The Thrill is Gone

Summary: Remy realizes he hasn’t escaped Julien’s web. And where is Rene?

Author’s Note: I’m trying to move this forward a bit now, past the characters’ history, but it’s hard, the plot is hard to pin down, and I keep changing my mind about certain details regarding Julien.

The crowd of children and mothers seemed to close in on them, feeling oppressive as they searched frantically for Rene. Any sight of him, his sandy hair, his jersey, anything.

Their argument dissolved, forgotten.

“Where is he? Remy, where is he!” Belladonna demanded, blue eyes wild. Her fingers dug into his upper arm with surprising strength.

“Leggo, settle down, damn it, lemme t’ink!” Remy barked, brushing her hands away. He began to lurch through the crowd, buffeted by kids swarming past him. He headed to the food counter and signaled to a harried looking teen behind the register.

“’Scuse me, have ya seen a boy, bout eight, light brown hair, he wuz wearin’-“ She cut him off mid-sentence, looking confused.

“Do you want to talk to the manager?”

“Yeah, damn it, tell him it’s important!” He felt Logan and Belladonna close in on him, flanking his back. The girl ran off, looking concerned about leaving them alone by her register, but she returned a few moments later with a middle-aged man in a white button-down shirt and red nametag. He scratched a shaving scab on his stubbled chin and eyed the three of them warily.

“What can I do for you?”

“Our son got away from us,” Remy informed him. “We need help, maybe ya could page ‘im, or somet’in’.”

“We don’t usually do that, unless a child comes up and says they’re lost-“

“Are ya shittin’ us?” Logan flared. His fist crashed down on the Formica counter, making the girl jump back, and his eyes were dark, fathomless slits. The manager looked ready to piss his pants. “It’s the same damn thing! Except we can tell ya more pertinent details about him, because we’re friggin’ adults! This ain’t rocket science, bub!”

“Look,” Remy interjected, frustrated and holding Logan’s shoulder in a firm, restraining grip, “gimme a chance ta describe him, and den ya can try t’page him, non?”

“Fine,” the man sighed, completely impatient. He took out a worn scribble pad and a pencil.

“He’s eight. It was his birthday, we’re set up at the big table in back,” Bella interrupted. “His name’s Rene LeBeau.”

“Rene? Didn’t know that was even a boy’s name,” the manager remarked under his breath, but he made notes.

“He’s ‘bout dis tall,” Remy said, motioning about halfway up his chest.

“So, what, ‘bout four-eight, four-ten?”

“Oui,” Bella agreed, nodding vigorously. Her eyes were still shining, threatening her carefully applied mascara. “He has freckles. I dressed ‘im in a red jersey with Superman on it.”

“Superman?”

“The big ‘S’ on it, not the character itself,” Logan pointed out. The manager shrugged, making an ‘S’ on his scribbler with a triangle around it.

It was on the tips of all their tongues to describe more about him, superfluous details only parents could appreciate, such as his chicken pock scar on his belly or his love of pizza, or the bashful way he ducked his head when meeting someone new. But they kept it brief and relevant.

“Have you checked the rest rooms?” the manager asked.

“I’ll do it,” Logan offered, hurrying away. The manager looked irritated.

“Check the parking lot, too,” he suggested. The cashier looked worried, biting her lip.

“I hope you find him. Poor little guy,” she offered soothingly. Bella tried to offer her a smile, but her lips quivered before she turned away.

*


“Where are we going?”

“Jus’ makin’ a lil’ trip ta de store, petit,” Julien said easily, glancing over at his nephew. Rene’s lips were red from a popsicle he was diligently lapping at in the passenger seat. The drippings weren’t horribly visible on his black jeans, thankfully; Julien’s sister had the foresight not to dress him in light colors on a day where he’s likely spill food on himself. Rene shrugged and went back to his sweet.

The new wrestling action figure was lying between them on the seat atop a pile of torn wrapping. Rene had been delighted at the time, but now the initial novelty of his uncle’s arrival was waning as he realized something.

“Can we call Maman?” Rene asked, looking worried.

“Don’ worry,” Julien assured him. “We ain’ gonna be gone long.” Julien’s eyes were slightly bloodshot behind his glasses, and he was slowly coming down from his high. He waited impatiently at the stoplight, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. They trembled slightly as he reached for his burning Camel. He hungrily sucked a draft of pungent tobacco into his lungs. He was distracted by Rene’s voice, humming the theme song to some kid’s show that he didn’t recognize. The car behind him blared his horn for him to go when it was his turn. Rage and embarrassment made his cheeks flame, and he reached back over the top of the seat, turning to flip the other driver off. He leaned on his own horn for good measure, cursing in French.

“Maman doesn’t like that word,” Rene reminded him, eyes wide. His popsicle dripped forgotten in his hand. His uncle was acting strangely, and it made him uncomfortable.

“Desole, chere. My bad,” Julien quipped, smiling and not looking the least contrite. Rene giggled. He passed his nephew a handful of beat-up fast food napkins from the console. Reme daubed futilely at his pants leg and wiped his mouth.

“Why didn’t we tell Maman where we’re going?”

“Aw, she knows I ain’t gonna kidnap ya,” Julien pointed out, but it suddenly niggled at him. His sister was going to be pissed.

He hadn’t given it any thought. It wouldn’t be the first time.

His resolve to go to the party faltered when he entered the play area. The noises were too sharp, the lights too bright and distracting, overstimulating him and ruining the mellow high left by the pot. Had it been any other setting, he would have been content to watch some of the whirling, blinking lights, getting lost in their patterns and rhythms, but not here. Not with a couple hundred mothers and children closing in on him.

His nephew was growing up so fast, defying Julien’s mental image of Rene when he was just a plump baby playing with his car keys. He wondered when he’d grown up so quickly, where he’d been that he hadn’t noticed. Then he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.

Julien could have been accused of dreaming too big, once upon a time. He’d never have guessed he’d be sleeping in a cramped twin bed with superhero static cling decorations on the walls at his sister’s unwilling hospitality. He’d been a high roller. He could be again, if he only laid low.

He met his client now, not the other way around. Bella warned him about his “guests” coming and going for their frequent, short visits. She forbade Rene to stay in the living room whenever they appeared, and she felt ashamed at the fact that he wasn’t completely secure in his own home.

Julien brushed it off. All he needed was time and money. That, and a little wiggle room. His sister just had to be flexible.

Julien pulled into the lot of a liquor store and got out. Rene was about to follow him.

“Non. Stay.”

“Why? It’s hot out here,” Rene complained. Julien shrugged.

“Fine, den, but don’ touch anyt’in’, ya got it?”

“Okay.” Julien felt uneasy about taking him inside that kind of store; it made him more conspicuous. Rene followed him quietly and entertained himself by looking at a magazine rack while Julien gave the shop a once-over. He headed to the refrigerator shelves along the side wall and reached for a forty-ounce Mickey’s. He peeked back over his shoulder and caught Rene staring after him. Rene gave him an impish smile. Julien smirked back; the kid was cute.

“Jus’ stay dere,” he mouthed at him before he headed to the back of the store.

He didn’t spare the security camera a glance as he exited through the swinging double doors with his beer, even though the sign clearly said not to bring merchandise in that direction without paying first.

The back store room was dark and musty smelling. Julien headed for a tiny office just to the right of the unisex rest room. He ignored the bulletin board full of old coupons, want ads and job listings and studded with broken thumb tacks. The door was ajar, and he heard a familiar, raspy voice talking on the phone when he pushed his way in.

Julien watched the intimidatingly tall blond behind the desk lean back and take a drag of his cigarette, tapping the ashes into an empty beer can. His long legs filled out a pair of battered, faded jeans, and he had no qualms about resting his booted feet on the blotter, crossed at the ankles. He winked at Julien as he sat down across from him, opening the Mickey’s and taking a thirsty swallow.

Julien caught sight of Rene in the security camera monitor suspended from the ceiling in the upper right corner of the office. He was still occupied with the postcards and magazines, and he found a small collectible car that he was pretending to race across the counter. The clerk behind it tolerated it, occasionally looking up to tell the boy something Julien couldn’t hear.

Julien’s “babysitting” was interrupted by the low beep of the phone being returned to the charger. “Love that shit. I just love that shit.”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Asshole. Mac said he didn’t have it again. Only wanted ta give me half and make me wait til Tuesday for the rest.”

“Dat’s some bullshit.”

“I know,” the blond shrugged. “I ain’t Fort Knox. Man like me’s gotta hustle ta make it, y’know?”

“T’ought ya found a sugah daddy, non?”

“Fuck you,” he muttered back, but he smirked as he stubbed out his cigarette and automatically lit another one. His pearl-handled Zippo seemed to fit Creed, sort of old school and something you could rely on to do the job.

That was Vic’s only virtue. No one so much as sneezed at the fact that one of the neighborhood’s highest, hardest rollers was nailing a doctor from upstate. Behind closed doors, he was living a soft, cushy life with unlimited retail therapy, and a man who would do anything for him, be anyone for him.

The novelty Walt presented hadn’t worn off yet. The sounds of his low grunts and curses from beneath him when he took him that morning still lingered in Vic’s ears. He craved it, the poor sonofabitch, someone who would do the thinking for him, take control of his needs, even dictate what he needed in the first place. All Vic had to do was keep convincing him that he was freeing Walter from his burdens, all while holding him more firmly under his thumb.

He didn’t even care – much – when he went off on one of his kicks, talking about his ex. Victor felt like he knew him on sight when they ran into the runt at the cinema that night. What were the odds? Vic knew the type; he read him as hot-blooded, the so-called “strong, silent type” who was only too happy to let you go that one step too far with him, just to watch your look of shock when you woke up on your back, feeling like you got hit by a truck. Small man complex. It was some funny shit.

So he let Walt whine about him over steak and Caesar salads and distracted him with rough sex while he drained his bank balance. It was an easy hustle. He hoped Walt didn’t ruin it for him. He’d almost started caring about the poor, nice bastard.

Almost.

He nodded to Julien’s bottle, blowing out a perfect ring of smoke. “Think that’s on the house?”

“Non.” Julien reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. Vic watched with interest as he opened the billfold. He laid a small plastic packet on Vic’s blotter. “T’ink dis should cover it.”

“Dunno if yer money’s any good here,” Vic suggested as he reached for it. He opened the seal and stuck his pinky inside, licking off the white residue. He sucked his teeth thoughtfully, then nodded. “Nice.” He eyed Julien, sneering. “Looks like ya sampled some on the way here. Ya know that ain’t how I roll. Ya work fer me, ya work clean, man.”

“I get de job done, dat’s all dat matters. Know I wouldn’ short you, mec. An’ dat ain’ my favorite poison.”

“Thought I smelled somethin’ green,” Vic muttered. He shook his head. “What the fuck’s wrong with ya?”

“C’mon,” Julien griped. “Know’m always good fo’ it, mec.”

“Better be.” Julien bristled, nervously rubbing his nape.

He wasn’t as unkempt as he had been on recent visits, at least. His hair didn’t have the lank, greasy shine Vic was growing accustomed to seeing, thankfully, and he took the time to wear a decent pair of denims that didn’t have the ass half-frayed out of them. He even wore a short-sleeve button down shirt, a change from his customary ribbed wifebeaters or logo tees. He almost looked respectable, until you gazed deep into this dark eyes.

“So what’s with the small fry?”

“Neh?”

“My man out there.” Vic pointed to the monitor.

“Shit,” Julien muttered. “Lemme get out dere.”

“He yers?”

“Non. Mon neveau.”

“English, asshole.”

“My sister Bella’s lil’ one. Rene.”

“That’s a girl’s name.”

“So’s Vic, ain’ it, mec, when it’s short fo’ Victoria?”

“Fucker.” The corner of his mouth curled like an adult indulging a child’s knock-knock jokes. “Don’t make a point of bringin’ him here fer this shit.”

“Gave him his present. Ain’ spent much time wit’ ‘im lately. Got back from his party.”

“Jesus…what’s wrong with you?” Vic laughed. He watched Rene with only the barest semblance of pity as the boy began to pace the store, looking distressed. “Go.” Julien dutifully set down the Mickey’s, deciding he didn’t feel like drinking it from out of a bag or waiting until it got too warm to finish. Vic sighed.

He toyed with the Zippo, flicking it open and shut, just to watch the flame spark and die. That was how Vic rolled.

*

Julien’s high came crashing down when he approached the register. Rene’s low whimpers reached his ears before he could even call his name.

“Ready t’go, petit- merde!” Rene flung himself upon him, clinging to him, burying his face in his shirt, but not before his nephew turned watery hazel eyes on him. They were frightened and accusing, beseeching him Why did you leave me alone?

Julien’s hands awkwardly patted his back and stroked his soft hair. “Hey, now…settle down, now, I ain’ gon’ anywhere. C’mon, now, chere…”

“Wan’ Maman,” he sniffled.

Julien felt a cold flush of prickles break out over his skin. His nephew’s fingers were clawing into his lower back; he honestly didn’t want to let go. The clerk glared sourly at him before turning back to his issue of Lowrider.

Belladonna would kill him.

“Rene-“

“I wan’ Maman!” he snuffled pitifully. “Wan’ Papa, too!”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

*

Chuck E Cheese was turning into sheer pandemonium.

Logan and Remy grilled the fourth employee they found on the premises, yet another teenager barely old enough to take care of himself, let alone work as the door attendant to monitor the comings and goings of hundreds of children under twelve.

“He woulda come in with his mom,” Logan said, speaking slowly to stave off his own boiling temper. “He woulda had the same number stamped on his hand.”

“I know, sir,” he agreed, voice cracking. He was scared shitless.

“Ya didn’ see a lil’ boy in a red shirt wit’ Superman on it?”

It was futile. Half the occupants of the play area wore superhero logos, Thomas the Tank Engine or Go, Diego, Go! screenprinted onto their jerseys.

“He was freckled,” Remy insisted. “Dis tall.”

“Short hair, same color as his,” Logan pointed out, gripping Remy’s shoulder. He squeezed it to lend him support.

Inside, Remy was bleeding. It was palpable; this time Logan was the one drowning in his emotions and self-hatred. The cords in Remy’s neck were taut as power cables, and a vein was standing out in his forehead that Logan had never noticed before, and never wanted to see again.

“Was anyone else coming to the party? Another adult in your family?” a female supervisor piped up. Several mothers of Rene’s friends ringed the gathering of staff. Belladonna’s makeup was a lost cause. She wept into a handful of fast food napkins while one of them held her close, rubbing her arm soothingly.

“Non,” Remy insisted.

“Oui!” Belladonna cried, in almost the same breath. “Y-yeah, dere wuz. Mon frere…”

“Julien?” Remy shot back. His nostrils flared and every muscle in his body tensed into tight knots.

“Julien?” Logan repeated, surprised. “Ain’t that…?”

“What de fuck? What does Bella mean, Julien?”

“All I did wuz tell him about it,” Bella argued. “Tol’ ‘im he didn’ hafta come if he didn’ wanna. Rene invited him. I left it open.”

Remy’s jaw was working. “Dat sonofabitch gets t’come…and ya gave me hell for bringin’… aw, hell no!” Remy shook his head. His lips twisted into a smile of disbelief while his eyes burned with garnet fire. He shook off Logan’s restraining grip and broke away from the gathering for a moment. He strode outside, banging his way through the double doors.

He’d kill him. Plain and simple. He was a waste of flesh. He’d be doing the world a favor.

Remy paced the sidewalk, tugging his hands through his hair and cursing under his breath. He kicked a small, token-operated kiddie car several times, ignoring the pain. It felt too good to let go, and he was dangerously close to losing it.

“Rem!”

“Fucking motherfucker!” he cried, throwing his hands up in the air. He spun on Logan. “Didja hear her, mec? Didja hear what Remy’s ex said?”

“I heard. Rem, don’t do this-“

“She brought ‘im here! Ta my son’s birt’day party, homme! Who de fuck does dat? Huh?” He was still tugging on his hair, and his face was a mixture of helplessness and rage. His breathing was harsh, and Logan could see too much of the whites – if he could consider them that – of his eyes for his own comfort.

“Rem,” Logan interjected. “He might have him.” He had to get through to him. “He might have him! Calm the fuck down! Take a breath! Don’t lose it here! Look where ya are!” His own voice boomed in his bid to be heard. “Look where the fuck ya are! There are kids inside, wondering what the hell just happened. They’re scared. Ya know why? Because someone their age is missin’. They see all the adults walkin’ around looking scared shitless. Listen ta me. Calm. Down.” Remy shook his head, wanting to go another three rounds, but his eyes beseeched Logan, begged him for reassurance.

“Who jus’ runs off wit’…who de fuck does dat?”

“We’ll get him back,” Logan told him. He caught Remy’s wrists and held them at his sides firmly as he gazed up into his face. Remy’s jaw was working, and he looked close to tears, but his anger was still palpable, tangible.

“Hate dis,” Remy whispered roughly. “Dis ain’ right, chere.” There was the pet name. Logan didn’t realize how much he’d missed it until then, but he was too upset to appreciate it.

“It ain’t.”

“He better be wit’ ‘im. If he ain’t…”

“He could be.”

“If he ain’t-“

“No. Don’t.” It was the unspeakable.

He convinced him to go back inside. The fresh air helped to defuse him just enough to speak to the manager again. A call was placed to the police station as a precaution.

Belladonna was dialing her cell, trying to ring her brother, praying out loud in English and broken French as she, too, paced. The hope in her blue eyes died as the ring tone trilled over, and over, and over in her ears.

“Pick up, Julien,” she whimpered. “Aw, God, pick up, please…” She collapsed at one of the booths, sitting sideways on the bench to give herself enough room to lean over her knees.

Frustration on her behalf niggled at Logan. He released Remy while he continued to speak to the manager and approached her quietly.

Logan knelt in front of her, waiting for her to acknowledge him. She stared into his face brokenly.

“He won’t pick up,” she choked. She held the tiny phone out feebly; Logan listened to the echo of the ring tone beneath the clamor of the play area. Cold dread knotted itself in his gut, mirrored in her blue eyes.

He took her free hand. She didn’t shake him off.

*

He had to stall. He had to get straight.

Julien made shaky progress through traffic, honking impatiently through every stoplight and cutting off pedestrians on right turns. Rene sniffled into the back of his hand as he leaned as far in toward the passenger door as he could, refusing to look at him. A second popsicle sat still wrapped and melting on the front seat, saturating the paper bag the clerk thrust it into at the 7-11. The same bribe wouldn’t work twice.

Julien was up shit creek.

He eventually stopped at a vacant lot and unwrapped the melting sweet.

“Wan’ Maman,” Rene reminded him. His voice was still petulant.

“Gimme a minute,” Julien hissed. He crammed half the popsicle into his mouth, wincing at the feel of it against his vulnerable teeth. That would help. He hadn’t eaten anything yet; he just needed something to sop up what he drank…

There. Better. Somewhat.

He eyed himself in the rearview and lied to himself that he’d pass muster.

“Chuck E Cheese,” he muttered. “Gon’ g’wan back ta yer party, petit. Gon’ open up yer presents an’ have some cake, okay?”

Rene was unresponsive except for more ragged sniffles. Tears darkened the soft red knit of his shirt.

It was like reading his own death sentence. Julien dragged his feet through the next two intersections, mind and heart racing. He felt like throwing up.

He pulled into the lot and drove all the way to the back. Rene leaned up from the door and was already unfastening his seat belt.

“Whoa,” Julien chided him.

“Wan’ Papa!” he cried. Julien lunged across the seat to stop him from jerking open the door.

“Non!” he hissed. “Jus’ gimme a sec-“

He wasn’t fast enough. Julien slammed on the brakes just as Rene leapt out. He stumbled with the momentum as his feet hit the asphalt. “MERDE!” Rene caught himself and half-tripped his way to the sidewalk.

Julien’s stomach pitched.

“MAMAN!”

Belladonna’s head jerked up, and Logan released her hand in surprise.

“RENE!” Remy shouted, watching in stunned disbelief as his son lurched inside the restaurant, eyes wild and damp, searching for him.

“PAPA!” he wailed, sobbing as he struggled through the crowd of children and concerned looking parents. Remy met him halfway, Belladonna hot on his heels.

He reached him first, and Rene glomped him, bursting into tears. Remy’s own eyes stung, and he couldn’t hold his son’s warm weight against him tightly enough. He trembled, dropping to his knees to allow his son to collapse onto his lap. Remy rocked him, as much to soothe his son as himself.

“Lemme see him,” Belladonna demanded. “Oh, baby…” she crooned, bending down to stroke his hair and kiss the top of his head. His parents wrapped him in a snug cocoon, crouched around him and murmuring that they were there, that he was okay.

Logan recovered first, even though he felt like someone had socked him in the gut. “Rene…kid, how did ya get back here?”

“On…cle…Oncle J-Jul-Julien,” he stammered, sniffling. His breath kept hitching, and his father paused in rocking him to stare down into his tearstained face.

“Oncle?” Remy demanded. “Where?”

“H-he drove m-me, Papa.”

“Go wit’ Maman,” he murmured, kissing his damp cheek.

“Non!” Rene cried. “Don’t let go!”

“Please, petit,” Bella implored. She itched to hold him herself, to reassure herself that he wasn’t just a phantom, that she wasn’t still in hell. She pried him loose from his father and didn’t spare a second glance as he rushed away.

Logan didn’t hesitate. He dogged Remy’s heels as fast as his Ropers would carry him toward the parking lot.

A car that Logan hadn’t spotted earlier in the lot was trying to make a U-turn in the back of the lot.

“MotherFUCKER!” Remy roared. He ran out onto the asphalt, planting himself directly in the car’s path.

“Are ya NUTS!”

“COME OUT!” he shouted at the driver.

It was like watching one of his worst nightmares. Logan’s heart nearly stopped as the car screeched to a halt, just inches shy of mowing Remy down. Remy didn’t flinch.

His eyes were wild and he was back in his state of hearing no reason, a condition he’d once accused Logan of possessing. Remy belonged to pain and rage, and they didn’t plan to let him go.

He banged mechanic’s fists against the hood, almost hard enough to dent.

“Get de fuck out!” he hissed. “Get out, NOW!”

“What de fuck…?!” The driver rolled down the window, and Logan was surprised to see a man with long, dark hair glaring at his lover with just as much piss and vinegar.

“Get out,” Remy repeated. “Get de fuck outta de car, asshole! Huh? Dis okay t’you, mec? Huh? Scare my son? Jus’ gonna take ‘im, den drop ‘im wit’out so much as a by-your-leave?”

“Gave ‘im his present. He wanted t’go wit’ me,” Julien insisted just as belligerently. He slapped the steering wheel for emphasis, as though he were getting just as ginned up for a fight.

Remy wasn’t having it. The engine was still running, and Julien looked like he had every intention of driving off. Remy reached for the driver’s side door and jerked it open before Julien could punch the power locks.

They scuffled. Remy couldn’t get enough of a grip on him to pull him out from behind the wheel. Logan rushed forward, having seen enough.

“HEY!”

“C’mon out! Come out, motherfucker!”

“REMY!” Belladonna cried from the double doors. Rene’s arms were still wrapped tightly around her waist.

“Take ‘im back inside, Bella!” Remy shouted. “He don’ need t’see dis!”

“Damn right he don’t!” Logan agreed as he pushed himself between both men with some struggle. He attempted to pry Remy’s hands from Julien’s collar, pushing them away from his throat. His eyes swung toward the gearshift, making sure the car was in park.

Remy pushed Logan away and resumed his struggle with Julien, feinting as Julien tried to punch him. He prized his seat belt buckle open and strong-armed him from the sedan.

“Think ya can take me?” Julien scoffed, but he didn’t have the advantage.

Remy took in his state, seeing all of the familiar details that made him come to hate his brother in law so much over the years, hating himself for his affair all over again. His eyes were faintly bloodshot, and his movements were jerky and awkward, despite that he had just as much raw strength. But this wasn’t the Julien who had the advantage of surprise and speed.

He smelled like alcohol and weed.

“High,” Remy spat. “Ya took my son out fer a drive when ya were high!”

Logan’s nose told him Remy wasn’t lying. He released Remy.

“Yer fuckin’ kidding,” he snarled.

Remy thrust Julien back against the hood of the car and whaled on him.

“PAPA!”

“Take him inside,” Logan cried. Belladonna complied this time, carrying Rene away on her hip, even though he was almost too heavy for it now.

Julien’s face twisted belligerently. “Leggo! Get de fuck off m-“ BAM! His nose felt like it exploded beneath the impact of Remy’s fist.

“Shit!” Logan hissed. “REMY! Take it easy!” He felt like a sham. Logan knew damned well that Remy was justified in violence, but they were out in the open. Reluctantly he reached for him, tugging on him, but it was like restraining an angry bear. Logan cursed as Julien began to fight back, landing awkward yet still painful blows that hit whomever was closest. Julien’s heavy gold ring scratched Logan’s cheek as he flailed and struck.

The police picked that moment to arrive; all three men froze, jerking apart instantly as the white Crown Vic pulled into the lot. The beacon spun atop the car, eerily similar to the spinning, flashing lights on the games inside the play place.

Logan breathed deeply through his nose, composing himself, rubbing absently at the scratch. Remy’s chest was heaving as he tried to regain control.

Julien’s face was a bleak mask. He pulled away from the other two men and paced away, turning his back to distance himself from the coming questions.

*

Six hours later:

“How is he?”

“Out like a light. Hope he stays dat way.” This was greeted with a heavy sigh.

“Damn.” The couch sagged beneath Remy as Logan sat on the opposite end. He leaned forward and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah.” Remy picked up the remote, then thought better of it, setting it back on the coffee table. He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, then tipped his head back onto the couch bolster. He closed his eyes, and the scene from that afternoon played itself out in his head. He couldn’t lock it out.

He was damned lucky they didn’t all end up in jail. The citation’s yellow carbon copy lay on the kitchen table, mocking him. Logan managed to avoid being served when witness accounts pointed to him as trying to break up the disturbance.

Remy was exhausted, and Logan knew it, but he cajoled him to stay for a while to help him get his bearings. Logan agreed, uncomfortable with the haggard look Remy developed since that afternoon and the defeated slump of his shoulders.

Wordlessly he reached over and kneaded his shoulder, alarmed at the tension knotted there. Remy grunted in appreciation at the contact. His eyes slitted open and jerked toward Logan. They beseeched him, asking the questions he couldn’t.

Logan massaged his neck, working out the kinks a bit at a time, and Remy dropped his head forward, letting it loll back and forth in relief. The memory of the night Remy worked on him like this came back to him briefly, but this wasn’t a seduction. They were both too vulnerable, things between them to raw and uncertain, and Logan wouldn’t take advantage of that.

But it was so hard. So tempting, when he wanted to do nothing more than hold him and tell him it would be okay, take all of the bad things away and banish them from his existence so they would never touch him or Rene again.

Rene leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees. He stared down at his stocking feet for several moments while Logan continued to rub him down.

When he turned to him, his face was so bleak and full of anguish.

“T’ought I lost him,” he rasped, so low Logan almost didn’t hear him.

“You didn’t.”

“Wuzn’t watchin’ him,” he said.

“None of us were, that’s the fucked up part,” Logan agreed. Remy shook his head.

“It ain’t on you.”

“Why ain’t it? I was there. I was an adult who shoulda been lookin’ out for his welfare and payin’ attention, too.”

Logan’s hand released his shoulder and slid down the length of Remy’s arm until he reached his hand. He laced his fingers through Remy’s and held it in a strong, comforting grip. He felt Remy’s muscles react with his emotions, drawing up tight as he closed his eyes. He was breathing deeply and loudly through his nose, trying to master what he was feeling.

“Let it out, Rem.”

“Non.”

“C’mon.”

“Ain’ gonna do dis.” But his free hand was already trembling, reaching up to massage his closed lids.

Without further entreaty, Logan picked up one of the throw cushions and laid it over his lap. He tugged Remy’s hand. “C’mere.”

“It’s okay, mec-“

“Naw, it ain’t. C’mere. Don’t leave me hangin’.”

“Don’ hafta do dis.”

“What if I think I need to, huh?” Remy fought it, then gave up when he realized Logan really meant it, that he wouldn’t let him go. He shook his hand free and collapsed onto Logan’s lap. Logan waited about three breathless seconds for the flood gates to break loose.

Remy’s intake of breath was choked and harsh, and it pricked at Logan sharply. “Let it out.” He winced as Remy’s fingers curled like hard little claws, gripping Logan’s leg and digging into the hard seam of his denims. He watched Remy’s features crumple and his own body vibrated with the force of his almost silent heaves. Logan stroked his arm and combed through his long, soft hair. “Let it out, baby. It’s okay.”

“Ain’t okay,” he moaned hoarsely. “It ain’t okay.” Hot tears leaked out from the corners of his eyes and darkened the corduroy fabric of the cushion. Logan was reaching over him, lightly slapping his hip. Remy followed his urging and twisted, pulling his legs up onto the couch.

“We almost lost him once. Because of Julien’s shit back den, too. Dis wuz different. Before…it wuz different.”

“How?” Logan reached down and skimmed the pad of his thumb over Remy’s damp cheek.

“His dealin’. He got himself arrested. Social Services almost took our son. I wuz such a fucking idiot back den. Turned a blind eye. Kept my head in de sand ‘bout what he wuz doin’.”

“Jesus.”

“Bella let ‘im move back in. Didn’ have any choice way back; he couldn’ live wit’ Bella’s parents, because they didn’ live in town. House arrest.”

“Gotta stay in the same county,” Logan supplied for him, understanding.

“Ev’ryt’in was fucked up,” Remy continued, shivering. “Hated ‘im. Had de phone tapped, he had on dat damn anklet. Cut off phone calls in de middle. Once he wuzn’t dealin’ anymore, he didn’ have all dat disposable income. He wuzn’t contributin’ shit.” Logan’s rhythmic stroking of his hair felt good, making him drowsy. Logan sheltered him with his warmth and his slow, even heartbeat. He spoke the words that dogged him all day. “Didn’ want ya ta see dat shit.”

“I ain’t met anyone that ain’t got some,” Logan pointed out.

They sat silently like that for a while. Remy wasn’t crying above and beyond the occasional rivulet of tears that soaked the pillow beneath his cheek.

“She took him back into de house. I didn’ know if he wuz back ta dealin’, but he’s usin’ again.”

“What are ya thinkin’ about doin’?”

“Wanna get my son back. If she’s gonna keep Julien dere, she don’ need ta keep Rene.”

“Think she’s even gonna let him stay there now?”

“I don’ know what ta t’ink.”

“Nah. Guess you wouldn’t,” Logan agreed. He sighed, then bent down to kiss Remy’s temple.

Remy felt some small sense of pride when Rene had clamored for him when they got back to Bella’s house. Julien was detained at the station when the officer on site noticed his condition in the lot, particular his slurring responses and red eyes. If past history was any indication, Remy knew his brother in law had connections. He wouldn’t be off the street long.

Rene’s cake sat on the table, untouched and forgotten. His presents were still piled in the back of the car. He balked when Belladonna tried to take him back to get him into his pajamas. He wouldn’t set foot near his own bedroom, even though it was empty.

“Wan’ Papa,” he moaned petulantly when she tried to hold him.

“Ya sure, petit?” she crooned. Her face was stricken when she met Remy’s eyes over the top of their son’s head. Remy nodded, reaching for him. He collected his son to his chest and held him so tightly his arms hurt.

He bundled him into his car along with a meager overnight back and a handful of his son’s favorite toys. Rene was already asleep before they turned onto Remy’s street, burrowed beneath his old baby blanket.

Logan had followed him to Bella’s, even though he never went inside the house. He didn’t need to eavesdrop on the family’s problems, but he wanted to make sure Rene made it inside, safe and sound, and see if Remy needed him. When Remy lifted his son from the car and carried him upstairs, Logan followed with his things and helped him get settled, unpacking items like his toothbrush and turning down the covers on Remy’s bed, since Rene wouldn’t be using the guest room or camping out on the couch this time.

Logan’s legs were growing cramped from their position, but it felt so peaceful having Remy’s warm bulk plastered against him that he didn’t want to move.

Having a lover took little effort. Caring about one was another whole ball of wax.

“Remy…don’t ever feel ya hafta hide anything from me.”

“Fine.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Because I care about you so damned much. You mean so much. The words were caught in Logan’s throat; unspoken, they stung, but released, they spelled the likely destruction of the tentative, fragile bond they had. He hated that he didn’t know what to do.

Wasn’t this supposed to be uncomplicated?

Remy was on the same page, and he remained just as mum about it. I know I don’t deserve you, but don’t go. I need you.

He rose, surprising Logan when he stood and stretched. He felt bereft of his warmth and the contact that had become rare lately.

“I know ya’ve got an early day tomorrow,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” Logan was resigned. He knew he wasn’t staying over, but it still smarted to be dismissed. It was for the best. Rene was still quiet, thankfully, and if Remy headed back soon enough, he would be there before any night terrors arose. Remy followed him to the door and undid the dead bolts. He took Logan’s hat down from the hook and handed it to him.

“Gonna work my usual day tomorrow,” Remy told him. “Jus’ in case.”

“Okay.” Logan didn’t promise to call, wanting to leave it up to Remy. “Get some rest.”

“Oui.” Logan opened the door and was about to cross the threshold when Remy’s hand caught his forearm. Logan’s head swiveled to peer back up at him over his shoulder.

“Ya okay?”

Remy replied by snaking his arm around his neck and pulling him so Logan’s back was flush against his chest. Logan tipped his head back and parted his lips to receive Remy’s kiss. It was long and slow, filled with more tenderness than passion. Logan’s hand stole up to cradle the back of Remy’s head and he sighed in contentment. When they came up for breath, Remy continued to embrace him like that, standing and spooning. To Logan, it felt possessive and promised more than either of them could give.

“G’night, chere.”

“’Night, kiddo.”

*

Julien sat in the holding tank with six other occupants, wrinkling his nose at the smell of stale urine wafting his way from one of his neighbors. Vic was sticking it to him. He was going to leave him hanging. It had been an hour since his “one phone call,” and he was growing antsy. His high had long worn off.

“Beudreaux,” the guard barked from the corridor. Julien surged to his feet, glad to leave the hard, cold bench. “You’re out. Someone posted bail.”

“Hot damn,” he muttered. Vic came through. He felt the envy of his cell mates following him out the door.

They led him out to the lobby. Victor was waiting, looking irritated as he stared at his surroundings, but his expression twisted into a smirk once he saw him.

“Nice,” he muttered. “Look at ya.”

“T’anks,” Julien began. Victor held up his hand.

“Save that shit. C’mon.”

“Gotta get my car outta impound.”

“Not today, ya don’t.” Victor stood and gestured for Julien to walk ahead of him. Julien shivered from the cold rash that suddenly ran down his arms and back.

They headed several blocks away to Vic’s black Escalade. They paused while Victor leaned back against the bumper, lighting a cigarette. The match flared, illuminating Victor’s face briefly as the ashes caught, burning reddish-orange in the darkness. Victor took a hungry pull and blew out the smoke through his nose. He stared Julien down.

“Sloppy shit. This was brilliant. I love it. I love that shit.”

“Vic-“

“Shut the fuck up,” Victor shrugged. “Just shut the fuck up. Ya don’t wanna play with me right now.”

Julien felt nauseous.

“I told ya, anyone workin’ for me’s gotta work clean, but more than that, I don’t put up with sloppy. Think this looks good?”

“Non,” Julien offered. He swallowed roughly and stared at the ground. It was impossible to meet Victor’s steely blue gaze.

“Ya owe me.”

“I know.”

“Ya don’t wanna owe me.”

“Non.”

“Just so we’re straight.” He unlocked the doors with a click. “Get in.”