6. Diego
DIEGO
Diego drove while Wylie and Hannah had what sounded like a circular argument in the backseat of the car with Wylie listing out all the reasons why she needed to leave her dickhead boyfriend and Hannah waffling between agreeing and defending the man.
Diego stayed out of it, though he knew where their relationship was headed–nowhere good.
Brian was an asshole, had been since high school when he’d dated one of Diego’s friends, Samantha.
He’d been controlling and manipulative back then, and it sounded like not much had changed.
Thankfully, he wasn’t asked for his opinion, so he was able to enjoy the way the Charger handled the road–tight turning radius, eager to accelerate, and smooth as butter when changing lanes.
A nice little purr to the engine that he felt rumbling in his balls.
It’d been a long time since he’d driven a car and never one this nice.
As tempted as he was to gun it, he kept his eye on the odometer; the last thing he needed was to get pulled over by a cop.
It was a straight shot from Jimmy Guanas to the trailer park where Wylie lived in Indian Rocks Beach.
Gulf Boulevard was the main drag that followed along the coastline and, through a series of bridges, connected the many barrier islands that hugged the western coast of the main peninsula.
Water was the defining feature of Florida, and Pinellas County in particular–how to cross it, how to contain it, how to deal with it when the storms came and all that water flooded the land.
Diego spotted the sign for Sunset Village, hot pink and teal neon that spoke to a certain nostalgia.
The trailer park itself was a relic from the 1980s, when Florida’s population was much smaller, and everyday folks could afford a place that was close to the beach.
It was probably the last trailer park that remained on the island, the rest having been bought up by developers and turned into hotels or private mansions.
The property alone was probably worth millions, but Wylie had told him before that Mrs. Miller–Nancy–wasn’t interested in selling.
Diego pulled into the compound and Wylie pointed out where to park.
His was a small, single-wide trailer with a front deck and stairs that led to a second-story platform that spanned half of the roof.
The lower structure was strung with twinkle lights and there were a few potted plants too.
Plastic flamingos, pink and rainbow-hued, were stuck into the gravel by the deck’s stairs, which fit with Wylie’s personality–a bit of rebellion with some kitsch thrown in too.
To display his gay pride so openly revealed a fearlessness Diego had never possessed.
Even at the height of his reckless behavior, when he was high more often than he was sober, Diego was constantly afraid–of being found out, getting caught, disappointing his mother and uncle, disappointing God–not only in regard to his addiction but also in his attraction to men.
He’d come to terms with his sexuality over the years, and he knew from a moral perspective that it wasn’t a sin, but it was difficult to deprogram himself.
In his family, queerness was tolerated but seldom acknowledged, and there were a lot of euphemisms for a gay family member’s romantic partner–special friend, roommate, companion–often said with a look of disdain and dismissive gesture.
Latin machismo was its own can of worms that Diego honestly didn’t want to touch, so he kept his private life private and gave out as little information as possible.
He’d never come out to his family, but he was pretty sure they knew that some of his “friends” were also guys he hooked up with, Cody Wallace among them. His mother mostly ignored the fact–or was in denial–since it didn’t align with her faith. His uncle had never mentioned it, but he knew.
The main difference between them, Diego suspected, was that Wylie seemed truly comfortable with himself, liked himself even. Something to aspire to.
After parking and exiting the car, Diego pulled back the bucket seat for Wylie and Hannah to clamber out. They held hands as they stumbled across the gravel yard, swaying on their feet, since they were both still drunk as hell.
“He owns the house, Wy,” Hannah was saying. “Where am I gonna live?”
“You can live here with me, obviously,” Wylie said while windmilling his arms at said house.
“You, me, and Kayla in that tiny trailer?” Hannah asked skeptically.
“We can make it work until you can get a place of your own. It’s better than being at his mercy.”
She let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I cannot do this right now. I’m too drunk.”
Wylie nodded in agreement. “It’s been a long night. You take the bed.”
It seemed Diego’s duties had concluded, so he offered Wylie the keys, thinking he’d probably still be able to order a ride at this hour, and if not, he could always hoof it.
“Can you come inside for a minute?” Wylie asked, grabbing his arm and batting those big beautiful blues that were becoming harder and harder to resist.
Diego figured “inside” would be a continuation of the conversation in the car, and he needed a little distance from the drama.
“I’ll wait out here.” He hadn’t wanted to be pulled into whatever was going on between Hannah and Brian, but he also couldn’t stand by and let that asshole hurt Wylie.
He hadn’t appreciated being called a faggot, but whatever.
Now that he was out of prison, it wasn’t such a big deal if people knew he liked fucking men.
But his time was now his own, free to spend however he wished, and he wasn’t going to dwell on thoughts of that insignificant asshole.
Diego checked out his surroundings instead.
The night was warm with a slight sea breeze that smelled of fish and sulphur.
The trailer park consisted of about a dozen single and double-wide trailers as well as a couple RVs.
Most of the units were in good shape with potted plants and colorful yard art decorating the small, sandy plots.
Grass didn’t grow too well this close to the beach, something the wealthy homeowners whom Diego had worked for in the past always complained about after spending a fortune on sod that withered and died.
The salt from the Gulf was too much and the dirt was mostly sand, which didn’t hold water.
The grass grew in patches here too, alongside dandelions and other coastal weeds.
The inside lights were off in all but one of the trailers, where Diego could just make out the shadow of someone sitting in a recliner watching television. It had to be near 2 a.m. Night owl, he presumed.
The door to the trailer opened again, and Wylie caught the screen door with his foot to prevent it from slamming shut. In one arm were two Gatorades, one of which he offered to Diego. The other hand held his vape. “Let’s head to the roof,” he said and motioned to the stairs.
“This your work?” Diego asked, regarding the two-story deck structure.
“Yeah, me and a couple friends.”
“Nice.”
“They’re lesbians. Very handy. All about power tools. And boating. Those women love their boat.”
“Were they there tonight?”
“Nah, it’s impossible to get them out after dark, but I’ll introduce you sometime. You like being out on the water?”
“Guess so. Never really had the opportunity growing up.”
“You’ll love it,” Wylie said. He seemed intent on folding Diego into his life and had told him more than once that he needed to make some friends.
No man is an island. That had backfired on Diego in the past, but he was older now and wiser too, he hoped.
It probably wouldn’t kill him to socialize a bit.
There were a couple lawn chairs on the upper deck, and they each claimed one.
Wylie unscrewed the lid to his drink and took a few long pulls.
Diego got distracted by his throat muscles again, the way he drank that shit down so thoroughly.
He recalled earlier that night when Wylie had been up onstage crooning into the microphone, hip-thrusting like he knew how to fuck, all long legs and charisma. Diego swallowed and adjusted himself.
“Sorry again about tonight,” Wylie said, turning toward him slightly. “I know that’s probably not your scene, the argument, I mean. I told her not to bring him.”
“Guy’s an asshole. Always has been.”
“Yeah, I really wish she’d leave his ass.”
“She’s gotta be the one to do it.” Diego knew from his own experience that you couldn’t make anyone do anything. Lord, his mother and uncle had tried to get him to stop using drugs, but it took him getting arrested, and even then, Diego was still using right up until his sentencing.
“I have to keep reminding myself of that. Pisses me off every time she gives him another chance. It’s a vicious cycle with them, and it’s only getting worse. Anyway, thanks for coming out tonight. Didn’t go exactly as planned.” He picked at the bottle cap, seeming disappointed.
“What did you have planned?” Diego asked, amused and intrigued by the man’s inner thoughts.
“Well, after my mating dance, I was going to drag you into a dark corner of the bar and make out with you–really blow your mind–then invite you back to my place. Because I’m smooth like that, you know?”
Diego laughed. He couldn’t help it. He’d had a suspicion about the younger man’s intentions and was pretty flattered to hear it confirmed. “Well, you’re halfway there,” Diego said and cheers’d him with his plastic bottle.
“Tease,” Wylie said with a playful smile and pulled out his vape. He took a few puffs and exhaled the sweet-smelling vapor into the air.
“Why did Brian call you that?” Diego asked.