Loose Cannon Page 23

  Specifically, he kept noticing men.

  Not that he hadn’t always. In fact, these days, it was hard to pretend otherwise. But he’d always told himself everybody did that. Like you noticed a pretty sunset or a woman wearing a low-cut top or a school bus flashing its lights. Of course Miller noticed. Men were all over the place. Doing stuff.

  But now he couldn’t help analyzing the way he noticed them. Old men, young men, the good-looking and the ugly. He wasn’t cataloging wardrobes, either. He was noticing bodies. It was similar to the way he’d always noticed women, but far stronger. He wasn’t sure what that meant.

  He found himself staring at a guy’s ass in line while shopping for Christmas presents in the mall on Saturday, and he wasn’t sure why, because it wasn’t a particularly good ass. He didn’t think so, anyway. He wasn’t sure what counted as a good ass on a man. He knew he liked to look at Church’s, but that wasn’t even the part of Church he liked the most. That would probably be his mouth. Or his shoulders. Or maybe his hands. Or his stupid hair, now that it was growing out, all thick and dark and weird.

  Okay, so he thought Church was sexy. He could admit it in the safety of his own head, at least. Church was sexy, and Miller was painfully, powerfully attracted to him. That was harder to admit but impossible to ignore, considering the evidence. Standing next to the guy in the kitchen got him half-hard these days.

  He jerked off in the shower every morning, hoping to stay ahead of the need, and each time it went faster than the last so he was coming in mere handfuls of minutes. He didn’t waste his time trying to think of ex-girlfriends anymore; it wouldn’t work, and honestly, it felt far too good to come to thoughts of Church anyway. Miller couldn’t stop remembering Church’s mouth on his, Church’s mouth on his cock, Church’s hands drifting back farther. It was his hands in Miller’s fantasies most often, because he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Church had touched him, gotten him wet and slipped inside.

  He tried to cast the scene differently each time, but it didn’t matter. Miller would start off picturing Church beneath him, but the memory of that hot little throb of wonder and desire he’d felt with Church’s fingers pressed inside him always warped the image by the end.

  He came with his own fingers trembling against that pink muscle between his cheeks, not daring to push inside, thrown over the edge of orgasm by the terrifyingly potent thrill of imagining Church shoving him into the mattress, pushing between his thighs and sliding his cock into Miller’s ass.

  There was no way in hell it was going to happen, he always told himself afterward. Miller wasn’t the kind of man who would let another man fuck him.

  But the idea of it was firmly lodged in his brain by now. Was he that kind of man? Was there even a “kind” of man who did that? Miller knew what other people would think. Gus Quinn had lived in Boston before he moved to Colorado with his wife in the eighties to be near her dying mother, but there’d been plenty of vacations and reunions to visit that side of the family. The Boston Quinns had never had any shame about scorning a guy who didn’t act like a “real man,” wrinkling their noses and saying things like “disgusting” and “gross” and those were the least of it. Miller letting someone do that to him would definitely violate their definition of what a man should be, and that was asking for trouble. He didn’t feel like less of a man when he thought about Church fucking him. He didn’t feel disgusted. He felt vibrant. Alive. Like his heart was beating for the first time.

  He didn’t feel like less of a man until he realized he was scared of what other men would think about Church fucking him. The thought of what anyone would think.

  That roar of noise and panic existed almost all the time these days, pounding in the back of his head. It was closer now, louder, and it was turning into words. You know what’s really going on. You know. You already know.

  “Bisexual,” he whispered to the dark bedroom one night. Trying it out, that was all. Wondering what it sounded like, though he wasn’t sure it applied in his case.

  He really had loved Melissa. He’d known at the time that she wasn’t the one, but he had loved her. The sex had been a very small part of their bond, but he’d liked holding her and touching her, and that mattered to him. He didn’t like the idea of putting that relationship to the side as if it wasn’t valid simply because he could acknowledge his desire for men.

  The problem was that he’d spent so much time ignoring this aspect of his sexuality that he didn’t trust his read on the other aspects anymore. He wasn’t sure if the appeal of pretty women these days was legitimate physical attraction or the shit in his head telling him what he should like. He suspected it was at least partially the latter. Now that he knew what it could feel like to have male hands on him, he had to admit that sex with women hadn’t been nearly as fulfilling.

  So he whispered the other words too, just in case, just to test himself. “Gay. Homosexual.”

  He didn’t mind the first one so much, but the second one made his stomach hurt. It was too close to homo. He’d heard that one delivered with scorn and hatred too many times to be comfortable with it. He’d never heard it used any other way.

  It wasn’t bigotry to wish he didn’t want these things, he told himself. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Church that he didn’t think there was anything wrong with being gay. There wasn’t.

  It was everything that surrounded being gay that was the problem.

  The uncertainty. The judgment that would be aimed at him. He knew gay people got harassed. He knew there was violence and hatred. It was bad enough to hear when it wasn’t aimed at him.

  How the hell did anyone live with that many hateful eyes on them? How the hell did anyone believe that they were a good man when you were hearing the opposite all the time?

  What if it were Shelby who said those things or looked at him that way?

  And yes, there was a whole community of people that were gay or lesbian or bisexual, and maybe being with them would be helpful, but he’d seen movies and TV and pictures in magazines, images of parades and protests and big guys in leather and slim, young men in rainbow shorts and women in flannel or bright lipstick, people who blurred the rules, and he...he wasn’t sure he belonged there. They were somehow exotic and ordinary at once. Different from the people he was used to, yeah, but that wasn’t what set them apart.

  They looked fierce and proud—that was the difference.

  They were like Ghost, who’d set off the alarm in Miller’s head (an alarm he was ashamed to possess, and he had no idea where it’d come from). Ghost, who’d crossed every line of what a man was supposed to be and never flinched from Miller’s gaze. Like he was used to people staring and didn’t care.

  Miller didn’t know how not to care. He wished he did. God, did he wish for it.

  Sometimes he almost managed to put the whole thing aside. Then he’d see Church or hear him or, Christ, think of him, and Miller would be half-hard and wishing he could touch him and talk to him about real things again, and he was back where he started.

  He thought he could want Church and be okay with it if he never had to deal with the rest of that shit.

  It was different for Church. He was the same as the people in those pictures.

  Church was strong.

  * * *

  Despite all of Chelsey’s arguments, when Church asked her to set up the meeting, she did so. She left a voice mail two days later saying that George Kontakte was willing to let Church come over on that upcoming Saturday afternoon.

  First, Church texted Ghost. He typed out a whole thing about how nervous he was and asking what he should do. He considered sending it, then deleted everything and typed out: I’m not gonna punch anyone.

  It was kind of their thing. Church promising, Ghost listening.

  He sent it before he had time to talk himself out of it.

 
But by the end of the day, there’d been no answer.

  Even though he knew it was stupid, he took the bus over to Ghost’s apartment the next day. It was still a shithole, but that was the only thing that hadn’t changed. A dark-skinned woman with dreadlocks answered the door and said, “The pretty boy moved out, son.”

  She seemed to get that it stole his knees from him. She put a hand on his shoulder for a few seconds before she shut the door.

  The phone call to Tobias about it had really sucked.

  Church strongly considered telling Miller about everything at that point. He’d never had to be good without Ghost before, and Chelsey was right. He needed support. Miller was the best support he’d ever had, and the lying was screwing it all up. But even if it felt wrong to lie, his reasons for doing so hadn’t changed. He had to keep Miller safe, and he had to keep Miller from...from knowing what Church really was.

  Hell, he wasn’t sure what was right anymore. He sat down and made a pro/con list with a pencil on a piece of scrap paper.

  Pro: if Miller knew, he could come to Kontakte’s house with him and keep Church’s head from falling off. Afterward, when Church couldn’t hide from the fact that he was a violent bastard like his dad, maybe Miller would hug him and tell him all the reasons Church could still be a good man. Plus, he could stop feeling shitty about lying to the one person who’d never flinched from giving him what he needed.

  Con: Miller would know that Church was a colossal fuckup. He might realize that he’d been right the first time to tell Church not to touch him. If the story about getting mixed up with drug dealers wasn’t enough to prove how stupid Church was, meeting the man Church had beaten the shit out of would definitely do it, and he and Church weren’t talking these days anyway, because Miller obviously wanted Church less than Church wanted him, so adding more onto the list of crapola that was Church’s personality was—

  He stopped writing midsentence. There was no point.

  In the end, he told Miller he couldn’t go to the workshop that Saturday because he had a court-ordered volunteering thing to do. He also asked Tobias if he was still willing to go along. Tobias not only agreed, he offered to drive.

  Which would’ve been a better deal if Tobias wasn’t the most old-lady driver of all time.

  “You’re like a driver’s-ed video,” Church complained on Saturday, halfway to Kontakte’s home on the far side of Denver. Church was sitting on his hands to keep them from flailing. It did nothing to stop his toes from bouncing.

  “It’s okay to be nervous,” Tobias replied.

  “You’re nervous,” Church snapped back. “I’m perfectly calm.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re never going to get there at this rate,” Church continued, well aware he was being an asshole but unable to stop, and Tobias didn’t even have the good manners to fight with him about it. He made a soft humming sound instead, like he was soothing an infant, which only annoyed Church more. He kicked at the dashboard, and Tobias said, “Please don’t. It’s my mother’s car.”

  Church scowled but stopped.

  “He wouldn’t have said you could come by if he wasn’t willing to hear you out,” Tobias said.

  “He’s probably got a pipe bomb waiting.”

  “If that were true, he would’ve wanted to meet at your house,” Tobias pointed out. “He’s not going to blow up his own place to get back at you. Besides, if he was that angry, he wouldn’t have wasted his time going after the truck or the window or the yard. He’d have shot you or something.”

  “Assuming it’s him.”

  “Assuming.”

  “That’s not hugely reassuring.”

  “Is there anything I could say that would reassure you?”

  Fortunately, before Church could be immature and mimic Tobias’s comment in a high-pitched voice, they pulled up in front of a small green house. The grass was brown and brittle, and black shingles dotted the yard where the wind must’ve blown them loose. The rusted car in the driveway sagged on its axles.

  “I don’t want to do this,” Church said.

  “I know.”

  “But I have to.”

  “Yes.”

  “This is going to be depressing and horrible.” If Church got any more terrified, he was going to puke all over himself and pass out. “Isn’t it?”

  “Probably,” Tobias agreed. “He’s got every right to hate you, Church, and he’ll probably say a lot of hurtful things. All you can do is apologize and ask him to stop if he’s the one vandalizing things.” He paused to put his hand on Church’s. “And no matter what happens, I’ll still be here, and I’ll still love you. I won’t tell anyone if you cry like a big wuss.”

  Church groped for Tobias’s hand, squeezed it and took a deep breath. The Audi’s doors squeaked as they got out. The December clouds were heavy and oppressive with the oncoming afternoon snowstorm.

  The front door opened before they were halfway up the sidewalk. It was hard to see the man at the threshold at first because he was shadowed by the porch roof, but as Church walked closer, the guy still didn’t look familiar. Kontakte hadn’t attended Church’s hearings, and there hadn’t been a trial, just a family-court judge, so all of his memories were based off that long-ago night, and what he mostly remembered was the blood gleaming black and shiny on the asphalt.

  George Kontakte was shorter than Church, and he had a big belly these days. Thick lines spanned outward from his eyes and around his mouth, and his wispy, light-brown hair was thinning on top. He wore ragged sweatpants and a stained T-shirt, and in his right hand, he held a shotgun, barrel aimed toward the ground.

  Church stopped short. “I’m not here to start trouble.”

  Kontakte gave him a slow once-over. “You’re a fucking kid,” he said, sounding disgusted. “I thought you’d be...but you’re just a kid.”

  “Okay,” Church said. He glanced at Tobias, who shrugged, his cheeks pale. “You, uh, want to put the gun down?”

  “How old are you?” Kontakte asked, his chin jutting out.

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Fuck. I got a kid older than you.”

  Church had no idea what to make of that, so he stood there like an idiot until Tobias elbowed him in the back. Kontakte was still staring at him when Church forced himself to swallow and say, “I came to apologize.”

  For a heartbeat, Kontakte’s hand tightened on the shotgun. The barrel tipped up as his knuckles reddened, and Tobias lunged between Church and Kontakte. Or he tried to, anyway, because Church grabbed him by the scruff and shoved him aside. “Don’t be stupid,” he hissed, and when the dummy struggled, he gave Tobias a brief shake.

  Kontakte watched all of this with a thick glare creasing his features. “You don’t have to worry, hero,” he told Tobias, sneering. “I’m not gonna shoot him if he don’t make me. You think I’m gonna go to prison for this thug?”

  “I’m not a thug,” Church replied. Tobias elbowed him again, and he grunted. “Look, I came to say that I’m sorry and to ask if you’ve been, um, if you’ve been trying to get back at me.”

  “Get back at you? With a shotgun? This is for self-defense. I’m not like you.”

  “By vandalizing a truck. And breaking a window.”

  Kontakte’s face flooded with color. “Like it wasn’t enough what you already did, huh? Gonna screw me over some more?”

  “What? No, that’s not—”

  “Because I’m not taking it this time! I don’t know what trouble you got yourself into, but you’re not laying it at my door. I didn’t do a damn thing to any piece-of-shit truck!”

  “I’m not screwing you over. I was only asking. If it wasn’t you, I’m gonna leave you alone.”

  “Oh, so you only came by to say you’re sorry because you think I can do something for you? I see I ha
d you all wrong.”

  Church spoke through clenched teeth. “I would’ve apologized before, but I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

  “Why the fuck would anyone want to see you?” Kontakte snarled. “Little punk. I knew the first time I saw you what you were. A loser. No brains, no future.” He curled his lip and looked at Tobias. “Lurking outside a twenty-four-hour liquor store in the middle of the night looking for an adult to buy him some booze, wasn’t he? Thinks he’ll be able to push me into breaking the law? Thinks I’m going to get in trouble for a shit like him?”

  Church could feel the red starting to creep over his vision, worse than it’d been in years. Bad enough that the static-shock adrenaline was already pumping through his veins.

  “Yeah, because a guy who’s drunk at a liquor store at three in the morning’s making some super life decisions,” Church heard himself say, as if from a great distance.

  “Church,” Tobias said. “Don’t.”

  “Hey, I’m of age!” Kontakte snapped. “And I worked hard for my family. I wasn’t sitting on some curb waiting for some sucker to come along and bail me out.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you cost me every fucking good thing in my life. I couldn’t work after what you did to my head.” Kontakte held out his hand, and the fingers trembled and jerked like an old man’s. Church’s gaze clung to those stubby, nail-chewed fingers shaking in midair as if magnetized. The red throb of fury vanished, replaced by a terrible shredding sensation, as if there were gears grinding in his chest.

  Kontakte laughed, sour and strange. “You should see the way they’re jumping around by bedtime. The nerves in my legs do that too. I can’t barely sit in a chair for an hour at a time anymore. The painkillers got me so jammed up I couldn’t work. My wife took my daughters away from me because she said she didn’t trust me to take care of them, but I never would’ve needed those pills if it weren’t for you. You know what a father looks like who hasn’t got his kids?” He used that trembling hand to gesture to his own face, where enraged tears dribbled from his eyes. “Take a good look, dipshit. It looks like this. So thanks but no fucking thanks for the apology. You can shove it up your ass.”