An hour in, Mac signaled for a break and handed Quentin a sandwich he’d brought from home. Quentin stuck his tongue out at the sly smile on Mac’s face, clearly a not-so-subtle dig at him getting cranky when he was hungry. The hot tea Mac had made was a delight as well.
When the entire tree was removed, they stood side by side, studying the damage. Mac took off his hard hat and scratched his head. “The whole r-r-roof needs t-to be r-r-replaced. That’s g-g-gonna cost him.”
Quentin winced. They’d seen the rather extensive destruction one huge tree branch had done to the man’s truck—Willis was gonna be even madder than he’d been before. His tractor had been parked in the back and seemed to be okay, but Mac had said it looked like some equipment had gotten wrecked as well.
Rustling sounded behind him, and there stood Willis, his face resembling a thunderstorm. “What the fuck did you do to my roof? It wasn’t this damaged before, asshole. You made it worse!”
He took a menacing step toward Mac, and at that moment, Quentin realized two things. The first was that Mac was the victim here. Dammit, Mac had fucking known this Willis asshole would make a claim like this. That was why he’d asked Quentin to take pics. For whatever reason, people in this town treated Mac like dirt and were taking advantage of him.
The second was that Quentin wasn’t gonna stand by and watch that happen. He had no idea what he and Mac were, if they were together, if they had even the possibility of a future, but he did know that he was protective of this kind, sweet man.
Mac tried to say something but got stuck on the first consonant, his face tight with frustration. For the first time since he’d met him, Quentin interrupted him. He put a hand on Mac’s arm to support him and kept his tone polite, if icy. “You’re mistaken, Mr. Willis. All the damage you see was done by the tree, not by the removal.”
“What the fuck do you know? Stay out of this and go back to California. You have no idea what you’re getting into.”
California, huh? Word about him had gotten around fast, apparently. “What I know is that I took pictures of the situation before, during, and after we removed that tree. That will clearly show nothing we did made it worse.”
Willis’s face distorted with fury. He came closer to Quentin, raising a fist in his face. “You need to stay the hell out of this, you faggot piece of shit.”
Quentin felt Mac move but pushed him back with the hand he still had on his arm. Homophobic insults were nothing new, and the sad reality was that he’d learned to ignore those over the years. He kept his anger for the stuff that hurt way worse.
“My sexual preferences have nothing to do with this, Mr. Willis, so I suggest you keep them out of this. Other than that, we are done here. We’re leaving, right now, and just so we’re clear. You will pay Mac the three hundred dollars you owe him for this job.”
“Pay him?” Willis’s fury transformed into a sneer. “That just shows how little you know. I ain’t paying him shit. He’s still paying off the twenty grand he owed me.”
“A-a-after t-today, f-f-four thousand f-f-four hundred,” Mac said. “I will s-s-send you the r-r-receipt.” He grabbed Quentin by his arm and dragged him to the truck.
Quentin kept his mouth shut until they were on the main road. “What the hell is that asshole talking about, Mac?”
11
This was it. This was the moment he’d been dreading ever since meeting Quentin. This was the moment he had to open up about his biggest shame.
“Q-q-quentin…” He couldn’t find the words. How could he even hope to make him understand? God, he’d been fearless, confronting Willis like that, as if the man hadn’t been three times his age, twice his size, and mean as hell. That faggot remark… Mac had wanted to beat the man up just for that, but Quentin hadn’t even seemed shaken.
Quentin’s hand came to rest on his thigh, and he shot him a quick look sideways. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna go home. You’re gonna make us some nice, hot lunch while I get to watch your sexy ass, and after that, when we’re both warm and full and in a better mood, you can explain. And, Mac, I promise I will listen, okay?”
He nodded, his insides flooding with relief. How was it that Quentin, who had known him for such a short time, seemed to feel exactly what he needed? Quentin squeezed his thigh and kept his hand there for the entire ride home. Mac wasn’t sure if it was meant as comfort or a proprietary claim kind of thing, but either one worked for him.
He made them omelets filled with fresh spinach, mushrooms, diced fresh tomatoes, some herbs and feta on top. Quentin devoured it—no surprise there. Mac loved watching him eat, since he so clearly enjoyed the food. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he ate a lot. He stowed away as much as Mac did, and Quentin’s body was, like, half Mac’s size.
When he’d cleared his plate, Quentin looked at him, his eyes pensive. “Can we expect similar calls and jobs like this morning for the rest of the day?”
Mac very much wanted to say no, but it was a real possibility. Not only was he one of the few handymen in town, hell, even in the area, but he still owed a bunch of people, so they took every opportunity to let him work it off. “M-m-maybe.”
“Do you need to open your… I don’t know what to call it, the junkyard?”
“N-n-no. It’s S-sunday.”
Judging by the flash of surprise on Quentin’s face, he hadn’t even realized that. “Jeez, I totally lost track of the days. I need to call my mom. Anyway, would it maybe be better to talk tonight, when we know we won’t get interrupted again?”
Mac sighed, both relieved and anxious to postpone the talk again. “P-probably.”
“Okay, so that’s what we’ll do. If you get any more calls, I’ll come with you, okay?”
“Thank you f-f-for speaking f-for me w-with Willis. S-s-stress w-w-w-orsens my st-st-stutter.”
Quentin got up and put both their plates in the sink, then walked back and kissed Mac’s head. “I know, baby. You’re welcome.”
Half an hour later, he got another call. Rick Monroe wasn’t as much of an asshole as Willis, so at least he’d be treated with cold indifference rather than outright hate and disgust.
“What are we doing?” Quentin asked, grabbing two health bars to take with him while Mac was filling up a thermos with hot chocolate.
A wave of emotions rolled through Mac. When was the last time he’d been part of a “we”? Not since his mom had died. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “W-w-we’re t-towing a truck. He r-ran it off the r-road.”
“Okay,” Quentin said. “Let’s go.”
They didn’t speak in the car, but it was a comfortable silence, not one of those periods where Mac would either wreck his brain trying to come up with something to say or would feel helplessly humiliated because he couldn’t manage to say anything. Quentin loved talking to him, that much had become clear, but he was happy to enjoy silence too.
Monroe hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said his truck was a total loss. Monroe must have been speeding, spinning out of control in the bend, and he’d done a three-sixty by the looks of it before ending up against a tree.