When One Door Opens (11 page)

“Hey, Marco.”

“I am glad you answered,
flaquito
.”

He really hated that nickname. “I’m not skinny. I’ve gained four pounds since you left. I barely fit into my clothes anymore.”

“This new guy, Logan, has renewed your appetite?” Marco asked, the rich timbre of his voice gliding over the syllables.

For more than just food, but he didn’t intend to tell Marco that. Hoping to change the subject he asked, “How are you guys settling in? Do your kids like their new schools?”

“Do not try to change the subject. I know my beautiful wife has e-mailed you all about the move.”

Resisting the urge to sigh, Caleb tried another tactic. “Logan and I went to Meng’s today and I didn’t freak out.” Much. His cheeks flushed as he remembered how Logan brought him back from the border of freak-out land while in the cab. He knew better than to mention encountering Karen outside of Meng’s. Marco’s contempt for his former supervisor was legendary.

“It does my heart good to hear such things. Tell me,
flaquito
. How did this Logan convince you to go out?”

“Um,” Caleb said, his face grew hotter as he remembered Logan’s method of distraction. The feel of him pressed close and the way “dick” rolled off his tongue while they stared at the alluring tranny had left Caleb reeling.

Marco made an exasperated clucking sound. “My friends at the warehouse tell me this Logan has a rough past.”

Caleb had a sinking feeling he knew the direction of this conversation. If Marco didn’t approve of Logan, he wouldn’t hesitate to call Uncle Harrison, and that would not be good. Knowing his uncle, he didn’t even bother looking at Logan’s personnel file. He just zeroed in on the hottest guy at the warehouse. Caleb had never been brave enough to ask his uncle
why
he selected such attractive guys. He doubted his uncle wanted him to get laid. He needed to convince Marco that Logan was a good replacement. Never mind the fact that Caleb paid for the delivery service. That didn’t mean he actually got a say in who worked for him. He frowned. Maybe Logan was right about the bullying.

Feeling petulant, Caleb said, “I’m not one of your kids. I can take care of myself.”

“You are not a child, but you are innocent. You are also my friend.”

Caleb’s throat tightened. He had convinced himself he wouldn’t hear from Marco after he moved to Florida. It was nice to know he still cared enough to check in. Even if, as usual, he showed it in the most annoying way possible. “I don’t care about his past. I only know what I feel when I’m around him.” He silently willed Marco to understand. It had been so long since he had felt any motivation to leave the comfort of his apartment. The prospect of going out still terrified him, but each day, home felt more like a prison than a sanctuary.

Marco was quiet so long Caleb thought the line might have gotten disconnected. No such luck.

“Does he feel the same way?”

“He’s gay, but I doubt….” Caleb sighed. “It doesn’t matter. If I start going out, I can shake my ass at the nearest dance club until Mr. Right stumbles along.”

“That is not a comforting thought,
flaquito
.”

Caleb snorted. “You’re telling me. I can’t dance worth shit.”

Marco sighed dramatically. “You try a man’s patience, my friend. I see I will need to be more direct.”

“What does that mean?”

The dial tone was the only response.

T
HE
next day, a stocky Latino man called out to Logan from the truck bed next to his spot on the line. “Marco say….” The man paused as if trying to remember the correct words.

“Hablo español,” Logan said, making the transition to Spanish easily. It had been essential when working in construction. “You are Hernandez, no?”

“Yes,” he said, looking relieved he didn’t have to fight to find the right words. He set a package on the conveyor belt and reached into his pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper. He handed the paper to Logan. “Marco asked me to give you his phone number and to ask you to call him today before your shift is over. He was most insistent he speak with you.”

Curious, Logan headed for the break room, punching in the number as he walked. In spite of Caleb’s grumblings, he seemed fond of Marco. Logan wasn’t sure the guy deserved it, but he couldn’t help wondering about him. He entered the sad excuse for a break room, noticing it was empty. In spite of several no-smoking signs, the room reeked of stale cigarette smoke. He made his way over to the only seating, four plastic chairs around a cheap laminated table, and hit the Send button on the phone.

A man with a thick Spanish accent answered the call after only two rings. Without preamble he said, “I was hoping you would call.”

“I take it you’re Marco.”

“Yes, and you are the drunk who ended up in prison for beating a man. I wonder then why Mr. Klass decided to hire you to watch over his nephew.”

In the background, Logan could hear the happy melodies of a kids’ television show. The muted high-pitched chatter and occasional giggle signaled the likely viewers of the program were watching with rapt attention.

“That life’s behind me.” Logan sat on a chair, wondering at the purpose of this call.

“That is good to hear. I myself left many friends behind in Chicago and I count Caleb among them.”

The unspoken threat in Marco’s voice was unmistakable and Logan’s opinion of the man shot up several points. He wanted Logan to know 1,200 miles wouldn’t stop him from protecting Caleb.

“I am also told Karen Foster has taken an interest in you. This concerns me greatly.”

Logan muttered, “You and me both, pal.”

“That
woman
”—Marco said the word as if he’d rather use another if there weren’t little ears within hearing range—“has caused problems for Caleb in the past.”

“What’s her problem?” Logan couldn’t imagine what Caleb could have done to piss her off. He had tried to get the details out of Caleb without success. Was she just a homophobic bully or was there more to it?

“A couple of months ago, Klass moved her to the early morning shift and she was very angry about it.”

Logan snorted. “I’m not surprised. Getting to work by 4:00 a.m. is bound to cut into her social calendar.”

“She is rumored to be very much the party girl, but she must be a daylight drunk since her old shift was the Night Sort.”

Huh
. The same shift Caleb worked during college. That might have explained how she knew him, but not why she preferred the evening shift.
Maybe she has kids and prefers working at night while they sleep?
She didn’t strike Logan as the maternal type, but he was hardly one to judge.

“What does that have to do with Caleb?”

“A few days after the schedule was announced, someone shoved a nasty note under Caleb’s door. I only know about it because his neighbor saw the look on Caleb’s face when he retrieved it. Caleb would not let me see it, and I suspect there were more.”

His anger returned in full force. Foster couldn’t lash out at Klass directly without risking her job, so she attacked Caleb instead. It was the act of a petty vindictive bitch, but the reasoning didn’t make any sense. What could she possibly gain from harassing Caleb? It had been years since he had worked at the warehouse.

“Then, a couple of weeks later, I came to the apartment and there were police and a fire truck in front of the building. In the lobby I saw Caleb holding a fat orange cat and helping his elderly neighbor down the stairs through a cloud of smoke. When he saw me, he handed me the cat and took off, racing back up before I could stop him.”

Logan swallowed hard. He could imagine the lobby too vividly. The blaring alarm, a swarm of pissed off and scared residents expelled from their apartments, emergency personnel trying to tame the chaos, and the threat of fire billowing down the staircase. It was a recipe for a panic attack if there ever was one.

“Someone had set off a smoke bomb on Caleb’s floor. Caleb inhaled a lot of smoke, but refused to let the paramedics check him out.”

Logan unclenched his jaw with a pop. “You think Foster was responsible?”

“I have no proof she—or one of her boyfriends—was responsible, but the next day, Klass came in looking haggard and I saw the look on that
puta
’s face.”

A chorus of
bad word, bad word
rang in the background. Marco grumbled something and then Logan heard delighted squeals and the smacking sound of messy kisses. “Daddy is sorry for saying a bad word.” Marco cleared his throat, and Logan swore he could hear the man regrouping his dignity.

The happy domestic sounds helped Logan pull back on his growing temper. Getting angry wouldn’t change what happened. He was grateful to Marco for telling him about it and for caring enough about Caleb to follow up on him. “Do you want me to put in a good word with Mommy?”

Marco sighed. “I will be forgiven… eventually,” he muttered. “My wife is very fond of Caleb and always includes him in her prayers. I would not have this job if not for him and I am now able to save for my children’s futures.”

“Why not go to Klass and tell him what you suspect about Foster?”

“
Mijo
,” Marco admonished.

Logan winced and said, “Right, stupid question,” giving himself a mental smack for suggesting Marco accuse his white supervisor without a shred of evidence.

He harrumphed. “Besides, I would never have convinced Caleb. He refused to talk about it. I think he would rather her go unpunished than risk accusing her wrongly. Without proof, I could do nothing.”

Logan was convinced Foster’s actions outside of Meng’s had been deliberate. She’d wanted to upset Caleb and possibly send him into a panic attack. She also seemed to be going out of her way to weasel herself into Logan’s life. He wasn’t vain enough to think it was his bod making her try so hard. There had to be another reason.

Marco’s voice drew him back from his musing. “Perhaps,” he said, drawing out the word until it purred. “You will have better luck persuading Caleb than I.”

“You talk to Caleb lately?”

“Of course, I would be a poor friend if I did not call to see how my replacement was faring.”

Marco paused. If he was waiting for Logan to ask what Caleb had said about him, he’d be waiting indefinitely. He didn’t intend to rise to the bait, in spite of how much he might want to. “If any of your
friends
hear anything about Foster, let me know.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Now you must tell me why I could hear my Caleb blushing through the phone line when I asked about you.”

“Sorry, I gotta run.”

“Bah, you are no fun.”

Grinning, Logan ended the call.

C
ALEB
smiled when he heard a knock at the door. Logan usually came by on Mondays and Fridays, but he had started showing up on Wednesdays too. He claimed it was because Thursday was hell day, with a double shift at the warehouse followed by an anger management class and an AA meeting. He came by just in case he was too tired to come on Friday. So far, Logan hadn’t missed a Friday.

Logan took two steps into the apartment before stopping and inhaling deeply. He swayed on his feet, and Caleb’s stomach fluttered at the sight of him. The navy-blue tank top covering his chest looked like it barely contained his thick, rippling muscles. The cut-off shorts put his long and slightly hairy legs on display.

“Cookies?” Logan licked his lips. “God, you bake too?” He followed Caleb and sat on an island stool, facing toward the kitchen. “How’s everything going?”

“Good. I’m channeling another ex-con—good ol’ Martha Stewart—after talking to Mrs. Simon in the hallway.” Caleb pulled a cookie sheet out of the cabinet and placed it onto the island. “She’s visiting her grandkids this weekend.” Unrolling a sheet of parchment paper, he continued. “But she can’t bake, and I said I’d help her out,” he said, laying the paper over the cookie sheet.

Logan smirked. “She afraid of losing her grandma card? I’d think her kid would know she can’t bake.”

Caleb chuckled. He turned and opened the fridge, pulling out a covered bowl of cookie dough. “Her son has no idea she can’t bake. Her deceased husband, a burly butcher named Herb, secretly did all the cooking and baking and let her have the credit.”

Logan’s brow rose. “Why would he do that?”

Caleb opened a drawer and pulled out a teaspoon. “He loved to cook, but his mother thought it was women’s work.” He snorted. “Mrs. Simon’s convinced old Herb married her just because she nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to cook him a roast chicken.” He took the plastic wrapping off the top of the bowl and handed Logan the teaspoon.

Logan’s forehead wrinkled. “What’s this for?”

Caleb quirked an eyebrow. “Scoop out spoonfuls and place them on the cookie sheet. Be sure to leave a couple of inches of space between the balls.”

Logan shook his head and took a step back from the counter, still holding the teaspoon. “No way. I screw them up and she’ll feed me to her cat.”

Caleb gave an exaggerated sigh. “Then I guess I’ll just have to give her the batch I’ve got in the oven and freeze this dough for another time.” He fought to keep the smile off his lips as Logan inhaled, closing his eyes.

“I expect you to rescue me from the jaws of that monster,” Logan grumbled, stepping back toward the counter. He detoured to the sink and washed his hands.

Caleb grinned. “I promise.” Hearing the beep of the timer, he said, “Get to work so we can get eating.” Turning back toward the stove, he put on an oven mitt and opened the oven door, taking out a sheet of cookies. He heard Logan’s murmur of appreciation when the smell of freshly baked goodness invaded the kitchen. Carefully, he slid the parchment paper off the cookie sheet and onto the cooling rack. When he turned back, he watched Logan measure out a spoonful of dough with painful precision. Logan frowned when the dough failed to slide off the spoon and onto the parchment.

Caleb bit his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “You can use your finger to slide it off.” He opened a drawer and pulled out another teaspoon. He then scooped out a ball of dough and deposited it onto the sheet. He repeated the action a few more times while Logan watched him intently. Leaving Logan to the rest, he wiped his fingers on a hand towel. “I’ll make a burly baker out of you yet.”