Danny stood and dropped the folder into the kitchen sink. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

He walked out of the kitchen and came back a minute later with something in his hand. He flipped open the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a little tin. With his gaze firmly on Rory, Danny flipped the tin and doused the folder with the liquid inside of it.

“What the—”

Rory didn’t have a chance to finish the question before Danny reached into the sink with his Zippo. A small black cloud followed a light woosh, and before either of them could say anything else, the sink was filled with flames. Rory stared at Danny, his jaw slack.

Danny slid open the kitchen window. “Some things are not worth saving.”

* * * *

They’d left the window open to enjoy the early June breeze, and although Rory was feeling stung by Danny’s ritual, deep down he knew Danny was right. Though it was certainly not the only copy of the story—just a printout from the file stored safely on his laptop—he was grieving the inevitable loss of his characters. He had allowed them to be murdered and he was about ninety percent confident that he was going to do the same thing with the file when he got home. With a little less showmanship, of course. So, they sat at the kitchen table in silence, drinking beer.

“What time does he get home?” Danny finally asked.

The kitchen had been silent for so long, that Danny’s voice made Rory jump. “Who? Oh, Gabe. Of course. Usually around two.”

“Come out with me, then. It’ll be fun.”

Rory snorted. “It’s almost ten o’clock. I’ll be in bed in half an hour.”

“Is not—it’s barely past nine,” Danny said, standing. “And I refuse to allow that to happen. Not tonight. Tonight, you will be dancing.”

“I can guarantee that I will not.”

Danny feigned a pout. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. We both need some of that.” He walked around the table and draped a leg over Rory’s lap to sit, facing him.

“The last time someone said that to me about an event in this town I practically got into a brawl and got called a fairy. No thanks.”

“Ple-e-ase…” Danny made the word into an exaggerated whine. “Besides, you didn’t get called a fairy, I did. And that was nowhere near what constitutes a brawl in this town. Wait until you see the beer tent at the fair. Now them there’s some perfect brewing for a good ol’ fashioned brawl!” Danny rocked his hips, moving back and forth in Rory’s lap. “Come on, come on, come on.”

Rory stilled him with both hands. “I’ll keep that in mind. Besides, I couldn’t go if I wanted to. I look like an old man.”

“You do not! But if you’re really worried about it, you could borrow a shirt or jacket from me. Your jeans are fine. Damn nice, as a matter of fact.” Danny pushed his hips against Rory’s grip. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you wore them just for me.”

Rory had—he’d picked them out for that very reason when he saw them in the store. While he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone else, it was nice to know he hadn’t forgotten how to dress to pick up men. “I wouldn’t fit into one of your shirts, let alone one of your jackets.”

Danny dipped his chin to nuzzle Rory’s neck before lightly biting it. When Rory yelped, he lifted his head and grinned. “So, what you’re saying is that if I can find a shirt and jacket that fit you, then you’ll go?” He jumped up and left the room, without waiting for an answer.

Rory’s lap suddenly felt vastly empty and cold. He adjusted his jeans, stood, then slid and latched the window. He heard Danny’s cell phone ring at the same time that Danny walked back into the kitchen.

“Hold on a sec,” Danny told the phone, tossing a handful of fabric to Rory. “Here,” he whispered. “For you. Concert shirt, only size they had left, and I had to have one regardless. The jacket was a gift from my mom who buys everything too big.” Danny turned back to the phone. “Ten minutes. No, for sure. I promise.” Danny slid his phone into his pocket and stared expectantly. “Do you need help changing?”

Rory hung his head. “I have to be home by two. No later.”

Danny stepped forward and leaned against him. “Then we will be sure to leave by twelve, Cinderella.” He slipped his hands under Rory’s shirt and began to lift it. “Now change!”

* * * *

Rory leaned against the bar and tried to relax, not quite sure if he was enjoying the pounding music or not. Danny had met up with at least four other friends—four that Rory had noticed so far, anyway. They were all good-looking kids, but even if the music had been conducive to chatting, Rory wasn’t sure he’d be over there chilling with them. He’d suddenly become very nervous. There were people here—lots of people. People he didn’t know, people who didn’t know him, and the last thing Rory wanted was for that to change. He might have been only thirty-three, but to many people, the difference between thirty-three and twenty-one was a lifetime. He didn’t need stories spreading through town that he was creeping young men. Hell, he didn’t need stories spreading that he was creeping anyone. Those kinds of stories had their way of making it back to all the wrong people. Namely Gabe.

Rory looked around the crowd. They were all young people—even the bartenders and the guys at the door couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. He was the old guy, most definitely. He’d had his scene—back in the city, that faraway land, a long, long time ago. This was what Friday and Saturday nights had been for. Looking good and dancing. Drinking and flirting. He’d been a good dancer and he liked to party. So had Gabe. They’d met in a club, as Rory had met most of his previous boyfriends in one club or another. That all felt like a million lifetimes ago, though. The last several months had been one hundred percent club-free, and throughout the few years leading up to it, his and Gabe’s nights out partying had got less and less frequent. Now, Gabe and he were a stay-at-home kind of couple. They didn’t have space or time in their lives for these kinds of shenanigans—Rory frowned unconsciously—and damn it, he missed it. He hadn’t realized how much, hadn’t stopped to think about it at all, but he missed it a lot.