The Hail Mary
The universe has a shitty sense of humor.
Just as I'm about to flip the closed sign on this Friday night, a tow truck rolls in, hauling a vintage Mustang. The owner, some panicked kid, says it just started screaming and died on the highway. Could I fix it? Right away? By tomorrow morning, before his dad found out?
Smitty and Big Ray are already halfway out the door. "Date night with the wife," Ray says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Sorry, boss."
"Got my kid's recital," Smitty adds, not looking sorry at all.
It's fine. It's what I expected. The shop is my life. Theirs are out there. This is a six-hour job, minimum. A whole fucking night.
"I'll stay."
The voice comes from behind me. I turn. Troy is leaning against the bench, arms crossed, biceps bulging. He hasn't bolted with the others, and I can’t help myself but look at those arms.
"You don't have to," I grunt, the image of him flirting with Ray still a fresh, annoying memory in my head.
"I know," he says simply. "But two sets of hands will make it faster, right? Besides…" He shrugs. "Nothing waiting for me at home."
The way he says it, it’s not a complaint, it’s just a fact. I feel a pinch of something in my own chest, a similar realization that I too have nothing waiting for me. I give a single, sharp nod. "Fine."
We work in silence for the first hour, the only sounds echoing in my garage are the clatter of tools and the roar of the impact gun. We have to drop the transmission. It's a big, ugly, greasy job. The kind that usually makes me feel calm. Tonight, it doesn't.
I can feel the tension from Monday still. We haven’t really spoken much since then. Since I caught him flirting. Openly. With RAY. He's trying to catch my eye again, I can tell. He’s been doing it all week but I won’t give him an inch. For the first time in a week, I DIDN’T jerk off to thoughts of him. I was too…I don’t even know. Annoyed? Jealous? But after a week of backed up cum, I am going to burst.
I had planned to go out tonight, right after I closed the shop, to look for something. I needed to get this all out: a warm mouth to feed; a tight ass to plow hard. I wanted to fuck something. Rather than jerk off to the idea of giving it to this former QB who obviously had no interest in me. Like the jock in the bathroom stall. Or the closeted married cop who frequented the rest stop off the highway, pretending to arrest guys for what they were doing. He loved my cock. He loved taking it up his cop ass even more. He was usually around on Friday nights, parked off in the distance. I knew his spot by now. I could bend him over that picnic table again, make him moan like the dirty spy he was, watching guys in the woods. I remembered the first time he found me, so scared of my size, with my dick in my hand. The way he grabbed it, pretending he was some tough shit, like he was going to arrest me. He sucked my cock like a pro. And even had his own condoms with him the second time. I was looking forward to running into him tonight and taking it out on his ass, giving it to him hard the way he liked it. Even if he didn’t have a condom, I’d bring my own and still fuck his ass to help me unload this week long frustration and forget all about Troy Jenkins. Yet all day then, why was I picturing Troy’s face instead of the nameless cop? Why was I still wanting it to be Troy bent over that picnic table?
And now this fucking Mustang is in my way. Stupid lust. I was jealous. There. I thought it. He liked married men. Safer probably. No fear of relationships. Just bang and go.
But then I was not any fucking different, was I?
Now that we’re alone, it’s harder to avoid him. I keep my eyes on the torque converter. But I was feeling something, other than the need to fuck someone else, other than the tension between us. Something I needed to get off my chest. I needed to tell him, but what exactly I didn’t know.
Finally, during a break while we're waiting for a parts run, he just says it. He's wiping his hands on a rag, not looking at me.
"Look, about earlier this week… with Ray. That wasn't… I was just playing around. It doesn't mean anything."
I take a long swallow of water from my bottle. "Not my business," I lie, trying to make my voice sound not so angry or jealous.
"It felt like it was," he counters, his voice quiet. "The way you looked at me."
Damn. I’m not as careful as I think I am. I pause for a moment, frozen in my movement and look up at him for a few seconds longer than I probably should. I let out a breath, leaning against the fender. The shop is so quiet now. I wait a few more seconds. He hasn’t moved either. I swear I can hear his heart beating. Or maybe it’s mine. "The girlfriend," I finally say, the words feeling foreign. "Stacy. Or Tracy, I don’t even fuckin’ know to be honest. It wasn't… serious. We weren't a good fit."
He nods slowly, like I've just confirmed something to him. "I get that. Chasing the wrong people." He gives me a muffled snort.
"Yeah?" I can’t help my own curiosity sometimes.
"Yeah. My last… fling." He hesitates, choosing his words with care. "It was a mess. Married."
No shit, I think to myself, remembering the way he was flirting with Big Ray. The word hangs in the greasy air: married. It's a confession I guess. Sort of.
So I tread carefully, giving him an out. "Was she worth it?" I ask, my voice lower than I intended.
Troy goes completely still. He looks down at the rag in his hands, twisting it. The silence stretches. I've pushed too far. I’ve backed him into a corner. One that even I wouldn’t come out of.
Goddamn it, Ivan. My brain is yelling at me.
He looks up, and his eyes meet mine. They're wide, honest, and scared. The humor and the charm are gone. He is suddenly very serious, his jaw clenched, his eyes boring into mine.
He takes a shaky breath.
"You know boss," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I want to be completely honest with you. It… it wasn't a she."
The world stops and I feel my own body freeze. The hum of the fluorescent lights, the distant traffic, the very air in my lungs—it all just vanishes. The words hang between us, simple and earth-shattering.
It wasn't a she.
His honesty surprises me. He just came out to me. In my silent, greasy garage, he told me his truth.
And all I can do is stand there, a giant fraud, my own secret screaming in my ears, as I just stare stupidly back at him.
His face, which had been open and scared, began to harden. That perfectly chiseled jaw clenched. Those beautiful eyes narrowed and filled with tears. He saw my silence as rejection. He took a step back, the rag falling from his hand. "Right. Okay. I... I should probably go."
That broke the spell. The thought of him walking out that door, thinking I judged him, for that, thinking I was like everyone else, was a physical pain worse than any hockey injury.
"No!" The word came out rough, like a command. He froze, those eyes glued to me, waiting.
I pushed off the fender, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. I couldn't seem to say the words. My throat wasn’t working. But I could show him. I had to show him.
I closed the distance between us in two strides. I didn't think. If I thought, I would stop. I just moved.
I cupped the back of his head with one greasy, calloused hand. His eyes went wide, shock wiping away the hurt. I saw the question in them, but mostly the fear. I know that look.
I didn't kiss him. But fuck did I ever want to. I couldn't start there. Instead, I did the most terrifying thing I have ever done. I lowered my forehead until it rested against his, my eyes squeezed shut. I felt him gasp, a soft intake of breath. I must have scared the shit out of him. His hands came up, not pushing me away, but resting tentatively on my chest as if he could stop me.
We stood there, in the center of the shop, breathing the same air. My massive frame was trembling. His hands were still on my pecs, probably feeling the thumping of my heart.
His voice was a whisper below me. "Uh, Boss...?"
I opened my eyes. His were inches from mine, blue and deep. He look terrified.
"It wasn't a she for me, either," I finally breathed out, the confession tearing something loose inside me. "Not ever. The she…the Stacys or Tracys are all just for show. I’ve made some shitty mistakes myself…with guys. I’ve been hiding it for years. So I get it, and I’m not here to judge you."
The relief that washed over his face echoed in his body. A small, awestruck smile touched his lips. "Yeah?"
I nodded, my forehead still against his, making his nod in union. It was the only confession I could manage. I couldn’t tell him the rest, about my fantasies of him. That would cross a line. But this felt like enough. Right now it felt like everything.
He didn't push for more. He just leaned back into my forehead, his hands on my chest slightly firmer.
The Mustang was still broken. The world was still out there. But in the quiet of the garage, for the first time in my life, I wasn't hiding anymore. I was finally… honest.
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