The Gift (22 page)

"I love you."

They were a cool couple. At least, he thought they were a couple. They hadn't said they were. But they'd slept together and most guys, at least most of the guys that he'd known, didn't cuddle up to one another unless they were … well … together. That was just a fact of life. And August was quiet, unassuming and sweet. He didn't seem like the hanger-on or groupie kind. Trustworthy somehow. Solid. He had to assume those two things got the same appreciation from a lover regardless of the gender it was coming from. So he had to guess that there was some attraction there.

Doren, on the other hand, was a riot. Like when they'd got up that morning and Doren bitched about the instant coffee. Within ten minutes he'd had the lot of them sneaking into his hotel room and all but emptying the room of any amenity they could walk off with. The bar fridge had been emptied, the snacks had been scooped, the coffee maker had been acquired along with every pillow, blanket and towel. Doren had even joked about trying to take the much larger television until August had growled that he was going to break something. It had been awesome. A real I'm-touring-with-a-rock-star moment.

But he could smell shit underneath the shine. That was one thing they'd always said back home: Curtis, you got a nose for trouble. No matter where it was hiding, he could sniff it out, even in the brewing stages, and he managed to avoid it every time. And this shit didn't just smell; it reeked. Not everything was peaches and sunshine in Doren's world right now.

He wondered if it had something to do with the studio. He wasn't sure why he thought that; it could have had something to do with the contracts clasped in August's fist the night before, or the way that August had continued to pore over them through the day. It could have been what he was sure had been the whisper of the big cheese's name when the two of them had been talking quietly as they lay together that morning. There'd always been something about that power-hungry bastard that made him nervous as all hell. He avoided Anton whenever possible. He'd even made an elaborate show of checking all his drums, weighing the sticks, tightening and loosening the skins, just so he didn't have to shake the man's hand when he'd been hired. And one thing Curtis had learned a long time ago: when the senses started pinging him that trouble was around, he'd best be paying attention.

He wasn't alone in that belief either. Geoff and Dawson had made it very clear they thought the same way. Geoff had even said that he'd wanted to punch Anton in the face the minute they met. But then Geoff wanted to punch a lot of people in the face. Dawson, however, seemed to believe that quiet harmony was the secret to life. So it had been kind of surprising to hear that Dawson was keeping his distance from the man too. Cooper didn't have a problem with him, but Cooper didn't have a problem with anyone. Cooper would have a conversation with the devil if the beast offered him a hit of weed.

"What you got there?" Curtis asked, accepting the cup that August brought him.

"Espresso and grappa. Try it. You'll like it."

Curtis grimaced, sniffing again. "Is there something wrong with plain old coffee?"

"Yes," August grinned, nodding his head in Doren's direction. "From what I understand it's 'unrockstarish.'"

"Oh." He took cautious sip. "Good to know."

Doren dropped down beside them, gazing up at August and Curtis almost snorted into his coffee. Easy there, boy, try not to make it too obvious. Even he knew that rule, and God knew he was no Casanova. Doren looked over at the snort and grinned, hitting Curtis playfully in the shoulder. "Are you hitting on my assistant, drummer boy?"

"Ah," Curtis said, taking another long sip. "That is no assistant, Doren. That is an angel come from heaven. I mean—have you tried the coffee?"

"An angel, sure," Doren nodded, watching August walk away to grab a cup for himself. "But he's a devil when he wants to be."

"No doubt," Curtis agreed. "I'd probably be tempted to light a fire for him if he asked."

Doren narrowed his eyes. "Don't make me kill you, Curt."

"It's Curtis. I'm pretty sure I introduced myself as Curtis."

Doren waved Curtis' words away. "I like Curt. It's direct. To the point." He started pointing around the room. "Auggie, Geoff, Daws, Curt, and Coop. It's just easier that way." He leaned against Curtis' shoulder and batted his eyes. "Besides, it's more personal. Like, all up close and everything."

"Ew," Curtis groaned. "Get off me." He put down his coffee and pushed Doren away. "If you don't have tits, don't make eyes at me."

"Wait a second," Doren laughed. "You just said you'd be tempted to light a fire for August!"

"Yeah, well." He winked at August when August turned around in confusion. "That's August, not you."

"August does not have tits."

"August doesn't need them."

Doren punched him, harder. Which only made Curtis laugh, inspiring most of the room to follow suit.

"Hey!" Doren said suddenly, turning back to Curtis as August sat down beside them. "Let's cut your hair."

"Uh, no thanks," Curtis said, pulling away. "My hair is just fine, just the way I like it."

"Nah, I can do better," Doren insisted, getting on to his knees and flipping Curtis' bangs from left to right. "Really, I know how. I used to cut mine all the time."

"No," Curtis insisted right back. "It's fine." Doren might be "all that" but the guy wasn't about to go sticking scissors into his hair. Besides, it had taken months to grow it out all shaggy and choppy. It was staying.

"Trust me. I can make it real cool. It looks like hell all bushy like that."

"Doren!" August frowned. "What a dick thing to say! What the hell is wrong with you? Didn't your mother ever teach you that if you don't have something nice to say, then you don't say anything at all?"

The wince Curtis gave was only one-fifth the oh-shit that he felt as he watched Doren's face tighten up. He couldn't believe August had said that.
That
of all things!

"What?" August asked, eyes traveling from Doren's to his, back again. "What did I say?"

"Nothing." Doren stood. "I'm going out for some air. It stinks in here."

Well, so much for the nice day.

"What did I say?"

"Uh," Curtis scratched his scalp and twisted his face into a grimace. How come he had to be the one to say this? Hadn't they filled August in on anything before they'd given him the job? "He didn't have a mother, August."

August's eyebrows lifted, his eyes widened. "What? Like … well, of course he did. Everyone has a mother."

Curtis rolled his eyes. "Fair enough. Of course he had a mother. But he never knew her. He was an orphan. No dad, no mom, foster homes, orphanages, you know."

"No," August said quietly. "I didn't know."

He walked out to the patio, the recurring theme of their relationship so far, it seemed. The visions, the dreams, the moments of clarity they'd shared: they all seemed to revolve around a simple walk through sliding doors. Doren heard him come and reached out for him without turning, pulling their bodies together. "Look, Auggie, the rain has finally stopped. Hallelujah and praise whatever the hell brings the sun, but the rain has finally stopped. That's got to be a good sign, right?"

August ignored the attempt at distraction. "Doren, I'm so sorry."

Doren's shrug lost its complacence with the tension in his shoulders and neck. "For what?"

"I didn't know."

"What are you talking about?"

August sighed. "I didn't know about your mother. Or, lack of. Or, whatever. I'm sorry, I really didn't know."

"Stop. It's not a big deal."

August touched his shoulder and turned his chin. "I won't stop. And it is a big deal. It's a big deal when you hurt the person you care about."

Doren groaned and looked away. "Look, Auggie, you're making too much out of this. I told you…"

"Yeah, well, now I'm telling you," August snapped. "I care about you, Doren, and you're just going to have to deal with that or you're going to have to leave. So, damn it, if I tell you I'm sorry then I'm fucking sorry, okay?"

"Whoa!" Doren's eyes were wide but if August wasn't completely crazy, he almost thought he finally saw a little respect in them. "You don't have to freak out, Aug."

Fucking shame, August thought, reaching for Doren's hand and threading their fingers together. No wonder Doren struggled with things like commitment and emotion. You didn't learn about love in an orphanage. You couldn't learn to commit in a foster home. Could you even learn what love was without a mother or a father?

"Do you miss her?" August asked, leaning closer.

Doren wrapped his arm around August's shoulder. "You can't miss what you never knew."

And that, August was sure, was bullshit. He was no poster-child for family love and sharing, by no means. But he loved his family nonetheless. They were still a port in the storm. At the end of the day, if everything got screwed up so bad that he had nowhere left to turn, he could always go home. It must be awful not to have that option.

"You had no one? Not a long-term foster family or anything?"

Doren shrugged again, flippant, but buried his face in August's neck. "No. I never stayed long. There was always something."

His voice was warm on August's throat and August stroked Doren's hair while he chuckled. "Really? But you're such a loveable guy!"

"I know!" Doren lifted his head to return the expression, both in amusement and affection. "But it's okay. Because now I have you."

"Yes," August said with as much sincerity as he could muster. "You do."

A delivery truck squealed to a stop a few feet away and they moved apart while the driver got out and banged on a heavy metal door. "Do you know what happened? With your parents?"

Doren shook his head. "I was the classic baby in a basket, gorgeous; literally left on the steps of an orphanage. No note, no mementos, not even a clean change of diapers."

"Jesus."

"It wasn't so bad." He watched the driver unload the truck, hands wedged in his front pockets. "People looked out for me."

"Oh?" August frowned. "Like who?"

"Well, Diana, for one."

When Doren spoke the name August was reminded instantly of his dream. "You mean Diana from the office?"

He nodded. "But back then she was Diana from City Services. She was my caseworker when I was just a little guy. She did her best to make sure I got placed in good homes, and got me out when they weren't. Then when I started high school, you can just imagine how surprised I was when she showed up there as the Principal's Secretary. She needed a change, she said. Of course, we had no idea that we'd end up at the same school though. But it was nice; at least I knew someone."

August's frown grew, some puzzle piece trying to wind its way into place in his mind. "And then again at the studio?"

"No, not really. It was actually Diana who contacted me not too long after I graduated. I was kind of in and out of jobs at the time. I could always find one, always smile my way into something, but it was a lot harder to actually keep them once I landed them. I was … less than dependable. But she called me up and said she had landed this great new job at the studio and she remembered that I had a talent for music so she asked me to come out and audition. My face got me through the door but I remember that when I sang, unplugged of course, just me and a guy on the piano, but when I sang this guy came barreling into the room all hopped up about me. It was Anton, of course. You think he figured out something then?"

"I don't doubt it for a second," August agreed. "Were they good to you? The foster families and all?"

Doren dug his right hand out of his pocket and slid it in the back one of August's jeans instead. "For the most part. I really only had one bad incident. And I'm over it." When the look of panic descended over August's face, Doren laughed. "Don't look so shocked, you nut! It was nothing too bad. You remember asking me why I don't like the elevator? Well, I'll tell you if you still want to know. Just don't sell it to People magazine, okay?"

August swatted the back of Doren's head and clucked his tongue.

"When I was twelve I was living in a little farm community about a hundred miles west of where-the-fuck-is-that and sixty miles south of god-forsaken. We helped out a lot on the farm, me and about six other foster kids. I think it was really the only reason they took us in. But other than the work they pretty well left us to ourselves and we were fed well. Of course, being left to yourselves when you're a bunch of kids has its own issues. There was one other guy I lived with who had a crush on one of the girls there. Her name was Grace. I still remember her, a real sweetheart. Long blonde hair, big green eyes, but you know how things go, right? I had no interest in her at all—round about that time I was starting to think the crush I had on the oldest of us, Matt, might be a sign of things to come—but little Grace was head over heels for me. This guy—Drake, his name was—he was three years older than me, and you know how you are when you're fifteen. So he was always pissed at me like it was all somehow my fault that Grace wouldn't give him the time of day."

"We were out in the barn loading hay up into the loft one day, and let me tell you, Aug, that's a big job for a twelve year old kid. Drake was doing his best at getting away with doing nothing and the rest of us started to gang up on him for lazing off. So he starts mouthing off, and we mouth back, and on it goes, until I get the big idea that I'm going to trip him up into the manure pile. I was small, it was easy to get behind him, and before you know it, in he goes, head over heels. So we're all laughing, right? Well, Drake not so much. He comes back up, drags me out of the loft by my shirt, and hauls me over to the cold cellar. I don't know if you've ever seen one of those old cold cellars but they aren't pretty places. The walls are all slimy, the floor is dirt, and the bugs and the mice—" Doren shuddered.

"Anyway, once the door is closed the place is as black as hell. And that bastard left me in there for two days. Not two hours, Aug, but two full
days
. Even the cops were out searching for me. And since all the other kids had taken to their heels when Drake first started to freak out, no one had any clue where I was." He caught August's eyes with his own. "That was the first time."