Rory's Rock, page 8
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he castigated himself.
Panting, his heart threatening to bounce out of his chest, Rory reached his bedroom door, slammed it closed, locked it, and leaned against it.
Seconds later, he heard heavy footsteps—Zane’s footsteps—come down the hallway and stop outside his room. Rory held his breath and thought he was going to pass out through lack of oxygen before the footsteps retreated. Rory took several deep breaths and heard Zane’s bedroom door open and close. It was several more minutes before he could peel himself from his door, all the while listening for any sound coming from Zane’s room.
You’re safe, a voice in his head reassured him. This is your room. You’re surrounded by your things. You’re safe.
Then a second voice started up, undoing the good work of the first one. What the fuck were you doing kissing Zane! He’s straight, you idiot!
“Stop it!” Rory hissed quietly, rubbing his head.
Changing into his night attire, Rory got into bed, and, as expected, sleep did not come.
He fired up his tablet and tried to read, but visions of Zane, dressed in his sexy-as-sin duster, cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes, kept flashing into Rory’s mind. Rory licked his lips and could swear he could still taste Zane. And if he concentrated hard enough he could still smell the man, too—woodsy, masculine, heroic.
“For fuck’s sake!” Rory said quietly. “A smell can’t be heroic.”
He shut off his tablet, set it on his nightstand, and lay back, staring at the ceiling, not that he could see it in the pitch darkness. He turned over, punched his pillows and just lay there.
He tossed and turned, listening to the bunkhouse go through its usual nighttime litany of creeks, cracks, and groans. They were comforting, familiar. But they didn’t help him fall asleep.
Rory tensed when he heard footsteps in the hallway but they passed by his room without pausing. He relaxed when he heard a cough; it belonged to Liam. Rory was used to hearing the foreman visit the bathroom at least twice each night. Sure enough, a minute or so later, he heard the toilet flush, the sound getting louder when Liam opened the bathroom door. After the footsteps passed by his room once again, Rory’s mind told him he needed to relieve himself, too. Usually he could last all night, but then he didn’t usually drink so much beer. He tried to think of other things; he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to venture out; what if Zane were lying in wait for him? But his need to piss became ever more urgent so he threw off the bedclothes and got out of bed. He pulled at his door handle but the door didn’t move. He started to panic at being locked in like in one of the group homes, but then he remembered the lock was on his side and he’d been the one to engage it. Letting out a long breath, Rory undid the lock and ventured out into the hallway.
He approached Zane’s room, determinedly not looking to see if the door was open. But he heard soft snores so knew Zane was asleep. That gave him a small amount of comfort. Obviously the kiss hadn’t perturbed the man too much.
As Rory relieved himself, he wondered if he could pass off his, uh, pass as a joke or drunken foolishness. His heart ached at even thinking of belittling something that had meant the world to him. It had been a small if ill-advised demonstration of Rory’s deep affection for Zane. No, he couldn’t just laugh it off.
Sighing, he shook himself dry, tucked himself away, flushed the toilet, washed his hands, drank a glass of water, and padded back to his room.
Chapter 6
Consciousness returned slowly and in stages. First came the headache. Even though he’d never had one before, Rory knew he was suffering from a hangover. He cracked his eyes open and immediately closed them again—too bright. And it tasted like something had died in his mouth. What was it Liam had said about drinking water and taking Tylenol? He remembered doing the former but not the latter.
Next thing he became aware of was a cold stickiness in the front of his jockeys. Sliding a hand inside his underwear, his fingers encountered cold come. God, he’d had a wet dream. Although he couldn’t remember it, he had a pretty good idea what—or who—he’d dreamed about. Then he remembered The Kiss. “Oh, God!” he groaned. He couldn’t face Zane. Not today, probably not ever. Would the man ever want to face him? They worked on the same ranch, ate meals together, slept in the same bunk house. What the hell had he done?
Opening his eyes again, much more slowly this time, Rory let his eyes adjust to the bright light. He’d not drawn the drapes the previous evening. But why was it so light? This was winter. He turned his head, winced, turned it some more and looked at the clock on his nightstand. “Shit!” It was just after half past nine. He couldn’t ever remember sleeping that late. And why hadn’t anyone woken him?
Heaving himself out of bed and dropping his jockeys, Rory did his best to clean himself up before donning clean underwear. He then unlocked his door. The hallway was empty. Heck, the entire bunk house would be empty this time of the morning. Rory made his way to the bathroom and spied a bottle of pills on the glass shelf above the sink. “Tylenol Extra Strength,” he read aloud. He smiled, knowing they’d been left there by Liam. Tipping out a couple of pills and swallowing them with two glasses of water, Rory then splashed cold water on his face and used the toilet. He’d forgotten his toiletries that were still in his room so went to retrieve them to finish his ablutions. He felt at least half human by the time he’d brushed his teeth and gargled with mouthwash.
After dressing in his room, Rory squared his shoulders and told himself he couldn’t put off facing Zane and the others any longer. He’d also have to apologize for sleeping late and missing morning chores.
Barry, who was cleaning up in the kitchen, waved away Rory’s attempts at an apology. “It’s your birthday.”
Rory winced and rubbed his head.
“Sorry,” Barry said more quietly. “You didn’t take the day off yesterday so Liam figured when you didn’t show for breakfast, you’d decided to take today off instead.”
That wasn’t exactly what had happened, but Rory didn’t feel like arguing the point. He was just relieved he wasn’t in trouble. “I can still work. Where is everyone?”
“No, take the day off to, uh, recover. Want any breakfast?”
Rory shook his head.
“You should probably try and eat something.”
“Just coffee, please.”
Moments later, Barry handed Rory his mug, and told him where everyone was.
“And Zane?” Rory doubted his inquiry came across as subtle.
“Gone to see his folks.”
Rory’s ears perked up. Was it Zane’s weekend off? He couldn’t remember.
“Said he needed to talk with his mom and dad so asked if he could swap his weekend off. As there’s not a lot going on, Liam said he could. Oh, almost forgot.” Barry moved behind Rory. “Zane said you dropped this yesterday.”
Rory turned to see Barry holding his hat. He’d wondered where it’d gone.
Barry smiled. “I expect with you being, uh, a little tipsy last night, you just dropped it.”
“Uh, yeah.”
It didn’t seem likely Zane had told Barry about the kiss. That was a relief. Rory took a sip of his black coffee and closed his eyes. Barry made the best coffee.
The door to the mud room crashed open. Rory snapped his eyes open and seconds later saw Jimmy bounding into the kitchen.
Spotting Rory, Jimmy made a beeline for him. “Yo, Rory!” He said loudly, slapping Rory on the shoulder.
Rory’s head, which was starting to feel better, began to pound again. “Hi, Jimmy. Sorry I wasn’t around for morning chores. I was—”
“You were hung over.” Jimmy laughed. “No worries. I know what they’re like.”
“And you don’t like people shouting at you or slapping you on the back,” Barry said, “so quit teasing Rory.”
Jimmy grinned. “Was just funning with you, man. So, how’s it feel to be twenty-one?”
Rory groaned. “Ask me tomorrow, if I’m still alive.”
“What you need is a big greasy fry up. Eggs, bacon, hash brown potatoes…help you to soak up the alcohol.”
Rory felt bile rising in his stomach. He put his hand over his mouth, got to his feet and made a dash for the hall bathroom. He didn’t quite make it and upchucked onto the bath rug. However, he was in position kneeling in front of the toilet for round two. Not that there had been much left to come up.
Several dry heaves later, Rory looked up to see a sympathetic Barry holding a washcloth, which he wordlessly handed over.
“Thanks. Rory wiped his face. The cool cloth felt so refreshing against his heated skin. Looking up, he wasn’t sure what to do with the washcloth but Barry solved the problem by taking it from him. “Sorry, I made a mess. I’ll clean—”
“No you won’t, I’ll get Jimmy to do it. Serve him right for teasing you.”
Rory managed a weak smile. He doubted Jimmy would do any cleaning up. This was confirmed when Barry picked up the mat and carried it out of the bathroom.
“Come on, back to the kitchen with you. I’ll mix up something that’ll help settle your stomach.”
* * * *
It was debatable which was worse, the cure that Barry insisted was an old family recipe, or the pounding head and acid stomach. The glass of thick, foaming, sickly yellow liquid Rory was handed didn’t exactly look appetizing.
“Best to drink it all in one go if you can,” Barry encouraged.
Rory didn’t know if the smug grin on Jimmy’s face indicated the stuff tasted as revolting as it looked, or that it actually worked.
It took two attempts to empty the glass. Rory thought he might need to make another dash to the bathroom. He let out a soft burp but nothing seemed in danger of coming back up.
“Now go back to bed and rest,” Barry said, taking the empty glass from him.
“Not tired.” Besides, if he slept any more, he wouldn’t get any sleep that night.
Barry sighed. “Well, read a book or watch TV or something. Just take it easy today, okay?”
“Best not to argue with him when he gets like this,” Jimmy said.
Rory nodded, thanked Barry for the medicine, and left the ranch house.
* * * *
Rory tried reading but soon grew bored and distracted. His mind played an endless loop of The Kiss and Zane’s shocked reaction to it. But no matter how many times Rory replayed the scene, he couldn’t totally regret it. Zane may not have appreciated or enjoyed the contact, but at least he now knew how Rory felt about him.
Shutting off his tablet, Rory turned on the TV. At home his dad always had custody of the remote and watched whatever he wanted to watch; Rory usually escaped to his room, claiming he had homework. In the group homes the bigger kids had the final say on what everyone watched, and Rory either sat at the back of the room and watched or went back to his shared bedroom to read. Here at the ranch, Rory always let the others decide on what shows were screened as he genuinely had no preference. Now he had free choice of hundreds of channels and soon discovered there was nothing of interest on any of them. Reruns of classic sitcoms didn’t amuse him, morning talk shows had him rolling his eyes at the stupidity of the studio guests, the plots on the morning soaps seemed unlikely to say the least. He stopped on a game show, thinking that would hold more promise.
“And finally, for one thousand dollars,” the host said, “Who is the Greek god of medicine?”
“Asclepius,” Rory mumbled.
One of the contestants pressed their buzzer.
“Yes, Jenny,” the host asked.
“Uh, Hipper…Hippocrates!” she shouted excitedly.
“Wrong.” Rory groaned and flipped to the next channel.
Several minutes—and channels—later, Rory said, “Enough!” and turned off the set.
He tried to interest himself in a word game on his phone but as usual, didn’t find them very challenging. Next he opened up the ranch game and toyed with that for a few minutes before entering the Ranch Dressing section where players could clothe one of the cowboys. Naturally he chose Zane, and had the virtual character try on various outfits, but good though the graphics were, virtual Zane wasn’t a patch on real Zane. The image on the screen couldn’t convey the warmth, the gentleness, the total awesomeness that was Zane Fox.
Closing the ranch game, Rory unpacked the collection of logic puzzles Debbie had sent him for his birthday. Yes, they were challenging and required a good deal of concentration, but yet again, he found his mind wandering back to the events of the previous evening.
He took a shower but felt guilty when he got hard and started jerking off to an imaginary scenario of unbuttoning Zane’s duster to find the man naked and hard underneath. Rory then imagined himself sinking to his knees and swallowing Zane’s cock to the root.
Drying off and getting dressed, Rory glanced at the time on his cell phone and was dismayed to discover that less than two hours had passed since Barry had told him to take it easy. Taking it easy was proving rather hard.
Although still feeling a little under the weather, Rory felt well enough to do some work in the tack room. It would help pass the time at least, and he was eager to use the tools Liam had bought him for his birthday.
Rory passed the rows of empty stalls—all the horses having been turned out—and entered the tack room. He switched on the little electric heater but chose to leave the radio off. There’d been precious little silence at home when his dad was around, and music or other noises had been a constant in the group homes.
Sitting at the small workbench, Rory ran his fingers over the new set of leather-working tools Liam had bought him. He hadn’t noticed before that his initials were embossed in gold leaf on one corner of the leather wallet that held the tool set.
He got lost in his work and didn’t notice the time slipping by. Next thing he was aware of was a soft knock on the tack room door. He looked up to see Barry entering.
“Is it lunchtime already?”
It was obvious from Barry’s expression he hadn’t come to announce lunch. Rory’s stomach, which had behaved well all morning, began to cramp.
“You got a call a few minutes ago,” Barry said quietly, stepping farther into the tack room and closing the door behind him. “I tried reaching you at the bunk house but…I wrote down the lady’s number and said I’d ask you to call her back.” Barry laid a folded piece of paper next to the bridle Rory was working on.
Rory never got calls. Well, Debbie did contact him once, maybe it was her, wishing him a belated happy birthday, but why would she have Barry write down her number?
Opening the note, he saw a name, Mandy Brickhill, and a number with a Kansas area code. Rory came from Kansas but didn’t think anyone would be calling him from there. And he didn’t know a Mandy Brickhill.
“She said she works for the Department of Corrections but she wouldn’t give me any further details other than what I wrote down.”
Rory went cold. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. Why would Garry or someone on his behalf be calling him after so long? He tried to examine how he felt, although that was a pointless exercise, given he didn’t know why the prison was calling.
“She did say it was important,” Barry added.
Important or not, Rory wasn’t sure he wanted to return the call. He’d long ago pushed Garry Brown out of his life and didn’t think he wanted the man to re-enter it.
Rory had to admire Barry for not peppering him with questions about why someone from such a department would be calling him. Maybe Zane had already told Barry about his father? But he rejected that notion as soon as he thought of it.
Rory moistened his dry lips. “You remember I told you my mom was dead?”
Barry nodded.
“My father is serving a life sentence in Kansas for her murder.”
Barry gasped quietly but didn’t say anything. He put his hand over one of Rory’s that still rested on the workbench and gave it a squeeze. Rory turned his hand over and laced his fingers with Barry’s.
“I haven’t seen my father since…” Rory swallowed, “since the day he killed Mom. Dad accepted a plea bargain, so at least I didn’t have to testify that I saw him…kill her.”
“Oh, Rory.” Barry gave his hand another squeeze.
Rory let out a long breath and said aloud what he’d thought earlier about not wanting Garry back in his life.
Barry nodded. “I can understand that, but…It’s totally your choice but just calling and speaking to this Mandy woman wouldn’t necessarily be letting your dad back in your life, the contact being, I don’t know, once removed. But as I said, it’s up to you.”
Oh, God. Why couldn’t Garry have just stayed gone? Then he had an alarming thought. Was this woman calling to say Garry had been granted early release or something? Was that possible for people convicted of second degree murder?
“Do you want me to leave so you can—?”
“No.” Rory tightened his fingers around Barry’s. If his father was on the loose or about to be, then Rory didn’t know what he’d do. Clearly the prison had found him, and God knew how. So if they knew, did Garry? He shuddered.
“Okay, I can stay for as long as you need.”
Rory swallowed and nodded his thanks. He looked down at the note again and smiled to himself at Barry’s neat, flowing cursive. His mom had always insisted Rory practice his handwriting. Rory hadn’t agreed, telling her learning to type was more important because everyone used computers. He wished now he’d listened to her because his penmanship wasn’t a patch on Barry’s.
Sighing and deciding he might as well get it over with, Rory fished out his cell from his pocket and tapped out the number. He paused for a couple of seconds before his thumb touched the “call” icon, and he raised the phone to his ear. After a couple of rings, a brisk but not unfriendly female voice announced, “Mandy Brickhill.”
Rory opened his mouth, cleared his throat, and said, “Ms. Brickhill, this is Rory Brown. I understand you wanted to speak with me?”
“Oh, yes, Rory. May I call you Rory?”
Rory nodded, then realizing she couldn’t see him, said, “Yes.”
