On the Streets of New Orleans (12 page)

That way lay demons Charlie had fought and vanquished. Why would he go there again?

Charlie signaled for the waitress. “Check.”

Devon pulled out his wallet. “I’ll pay.”

Charlie shook his head. “How about we just split it? It’s not like this was a date.”

“Right.” Devon didn’t look happy as they put their money on the small metal tray. Charlie left a nice tip for the waitress. Devon left one also.

At least the waitress made out okay.

Charlie had the feeling she’d be the only one making out tonight.

He rose, and Devon followed him outside. They stood next to the building, under the faint light of the restaurant’s overhang.

“So, what do you say?” Devon had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

“No, thanks.” Damn, it was hard to say no.

“Really? You’re going to give all this up?” He held out his arms and grinned, flashing that dimple. Did he know it was there? He had to know.

“Devon, you’re trouble. I don’t need trouble. Had enough to last me a lifetime.” Charlie shook his head. “Best if we just say good-bye.” He knew exactly how hard getting sober was, how he’d failed, but got up and tried again. Now he didn’t relish being tested, terrified he’d fail. Never get up and fall back into that pit.

Devon’s smile fell, and Charlie knew the man didn’t hear no often, if ever. Something inside Charlie did a little fist pump. He might not ever fuck Devon, but Devon wasn’t going to forget the guy who refused him.

Of course, that would be cold comfort when he lay all alone in his bed late at night.

Charlie started walking back to the shelter, just six blocks away on Tulane Avenue.

“Wait! Don’t go,” Devon called out to him.

Against his better judgment, Charlie stopped and turned back.

Devon trotted down the sidewalk and came to a stop right in front of him. He cupped Charlie’s face in his large, warm hand and stared into Charlie’s eyes.

“Damn, I can’t let you go.” Before Charlie could open his mouth to speak, Devon covered it with his, pushing Charlie into the side of the brick building next door.

For a moment Charlie didn’t know what to do, but Devon’s mouth knew. Damn, he could kiss, and didn’t that just make Charlie’s knees weak and his cock stiff? He grabbed Devon’s hips, his grip tight as he pulled him closer.

He opened at Devon’s licking request, and Devon pushed his tongue inside Charlie’s mouth. They dueled, tasting and pushing and sucking, until Charlie moaned and shifted so their erections could rub against each other.

They went at each other, in dim light on Tulane Avenue, as cars and buses passed. Someone honked, loud and brash, and the men pulled apart.

“I want you.” Devon breathed into Charlie’s mouth, so close he could almost taste him again.

“Can’t lie and say I don’t want you.” Charlie looked down at the bulge in his jeans. “But I can say… no.” He shook his head again, as if to clear it. “I might be crazy, but something about you scares the shit out of me.”

“Me? I scare you?” Devon’s hand on Charlie’s waist tightened, his other hand burrowing into Charlie’s hair, capturing him.

Charlie leaned his forehead against Devon’s. “I’m not supposed to have this. To have anything good. I owe….” He swallowed. “I don’t deserve….”

“What?” Devon kissed him again, coaxing it out of Charlie.

“I don’t deserve happiness, Devon. And being with you would make me happy, if only for a little while.” He pushed away, breaking Devon’s hold on him.

Devon stared, brow furrowed, at Charlie. “What makes you think that? Everyone deserves to be happy, if only for a little while. Is this some sort of penance?”

“Just drop it.” Charlie walked away again, his strides picking up speed as he came to the cross street. He’d known Devon wouldn’t understand.

A hand dropped on his shoulder and pulled him around. Devon looked furious.

“Hey, what the hell is going on with you? Look, this isn’t some big thing. I just wanted to be with you, nothing serious.”

“See? You don’t get it. This isn’t about
you
. It’s about
me
.” Charlie shook off Devon’s hold.

“What did you do that was so bad? It can’t be just the addict thing. You’re clean, right?”

“I killed a man.” Charlie froze, his hand over his mouth. He hadn’t said those words since he’d staggered into the confessional at St. Joseph’s and revealed his sins to the priest there after being released from prison.

Devon took a step back. “While you were high?”

“Yeah.”

Devon didn’t say a word. He just looked at Charlie, then down at the ground.

“So you see, I’m a murderer. I killed a man, did a pathetic amount of jail time, and now I’m free. He’s dead, and I get to live my life.” Charlie laughed. “I get to see him die every time I go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry….”

“Don’t be. I did the crime. I’m doing the time. Isn’t that what they say?”

Devon stuck his hands back in his jeans pockets. His jaw worked. No sign of the dimple now. Probably never again.

Charlie looked up into Devon’s face. “I can’t let this go. I don’t know how to….”

“To what?”

Why didn’t Devon just go? Why was he still standing here? Didn’t he understand Charlie had killed someone? “To forgive myself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t. I drove high, and I killed my sixteen-year-old brother. He’s dead, and I’m alive. I should’ve died. It should’ve been me.” Charlie hunched down into his jacket. “He should be alive, going to college, getting married, and having a family. Instead, the world gets me.”

Charlie turned away this time, and this time he didn’t stop, not even when Devon called out his name.

DEVON WATCHED
as Charlie walked away from him. His fists clenched tighter, fighting the urge to go after him, push him against a wall, and kiss him until he surrendered, until he gave in to Devon’s demands on his body. But that would be selfish.

Devon now knew Charlie’s problems ran deep, and he had no idea how to beat them and their hold on the man. Or even if he should try.

A murderer? No, not even high on coke, Charlie wouldn’t kill on purpose. Devon knew the legal system and, at best, Charlie got negligent homicide. The light sentence and short probation proved that much.

Still, in Charlie’s head, it was as if he’d pulled the trigger of a gun.

He’d killed his kid brother.

Fuck.
That was hard.

Devon didn’t know if he could have handled it any better than Charlie had. The man had such strength to have kicked his coke habit and moved forward, let alone to be helping others. Devon admired him for it, and he had a suspicion Charlie didn’t see his own abilities at all.

Just the fact he hadn’t relapsed back into the drugs proved how strong he was. That he’d devoted his life to helping the men at the shelter—men just like him, addicts and recovering addicts—spoke volumes to Devon.

Charlie was someone any man would be proud to call his lover. Charlie just couldn’t see it, and might never see it, Devon feared. But was it his job to open Charlie’s eyes?

In the distance, Charlie faded into the darkness of the night.

Charlie needed Devon way more than Devon needed Charlie. But was Devon up to the task? Could he show Charlie he was worth the effort? That life was worth living to its fullest?

That maybe his brother would want him to be more than just a ghost walking through his life, never loving anyone or even himself?

Devon needed to decide if this was something he should do—interfere in Charlie’s life. Because that’s what he’d be doing if they got involved, even occasionally. But for what purpose? Just to fuck him?

His own life was no picnic or uncomplicated by any means. Originally he’d thought Charlie would be an easy distraction, something casual, convenient. No emotions and no entanglements.

Yet here he was, thinking about getting more than entangled. This would be getting involved. With a recovering addict. A convicted felon. A man so deep in pain he couldn’t forgive himself enough to ease even some of that pain.

He’d lost his fucking mind.

If he was smart, he’d get in his car, drive off, chalk it up to wrong place, wrong time, and forget about Charlie McAfee and his problems.

Devon turned away and walked to his car, parked around the corner.

As soon as he sat down and closed the door, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a pack of smokes. He lit one, inhaled deeply, and held it in, letting the nicotine work its way through his system. He hadn’t had a cigarette in hours… not that he chain smoked, but he’d gotten into the habit during the long nights, just to have something to do to kill the time, help him think things through.

He smoked in the dark, then tossed the butt out the window, started the car, and pulled away from the restaurant. He circled the block and headed down Tulane. Slowing down, he cruised past the shelter.

Charlie stood on the steps, smoking, as the light over the shelter door cast his dark shadow on the cement.

Shit.
Devon hunkered down and drove past, hoping Charlie didn’t spot him. Once he could see Charlie in the side mirror, he sped up a bit and continued home.

Something told Devon it wouldn’t be the last time he’d see Charlie.

And he wasn’t sure at all if that was good or bad.

CHARLIE WATCHED
the car drive past. He squinted in the dark as he tried to make out the driver. Damn, was that Devon?

If it was, was he checking up on Charlie?

His heart sped up at the thought of the man he shouldn’t become involved with. It obviously wasn’t listening to a damn thing his brain was telling it. Then again, hearts never do.

He blew out the last lungful of smoke, dropped the butt to the cement, and ground it out with the heel of his boot. Smashed cigarettes littered the steps. Without Charlie there to herd them tonight, the men hadn’t bothered to clean up their mess.

Charlie sighed, unlocked the door, and went in. He went to the storeroom and got out the broom and the dust pan. He might as well get it done tonight, while he was unable to go to sleep.

He paused, listening to the sounds of the old building. Other than the usual creaking, the place was quiet. Upstairs, where everyone slept, the snoring could wake the dead, but down here, the thick walls and floors of the place muffled most of the sounds.

Charlie propped the front door open with a beat-up wedge of wood and started sweeping. He cleaned off the wide porch, then worked his way down each step, his head down, trying to be as thorough and as quick as possible.

“Hey! You got any money?” a surly voice shot out of the dark.

Charlie spun around, his heart tripping, looking in the direction of the voice. A man stood just out of the light from the front door lamp.

“Who’s there?” Charlie peered into the darkness.

“Don’t worry about that. Got any money?” Now the voice sounded angrier, and the hairs on the back of Charlie’s neck stood on end.

“No. But I can get you something to eat and a place to stay if you want it.” Charlie tried not to let the fear in his voice show.
Just stay calm and collected. No sudden moves.

The man stepped closer, and Charlie’s blood went frigid. He had a gun.

“I don’t need no food, mister.”

Charlie didn’t know the guy, but he’d seen his type many times before—a junkie looking for money for his next hit. If Charlie wasn’t careful, this could turn deadly.

“This is a men’s shelter. We don’t have money.” Charlie gave him a friendly smile and held his arms open in welcome. “We’re run by the Catholic church. We have beds and food, but that’s all.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as he processed the information. He had the telltale signs of a meth addict—bad skin, bad teeth, and stringy hair.

“What about you?” He shoved the gun toward Charlie. “You got money?”

Charlie leaned the broom against the stair rail. “Yes, a few dollars.” He dug in his jeans pocket and pulled out the few dollars of change left over from paying for his meal.

“Give it to me!” He motioned with the gun.

Charlie put the cash on the top of the cement balustrade and backed off. “There.”

The man darted forward, snatching it up. He fumbled through the bills, lowering the gun as he did so. Charlie thought about jumping him but wasn’t sure he could overpower a junkie high on meth or be fast enough to avoid getting shot. The money just wasn’t worth it.

“You got more?” He looked up, shoved the money in his pocket, and aimed the gun at Charlie again.

“No. That’s all.” Charlie measured the distance between where he stood and the top of the stairs. He’d never make it without being shot. The only way out of this was to get this guy to leave.

The man’s gaze traveled up the stairs to the shelter’s door. “What about inside?”

“Nothing in there but eighty men asleep in bunks. Most of them addicts, winos, and homeless. They don’t have any money, which is why they’re here.” The last thing Charlie wanted was this guy getting inside and ransacking the place for shit to hock or stealing what little cash the men had managed to get.

And if the men woke up, Charlie would lose control of the situation. Right now only he was in danger. If the thief got inside, a lot of his men could get hurt or killed.

The junkie took a step forward, as if to go up the stairs.

“Hey! I said they don’t have any money.” Charlie’s protectiveness leaped like a tiger in his chest, and he moved between the guy and the stairs.

The man’s face contorted, and he stuck his gun in Charlie’s chest. The cold of the metal barrel shot a bullet of fear straight through Charlie.

“You got to have money!” He pressed the nose of the gun deeper.

“No. The priests! They pay for everything. They deliver the food and shit. We don’t keep any money because of the men we have here. Too much temptation.”

His attacker seemed to chew that over. Charlie wasn’t lying. They didn’t keep any cash, but he and the other men had a little money. It might add up, but he just had to keep him from figuring that out.