Chapter 1

Opening Gambit - Mick

May, 1988

The mob came barreling down the news station’s hall, cameras, flashbulbs, and microphones in hand, racing after two men, one of them Mick’s charge. He didn’t move. Just leaned against the phone bank, arms crossed, watching the chaos.

The men dove inside the restroom just as the horde descended.

Showtime, Mick thought with a smirk. He wedged his massive frame into the last cubicle of the phone bank, eyes still fixed on the restroom. He dropped a few quarters into the slot, then soaked in the spectacle as reporters began clawing at the men’s room door like a pack of hyenas tearing into a carcass.

“Yo, what’s up?” greeted his ear after two rings.

Not knowing how much time he had, he got straight to the point. “I need you to make a new best friend.”

“Well, hello to you, too. Who?”

Mick smiled, both at the quip and at the “who.” He couldn’t help himself. “Nate Calhoun’s boyfriend,” he managed, holding back a laugh.

Several seconds of silence met his ear. “Dani? Did I lose you?”

“No… No. It’s just that I thought I heard you say ‘Nate Calhoun’s boyfriend’… and we both know that’s impossible.”

“No. It’s more than possible. And it’s our ticket, the weakness we’ve been waiting for.” Mick grinned so wide, he was surprised his face didn’t split. “I told you we’d find a way. Just had to be patient is all.”

“Nate? That big, tough, mother-fucking macho jock you’re babysitting? And you’re sure about this?”

“Bodyguarding, not babysitting,” Mick corrected needlessly.

“Pfft. Please. You don’t bodyguard a linebacker.”

“Running back.”

“Whatever. We both know you’re babysitting. That’s not the point. Are you sure the son of a bitch is gay? I mean, it’s Nate Calhoun, for Christ’s sake.”

It did seem unbelievable. Unless you’d been watching him with Tim for the last two weeks. Nate’s behavior had been so out of character that Mick had started to suspect early on in their trip. But Nate’s touch to Tim’s cheek today behind the news room’s curtain had sealed it. And the way Nate looked at that boy… “Positive,” he said with certainty. Tim had returned that adoring look, too. Constantly.

Mick had also watched Nate shield and protect Tim from the crowds and the journalists over and over through the endless interviews of the only survivors of the avalanche at Devil’s Run. That flaco was so jittery around the crowds and reporters, and Mick had never seen Nate so protective of anyone.

Nate Calhoun was most definitely gay. And that carrot top he could barely take his eyes off of was definitely his chico. And Mick’s brain was definitely churning a thousand miles a second.

Leverage like this didn’t fall into your lap every day, and this… this was the opening he’d been waiting for. After thinking all hope was lost, now this discovery had come to him like a gift from God.

He looked up. “Gracias, Dios mío,” he murmured, holding his cross against his tattoo-covered chest, his fingers heavy with a series of large silver knuckle busters, the largest a quintessential skull with crossbones. Because why the hell not, right?

He glanced around, noting how out of place he looked—a Mexicano in a sea of gringos, with the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves straining against his flex as he held the phone. But what did he care? Nothin’ but a bunch of stiffs around news stations anyway. Besides, it was better for him to look a little rough around the edges when he was playing bodyguard.

He curled his lip at the gaggle of reporters, all in their polished suits. None of them cared when his brother was killed, when he needed them to tell his story. No, his brother was just a meaningless nobody to them. But they sure as hell cared about J.J. Calhoun’s son, didn’t they? Cabrones.

“And you want me to make nice-y-nice with the boyfriend?” Dani’s voice brought him back to the call.

He drew his eyes away from the reporters, thankful for the interruption. “Yeah—yeah, I do,” he said definitively, though he hated the idea. Not because of the job itself. Dani was more than capable, and he’d do what Mick asked of him, especially on this job. Dani had given Mick his word when they started it. It was just his lack of… focus when Mick wasn’t around that had him worried.

“Hoooow nice-y-nice?” Dani asked.

Mick sighed loudly into the receiver. “I don’t want you to bang him, you idiot. Just become his best friend, the guy he confides in like no one else. That’s what I need you to do.” He nodded decisively, despite being on the phone. Then he added, “In Amarillo,” with a preemptive wince.

“Ama-fucking-rillo! Are you out of your mind?”

“It’s only for the summer.” Mick tossed the words out like loose change, aiming for light and careless, though they landed a little heavier in his own ears. “He’ll be back at Texas Tech with Nate in the fall… and so will you. It’s nothing. Only a few months.”

“Three months. It’s three friggin’ months… in Ama-fucking-rillo. Ugh!”

“I know. I know.” He ran a hand through his dark waves, noting security coming to break up the herd. If the reporters were going to be sent packing, he didn’t have much time left. “Please. I need you on Tim, Dani,” he begged, “and Tim lives in Amarillo, and sometimes—”

“You have to go where the job takes you,” Dani mumbled. “Fine. Send me to Amarillo. Might as well be Siberia.”

“Qué novela contigo,” Mick said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with soap operas, and you never know, I could end up in one someday.”

With Dani’s theatrics, he probably could.

“Now, how gay do you need me to be?” he asked, his voice flat. “Do you need me to go full-blown flamer, dah-ling?” His voice shot up, dripping with a heavy southern drawl. “Or are we all about the teddy bears?” He dropped into a deep, sexy bass.

Mick pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to hold back a grin. “Why not do Elvira in drag while you’re at it?”

“Ooh, the Mistress of the Dark.” Dani mimicked the dramatic voice from the show. “I like it.”

Mick could no longer contain his grin. “You would, you fuckin’ payaso.”

He let Dani’s laughter echo for a moment, then ended the call, confident Dani would get the job done no matter how he played it. He always did.

End of the Road - Nate

I flipped the lock and leaned with my back against the heavy bathroom door, blocking out the horde of reporters who had chased us there.

“They’re vultures!” Tim squealed. “Nothing but horrid scavengers!”

“Yeah, they are… and welcome to my father’s world. He loves this shit.” J.J. Calhoun couldn’t get enough of the media. It made him feel powerful to be sought after by reporters. And at the moment, I—we—were nothing more than pawns in his media game.

“Yeah? Well, he’s crazy!” Tim looked as white as the numbers on my football jersey and like he might hurl any second. Even his freckles had gone pale.

I’d done what I could to protect him over the last couple of weeks, but the reporters had been relentless. We were in Los Angeles, too—my father’s agent had lined up every interview within a hundred-mile radius, supposedly to make travel easier. I knew better; it was all about control. Regardless, even states away from home, the reporters hadn’t let up.

“And where is your bodyguard?” Tim ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small space between the toilet and sink like a caged animal. “Why isn’t he doing his job and protecting us from these savages?”

“Mick?” I chuckled. “He’s across the hall.”

“Across the hall?” Tim crowed.

“Didn’t you see him, leanin’ by the phones all casual-like, wearin’ a shit-eatin’ grin while he watched our happy asses duck in here?”

“No! Why on earth would he do that?”

I had to stop myself from grinning at Tim’s appalled expression.

“Cuz he thinks it’s funny… obviously.” Probably thinks I need the exercise, too, damn pain in the ass personal trainer.

Pain in the ass or not, I was glad my father rehired Mick after our “rescue.” One of the few things my father had done in recent memory that I approved of. Though I hated having anyone on babysitter duty, even my personal trainer. He’d been a bitch about following my father’s orders, too, which meant that, outside of our interviews, I’d been kept in my hotel room like prisoner for the duration of our trip.

“Well… well, that’s just awful.” Tim’s indignant tone yanked me out of my thoughts.

“No different than I’d do if I were in his position,” I told him and meant it. It’d be some funny shit… if it wasn’t happening to me.

“You can’t be serious,” he said, looking even more aghast. I wanted to take him in my arms for being so adorable. He had no clue how guys treated each other, busting each other’s balls regularly. It was like he was from a different planet, the planet of the loner, preppy, brainy types. I found it insanely endearing. ‘Course, I found everything about my princess insanely endearing.

My former princess, since I’d officially broken us up the day we left the cabin. For his sake, I had to. I couldn’t risk him being dragged into my disaster of a life.

At the same time, I was dying inside. We had just completed our final interview. That meant I’d be flying back to Odessa to stay at my father’s primary mansion for the summer, and Tim would be taking a Greyhound to his mom’s place in Amarillo. We’d have no chance of even laying eyes on each other again until the fall semester.

I swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat as I noticed two things: Tim was staring at me, and the reporters had grown much quieter, meaning we didn’t have much time left.

“What?” I asked, looking into Tim’s worried eyes. But I already knew he’d been thinking the same thing I had.

“Nate.” He approached and placed a hand on my chest, looking up at me with the cutest puppy-dog eyes and those dimples still showing as they always did, even when he wasn’t smiling, dimples I’d drawn so many times over the past six months.

I glanced at his hand over my heart, feeling the warmth there, the connection I had no choice but to sever. I met his eyes. “Tim, please. We’re broken up,” I whispered so any lingering reporters couldn’t hear. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No. You still love me,” he whispered back. “We are not broken up.” He angry-whispered that part.

I rolled my eyes, heaving a sigh. “How many times have we gone through this?”

“I refuse to believe it. This is not how we end!” he exclaimed in a particularly angry whisper.

All I wanted was to make him happy, and seeing him upset tore at my insides. That I’d been the one to cause it made it worse. Meanwhile, his hand on my chest, along with his lips so near, tempted me like nothing else.

“Princess,” I said, knowing I should no longer use my favorite term of endearment for him, but somehow being unable to stop myself. “We can’t do this.”

He drew closer, his lips only inches from mine. “Iño,” he said, his shortened form of cariño making my insides melt. “You don’t want this. I know you don’t. Please.” His voice quavered on that final word, and his eyes, so full of determination, couldn’t quite mask the fear behind them. It tore my heart to shreds.

Yet, what could I say that I hadn’t already said?

We’d discussed it a thousand times, and it couldn’t work. Not with my father. The risk was one I couldn’t take, not just for myself, but for Tim. I couldn’t imagine what my father would do if he discovered I was gay, let alone try to imagine what he’d do to my lover. Nightmares about the possibilities had haunted me for months. Yet, no matter how much I explained the danger to Tim, nothing I said seemed to get through.

A heavy fist slammed against the door, rattling the wood in its hinges. “Hola, Pretty Boy. Time’s up. Let’s go.”

I looked at my watch. Only three hours until take off, and we still had to navigate our way through L.A. traffic. “Be right out, Mick,” I called through the door.

I shifted my eyes back to Tim, my gaze dropping to his lips, so close to mine.

“At least a kiss goodbye,” he whispered and drew even closer.

My heart raced, my palms sweat, and as Tim pressed his body against mine, my dick decided it was the perfect time to start coming to attention. God, no.

Don’t do this, Nate. Don’t do it.

He inched closer, his lips slightly parted and glistening, just waiting to be kissed.

I tried to talk myself out of it a second time, but a mix of dread and desire slammed the door on my conscience. Hard. This would be my last chance to feel his lips against mine. I couldn’t let it pass me by.

With my resolve in rubble, I let my eyes slip closed, knowing Tim would take it as the invitation it was. The second his lips brushed mine, I took him into my arms, and we melded together, wrapping around each other as though our lives depended on it. What I’d intended—a mere brush of our lips—turned deep and passionate in an instant, two weeks of pent-up desire undeniable and raging in its insistence.

We fed on each other voraciously, not with the burning passion of our budding romance of six months ago, but with the desperation of a bittersweet goodbye on our tongues and in our hearts. I allowed my hands to roam, wanting to memorize his body. Again. I never wanted it to stop.

But it had to. So, eventually, we slowly broke apart. I gazed into his eyes for several lingering seconds, until the ache in my chest became unbearable. With a trembling hand, I ran my fingers down his cheek one last time. “Goodbye, Princess.” I tore my eyes from his, took a deep breath to regain some semblance of composure, then stepped through the door and into the next godforsaken chapter of my existence.

Wail of a Time  - Tim

I put a hand to my cheek, feeling the lingering tingle from where Nate had touched me. Then I watched as he left, taking my heart with him. All that remained was a gaping pit of pain in my chest. I locked the door and then leaned against it, trying to stay strong. I’d held my emotions at bay as best I could for the last two weeks, but it was over now. It was really over.

Since we’d gotten off the mountain, everything had been horrible and had only gotten worse from there. I couldn’t believe Nate had actually walked away with us broken up. Supposedly broken up.

That wasn’t what was in his heart. It wasn’t what he wanted. We both knew that, but no matter how many times I’d tried to change his mind, it hadn’t worked.

Now, I didn’t even have a way to reach him. He’d begged me not to try. Begged and pleaded and made me promise to never, ever make an attempt, and he’d done so with so much fear in his eyes. What the heck did his father do to him that could make a man like Nate, a football player who was built like a tank, be so afraid?

I sank to the bathroom floor, pulled my knees up, and buried my head in my arms. I tried to hold it together, but I hurt so badly. And what did it matter, anyway? Who was there to see me? I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing it was Nate’s strong arms that held me.

I’d never felt so broken, so lost. So alone.

I had no one, not a single soul to talk to. How I wanted my Nate back.

Silently, they fell, wet betrayers, insisting this nightmare was real. I scrubbed them away with furious determination. More of the traitorous drops flowed in their wake. Time passed, and people came to the door. I yelled at them to go away and find another restroom. For no reason I could identify, each interruption made me feel more alone.

How did the world keep turning, with everyone going about their business like nothing was wrong, like everything hadn’t just fallen apart? How was it no one else could feel this monumental shattering inside me? Would they know if they looked at me?

Gripping the sink, I pulled myself off the floor. I stared at my puffy face and tousled hair in the mirror. Messy, but still me. Except maybe my eyes.

What did it matter either way? The interviews were done. Nate was gone. I had no one left to impress.

I splashed water over my face, while I contemplated the consequences of leaving my bathroom sanctuary. I hoped all the reporters had given up or followed Nate in the Mercedes they had rented. He was the college football star and the son of the wealthiest man in the country, and I was a nobody, after all. Why would any of them stick around for me?

A few minutes later, I stepped out onto the cracked sidewalks of L.A. and into a mix of honking horns, distant sirens, and the constant hum of traffic. May’s late afternoon sun beat down, and palm trees lined the street, their shaggy fronds swaying in the afternoon breeze. Though how they could breathe with all the smog defied explanation.

For a few seconds, a beat-up Chevy Impala idled next to a pristine Rolls Royce at the nearest red light. Behind them, a luxe art gallery and a dingy arcade repair shop made strange bedfellows. I shook my head. Only in L.A. could one witness such perfect juxtapositions.

With my musings, I’d been in front of the news building for at least twenty seconds and hadn’t been mauled by reporters. Relieved, I took a right toward the bus terminal and started my way past faded diners, porn shops, and other tired storefronts that stood shoulder to shoulder, lining the street.

My relief was short-lived. I barely made it to the first dusty pawn shop before a young, blonde reporter rushed me.