Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TATE DROVE STRAIGHT to the trailer park, blowing two red lights and plowing over three curbs as he turned like a race car driver. Anger bubbled in his veins hot, dark, and deadly. He shoved the fight with Liam to the back of his mind as one thought reigned.
Ducky hurt Luxe.
Ducky hurt Luxe.
Ducky hurt Luxe.
He sped through the trailer park too fast, kicking up dust and gravel. Someone shouted a litany of profanity as he whizzed by like a bullet. He slammed on the brakes outside Ducky and Daryl’s trailer, skidding into a ceramic planter with dying flowers. It tipped over, spilling dirt and dead stems onto the ground. Tate didn’t bother to right it.
He shoved out of the car, leaving the motor running and the door open as he charged up the three steps to the trailer. He didn’t bother knocking, instead kicking the door so hard it flew open with a splintered crack.
“What the fuck?” Daryl leaped up from an old table, splattering a bowl of cereal and milk onto the floor. His chair tipped, and his back hit the refrigerator.
“Where is he?” Tate stormed into the trailer, smacking a kitchen chair out of his way as he lunged for Daryl. He pinned the shocked man against the refrigerator with a forearm across his throat.
Daryl grabbed for his arm with a choked wheeze. His nails scraped Tate’s forearms, but Tate barely felt them rip at his skin. “What the hell, T?” Daryl managed in a raspy gurgle of rushed words.
He leaned in, speaking slowly and with a menacing tone. “Where. Is. Ducky?”
This time, he registered Daryl’s nails piercing his skin, so he backed off the pressure on the man’s throat.
“How would I know? I ain’t his keeper. What the hell is this about?”
“Is he here? Hiding in one of the rooms like a chickenshit?”
“What?” Daryl's eyes were wide, face red from lack of oxygen. “N-no. He left hours ago.” He shoved at Tate’s chest. “Get the hell off me, T.”
“Why?” he asked with a smirk. “Afraid you might like it if I get too close?”
The shock in Daryl’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced with abject fear. So much fear that Tate’s eyebrow arched.
“Fuck you.” Daryl began to struggle in earnest, kicking and shoving against Tate with all his strength.
His work boot collided with Tate’s shin. “Ow, Jesus, Daryl, calm down.” He released the man and stepped back as pain ricocheted up his leg.
“Me calm down?” Daryl rubbed his throat. “You’re the one charging in here like some psycho.”
He took a breath. The sharp pain in his shin cut through some of his fury, grounding him in the here and now. “I need to know where Ducky is,” he said as he ran a hand through his hair. “He met with Larkin this morning about picking up a few jobs. Where would he have gone after?”
Was it Tate’s imagination, or did Daryl’s face lose about ten shades of color?
“H-he wants to lay tiles with us?”
Could this take any longer? “I don’t know what he wants, but he was there talking to Larkin, so I guess.” He would have sworn he heard Daryl curse under his breath, but his lips barely moved. “Just tell me where he could be. It’s important.”
Daryl cocked his head. “Yeah? You gonna go all rage beast on him too?”
Tate didn’t respond.
After a few seconds, Daryl shrugged. “You know what? What the fuck do I care?” He dropped his hand from his throat. “Uh, I don’t think he’s working today, so he’s probably at The Nail.”
“It’s three on a Tuesday.”
Daryl shrugged. “Like he gives a shit. Ducky’s happy to hit up a bar any timea day or night. You know that.”
Of course he was.
Without another word, Tate turned and strode from the trailer.
“You’re welcome,” Daryl called after him. “Happy to help, asshole. Maybe next time you need something, just, you know, ask insteada tryin’ a murder me.”
Tate ignored him, jogging down the steps toward his idling truck.
“Don’t tell him I gave him up,” Daryl called from the doorway.
Tate flipped him off before slipping into the truck and backing out. He could hear Daryl shouting something else, probably about the overturned planter, but he kept driving.
And driving.
And driving.
And driving.
He passed the studio, his office, and the bar where Ducky would be guzzling his fifth beer. It would have been easy to jerk the wheel right, turn into The Nail’s parking lot, and go inside. Ducky would be drunk and wobbly, and beating him within an inch of his life would be as easy as singing the ABCs.
But he didn’t do it.
Liam’s voice echoed in his head, pleading with him to stay and choose their relationship over settling a score.
Tate had chosen to walk away.
“Fuck.” He pulled over to the side of the highway and jammed the car into park. “ Fuck!” he screamed as he beat his open palms against the steering wheel.
How did he do this? How did he look at Liam, touch Liam, love Liam every day, and then look at himself in the mirror, knowing he didn’t do shit to avenge him? The thought of his lover suffering any pain worse than a hangnail stirred a homicidal frenzy in him.
Was Liam right? Would it be enough to report the vandalism to the police? How long would he return to jail for a parole violation? These questions came too little too late. He could have asked them an hour ago when he’d been standing outside with Liam instead of losing his cool.
He slumped forward, letting his forehead rest against the steering wheel. Second by second, his fury faded until he was left with a hollow gut and a heavy heart.
“I fucked up,” he whispered.
Not the first time. Liam had forgiven him before. Would he again?
He straightened and shifted back into drive, pulling onto the highway with a whirling brain. He drove for hours through the flat countryside, around and around, going nowhere past familiar ranches and landmarks he’d passed hundreds of times before. But he barely saw them.
Eventually, his neck ached from sitting atop tensed shoulders for so long. He took the next right turn, finding himself at a familiar creek—the site of his first date with Liam.
“Jesus,” he whispered. Driving there hadn’t been a conscious choice. It was as though his mind shut down, letting his body steer him there on autopilot. “I should not be driving.”
He killed the engine and climbed down from the truck as he made his way to the creek bank. The air smelled sweet as always, tinged with corn and herbs. He sat then laid back, staring up at the fluffy clouds. Back when he and Randy were kids, they’d stare at the clouds for hours, trying to make out the shapes and characters. They didn’t have money for fancy toys, and their mom was either at work or high, so they’d spent a lot of time outside making their own fun. As much as they’d pissed each other off, as often as they’d called each other stupid and drove each other crazy, they’d been brothers. They’d been on each other’s teams. They’d had each other’s backs.
And now Randy couldn’t be near him without wanting to knock him out.
All because Tate was in love with Liam.
Since the day Randy found him with Liam, Tate hadn't taken the time to sit with the encounter and process what had happened. He’d allowed Liam to comfort him, then jumped into the excitement of living with the man he loved.
For over a decade, he’d feared the very thing that happened when Randy discovered he was gay. He’d known how Randy would react. Hell, he’d anticipated the violence, hateful words, and rejection. None of it had been a surprise, yet the pain of losing the one family member who’d given a shit about him was astonishing.
It hurt like hell.
Would Randy go the way of Ducky? Would he take his hatred so far as to go after Liam? Maybe he already had. Who’s to say Ducky acted alone? The motherfucker would love to recruit Randy in his plot to rid the town of Liam, and Randy was just ignorant and hateful enough to do it.
The sun warmed his skin, feeling like a comfortable blanket. The only thing that would feel better would be Liam by his side.
But he’d gone and fucked that up.
He shut his eyes and tried to focus on the warmth of the sun, the prickle of the grass beneath him, and the babbling of the creek.
His phone rang, jolting through him like a cattle prod.
“What? Shit.” He sat straight up, blinking and whipping his head in every direction. Darkness surrounded him.
Where the fuck am I?
His heart raced faster than a spray of bullets leaving an automatic weapon.
The phone kept ringing.
Finally, the moon and stars overhead registered. The day’s events came rushing back to him in a barrage of pain and frustration.
His phone rang again.
Liam.
Shit, he’d passed out. Liam was probably out of his mind with worry.
Tate grabbed the phone and hit the answer button. “Liam?” He shouted into the receiver.
“Tate, get out. You have to get the fuck out of there!”
He blinked. “What?” He yanked the phone from his ear and stared at the caller ID before returning the phone to his ear. “Randy?”
“Tate, don’t ask questions. Just listen to me. Get out. Now!”
“Randy, what are you talking about? I’m outside. I’m at the creek.”
Silence greeted him for a beat, and then, “Is Liam with you?”
He gripped the phone so hard his knuckles ached. “No. Randy, what the fuck is going on?”
“Shit, you gotta call him, T. Call him now. It’s Ducky.”
He hung up without waiting for more and hopped to his feet. He rushed to the truck while calling Liam. The phone rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail. “Luxe, it’s me. Call me back as soon as you get this.” He ended the call and fired a quick text to Liam.
911. GET OUT.
Then he called Randy back, hitting the speaker button so he could drive.
“You get him? Is he out?”
“He didn’t answer. Randy, tell me what the fuck is going on.” His tires spun on the soft earth as he slammed down on the gas pedal, but a second later, it lurched forward.
“Ducky’s gone fucking crazy. He was here tonight when we had a bonfire, ranting and raving about cleansing the town and shit. Think he was on PCP or some shit. I’m telling you, man, he was out of his mind.”
“Get to the fucking point, Randy.”
He took a turn fast enough to lift the wheels on one side. If he kept up the pace, he could make it to Liam in fifteen minutes. Too fucking long.
“He’s planning something. I don’t know what. He kept saying he refused to live in a town with fa… uh, gay guys, and it was time to do something about it. Said the problem would be gone by the end of the night. Then he took off. Don’t know what he’s planning, but if he doesn’t slam headfirst into a power pole, I think he’s going after Liam.”
“Shit, shit, shit. I’m too fucking far away.” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. Fear was so strong it nearly choked him.
“I’ll go. I’m getting in the car right now.”
Between the heavy pounding of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears, he must have heard wrong. “Randy…”
“I’m fucking sorry, T. I know that don’t fix shit, but until that day I always had your back. Trust me to have it now.”
What choice did he have?
“Get him, Randy. Whatever the fuck you have to do. Keep him safe. If something happens to him, I’ll…” He couldn’t even finish the thought.
“Keep calling. Maybe you’ll get him. I’m on my way.”
“Call me if—”
The line went dead.
“Dammit!” He roared as he threw the phone on the seat with so much force it bounced onto the floor.
He’d never felt like this before. Like he would tear his own skin off if it would get him there faster. Like the panic and fear could drive him literally insane.
He drove as fast as possible, slapping the dashboard as though it could give the truck more horsepower.
Rows and rows of corn whizzed by outside in a seemingly never-ending trail of terror.
He could have prevented this.
If he’d gone after Ducky as he’d intended, he could have prevented whatever horror he was about to unleash.
If something happened to Liam, if he was hurt in any way, he wouldn’t have to go after Ducky. He could place that blame right on himself.
He slammed on the brakes, cursing himself for tossing the phone. After wasting precious seconds rifling around the dark floorboard, he finally located it. With one eye paying attention to the road, he called Liam again as he floored the gas pedal.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
“Hey, it’s Liam. Sorry I missed you. I’m probably teaching, so leave me a message…”
He forced even more pressure on the gas pedal.
Hold on, Luxe. God, please don’t let anything happen to him.
He’d never prayed a day in his life, but he’d pledge his life and loyalty to anyone who’d keep Liam safe.