Keeping Promise Rock (38 page)

“Forgive me if I don’t get up,” he said, trying to remember all the shit he learned about keeping his head.

“Understandable—so you’re Benny’s brother?”

“Yes ma’am. So you’re the tight-ass who said Deacon was a sex deviant?” Fuck. So much for maturity.

“Crick!” Benny hissed, and he didn’t care for the pinched, terrified look on her face one single bit.

“Well I’m sorry!” he snapped back. “You’re walking around this woman on eggshells, and the baby is happy and fine, and you’re happy and fine, and Deacon doesn’t deserve to have her come in and make him feel like shit!”

“This woman” managed to regain her composure after a moment and said, “There was some concern about Mr. Winters having an inappropriate relationship with your sister, Mr. Francis. We understand that the two of you were engaged in sexual conduct when you were still in high school as well.”

Crick looked at her and felt his face turn red. His blood was rushing so hard through his body that his wounds throbbed with it. “I. Wish.” The growl was low and angry, and she flinched away from it.

“Well, you were living here with him when you were sixteen.”

“Because my parents kicked me out when I came out of the closet!” And why did this particular event seem to have defined his life? Jesus, it seemed like two years in Iraq would give him some better stories to tell!

“I… I was under the impression you—and your sister—ran away,” she said, seemingly disconcerted, and Crick’s expression got darker.

“I went to a funeral and came home to my shit on the lawn. Deacon helped me pick it up, and Parish gave me the spare room to keep it in.”

“At least you got your shit on the lawn!” Benny spat. “I told them I was pregnant and managed a set of pajamas and a black eye before Deacon came and got me.” She looked at the social worker with understandable loathing. “And I told you all of this—and you ignored me.

But I notice you’re not ignoring Crick.”

Ms. Abernathy had the grace to flush. “Your brother is very convincing.”

Crick glared at her. “So is my sister. You just didn’t want to listen.

And all that crap you were saying about an inappropriate relationship—” He shuddered to actually consider this, but it explained a lot about Deacon’s introversion, which seemed to have gotten even worse. “Um, did you actually say that crap to Deacon?”

“He denied it,” she conceded, “but you weren’t here to collaborate.

If Bernice here hadn’t been so adamant that he wasn’t forcing himself on her….”

Oh God. Hearing her confirm it…. Thinking about Deacon accused of the worst sort of conduct while he was trying to keep his family together in the best sort of ways… Crick couldn’t do it. He stood up on shaky legs.

“Who would say that?” he asked, near tears. “Who in the fuck would say that about Deacon?” He looked at Benny in outrage, and her face was flushed, but she looked wearily resolved, as though she’d heard this before.

“Who do you think, Crick? And it only got worse when we sent her away at the hospital—she and Bob haven’t shut up about him, I guess.” 258

Crick held on to the back of the couch, wanting his strength back so he could kick something. “Are you high? Are all of the people in this town high? This is Deacon Winters you’re talking about! God damn… how could you think he’d do this?”

Ms. Abernathy was pale now but sticking to her guns. “Mr. Winters was not exactly forthcoming about his reasons to take the girl in. And he seemed guilty in previous visits—especially about you.” Crick pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes to keep from weeping like a baby. “He was mortified, you bitch!”

“Crick!” Amy hissed, and he shook her off.

“Fuck that. Nobody says that shit about Deacon. You listen to me—

you go tell whoever you report to that Deacon Winters is the best man I’ve ever known. You go tell them that I was the world’s horniest twenty-year-old virgin and I had to seduce
him
, and you go tell them that he took my sister in because she’s my family and he’s just that fucking decent. And then you tell them to leave us the hell alone, you hear me?”

“Now Mr. Francis….”

“That’s Second Lieutenant Francis to you—I served my country for two years, and I’ve been decorated on the field twice, and I learned everything I know about honor and decency from the man you just called a baby-raper. You want to come back on this property one more time?

You’d better have a fucking warrant!”

“Crick!” Benny protested, and even Amy was trying to stand up, and Crick gave up on holding back the tears and looked at the social worker with a wet face and his own loathing.

“I’m serious,” he said thickly. “Nobody does this shit to Deacon.

Nobody.”

Ms. Abernathy stood up and straightened her skirt with unnecessary force. “Well, at least you’ve put our minds to rest about some things,” she said shakily, and Crick just stared at her and shook his head.

“What do in the fuck do I have to sign to get you the fuck out of here?”

Secret Gardens

DEACON’S hand had never really healed right the second time he broke it. He’d managed to dislocate his thumb about three times since the cast came off, always unexpectedly, and always with a great deal of pain.

At least he knew the drill.

He was working one of their few two-year olds—their money-makers, if they could show them and get them papered—when the skittish thing pulled back her head at the exact moment Deacon noticed the social worker’s car pulled up in the drive.

His lungful of “
Fuck!
”
probably didn’t make the impression he was aiming for—not that the woman seemed to like him anyway.

Andrew hurried over and grabbed the halter, and Deacon leaned against the fence, trying to see through the spots in front of his eyes.

“Awww, fuck,” he panted. “I gotta go set this!”

“Yeah,” Andrew told him sympathetically. “Just make sure you’re by the crapper when you do.”

Something about the particular type of pain of setting the thing back triggered Deacon’s gag reflex like nothing else. It was humbling, but it was true—the first three times didn’t lie.

So Deacon was not exactly in the best form when he shouldered his way through the mudroom and then through the kitchen. When he got there, Crick and Ms. Abernathy looked up at him, startled, and he gave them a green smile through the spots in front of his eyes.

“Good to see you, Ms. Abernathy… Crick, I see you’ve met. Um, would you both excuse me… and, um….” Pain was taking over his body, radiating from his tendon, enflaming his entire arm. “Whatever you hear from the bathroom, would you ignore it?”

“Oh Jesus,” Benny said, coming from the living room. “Deacon, you didn’t do it again?”

“Yeah, Shorty—really did. You want to help me out since you know the drill?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, choosing to stumble for the bathroom instead. When he got there, he carefully aligned his thumb with the doorjamb and then threw his full weight against it, howling as it popped back into the joint.
Wait for it… wait for it….

When Crick limped into the room with the ace bandage from the other bathroom, he was sitting on the side of the tub, losing his breakfast into the commode.

“Deacon?” Crick sounded really tired—and mildly amused, but unfortunately, Deacon’s only response was another heave. He stayed there for a minute, his ass on the side of the bathtub and his shoulders trembling, before he looked up and tried a shaky smile.

“Believe it or not, I feel better already.” It was true—if they kept the thumb wrapped up against his hand, it would be good in a couple of days.

“I’m not sure I believe it,” Crick said softly. Deacon sat up and put the lid down on the seat so Crick could sit. He did, gratefully, and held out the ace bandage, and together, a little awkwardly, they managed to wrap his hand in a way that didn’t disgrace either of them. When they were done, Crick refused to relinquish it, sitting instead with Deacon’s bandaged hand between his, stroking Deacon’s wrist softly with his good hand.

“Is she gone?” Deacon asked, mesmerized by those strong fingers on the inside of his wrist. He’d seen Crick signing some papers—he assumed that Benny’s actual brother had better luck at the bureaucracy game than her gay brother-in-law.

“Yeah, you started barfing and that pretty much cleared her out. She was horrible, Deacon. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that sort of thing while I was gone.” He looked so distressed! Deacon pulled up a smile from somewhere and tried to calm him down a little.

“It wasn’t so bad—same shit you’ve put up with your whole life.” He closed his eyes and just savored that touch on his arm. Ahh… God. He didn’t even care that they were in a bathroom again, it just mattered that Crick was there, touching him.

“No, Deacon—that was worse,” Crick said, but Deacon thought it probably wasn’t.

“You signed stuff? So Parry can stay with us?”

“Yeah—I’ve got full custody of both of them now. Harder to take them away with the blood tie, I guess. Dumb-asses.” Deacon thought he’d be able to smile at this, but his throat worked, and he managed a nod instead.

“What?” Crick still knew him—his expressions and his noises and things.

“Nothing.” Deacon shook his head, but Crick’s grip on his arm got firmer, and Deacon sighed. “It was nice—even just on paper—to be that baby’s daddy, that’s all.”

Crick looked away. “Can’t help you with that one, Deacon,” he said at last, and Deacon found he could manage a real smile after all.

“She’ll be ours to raise for as long as Benny lets us. It’ll be enough, right?”

Crick’s expression was a lot older than Crick himself. “Deacon, man, you’ve got to start asking for more in life. I’m serious. It’s like there’s these whole unexplored places in your heart of things you want but won’t give a voice to. I would
never
have known how bad you wanted kids, do you know that? If Benny hadn’t shown up with one in the oven, it never would have occurred to me that you would have missed out on something that is so big, it’s almost like your arm or your leg or something.” Deacon shrugged. “You would have figured it out—you’re still pretty young. You get the right to be self-centered when you’re young.” Crick’s grimace was all twist and darkness. “Like you’ve ever known.”

Deacon didn’t have anything to say to that. He stood up then, because there was more shit to do, and brushed his teeth quickly while Crick watched him with troubled eyes. When he was done and had washed his face for good measure, he bent over, rested his good hand on Crick’s good shoulder, and kissed his temple. “You’ve done your good deed for today, Carrick—you made our family safer than I ever could. How about 262

you go take a nap in front of the television and let this old man go do his chores?”

“You’re twenty-seven, Deacon.” But he was smiling a little when he said it.

“Some good years left,” Deacon grinned, starting on his way out the door. Crick’s voice stopped him.

“Deacon?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever going to tell me what the Valium’s for?”

“Not if I can help it,” he said, and with a thump on the doorframe with his good hand, he was gone.

And ah, God… sweet, merciful God, it was so damned good to have him home.

Deacon tended to his bandages—fewer every day—and to his medicine, doing everything in his power to keep Crick healthy and pain free in the next week, and Crick seemed to be bouncing back like a rubber ball.

He was grateful for his first shower, even though it was sitting on the stool inside the bathtub, and Deacon was grateful for the chance to see him, all of him, whole and well and clean and getting healthier, under the spray.

“I’m going to have scars,” he said mournfully, and Deacon couldn’t gainsay it.

“You’re going to walk on your own,” Deacon said, passion in his words. “With some PT, you’ll be able to use your hand—Crick, you can ride a horse again.”

Crick looked down at himself under the sluice of warm water and antibiotic soap and grimaced still, even as Deacon soaped up his chest and his side, being very careful not to use enough force to draw blood as he scrubbed Crick’s shunts and healing burns.

“I was pretty once,” he said, and Deacon actually smiled.

“Never knew you were vain, Carrick. I still think you’re pretty.” Oh, how he did too. Crick’s body was functional—the scars were meaningless.

Crick was sitting there, working on getting better. His muscles were still connected; his graceful, rangy, long limbs still moved on command. His eyes could still see, and Deacon felt Crick’s sensitive fingertips ranging Keeping Promise Rock

Deacon’s chest, his stomach, and his shoulders every night as they let Crick heal and reacquainted each other with the touch of skin from another human being. Crick, sitting up and alert and able to move—well, damn, that was the most beautiful thing Deacon had ever seen.

Crick squinted at him through the warm water. “Deacon, how long have you loved me like this?”

Deacon knew he blushed, but he couldn’t help it. He closed the shower curtain on Crick and made a business of sopping up the water on the floor.

“Does it matter?” he asked when Crick seemed to be waiting for an answer.