Dirty Laundry: A Tucker Springs Novel #3

Denver in it, which of course Denver considered the most important variable.
    Maybe they didn’t get to beat up Brad, but they had each other.
    Even so, once he and Louisa left Adam alone, he headed straight over to El at Tucker Pawn and vented his spleen.
    El who, Denver couldn’t help but notice, was smoking again. They were weird cigarettes, though—metal things that glowed blue on the tip when he inhaled.
    “E-cigarettes,” El explained with a wry turn of his wrist to display a brand name on the side. “Turns out it isn’t the nicotine I need half as much as the obsessive hand-to-mouth. These only have a little bit of drug in them, but they come close enough to the real deal to make me happy.” He took another drag and smiled a sly, victorious grin. “They also taste like caramel coffee.”
    Denver laughed and grabbed a stool, settling himself in. “Well, good enough.”
    El twirled the black stick between his fingers as he studied Denver. “So tell me why you’re here. You looked like you were ready to do murder when you came in.”
    Denver told him the whole story of Brad causing Adam’s panic attack, of going to confront him and being let down. He told El about the fight that had led them there, about what Adam had found out about why he couldn’t study. He confessed, too, about the GED thing and how it was why he hadn’t accepted Tiny’s offer, but that he was going to work on it now.
    El sat wide-eyed through it all, and not once did he make a snarky comment. When Denver finally finished, he looked thoughtful. “I had no idea the GED was an issue. Now I feel like a dick for just assuming you had low expectations for yourself, that you liked being nothing more than a bouncer.”
    Denver shrugged. “I didn’t give you any reason to think otherwise.”
    “Yes, but in hindsight, it never added up.” He frowned. “Well, at least Adam had the sense to push. I suppose that’s why the two of you ended up together, right?”
    Denver’s eyes fell to the e-cigarette, and he was suddenly quite sure it’d been Paul’s idea, not El’s, a kind of compromise to give him what he needed while still keeping him from developing lung cancer at forty. Because that’s what the right partner did: they helped you find your better self, especially when you couldn’t clear out the cobwebs on your own to find the way.
    He smiled to himself, feeling easier than he had all day. “Guess so.”

Six months later
    It was a warm May Friday afternoon, but the wind was a little too strong for Adam’s taste, so he wore a scarf and a pair of gloves as he sat outside on the park bench across from Tiny’s gym as he waited for Denver to get done with his client. He could go inside and sit in Denver’s office, but it didn’t have any windows, and it just didn’t feel right, no matter how Denver tried to modify it for him to make him feel “at home.” It felt like Denver’s space in a way nothing else could.
    Also, it smelled pretty much constantly like feet, which had nothing to do with Denver and everything to do with the sweaty locker room next door. Just knowing that his high school nightmare sat next to Denver’s office was enough to keep Adam away pretty much all the time.
    The other reason Adam sat outside instead of going in was that a construction crew was working in the former empty lot beside the gym, and the workmen didn’t seem to have the same issue with the wind that Adam did. They didn’t have their shirts off yet, but Adam lived in hope. They sure looked sweaty. Big and sweaty and wonderful. He sipped at his tea as he watched, smiling behind the rim of his paper mug.
    “Hey, faggot!”
    The slur made Adam still, and he glanced carefully without turning his head in the direction of the sound. A gang of male undergrads drifted toward him on the sidewalk, from their listing clearly getting a head start on their weekend partying. The boys came closer, and Adam gripped his cup, his anxiety ramping up like an engine. He let it rev—let the horses paw the ground, he amended, correcting the mental analogy—as he tried to decide what to do.
    He knew what he was supposed to do, or rather, what Denver would want. His cell phone lay beside him on the bench, waiting for Denver’s text that he was heading in for a quick shower. All Adam had to do was send a quick SOS and Denver would come out in a storm of Dom fury and take care of things. It would be hot, and it would definitely be entertaining.
    The