Nobody’s Hero (2 page)

“At nineteen?”

“Well, even with the colleges, this is a pretty white town, and the family sticks out a bit. I swear, if you meet a Hispanic person around here, he’s probably a relative of mine. Anyway, some of the older generation work extra hard to battle the stereotypes, you know? I think they watch too much cable. I figure they’re worried people will think gay means I’m a hard-partying sex fiend or something. They want to see me settled into a loving, committed relationship.”

“They don’t try to, you know, subdue you?”

“Nope.” Danny took another bite of his pie. “They want me to be happy. I can’t say I’m all set on the forever-and-always thing, at least not yet, but at least I know they aren’t trying to change me.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Brad said. What would it be like to be accepted like that? To have so much support?

“Yeah, well, it has its moments. Like the one where my brother says to me and
Tía
that he knows this gay guy and wouldn’t it be cool if he set us up.
Tía
thought it was a great idea. Which landed me here with a douche with cheesy lines and roaming hands. My family accepts I’m gay, but apparently thinks all two gay guys need to have in common to form a lasting relationship is a fondness for dick.”

Brad choked, spraying melted ice cream halfway across the table.

Danny jerked back with a laugh, shoving his pie plate out of the line of fire.

“Shit, sorry.” Brad snatched the rolled silverware and fought with the paper strip holding the napkin in place. His eyes darted around the room again. Was that trucker watching them? Had he overheard? Brad mopped up the tabletop while trying to catch his breath. “Jesus,” he croaked, setting the sticky napkin aside.

“You okay?” Danny smirked at him from across the table.

Brad wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fine. Didn’t expect you to say that.” He couldn’t believe Danny was so comfortable talking openly—publicly—about being gay and dicks.

“You know it’s true. For a het guy, people will set him up with mutual friends or girls with similar interests or ideals. But for a gay guy, it’s like being gay is all that matters.”

“I guess I’ve never thought about it.”

Danny gestured with his fork. “Well, it’s true.”

Brad had never met anyone so comfortable with who and what he was. Had never been able to simply
be
. This had to be what going on a date should be like, right? Maybe tonight, here, where no one knew him and where no one paid any attention to him, he could find out what it felt like to hang out with a boyfriend, eating dessert and flirting. This was his chance. He’d never see Danny again, so the timing was perfect. Brad gave himself this one night.

One night without hiding.

One night to pretend.

Brad was still chuckling at Danny’s snarky commentary about the recent movie remake of the TV series
Phoenix Colony
, when headlights illuminated the window and nearly blinded them. Squinting through the glare, Brad made out the silhouette of a huge pickup truck on monster tires. The rev of the engine was so deep it reverberated through his chest, and a bass line blasted from the truck’s stereo. As if he hadn’t caused enough of a commotion, the driver honked the horn three times in quick succession.

“
Cabrón
.” Danny glared out the window. “He can be such an asshole.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah.” Danny waved impatiently at the truck, then held up a finger to indicate he needed a minute.

Reaching behind him, Danny grabbed his wallet, then tossed a couple of bills on the table. Brad slipped his own wallet out of his pocket. No matter what Danny had said earlier, Brad wasn’t comfortable with him paying.

A warm, surprisingly rough hand covered his.

“No,” Danny said. “I told you, my treat.”

“I can’t—” he began.

“Yes, you can,” Danny interrupted. “I got this.”

Two distinct demands warred inside him—the need protect his pride and pay his own way and the knowledge of just how desperately he needed to save his money. Even if Hector Ortega hired him, there was no telling when he’d first get paid. And if he didn’t get hired...well, he didn’t want to think about it.

He nodded and put his wallet away.

As they exited the diner, Danny’s brother’s shout carried over the jingling of the door chime. “Jesus, Danny. Get a move on! I’ve got better things to do than haul your skinny ass around town.” An attractive guy, maybe a year or two older than Danny, leaned through the open window of the pickup-on-steroids. Danny’s brother was a slightly older, slightly rougher version of Danny. Unlike Danny, this guy wore his hair in an almost crew cut, and his face was leaner, more angular in the cheeks and chin. A tiger tattoo clawed its way over the forearm resting on the doorframe of the truck.

“Keep your pants on, bro. Give me a minute.” Danny threw up his hand, halting any protest his brother might have made.

As they crossed the lot to Brad’s truck, Brad cracked his knuckles one by one, waiting for Danny to say something. His mother would have had a fit if she’d caught him at it. Cracking one’s knuckles was crude and socially unacceptable.

Danny slowed as they approached the truck. He reached out and rested his hand on Brad’s forearm. “If you’re going to be in the area for a while, we should do this again sometime.”

All the moisture evaporated from Brad’s mouth. He needed to get to his truck, but his feet wouldn’t move.

“I’m free on Wednesday night, and there’s a great band playing at—” Danny looked over at him, his eyes widening, then he jerked his hand back. “Oh crap! You’re not gay? I’m usually a better judge. I mean, my mistake. You probably think I’m the biggest—I’ll shut up now and go.” Danny backed away while he babbled.

Brad stepped closer. “It’s fine.” Except it wasn’t. “I am—” he looked around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear, “—gay.” He licked his lips. “I’m not used to talking about it, though.”

Relief poured off Danny in a nearly tangible wave. “Oh, good. You never know how someone will react when you’re wrong about something like that.”

“I can imagine.”
In vivid
,
horrifying detail.
He took a couple of steps back.

“So,” Danny said, rocking on his feet. “What do you think? You want to get together sometime? If you aren’t into the club scene, we could check out the music festival at Carleton College with my friends. I go to school there, so I can get cheap tickets.”

Brad’s common sense caught up with him before he could say yes. No matter how great the pretend date was, he couldn’t allow himself the real deal. Especially now he knew he and Danny would be going to the same school. He straightened his spine. “That wouldn’t be a good idea right now, but thanks for the shake.”

Danny’s face fell. “Oh, okay.” He straightened and took another step back. “Well, good luck with whatever you’ve got going.” With a little spring in his step and a smile that seemed forced, Danny turned and walked to his brother’s truck.

Brad slumped against the side of his truck while he watched Danny walk away.

Man, he’d sounded like a douche, turning Danny down that way. But Danny made it all seem easy. Find a cute, sweet gay guy. Meet the friends and family, who all welcome him with open arms. Cue the happily ever after. Except it didn’t work that way.

Brad stood in the parking lot long after Danny’s brother had driven away.

Chapter Two

“You are such a punk,” Ray growled when Danny hopped into the truck. “I can’t believe you called me away from a party just to make me wait in the parking lot while you flirt with some dude.”

“If you hadn’t set me up with Rob the freak, none of this would have happened.” The scent of Ray’s cologne overwhelmed the cab. Danny lowered his window a couple of inches.

“Hey, I was doing you a favor.”

“A
favor?
He tried to push my face into his lap!”

“Jesus, Danny, I don’t need to know about your kinky gay sex life.”

“Kinky? Ray, it was almost sexual assault. If Brad hadn’t been there, it would have gotten ugly. So if I want to spend a couple of minutes thanking the guy, I’m going to do it.”

“You are such a drama queen. Sexual assault, my ass.”

“You’re right, you
are
an ass. I don’t know where my brother went, but I want him back. What’s going on with you lately?”

Ray grunted, then turned up the volume on the radio, and a song with more bass and violence than lyrics and melody blared around them. Danny leaned back in the seat. Time for this night to be over. Between the asshole date, the gorgeous—and gay!—rescuer, and the not-so-subtle brush-off Brad had given him, he was about done.

So Brad hadn’t wanted to go out with him. So what? Danny never had trouble finding a date when he wanted one. Besides, he usually went for the fun and quirky guys, not the uptight and intense type. He could have a date tomorrow if he wanted.

In the glaring light of the diner, Brad’s light brown hair had glowed almost blond. Danny had wanted to run his hands through it when Brad had looked at him with those big gray eyes. If the server hadn’t shown up with the check, he might have done it.

“We’re here. Get out.” Ray pulled up in front of the house and threw the truck into park but left the engine running.

Danny rolled his eyes as he undid his seat belt. “I’m surprised you even stopped. I guess I should be glad you didn’t push me out while you drove past.”

“Whatever. If you see Papá or Mamá, tell them not to wait up. I’ll probably crash at Blaine’s house.”

“Blaine? Who’s Blaine?” Danny looked at his brother through the open door after he jumped out.

“Not your business.” Ray changed gears and started to pull away.

Danny swung the door shut at the last second. “Prick.”

He let himself into the house through the side door into the kitchen. The night-light above the counter glowed softly. His mother always left it on when one of them was out late.

“Danny?” Another light turned on in the hall and his mother peeked into the kitchen. She wore a fuzzy green robe and pink slippers. “How was your date?”

“Meh.” He went to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. “I won’t be seeing him again.”

Anna Ortega came up to him. “Well, you will meet the right person one of these days.” She kissed one cheek and patted the other. “Are you hungry? I have cookies.”

“Nah, I’m good. I had dessert with
another
boy, which made up for the rest of the night.” He grinned on his way out of the room.

“Two boys,
mi hijo?
”

“Good night, Mamá!” he called as he jogged up the stairs to his bedroom.

His smile faded as he shut his door behind him. He’d thought he and Brad were getting along great, but clearly Brad didn’t feel the same.

Danny kicked off his shoes, then flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. He was tired, but still too keyed up to sleep. It had been a long night. He needed to relax.

He grabbed his phone and opened a web browser to his favorite porn site. A little inspiration, a little imagination and he’d be set.

His favorite porn stars weren’t doing it for him, though. The men on the small screen were still sexy, but his dick didn’t seem to care. He flipped through the images, hoping something would spark a reaction. Blood flowed south, pooling in Danny’s groin at an image of a sandy-haired man with a military haircut. The actor’s wiry muscles strained under the rough caress of another man’s hands.

He imagined himself into the scene, his hands tracing those pecs and abs. In his head, Danny drew the other man’s hand down the center of his chest until it grasped Danny’s dick.

Danny undid the button and zipper, then tugged his pants and boxers down, kicking them off. He stroked his cock, mirroring the fantasy.

What would Brad like? A slow, firm stroke with steady, even motions? Or a quick, light touch to keep him on edge?

Brad might have turned him down, but it was easy to imagine the night ending differently. Maybe stretching out along the bench seat of Brad’s pickup, lips locked and bodies wrapped around each other. Danny would press Brad back into the upholstery, hold him still and tease him with tongue and teeth. He’d watch Brad’s serious gray eyes glaze over, stare blindly as Danny drove him crazy.

Breathing fast, Danny grappled with the drawer of his nightstand, digging through paperbacks and phone chargers for the bottle of lube he kept there. He squirted some of the slippery stuff into his hand and tossed the bottle back into the drawer.

Maybe Brad would reverse their positions, use his own mouth. Danny imagined guiding Brad to all the spots that turned him on the most, imagined teaching him the things that made his legs shake.

He wrapped his lube-covered hand around his cock and hissed, picturing Brad sucking him. Danny quickened his strokes, racing toward orgasm.

He panted, his hand sliding faster, squeezing tighter. He threw his head back and groaned as he came, sticky wetness covering his hand and smearing onto his T-shirt.

He took a minute to catch his breath, then jerked his shirt over his head, wiped his hands. He threw the soiled cloth at the hamper in the corner, not bothering to see where it landed. His little masturbation session hadn’t done much to improve his mood. Sure, he’d gotten off, but it wasn’t much of a replacement for what he’d wanted and he still couldn’t sleep.

Chapter Three

Brad straightened his button-down shirt, using the glass of the house’s storm door as a mirror. He looked good. Strong. Nothing that screamed gay or desperate. Footsteps sounded from inside the house and he double-checked that his hair lay flat.

Mr. Ortega greeted Brad at the door with a wide smile and a heavy pat on the back. “Welcome! You must be Bradley. Come on in, come in. We’ll go to the office. It’ll be quieter there.” Mr. Ortega was a compactly built man with surprisingly young features. A few inches shorter than Brad, he made up for what he lacked in height with wiry muscles and a booming voice.

Brad examined the rooms as they walked to the back of the house. The walls of the hallway were painted a yellow that, if it weren’t for the dozens of family pictures covering most of the surface, might have been eye-searing. The carpet was pale blue. It was like being at the beach, surrounded by sunlight and water. His parents’ house was beige, inside and out. Everything there had clean lines and minimalist decor—none of these vibrant colors and certainly nothing like the comfortable, overstuffed furniture in the living room. Brad stepped over an abandoned board game and two action figures.

This house looked warm, lived in.

The scent of apples and cinnamon wafted from somewhere and Brad’s stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten anything since the milkshake from the night before. Mr. Ortega shot him a glance. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

He ignored the way his stomach gnawed at his backbone and shook his head. “No, sir. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Are you sure? I was going to grab myself a cup of coffee.”

“No, seriously, I’m good.”

They came to a room with double doors leading to a large office space. At first glance, the place looked cluttered. Order existed in the chaos, though. Stacks of folders, rolls of blueprints and plans, and more framed pictures filled the shelves. Photos hung on every available space on the walls. Each frame showcased a beaming child or a family group shot.

His father’s office had a single painting on the wall. No piles of papers, no photos. He looked away. No reason to think about it now. He needed to focus on grabbing this fresh start.

“Why don’t you go on in? I’ll be right back.”

While Mr. Ortega left to get his coffee, Brad wandered around the room, looking at pictures. One showed a much younger Mr. Ortega with a pretty, dark-eyed woman and two glossy-haired toddlers. It was a posed family portrait with everyone in coordinating tones of red or black against a forest-green background. Probably a Christmas photo.

Another picture showed the same family a few years later. Two girls, one about six and another about four, stood in front of Mr. Ortega, their hair curled into corkscrews. He wasn’t real good at figuring out the ages of little kids, but if Brad had to guess, the boy standing beside his mother was within a year of the youngest girl. A baby with tons of fuzzy black hair sticking out in Albert Einstein fashion and the biggest toothless grin Brad had ever seen sat on his mother’s lap.

The next picture showed a Little League photo of a boy in a blue uniform with a bat at his shoulder. Brad leaned closer. There was something about that picture, about that smile.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit the room with Mr. Ortega’s return. And the aroma of apples and cinnamon intensified, making Brad’s mouth water. Mr. Ortega carried a small tray with a cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice and two monster muffins. He set the tray down on the desk.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Ortega said, gesturing to a chair facing the desk as he walked around to the other side.

Brad sat, straight-backed, and folded his hands in his lap.

Mr. Ortega dragged the wheeled leather office chair around the corner of the desk until they could sit without the barrier of the desk between them. He settled into the seat and rested one ankle across his knee. He pulled the tray closer. “I brought you some juice and a muffin. Now I won’t be rude if I eat in front of you. My wife makes the best pastries, and her muffins are irresistible. Go ahead, eat.”

Yeah, irresistible was the right word. Brad grabbed the small plate with a muffin on it and tore a piece off the top. If there was a food nirvana, he’d found it. “Wow.” He took another bite. “This is amazing. Please thank your wife for me.”

“She cooks more than any one family, even a big family like ours, can eat. If we hire you on, you’ll find we have goodies at the worksite all the time.”

Brad carefully brushed crumbs from his fingers onto the little plate. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Ortega.”

Mr. Ortega lifted his cup and swallowed down a bite of his own muffin. Then he set it on the corner of his desk. “Please, call me Hector. We’re not too formal around here. Doug—Mr. Cavanaugh—had a lot of great things to say about you, and I take his recommendations seriously.”

After his parents dumped him at military school to “straighten” him out, Mr. Cavanaugh had been one of the few instructors at Norton Academy who hadn’t been a complete bastard. Thanks to him, Brad had discovered a talent for woodworking, construction and design. Those skills, and Mr. Cavanaugh’s mentorship, were what had led him to Northfield, Minnesota, Carleton College and Mr. Ortega.

“Mr. Cavanaugh’s a good guy. He thought you would be able to use some extra help for the summer.” Brad willed himself to not pop his knuckles.

“He is a good guy. We spent a lot of time together after Katrina rebuilding houses. Since I know his abilities, and his integrity, I don’t doubt you have the skills you’d need to work with my teams. Today I’d like to get a feel for you and how you’d interact with my group.”

What did that mean?
“Okay.”

“First, you should know I have a few hard-and-fast rules. I’m generally a pretty laid-back person, but breaking any of these rules will result in immediate termination. I have a strict no-call, no-show, no-job policy. If you don’t show up and I don’t get a call, you can consider yourself fired. Worksites can be dangerous. Any action endangering yourself or anyone else is grounds for termination. I have a diverse crew—there are people of color, homosexuals and women on my teams. Any derogatory or inflammatory comments won’t be tolerated. I can’t enforce what people think, but no one should be confronted with prejudice at work.” Mr. Ortega held Brad’s gaze. “Do you foresee any problems with these rules?”

Sounded like common sense. “No, sir.”

Mr. Ortega smiled. “I didn’t think so.” He lifted his coffee and took another sip. When he set his cup down, he continued. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

That was, by far, the worst thing someone could ask. Brad never knew what to say. Did they want personal, biographical information? Skills and qualifications as related to the job? His hobbies and political affiliation? He took a drink of juice while he tried to figure out what to say.

“Ah, I graduated from Norton Academy and I’m starting Carleton in the fall. Which is why I came to Minnesota.”

Mr. Ortega nodded. “Are you originally from Georgia?”

“No, just the last two years.”

“And before that?”

“St. Louis.” Even the name of the city made his stomach clench.

“Is your family still there?”

If St. Louis was Brad’s personal hell, his family members were the demons guarding the gates. “Yeah, but we’re not close.” He prayed Mr. Ortega would leave it there.

Mr. Ortega’s expression was calm, but there was something in his gaze that made Brad feel like the older man could see right through his short answers and into the emotions beneath them.

“My son goes to Carleton. It’s a good school. Have you decided on a major yet?”

“I’m leaning toward Architecture right now.”

“What other interests do you have?”

“I sometimes—” He broke off when a thunder of footsteps echoed above his head. The nature of the sound changed as someone crossed the room and then stomped down what sounded like a set of stairs.

“I can’t believe you!” a loud voice hollered from the end of the hall. “You owe me a hundred and ten dollars!”

“Ha! Not a chance.”

A guy in jeans and a white T-shirt flashed past the double doors of Mr. Ortega’s office, only to reappear a moment later. A second body barreled into the first. They crashed onto the floor, a white-and-blue bundle of denim clutched in the second one’s hand.

Mr. Ortega surged to his feet and swung open the door. “Boys!” he snapped, glaring down at the tangle of arms and legs. “What’s going on? I’m in the middle of an interview here. You’re too old to be acting like such—” he paused, searching for the right word, “—
Escuincles!
”

The taller of the two guys pushed himself up and brandished the jeans. “Look at this! Look!” The denim in his hand shook, but the yellowish-white splotches were clearly visible in the dark fabric.

The other guy rolled to his feet. His smile, which had been smug as he listened to his brother’s ranting, widened in welcome when he looked up. “Brad?”

Oh, shit.

It was Danny.