Tough Love (42 page)

He couldn’t believe in the words by themselves, but he could believe in Chenco. He could follow him anywhere, and he would, as long as his boy would allow him. Maybe Chenco only sometimes needed him, but Steve needed Chenco every minute of every hour of every single day.

As the last of his burdens fell away, as Chenco expertly scooped them up and insisted he could take even more, Steve followed the promise of hope, of happiness, of joy.

He followed his heart up the stairs as his lover enfolded him in his arms, Chenco’s strength bearing him up, carrying the pain.

With Chenco there to keep him safe, Steve let himself be loved.

Chapter Twenty-Six

In September, on the day of his wedding, Chenco got an email from Booker.

He’d been fooling around on the Internet while Randy did something with Chenco’s tie, and there it was, right in his inbox. Chenco almost didn’t open it because he didn’t want anything to spoil the day, but he clicked anyway. He was glad he did.

Booker, it turned out, had gone to L.A. He’d run away from Trist after a bad fight, hopped a bus and left, determined to get his own fresh start. Of course he’d ended up getting high and in trouble, and then he met a guy.

We’re not fucking,
Book wrote, but he said this guy was super-solid, a total ace who’d kept him up all night talking on Malibu beach and the next day got him into rehab. The email, it turned out, was one of his steps. He said he understood if Chenco didn’t want to talk to him, but he wanted to apologize for what he had done wrong, and then he proceeded to list, in painful detail, all the ways he felt he’d let his friend down. It went on and on and on, and by the end Chenco was crying.

Randy got worried and tried to go get Steve, but Chenco waved impatiently at him and said stop, he was fine. Then he wiped his eyes, squared his shoulders, and wrote back to Booker, saying of course he forgave him. He said they needed to set up a Skype chat or something soon, whatever his clinic allowed, and then he wrote,
OMG, I’m about to get married, bitch.
Can you fucking believe it?
When he finally sent the email, he felt whole, as if a jagged piece of his life had begun to move into place.

He bustled around with Randy and Sam, getting the house ready for the ceremony. Tonight he and Steve would go to their new home down the street, in the place
Chenco
had bought, or at least put a mortgage on with his first two checks from Ethan and a significant loan from Crabtree. It
was
a loan, though, he’d told the gangster. This was his castle, and he’d build every brick of it himself.

Crabtree had seemed very pleased with that declaration and told him to take his time paying him back.

Lincoln had come, and though he was staying at Herod’s, he was at the house today, helping Sam put up decorations. Only fifty people were coming, and half of them were already there helping, but Chenco loved the family feeling of it all.

Married. He was getting
married
.

To Steve.
Today.

It wasn’t going to be a fancy ceremony, but it would be special. Ethan had gotten himself ordained so he could officiate, and Mitch and Randy and Sam stood up as their attendants. As they got ready to start, however, Chenco noticed his brother was a little twitchy, always looking at the front door instead of toward the patio, where the ceremony was all ready to go.

“What’s going on?” Chenco demanded at last.

“Nothing,” Mitch replied, obviously lying. He turned to Sam with a frown. “Will you…?”

Sam kissed him and hurried down the hallway. “I’ll put Crabtree on it.”

Chenco tried to press Mitch about what he was doing, but before he got anywhere, Steve found him and told him they needed to go get ready.

“He’s up to something,” Chenco said as they fussed with each other’s ties.

“Yes, I think he is,” Steve said calmly. “Let him. He’s your brother, and he wants to do something special for your wedding day.”

That was obvious, except something about the whole scenario had Chenco’s belly full of butterflies. When he came down the stairs to get ready for the processional, he glanced out at the lawn, saw who was sitting in the front row on his side, and he fell against Steve, stunned out of his ability to stand.

“
Mama.
” His throat became horribly thick. “Is—is—?”

“Yes, Carmelita is here.” Steve rubbed Chenco’s back reassuringly, speaking in gentle tones. “Mitch’s last run wasn’t to Los Angeles, it was to the valley, and he made a stop in Edinburg. Part of his cargo was a DVD of your performances.” He nuzzled Chenco’s temple with a chuckle. “I wish I could have seen it. He has to look just like Cooper did when she met him.”

Chenco couldn’t stop staring at the front row, at the familiar, beautiful head of dark hair, now streaked with gray.

She came. For me.

Chenco’s gaze moved from his mother to his brother, who gazed at him with such pride he seemed in danger of exploding with it.

Mama. Here at my wedding. Mitch brought my mama to me.
Chenco’s fingers dug into Steve’s arm. Had she forgiven him? Was she truly okay with this, with his getting married to a man, performing in drag in Las Vegas? Could this be real?

“I’m going to bawl like a baby.”

“That’s fine.” Steve squeezed him close. “Just not yet. Pull yourself together, honey. We’re going to go get married.”

They did. He walked up the aisle with Steve and stood before Ethan, signing a whole new contract, one that would go in his cedar box, with the now-outdated BDSM agreement and the letters from his mother.

The letters from Carmelita, who was here, watching him get married.

When he’d come down the aisle, Chenco had lingered at his mother, unsure if he should hug her, thank her or what. He couldn’t believe everything was completely okay between them just because Mitch had convinced her to come. Yes, there was work to do between them, he could see this, but when he smiled at her, she smiled back—slightly tentative, but it was a smile.

The biggest challenge came after the ceremony.
Chenco’s
surprise for everyone was performing his new number, the one he’d cancelled in June when he’d told the L.A. agent he was grateful for the chance to meet her, but his partner was going through a difficult time, and he’d need to either pass or reschedule. He was due to fly down to Los Angeles later in the month for the rescheduled performance. Chenco still wasn’t sure he wanted anything more than what he had, a nice house, a husband and a regular gig on the Vegas stage.

But as Ethan often said, it certainly couldn’t hurt to see how far he could fly.

Performing was fine, except now his mother was here. Chenco wasn’t ashamed, and in fact if anything he was sorry he’d elected to give the performance
not
in drag—he wanted her to see the whole thing, the real deal. He was nervous, though, in a way he hadn’t been on any stage. Not once had his mother seen him dance and done anything but tell him he had to stop.

You won’t stop me, Mama. Not today. Not ever.

Gathering his courage and taking strength from his husband in the front row, Chenco motioned to Randy to start the music, assumed his place on the stage Mitch had arranged at the end of the lawn and let his queen fly without a single sequin to hold her up.

He sang “Live It Up” since he hadn’t performed it for anyone yet but Ethan and his team. He wanted the people he loved most to see it first. A few of his regular backup dancers accompanied him, but they had none of their pyrotechnics, no lifts, glitter cannons, only themselves, the stage and the music.

It was strange, almost surreal to play himself, not Caramela, but within a few beats of the song, he was so, so glad he had. For one, he sang both parts, Pitbull and JLo, moving fluidly between man and woman. He shook his booty with a vengeance to make the diva herself impressed, and when he sang the line about knowing they liked her bumper, he winked at Randy, who clapped and laughed—and waggled his eyebrows.

Ethan joined him on stage for the middle section of the song, leading him through a seductive ballroom dance. This was in the show as well, and Randy said he couldn’t wait to see how green everyone was when the hot casino owner got to dance with the sexy goddess, then go home with the grungy poker player from the shadows. Dancing with Ethan was as beautiful and erotic as it always was, and Chenco had to agree, it would be wicked fun to do it in full costume onstage.

When he finished, the small crowd erupted in whistles and wild applause. Ethan patted him on the back, Mitch beamed, and Steve—
his husband
—drew him into a tight embrace and kissed him hard, telling him he was wonderful.

Chenco accepted all their praise, thanked them for it—then turned to Carmelita.

She had tears in her eyes as she came forward, hands pressed together in front of her mouth. Behind her Sam wept openly, sinking into Mitch’s waiting embrace. Chenco couldn’t focus on them, though, couldn’t see anyone but his mother, his mama who was here, who had come to him after all.

“Mama,” he whispered, his throat raw, his heart aching.

Please, please have liked it. Please, please love me.

With a determination and strength that made Caramela look rather flimsy, Carmelita came forward, took Chenco’s face in her hands and squeezed.

“Crescencio,” she said, her voice quiet but strong, her soft, beautiful accent curling around Chenco’s ears. “
Cariño
. I am so very,
very
proud of you.”

Joy beyond Chenco’s imagining filled his heart, his whole body humming with love and pride as she smiled at him.

“Me too,” Chenco said, and hugged her tight.

About the Author

Heidi Cullinan has always loved a good love story, provided it has a happy ending. She enjoys writing across many genres but loves above all to write happy, romantic endings for LGBT characters because there just aren’t enough of those stories out there. When Heidi isn’t writing, she enjoys cooking, reading, knitting, listening to music, and watching television with her husband and ten-year-old daughter. Heidi is a vocal advocate for LGBT rights and is proud to be from the first Midwestern state with full marriage equality. Find out more about Heidi, including her social networks, at
www.heidicullinan.com
.

Look for these titles by Heidi Cullinan

Now Available:

A Private Gentleman

Family Man (with Marie Sexton)

Let it Snow

Love Lessons

Love Lessons

Special Delivery

Special Delivery

Double Blind

Coming Soon:

Love Lessons

Fever Pitch

To seal their bond, they must break the ties that bind.

A Private Gentleman

© 2012 Heidi Cullinan

Painfully introverted and rendered nearly mute by a heavy stammer, Lord George Albert Westin rarely ventures any farther than the club or his beloved gardens. When he hears rumors of an exotic new orchid sighted at a local hobbyist’s house, though, he girds himself with opiates and determination to attend a house party, hoping to sneak a peek.

He finds the orchid, yes…but he finds something else even more rare and exquisite: Michael Vallant. Professional sodomite.

Michael climbed out of an adolescent hell as a courtesan’s bastard to become successful and independent-minded, seeing men on his own terms, protected by a powerful friend. He is master of his own world—until Wes. Not only because, for once, the sex is for pleasure and not for profit. They are joined by tendrils of a shameful, unspoken history. The closer his shy, poppy-addicted lover lures him to the light of love, the harder his past works to drag him back into the dark.

There’s only one way out of this tangle. Help Wes face the fears that cripple him—right after Michael finds the courage to reveal the devastating truth that binds them.

Warning: Contains wounded heroes, bibliophilic tendencies, orchid obsessions, a right bastard of a marquis, and gay men who get happily-ever-afters.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
A Private Gentleman:

“Vall
ant
!” Sir Joshua barked. The shout echoed against the empty walls. The baronet mumbled beneath his breath as the sound of footsteps came closer. Both Vallant and Wes tensed when the sheet rippled and the chair creaked. But Sir Joshua didn’t find them, only grunted and farted as he settled back in the chair anchoring their sheet, breathing heavily.

“Fucking cocktease,” he grumbled. Another grunt, another fart, and then a belch as well.

Wes and Vallant held very still. They also tried not to breathe.

Sir Joshua did not rise. After the passage of a few more minutes, he began to snore.

Wes and Vallant were trapped. They sat beneath the sheet, inches apart and staring at one another. Vallant no longer looked terrified, but he didn’t look settled, either. The strangest thing, however, was that Wes got the distinct feeling it wasn’t Sir Joshua who upset Vallant the most. It was Wes. And the longer they sat there, silent and staring, the more desperately Wes wanted to know what about him inspired such a reaction.