Making Promises (56 page)

the fool
ever
again, just because he’d rather eat nails than have Brandon Ashford pat him on the arm.

“The cash is going somewhere,” Shane said truthfully. Mikhail and Kimmy had liked the idea so very much—he now had a plan for his big piles of money, and he wasn’t going to sully it for this fucker. “I’m going to build a teen shelter, and I’ll need it—all of it—so you’re just going to have to learn to work for a living, aren’t you, Brandon?” Brandon sneered, and for a minute, he didn’t look so pretty anymore.

“Like you? Man—I couldn’t believe it when your sister’s boyfriend told me you were still on the job. What kind of asshole works—and works as a cop!—when he’s got a thousand things he could be doing? Like getting his brains fucked out someplace better than here.” Brand’s disdainful look took in the yard—all the mud from the winter was drying into hard-pan, and Shane and Mikhail had been keeping it watered so it didn’t turn into a fire hazard. They’d paid to have the weeds whacked on the rest of the property, so that at least was trim. There weren’t any star thistles, so the property simply looked on the verge of being scorched and brown, but the dog crap hadn’t been cleaned up in two days, and that was always unpleasant. The house was in good shape—recently painted, modest and small. Shane thought the porch had held up to the winter well—the stain, at least, had kept the wood bright.

But best of all was Mikhail, standing on the porch and staring at Brandon with hard, bright eyes. God—how could Shane have ever thought Brandon was beautiful? How could he have ever looked at that empty heart and thought it was worth a risk?

“This is my home,” Shane said simply. “This is my family. You show up after two years to shit on my family, and you want me to give you money? Jesus, Brandon, if you think I’m that much of a chump, I’m surprised you ever wanted to sleep with me at all!” Brandon gave him a disgusted look. “You’re hung like a fucking horse, Shane—why
wouldn’t
I want to sleep with you? You’re the one who gets all hung up on shit like ‘respect’ and ‘family’—man, if you hadn’t been so weird about that shit in the first place, you never would have gotten blackballed!”

And that’s when Mikhail came sailing over the porch, fist first, like a compact tornado of muscle and fury, right into Brandon’s perfect nose.

“
He is not WEIRD
!”

Brandon went over backward with one hundred and fifty pounds of Russian rage battering at his perfect face, and Shane was helpless to stop him.

“Kimmy—dammit—come here!”

“Fuck, no.” Shane looked up, and his sister was standing, arms crossed, enjoying the show. But Brandon was not helpless—his fist came out and caught Mikhail on the nose, and then they were standing in the middle of Shane’s yard, beating each other like prize fighters.

“Kimmy, he’s going to get hurt!”

Shane thought about it—thought about getting behind Mikhail and hoisting him bodily up and out of Brandon’s reach, turning his back on Brandon and letting his fists fall where they would. It would probably bust his ribs through his lung, but it would be worth it to keep Mickey safe. Of course, right about the time he reached that conclusion, Mikhail landed a solid whack to the jaw. Brandon’s head snapped sideways, and his knees buckled, and Shane’s small, wiry lover was hopping up and down, crowing with glee.

“Take that!” he shouted, turning his head to spit blood. “You useless fucker! You get the fuck out of here, and you leave this man alone!”

“Shabe,” Brandon pleaded through his swelling nose, “helb be!” Shane recoiled. “Man, you want help, get up off my lawn, get in your fucking car, and drive to the doctor’s office your damned self! And Brandon, I swear”—because Brandon was hauling himself up off the ground and glaring at Mikhail like he was going to launch a sneaky, dirty attack—“you touch him again, and I’ll shove my hand up your ass and use your face as a pooper-scooper, do you hear me?” Brandon turned toward him in outrage, and Shane ignored him, moving gingerly into Mikhail’s space and making a little gesture for Mikhail to come closer.

“C’mere, baby—he got your nose.”

Mikhail spat blood again and grinned, looking barbaric and savage and brutal. Shane wondered if it was wrong to be turned on by him right now, at this moment, and then decided he didn’t care. His rescuer. His knight in shining armor. Damn—he’d never known he needed one.

“He will not touch you again,” Mikhail said, and then he peered around Shane’s shoulder and spat again. “You hear that,
mudak
! Not yours. Mine. Touch him again, and I’ll knock out your teeth and put them in my treasure box like a fucking necklace.”

Shane found he was smiling a little, although he shouldn’t be.

Mikhail’s knuckles were bruised and bloody, and Shane hated to see him hurt—but Shane loved to see him happy, too, and beating Brandon into a pulp seemed to have done that for him in a big way.

“We need to let him get back in his car,” Shane said softly, and then louder so Kimmy could hear, “and if he doesn’t turn around at the count of five, Kimmy’s gonna let the dogs out and Angel Marie’s going to eat your face, dammit!”

Brandon scrambled for the gate just as the pounding of hooves made everybody look up.

Deacon and Crick had arrived. Before he could sweep in, Brandon had scrambled out of the yard and had clanged the cattle gate between him and the reinforcements. Deacon slid off the horse and came to stand near Shane and Mikhail, curling his lip and looking in the direction of the cattle gate.

He said, “Who’s the asshole covered in dog shit?” at about the same moment Kurt screamed, “Oh my God! Don’t get in my car like that, dammit!” and they all snickered openly. Then Kurt saw Deacon, and his bruised eyes got wide over his taped and swollen nose. “Get the fuck in here! If the little one beat you, that fucker will rip you to shreds!

Shane was holding back laughter because it hurt, but Crick had tied off the horse and was cracking up behind them. “Oh my God… we’re some sort of gay enforcement squad!” and then Deacon was
really
laughing, turning to Crick and hanging on to him while the case of the snickers took over his whole body.

Brandon started stripping off his designer jeans and expensive purple shirt. “You think this is real fucking funny, Perkins!” he called.

“Jesus, who wouldn’t?” Shane fought for breath.

“Well, good for you! You’ll think it’s fucking hilarious when I call your captain and tell him about you getting boned by a guy in the locker room! Bet he doesn’t know that’s why you left L.A., is it!” 350

Shane snarled, some of the laughter gone. “That’s not why I left L.A., asshole! That’s why I got fucking shot down in an alleyway without backup, and since you’re the one who was trying to talk me into boning, I think what’s hilarious is that you’re bringing it up now!” Deacon stopped laughing, and both he and Crick looked at him, their faces screwed up into one of those grimaces people use when they’re trying to make things fit. Then Deacon looked at Mikhail, who was still hopping on his toes and looking like he might rush Brandon again for the hell of it.

“Jesus,” Deacon muttered, “did
your
taste improve!” Shane shrugged, a little embarrassed now. Brandon seemed so transparent—so empty. He couldn’t believe he’d ever fallen for that. Now, he just had to get it off his property. He started to move forward, and suddenly Mikhail was on his bad side, helping him to move, and Deacon was at his shoulder. Crick was really tall with a chest like a tractor, so he was sort of fun to have around too.

“Brandon,” he said, as Brandon grabbed the plastic bag Kurt had offered and shoved his clothes inside it, “I’m already out at the station here. And they fucked with me—but I lived, so you know what? Do your worst. But before you show up at the station house, you might want to ask Kurt here how much blow he’s got stashed in the car, because I’ll be calling my captain and telling him you’re coming.” Brandon looked up and blanched. “You’ve got fucking
what
?”

“Yeah,” Kimmy called before Kurt could reply, “and he’s got it stashed in at least six places—you’ll never be able to find it all!”

“Shut up, bitch!” Kurt screamed, before Brandon reached into the car and grabbed him by the throat.

“
You’ve got fucking WHAT
?” he demanded, and Kurt sneered back.

“I’ve got a fucking naked queer in my car until we can get back to the hotel, that’s what I’ve fucking got! And it doesn’t look like you’ve got any fucking money, either!”

Kurt talked a good game, but he was backing up against the window and looking nervously at Brandon—Brandon was bloody and angry and a little bit dangerous, but not as dangerous as Deacon or Crick or Mikhail.

Shane raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. You guys have a fun ride home.

Kurt, I’d wear a rubber if he’s going to pay for gas with blowjobs. You don’t know where that’s been.”

They stood there until Brand shoved his clothes in the trunk and then got in the car to let Kurt peel out and drive him away.

Shane took a deep breath—which was harder than it sounded—and called out, “Kimmy, darlin’, could you let out the fucking dogs before they shit in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, Shaney,” she said back, and Mikhail said, “Dammit, Deacon, keep holding him up!” while he ran interference to keep the dogs from knocking Shane on his ass.

Eventually Shane was settled on the couch, figuring he’d done his good deed for the day, and Kimmy had seen Crick and Deacon out after offering them soda and some breakfast. They took her up on it, and Shane lay there, listening to their easy conversation and figuring his life had gotten really, really good in the last year, hadn’t it? Kimmy was a little depressed to be surrounded by so many pretty gay men, but as she said wryly to Deacon, it was probably a good idea that she stay away from the straight ones for a while until her life was straightened out on its own.

Mikhail came out from cleaning up in time to tell Crick and Deacon thank you and offer them some carrots for the horse. It was nice of him, since just seeing the damned horse tethered to the porch had caused him to utter a little squeak and vault his way up the porch instead of taking the stairs near the big animal. But finally it was just the three of them in the house again. Mickey sat next to him on the couch, and Kimmy took the club chair that sat kitty-corner. Shane took Mikhail’s battered hands in his and stroked the scraped knuckles.

“That was pretty fucking awesome,” he said happily, looking at Mikhail’s smug expression.

Mikhail preened. “Well, yes. See what happens when you choose a better man?”

“I never doubted it,” Shane murmured, and Mikhail squeezed his hand.

“I did,” he said seriously. “Which is why I’m so determined to not let you go.”

Shane had been reclining, closing his eyes and fighting the sleep that came with the painkillers and the trip the day before and the adrenaline bleed now that the confrontation was over. Now he turned his head and looked Mikhail in the eye.

“Social work isn’t safe,” he said quietly. “I could still get shot or stabbed or beaten if I start haunting the streets, looking for kids to save.

You know that, right? You’re tough, Mickey—you know how you got that way. It’s not going to be any safer for me.”

Mikhail shook his head. “It will be. It will. It will be safer because you will be going in on your own terms. It will be safer because you will not be working odd shifts or sent to neighborhoods you do not want to go into. It will be safer because you will believe in what you are doing. And still—I know it is not perfect, Shane. I know it will be hard. But you will be happy. You will be happy, and maybe, if you are happy, it will be easier to duck, you think?”

Shane nodded. “You know, that’s twice in two days I did everything I could possibly do to avoid calling the police. I guess I don’t want to be a part of that anymore.” Wow. That big hairy fight, and now, after watching Mikhail come to his rescue like his guardian angel, wasn’t it so easy to say? He didn’t have to be a hero anymore. He had his own personal hero to defend him. Wasn’t that miracle enough?

Mikhail smiled then, shyly. “You are a part of us instead. It will suffice?”

“Mikhail?” Shane asked dreamily. Now that the hairy fight was resolved, he really was going to fall asleep right there on the couch. His side was throbbing to a dull tide, but that was forgotten with the feel of Mickey’s rough hand in his own.

“Yes,
lubime
?”

“Where do you learn all those big words?”

“Movies, big man. Same place you learned how to be a hero.”

“Mmm. You never did tell me what your favorite movie is.”

“
The Incredibles.
What did you think it would be? Now go to sleep—when you wake up, you will call up and quit your job, and then cow-woman and I will jump up and down and scream like children since you can’t.”

“Love you, Mikhail.”

“Love you, Shane.”

And that was how he quit his job.

IT WASN’T easy. He had to go back to school, and don’t think
that
wasn’t a mindfuck, but it was sort of fun too. He took social work classes and legal classes—and a few units of English literature, since, hey, he was there anyway and he loved it.

Kimmy called their mother, and she reluctantly gave up title to Shane’s trust (since he was supposed to have claimed it when he turned twenty-one) and Shane had—literally—enough money to establish a shelter, build it from scratch, and run it for many years. They planned on it becoming self-sufficient on generated income since it would be the kind of place that taught job skills as well as living skills—but Shane had a course in grant-writing in his future, he knew that too. He also had enough money to support his family with no worries for pretty much ever—which was a simple relief, and that was the truth.