Earthquakes

Chapter 1-3

“Clark,” Jillian said, amused.

“Probably. Somebody said something, and I said there was a guy coming to the range. I gave his name, and Lucian did that thing where he sucks air through his teeth—”

“Snot. Total snot.”

“And I asked him what was up, and he said he’d met Bryn before.”

“Of course he has.” Now Jillian did not sound amused.

“Not like that, Miss J.”

“How do you know? Before Shea, Lucian had everyone in the city like that.”

It was true that before Lucian and his childhood-friend-turned-lover Shea became an official thing, and everyone had been reminded that Lucian did actually know the definition of the word commitment, Lucian had been a notorious playboy. Men, women, vegetables—if it was pretty and could get f****d, Lucian had been there and done it. Usually after beating it senseless and making it beg at Club Break.

“Maybe,” Ellis agreed. “But he didn’t have Bryn.”

“Oooh,” Jillian said. “Now this is interesting. Go on.”

“Lucian met him after some finale for one of the ballets. I don’t know which one. But they were backstage, and Lucian was there, and he got to meet Bryn.” Ellis could only imagine what Bryn would look like up close in tights, cup, and costume. Sweaty. With lip gloss and eyeliner. Jesus wept, but not as hard as Ellis would. “Lucian didn’t go into details, but he said, and I quote, that Bryn was a ‘consummate ass.’“

“Which means Bryn wouldn’t go home with Lucian.”

“He didn’t say, and I don’t like to guess—”

“I don’t have to guess.”

“But then Shea spoke up and said, ‘Takes one to know one’—”

“I always did like that boy.”

“—and Lucian didn’t do the if-looks-could-kill thing. Instead he sniffed and won the hand.”

Jillian cackled. “So your dancer boy resisted Lucian. That’s good news. Lucian’s a snot, but he’s an appealing snot to a certain kind.”

“You mean like Shea?” Ellis asked.

“Shea’s special,” Miss Jillian quickly amended.

“He is.”

“He’s Lucian’s soul in another body. Without Shea, Lucian really wouldn’t be a snot: he’d be a monstrous snot. I’m happy they have each other.”

“Yeah, Shea’s a Good Man.” Ellis made sure he gave the title the capital letters it deserved.

“You and your Good Man Radar.”

Ellis had always known a good guy when he met one. Or a good woman, for that matter. Just a good person. It was an intuition thing. He’d told Clark about it once, and Clark had said Ellis was an excellent judge of character, just usually not for himself. Meaning, Ellis could pick out two good people who deserved to be together, but he had a hard time finding a good man for himself. Clark said they were out there. The problem was Ellis didn’t recognize that they wanted him. Ellis wasn’t so sure.

Clark was a good man, after all, and one of the qualities of being good was believing in the best of people. Clark, in a lot of ways, was the Superman of good men. Daniel was good too, just socially awkward. He had a hard time shutting down his professor mode.

Lucian was not a good man. He was the Batman of the bunch. Bruce Wayne by day and the Dark Knight by the light of the moon. Batman wasn’t exactly good, but he got s**t done. That was Lucian.

“The radar comes in handy,” Ellis said.

“Clearly. If it pings on Bryn and he resisted Lucian, then I believe in it even more than I did yesterday.”

On the monitor, Bryn took off his hearing protection and began to pack.

“You need anything for the Rainbow Center?” Ellis asked.

“No, I think we’re good. See you there?”

“Sure.”

“Seven.”

“Got it.”

“Make him talk, sweetie.”

“Gonna try, Miss J.”

“Loves.” Miss J hung up, and Ellis shoved the phone in his pocket just as Bryn came into the main room. He tossed his targets full of nicely clustered holes into the recycle bin the range kept for them. Bryn never bothered letting Ellis see the targets. Again, he wasn’t there for bragging rights. He knew he was good at shooting. He didn’t need Ellis to confirm it.

Bryn strode to the counter and handed over his hearing protection. He lingered, putting on his coat, and Ellis despaired. There was nothing he needed to say except to thank Bryn and let him out the door. Weeks of being alternately silent, polite, or flirtatiously casual had gotten Ellis nowhere. He knew Bryn was gay. Ellis’s gaydar was highly tuned from all those years on the farm and trying to find boys to blow who wouldn’t kill him later. He knew Bryn was single because Clark, being naturally curious and almost supernaturally connected in the city, had asked around and confirmed the fact. Bryn couldn’t be a closet case. Having boyfriends wouldn’t be a problem for Bryn’s job. He was a ballet dancer, for Chrissakes.

Ellis wasn’t too bad to look at. Not like Clark was handsome or Lucian stunning or Daniel mysterious, but he was okay. He had a nice body, and he kept the red hair under control by cutting it short. He’d taken out the lip and eyebrow rings that had always looked like they’d been put on the wrong face, but he’d kept the n****e rings. He liked them, and his lovers tended to like them too. Because Ellis had had lovers. Plural. He’d slept with both Clark and Lucian, for f**k’s sake. Surely if those men didn’t think Ellis was a troll, then neither would Bryn.

“How was it today?” Ellis asked, trying to minimize the desperation in his voice.

“Fine.”

Maybe Ellis wasn’t Bryn’s type. At this point, Ellis wasn’t sure he cared if they ever got it on. He could settle for simply knowing the guy. Blowing him would be icing on ten cakes. But maybe Bryn was celibate. He kept himself pure for his art. Didn’t have time for relationships. Didn’t date ex-soldiers. Had Bryn even thought Ellis might be former military? Did Bryn think anything about Ellis at all? Was it fair to ask him to without offering up his own personal details?

A light went off in Ellis’s brain. He stepped in front of Bryn, blocking the exit. “I grew up in Oklahoma,” he said.

Bryn took a step back. He met Ellis’s eyes and blinked. He seemed confused, but at least he seemed something other than preoccupied.

“On a farm. Not a big one but a poor one. Corn. Tobacco. There were a lot of chickens too.”

Bryn’s head tilted, and he licked his lips. “Um…?”

“Do you like chickens?”

“As what?” Bryn asked.

“Pets? Food?”

Bryn studied Ellis as though attempting to locate the source of insanity. “I’m not a vegetarian.”

“So you eat chicken?”

“Yes,” Bryn said, drawing out the word.

“And steak?”

“Red meat is in my diet.”

“Do you ever eat chicken or steak with people?”

Something that Ellis hoped to hell was amusement danced in Bryn’s eyes. “Like as a side dish?”

Ellis laughed. “No, like for company.”

Bryn’s eyebrows knitted together, and he glanced left and right before returning his gaze to Ellis. “Are you asking me out?”

“No,” Ellis said. He was sweating so much he would need to change both shirts. “Not exactly. Not…No. I’m trying to get to know you.”

Bryn blinked rapidly. It was adorable. “Why?”

“Because you come in here to shoot.”

“And you get to know all the people who come in to use the range for its intended function?”

“Only the ones who dance and make us open early.”

Bryn’s features grew chilly. “You know who I am.”

“You’re Bryn. The guy who comes in to shoot by himself once a week and doesn’t like to be called by his full first name. Or by sir, for that matter.”

Something Ellis said had helped to ease Bryn’s shoulders down a notch. He blew a brief sigh. It might have been exasperation. “Nobody uses my full first name.”

“No one?”

Bryn’s lip curled. “My mother. That’s it.”

“You have a mother.” Ellis wished he hadn’t made that sound like a cry of triumph.

“Yes,” Bryn said dryly. “The aliens who grew me in their life pod left me with one on Earth so I wouldn’t get lonely.”

“Aliens?”

“Look—”

“You believe in aliens?”

“No! Of course not. Could you please get out of my—”

“You don’t like to shoot.”

“What?” Bryn asked, voice an octave higher than usual.

Ellis took the first good breath he’d managed since Bryn started talking. “You don’t look like you’re having fun is all.”

Bryn made a quiet sound of aggravated confusion. He dropped Ellis’s gaze. “What does fun even look like?”

“If you don’t know, you’re not having it often enough.”

“That’s not—okay.” Bryn squared his shoulders and gestured toward the door. “I’m leaving.”

Ellis didn’t budge. He swallowed around his heart. “So if it’s not fun, why do it?”

“You’re in my way.”

“Stress relief?”

“Whatever you need to think. Now move.”

“Control?”

“Would you—”

“Power?”

It was like Ellis had punched Bryn. He flinched and took another step away from Ellis.

“Some people like the power and control it gives them,” Ellis said hurriedly. “It takes concentration and discipline to learn a weapon and use it well. Most handgun injuries in this country come from improper use and lack of safety training. And people being stupid. You’re not stupid. You’re not having a good time. You obviously like a schedule and training. So, power thing. Maybe?”

Bryn seemed to realize his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. “Or I could like to feel safe.”

Now Ellis felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. If Bryn chose to use weapons to feel safer, that implied he didn’t feel secure without one. A lot of people felt that way. Ellis had dealt with more paranoid preppers than he could shake a stick at, but Bryn wasn’t paranoid. He was grim. Like he knew his fate was sealed and he was simply waiting for it. “Was it because of something that happened?”

“Mr. Parker—”

Ellis refrained from dancing with joy that Bryn knew his name. “Ellis. I’m Ellis.”

“I’m done with being polite.” Bryn’s chilly eyes flashed. “Now move.”

Ellis stepped out of the way, responding to the command not just as an employee reacting to a customer, but as a guy who liked being ordered around jumped when an attractive man said to jump. Bryn was out the door in a flash and into the waiting car with a slam of the door.

Ellis watched Bryn leave, half-aroused and more curious than ever. “Beautiful Bryn 89, Ellis 1.”