Chapter 19

Nineteen

D ane

Walter came shuffling back into the room and sat down heavily on the couch next to me. I'd been working my way through Bob Dylan songs, trying to zone out on all the shit that had happened. I needed to find that empty space or else I was going to have to welcome the full-body shakes back until I was in pieces on the floor.

I'd finished "One More Cup of Coffee" and was about to start playing "Simple Twist of Fate" when Walter reached over and squeezed my knee.

"Can I get you something to eat? Kal is in there cooking late-night breakfast."

I shrugged. "I don't think I could get anything down." I looked toward the foyer. "Those other cops leaving?"

Walter seemed jittery. He kept rubbing his palms on his pants and looking around.

"Detective Ramos is leaving, but he's got his people staying outside. He's got some leads to go on, including a possible sighting of the suspect on a motorcycle. They're going to see if they can get a name."

"That's good." I adjusted the tuning a bit on the guitar and strummed it a few times.

"Hey, what were you playing?" Ryan asked as he and Kal came in. Kal set a plate of eggs and toast in front of me, the intention clear. He was a caretaker, that one, and he knew I should eat. I smiled at him and tried to make myself eat a few bites. Not even a cigarette sounded appealing.

"Bob Dylan. I have a few songs I like to play when I'm in my feelings. The man had a way of making you feel small in the best way possible, like your so-called big problems are nothing compared to that of your fellow man and for that you should celebrate, take them in stride."

Ryan picked up his guitar. "I know this probably sounds sacrilegious, but I don't know any of his songs. I mean, of course I know ‘All Along The Watchtower,' but mostly because of U2."

"Me too?"

"U2," Walter said. "An Irish rock band. Their first album came out in eighty-one here."

I nodded. "Well, then. Let's learn you some Dylan. Hmmm… where to start?"

"‘I Want You'?" Walter asked. "I always liked that one, although I have no idea what it's about."

I shrugged and started to play the intro. "Like all Bob's songs, if you ask him, his answer changes. And he never plays them the same way twice, it seems. I know it as D, F sharp major, C sharp, B major, and A7."

Ryan was able to keep up and we played through the verse and the chorus. He was a quick study. We started it again, and then I began to sing. When I got to the I want yous, I couldn't help it—I stared right at Walter. I was exhausted, and the only thing keeping me together right now was playing the songs I'd always found comfort in and having this man sitting beside me.

We played the song all the way through, and I only flubbed up the lyrics once, which was pretty good for not playing the song in… how long?

"Not bad for a sixty-seven-year-old man," I said as I finished out the tune.

Ryan was all smiles. "Dylan himself would be proud."

I had a moment of fear, but Walter stepped in. "He's still with us. Still touring, too, at seventy-eight years old. Still putting out albums."

"Thanks, man," Ryan said. "I never had anyone around who could teach me the old—uh, I mean the classics."

We all laughed at his choice of words. "I'm happy to teach you anything I know, but you've got to catch me up on everything I've missed."

"Deal."

I was profoundly grateful to be communing with another musician, in this house, at this particular moment. The years between us didn't matter as we found common ground. Eventually Kal joined us on the piano, Walter kept our glasses of water full and watched us with what seemed like quiet joy. Denny and Gene were in and out, mostly huddled around a computer in the kitchen, and though I knew there were other police officers hidden around the property, all that mattered were the three men in the room with me. They'd rescued me, watched out for me, and now, they were making me part of their trusted circle.

Being raised by a single mom and then spending so much time with Tess meant that I was mostly around women. There were a few men I was friendly with, like the guys I played with in the band, but I didn't have traditional male friends. I think I was nervous that if I got too close to men, they'd figure out my secret.

But with Walter, Ryan, and Kal, I could be myself. Even Denny and Gene seemed to be accepting, and protective of me for that reason. There was something to be said for getting this ride to the future, to a time that was much more accepting of all the parts of me.

Eventually, Denny retired to one of the guest rooms and Gene kept watch, wandering from room to room and checking on the computer in the kitchen, which I could see from my vantage point. Walter had explained that there were cameras all over the property and they were all broadcasting to the laptop. I couldn't imagine what this internet thing was that they kept talking about, but it seemed like they had answers to any question at their fingertips. Computers, in my mind, were giant boxes in a sterile room of an office building with blinking lights and buttons. I didn't even know how the smartphone worked, much less a laptop computer, but they seemed to be able to do anything they wanted with them. To me it was some kinda magic.

Gene called Walter into the kitchen with him, and Walter patted my leg before he left.

"You're something else, man. Hey, when this is all over… what would you think about playing on my album?" Ryan's eyes flared. "I mean, I know it's beneath you?—"

"What? No, not at all." I laughed. "You're the rock star. I'm just the guy you picked up in the middle of the desert. No one will have even heard of me. Well, definitely not Dee Dee Miller."

"That's not true," Kal said, coming back to the couch. "Walter says you were a big deal. And you were on the television. I may not know a lot about popular culture, but I do know that not just anyone has TV programs made about them."

"I love that that's what you've picked up in the past year and a half," Ryan said. "I would challenge that assumption, however. Reality TV and social media have put all kinds of questionable people in the spotlight. You, Dee Dee, are not one of those, though. I fault my own biases for not knowing your music. I was such an asshole coming up as a musician, only listening to ‘the right rock bands' and poo-pooing all other forms of music."

"Oh, come on. Folkies were total snobs. There were people who wouldn't listen to us, and places we couldn't play if we played electric. And we hated bubble gum rock music. Your songs had to mean something, even if you were the only person who knew what you meant. I hated disco when it first started?—"

"Everyone hated disco," Walter interjected as he returned to the room. "But then when KISS did it, people still listened to it."

"KISS? Those guys from New York, right? With the makeup?"

"Did you fucking meet them too?" Ryan asked, shaking his head and putting his guitar down. "I bet you hung out with Zeppelin."

I grinned. "Robert Plant was dreamy." I wiggled my eyebrows at him, and he threw a pillow at me.

"If you tell me you met David Bowie?—"

"He was a fucking god ," I moaned. "He came to a party here, just once, and I almost died when I saw him kissing another man. I made Tess take me to his concert at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium in seventy-two. Ziggy Stardust. I was in awe. I wished I'd had the guts to do what he did."

I glanced at Walter, and he had that shy smile on his face. He'd been very quiet during this conversation.

"We're going to crash. We'll be here for whatever you need tomorrow, okay?" Ryan stood and moved to my side. He surprised me by bending over and giving me a hug, which he held for a few moments, giving a squeeze before he stood. He slapped hands and did a strange sort of hand-clasp shake with Walter, and then he hopped on Kal's back. Kal carried him down the hallway to their bedroom, with Ryan slapping his ass the whole way.

"You kids should get some sleep too," Gene hollered from the kitchen.

"Okay, Dad," Walter muttered. He stretched his arms over his head. "Want a piggyback ride too? I can drop you off at your room."

I laughed, but then I realized what he was saying. "Oh, do you not want to sleep with me?"

His eyes flared. "God, yes, but I didn't want to assume. I was just going to crash on the couch."

That wasn't going to do. Guess it was time for some breadcrumbs. "I would love a ride."

His hungry look was back.He stood up and gave me his back. "Hop on."

I stepped up on the couch and put a hand on his shoulder. "Turn around." I pushed at his shoulder until he was facing me. Then I linked my arms around his neck. "Are you ready?" I wrapped one leg around his hip, and he caught the other one, his hands under my thighs for support.

He didn't strain under my weight as he walked, but he did look as if he was struggling with something .

"This is nice," I said, sliding my fingers into his hair, loving the way the short hairs tickled my fingers. "Tonight, playing, and earlier. I mean, except for the whole maniac on the loose."

He shrugged. "Minor detail."

"Totally minor. But the restaurant, that kiss… This."

"Mmm," Walter murmured as he stared up into my eyes. " So nice. Listening to you play and sing." He opened the door and let me slide down his body.

"Thank you for the ride," I said, not letting go of his neck. I pushed up on my toes and kissed him gently.

He moaned and took the kiss so deep, my knees buckled. He clutched at my ass, pulling our groins together so tight, every movement sent fireworks through me.

"You taste good," he said.

"Don't leave," I said, tired of worrying about what I said, what I did. "Please stay with me, Walter. I promise… it'll be nice."

He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. "I'm trying to be nice."

"Walter… wouldn't it be nice to not be alone? To feel something real together?"

"So nice… too nice." He seemed to snap out of his lust for a moment.

"Walter? What's wrong?"

He sighed and slid his hands around to my lower back. "I keep thinking of a line from a cheesy nineties movie?—"

"Tell me."

He chuckled and looked up at the ceiling. "It's this cop, and he's on this bus trying to save people from a bomb?—"

"A bomb? Is this like a Clint Eastwood movie? Like Dirty Harry?"

That made him laugh harder.

"Not exactly. Anyway, the cop and this woman who's driving the bus, they have an intimate moment, and she says something to him like, ‘you know, relationships that are formed during intense circumstances never work out.'"

I had an idea of what he was trying to say. We were going through a horrible experience together, and sure, I'd somehow missed out on forty years of my life, although my body still looked twenty-seven years old. But he was real to me, and he was here. I couldn't spend another minute worrying about whether I had a future. All I had for sure was right now.

"In the movie? Do they get together?"

He laughed. "Well, yeah. But then in the sequel, she's with someone else?—"

"Walter, we can't worry about the sequel. I'm living the sequel. I shouldn't even have this time right now, but somehow I do. And I want to spend it with you."

He frowned and pressed his lips together. "Fine. You should know then that there are certain people who are convinced that I'm like my father. That I may succumb to mental illness. I see a therapist on a regular basis and I?—"

"Walter, we're in this together, right? Isn't that what you said? I'm in this. You have a choice."

"And I made my choice."

"Then what are we waiting?—"

"I'm trying to be the nice guy here."

"Nice is so nineteen seventy-nine."

He laughed again. "God, now you've got me quoting another movie in my head. ‘Be nice, 'til it's time to not be nice.' Patrick Swayze, Roadhouse ."

"Walter?"

"Hmm?"

"It's time to not be nice."

It was good to know I could still evoke emotion with my words.

Walter had me undressed in a few quick moves of his hands. It took me longer to get to his skin through his sweater, his buttons on his shirt, his under shirt… So many layers, but once I did, I was in heaven. We stood facing each other, drinking in each other's curves, angles, and planes. And scars.

I ran my finger over a long one on his right shoulder and looked into his eyes.

"Surgery."

I gripped his left biceps and ran my thumb over a round scar there.

"Bullet."

My eyebrows shot up. I looked down and ran my palm over his left hip. "And here?"

"Got clipped by a car."

I knelt before him, keeping my gaze locked with his. I ran my hands over his velvety-soft skin covered by luscious dark hair, and I pressed a kiss to his scar there, taking time to nuzzle his hipbone before trailing kisses to his navel and below.

"Dane," he breathed as I ran my lips over the head of his beautiful cock. I rubbed my face in that nest of hair and inhaled his incredible scent.

"Please?"

He muttered something incomprehensible and nodded. As I opened my mouth and took him inside, I knew what Heaven tasted like. I knew what it felt like, and I wanted more.

Walter gently cupped the curve of my skull with one hand and caressed my scarred cheek with his other. "You good?" he whispered.

"So good."

His lips quirked under that mustache, and I remembered what it felt like when he'd treated me to such an incredible experience. I wanted to make him feel as good as he had me.

"So nice," he whispered back, and then moaned as I used my tongue, lips, and hands to work him and make him quake in the best way.

"Dane… Dane… Dane. God… Dane! " His back arched, his hips curled forward, and his grip tightened on my hair as he came, and I got to watch it all, taste it all, feel it all. I took it until I had to breathe. I sat back on my heels and laughed, so grateful to be alive.

"That was… nice. "

Walter rolled his eyes at me and took my hand to help me up. He pulled me into his arms and held me tight, his breath coming in pants. When he seemed to have recovered, he walked me to the bed, pulled back the blankets, and directed me to lay down. He climbed in beside me and sprawled across my chest.

"I'm not done, don't worry. Just need to catch my breath."

I ran my hands over his back and sighed. "If I'm dreaming, don't ever wake me up."

He pushed up. "If you are, that makes two of us." He reached under the blanket and gripped my cock, making me arch up off the bed. "If you are, then you'll have to tell me if this is okay." He lightly grazed my balls with his fingers, and I sighed happily, spreading my legs to give him access.

"Very… nice."

He shook his head. "Only nice? I guess I'll have to up my game."

He disappeared under the blanket and a moment later, I felt him someplace new?—

"Walter!"

He peeked out from under the blankets and held a finger to his lips. "Was that not okay?" I narrowed my eyes at him, and he ran his fingers over my sac and down to my hole."Have you never?"

I shook my head. "Never."

"It'll be good. I promise."

"I trust you."

He smiled and disappeared. I felt his hands on the backs of my thighs as he pushed my knees up and then… oh, the man did things with his tongue that I don't think any definition of the word nice would cover. He took full control of my body with every kiss, every touch, until there was nothing but slick sounds and the most incredible sensations.

I didn't think it could get any better, but then he took my cock in his slippery hand and began to stroke in time with his tongue, and then he pressed a finger against my hole, and then the pressure grew so intense and I felt… full. It was so much, I couldn't make out individual sensations. And then I was coming. It was effortless, the pleasure erupting from so deep inside me, it stole my breath. I felt I would either fly away or perish in the best way possible.

Then Walter was there, stroking my chest and kissing me, his mustache wet against my cheek.

"Tickles," I slurred, barely able to form words. I couldn't open my eyes or lift my limbs.

"That's it? It tickles?"

I chuckled, he sounded so exasperated. "Your mustache. It tickles."

"You said you liked my mustache." He reached for several tissues and cleaned up the mess we'd made, but I didn't even care. I didn't want to move.

"I love your mustache," I think was the last thing I said. The last thing he said made my breath catch once more.

"I love… you ."

It was so soft I might have imagined it, might have attempted to will the words and the sentiment from him.

I drifted to sleep holding on to that thought, that maybe he really could love me, and wouldn't that be nice.