Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2
WILDE CITY PRESS
Love And The Real Boy – Coming About, Book 2
© 2014 J.K. Hogan
Published in the US and Australia by Wilde City Press 2014
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Published by Wilde City Press
ISBN: 978-1-925180-42-8
Cover Art © 2014 Wilde City Press
LOVE AND
THE REAL BOY
Coming About, Book 2
J.K. Hogan
Dedication
In memoriam of my maternal grandfather, James Edward (Ted), and my paternal grandmother, Carrie Mae, both of whom left us this year. Their memories will live on in our hearts.
Acknowledgements
Thanks so much to Ethan Day and Geoffrey Knight for taking a chance on me.
Special thanks to Val and Carter, who were essential in whipping this story into shape
!
Prologue
September 1994
Ricky Dalton winced as the half-full Coke can struck him on his already bruised shoulder. He pulled up the hood of his stained sweatshirt and tried to ignore the taunts from the menacing crowd of boys at the bus stop.
“Nice shoes, fag!” one of them yelled.
Oddly enough, it was the shoes comment that stung the most. At twelve years old, Ricky wasn’t even entirely sure he knew what the word ‘fag’ meant. But he knew what his tormentors meant about the shoes.
Embarrassed, he looked down at his Walmart-bought Chuck Taylor knock-offs. They were caked with mud and had holes in the soles—and they weren’t even remotely cool back when they were new. Usually if Ricky’s mom wanted to buy new-to-them clothes and shoes, they had to go without food that week.
Ricky scratched absently at the back of his head, scalp itching underneath his dirty, too long, dark brown hair. He hadn’t bathed in days because his mom couldn’t afford the gas bill anymore, so there was no hot water. This also made it hard for her to get the stains out of their clothes, when she bothered to try.
Keeping his head down, Ricky sped up his pace to put as much distance as he could between himself and the bullies. He maintained a light jog until he reached the gas station where his mom always—usually—picked him up after school.
That day, he sat on the curb of the busy parking lot for almost two hours before she showed up. He knew as soon as the wooden-sided old rattle-trap of a minivan pulled up that something was wrong. Through the parts of the windows where the tint was peeling off, he saw that the van was piled high with junk—junk from home.
The van squealed to a stop in front of Ricky, and he opened the sliding side door. His little brother, John-Michael, was huddled in the seat behind their mom’s, looking tired and miserable. She obviously hadn’t taken him to school that morning.
“What’s going on, Mom? Why’s all our shit in the van?”
“Language, Ricky!” Bonnie Dalton scolded half-heartedly with a weary sigh.
“Sorry,” he grumbled. “But seriously…”
Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and she looked away quickly. “I was a little short on the rent again.”
“Oh,
Mom!
For cryin’ out loud.”
“It will only be for a few days this time…a week, tops. I got a friend who says we can stay with him once his brother moves into his new place.”
Yeah, Ricky knew all about Bonnie’s
friends
. He watched her shaking hands clench and unclench on the steering wheel. He just hoped she hadn’t used the rent money to score this time. She’d been clean for around six months—the longest stretch Ricky could remember. Besides, this wasn’t the first time they’d lived in the van, and it wouldn’t be the last.
PART I
The Liberation of
Ricky Dalton
Chapter One
May 2009
There was a homeless man asleep on the front stoop of his building. Rich Langston glared at the lifeless lump and swallowed down the bile that rose to the back of his throat. He flicked a hunted look over his shoulder before cautiously edging closer.
It was just starting to rain. Rich entertained a brief moment of empathy before shoring up his defenses again. He was not like this man—not anymore.
The building didn’t have an awning over the front door, so the pile of clothes the man was buried under was already starting to soak through. The lump was surrounded by two huge duffels, a smaller rolling suitcase, and a pillow. The pillow just barely peeked out from under the clothes.
Awful lot of shit to be dragging around on the streets
.
Rich approached and nudged the foot that poked out from the pile. “Hey, buddy, wake up. You can’t sleep here,” he said, trying to keep the pity out of his voice.
The pile groaned and shifted, and Rich realized that it wasn’t a pile at all. It was an enormous man in an even larger hoodie, huddled up as he tried to stay dry. Warm brown eyes blinked up at Rich through absurdly long, wet lashes. Rich felt a stirring deep in his gut—the same one he’d spent his life trying to suppress.
“Sorry,” the guy said in a deep, gruff voice. “Was trying to figure out my next move…must have fallen asleep. I’ll get outta your way.”
Recognition flared as Rich reached out to help the man to his feet. “Hey, don’t I know you? I’ve seen you coming out of C two-fourteen. What’d ’ya do, lock yourself out?”
“I wish,” he said. Once he’d unfolded to his full height, he towered over Rich—although, admittedly, that wasn’t very unusual. But this guy…his hands were as big as Rich’s face. Rich repressed a shudder.
The man held out one of those huge, dinner-plate paws to shake Rich’s hand. “Rory Donovan, formerly of C two-fourteen.”
“Rich Langston.” He shook the proffered hand and tried not to wince as phalanges crunched. “Formerly?” he asked, arching a brow at Rory.
Rory sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “I was subletting the apartment and the original tenant decided to come home…without any warning. He told me to pack my shit and get out.” He gave Rich a self-deprecating smile. “’s what I get for subletting from an ad on Craigslist.”
“Didn’t you sign a sublet agreement?”
Rory’s massive shoulders slumped, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nope. Guy said I wouldn’t need it. He was going to be doing a work-study program in Europe for two years. Guess he got kicked out. He didn’t bother to explain while he was shoving me out into the hall.”
Rich looked longingly at the door to his building, then frowned out into the rainy night. Oh, how he yearned for his flannel pajamas and his king-sized bed. He did not want to get tangled up with this stranger—this man who smelled like old spice and rainwater, and was more attractive than anyone had a right to be. But, while Rich could be an unfeeling asshole—he’d had to be to get through what he had—he just couldn’t leave Rory out in the cold. He’d been there himself, and wouldn’t have survived without a little help along the way.
“Look, come on up to my place. I’m between roommates, so you can crash in the spare.”
Rory’s cheeks pinked up with embarrassment, and he looked down at his hands. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. You shouldn’t do that, let some stranger up to your apartment.”
Rich rolled his eyes because, big as he was, he couldn’t see Rory hurting a fly. “You’re not a stranger. You’re Rory Donovan, formerly of C two-fourteen.” He picked up one of Rory’s duffel bags, pulled open the storm door, and held it for Rory. “C’mon, pick up the pace. There’s a glass of wine and a steam shower calling my name.”
* * * *
When they got upstairs, Rich showed Rory to the spare bedroom. “Make yourself at home,” he said before excusing himself.
Standing at his closet, he peeled off his power suit and hung it up carefully next to the only other one he owned. He was just an intern, albeit at the second biggest advertising agency in Washington, but he was faking it ’til he made it. He’d scrimped and saved until he was able to afford the suits from a Ralph Lauren sample sale. Rich had vowed to make something of himself, to never be in a position of need again.
Realizing he was standing around in his underwear, thinking, Rich blinked himself back to the present. He pulled on cotton flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, then headed out of his room. Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, he pondered his predicament.
There was now an absolutely gorgeous, fuckable, sadly straight guy in the next room—an unbearable temptation for Rich, who’d been trying to fuck the gay away since the first time he dipped his wick. He knew he couldn’t change who he was, but he also couldn’t live as a gay man—he wouldn’t. It could be a stumbling block to his success, and that was…unacceptable. Besides, nobody needed to know who he screwed for chrissake. On that note, Rich settled his surly armor of snark about his shoulders and went back out to Rory-land.
Rory was lounging on the couch in his own sweats and talking on the phone. Judging by the hooded eyes and stupid grin, it was probably his girlfriend. Rich sat down on the other end of the couch and made no attempt to pretend he wasn’t listening to the conversation.
“I told ya, kiddo, it all worked out. You do not need to hop your neurotic ass on a plane to come help me. I’ve found a good Samaritan right here.”
Rory finished his sentence with a smile and a wink for Rich, making his stomach flutter. This pissed Rich off even more than he already was, so he glowered back at Rory. Rory didn’t seem to care.
“Anyway, man, I need to go take care of my stuff. Call ya when I figure out my next move,” Rory said into the phone before hanging up.
Rich narrowed his eyes as the stupid grin got stupider. The girl must be a hell of a lay. Wait…man? The fuck? “Who was that?” Rich demanded tersely.
“That was my best friend Justice. He was worried. Nice to have good friends, ya know?”
No. No, Rich didn’t know. He’d never stayed in one place long enough to make friends until he settled in Ballard. And then, he was too focused on work to bother, and too damn cantankerous for anyone else to. Because of this and more, he automatically hated best-friend-Justice—no matter how ridiculous that was.
Chapter Two
Eight months to the day and Rory was still living him. Rich crossed his arms over his head and stared up at the ceiling from his place on his bed. It hadn’t taken him long to ask Rory to be his permanent roommate; the guy was neat as a pin, quiet, and respectful of privacy—and, fuck, he could cook! Rich had managed to keep a handle on his unrequited attraction to Rory, though the revolving door of women that Rory kept up helped a lot.
