Promises 2 (11 page)

“I’m not worried. Good night, Roman.”

“Night, baby.” Quick winked and smiled when Cayson ducked back into his room. Quick couldn’t wait to be invited up there… he wasn’t going up a second before he received an invitation, either.

Quick waited until he finally heard light snores filtering down to him before he got back up. First thing he did was move his truck around the corner so it wasn’t obviously visible. If Dr. Prick was coming back, he wanted him to think that he was gone. Closing the front door as quietly as possible when he returned, he looked around on the interior wall and noticed the absence of a security system. To Quick, it meant that night after night Cayson slept completely unprotected. For fuck’s sake. He hoped the guy at least had a gun or some type of weapon.

Opting to keep on his jeans, albeit unbuttoned, he removed his shirt and boots. After perusing Cayson’s bookshelf, his CD collection, and his DVDs, Quick made a few mental notes of what Cayson liked. He also made a note to tease him about the Lady Gaga CD he found way down on the bottom rack.

Quick shook his head. He had a warm feeling in his gut that he and Cayson could possibly have something. That is, if the doctor didn’t think him too much a roughneck. He may not be as educated and refined, but he was an honest, successful business owner. Surely, that gave him some bonus points.

He was thinking of where he’d take Cayson on their second date when Quick heard a faint noise – sounded like right outside the window – and went to look out the blinds. The view was a mess.
Well let’s rephrase. If you are keeping a lookout, the view was a mess.
Large trees lined the sidewalk, and Cayson’s neighbor really needed to prune back her bushes. He could barely see if someone was approaching, they’d practically be right in front of the house before he spotted them. He bet Cayson had a good view from one of his bedroom windows, but Quick had made himself a promise. He wasn’t going up until he was beckoned.

His eyes scanned back and forth over Cayson’s front yard. He clenched his teeth, wondering if Cayson ever gave that bum a key to his place. He hoped not. Parting the blinds a tad further, he looked as far as he could, but he didn’t see anything, more accurately: anyone. He’d stay on high alert, regardless.
I hope you come back, motherfucker. I’ll show you a damn thug.
Quick recounted the feud again for the hundredth time. Problem was he’d heard every nasty word that prick called him, and if he hadn’t been trying to impress his distinguished date, he would’ve put Joe on his self-important ass.

After determining that the noises he’d heard must’ve been an animal, Quick checked the clip in one of his all-black 9mm handguns and tucked it under the couch cushion where he’d laid his head. He checked his watch. It was going on eleven. Still early, so he stretched out, linking his fingers and tucking them behind his head. All that bulk and muscle looked comical on the standard length couch.

Quick closed his eyes and thought about Cayson. Usually at this hour – if he wasn’t working – he’d be on his patio, sipping a brew and trying to relax. He imagined Cayson reclining between his legs on his outdoor chaise lounge after they’d both had a long day. Quick could see himself burying his nose in Cayson’s neck and murmuring sweet words of encouragement while his lover told him all about his stressful day. He wondered if they could be together, find something special between them, like his best friend had found. Wondered if he’d found the one who would make his heart soar. Duke was the happiest guy he knew, now. But a year ago, he was as big a mess as Quick. Wanting a friend, a lover, and a partner. Quick wanted it all. He wanted it with his sexy surgeon, who in his opinion had single-handedly saved his son’s and best friend’s lives. And the man was gorgeous.

Beautiful blond-brown hair with a few sprinkled grays along the edges. Quick had more grays than the doc, but his was long and usually pulled back at his neck. Clearly, Cayson was a man who took care of himself, because his body had very little fat on it. He wasn’t packed with muscle, but his toned frame was a big turn-on for Quick. But, nothing did it for him more than when Cayson was in his white lab coat wearing his nerdy, gold wire-rimmed reading glasses. Quick closed his eyes and relived their first date to keep himself from drifting off to sleep too fast. Cayson was in such an affluent neighborhood, Quick didn’t hear any police sirens, helicopters or any other big city noises. Behind his closed lids, Quick pictured their kiss, their hug, pictured the way Cayson had hung on to him, like he’d shatter if Quick let him go. He most definitely wasn’t leaving. It’d been years since Quick felt this alive. Cayson stirred feelings deep down inside of him, feelings which he’d thought had been suppressed too long to arise again.

The time crept by, but Quick used it to think and brainstorm. He knew how to devise a plan. He’d need one to deal with Dr. Joe, especially since he couldn’t move in to protect Cayson.

While he thought, his eyelids dropped lower and lower.

Cayson

Cayson was deeply asleep, finally getting the much-needed rest he’d been seeking, when a sharp knock made him bolt upright, scaring the shit out of him. It took only a second for him to gather himself when another knock fell and was forceful enough to rattle the few pieces of art Cayson had on the walls downstairs. What the damn hell?

“I know you’re in there. I either want a full apology or give me my stuff, Cayson! Right now!”

Cayson rubbed at the stress quickly building behind his eyelids. Glancing over at the clock on his nightstand, his eyes widened. It was after midnight. “Why isn’t anyone letting me sleep?!” As soon as the complaint left his mouth, he jumped up, remembering Quick.

Cayson was out of bed and yanking his robe on as fast as he could. He’d just cinched the tie at his waist, and Quick rounded the corner of his stairs and was in his bedroom, pulling him protectively closer with one arm, while the other hand held a scary black handgun.

“Are you okay?” Quick asked him sternly, checking his watch.

“Yes. I was just on my way to the door,” he said, sounding annoyed. Taking a step back from the embrace to make sure his robe was tight; he looked up and almost came all over himself and his imported oriental rug. Quick was shirtless, with only his jeans on. They were unbuttoned and the zipper was partway down. Cayson could see the black briefs Quick wore underneath and wanted to drop to his knees and bury his nose in the dark cotton covering that glorious cock. But it was the tattoos. Goddamn, they were everywhere. Some bright and vibrant with color, some black and gray. He was dying for a chance to get up close and personal with them. No matter what was happening at any particular moment, the sight of Rome bare-chested would always make him pause and drool. Roman’s name truly fit him to a T.

BANG! BANG! “Are you in there, Cayson? You big idiot! Open up, I have something to say!”

“He’s gonna wake the damn dead,” Cayson grumbled, moving quickly down the stairs with Rome close on his heels. He didn’t see this ending well. What the hell was Joe doing screaming outside like that? It was a sure way to draw unneeded attention. In his quiet neighborhood, surely someone had already called the police. Cayson needed to hurry and get rid of him before Joe was arrested and charged with disturbing the peace.

Fact of the matter was Joe treated Cays like a business arrangement, not a partner. So if Joe’s feelings got bruised because Cayson no longer wanted to be his doormat, well now that was Joe’s problem, wasn’t it? Cayson wasn’t going to give Joe much of his time.

“And Roman, please put that gun away, for Pete’s sake.” Cayson shoed him back further against the wall behind the door, so when he opened it, Rome couldn’t be seen. He didn’t need his huge date overreacting. “Dr. Joe has a very sensitive ego, so I guess he’s trying to save face. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid—”

BANG! BANG! BANG! “Right now, Cayson! I want an apology.”

The last word sounded slurred now that Cayson was right at the door.
Oh, god, please don’t be drunk.
Cayson hesitated before opening the door. If Joe was out of his mind from having his pride wounded, was it a good idea to let him in? His first thought was no, but he began to unlock the bolt lock anyway.

He tried his best to put on his groggy, sleep-roughened voice, hoping he could convince Joe to do this some other time. “Joe, w-what are you doing here at this hour?”

“Le’me in so we can talk,” Joe demanded on another slur, but this time a slight belch followed the command. He had on the same clothes as earlier, appearing as if he’d been at a bar this whole time, getting shit-faced. Cayson could smell Joe’s rancid breath through his storm door. There was a permanent frown marring his brow, like he’d made an angry face and it got stuck that way. No. This wasn’t Joe. Wasn’t the prim and proper friend he’d made years ago. This crazed man wasn’t the distinguished anesthesiologist who refused to even check his mail if he wore anything other than a fully pressed suit. Joe’s hair was all over his head and his severely wrinkled shirt was untucked. Cayson had never seen Joe like this. Especially not drunk. Being drunk and disorderly was uncivilized.

“I have a real early day.” Cayson’s tone was light and held not even a trace of meanness. “We can talk tomorrow if you want, okay? Sit there on the steps. I’ll call you a cab.”

“Don’t need a damn cab. Now, let me in.”

“No. Joe, I’m really tired.”

Joe scoffed, his lip turned up in repugnance. “I just bet you are, Cayson Chauncey. So did you finally get screwed the way you wanted? Are you finished acting like an ass?”

“First of all. It’s none of your business. You’re drunk, Joe. You’re going to find yourself up shit’s creek without a paddle if you don’t stop all your yelling and banging on my door. I’m sure you’ve woken everyone on this street.” Cayson glanced up and down the street and noticed that Quick’s truck wasn’t where he’d left it. He’d obviously moved it for this reason. He’d been right. Joe came back, just as he’d predicted.

“Then I want my stuff. Now!”

“Shh. Quiet, daggonit… and what stuff?” Cayson was trying to keep his voice down, but was losing patience faster than a compulsive gambler losing his rent money.

“You know what!”

Before Cayson could even think what Dr. Joe was referring too, he’d pushed hard on the door, knocking Cayson backwards. The door probably would’ve slammed into the wall from the momentum, but Quick was there to stop it. Joe didn’t even notice. He wasn’t accustomed to noticing things like that. He wasn’t a man who’d ever had to watch his back.  

“Joe, what the hell? Get out of my house. I told you not to come in.”

Joe ignored him and stumbled further into the room, only glancing around before making a wobbly beeline to his closet. How the man didn’t notice the largest pair of black boots Cayson had ever seen lying next to the couch and the black t-shirt slung over the arm was beyond his understanding.

Cayson knew what was about to happen the moment he saw the front door in his peripheral vision slowly shutting to reveal Quick’s very pissed off posture. Joe’s back was to them while he dug through the closet. Cayson had no clue what he was looking for, but he pleaded with his eyes for Quick to stay calm. One look at Quick, and he knew that wasn’t about to happen.

“I can’t find it!” Joe screamed, his head still buried. “I know I left it here. I can’t find it at home, anywhere.”

“Find what, Joe?” Cayson left the front door open, Joe wasn’t staying much longer.

“My gray and white Berluti cardigan,” Joe said, his voice muffled by the coats he dug through.

“Joe, there’s nothing like that in there. I don’t remember you ever leaving anything here. You don’t even stay the night except for maybe once every couple of months.” Cayson sighed when Joe started throwing things out of the closet, burying himself deeper inside it. How ironic. “Now, for the last time – leave.”

Quick’s hand was on Cayson’s shoulders, massaging and rubbing the tension that had settled there days ago and refused to move out. It was becoming more and more painful to watch, as Joe became a huge mess. He was on the floor, digging and pulling things all over the place. Both he and Roman looked on in disbelief and sadness.

“Do you want me to get rid of him for you, Cays? Because I will. Whatever you need me to do. Just ask.” Quick stood closer now. Looking large and damn sure in charge. It gave Cayson a warm feeling deep down that Quick wanted to help him… protect him. He spoke like it’d take an army to move him, to get close enough to harm Cayson. The big bounty hunter stood so close that his groin was pressing into Cayson’s hip. Of course, their height difference put what Cayson really wanted to feel a little off target, but everyone was the same length when you laid down in bed. The coarse hairs above Quick’s lips brushed the shell of Cayson’s ear as he spoke in that soothing tone. It hadn’t failed to have a profound effect on Cayson, and he ended up loosening his robe for a little extra room.

He wanted to turn into those massive arms and let Quick make it all better. He hurt. He hurt everywhere. He was a compassionate man. He hated for people to go through pain, but self-inflicted pain was the worst to watch, because all that Joe had to do was be honest with himself. Obviously, he was waging an internal war. Maybe even wanting to have something more with Cayson, but too afraid. Too fucked up. Too steeped in his family’s traditions to start his own. Not man enough to stand up to his old man, when Joe was damn near an old man himself. Forty-two was too long to hide your sexuality. Forty-two was too long to still be controlled by your upbringing. Forty plus years of bathing in misery and dining with anguish. Cayson felt for him, he truly did – but he couldn’t let Joe hold him back from what he deserved.