Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (10 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Ansel didn’t get any sleep that night. After Fitch left, he watched the rising sun cast shadows on his ceiling. He heard Ange come home around four o’clock. If he’d been asleep, she wouldn’t have woken him. She was always quiet, or maybe he was usually a sound sleeper. Either way, he didn’t go out to say hi. He was still too raw to face anyone. Rather, he tossed and turned, finally giving up the pretense with a sigh.

He made quick work of showering and getting ready, mostly because he didn’t want to look at the evidence of his night with a certain not-so-grumpy stranger.

It was Sunday. Much like the Saturday brunches he shared with Ange, he had started a tradition of Sunday dinners with the boys. Ansel always cooked because he was the only one who enjoyed it. And also because he was the only one with a living space big enough for the five of them. Ange had become an honorary member of the Sassy Boyz because of her sheer awesomeness. Not to mention she’d been a part of Ansel’s life for just as long.

Since he hadn’t shopped all week, the first thing he needed to do was buy some food. But he also had to stop by the club to pick up his paycheck. Fucking Castor always made them beg for the money. Since Ansel had skipped out on the after-party last night, he’d have to beg extra hard.

Luckily the grocery store he liked best was empty on Sundays so he zipped through the aisles, picking up the essentials for a traditional German spätzle, like his mom used to make. He also got some toilet paper, milk, and Ange’s favorite cookies. In a completely uncharacteristic act of whimsy, he threw a packet of after-dinner mint chocolates in the basket too. He’d eat them and think of Fitch, while doing his best to forget him.

Logically.
He rolled his eyes.

When he got back to the apartment, Ange was still locked away in her room. So he put the groceries away and cleaned up a little. Around noon, he left again and made his way to the club.

He found Castor on the computer in his office. A mad grin stretched across his face when Ansel entered, making him appear half-possessed.

“Ah, my diamond. My star. Come in.”

Ansel’s skin crawled at the greasy compliment. To fight the shudder, he stiffened his spine and raised his chin. “I’m in a hurry, Castor. Can I have my check?” It was worth a try. He knew Castor wanted to toy with him, but it wasn’t in him to play along.

“In a moment. Sit down.” He pulled out the expensive crystal decanter from his bottom drawer and a pair of matching glasses. “Have a drink with me.”

“No.” The answer was automatic even as his mouth watered for the taste. He didn’t sit and he never, ever, ever, took a drink from someone who made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He’d learned that the hard way.

“You never relax. Why so tense?” Castor poured whiskey in both glasses. The sound made Ansel thirsty and his hands began to shake.

“I’m not tense. I’m just in a hurry.”

Castor pinched his lips together and started tapping his finger on the crystal glass. “I pay you well, yes?”

Ansel leaned against the doorframe and clenched his jaw. Every fucking time, the threats, the cajoling...the temptation.

“You pay us almost as much as we deserve,” Ansel ground out. Unfortunately, this was not the right answer. It never was. Castor’s grip on the crystal tightened and his lip curled up to bare his teeth. It was supposed to be a smile, but it was all wrong.

“You should have more respect,” Castor spat.

“I give you all the respect you earn. Now give me my money.”

For a second, he thought he’d pushed too hard this time, and Castor would refuse to pay him. But then the man’s fat fingers curled around an envelope on the top of his desk and he tossed it. The paper fluttered to the ground between them.

“Take it, bitch, and get the fuck out of my office.”

Ansel hid his ire while he retrieved the check and scurried out. The asshole would get what was coming to him one day, he hoped. Pushing on his oversized wannabe Marc Jacobs sunglasses, he left the club. Outside, he tore open the envelope with trembling hands and cursed at the small bundle of bills. Before he could make another terrible decision and march right back into Castor’s office, he collided with a solid body.

“Sorry,” a semi-familiar voice said.

Ansel looked up with an apology on his lips, but the words died when he saw who he’d run into. His stomach bottomed out and alarm seized his heart. “Lars.”

His brother.

When had he gotten so tall? The last time Ansel had seen him he’d been a puny little teenager, barely thirteen years old.

“Ansel? Wow, is it really you?”

He couldn’t speak so he just nodded while trying to come to terms with seeing Lars again. To being face-to-face with his blood. He wouldn’t call Lars family, not anymore.

“Thank God, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Lars smiled and pulled him into a hug. Somehow his little brother was now not just taller but also broader. His arms felt like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of him.

Ansel remained stiff in the embrace. “Why?”

There was no reason he could think of that his brother should be looking for him. He’d stopped being part of their family when he’d left home. Sooner, actually—he’d probably stopped being a part of it when he was nine and his mother had come home to find him wearing her lipstick and heels. She’d backhanded him so hard, he’d fallen and hit his head on the toilet seat. He’d spent three days in the hospital.

She’d never apologized.

“Because you’re my brother, dumbass.” Lars pulled away and looked at him. “Can we go somewhere? Talk?”

Could it be possible that Lars had really missed him? For years after he’d run from the abuse, he’d thought his family might follow, search for him. He hadn’t made it difficult. He’d only gone a few hours away. There was a clear trail too, if anyone had ever bothered to look. Back then, he’d been young and naive and full of hope. Hope that maybe his family really did care. Funny how a couple of cold winters, an empty belly, and getting your ass kicked by men three times your size hardened a person.

But as he looked into his brother’s eyes, he began to question himself. All these years he believed Lars would be exactly like their parents. What if he’d been wrong? The idea fluttered in his chest like a newborn butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

Just because their parents were heartless didn’t mean his brother had to be. Lars had been so young when he’d left. He pressed his lips together and crushed the envelope in a fist.

“Yeah, there’s a place not too far away.”

* * *

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours Ansel pushed through the doors of the little diner. The smells hit him first, the tempting scent of burgers on the grill mixed with fried potatoes. His stomach grumbled loud enough to be heard over the dull roar of the dining crowd.

“There’s a table for two over there,” a harried waitress said with a swipe of her forearm to her brow. She pointed at the same booth where he’d sat with Fitch. “Here are some menus, I’ll be right over to take your drink order.” She scurried off to help another table.

In a strange coincidence, Lars slid into the side Fitch had claimed, and being in the same position a second time ignited memories of their night together. Memories Ansel really didn’t want to be caught up in.

Like that night, he pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table and began folding it. Even though the restaurant was full of people and the ambient noise rang in his ears, it was the silence hanging between them that made him bite his lip.

What was he supposed to say to his long-lost brother? Hi, how’ve you been? Got a girlfriend? What’s your favorite band?

No. He couldn’t bring himself to ask anything so lame, so shallow, when an entire ocean’s worth of history separated them. Instead, he pulled another napkin and another and another. Until, when the waitress finally came, a stack of paper squares became the table centerpiece.

They each ordered iced tea but no food. They wouldn’t be there long enough to eat, especially with the lunch rush delaying service.

Stillness crept in again until Lars finally broke the tension. “You look really good.”

Ansel looked up from the new napkin he folded and squinted, muscles tense. “Good?”

After all, the last words he’d heard from his family were vicious and painful slurs. But it had never been Lars shouting them, he had to remember that.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with good?”

Ansel shook his head. “Nothing.”

Jesus, he wasn’t prepared for this. Looking at his brother all grown up was like looking at his parents. Lars had their father’s build and their mother’s eyes. And if it weren’t for the short haircut he could be looking into a fucking mirror. The family resemblance was so obvious he was choking on it.

Except Lars was the son his parents wanted.

A real man.

Not someone who pranced around in ladies’ clothes and got fucked in the ass.

Old wounds he’d thought long healed began to bleed again. He tightened his fists until the blunt fingernails clawed both palms.

“So, how have you been?” Lars asked.

How much did he know? What had their parents said? He hadn’t been good, that’s for fucking sure. Not until recently, at least. Now his life was finally on the right track. He was off the streets and had food in his belly. He had a job and a hobby he enjoyed. He had people who loved him for who he was.

“I survived.”

His brother’s face fell. “Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question. Sorry.”

Ansel lifted a shoulder. Lars seemed genuinely apologetic, so he’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry for lumping you in with them for the last six years. I should have given you more credit.”

“Maybe. It’s not like I could have done anything different though. They’ve been riding me every fucking minute since you left. The only reason I can be here now is because I start at Columbia this fall and I’m in the city for a prelim course.”

“Wow, Columbia. That’s big.” Ansel patted himself on the back for portraying the perfect amount of impressed while his stomach curdled with jealousy. Once upon a time, he’d dreamed of going to Columbia to study English Lit, before shit got really bad at home. When he’d made the choice to run, it had been a life or death decision.

His mother might not have literally killed him, but his spirit would have suffered an agonizingly slow demise. The day he’d walked out the door was the same day he said goodbye to his dreams of studying the greatest writers in history. He hadn’t opened a book since.

“They have a good medical program.”

“She’s still harping on about that? She’s always been obsessed with having a doctor in the family.”

Lars didn’t meet his eye. “It’s not that bad. I don’t hate the idea as much as you did.”

“Good.” He really hoped his brother wasn’t being browbeaten into a profession, a life, he didn’t want. “So, how long are you in the city?”

Their drinks arrived and Lars took a sip before answering. “I have to go back to Connecticut tomorrow morning. It was just a weekend program.”

“Oh.” Ansel swirled his straw through the ice cubes in his glass. “Listen...” He paused and looked up. “I’m having a few friends over for dinner tonight. It’s a casual thing. We do it every Sunday. I’m cooking spätzle.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to come over? I could use some help making the salad.”

Lars grinned. “Sure.” There were no lines on his face, no strain in his eyes, and no sharp edge to his smile.

In comparison to Ansel’s own, his brother’s life had been easy. So fucking easy. The bitterness on his tongue tasted like the blood and tears of a childhood spent in fear, and the sweat of a lost adolescence.

But then Lars added, “I’d love to come,” and Ansel shook off his envy.

None of it was his brother’s doing.

Truth was, his brother’s acceptance went a long way toward healing wounds that were still fresh, even after six years.

Chapter Seventeen

Ansel and Lars were in the kitchen putting the final touches on dinner when the boys arrived around six that evening. Ange opened the door and let out a high-pitched squeal before hugging all three of them at once.

“You guys, I missed you. Why do you only visit when Sparkle Pants cooks?”

“Sparkle Pants?” Lars asked.

“Jesus, you just saw them last week, woman,” Ansel chided before sipping his vodka on the rocks. Then to his brother, “Don’t repeat that, if you want to live.”

“Oh, who’s the hot dish?” Z strutted forward with an extra sway and pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Lars.

“Stop it, ho.” Lirim hip-checked him out of the way and curled his lips in a coy smile.

“Knock it off. This is my baby brother, Lars. And if any of you sluts touch him, I will chop off your hair while you sleep, I swear to God.”

“Damn, girl. Talk about going full psycho. Nobody better touch my hair.” Z waved his hand around dramatically.

“Your brother?” Tam’s big eyes went wide.

With a hesitant shrug, Ansel tried to portray everything he was feeling. Luckily, Tam was part mind reader because his return grin was huge.

Out of all of them, Tam knew the most about Ansel’s past. Not because they’d known each other the longest, but because when they’d first met at the shelter Tam had been in a really bad place. Ansel had shared his own awful story in an effort to bring Tam out of his shell. Knowing he wasn’t alone had helped Tam make changes.

“Sorry, they’re all insane,” Ansel said to his brother.

“They’re fun.” Lars nudged him. “Nice to meet you all.”

“Oh, honey, it’s nice to meet you too. I’m Azariah, but everyone calls me Z, ’cause I’m Zany.”

“Hi, Z, I can see that.”

Lirim pushed Z out of the way. “I’m Lirim.”

“We just call him Lirim because he’s boring.” Z snickered.

Next was Tam, who rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind them, really. I’m Tam. It’s nice to meet you. I didn’t know Ansel had any family in the city.”

“I’m here for the weekend, school thing.”

“Cool, I’m glad you could make it to dinner. Your brother is an awesome cook.”

“Thanks.”

Ange rubbed her hands together and went after Z, who was snacking on celery and carrots at the table. “I’ve been smelling food since I woke up and I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

Because of the rather small size of their kitchen, dinner was served buffet style. Everyone piled their mismatched plates with salad, cheesy spätzle, and fried onions before taking their places around the table.

“Sparkle Pants, this looks positively delicious.” Ange shoved a forkful of noodles into her mouth and moaned.

“It’s an old family recipe which apparently dates back five generations, but I’m not sure how much of that story I’m willing to believe.” Ansel picked up his fork and speared a tomato.

“What story?” Lars asked.

“The one Oma Richter told. Don’t you remember?”

Lars shook his head.

“Apparently, this traveling thief was going from town to town stealing anything he could get his hands on. Until one night, while he was in the midst of his thievery, he was tempted off course by a wondrous smell. A village maiden had made these cheesy, creamy noodles and left them on the table to cool. One taste and he was in love. He quit his unlawful ways, married the maiden and became mayor of the town.”

“Oh my God! That is the craziest family tale I have ever heard.” Z laughed.

Lars laughed too. “So, you’re saying we have a thief and a mayor in our family tree?”

“According to Oma, the same man held both positions. And our spätzle recipe is worth more than gold.”

“I can believe it,” Ange said.

“No way am I going to quit a paying gig for a meal,” Z said with a shake of his head. Then he met Ansel’s eyes and winked. “No matter how good it tastes.”

“So I guess the old saying about a man’s heart being through his stomach doesn’t apply to gay men?” Lars asked.

“No, honey. The way to a gay man’s heart is through Grindr,” Z said.

“Don’t be a cliché, Z,” Lirim said.

“Okay, what the hell is Grindr?”

“Don’t get them started, seriously,” Tam said.

It only took Z thirty minutes to convince Lars to set up his own account on Tinder, the Grindr for straight people, after explaining the benefits the app could provide a soon-to-be college student in New York City.

After dinner Lars stayed to help clean up, but with so many hands it didn’t take long. Plus, Lars needed to be back at campus before the doors locked. He said his goodbyes to Ange and the guys, and then Ansel walked him out.

“You know where you’re going from here?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“This isn’t such a bad neighborhood, but stay alert.”

Lars smiled. “I’ll be fine, Ansel.”

“Thank you for coming. It was really great to see you again.”

“Give me your cell number. As soon as I get back I’ll buy a burner and we can stay in touch.”

“Yeah, okay.” As he rattled off his number, Ansel worried that keeping contact would get Lars in trouble. If he thought it necessary to get a burner phone before calling him, the parents must have a tight hold on his leash.

Though their mother had never laid a hand on Lars while Ansel was living with them, he couldn’t be sure the abuse hadn’t transferred when he ran away. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to be on the receiving end of such hatred, especially because of him.

“Lars, if you ever need anything...”

“Same here.” Lars pulled him into another hug, and this time Ansel hugged him back. “I’m really glad you found a family that appreciates you, Ansel.”

Ansel watched his brother walk away and forced himself not to douse the bright ball of hope kindled in his chest. Once Lars was out of sight, he turned to find his friend standing near the doorway.

“You okay?” Tam sat on the stoop and pulled him down too. The night air was warm and even though there was a faint smell of garbage in the wind, it wasn’t too unpleasant.

“Yeah, I just didn’t expect him to show up.”

“He was looking for you?”

“I guess so, can you believe it?” He leaned against his friend’s shoulder.

“Yeah, sweetie. I can totally believe it. He seemed genuine. I liked him.”

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked to the sky. After a breath he said, “He turned out pretty good despite the sucking pit of despair we grew up in.”

“You turned out okay too.”

“I suppose I should give them some credit for that as well.” He sighed.

“Only a little.” Tam laughed.

* * *

The boys took off around ten, leaving Ange and Ansel curled up on the couch sipping chamomile tea from giant mismatched mugs while they watched TV.

“Thanks for buying my cookies.” Ange nudged him with her foot.

“You deserve a treat. You’ve been working hard.”

“I know, right? And there is no end in sight.” She rested her head on the back of the couch.

“Shut up, you love it.”

She didn’t reply but her eyes twinkled. They both focused on the show until the commercial break. Then she started in with the interrogation he’d been expecting.

“So, your brother...”

“Yep.”

“That was a shocker.”

“Yep.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yep.”

“Good talk.” She rolled her eyes. Ansel stuck out his tongue and they both burst out laughing. When they finally caught their breath the show had returned, but Ange wasn’t done prying. “And what about that other thing?”

“What other thing?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He sighed and then looked at her. “I called him. We went on a date. We fucked. The end.”

Ange’s eyes bugged out of her head. “What? I just saw you yesterday at breakfast.”

“I work fast, honey.” He winked at her.

She repositioned herself so her feet were tucked under her butt and leaned closer. “How was it?”

Heat flooded his cheeks as he recalled the previous night. Evidence of it still littered his room, in the form of rumpled sheets and the lingering smell of Fitch’s aftershave. It was why he hadn’t gone back in there.

He focused on the television. “It was really—” Mind-blowing? Fantastic? Life-altering?

The best sex of his life.

Never going to happen again.

All true.

“Great,” he said, his mind lost in the darkness of his bedroom, remembering the intensity of Fitch’s stare—the hunger and admiration in his eyes as he filled Ansel’s ass. The way he had completely taken over and left all of Ansel’s walls crumbled and ruined. A lot of time had gone into building those barriers, a lot of pain and disappointment. It wasn’t fair that a stranger could rip them apart so easily. All Ansel was left with was a tissue-thin insulation.

And he couldn’t risk that last bit of protection for anything.

Not even kind eyes and a great cock.

While he’d stared at the shadows across the ceiling after Fitch left, he knew he couldn’t afford to let it happen again. He would never survive building those shields anew when Fitch was done exploring his newfound gayness. Ansel would be nothing but a pile of bare nerves and lost dreams when Fitch realized he was just a pretty whore with nothing real to offer. They could never have a happy ending. He was a stripper. He drank too much, fucked too much, and had barely escaped starvation on the cold lonely streets. He was disposable. Not someone you built a life with, and definitely not someone you took home to the parents. He was too confusing with his gender-bending queerness, too offensive. No, the end was inevitable, which was why it was better to minimize the destruction it caused to his life.

No matter the yearning, he would stay away.

“And?” Ange pushed.

“And what?” He sipped his tea to calm his racing heart and refused to look at her.

“When will you see him again?”

“Never.”

“But—”

“I said it was good. I didn’t say it would happen again.”

He could feel her suspicious squint but refused to give in. She meant well. She only wanted him to be happy. The trouble was, her idea of happiness was different than his. Despite her past, Ange had somehow held on to a childlike sense of innocence and the dreams that accompanied it.

Britney’s high-pitched voice singing “Toxic” interrupted the stillness of the room and his stomach dropped. He lunged for his cell, but was too far from the side table and tangled in a blanket. Ange reached it first. She eyed the screen and lifted her brow.

“Grumpy Bear?”

He winced, which only made Ange’s brow spike into her hairline. That, along with the ringtone, would give her all the proof she’d need. Fitch was more than he’d claimed.

“Give it.” He waved his fingers at her until she handed over the phone.

But instead of answering, he hit Ignore and put it on silent before stuffing the stupid thing into his pocket.

“That was him.”

He took his mug to the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

He didn’t reply as he washed the cup with shaky hands. Fitch had actually kept his promise. Why was he so shocked by that? He’d seemed the sort right from the beginning.

The phone in his pocket buzzed to indicate a voice mail and Ansel almost dropped the ceramic into the sink.

Ange came around the island and rested a hip on the counter facing him. “I can tell you like this guy.”

Carefully, Ansel placed his cup on the drying rack and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “So what if I do? It would never work, so what’s the point?”

“You’re so cynical. How do you know it won’t work?”

“Come on Ange, I love you, but seriously, you know me. You know what I’ve been through. This guy is so ordinary it’s like we were born on two different planets.”

“He’s too normal for you?” she asked with a tilt to her head, her voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes. No. Shit.” He forked both hands through the hair at his temples and made fists. The pain helped him focus his thoughts. “I’m too fucking crazy for him, all right? I have too much baggage. I’m too sarcastic, too sassy. I’m just too fucking much. There is no way I’d ever fit in his world and you know it. I’m not one to delude myself.”

Ange folded her arms under her breasts. Her lips pinched together and a wrinkle marred her brow as she looked at him with something between anger and worry. She blinked slowly, as if trying to find the right words.

“You’re right,” she said, finally.

He’d been so prepared for her to say something else that he was taken aback by her agreement. “What?”

“There is no way he could ever love you, right? You’re too broken, too weird, too outrageous for someone like that. So, I agree.” Ange’s cold words were softened only by her pained glare. At some point during her reply she’d lowered her arms. Now, her shoulders sagged and her hands curled into fists by her hips. “It’s not like you deserve happiness.”

A lash of shock split him open inside. Just the words coming from his best friend’s mouth were enough to hurt him, even if he knew she didn’t mean it. This was just her idea of tough love.

But it was all true.

The soft click of her bedroom door echoed in the hollowness of his chest.