Rory's Rock, page 10
“You’re…wasting your…life.”
Rory shook his head. “Let’s not talk about wasted lives, huh?”
His father glared at him, but Rory was no longer scared. Over the past twelve years, Rory had matured, become stronger, wiser. Garry…hadn’t.
The silence stretched out between them, the only sounds those of Garry’s uneven breathing and the somewhat muted sounds of the other prisoners in the hospital. Rory estimated about ten minutes went by but he had no way of knowing for sure. He didn’t wear a wristwatch and he’d had to surrender his cell upon entering the prison. He sighed, got to his feet, walked around Garry’s bed, looked out through the small window at a barren prison yard, then turned back to face the bed. “I should probably go.”
There was no response.
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
When Garry still didn’t answer, Rory stepped out into the hallway, attracted the attention of a prison official, and began the long walk out of the prison.
* * * *
The first thing Rory did on getting back to his motel room was take a shower. It didn’t help overmuch. He could still smell the prison, even though he’d changed clothes.
He was sure of one thing—walking through the long hallways of the prison on his way to and from the hospital, his senses assaulted by the noise and smell—he wouldn’t be able to survive in such an environment. He guessed he had to give his father some credit for that.
Rory fired off a quick text to Barry to tell everyone at the ranch he’d visited his father but gave few other details.
A reply came back almost immediately asking if he was okay. Rory replied he was, although he admitted to being tired. Barry told him to close the drapes and take an afternoon nap. Rory couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that, but the idea had merit, as evidenced by the frequent yawns.
Rory did as advised and closed his eyes. Maybe he’d do some exploring later. He couldn’t just stay in his room all the time. He’d grown used to being outdoors and active throughout the day, and this enforced sedentariness was alien to him. He was glad now he’d let Barry talk him into staying at a motel rather than Rory’s original suggestion of the Y.M.C.A. Although, Rory was still uncomfortable that Barry had insisted on reserving the room for him and paying for the first three nights. Turning over in the bed and punching his pillow, Rory smiled as he recalled what Jimmy had said about how it was always best not to argue with Barry when he got the bit between his teeth because he’d get his own way in the end.
But no matter how hard Rory tried to sleep, he just couldn’t. The mental movie of his visit to the prison played on a seemingly endless loop in his mind.
Sighing, Rory moved to sit on the side of the bed. His stomach rumbled. When was the last time he’d eaten? Barry had made him toast and coffee back at the ranch, but that was hours ago. He’d had a few snacks on the plane. He remembered there was a menu for a local diner on the desk, so he padded over to see if anything tempted him.
He opted for the classic combo of burger and fries so got dressed, left his motel room, and crossed the parking lot to the diner. The food was satisfactory; Rory couldn’t put it higher than that. He’d been spoiled by eating Barry’s cooking for so long.
Back in his room, he dozed fitfully in the chair but remained wide awake when he stretched out on the bed. He put it down to a combination of a strange bed, the amount of light in his room, plus the low but steady hum of traffic from a nearby freeway as well as the occasional motel guest arriving or departing.
In the end, Rory propped himself up with pillows and read on his tablet. Not that he was altogether convinced he was following the plot.
* * * *
Rory must have fallen asleep at some point because he awoke screaming. Someone was banging on the wall from the next door room. He was bathed in sweat and had an urgent need to void whatever was left in his stomach. His dash to the bathroom was impeded, however, by damp sheets that had become twisted around his legs.
He didn’t make it to the john in time, not that there was much to come up, mostly bile and stomach acid. The burger had been fairly greasy.
After cleaning himself and the bathroom—not easy with a severe case of the shakes—Rory climbed back into bed, trying to avoid the damp patches. Even with an extra blanket and turning up the heat, he still couldn’t control his shivering. Thankfully the details of the nightmare were rapidly fading but he could still remember seeing his father striking his mom with the skillet but this time, despite his pleas, the cops were hauling Rory off to prison rather than his father.
Knowing he dare not try to go back to sleep for fear of the nightmare returning, he spent what was left of the night watching infomercials on TV.
* * * *
Even before the sun was up, Rory, cowboy that he’d become, was showered, dressed, and eating breakfast at the diner. As with the previous afternoon, the food was nothing special: Frozen pancakes, scrambled eggs from a carton, and bacon that had been under a warming lamp too long. Yes, Barry had definitely ruined him for anyone else’s cooking.
The second visit to the prison was less eventful than the first. Garry had clearly deteriorated overnight and was unconscious for much of Rory’s visit. Garry opened his eyes a few times and seemed to recognize his visitor but the eyes soon closed again. Rory mostly just sat by the bed, at first not sure what to say. His father wasn’t up to responding and Rory wasn’t good at holding a one-way conversation. Heck, he wasn’t all that comfortable with many two-way conversations. He told Garry a little of his life in the group homes but stuck to the facts, didn’t let emotion or recrimination creep in. He talked of his work on the ranch and a little about the men he worked with. Then he decided he might as well unburden himself about Zane. He hadn’t told anyone before of his feelings and although his father was far from an ideal choice, the man was at least a captive if unconscious audience.
“I know there’s no chance he feels for me what I feel for him, but that doesn’t lessen my feelings for him. I could so easily fall in love with him, because he’s big and strong but never uses his size and strength to intimidate or hurt. The opposite in fact. He’s gentle and kind and…” Rory wiped his eyes. “And straight.
“I just hope he’ll eventually understand and forgive me for kissing him. I was drunk, it was my birthday, and he was worried he hadn’t gotten me nice gifts. I told him his gifts were perfect, my birthday was perfect, and that…” Rory let out a sob, “…that he was perfect. Then I kissed him, and no, I don’t regret it.”
Garry hadn’t moved throughout Rory’s monologue, nor had his facial expression changed. Rory didn’t care whether or not his father had heard and understood the conversation. At least he hadn’t received condemnation from the man who invariably ridiculed, belittled, or violently opposed anything that didn’t fit into his narrow and bigoted world view.
Rory got to his feet, deliberately scraping the chair just to make some noise and provoke his father, but Garry remained unmoved. “I’m going now. I’ll come again tomorrow.”
Retracing his steps through the prison, Rory mused how he’d just had the longest conversation he’d ever had with his father. As a child, Rory had been too afraid to say much beyond, “Yes, sir,” or “No, sir.” Garry had been big on the whole respecting your elders thing.
* * * *
Rory decided to take a series of buses back to his home town. As their old house wasn’t on a bus route, he got off at the closest stop and walked the rest of the way. His old house had been painted a different color, although, the paint was peeling. The yard wasn’t nearly as neat as in his day, the grass was too long and strewn with litter, and the flowerbeds were overgrown with weeds. His mom would be upset about the state of the yard. It had been her pride and joy. Sadly, the yard was like many others in the street. Rory had to concede his old neighborhood had fallen on hard times.
As he rode the bus back to the motel, Rory determined he’d visit his mother’s grave before flying home to Colorado. That was the one thing he’d missed about moving out of state. He’d often go visit the cemetery to talk or more often just sit quietly next to his mom’s grave. When he could afford them, he bought flowers, and when he couldn’t, he’d pick whatever grew wild. He was sure his mom appreciated whatever he brought along.
* * * *
Back at the motel, Rory showered and fired off a couple of texts to the ranch. Not receiving an immediate reply, and figuring everyone was working, he decided he probably should grab lunch at the diner across the way, even though he didn’t feel especially hungry.
The lunch special was spaghetti. The portion when it arrived was bigger than Rory was expecting.
“Gave you a little extra spaghetti and a third piece of garlic bread, sugar,” the middle-aged waitress told him. “You look like you could use a good feeding.”
Rory smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
The food smelled good and Rory discovered he was hungrier than he thought, but he still couldn’t clean his plate.
“You want for me to put the rest in a box?” the waitress asked when she came around to refill his coffee.
“No, ma’am, I’m staying at the motel opposite so don’t have any way of storing it or reheating it.”
She took away his plate and moments later returned with a slice of cherry pie with ice cream.
“But I didn’t—”
“On the house, sugar. Lunch rush is almost over and I didn’t want this last piece of pie to go to waste.”
“Thank you,” Rory told her, ducking his head, touched at her kindness.
The pie was okay, Rory wouldn’t rate it higher than that. Certainly Barry had no competition in the dessert department, but the spaghetti had been every bit as good as Barry’s, although Rory couldn’t recall the last time Barry had made it. The man was always asking the hands what they wanted, but Rory rarely offered suggestions, liking most everything Barry cooked. Maybe he’d speak up about spaghetti and garlic bread sometime.
After finishing his dessert and feeling totally stuffed and a little sleepy, Rory slid out of the booth and made his way to the counter to pay and leave a generous tip for the waitress.
* * * *
Back in his room, Rory must have dozed off because he found himself slumped in the chair, his tablet resting on his foot, and someone wrapping insistently on his door. Had he had another nightmare and disturbed one of the other guests?
Rory picked up his tablet, stood, stretched, and walked the short distance to the door. Night was falling so he turned on the ceiling light as well as the porch light outside his room.
“I’m sorry if I made too…Zane? Rory blinked, rubbed his eyes, but the vision of Zane—cowboy boots, black jeans, black flannel shirt and unbuttoned black duster flapping in the breeze, beat up Stetson—was definitely standing in, and mostly filling, his doorway.
Zane took off his hat. “You left the other night before I could, uh—”
The shame and horror of his totally inappropriate behavior towards his straight colleague slammed into Rory. “I’m so sorry, I—”
Zane closed the short distance between them, bent his head and laid a long, deep, slow, and heart-stopping kiss on Rory’s lips.
“Wha…?” Rory couldn’t process any of this. Was he dreaming? If so, it was a very pleasant dream, nothing like the ones he usually had.
“Can I come in?” Zane asked after a few seconds of silence passed between them.
“Uh, sure.” Rory stepped aside, watched Zane enter, closed the door, his mind still in a fog. “I don’t understand.”
Zane smiled. “I thought you were the smart one and me the dumb one.”
Despite the unreality of the current situation, Rory was about to tell Zane, yet again, that he wasn’t dumb, but Zane beat him to the punch.
“You kissed me cause you like me. Right?”
Rory nodded. It went way further than like but Rory could work with that for the moment.
“And I kissed you back just now because I like you, too.”
No, maybe he couldn’t work with like after all. “Zane, I’m gay. You’re straight. I like you very much. You’re kind, gentle, strong, nice, decent…” He struggled for the right words and was failing miserably. “You make me feel safe. Special.” He might as well put it all out there. If this was a dream—although Rory was increasingly sure it was real—it didn’t matter anyway. “I’m gay. I—”
“I know.”
Rory shook his head and unconsciously raised his voice to prevent further interruptions. “And I think you’re totally sexy and hot and—” He was silenced by another kiss, this one firmer, stronger. It also involved tongue on Zane’s part and weak knees on Rory’s. Where did Zane learn to kiss like that? On second thought, Rory didn’t want to know. Zane was kissing him now, that was all that mattered.
“I’m not sexy or hot or whatever you said.” Zane was blushing. Rory thought that incredibly cute.
“You are from where I’m swooning,” Rory said, standing up straighter and gathering his scattered wits. Rory dared to reach out and run his hands across Zane’s oh-so-wide shoulders. How long had he ached to do that? “These alone are sexy. And they’re just the start.”
Zane shook his head but didn’t otherwise contradict, nor did he show any signs of being uncomfortable with Rory touching him, so Rory moved his hands lower and smoothed them across Zane’s shirt and under the duster. Rory’s hands moved farther to the sides and around to Zane’s back. Rory then pressed himself against Zane’s chest, careful not to let his erection touch Zane. The big guy might be okay with things above the waist, but below was a whole other matter. Rory would gratefully accept whatever Zane was willing to give. Then Zane’s arms wrapped around Rory’s back and pulled him in even closer.
Rory breathed in Zane’s natural musk. There was a faint odor of cologne but it was mostly pure Zane. He shivered in contentment.
“You okay?” Zane asked, disengaging from the hug.
Rory shivered again at the removal of contact but his cup of joy overflowed when Zane wrapped the sides of the duster around him.
Rory stifled a whimper. “Yes, I’m fine. More than.”
Zane kissed the side of Rory’s head. They stood, unmoving for the longest time, Rory hearing Zane’s breathing and feeling the man’s heartbeat. Then he heard Zane’s stomach growl. He smiled.
“When did you last eat?”
“At my mom’s just before lunch.”
Rory was surprised. “Didn’t Barry feed you when you got back to the ranch?”
“Wasn’t time. I asked where you were at and Barry said your dad was sick and you’d gone to Kansas to see him. So before anyone said I couldn’t, I got back in my truck and drove here as quick as I could.” He rubbed Rory’s back. “Didn’t want you to be alone.”
Rory’s eyes misted over. Zane was like Rory’s very own superhero, the duster acting as his cape.
“SuperZane,” Rory said, tracing a stylized Z on Zane’s chest with a finger.
“Huh?” Zane asked. But before Rory could answer, Zane’s stomach issued another growl.
“Time to feed this hungry stomach.” Rory patted said stomach affectionately. He told Zane about the diner across the parking lot. They were about to leave when Rory’s cell rang. As soon as he saw the number on the screen, he knew.
Ms. Brickhill introduced herself, then confirmed that she was talking with Rory. Rory then came straight out and said, “He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brown. He passed away about a half hour ago. One of the nursing staff was with him at the end.”
Rory wondered what had happened to can I call you Rory? He guessed such grave news sounded more official when it was delivered in a more formal way. Also, he doubted there was any nurse present, not that it mattered.
Ms. Brickhill then told Rory he could make funeral plans if he wished to, otherwise her department would arrange it. He’d thought about this already and had decided he didn’t want to get involved with a funeral. Nor did he want his late father’s personal effects or his ashes.
Ms. Brickhill said she understood and concluded the call by repeating how sorry she was and that Rory could call her if he had any questions. He thanked her, said goodbye and ended the call. He then looked at the screen—the call had lasted less than four minutes.
Rory experienced a moment of regret that he hadn’t stayed longer at the prison hospital. But if he had he’d have missed Zane’s arrival. Garry represented Rory’s past. Zane, God willing, would be his future. So, no, ultimately, he didn’t regret not staying.
“Ror?” Zane asked quietly.
“Guess you heard all of that?”
Zane nodded. He then seemed to struggle for what to say next and ultimately just asked, “You okay? Sorry, dumb question—”
Rory silenced him with a kiss. “Not dumb. I’m okay. I’m…relieved. I feel lighter. Is that wrong?”
“Hell, no. Not after what he did.”
Rory couldn’t disagree with that. When he heard Zane’s stomach growl again, he gave it an affectionate rub—he was so enjoying this whole getting to touch Zane thing. “Come on, let’s go feed this.”
* * * *
Over dinner—a bowl of winter vegetable soup plus a bread roll for Rory and some leftover spaghetti from lunch for Zane—the two men discussed their most immediate plans. Zane suggested driving back to Colorado that night but Rory favored staying in Kansas until morning.
“Thought you’d want to get out of here soon as you could.”
Rory smiled and pointed to his own chin. “You spilled spaghetti sauce on your goatee. And the room’s paid up for tonight.” He looked out of the diner’s window. “And it’s started to rain. Looks like there’s snow mixed in with it, too.” He ate another spoonful of soup. It wasn’t very good and he wasn’t all that hungry. “And now Garry’s passed on, I don’t have any need to fear this place anymore.”
“If you’re sure.” That was Zane doing his protective thing.
Rory nodded. “I’m sure. Plus we wouldn’t get back to the ranch until the small hours and you’ve already driven a lot today.” Rory could do protective, too. Although not as sexily as Zane. He yawned. “Plus I’m really tired. Rather sleep in a bed tonight.” What he didn’t add was with you. But did Zane want to share a bed with him? “If you’d feel more comfortable, we could go to the office and see if they have any vacancies.”
