End of the Line by Nicky James

SIXTEEN

Killian

“What did you do to him?”

“I swear to god, we shared two hits each, and I put it out.”

Dodger couldn’t stop laughing. His eyes were glassy, but not nearly as glassy as Leo’s, who was skipping and dancing on the road ahead, belting out the lyrics to Britney Spears, telling us all he was not that innocent.

Tyler had joined in, shuffling his feet in erratic dance moves as he bumped hips with Leo and pumped his fists in the air along with the beat. They were both terribly off-key, and it was a good thing no one was around to see.

“You broke him.”

Willow had pulled her jacket over her face to hide the fact that she was losing her mind laughing.

Dodger made no effort to hide his humor. “He’s so fucking stoned. This is awesome. I think I like him like this. Way more down to earth. He’s lost all his starchy edge.”

“He’s not starchy. We’ll never get a ride now. Anyone willing to stop will take one look at him and drive away, thinking we’re nothing but a bunch of hooligans.”

Dodger swung his arm around my shoulder. “We are a bunch of hooligans. Come on, Killer. Loosen up. No one’s picking us up anyhow. We’ve been walking all day, and he needed to chill out. Admit it, your boyfriend is awesome like this.”

“It’s true,” Willow said, walking on my other side, the shadow of a smile still on her lips. “He’s been wound so tight about what happened to him in Montreal. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him.”

“Maybe it will help with the nightmares tonight,” Dodger added. “We’ve all heard them.”

I watched Leo as he broke into a Spice Girls song, telling us all what he wanted what he really, really wanted. He might have been a terrible singer, but the weed had removed his inhibition. It was the happiest I’d seen him. Dodger was right. For all Leo tried to hide his torment during the day, when he fell asleep at night, it surfaced in the form of raging nightmares. They were getting worse by the day, but he wouldn’t talk about them. He bottled it up in the hope that it might go away. The idea that he’d possibly killed someone was eating him alive, and I wasn’t sure how much longer it would be until he snapped.

So, maybe this little reprieve wasn’t all bad—provided he stayed a happy stoner and didn’t dissolve into a blubbering mess. If that happened, I would hand him off to Dodger and make him deal with it since this was all his fault.

“Do you need a backup singer?” I asked Willow when Leo hit a particularly painful high note that broke his voice like he was a teenager.

Willow cringed. “He’s really bad.”

“He’s terrible.”

“I love it,” Dodger said. “This is the most fun I’ve had since we picked him up.”

“That’s because you’re stoned.”

Dodger shrugged. Before long, he was shuffling and moving to the beat like he couldn’t help himself. I half expected him to skip ahead with Tyler and Leo and join their little party.

The duo up front was doing a Sonny and Cher duet at that point, arms around each other as they swayed down the road, singing to the encroaching night.

“He’s got you, babe,” Willow imitated as she wrapped an arm around me.

I buried my face in my palms and laughed.

It was dusk when an older man in a late-model SUV pulled off to the side of the road. We’d long ago stopped expecting a ride and were going as far as our legs would take us before finding a place to crash for the night.

Leo was still buzzed, hanging off my arm with his head on my shoulder, softly singing some song that wasn’t in English. We were all over the road since he could barely walk in a straight line. He’d eaten a full meal of Jolly Ranchers and Pop Rocks—the latter which sent him into a giggling fit as they snapped and popped on his tongue.

“It feels like fireworks in my mouth,” he’d exclaimed. Then he’d run around with his tongue sticking out, showing everyone the sizzling candy until Dodger had pinched his tongue between his fingers and wouldn’t let go.

They’d walked like that for a quarter mile, Dodger dragging Leo by the tongue—which was stained purple—and Leo choking on his spit from laughing as he tried to keep up.

As the SUV slowed and made its way onto the gravel shoulder, Leo jerked his head up, eyes wide, pupils blown, the lingering effects of the pot apparent. “Is someone stopping? Did we get a ride?”

“Maybe. Don’t talk. Can you do that? Let us sort this one out. You’re still loopy.”

He made an exaggerated motion of zipping his lips, but it was the cool, laid-back strut he tried to effect as we strolled forward that almost broke me. He was too much.

Tyler jogged ahead as the man got out of his vehicle and greeted us. He was older, easily in his midsixties, with thinning silver hair and a small paunch that pulled at his shirt front. His skin was weathered and aged, but his eyes were sharp. He wore a pressed button-down with a pocket protector, beige trousers, and leather loafers with tassels.

He shook Tyler’s hand with a friendly smile. “The name’s Paul.”

“Nice to meet you, Paul. I’m Tyler. These are my friends, Willow, Troy”—Dodger sneered at the use of his first name—“Killian, and Leo.”

Paul shook hands all around. Leo showed him his tongue, explaining it was purple from too many Pop Rocks.

I jabbed him in the ribs, and he pinched his lips together, batting his lashes with an innocence that made me snort.

Paul didn’t seem to notice or care. “What are you bunch doing out in the middle of nowhere at this time of night? Sun’s almost down. Are you looking for a ride?”

“We’re trying to get to Moose Jaw,” Dodger said. “Any chance you’re heading that way?”

It was a long shot.

Paul scratched his five-o’clock shadow. It scritched like sandpaper under his fingers. “Not planning to. I live about forty clicks from here, just outside Virden. Moose Jaw is another three and a half hours west after that. That’s quite a trek.”

“Any chance we can catch a ride to Virden at least?” Willow asked. “Every little bit helps.”

Paul studied us, and I wouldn’t have blamed him if he said no. We were five rough-looking kids, and he wasn’t a young man.

When he nodded and clucked his tongue, I think we were all shocked. “Yep. I think I can do that. I don’t usually take this route home, you see, but for whatever reason, I changed things up today. The good Lord must have wanted our paths to cross. I’d say he wants me to help you folks out.”

I exchanged a subtle glance with Dodger.

“Thank you, sir,” Dodger said, pulling up his manners. “We appreciate it.”

“Might be a tight fit, but we’ll make do. You folks toss your bags in the back there and squeeze in.”

We did just that.

Dodger took the front passenger seat, and Tyler, Leo, Willow, and I crammed into the back.

“All set?” Paul asked, peering through the rearview mirror. We were crunched together, Leo almost on my lap, but it was better than walking.

Leo gave him two thumbs up and a crooked grin. “This is fabulous.”

Willow pressed a hand over Leo’s mouth, rolling her eyes. “We’re fine. Thank you.”

Paul was a talker. We found out he was a pastor at the only church in Virden. He had two grown sons, who had left home many years ago, and several grandchildren. He and his wife lived in a farmhouse outside their small town and were both active in the community. He spoke of pancake breakfast fundraisers, craft sales, and church picnics in the summertime. He told us about his grandchildren and how he and his wife had once fostered a few kids back in the day. After he’d chatted our ear off for a solid twenty minutes, he turned it on us.

“So, what’s freight-hopping mean?” Paul asked when Dodger explained that we were all traveling across the country.

“It’s our preferred method of getting around,” Tyler explained. “We jump freight trains and take them wherever they’re going. Sometimes we don’t have a destination and land where we land.”

“Now isn’t that something?” Paul didn’t seem to care that it was illegal. In fact, he was fascinated and asked all kinds of questions.

“So, are you all homeless? Do you have a place to go when you aren’t traveling? What about your parents? Where are they? They must be worried sick.”

“My parents are in Moose Jaw.” Dodger jumped in, saving anyone else the need to explain. “But mostly we enjoy a freer lifestyle. We have friends across the country who let us crash on their couches. Sometimes we stay in hostels. We do odd jobs to earn cash. We live wherever the wind takes us. It’s a choice for most of us.”

“It’s a good time to be young.” Paul nodded and caught my eye in the rearview mirror again. He spied Leo, who was resting his head against my shoulder, and I wondered if Pastor Paul would take issue with our connection.

He didn’t say a thing. We earned a soft smile before he glanced back at the road.

“So, what are your plans after I take you to Virden?” Paul asked.

“Probably camp somewhere for the night, then hit the road tomorrow and see if we can get a ride. In Moose Jaw, these guys will catch out on a new train and keep going,” Dodger explained.

“We’re going to the end of the line,” Leo said, not realizing how abstract the concept was. He wove our fingers together, and I kissed his temple, liking the idea that he planned to stick by my side.

Paul hemmed and hawed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Whelp,” he said after a long moment. “I’ll tell you what. I’m a man of God. It is my duty to Him to extend kindness to all His children without judgment. I spread His word and work hard to please Him. If you folks need a place to crash for the night, I have a fully finished basement with a bathroom and laundry. It can’t be easy living on the road. You’re welcome in my home. I’m sure Matilda would love to invite you for a morning meal. She’ll be tickled to have someone besides me to cook for. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Moose Jaw.”

The group of us in the back seat shared looks of astonishment. “That is very kind of you, sir,” I said.

“Please, call me Paul, son. And you can thank the good Lord for putting me on the path to finding you. It’s the least I can do.”

Dodger and Paul chatted up front for the rest of the ride. I caught tidbits of their conversation and knew Dodger was enduring a chat of biblical proportions. We were adaptable and nonjudgmental. When people in the big wide world offered us a helping hand, be it food or shelter or a ride, we accepted with grace. If they didn’t judge us for the life we chose to live, we wouldn’t judge them.

Not everyone was as kind as Paul.

It was dark by the time we made it to the farmhouse. It sat on a large property, a short distance from the highway. Paul helped us collect our bags and took us around to a side door where he showed us inside. It was a mudroom of sorts, and we all hung our coats and kicked off our boots.

“Tilly,” Paul called as he took us into a huge rustic, farm-style kitchen. “Come meet some friends of mine. I found them out there on the highway.”

Paul flicked on a bank of lights that were hidden above the wooden cupboards. In the middle of the wide-slatted wooden floor was a four-seater country-style dinner table. In the middle, a knitted chicken held a basket of fruit. The counters were worn laminate and peeling at the edges, but the space was welcoming. Homey. A hint of garlic and herbs hung in the air, but there was no sign of a meal cooking, so I assumed it was from earlier.

My stomach rumbled.

A spry woman in her midsixties came from a hallway, her wrinkled hands wrapped around a mug of steaming tea. Her pale blue eyes, dull with age, widened when she took us in. She wore her hair in a loose bun, silver and white strands framing her face. She was a small woman but quick on her feet. She was dressed in a knitted cardigan and track pants. I caught a whiff of ginger and flowers. The instant Tilly, or Matilda, took in our group, she skittered to the counter to put her tea down.

“Oh my. My, my. Welcome. Welcome. Please come in.” Her smile was genuine, and I saw in Matilda the same kindness as in her husband. She didn’t question her husband’s motives for bringing a ragged bunch of kids into the house. She welcomed us with open arms.

Literally.

We all earned a hug.

“Now, let me see if I can remember,” Paul said. “This here is Troy, but we can call him Dodger. Ain’t that right?”

Dodger nodded.

“There’s a story behind the nickname, and just you wait until you hear it. Fascinated me.” Paul patted Dodger’s shoulder.

Dodger stepped forward to greet Matilda.

“Now let me think.” Paul wagged his finger at the rest of us. “Don’t help me. This fine young lady is Willow. This tall young man with the hair is Tyler, and these two,” Paul’s face broke into a wide grin, “I’ve gathered fancy each other. Lenard, was it?” he asked Leo.

“Leo,” Leo corrected. “And this is my boyfriend, Killian. We’re gay.”

I snagged Leo’s hand and squeezed until he yelped. The residual weed had eliminated his filter, and I was glad Paul seemed okay with our relationship.

Paul chuckled and nodded. “That’s right. Leo and Killian. Young love is a special, special thing.”

We all exchanged hellos and how are yous with Paul’s wife. She seemed to adore Leo and squished his cheeks between her palms, assuring him he was more than welcome under her roof.

“They’re going to stay down in the basement for the night, and I’ll be taking them to Moose Jaw in the morning.” Paul went on to tell his wife about how he’d ended up on a different highway coming home and how it was fate that he’d run into us on the side of the road. His fascination with our freight-hopping showed as he explained about our lifestyle and all the places we’d been and how we lived on the fly.

Matilda proved to be as hospitable as her husband. When Paul showed us the fully furnished basement, his wife collected blankets and clean towels so we could shower. She also made a large platter of sandwiches for us to share since my stomach wasn’t the only one being obnoxious.

“Feel free to use the laundry,” Paul said. “I imagine it must be nice to have clean clothes now and again. There’s one bedroom down here, but I’m sure you all won’t mind sleeping on the floor in the TV room. Perhaps your lady friend there might like a room to herself. Up to you folks. However you want to work it.”

We didn’t agree or disagree. It was a kind offer. The likelihood was we’d all crash together in the main room. There was plush beige carpet and a huge flat-screen TV on the wood-paneled wall. An ancient curio held a selection of DVDs and VHS tapes Paul told us had belonged to his kids way back when. We were told to make ourselves at home, and Matilda would make a nice big breakfast in the morning.

After that, he left us on our own.

Leo yawned. His eyes were heavy as he rocked on his feet. “What now?”

Tyler and Willow took control of the laundry, Dodger set out the blankets in a heap, and I was instructed to get Leo into a shower since he was falling asleep on his feet. He’d worn himself out.

“I should make you shower him,” I told Dodger. “You did this.”

“Oh, stop. You loved every second of Stoner Leo.”

“I think I’m better now,” Leo said, his eyes shifting around like he was doing a self-analysis. “I don’t feel stoned anymore. Are we really spending the night in a stranger’s house? This is so weird.”

“It’s part of what happens when you travel with us.”

“Paul’s pretty cool. He didn’t even flinch when I told him you were my boyfriend, and he’s one of those churchy guys. I thought they all hated us.”

“They aren’t all bad,” Dodger said. “Now go shower. Don’t give Killer a hard time, or I won’t share my weed again.”

Leo grinned and wandered off to the bathroom. “That was fun.”

Dodger laughed and shook his head.

I found Leo staring into the mirror, eyes wide. It was the first time he’d seen himself since Willow had given him the mini makeover. He traced his tongue over the hoop in his lip and turned his face side to side, studying his eyes.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“You think I’m hot like this?”

“I think you’re hot regardless, but it did give me a chub for half the day.”

He tugged the bandana off his head. His hair was flattened and messy. The ritzy, posh man was gone, and the man looking in the mirror was someone else entirely.

“Do you regret this yet?” I asked, unsure if I wanted to know the answer.

“Nope. Not even a little.”

Leo abandoned the mirror and stripped off his clothes. I couldn’t take my eyes off him and the miles of porcelain skin he unveiled. His bruises were almost gone.

“Are you showering with me?” he asked, catching my eye.

I dragged my gaze from his long legs to his face. I couldn’t say no if I wanted to. I undressed and let Leo guide me under the hot stream of water. We took turns washing each other. Leo’s hands wandered over my chest, tracing old scars or marks I’d long forgotten. He moved them in slow circles as he traveled lower, ending between my legs. I closed my eyes as he gave my growing erection attention, slicking a soapy hand up and down my length. I grunted and pushed into his hand. Fireworks sparked to life in my head, and I leaned against the shower wall and let him take control.

Leo let the shower rain on us until the soap had trickled down the drain, then he dropped to his knees and took me into his mouth. I still had trouble processing the idea of some billionaire’s son on his knees sucking my cock, but when I looked down into Leo’s flushed face with his wet eyelashes framing silver-blue eyes, I was a goner.

He sucked me with enthusiasm and greed, his big puppy eyes never leaving my face as he took note of my every reaction. I stroked his cheek and watched my cock disappear between his swollen lips. At one point, Leo guided my hands to his hair, silently telling me to take control. He begged with his eyes. So I thrust a few times, careful not to go too deep. Leo popped off, and with a single word, “More,” he wrapped his lips around me again.

So I gave him what he wanted. He choked and gagged a few times, but he never pulled away. I was fueled by his soft moans and grunts of pleasure. His cock stood at attention, so I knew he was enjoying himself.

When I came, he took all he could before sputtering and breaking free for air, letting the rest of my release paint his face.

I tugged him to his feet, spun him so his back was against the wall, and returned the favor.

Before we stole all the hot water, we got out and helped each other dry off. We shared kisses and lingered in the bathroom a long time. Leo was exhausted by the time we returned to the main room with the others. When he fell onto the heap of blankets Dodger had laid out, he was out cold in less than a minute.

“Let me guess,” Dodger said, staring at a conked-out Leo. “A bit of weed, a bit of food, a solid orgasm, and he was done for.”

I shrugged, unable to fight the grin. “What can I say? I have a magical mouth and a tantalizing, wicked tongue.”

Dodger cringed and held up his hands in the universal sign for time out. “TMI. No one needs to hear that.”

Tyler was relaxing on another pile of blankets as he clicked through the available channels on the television.

“Are they still showing Leo on every news station?” I asked. It had been five days since Winnipeg. I hoped they’d given up.

“Yep. Same rinse and repeat information, though. Nothing new. Nothing about a dead bodyguard.”

That was good, wasn’t it?

Dodger collected clean clothes and took a turn in the bathroom. Willow and I sat side by side on the floor, leaning against the couch. Tyler found a movie, and we all settled in to watch. Dodger flopped onto the couch when he was done with his shower. About halfway through the movie, Leo started thrashing and muttering in his sleep. It was a prelude to more nightmares. We all recognized the signs.

“This isn’t right,” Willow said, watching Leo whimper.

I agreed, but I didn’t know what to do. “He won’t talk about it.”

“We need to find out if that guy is really dead. If he’s not, Leo might feel better,” Tyler said.

“And how are we supposed to do that? They aren’t saying anything about him on the news. It’s like it didn’t happen.”

Willow stole the remote from Tyler and flicked to one of those twenty-four-hour news stations. A meteorologist in a well-fitted suit was talking about the forecast for the following day, pointing out the jet stream like he was Vanna White unveiling new letters. I opened my mouth to speak, but Willow held up a finger. “Just wait.”

When the station returned to the news broadcast, it took less than fifteen minutes for them to cycle back to Leo’s story. The interview with his parents showed, but Willow cut the volume and pointed at the screen.

“There.”

“What?”

I didn’t know what she meant, but Tyler caught it. “You think we should call the hotline?” he asked.

A phone number rolled across the bottom of the screen, urging people with information on Leo’s whereabouts to call.

“Killer could make an anonymous call and ask about the Barrett guy’s condition.”

I shook my head. “Are you insane? That will raise red flags. They’ll know Leo is with us.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to tell them who or where you are. You press them for information, tell them Leo is fine, and hang up. Done and done.”

“They won’t tell him,” Tyler said. “Why would they?”

Willow toyed with her lip ring. “He could tell them Leo won’t come back until he knows what happened to Barrett.”

I didn’t like it. It sounded too much like deceiving Leo.

Willow must have read my mind. “I’m not saying turn him in, but it’s possible we can get some answers by calling that number. Look at him.” Willow waved a hand at Leo. His face was scrunched as a long whine emerged from his throat. “He’s not sleeping well. If this keeps up, he’s going to crack. He thinks he killed someone, and it’s eating him alive.”

Tyler and I exchanged a look before I said, “And what if he did? What if Barrett’s dead?”

Willow thought about that for a minute, but it was Dodger who answered. “Then we lie to him and tell him he’s not.”

The three of us turned to Dodger. He’d been quiet through the conversation, sprawled across the couch and propped on an elbow. His gaze was on Leo, but the pinch of concern on his face told me the statement wasn’t intended to be mean.

“Lie?” I asked, ready to put my foot down.

“Not to be deceitful.” Dodger held up a hand. “Stop freaking out, Killer. What I’m saying is, lying might save him from this grief. He’s going to have a mental breakdown soon. If he isn’t going back to his old life, he won’t know the truth one way or the other, especially if they aren’t ever going to put it on TV. Leo’s too soft. This will eat at him until there’s nothing left. The nightmares are getting worse. Is it so wrong to put his mind at ease?”

Tyler’s voice was soft when he spoke. “I agree with Dodger. I say we call the number and find out what we can. For Leo.”

“For Leo,” Willow chimed in.

As though driving the point home, Leo started to cry in his sleep, gut-wrenching sobs that pierced my heart. The muttered words falling from his lips grew more desperate and clearer. His hands grasped at thin air as he warded off his attacker. “Barrett, no. Stop. Please.”

My heart broke, and the strain on my friends’ faces told me they hurt just as much. Leo had become important to us all. He was family. Maybe they were right. If we could make it better, was it so wrong? We didn’t have to disclose who we were or where we were calling from, but maybe we could get some answers.

I hoped they were the answers we wanted, but the idea of lying to Leo, even if it helped him sleep at night, didn’t sit right with me.