Release Date: Out Now
Available: Riptide Publishing
Blurb:
Lost: one dog and two men in need of each other. Found: love.
RV resort security chief Ringo never believed in love at first sight. . .until he saw Gavin playing his sax on the beach for the tourists. But their on-again, off-again affair—even
counting all the great makeup sex—doesn’t come close to the relationship he wants. All he really wants for Christmas is a commitment from Gavin.
Instead he discovers that Gavin has had surgery without telling him, so he lays down a relationship ultimatum while Gavin recuperates. Complicating matters even more, Gavin's beloved dog Bird runs away, and Gavin Blames Ringo for the disappearance
While Ringo throws every resource he has into finding Bird, he learns
deeper truths about Gavin—how hard it is for him to trust and how little faith
he has in love. Maybe if Ringo can find Bird, he can salvage Gavin’s faith.
Maybe this Christmas, they can all find each other.
Publisher’s Note: 20% of all proceeds from
this title are donated to the Ali Forney Center in New York, whose mission “is
to protect lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning (LGBTQ) youth from
the harm of homelessness, and to support them in becoming safe and independent
as they move from adolescence to adulthood.”
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Ringo had knocked on Gavin’s door
plenty of times. This time he had his heart in his throat. He could feel the
cold chill of trouble coming same as he could feel the thunderheads that
gathered out over the ocean, ready to pound the Newport Sands Resort with relentless
rain.
Strings of Christmas icicles fluttered
in the breeze along the edge of the RV’s awning. At night, they were pretty,
but right now, in the weak afternoon light, they were cheap bits of dirty
plastic Gavin kept up all year round.
He knocked again. “Gavin, it’s me,
Ringo. Open up.”
After a minute or so, the flimsy metal
door opened a crack. “What do you want?”
“Where’s Bird?”
“Bird? He’s inside.” Gavin opened the
door the rest of the way, but didn’t come down the steps.
“He wasn’t inside an hour ago when he
ran into someone’s RV after their cat.” Ringo shook his head. “Goddamn it, how
many times do I have to tell you? You can’t just let that dog out to wander
around.”
Irritation played over Gavin’s
features. “What’s your damage, Ringo? So he pees on the grass. If he shits, I’m
sorry. I’ll pick up some other dog’s shit sometime, as penance.”
Ringo folded his arms across his
chest. “Some lady from the As said Bird scared her grandkids. She was
hysterical.”
“Oh, well. If she’s from the As then—”
“Aw, Gav. Cut me some slack here, will
you?” Ringo leaned in. He wasn’t above pleading a little. Gavin had more than
once insinuated that the resort had different rules for people with better rigs
or bigger wallets, which was bullshit. Everyone had to behave like they paid
for a spot in the As. Ringo didn’t ride Gavin for half the shit Bird got up to,
but he was forced to respond when Bird caused a mess. “This isn’t a trailer
park, it’s the Newport Sands Resort. These RVs are multimillion-dollar land
yachts and the people expect to be able to open their doors without your dog
charging inside. If Bird leaves this rig, you have to go with him. You take him
out on his leash from now on, or you keep him in.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.” Gavin saluted
smartly. “No letting Bird out off leash.”
“It’s nothing personal. Management
gets on me if they think I’m not doing my job—and they won’t hesitate to have
your ass and your rig hauled out of here.”
“You couldn’t just leave the form
letter I normally get when someone from your security team sees Bird off
leash?”
Ringo was too embarrassed to meet
Gavin’s eyes. “Don’t you just throw those away?”
“But nothing personal, right?”
Christ, there was everything personal
between them. Ringo felt it in his gut and his heart and his empty goddamn bed.
They hadn’t spoken in over a month and he’d missed Gavin every single day. But
that’s not why he was here today. “No. Nothing personal.”
“If that’s all then, I’ll just haul my
ass into my rig and—”
“Look.” Ringo raked a hand over his
buzzed hair. “I don’t know why you gotta be like this. You never heard anyone
say, ‘You can’t fight city hall’?”
“I hardly ever let Bird run,
only when it’s absolutely necessary. And with it being Christmas, the park is
half-empty anyway. You know people only say that city hall shit when the
government is taking advantage.”
“You signed the lease. You know the
rules. How is asking you to walk your own dog taking advantage?”
“Never mind. Message received and
noted.”
Ringo sighed. “Why should the rest of
us deal with Bird if you’re too fucking lazy to do it? While you’re wallowing,
he’s scaring off the tourists.”
“Is that what you think?” Gavin eyed
him sourly. “I’m wallowing?”
“I think you need to walk your
dog on a leash, like everyone else around here. What if you let Bird out and he
eats something bad? Even a lick of antifreeze could kill him. What if he
gets into a fight with another dog? You need to think what your neglect could
cost Bird, too.”
Ringo was about to turn away and leave
when Gavin reached out and caught his arm. “Wait.”
“What?” Ringo took a step up toward
Gavin. Even with another step between them, he was taller, especially since
Gavin had a way of slouching lazily against his doorframe. His posture now was
relaxed, and yet closed off. Typical.
Gavin sighed. “I did let him go out
alone this morning. I couldn’t take him, so—”
“What do you mean, you couldn’t take
him?” Ringo looked Gavin over closely and realized he didn’t just look tired, he
appeared to be in pain.
Gavin grimaced. “Look, it’s nothing.
Right now, I can’t take him out, is all.”
“Wait. What?” Ringo asked. “Did
something happen? Are you sick?”
“No, I’m not sick. I finally had to
have my knee repaired. I stepped in a hole on the beach the other day and tore
it again. The doc said I didn’t have a choice anymore.” Gavin looked anywhere
except into Ringo’s eyes. “I figured I had some time off between Christmas and
New Year’s, might as well get it taken care of. But I just got home, and it’s
been tougher than I thought, and I—”
“Jeez.” That’s why Ringo had
seen Gavin come home in a cab the day before. Christ. Alone and
hurting and you still won’t ask anyone for shit. “You couldn’t have told me
that?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’d have helped you. I’d have
taken Bird out for you, for one. At least I can ask one of the interns—”
“I had that Jules kid take care of
Bird yesterday, but I thought—” Gavin chewed his lower lip “—I don’t know what
I thought.”
“Jules is a good kid, but he’s gone home
until after New Year’s. Do you want me to see if I can get a couple of the
other kids to take shifts? They can walk Bird until you’re well enough to do it
yourself.”
Gavin gave a reluctant nod. “I’d
appreciate that.”
Ringo sighed. “Goddamn it, Gavin. I’m
only a phone call away. We’re not seeing each other anymore, but that doesn’t
mean you can’t ask me for help if you need it.”
“I don’t know why you’re surprised I
didn’t. We didn’t work out because you always tell me I don’t ask for enough.”
Ringo frowned at him. “I thought it
was because I wanted to give you too much.”
They stood nearly nose to nose. Ringo
could smell the warm, smoky campfire scent of Gavin’s skin, could feel desire
building between them, even from that brief contact. But he couldn’t make Gavin
meet his gaze.
He sighed. “I didn’t come here to
autopsy us.”
“Not much left to dissect, is there?”
Gavin wrapped his arms around himself. Maybe he was cold, and maybe he needed
holding. Ringo had a lousy habit of wondering what Gavin needed, as opposed to
just giving him what he asked for, and Gavin hated it.
God, Ringo wanted to hold him. He
wanted to wrap himself around Gavin and never let go. How did everything
between them always go to shit?
Instead, Ringo said, “Go back inside,
you look like hell. I’ll ask around, or I’ll come back and walk Bird myself.”
“Ringo—”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad.
Everybody has to learn to ask for help, just like every so often people ought
to seek out someone who needs help and give it. It takes your mind off shit to
look outside yourself for a change.”
Gavin snorted. “The Gospel According
to St. Ringo.”
“Right.” A gentle tease, instead of
Gavin’s customary porcupine spines. That was better. “Yeah. Well. Don’t knock
it until you’ve tried it.”
“I’ve tried it.”
Ringo ignored that. “I’ll be back
later. I’m assuming you have pain meds. What about food?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m going to infuriate you by
checking on you every so often, and I’m going to do it with hot meals. Just
warning you ahead of time.”
“Ringo, don’t make this a big deal.”
Gavin started back inside.
“Gav—” Ringo reached for him, but he
jerked away. “Don’t make me pull information out of you like this. I need to
know. Please, if you need me, call me.”
“And then what?”
Ringo shifted his weight from his
right leg to his left. “What do you mean, and then what?”
“What would happen if I needed
something?”
“I’d get you what you need. What do
you mean what would happen?”
“What if I need to be left alone?”
“Do you really need to be left alone?”
Ringo asked. “’Cause the Gavin who plays his sax at midnight because he knows
I’ll have to come and tell him to knock it off loves my company. It’s
the Gavin who pushes me out of his bed before dawn the next morning and tells
me I’m—”
“Smothering,” Gavin snapped. “Hovering.
Blocking the exits and taking up all my space.”
God, Ringo’s shoulders ached. “Just
tell me what you need, Gav. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure you will.” Ringo sighed. “I’ll
see you later.”
Gavin lobbed him his slow-pitch
softball smile, round and a little wobbly. Ringo guessed that was the best he
was going to get. “See you.”
“Yeah.” Ringo nodded.
Ringo wished Gavin would say more,
like he was looking forward to it, or he’d be glad for the company—something
Ringo knew was true, even if Gavin would rather die than admit it—but if he
waited for that, he’d stand there forever.
Instead, Ringo got in his golf cart
and took off because it never paid to give Gavin even the gentlest squeeze. If
Ringo squeezed, Gavin would slip through his fingers like a bar of soap, and
they’d end up back at square one.
What do they mean by square one,
anyway? Was that a reference to a game or the first stone on a path? The first
bubble on the SATs or the first letter they turn on Wheel of Fortune?
Ringo’s square one was the very first
time he’d seen Gavin playing saxophone for the summer crowd at the picnic
tables. He’d looked like a young Carlos Santana in shades, with a mustache and
a highly kissable soul patch. He’d worn a weathered fedora.
Gavin always wore a hat, but that was
mostly because his hairline was receding. Ringo went along when Gavin pretended
his hats were some kind of fashion statement. They were that too, from skull
caps to stingy-brimmed straw fedoras to out-and-out wool felt mafioso lids, but
Gavin kept his hair buzzed short and his head covered because he was vain about
going bald.
The first time Ringo had seen him,
he’d thought Gavin had stepped right out of the movies.
Central casting, get me a Latino
street musician.
Ringo drove back toward his office,
five miles per hour, waving at the tourists. Trying to look strong and silent.
Reassuring, as if he were “the law” in this here town.
As if he were doing something besides
pining for a guy who didn’t want him around.
His sister had warned him musicians
were dogs, but Ringo had never listened.
God knew, Gavin was a musician. To
paraphrase Ringo’s mother’s favorite poem, music was the thing with strings
that perched in Gavin’s soul. Wherever Gavin went, he had to blow his horn or
pick at his guitar or drum on the park benches and the trashcans with
chopsticks. He bought instruments whenever he could, and he always had a half a
dozen or so on his patio undergoing repairs. He was constantly tinkering with
some broken guitar or refurbishing a brass instrument that needed a little TLC.
He sold some on eBay, and some he got attached to.
What he couldn’t live without one day,
he gave away the next.
Ringo stopped to bag up some garbage
that had blown off a picnic table, and even that reminded him of Gavin: give
Gavin a milk carton, a plastic fork, and a couple of rubber bands, and you’d
get an entire symphony orchestra.
Gavin had warm golden skin and cold
brown eyes, and he lived in a crappy camper because it made him feel free. He
didn’t have to live like that; he liked it.
He drank too much, and he laughed too
loud, and when Ringo got near the cracks in the shell Gavin had built around
himself, Gavin chased him away like a junkyard dog. Gavin had a miserable
fucking temper. He could lash out.
It hurt a lot to love a man like that.
Especially when Gavin was always the
center of attention and could pick and choose from any man around. He never
kept any of his lovers for long; he didn’t know how. He always seemed lonely to
Ringo, even if he was rarely alone.
Ringo had pried his way into Gavin’s
life through persistence and the judicious application of alcohol, and although
they’d washed out, they still kept company sometimes. Lots of times.
Ringo always said that if he had it to
do over again, he’d do it over again.
He pitched the trash he’d policed into
the Dumpster as he rode by. Hole in one.
Whoopee.
That was probably his entire quota of
“win” for the day, the rest of which would be spent filing incident reports and
making sense of client complaints. He was responsible for lost or stolens,
and there was one case of employee pilfering at the snack bar to deal with.
When he got back to the office, he
shut himself inside for the better part of the morning, until a knock sounded
at his door.
“Yeah?”
Jurgen, one of the interns, a college
kid from Germany, entered and stood nervously in front of Ringo’s desk.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Ringo took off his reading glasses and
rubbed his eyes. He was only thirty, but he couldn’t read without glasses for
shit. It made him wonder if he was going to be like his nana, with her
bottle-bottom trifocals, when he got old.
“You know the guy who lives in the Cs
over by the laundry room, Gavin Lopez?”
“The musician?” Jurgen nodded. “Is
there a problem?”
“Little bit. He’s out of commission
for a few days because he had to have some knee surgery. Would you mind walking
his dog? I’ll pay you, but don’t tell him I said anything about money.”
“I can do that.” The kid spoke English
well, with little to no accent, and he was respectful and polite. The smile he
gave Ringo was unforced.
“Maybe if you went first thing when
you get to work, at lunch, and before you leave?”
“Sure.” Jurgen gave another bob of his
head.
“The dog’s name is Bird. Let him run
in the fenced off-leash area by the volleyball courts while you’re at lunch.
Otherwise keep him on a leash at all times. Give him some exercise; he’s an energetic,
curious pooch, so if he gets loose he’s likely to wander into people’s rigs.”
Jurgen smiled wryly. “I can see how
that might create concerns.”
“I’ll let you know when to stop—just a
few days probably. You’ll be here over the holidays, right?”
“Yes, I’ll be here. Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Once dismissed, Jurgen left. Ringo
wondered what his story was, if he was studying for a career in hospitality, or
if he just wanted to work in America for a while. The resort always had foreign
interns as part of an exchange program with the local university. Whether they
had aspirations to stay in the States, or just wanted a chance to work where
they could surf and go to Disneyland and tour the beaches where Baywatch
had been filmed, they came and went.
Jurgen seemed like a nice kid. He’d be
good for Bird, and maybe Bird would be good for him.
When Ringo made his rounds later, he
saw Jurgen and Bird on the beach together, Jurgen running along the water and
Bird bounding happily along beside him in puppylike high spirits when he wasn’t
busy chasing after sea birds. The sight warmed Ringo’s heart. A boy and a dog
could be a beautiful thing.
He watched Jurgen play tug of war with
Bird for a while, and then he continued on his rounds, making sure everyone was
in their proper space. He liked to greet the campers and check in with the
groundskeepers. He needed to make sure the empty cabins were locked up tight.
Since the economy was still in the
shitter and the price of gas was at an all-time high, some of the resorts
streets echoed with emptiness. The holidays hadn’t brought crowds to the resort
the way they usually did, but they still had the die-hard snowbirds.
The size of the population didn’t
matter, though. He had to keep security tight, and his crew had to stay dialed
in to any potential problems so they could prevent mishaps or react quickly if
they were needed.
A case of illegally dumped trash was
the most he had to deal with before he sat down at his desk again after lunch
to write up incident reports. His security detail for the day, Gunn and Frisbo,
patrolled the grounds together while he caught up on paperwork.
Most days, their lives revolved around
a series of small, inconsequential matters and the paperwork that went with
them.
Most days were dead boring, but it
went with the job.
Yessir, I am the sheriff in this here
town. Evildoers, beware.
Chapter Two
Ringo watched as the sun dropped below
the western horizon. All his minor irritations seemed to disappear with it.
Winter was his favorite season at the
resort. Holiday lights brightened the darkness, shimmering in the algae-laden
water like sunken treasure. Several of the fancier rigs were overdressed for
the occasion, as tacky as they were festive, with mirror balls and singing
Christmas trees.
Summers were crowded with people who
drank too much. There were way too many small kids to watch out for. Summer
gave Ringo ulcers. But in December the weather was mild and color scintillated
everywhere, from the bright orange of fires on the beach, to the rigs, to the
sparkling trunks of majestic palms wrapped halfway up with twinkle lights.
The glittered reflection of all that
luminescence shivered on the water—balm to Ringo’s soul.
Ringo pulled his golf cart up next to
Gavin’s place. He was sitting on a canvas lawn chair with one leg propped up,
playing Christmas music on a ukulele. He had a good fire going in a black iron
fire bowl with Kokopelli cutouts. Bird lay by his side, his muzzle draped
contentedly over Gavin’s bare foot.
Ringo thought he’d probably lie down
like that with his face on Gavin’s foot if Gavin would let him.
Gavin caught sight of him and lifted
his chin. That was all the welcome Ringo was going to get, so he made the most
of it. He got out of his cart and stepped onto Gavin’s woven hemp patio rug. He
gave Gavin a light kiss on the top of his head in lieu of a greeting.
Gavin broke off playing to pick up his
beer and take a swallow, then put it down to play some more. Ringo recognized
“Winter Wonderland.”
“I brought you In-N-Out.” Ringo headed
toward the door of Gavin’s RV. “Mind if I go in and get some plates and
things?”
“Make yourself homely.” Gavin shifted
slowly in his chair and grimaced with pain. “Help yourself to a brew while
you’re in there.”
Gavin had a bag of peas cooling his
knee. “You hurting?”
“Yeah.” Gavin shrugged. “I got pills,
though.”
“Peas still cold?”
“I have another bag, maybe you could
switch them since you’re going in . . .?”
“Sure.” Ringo plucked the bag off him.
The knee itself didn’t look too bad from the outside. A little swelling, a
little bruising. He probably had a couple of small incisions under the
Band-Aids. Ringo went inside Gavin’s RV and got a fresh bag of peas from the
freezer. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Gavin eat a pea. He must have kept them
just for their medicinal benefit. While he was in there, he put their burgers
and fries on paper plates and got himself a beer.
When he returned, he sat down in a camp
chair opposite Gavin’s. Sure as shit, the smoke turned direction and headed his
way. He waved and blinked his eyes. “Why does that always happen? No matter
where I’m sitting, I get smoke in my face.”
“Smoke seeks out the pretty boys.”
Gavin followed that up with a musical rimshot—bah dum bump—on his
ukulele.
Ringo rolled his eyes. “So, you had
arthroscopic surgery?”
“Yeah. I tore the meniscus. I got a
video of the surgery if you want to watch it sometime. It looks like a tiny
dragon is tearing off bits of cotton candy in the dark.”
“I’ll pass.” Ringo wasn’t much into
that sort of thing. He’d seen all the blood and gore he’d needed to see in the
Army. “Should you be drinking that if you’re taking pills?”
Gavin slanted an irritated look at
him. “I only had one beer, mami. I’m fine.”
Ringo twisted the cap off his beer. “I
like you better when you call me papi.”
Gavin narrowed his eyes at that. “So
act like a man instead of smothering me.”
Ringo itched to twist Gavin’s neck.
Why did Gavin always have to give him attitude when he was only checking in to
make sure everything was okay? Gavin’d had surgery, for Christ’s sake. Why
couldn’t Gavin tell him when things weren’t okay?
“You got plenty to eat for snacks and
something to drink besides beer?”
“For today.” Gavin looked away. “But I
could use some stuff.”
That’s new. Was Gavin asking for help
with something? Had the world come to an end and nobody told Ringo? “Like what?
I can make a list.”
“I need some first aid shit. Mine’s so
old it’s moldy. I think it came with the rig.”
“Like bandages and antibacterial
ointment?”
“Yeah.”
“What else? Bottled water? Coffee?
Pop? Those cookies you like with the peanut butter?”
Gavin shot him a genuine smile. “You
remember that?”
“Yeah.” Ringo felt his cheeks heat up.
“I remember. Soft oatmeal with raisins too. You don’t like chocolate chip like
normal people.”
“I like chocolate chip.”
“But they don’t make your eyes light
up,” Ringo murmured.
Gavin sighed, and his fingers drifted
into another song, this one in a minor key so it sounded a little sad.
Ringo shook his head and sat back.
Gavin was right there in front of him. Was he feeling lonely? On more than one
occasion, he’d used the intel Gavin’s restless musicality sent out and they’d
ended up making out or in the sack, despite the fact that they weren’t together
anymore.
Ringo generally acted on Gavin’s
haunted, lonely music, not on his words, until one or the other of them burst
the magic spell he’d woven.
Usually it was Ringo who messed up,
and Gavin who chased him away.
Just now, Gavin was more than a little
high. If Ringo pushed things, if he approached Gavin like Bird did—like he had
a right to Gavin’s affection, or like he was just too dumb to know he wasn’t
always so welcome—he’d be allowed to stay the night.
It might be worth it, just to see if
he could make Gavin smile for a while.
“You should eat,” he said instead.
If Gavin was frozen inside his
melancholy, then Ringo was caught in the web of his macho. He didn’t want to
crawl on his knees and beg to be petted like a dog. He wanted Gavin to want
him. To ask for what he wanted out loud with his words instead of his goddamn
music.
