Outcome (Aftermath #2) (8 page)

Maybe he simply wasn’t the right man to help Remy.

"If I'd been smart—" Remy gritted his teeth and tapped his temple. "If I'd at least asked him what he was going to do with the money…"

Like Ben would've been honest.

Chase pressed his lips into a grim line. "Thinking about what-ifs never works. Trust me."

"I want you to hit me." Remy wasn’t listening to him. "It's too much. In here." He clutched his stomach, his chest heaving with a labored breath. "I need something. Everything or nothing. If you can't be a man and make me suffer, which I deserve, then give me something to numb it all out."

Drugs. Remy wanted drugs.

"That’s not gonna happen." Chase watched Remy lying down in a fetal position. "Would suffering make you feel better? If I punched you right now, would it ease your pain?"

"
Yes
." Remy screwed his eyes shut. A shudder rippled through his body, and Chase saw how his pale skin glistened with sweat. "I can't, Chase. I can't deal with it."

Chase ignored that and continued. "So you wanna feel better? That’s what you're saying?" He stared hard,
willing
Remy to open his eyes. "You say you deserve to feel pain, but you also say it'll make you feel better. Do you deserve to feel better?"

That did it. Remy's eyes flashed open. Bleary and teary, he glared at Chase.

Chase merely stood up and walked over to the fridge. The sun had set, so he switched on a couple smaller lamps on the way. "I'm not gonna hit you. When was the last time you ate?"

"Get the fuck out of here." Remy coughed and wiped his forehead on the sheet. "You're useless."

Your brother's told me that before
, Chase thought, but he wasn’t about to surrender. The part of Chase that always wanted to fix problems had taken over. He couldn’t help it. He was involved now, and if he couldn’t take care of his own issues, then perhaps he could at least help with Remy's. Whether Chase was ready for it or not. Hell, whether
Remy
was ready for it or not.

Chase made a simple sandwich and grabbed a bottle of water, then headed to the little sleeping nook.

"Don’t," Remy warned.

Chase ignored him and set down the food and the water on the nightstand. Only, the second the plate touched the wooden surface, Remy twisted around and kicked the nightstand hard enough for it to fall over.

"I said, don’t!" Remy shouted. "Are you fucking deaf, Gallardo?" His outburst stunned Chase into immobility for several seconds. "I don’t want your help." Remy started struggling against his restraints. "I'm not looking for a damn savior! Just let me go! Let me out of here!"

The chafing of the cuff around Remy's ankle was enough for Chase to snap outta his frozen state, and he tried to pull away Remy's hands from tugging at it.

"No!" Remy pushed at him, though Chase didn’t budge. "You motherfucker, I don’t want you here!" When he managed to deliver a knee to Chase's gut, Chase had had it. "Get out!"

"Enough!" Chase growled. In a swift move, he had Remy pinned to the bed, and he glowered lividly as the kid's eyes grew large with fear. Not for the first time. "Jesus Christ, Remy." He gnashed his teeth together at the pain in his stomach. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Earlier when Remy had pulled that stupid stunt—about "wanting to get off"—Chase had struggled against his desire for about a second. Until he'd seen through Remy's charade.

This, however, wasn’t a game. And there was no lust anywhere. Chase was bewildered and shocked; he couldn’t get a grasp on why he had this need to give Remy simple
comfort
. In other words, there was no room for anything else right now.

"Let go of me." Remy thrashed under Chase, the chain to the cuff rattling every time Remy tried to kick himself free. "You're fucking heavy."

Chase grunted and gathered Remy's wrists above them on the pillow, then looked down between them and cursed when he saw blood trickling from Remy's foot. At a loss for what to do, Chase tightened his grip on Remy's hands and planted his knee over the leg that was cuffed to keep it from moving.

"Stop fighting me!" Chase snapped.

"Get off," Remy choked out. He was…fucking lost. Panicking or falling apart, Chase didn’t know, but Remy was
gone
. Tears streaked his cheeks. "Please, I can't…" His eyes closed, and his entire body started convulsing.

"Shit." Worry and dread crept up Chase's spine, and he cupped Remy's cheek. "Remy. Look at me."

"Leave me," he whimpered through shallow breaths.

"I can't do that." Chase eased away as Remy stopped struggling. Producing the key Andreas had given him earlier, Chase unlocked the cuff and gently lifted Remy's foot. "Come on. We're getting some air."

Considering how Remy could barely walk on his own, Chase didn’t worry about anybody escaping. He hooked Remy's arm around his neck and guided the kid out the door.

It was completely dark by now, and after helping Remy into the one and only lawn chair below the window, Chase hurried back inside and retrieved the water bottle from the floor and a packet of tissues. Then he joined Remy outside again and squatted down on the ground in front of him.

Remy's breathing was coming easier now, but he was still crying silently.

Chase lowered one knee to the ground. "What happened in there?" he asked quietly as he brought Remy's injured foot up to his leg.

Remy shrugged then winced and hissed when Chase poured some water over the redness that circled his ankle. "Sometimes it's too much."

Chase nodded, carefully patting the wound dry. "You break down often?"

"No." Remy raised his gaze. "That’s why alcohol is amazing."

Chase sighed and sat back on his heels. "You don’t want any help, do you?"

He already knew Remy's answer, but what he chose to focus on was that Remy hesitated before he actually replied. Vulnerability shone in his pale green eyes until resignation tightened his features and he delivered a steely no.

So stubborn.

He was even worse than Chase.

"I'm done talking." Remy leaned back in the chair and blew out a slow breath. "What a fucking night." He closed his eyes and absently scratched his bare chest.

Chase eyed the Joshua tree on Remy's ribcage, wanting to ask about it, but he refrained. It felt personal—too personal—and Chase wasn’t ready to get to know Remy. Talking about the past they shared…it was becoming abundantly clear Chase had suppressed his need to do that for a long time, and he was done running. But more than that…? No.

"We could get through this, you know." Chase squinted due to the faint porch light above Remy. He felt exposed talking about this—especially with Remy Stahl—but the sooner he could defeat his demons, the faster he could move on with his life. One day, he'd like to sit down with his friends and not have to force his smiles. "I got my own guilt to deal with," he admitted to Remy for the first time, "but I'm not even gonna pretend I can do it alone. I've tried and failed these past three years."

One of the countless knots that made up the tight ropework around Chase's chest loosened at his admission. It was a fucking relief, but the feeling of exposure had grown.

Gallardos weren't supposed to show weakness. Or rely on others.

Stand on your own two feet without help
.

Gallardos weren't supposed to be gay, either…

Remy frowned and pulled his lip ring between his teeth. "What on earth could you possibly feel guilty about?"

Where do I start?
Chase chuckled, a quiet and wry sound, and ran a hand over his head. "I could tell you right now, but…" A plan took shape as the words left Chase's mouth, and he tilted his head at Remy, wondering if this could work. Or would he be giving Remy too much credit? Fuck it. He decided to try. "You know what?" He stood up and crushed the used tissue into a ball. "Let me ask you this. Would you help me work through my shit?"

There. I've asked for help.

Remy nodded slowly, his brow furrowing. "Of course I would help. It's the least I could do."

There was no "of course" about it, in Chase's opinion. He had never taken anybody's offer of help for granted, and he wasn’t about to start now. "I'd like to help you, too," he said. "So, whenever you're ready, we can start."

"Wait a minute." Remy sat up straighter and scowled. "Are you saying you won't get help for yourself until I do the same?"

Chase shrugged. "Yeah."

Remy sat back with a scoff. "Minna and Andy have tried for a whole year—even before then, before I shut down. What makes you think I'd magically come crying to you?"

Irritated but up to the challenge, Chase leaned down and planted his hands on the armrests of Remy's chair, towering over him.

"No magic." With their faces only a foot apart, Chase was drawn to the little details in Remy's features that made him even more attractive. "I'm not saying it's gonna happen before I leave tomorrow." His gaze flicked from Remy's faint five o'clock shadow to his eyes. "Your friends have my number. Feel free to use it." Up close like this, Chase detected flecks of silver—or was it blue?—mixing with the green.

Remy held his stare, defiant but not without apprehension. "Don’t hold your breath." He feigned confidence and threw Chase a devil-may-care smirk as he reached up and brushed a thumb over Chase's jaw. "There's only one reason I'd call you."

Chase made sure to keep his expression blank, but it was a far cry from what he felt. Remy was clearly doing this to push Chase away, send him running, yet the part of Chase that was lonely and screaming for affection couldn’t help but wonder if he held at least a little appeal to Remy.

And wasn’t that a kick in the head? Could he be so lonely that even the smallest part of him actually wanted Remy—fucking Remy Stahl—to…what, find him hot? Christ.

Revulsion mixed with the yearning.

Remember what happened last time
.

"You want to know why I'd call you, Chase?" Remy murmured.

Chase's mouth twisted into a dark smile. "No, I'm good." He swallowed as Remy's fingers ghosted down his throat. "Do you try to push away everyone like this? By pretending to wanna fuck them?"

Remy's smirk turned sly, his eyes way too inviting for Chase's liking. "Who said anything about pretending? You're so sexy you make my mouth water." He leaned forward a few inches, and Chase froze. "Disgusted yet?"

Little did Remy know, huh? Chase straightened before his cock could cause an issue, and he took a couple steps back to clear his head.

"My offer stands," he said eventually, clearing his throat. "When you're ready to talk—really talk—call me." Then he motioned to the door. "Time to get back inside."

Chapter 10

Remy shot the body-art magazine splayed on his pillow a death glare.

Minna popped her chewing gum and drummed a bottle of nail polish on the kitchen table.

Triple-digit heat.

Goddamn headache.

A few birds chirped outside, flocking to the makeshift birdbath Andy had set up a couple days ago.

The table fan whirred with life, keeping the hot air in the cabin in motion.

Tap, tap. Tap. Tap, tap, tap
. Minna started tapping her foot.
Pop, smatter, pop
. Fucking bubble gum.

Frustrated and bored out of his mind, Remy pushed the magazine aside and sat up in the bed.

He eyed his restraint and huffed.

It was a sturdy leather cuff these days, but a key was still needed to unlock the damn thing. Minna had bought it when she'd seen the effects the other one had on Remy's ankle.

No more polka dots.

He looked at Minna. "You know, when Andy's here, he lets me walk around without the cuff."

Andy had even taken him to a doctor a couple weeks ago, but he'd been in too much pain to even think about escape.
Let's be frank: I feared for my dick
. Feverish, nauseated, and with a burning sensation when he pissed, he'd been resigned to find out he'd contracted a damn STD, but he was lucky. It was only a bladder infection, and he'd had those before, thanks to issues with kidney stones when he was a kid.

Nothing a little antibiotics and a whole lot of water couldn’t fix.

"That’s because he can outrun you." Minna smiled. "Have you reconsidered my offer?"

Remy pressed his lips together, sick of all the
offers
.

In the weeks that had passed since Chase had been here, Remy had broken down a handful of times, and Minna was taking it the hardest. Her offer involved having a therapist drive out here and get him to talk, but more than that, prescribe him medication for his anxiety.

"I don’t need a mind-fucker, but thanks." He shot Minna a sarcastic smile, then let his expression fall back in to one of boredom as he stared out the window.

Weeks. Fucking
weeks
. He didn’t know the exact date—nor did he care—but he knew it was August. Yet, even as the days passed, he thought about Chase as much as he had the day after the man had left.

Another offer right there.
"Your friends have my number. Feel free to use it."

More often than not, Remy found himself wanting to ask Andy or Minna for Chase's number. Remy wanted to know why Chase felt guilty, why he hadn't been able to move on these past three years, and why the
fuck
he thought Remy could help.

He remembered Chase mentioning he had questions, but if that was all there was, he could simply send a note along with Minna or Andreas, and Remy could write back. Then Chase could go on with his life—if the answers mattered so much.

Remy was uncomfortable with the idea of being responsible for another man's well-being; it would only add to the mountain of guilt that threatened to crush him at every hour of the day. But at the same time, he acknowledged the fact that there was something he could do here. He wasn’t helpless or clueless. There was a chance of doing something
good
. Remy ached for it, but the asking price was too steep.

He was stuck. He wasn’t looking for salvation, but if his friends asked him now whether or not he wanted to go back to LA, Remy didn’t have an answer. Oh, it would be easy to lie and deliver a
fuck yes
, but it would taste bitter.

The thought of seeing the LA crowd he'd partied with for so long now made his stomach churn. Though, he wouldn’t say no to a drink. Hell, he'd be all over that shit. Or a few sleeping pills, to allow him one night's sleep where he didn’t wake up drenched in sweat from nightmares.

He kept seeing Chase's face, too. Some nights, he was there to offer comfort, which Remy wanted to run toward, but fear held him back. Other nights, Chase shouted at him, cursed him out for being a pussy, and blamed Remy for everything that had happened.

A few nights… Well, it had been a long time since Remy had gotten off, so no wonder he had an active imagination.

"Are you hungry?" Minna asked softly.

Remy shrugged. "I'm sick of sandwiches and chips." It was what Andy offered, and Remy didn’t feel like cooking—not that he'd be able to do much in this sad excuse for a kitchen.
Kitchenette
. In another life, he'd enjoyed trying new things every now and then. He'd even taken a couple cooking classes.

He frowned to himself, flickers of his past visualizing in his mind. Laughter, teasing, music, the buzz of a tattoo gun, Minna's beaming smiles, Andreas's good-natured ribbing…

While Remy had fought to be accepted into the Stahl family, he'd had a real family in the Erikssons all along.

"I can bring some Vietnamese food next time I come." Minna looked hopeful. "Remember? We'd get Vietnamese at that place near Andy's studio. Or some El Taco Loco? We used to bring it over to the Bluffs at night."

Remy remembered.
Another life
. "Don’t you have a new school year to plan?" Minna's shoulders sagged with defeat, and Remy wanted to kick himself in the gut. "I'm sorry, but…fuck, Minna." He groaned and tugged at his hair. "You have to stop taking trips down memory lane. It won't work." He loathed hurting his friends like this, but what could he say? "I'm never gonna feel better."

"Not unless you want it." Minna threw a wistful look at the floor. "But I can't give up on you, Rem. I need to believe that we'll look back on this one day as a war you won—"

"Pizza!" Remy blurted out. Minna's brows rose as she looked up at him. He blew out a breath. "I could go for some pizza."

One thing had changed in the past few weeks, and it was related to Minna's fairy-tale ramblings. Used to scoffing and laughing at them, Remy now hurt whenever she got started. The hole in his chest gaped open wider every time she mentioned happiness in the future.

"Nobody delivers up here," Minna reasoned.

"I know." Remy nodded slowly. "But you can go get it."

Minna hesitated, not on board with the idea. "I don’t want to leave you here alone. Driving down the hill to get reception and make calls is one thing, but I'd be gone for at least an hour if—"

"So?" Remy didn’t get it. "One hour isn't going to kill me."

"My brother can do that—stupid ass." Minna made a face. "But it's not safe to leave you restrained all alone."

Remy smirked. "Hey, you can always unlock the…" The rest of the sentence died with Minna's withering look. "Never mind."

"But you know what?" Minna stood up and walked to the kitchenette in the corner. "We have all the ingredients for my cinnamon toast. Want me to make some?" Remy offered a placating smile and nodded. At least Minna didn’t look defeated and hurt anymore. "I've realized something." She opened a cupboard to pull out the one and only skillet for the portable stovetop. "This is the most we've talked in a long time." A pang hit Remy squarely in the chest, but Minna hadn’t said it to be mean. Instead, she grinned over her shoulder and said, "That’s what I like to call progress."

Remy adored that woman, and he didn’t deserve to be included in her positive outlook on life, but he was beginning to feel the need to make things up to her. Long overdue though it was.

He was having a good spell, he knew. With the mood changes he experienced, it was a miracle Andy hadn't beaten him into a pulp yet.

"Maybe you'd like to tell me more about, um…" Minna gave him a sideways glance before refocusing on mixing cinnamon and powdered sugar with butter. "About Chase." Well, that put a damper on things. "You only told us that he knows about the money—that you supported Ben, and he didn’t freak out. That’s good, right?"

Remy sighed and stared down at his hands, imagining the blood he had on them. Regardless of Chase's reaction to Remy having given Ben money, there was no shaking the guilt.

He didn’t want to talk about it with Minna—or Andreas.

In the past, he'd told them pretty much everything about the whole ordeal, but it hadn't been to share his pain or whatever. His shrink had kept telling him he was a victim, and he couldn’t agree, so he'd opened up to the Erikssons in an attempt to get them to side with him and say,
"Yeah, you carry some of the blame."

They hadn't done any of that.

Even the police had dismissed it after they'd asked if he'd known about Ben's intentions.

"Or we don’t have to talk about it." Minna smiled tightly.

"I'm sorry." Would Remy ever run out of reasons to apologize? "It's not easy. I barely even know what to say, and…" How could he explain? He didn’t want to hurt Minna; he didn’t want to expose her anymore to his moods. "I don’t want to lash out on you."

"I don’t mind," she said quickly. "It's part of it, getting off drugs. I've read up on it, and I'm aware you can be like a ticking time bomb—"

"
I
mind." He pointed at himself, irritated that Minna was okay with being treated like shit. "As fruitless as I think all this is—what you and Andy are doing—I know you guys have good intentions. You want what's best for me, I get it, but I'm kinda done using you as my proverbial punching bag." He slumped back while Minna stared at him. "What?" He scowled.

She snapped out of…whatever that was…and beamed at him. "I see glimpses of the old you, you know. The Remy who was considerate and selfless."

"Shut up." He gave her a flat stare and ignored the bloom of warmth in his gut. It was fleeting, soon snuffed out by his normal state of depression.

Minna gigglesnorted. "Well, it's true. But anyway, if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. Andy will be here tomorrow, and you
know
he can handle your bitching. Perhaps you can tell Andreas about the Joshua tree, too?" She raised a brow, teasing. "I'm crazy curious."

"Actually—" Fuck. That word came out of nowhere. Or not nowhere, but it wasn’t supposed to be voiced. Nevertheless, it was there now, and Remy felt compelled to finish. "I think I want to talk to Chase."

He had no plans to agree to Chase's terms, but Remy was ready to bargain.

*

It was past ten PM when Chase finally made it to Austin and Cam's house. What with it being Friday and all, he hadn't been able to leave Donna with the bar earlier. Hell, had it not been for the music festival taking place in Bakersfield this weekend, he wouldn't have been able to get away at all. But as it was, only a dozen patrons were at the bar now, and Donna had promised to call if there were any problems.

If Donna didn't call, Tucker would.

Old Tuck was a new addition, and Chase had grown fond of the man. In his late sixties, the merry Santa look-alike could drink an Irishman into oblivion while he remained unaffected himself, he had traveled all over the world on his bike, his glare from his corner of the bar could end any kind of "ruckus," as he called it, and he had taken the position of security detail, only accepting payment in beer.

Chase could definitely live with that.

As he rang the doorbell, he could hear the guys on the other side of the house.
Happy birthday to Cam
. It had been his wish to have a poker night once the parents, in-laws, and nieces had gone home.

It was a sleepy Riley who opened the door, Bourbon and Nacho wagging their tails by her feet. "Hi, Chase." She smiled and opened the door wider.

"How you doin', pip-squeak?" Chase grinned a little and tugged on one of the braids in her hair. "Nice pajamas." Cam's brother Landon had no doubt given them to her, as they had little motorcycles printed all over the shorts and top.

If Chase loved bikes, Landon was obsessed.

"Uncle Landon's promised to teach me to drive one when I'm older." Riley's smile widened before she made a face. "My parents won’t like it, but I wasn’t born to make things easy for them, right?"

"Right." Chase chuckled, relieved he wasn’t in Austin's and Cam's shoes. Chase liked children, but he'd be the kind of father who locked up the kids until they were thirty, unless he wanted a series of heart attacks. "Everyone's in the back, I take it?"

Riley nodded and Chase entered the house, closing and locking the door behind him.

"Dad—I mean Cam," she clarified, "is like the only one who hasn’t had one too many. Uncle Derek is the
worst
." She giggled. "He gives me money when he's had too much wine." A sigh full of contentment slipped out. "I love it when he visits."

"Never heard of an Uncle Derek." Chase pushed the sleeves of his Henley past his elbows as they walked through the living room. "Is he on Austin's side?" He'd met everyone in Cam's family as they were all local. But the Huntleys were spread around a bit more.

"Yep, he's Dad's cousin. He lives with his husband in Maryland."

Huh. Nothing much Chase could say about that. But gay men popping up all over Bakersfield was certainly strange. The city where Chase was born and raised wasn’t like most places in California. If anything, Bakersfield represented the Lone Star State in all its conservative, cow-tipping, country music-loving glory.