Making Promises (53 page)

“You’re gayer than an Easter parade,” she giggled, and Jeff smoothed back her hair and smiled.

“Yup. Sorry, baby—you’re the victim of a five-queer intervention.” There was a howl, and they all looked up then in time to see Deacon—who had been fighting gamely the entire time—kick Kurt’s shin and then level him with a connect to the jaw.

“Jesus,” Crick snarled, wrapping his good arm around Deacon’s waist and hauling with obvious effort. “Someone come here and help me with him, dammit!”

Deacon was trying to go in for the kill, and Shane stood awkwardly to his feet and trotted as quickly as he could to Deacon’s side. He was the biggest and the strongest, and of all of them, had the best chance of helping Crick.

“C’mon, man,” he muttered without much conviction, “you don’t want the cops to show. They’re all assholes, you know that.” 328

Deacon didn’t hear him—he was swearing steadily, and every now and then he’d struggle out of Crick’s one-armed control and get in a good kick, and they could hear Kurt grunt as it hit home. Deacon had gotten an arm free from Crick’s restraint, too, and his elbow thrust toward Shane’s ribs. Shane sucked in a hiss, anticipating some pain, and Deacon went limp in Crick’s arms.

“Jesus, did I get ya?”

Shane took a step backward and shook his head, pulling the arm that was shielding his side even tighter. “Nope. But if I’d known it was that easy to get your attention, I would have faked it from the other side of the lawn.”

They all took a breath and then looked down at Kurt, who was struggling to get up.

“You fuckers,” he wheezed—his nose looked pretty broken. “You queer fuckers. I’ll fuck you all up, dammit. You’re all pussies, all of you!” Crick grunted and let go of Deacon, then sank down to a crouch and put his good hand on the flat of Kurt’s chest. “Now we both know I was winning before Deacon got here,” he said conversationally, and Kurt’s flinch told him it was true. “And now that Deacon’s here, it would be in your best interest to just lay down and recover here. Nobody on this lawn would particularly care if you stopped breathing. You just don’t want us to hurry that along, now would you?”

“Fuck you!” Kurt spat, and Crick dodged, and Deacon kicked him.

He fell back with a whimper, and the three of them turned around and went back to Kimmy to make sure she was okay.

“We were moving her shit into the van,” Crick explained as they stood there, waiting to see what Jeff had to say. “Kimmy was near the door, and Kurt got home from somewhere—he started screaming at her, about being just as….” Crick looked at Kimmy and flushed, and Shane could hear Crick, the world’s most tactless human being, editing his narrative to spare Kimmy’s feelings. He swallowed and continued, “being just as bad as he was. Then he… damn—he had like three dimebags in a baggie, and he just grabbed her by the throat and started shoving them in her face. You got here right after that—I’m sorry, Deacon—I swear, the guy had it coming….”

Deacon heard the story and his eyes got wide, and abruptly he turned around, and Crick caught him around the waist again.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he snarled. “I’m gonna fucking kill him. I’m gonna rip out his lungs through his asshole after I shove
a motherfucking
cannon up it and blow his brains out
….”

“Deacon! Deacon! Calm down!”

Crick went in for the body block, and Shane just stared at them, aware that there was something bigger than just this moment going on.

“Someone did something like that to Deacon,” Jeff said quietly, catching Shane’s attention. “I think we’d better let them work this out on their own. It doesn’t look like douche-bag’s life is in danger for the moment, and I’d like to get the fuck out of here before your people get here.”

Shane blinked. “My people?” Deacon was looking bitterly at Kurt, and Crick was holding both of Deacon’s hands against his broad chest, talking earnestly to him. It did look like they had it well under control, so Shane gathered himself up with a wince and tried to find something he could drag off the lawn without too much effort.

“Cops, big man. We don’t want the cops here. This was peaceful until about two minutes before you two drove up. I figure we’ve got about fifteen minutes to get the really conspicuous vehicles off the lawn and get the fuck out of Dodge, right?”

“Please?” Kimmy begged, weeping onto the knees of her jeans.

“Please, Shaney? Can we just go? You promised me home. I want to go home.”

Shane grunted and dropped to a crouch again, closing his eyes against the stars in his vision. He reached out and stroked her long, pretty hair, remembering how beautiful she’d been, dancing and free under the sun. “Yeah, baby. Me and Mickey will take you home. You’ll like it.

Mickey’s been buying place mats and matching towels and shit.” Mikhail’s hand moved, rested atop Shane’s, and Shane grasped his fingers and squeezed. “We even have a spare bed for you, you know? But first let’s get you into the GTO—you’ll have to sit in the back, okay, sweetheart? We’ve got some blankets here, we can make you comfy.

Mikhail hopped up, Jeff helped Kimmy to her feet, and Shane gathered himself for the big hoist. Mikhail’s hand appeared in front of him, and he took it gratefully. When they’d hauled him to his feet, he looked at his lover, who looked back at him with concern.

“You are not mad?” Mikhail asked, and Shane shook his head.

“I wish you’d called me, Mickey, but no. I’m not mad. You called the family, and that’s what counts, you know?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Mikhail whispered. He reached out his hands and pulled up Shane’s T-shirt to see the padding underneath. “I didn’t want to bother you because your fucking job has been sucking the life out of you, and I wanted this to be no big deal. But you had to come get us anyway, and look at you. You are injured. You miserable man, what does it take for you to go a year without getting stabbed or shot or… what is this?”

Shane grunted a laugh. “Getting beaten with a lead pipe.”

“It is not funny,” Mikhail snarled bitterly. “It is
not
funny, and I am
not
laughing. You—go sit in front of your car. This is why Deacon was driving, is not?”

Shane nodded, and Mikhail sniffed.

“Well, good for him. The van is not comfortable for you—any idiot can see it. I….”

“Crick can drive the van,” Jeff said behind them. He’d put Kimmy in the back of the car and had come out to pick up the clothes next to the suitcases that had been broken open in the melee. “Kimmy’s really disoriented—she needs someone she knows nearby. Since Shane has to sit in the front of the car, Mikhail, you’re nominated.” Shane nodded, and Mikhail helped him to go sit down, muttering to himself in Russian as they walked. His hands were tender as he settled Shane, and Shane had to admit that the cracked ribs felt like a big flaming wreck of flesh and bone. He wondered when he got his next pain med and then felt like a total pussy. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before.

Mikhail bent then and kissed his temple. “I love you, big man. I love you so much I can’t believe the world turned before we met. But you and me, we are going to have a big, ugly, yelling, snarling, Russian-bear fight about your fucking job and how much I want you to quit. Be prepared. It Making Promises

will not break us up, and I am not drawing a line in the sand, and I am not going to push you away, but I
will
be heard, do you understand me?”

“Tomorrow?” Shane begged pathetically, and Mikhail took pity on him and kissed him again. This time on the lips.

“The day after, at the very least.”

“Good,” Kimmy muttered from the back. “Because the thing that made up my mind was Kurt giving your address to Brandon today on the phone. Shaney, I think he’s going to come see you tomorrow about some money.”

Shane closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Not until you are healed,” Mikhail said shortly, and then he trotted off to finish cleaning up the lawn.

Kimmy chuckled blearily. “I like him even better as a brother-in-law,” she said. “And if I wasn’t so coked up, I’d probably be able to give him shit about it.”

“You okay?” Shane asked now, concerned. Too many people, he thought in a haze. So many people to worry about. And now he had a knock-down drag-out Russian-bear fight to worry about. God, when did he get his painkillers again?

“You taking me home, Shaney?”

“Yeah, baby. Like I said, you’ll love it.”

“Then I’m fine. Believe me on that. I’m just fine.” They sat there then, listening to Shane’s family move her stuff from the yard into the van, and Shane realized he could hear and smell the sea.

“It’s beautiful here,” he said, a little bit of awe in his voice. His eyes were closed, but he was wondering how she could stand to move when the air smelled like ocean and yarrow.

“Nothing’s beautiful when you’re not safe,” Kimmy said, and they didn’t say much else after that.

The trip home was actually sort of funny—they kept pumping Shane
full
of drugs while checking to make sure Kimmy was getting
empty
of them. But eventually they
did
get home, and Deacon and Mikhail helped Shane lie down on top of his covers with his torso propped up by pillows.

Deacon took another look at Shane’s ribs to make sure the tape job held and ruffled Shane’s hair as he tilted his head back in the bliss of being in a semi-comfortable position.

“Sorry to get you into all this,” Shane mumbled, and Deacon chuckled back at him. His knuckles were still bloody, and he looked like a very dangerous man.

“You’re our family, Perkins. I’m proud you and Mikhail called on us, that’s all. Tell your sister to come visit when she feels better, okay?” So much for danger, Shane thought. And then Mikhail came in with his last painkiller for the night and sat with him until he was asleep.

Anyone perfect must be lying. Anything easy has its cost.

“Falling For The First Time”—Bare Naked Ladies

MIKHAIL waited until Shane was sleeping to fall apart a little. He had not been afraid of Kurt—he knew the type from the streets, and as small as he was, he could hold his own in a fight. No, he’d been afraid for Kimmy and then for Crick and then for Deacon, because Deacon was a terrifyingly fierce fighter, and he could have easily beaten Kurt into meat, and that would have been bad.

And then he’d seen Shane, pale, holding his body like it hurt, and obviously trying to keep it together.
He’d
been worried.
He’d
been afraid.

And
he’d
been hurt, and Mikhail almost couldn’t stand it. Not Shane. Not his beautiful lover, who gave his heart and everything else to make Mikhail’s world wonderful.
Dammit
, he wanted to shout,
leave him the
hell alone!

Now, watching him sleep, Mikhail simply held his hand and kissed it. He didn’t swear, didn’t make insane phone calls or rail at Shane’s sleeping body. He just held that hand to his lips and treasured the softly beating pulse.

Eventually, though, he remembered Kimmy, stoned and woozy and probably feeling very much alone. He got up and went into Kimmy’s room, noting vaguely that it was barely seven o’clock at night. He’d called in to work, and he would have the next two nights off as well. Then there was the weekend, and he and Kimmy would have to make a decision about how they wanted
that
to go. They were dancers—the show really 334

did
go on.

But Mikhail was part of a family now, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go on if the other half of his heart was hurt or upset or about to be confronted by his horrible ex-boyfriend and yet another person to just hurt Shane and walk away as though that sort of thing didn’t have consequences.

Oh, God. All of the things Shane blew off—all of the small things that simply hurt his soul, and he assumed he would heal from. If he would not defend himself, it was Mikhail’s job to defend him. There was just no other way.

“How are you doing, cow-woman?” he asked her, and she gave him a bemused smile from his bed, surrounded by a riot of color and texture and one of the cats. She’d brought a lot of her blankets—many of them hand-woven or hand-knitted by friends and all of them bright with color and soft to touch—and Mikhail had a moment to wonder if Kimmy didn’t surround herself with these things in the same way Shane surrounded himself with cats and dogs: things to keep his heart warm when it had nearly frozen to death in childhood. Given that Mikhail had carried his own heart around in a big wooden box until very recently, he didn’t have a single word with which to criticize.