Diego
“Where is she?” the man slurred, clearly wasted, as his eyes roved all over the back as if she might be hiding somewhere.
“Yes, it is my fucking business, she’s the mother of my kid. Where’s Kayla?”
“You fucking that cocksucking faggot, then?” Brian asked with a mean squint. “Swallows? Better wrap your shit twice, because I hear he’s a real slut for cock. Kind of like my whore-ass girlfriend.”
“Tell me where the fuck Hannah and my kid are, and I’ll leave right now.”
“No,” Diego said. Firmly. Brian stared him down, violent intent brewing behind his eyes. The man wanted someone to fight, and it seemed Diego would suffice for now. Diego braced himself for whatever might come next because he’d sworn to himself he wasn’t going to land the first blow.
“What the hell is going on here?” Frank demanded, having blown in from the back and probably pissed to find Diego not busy at his station.
“This is Brian, Hannah’s boyfriend,” Diego said without taking his eyes off the man. The asshole had a reputation at the pit, and everyone but Hannah absolutely hated him.
“Why the fuck are you in my kitchen?” Frank demanded, letting his temper fly.
Brian’s murderous gaze swung toward Frank, who stood with his arms crossed, shoulder-to-shoulder with Diego. “Where is she?” Brian asked, no less nastily than before.
“Fuck if I know, but you’re trespassing. Now get the fuck off my property, dickhead.”
Brian must have decided that the two of them were more trouble than it was worth because he shot one last glare at Diego, and said to him, “That prick looks down on people like us. Just like Hannah, thinking her shit don’t stink.
They’re probably talking shit about you right now. Poisonous cunts, the both of them.”
“And you’re banned,” Frank said. “If I see your face here again, I’m having you arrested. And I will press charges.”
Brian turned and stalked out of the kitchen, shooting them a bird on his way out, then continued through the dining room, practically knocking over an elderly couple as he blasted his way out the front door.
“What an asshole,” Frank said. “Where’s Hannah?”
“That asshole beat her up,” Diego said and gestured to where Brian had stormed out. “Wylie came and picked her up. We got her shift covered.”
“Damnit. You have my permission to beat that kid’s ass if he comes in here again.”
“Can’t. I’m on probation.”
“Then call me over and I’ll do it.” Frank swung his arms as if limbering up. His uncle didn’t make idle threats.
“You got it. Thanks for the backup.”
“Anytime,” Frank said and slapped his back. “Now, get your ass back to work. That meat isn’t going to slice itself.”
“Heard.”
Diego finished out the rest of his shift with one eye toward the door in case Wylie or Hannah stopped by, checking his phone regularly in hopes of a text or phone call. Wylie was probably busy and had simply forgotten. There was nothing more to read into it, right?
Right?
Later that night Diego still hadn’t heard from Wylie, so he decided to man up and text him. Not once, but three times over the course of an hour.
How’s it going?
Want to talk?
Anything I can do?
He kept an eye on his phone but there was nothing, not even the three dots that said Wylie was considering what to say.
Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Diego went to bed without a response.
Rather than bother with texting him the next morning, Diego picked up his phone and called.
He wanted to hear Wylie’s voice, just to know that he was okay.
The last thing he’d wanted was to hurt him.
And why didn’t Wylie get it? He was going places while Diego was an ex-con on probation and severely limited by his poor choices in life.
He didn’t want his past fuck-ups to affect Wylie’s future. It was just that simple.
“Good morning,” Diego said when Wylie answered. “How’s it going over there?”
“Could be worse,” Wylie said in his raspy morning voice.
Diego imagined Wylie lying there on the couch, definitely shirtless, probably wearing those damn sweat pants with the outline of his big dick pressed up against the soft material.
Every time Diego saw those pants, he wanted to drop down on his knees and mouth the man’s junk right through the fabric. Was he hard right now?
“How’s Hannah?” Diego asked, trying to get this mind out of the gutter.
“She’s…not great, but she’s here with me. No sign of Fuckface yet. We got a restraining order against him. We’ll see if that’s enough to keep him away. I’ve got my ex-military neighbor on watch if not.”
“That’s good. He came by the pit yesterday looking for her and Kayla. Frank and I scared him off and told him not to come back.”
“Did he say anything?” Wylie asked.
Diego wasn’t going to get into all the homophobic shit Brian had spewed, or the fact that some of it had stung because it spoke to Diego’s own insecurities, the part about Wylie being too good for him at least.
“Not much. He was drunk off his ass. He asked for Hannah, and I didn’t let it get much further than that,” Diego said.
“Was Frank upset? I know he doesn’t like any drama at the pit,” Wylie said.
“He’s worried about Hannah. Emma started a GoFundMe for her to get her own place or whatever else she might need. It’s up to five hundred dollars already.”
“Wow, that’s awesome. She could use the money. I love those guys. And thanks for handling Fuckface. She’s going to stay here with me for a bit. There’s something else we should talk about but not right now.”
“Okay,” Diego said with a twinge in his gut. The phrasing sounded ominous, and he wondered if Wylie was thinking about calling things off–it would serve him right for his wishy-washy behavior. Still, to not have Wylie in his life at all would… hurt.
“Also, I have a favor to ask,” Wylie said.
“Anything,” Diego responded immediately.
“I need to go over there and get her and Kayla’s things. I don’t want Hannah to come with me, and I don’t want to do it alone.”
There was no way Diego would let Wylie go over to Brian’s place without backup.
“I’m off today. I can help you get her stuff.
He might get violent. He definitely wants to beat your ass,” Diego warned.
He really couldn’t afford assault and battery on his record.
A charge like that would land him right back in prison.
“I think he’d like to, but I’ve got a plan for that. I’m going to borrow a truck and I’ll be over in an hour or so to get you. Cool?”
“Yeah, I’ll be ready.”
The plan, as Diego learned a little while later, was to get Brian’s mom Denise involved.
They were both hoping Brian would be at work, it being a weekday and all, but no such luck.
His dented pickup truck was parked haphazardly in the driveway, the overgrown grass in the yard having gone to seed.
They hung back a bit until they saw Brian’s mom pull up to the curb in a small sedan.
They exchanged a brief greeting with Denise before Wylie headed toward the front door.
He had to practically beat the thing down before a stumbling, bleary-eyed Brian appeared, leaning against the door jamb and glaring at them viciously in the morning light.
“The fuck do you want?” Brian snarled. He was shirtless with his pants still undone, and he and stank of BO and sour beer.
“We’re here to get Hannah’s stuff,” Wylie said simply, though his eyes had a certain murderous intent behind them.
“The fuck you are. Get off my property or I’ll beat your ass.” Brian’s bloodshot gaze shifted over to Diego. “Both your asses.”
Diego doubted it would be possible for Brian to beat both their asses, but they didn’t get the chance to test that theory because the small, spitfire of a woman behind them pushed through them both and said to Brian, “Boy, you really done screwed up this time.”
“Mom?” Brian asked, as if in disbelief.
“Get your sorry ass out of the way, so these boys can take care of business. I warned you about the drinking and your temper, but you just went on and ruined the one good thing in your life. And you’d better not fuck up my relationship with Hannah or my grandbaby.
Now go put a shirt on and get your ass out here.
We’re going to Denny’s to sober you up and discuss some things. ”
Brian ducked back inside with a petulant growl, slamming the door behind him, then came out a few minutes later with his shoulders slumped and a ball cap pulled low on his head.
He said nothing to either of them as Denise took him by the arm and dragged him toward her car, muttering curses the whole way there.
“Fucking asshole,” Wylie grumbled before entering the home.
It looked recently upset, with a floor lamp turned over and some of the furniture knocked about, possibly from whatever fight he’d had with Hannah.
Diego didn’t want to imagine it. Crumpled fast food wrappers and several empty cans of beer littered the surfaces.
There were also a couple fist-sized holes in the drywall, clearly places where Brian had thrown a punch.
What an immature asshole. The place had bad vibes—misery and sadness—even Diego could tell. Hopefully Hannah never went back.
Wylie laid out the game plan while Diego started building the boxes they’d picked up from the pit.
They’d pack clothes, toys, bedding, and any small appliances Wylie didn’t have already.
The furniture was mostly second-hand and wouldn’t fit in Wylie’s trailer, and Hannah had said she didn’t want it anyway.