More Than Anything

Chapter 1Shayne Ralston walked out of the university bookstore, his arms full of textbooks, too many textbooks, he soon realized, as they promptly slipped out of his arms and onto the ground in front of him. Rolling his eyes at his own idiocy, he dropped to his knees to scoop up his purchases. “Here, let me,” a deep voice said from above him. At first Shayne wasn’t sure the guy behind the voice spoke to him, but then someone knelt beside him and swooped up his scattered books in no time. Shayne glanced up, ready to thank his helper, and met the most intense green eyes he’d ever seen. “Hi.” Shayne blinked. Not only were the eyes spectacular but the rest of the guy went right along with them. High cheekbones, dark wavy hair, beautiful white straight teeth, and dimples. “Um.” Smooth Shayne. He rolled his eyes at himself again. His helper stood and, reaching down with one hand, pulled Shayne to his feet. “You should get a book bag or a backpack. Makes it easier to carry your books.” He glanced down at the ones he held in his big hand. “Tough courses.” Shayne nodded, knowing he was an i***t, just staring at the tall, broad-shouldered god of a man. “Des, come on!” someone shouted. “Gotta go.” The guy handed the books to Shayne. “See you around.” And then he ran off toward several burly guys, all suspiciously having that jock vibe. Duh, Shayne, what else? “What are you doing?” his best friend, Bart Smith, asked, suddenly there at his elbow. “Proving what a dork I am, on my first day, as usual,” Shayne said, shaking his head. “Who was that? The guy who helped me.” Bart, a short, slim redhead, had been his best friend since kindergarten. “Are you kidding? What rock have you been living under? Don’t you remember him?” Shayne frowned. “No. Why?” Bart sighed dramatically. “He went to our high school. He was a senior when we were sophomores. Desmond Stratton. Student body president. Quarterback. He’s on the university’s football team, too. All those guys were. Rumors are he’ll go pro eventually.” “Oh.” Shayne stared after the direction the jocks had gone. “Totally out of our league, Shayne.” Bart patted his arm. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s into t**s and ass.” He nodded. “Aren’t they all? Besides, I’m not here to find a boyfriend. I’m here to get my history degree.” Bart snorted. “Boring. Economics is where it’s at. Come on. Let’s get something to eat. I’m starved.” * * * * A few hours later and with a couple of classes firmly under his belt, Shayne opened the door of his old beat-up truck in the campus parking lot. He glanced at the sky and frowned at the approaching clouds. The morning, when he had to be indoors, had been bright and sunny. Getting into the truck, Shayne turned the key in the ignition and…nothing. “Oh, please no.” Grimacing, he tried again…and again. “Need a jump?” The sudden deep voice at his window had Shayne screaming like he was a victim in a horror movie. His face burning hot, Shayne turned his head to see Desmond Stratton standing at his window looking sheepish. Shayne rolled down his window. “Uh, hi.” “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” “You didn’t scare me, er, exactly.” “You screamed,” Desmond pointed out. “A startled scream is all. What did you want?” He winced at the sharpness in his own voice. “Wondered if you needed a jump. Sounds like your battery.” Biting his lip, Shayne nodded. “Maybe. You know about cars?” Desmond shrugged. “Not really, but I do have jumper cables and know how to do that. Desmond Stratton.” When Desmond stuck out his hand, Shayne figured he should shake it. His hand looked very small in Desmond’s big paw. “Shayne Ralston. Nice to meet you, Desmond.” “Des. That’s what all my friends call me. I’ll pull my car over here and we can give you that jump. Be right back.” Shayne watched Des run off toward a group of other parked cars. Sighing, he got out of the truck and opened the hood. He might not know s**t about cars but he knew that much had to be done. It seemed like he was destined to make an ass out of himself in front of Des. Not like it would matter really. The guy wouldn’t be interested in someone like Shayne, not even as a friend. And if he realized Shayne was gay, he’d probably punch his lights out. A minute later, a black Mustang pulled into the empty spot next to Shayne’s truck. It took every bit of strength he had not to roll his eyes at the muscle car. Straight as a damn arrow. Des got out carrying cables. His smile was brilliantly beautiful. “How old is this truck anyway?” “Well, um, pretty old. It was my gramps’s, actually. Not sure what year it is. I just needed a way to get to school.” “Well, that’s cool,” Des said. “Let’s get you going.” Shayne watched as Des went to his car and popped the hood and then connected the cables between the two vehicles. “Okay, Shayne, go ahead and try to start her,” Des called. He nodded and got back in his truck. After two attempts, his truck came to life. And Shayne heaved a sigh of relief. Des came around to the driver side of his truck. “Let’s leave it for a moment. I’m betting you really need a new battery. You going straight home?” “Yeah, I was.” “You live close by?” “About twenty minutes or so,” Shayne said. Des scrunched up his face. “Hopefully that will be long enough for the charge. If you have trouble in the morning you might have to have it charge again. You want my cell number in case you have to call me to jump you?” Shayne blinked. The thought of Des jumping him sped up his pulse and had him feeling ridiculously warm. Not to mention half-hard. Which, of course, he hoped to God Des didn’t notice. And, duh, Des didn’t mean that kind of jumping anyway. “I have the Auto Club,” he blurted out. Part of him wanted to kick his own ass for that, but really, the more often he saw Des the sooner it would become clear to the jock that Shayne was gay and probably punching bag material. “Oh, okay.” Des’s beautiful smile didn’t dim one bit. “Hey, if you aren’t in any hurry to get home, me and some of the guys are going over to Mario’s Pizza. Maybe you’d like to meet us there?” Instant panic assailed him. A pizza place full of homophobic jocks? Not in a million years. He just wasn’t that stupid. He only hoped he didn’t look as queasy as he felt “I really need to get home,” he said softly. Des nodded. “All right. Some other time, maybe?” “Sure.” “I’ll get the cables.” Des went and disconnected everything. He waved the cables. “See you, Shayne.” “Thanks again, Desmond.” “Des.” “Uh, yeah, Des.” Shayne pulled out and drove away feeling a bit like maybe he’d missed something but wasn’t really sure what it could be. He shrugged it off and made the short drive home. He parked in the driveway and reluctantly turned off the truck. If it didn’t start in the morning he supposed he could take the bus to school or beg Bart to come get him, even though Bart had no classes tomorrow. “Hey, Ma, I’m home,” he called as he stepped inside the simple single-family home that consisted of three bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, a family room, kitchen and dining room. The San Fernando Valley home had been built somewhere in the 1950s and Shayne had grown up there. “In here,” she yelled from the dining room. He knew as he approached that his mother was in the middle of doing hair. Probably a color from the smell. His mother had been a beautician in a salon up until the shop she’d worked in for twenty years had closed due to the death of the owner. The salon had been left to the owner’s son and daughter-in-law and they’d sold it. Ever since, his mother, Jan, did hair in their kitchen or dining room. Sure enough there was his five foot mother, her own platinum hair piled high on her head in a river of ringlets, her gloved fingers carefully applying a magenta looking color on the head of one of her best customers, Mrs. Flores. The customer sat in a chair in the dining room his mother had bought for the purpose of doing hair. Of course she didn’t have a business license to do hair in the home, but so far she was getting away with it. “Hi, honey, how was school?” She offered her cheek to him, which he kissed. “Not bad. I bought all my books. There’s a shitload of them.” Thanks to financial aid, he’d been able to afford to go to college. Otherwise, he supposed he’d be working retail and dreaming. “Shayne.” His mother sighed. “Sorry.” Mrs. Flores chuckled. “Leave the boy alone. He’s not a baby anymore. A big college boy now.” Shayne figured at five foot five he wasn’t exactly big, but who was he to argue? “Need a refill on your coffee, Mrs. Flores?” “Not right now, sweetie.” She waved him away. Nodding, he turned back to his mother. “I’m going to say hi to Gramps.” “Okay, I’m heating up leftovers for dinner later.” It was only the three of them in the house now. His dad had left the family when Shayne was five. He had another family now across the country in Pennsylvania. Somewhere over there Shayne had three half-siblings he had never met. For that matter never even exchanged an email with. He looked them up on f******k and had nearly requested their friendship, but eventually decided not to bother. They’d not be interested in hearing from their older dork half-brother. He didn’t have much of a relationship with his dad either. Until he turned eighteen, Shayne had received a birthday card, always late, with a twenty dollar bill inside. Shayne had always dutifully thanked his father. Once he turned eighteen though, the cards stopped. The obligation to care, too, he supposed. It used to be his mom, him, and his grandparents. But his grandma had passed away three years earlier and Gramps had never been the same. He found his frail grandfather sitting on the couch in family room. The television was on, but Gramps had his reading glasses on and was perusing a newspaper he had folded on his lap with little regard to what played on the television. A glance at the screen showed the Dr. Phil show. Shayne smiled and sat next to his mother’s dad on the couch. “Hey, Gramps, how are you doing?” “Well, well, how was the first day of high school?” Gramps asked, his glasses sliding off his thin nose. “College. I’m in college now.” “Oh, right.” “Anyway, everything’s fine. The classes I had today seemed like they’ll be pretty cool.” Gramps frowned. “Oh, then, you probably ought to wear a sweater, Shayne.” His heart clenching, Shayne smiled and patted the old man’s leg. “You’re right, Gramps. I’ll do that.” “Meet any pretty girls your first day?” “No. Don’t you remember? I’m gay,” he explained patiently. The old man nodded. “That’s right.” He seemed to consider this, and then smiled. “Meet any pretty boys?” Shayne laughed. “I saw a few. I didn’t really meet them.” Not counting Desmond Stratton, of course. But, he didn’t count. Not really. “Anything interesting in the paper?” Gramps snorted. “Same old s**t. This guy got murdered, this bank got robbed, this politician cheated on his wife. Been that way since I was your age.” He nodded. “Yeah, some things never change. You want me to get you a cup of tea?” “Yeah, how about that new stuff you made me the other day?” “The green?” His face brightening, Gramps smiled. “Yeah, I liked that. Make me some of that.” Shayne rose and leaned down to kiss the top of his grandfather’s bald head. “Coming right up, Gramps.” Eventually, he guessed, he and his mother would have to sit down and talk about Gramps’s future. It wasn’t something either of them wanted to think about. Shayne would rather die than hurt his grandfather. He’d been the only father figure Shayne had really had. And now he had managed to depress himself. He was becoming far too maudlin. “I need to get laid,” he muttered as he filled the teakettle. Why was it that thought brought the beautiful smiling Desmond Stratton to mind?