Chapter Twenty-Five
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
TATE HEFTED A heavy bag of powdered grout onto his shoulder and hopped down from the bed of his truck with a wince. The twinge in his ass reminded him of the previous night’s activities. Liam had taught an evening class that ended around eight. Once the last dancer left, he’d come upstairs tired, hungry, and happy.
Tate fed him, ordered him to sit on the couch, and massaged his man’s feet until Liam was a mushy puddle of goo on the couch.
He’d been grateful for the attention.
Very grateful.
But it would serve Tate well to remember he was new to the ass game and give himself a day or two break before he begged Liam to fuck him again. And he would beg because, at this point, he couldn’t decide which he liked better, sticking his dick in Liam or taking Liam in his ass.
Living with Liam the past few weeks had been good. Better than good, it was amazing. He’d never really let himself imagine having a boyfriend, let alone one he lived with, but even if he had, this would exceed his expectations. He’d deny it to his dying day, but one of his new favorite activities was waking Liam with a freshly brewed cup of coffee each morning. The way his man’s face lit up at the simple gesture made Tate want to surprise him in a million different ways just to see his expression of adoration.
Liam had made some new friends as well. He’d come home from coffee the other day beaming and unable to stop talking about the amazing guys he’d hung out with. Tate’s mild jealousy must have shown on his face because Liam had smirked, dropped to his knees, and shown Tate with very strong suction and tongue action just how uninterested he was in those other men. They begged off the invitation to go clubbing with Liam’s new friends, mostly because Tate wasn’t ready, but he’d promised Liam he’d meet the new crew soon.
“Been wondering when we’d run into each other.” Ducky’s voice had him freezing halfway between his truck and the office.
Well, shit. It was bound to happen. He’d managed to keep off Ducky’s radar longer than expected. Hell, he’d barely seen Randy or Daryl over the past few weeks, and if he did, he kept communication short and professional.
A few times, he’d caught Randy staring at him with what appeared to be regret and longing, but he’d be damned if he’d make the first move toward reconciliation. That ball was in Randy’s court, and he could decide if he was man enough to do something about it.
“Yeah?” He started walking again, heading for the garage, where they kept extra supplies, such as this bag of grout that had been ordered but not used. “It's a real coincidence you showing up at my work and me being here. But I guess life’s strange that way.”
Ducky snorted. “You always were a smartass.”
When he reached the open garage, Tate tossed the grout on the ground next to a few other bags before he turned, hands on his hips, to face Ducky. “Let’s get this over with, Duck. Say all the clever slurs and bullshit you think will somehow turn me straight so I can roll my eyes, flip you off, and get on with my day. I’d rather not keep my man waiting at the end of the day.”
Damn, he loved being able to say that out loud.
Ducky cocked his head. “Randy gave up too easily. He shoulda put you down.”
Unease crawled across Tate’s skin. Ducky always was a few cups short of a gallon. The antagonism in his tone had Tate standing tall and preparing for a physical altercation. “You’re not my brother, Duck. I’ll give back as good as I get with you.”
Come at me, motherfucker.
“Saw your little bitch this morning,” Ducky said with an evil grin.
Now, Tate was on high alert. If Ducky so much as farted in Liam’s direction, Tate would tear off his balls and feed them to him. He rolled his shoulders, fighting to keep a casual stance. “Little bitch? That what they call you in prison?”
“Shame about his studio.”
Shit .
Tate tensed. “What did you do?” He narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?” he asked with menace in his tone this time.
Smirking, Ducky shrugged. “Didn’t do shit.”
Tate reached for the phone in his pocket only to remember he’d left it on the dash in the truck. He stormed toward Ducky. “If you even fucking frown his way, I’ll—”
“Tate, everything okay out here?”
His boss appeared in the doorway leading from the garage to the inside offices. “All good, boss,” he said.
“Hey, Donald, good to see you, man.”
Ducky grinned at Larkin. “You too, Mr. Larkin. Swear you get younger and thinner every time I come by.”
For someone so goddamn homophobic, Ducky sure seemed ready, willing, and eager to suck Larkin’s dick.
“Well, thank you,” Larkin said, rubbing a hand over his protruding stomach. “You looking for a job, son?”
“He’s not,” Tate said, expression flat. “He’s working at the body shop.”
“Yeah, but I can always use a few more dollars.” Ducky shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You need any extra help?”
If Larkin took Ducky on, it’d be the fuel Tate needed to get the fuck out of there and start his own company. No more flirting with the idea. The interview with the developer had gone well, and he refused to work with someone who’d slip a blade between his ribs when he turned his back.
“Yeah,” Larkin said. “We got a few big jobs on the horizon.”
Big jobs, my ass. Tate had been begging him for months to take on bigger, more complicated jobs, but Larkin was as lazy as a damn sloth.
“Why don’t you come on in, and we’ll chat, son. And, fuck off with this Mr. Larkin crap. Known you your whole goddamn life. Call me Harry like everybody else does.”
“You got it, Harry.” Ducky flashed him a yellow-toothed smile.
He might as well have added finger guns to the good-ole-boy routine. Tate clenched his teeth as he counted to ten. It didn’t kill his anger, but it kept him from ripping into Ducky in front of his boss.
Larkin disappeared inside with a motion for Ducky to follow.
Ducky back-walked toward the door, tossing Tate a wink.
Hatred flowed through Tate. His hands curled into fists at his sides. How on earth had he ever idolized this asshole? Sure, it was back before he’d hit his teen years, and he was in awe of the older guys who could drive and had the freedom to go wherever they wanted whenever they wanted. He’d followed Randy and Daryl around like a damn puppy, but it’d been Ducky he’d admired the most, probably because Randy and Daryl did as well. Eighteen to Tate’s ten, he’d represented everything Tate craved.
It wasn’t more than a few years until he’d grown a brain and realized the swagger he’d admired belonged to a bigot and a bully. Ducky had fallen from his pedestal so fast he’d shattered in Tate’s mind.
“You know…” Ducky paused in the doorway with a knowing smirk. “There is just something about your little dancer that is so familiar to me.” He pursed his lips, snapping his fingers while staring at the ceiling as though he had a brain to think with.
“Don’t give a shit,” Tate muttered. He turned his back on Ducky. A few more items in the truck required his attention, and they were much more interesting than this conversation.
“Where do I know him from?” Duck continued as though Tate hadn’t spoken.
He strode through the garage.
“Oh, shit, I know. He reminds me of this guy I saw at the county fair, oh, fuck maybe a decade ago.”
Tate froze mid-stride. Ice replaced the blood in his veins.
“You think it could be him?”
He turned so slowly that it felt like he wasn’t moving. Ducky wore a gleeful grin and practically vibrated with excitement. The motherfucker was enjoying every second of this.
“I don’t know, man, ten years is a long time, but this guy was memorable. Little fairy dancer prancing around on stage like a fucking girl. I don’t know.” He shrugged, eyes sparkling. “Maybe it’s not him. My buddy and I beat the fuck outta that guy.” His voice dropped to a threatening rumble. “Can’t imagine he’d be stupid enough to show his face in our town again. You know?”
Atomic rage exploded inside Tate. The knowledge that one of the men who hurt Liam had been within murdering distance all these years drove him to the brink of insanity. Nothing mattered—not the fact he was at work, nor his boss waiting inside for Ducky, or how he could end up in jail. All he could think about was making Ducky hurt as much as he’d hurt Liam all those years ago.
He charged forward with a furious roar, ready to rip the man into a million tiny pieces and stomp all over them. But three strides in, Ducky slipped inside and slammed the door shut. Tate couldn’t stop his forward momentum. He slammed into the door with his shoulder, grabbing the handle.
It was locked. “You fucking coward!” he shouted as he slammed his palm against the door. Breathing hard, he lifted his foot, prepared to ram his work boot through it to get to Ducky, but his phone rang with Liam’s cheerful ringtone. The pleasant sound from his man’s favorite ballet rang through the air in sharp contrast to the harsh thrum of his pulse.
Tate ran to his truck and reached through the passenger side window to grab the phone from a cupholder. “Hey, Luxe,” he said, shooting for calm and normal. Instead, he sounded constipated.
“Hey, Tate, I am so sorry to bother you.” Liam’s voice wavered. “I know you’re at work—”
Instantly on alert, Tate ran around to the driver’s side and slipped inside. “Fuck my work. What’s wrong?”
“Um, I could use your help cleaning something.” He sounded beyond dejected. He sounded heartbroken.
As he started the truck, Tate focused on shifting from wanting to wrap his hands around Ducky’s throat and squeezing until he stopped breathing to helping the man he loved. “Luxe, tell me what happened. I’m already on my way.”
Liam sighed. “Did I mention that I love you today?”
Nothing eased him quite like hearing those words. “Yeah, Luxe, you did. How about me? Did I tell you I love you?”
“Hmm,” he said, finally sounding a little more like his happy self. “Pretty sure the last time you said it was when I was pegging your prostate last night.
Christ, this man got to him like no one ever had.
Liam giggled. “You hard now?”
“You know I am, you little shit.”
More laughter. Mission accomplished.
“I love you, Luxe.”
“Someone smeared shit all over the front windows of my studio.”
Tate blinked. “What? Actual shit?”
“Yep. Actual shit. Poop. All over the place. I have a class in an hour, and I refuse to cancel it and give whoever did this the satisfaction of ruining my day. I thought, maybe if you had time to help—”
“I’m on my way. Do you need any supplies?”
“Nah, it was super dirty when I took over the lease here, so I think I have everything I need to clean it. It’s just a matter of having the time to get it done.”
“Be there in less than ten minutes.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
“Hey, Luxe?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
Liam sighed. “Yeah, mostly just annoyed. A little sad. I’d started to think maybe the people around here accepted me, but…”
Tate’s heart ached. “So many do, baby. And fuck everyone else.”
He could practically see Liam’s dejected half-smile through the phone. “That’s my pet name. No one gave you permission to use it.”
“Love you, Luxe.”
“Love you, Tate.”
He jammed the gas pedal to the floorboard and raced the rest of the way, making it to the studio in a record four and a half minutes.
It’d been easy enough to keep his cool while trying to cheer Liam up, but the second he pulled into the studio’s parking lot and the extent of the vandalism came into view, he flipped his shit.