Page 22 of Grind
All that despite knowing their relationship could never turn into anything beyond sex and friendship, because he couldn’t have indefinitely lived a double life.
Frank grabbed a towel from the rickety bench nearby. It was getting dark, but there were four outdoor lamps around the training area he’d set up close to his home. He’d created this space as his sanctuary, and twice even held local competitions here, yet tonight it didn’t bring respite.
Since the night when he’d left Ezra’s apartment early, he couldn’t get his head on straight, instead sulking like some rejected teenager. On one hand, maybe this was a sign that he should in the future rely on one-night stands, on the other, how couldanyonein the real world hold a candle to the absolute perfection that Ezra had been?
Frank rubbed his face with the towel and sat on the bench, doubting that he’d actually gotten all the grime off. He lit a cigarette anyway, because who the fuck cared if he was filthy or stank? Dex might have told him to shower, but his nephew didn’t live here anymore.
He looked up into the darkening sky, thinking back to the night he’d spent with Ezra in that cabin in the woods. They had stayed up until late, and Frank had taken Ezra for a spontaneous night outing on the boat, because the full moon had been so bright. They’d watched the stars reflected in the lake, and ended up getting so amorous they made out in the boat like two horny teenagers. They’d had to stop the hand jobs at one point, because the rocking made Ezra paranoid about falling into the water, which gave Frank the opportunity to boast about the lifeguard training he’d done back in the day.
Around Ezra he’d felt needed.
Important.
He’d been a wolf coaxed by a prince into showing his soft underbelly for petting.
But maybe this was for the better? The annoyance he was feeling now was the sign that he’d let his control slip when he knew perfectly well that he could not have Ezra in any other way without the risk of him running to the cops. Or worse yet, despising Frank for the scum he was.
He took a long drag of smoke, soothed by its bitter aroma.
At least he never asked Ezra to accompany him to the competition. That would have revealed how needy he was for approval. Not just Ezra’s but also the acquaintances he’d itched to show Ezra off to. And for what? For the ego boost? Maybe it would have made some sense if Ezra actually wanted to be his boyfriend, but in reality, he would have been showing off a lie, and proving himself incapable of holding down a partner unless he paid them.
So fucking pathetic. Shane would have eaten him alive with jokes if he knew.
But what should a guy like him expect from life? He lived on the fringe of society, had a shady job, and even the part of it that didn’t involve corpses was filled with rust, mold, and cockroaches scattering from under disused fridges.
If Ezra saw where Frank lived, he would have ran for the hills even before he found out about human remains hidden around the junkyard.
What made this whole thing yet more frustrating was that Frank was so confident when it came to all other aspects of his life. He had no fear about confronting people, he could wield a weapon if necessary, and was proud of the business he’d built. Hell, he had no trouble finding hookups either, once he put his mind to it. Only when it came to romance did he feel painfully inadequate.
“Frank?” Jag yelled from afar and it made Frank want to throttle him even though it wasn’t Jag’s fault that he was in a mood for murder.
“Fuck off!” he yelled back, putting the cigarette out on the bench.
“No, Frank, this is important!” Jag said, emerging from the other side of the small clearing Frank used for training. In the yellow light, Jag looked like a caveman who’d found the artefacts of an advanced civilization and decided to wear them.
Frank put his face in his hands. “Is this about the dogs? I don’t wanna hear it! You and Dane can deal with them just fine.”
He usually had far more patience for Jag. On good days, he found the guy kinda adorable in his simple ways, honesty, and the love he had for his boyfriend. Right now though, he wanted to be left alone, and this was exactly why he didn’t agree to housesit four puppies.
“No, Dane is safe with the pups in Shane’s home. There’s—”
Frank put his hands up. “Is this really not something you can deal with on your own?”
Jag shook the spear he’d made out of pipe and adorned with feathers. “There’s an intruder!”
That did rip Frank out of his sulking. “Where? Cops?”
Police coming over to investigate his junkyard was, and would always be, a little background worry, even if he had good connections with enough corrupt badges to sleep soundly.
Jag shifted his weight from side to side. “No… well… maybe not an intruder. A visitor. At the gate.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “It’s eight o’clock. Just tell them to go to hell.”
Jag huffed. “I informed him about the operating hours of the junkyard, but he insists he needs to speak to you. I don’t recognize this individual.”
Something cold curled in the pit of Frank’s stomach. “Did he give you a name?”
“Ezra.”
