A Shot at Perfect

By Lou Sylvre

After a crash left him with new mental and physical scars, Jackie Vasquez has finally regained his focus, flair, and bright outlook. Though he’s letting Brian Harrison’s marriage proposal simmer, it’s not for lack of love. He’s set his sights on putting his life right first -- a new job and a fresh start at graduate school. But Los Angeles -- the city of devil winds -- has new trauma in store for him. Another accident leaves him with the stump of a leg and defeated spirits, adrift despite Brian’s devoted attentions.

While Brian copes with his own emotional trauma, he hopes to break through Jackie’s apathy, but work at Vasquez Security takes more and more of his time and attention. Specifically “the Espen case,” which his boss -- Luki Vasquez -- has forbidden him to pursue. Help comes on all fronts from friends and family for both Brian and Jackie, but even as it does, danger mounts from outside. Can the two men find their way back to love as well as passion and fulfillment in their D/s roles? Can they survive the confrontation with danger that seems to loom closer and darker every time LA’s hot winds blow?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jan 23, 2020

Lou Sylvre

LOU SYLVRE hails from southern California but now lives and writes on the rainy side of Washington State. Her personal assistant is Boudreau, a large cat who never outgrew his kitten meow. She loves her family, her friends, the felines Boudreau, Nibbles and The Lady George, a little dog named Joe, and (in random order) coffee, chocolate, sunshine, and wild roses, among other things.

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Prologue

El Monte, California

Jim Hutchins hated working at the Winners’ Circle Motel. Hated living there. Hell, he hated all of El Monte, and he hated the whole sport of horse racing, with its heartless elite and glitzy rich criminals. Most of all, though, he hated the cheats and gamblers and low-life scum perpetually oozing from the tracks to seep into the motel he was supposed to run squeaky clean if he wanted to stay out of prison.

And he did want that -- another walk down cell-block lane could prove fatal for a guy like him. Still, he couldn’t help but look for a way out of the position he was in, even though he knew any way he was likely to get what he needed to move on would be dirty as shit in a dumpster. Money, that’s what he needed. Money to pull up stakes and head south. He had dreams of Mexico. He’d been there enough not so long ago, and he could believe his dreams weren’t pie in the sky. If he could only put together a stake.

He took the fifty-dollar bill the man calling himself Aaron Olsen handed him as a tip, thinking how good it would look stashed with similar gratuities from questionable customers, saved and adding up now to well over five thousand bucks. A lot, but not enough, and as he watched the scruffy man walk away with his obviously fake ID, his clanking, under-stuffed duffel, and his all-but-dead gray stare, the rusty gears in his brain started moving.

This man had been to the WC before. He always had a boatload of cash, though he obviously didn’t want to spend too much of it or he wouldn’t have set foot in this run-down motel. He looked worse every time he came in, scruffy and beat, but not the worn-out look of a druggie. It was something else making him tired of life. And oddly, his name kept changing. This time it was Aaron Olsen… and that rang a bell.

Jim sat down in front of the archaic computer occupying his desk and powered it on. Nothing happened except a circle that kept turning in the middle which was supposed to show the computer was doing what it needed to do to start working. There was a word for that, but Jim didn’t know it, and he damned sure didn’t know what to do about the fact that the damned thing seemed stuck.

He stepped over to the cabinet that held a more reliable resource -- the register books. He stared into space for a moment, trying to think about time frame. What? Three months since this guy had started coming in? No more than that, for sure. He pulled out the book covering most of that span and went page by page, running a grimy fingernail down the column of names until he found it.

Yeah, same guy. He’d used this name once before. Could be he was getting desperate. And why do people use fake names, anyway, Jim? To hide from someone. And that meant, in due time, someone would probably come looking for him. He was into something bad, this Aaron or whatever his name really was. He owed some mob man money, probably, but something dirtier than that, too. Where people had dirt, there was money to be made.

Someday, probably not too far in the future, somebody would come looking for Aaron. Jim planned to be ready.

Chapter One

Jackie had graduated from toe touch to partial weight bearing only three and half months after his accident. He’d had a couple lessons in how to use a cane, so when he was feeling up to it, he could lay his crutches aside. As his home physical therapy program expanded, the frequency of his visits to therapy would be less frequent. He felt good about his progress and about his prospects.

The accident had delayed everything about school, but finally, on the same day that Jerome announced his therapy was moving to the next level, he’d received the letter of acceptance into the Masters in Psychology program, Forensic Psychology option.

And then last night the session he’d planned and instigated with Brian had come to pass wondrously, no less than perfect.

Life seemed lip-smacking good as Jackie put his plans for the day in motion.

Except for two things.

First, Brian’s marriage proposal. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? It almost didn’t matter whether he wanted the marriage or not. For what it was worth, he did. Oh, yes. He wanted to belong to Brian, to know that Brian’s love belonged only to him, on a permanent basis. He loved Brian -- he was willing to bet -- every bit as much as, say, Sonny loved Luki, or Ruthie loved Josh.

But he couldn’t say yes now. Not while the accident still haunted his sleep most nights, and more than a few waking hours every week. Not while every labored step he took flashed pictures of slow motion disaster in his mind. Not while more than half his energy went toward either healing physical and mental damage or ignoring those mental replays. He didn’t have enough left over even to contemplate marriage.

He argued with himself.

I’ve fixed myself before. I’ll do it again.

Fine. You can think about getting married once you’re all done with that.

His own physical and mental condition wasn’t all that held him back, though. He didn’t like to think it, but he harbored doubts on Brian’s account too. Not about whether Brian would keep him and care for him and live up to whatever marriage vows he made. Of course he would. Any definition of Brian Harrison would include words like loyal, reliable, responsible. He didn’t doubt Brian’s love, either. But did Brian also pity Jackie? Did he feel like he had to love him? Maybe love would turn to loathing if Jackie didn’t ever completely heal.

Last night during the session, Brian’s love had been as real and strong and present as his elegant Dominance. Remembering it pushed doubts about Brian back into the shadows, but didn’t banish them.

Still, as impossible as yes was, Jackie wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- say no, either.

The only solution Jackie could come up with was to pretend he didn’t even know the proposal existed. Cowardly, perhaps, but then Brian apparently hadn’t been brave enough to ask the question aloud either.

Jackie made up his mind. When he actually asks, I’ll actually answer.

Less important than the dangling marriage proposal was Brian’s reaction -- or lack of enthusiasm, perhaps -- when Jackie’s struggle with the university finally ended in victory. He’d shown Brian the letter of acceptance expecting an offer of dinner out, champagne, and probably roses -- everything seemed inexplicably to be reason for Brian to give him roses these days, a strange fact Jackie could only put down to living in southern California, where roses bloomed year around.

The kisses and celebration dinner never came, and when his congratulations eventually arrived, they’d come with a but baggage train. Well, congratulations, Brian had sad, frowning. I mean, I’m happy you’re in, but are you sure you’re ready?

The ensuing conversation had left Jackie sad and exhausted. When the roses came late the next afternoon with a note of congratulations tucked into the blooms, their native beauty didn’t do much to change the way he felt -- like a balloon with a pinhole.

Jackie wasn’t the sort to hold on to grudges or even disappointments, so he let it go as best he could, but whether he wanted it to or not, Brian’s negativity continued to make a difference. For instance, with the marriage proposal. Because if Brian didn’t think Jackie was ready to commit to a two-year course of study, how could Brian trust him to commit to a -- hopefully -- lifetime marriage?

Those reasons might not be good ones for keeping secrets from the man he loved -- from his Dom, no less. But, on that Thursday morning in April, three and a half months after his accident, that’s what Jackie did.

The accident had taken away enough of his days, he thought. He was tired of watching the year drain away into a puddle full of I can’t and not yet. He wanted to live his life again.

Last week, when he’d gone to the university campus to formally enroll and register for fall, he’d seen a posting for a TA job in his department. It would start with preparation for summer quarter, and might last, with progressive duties, through the end of his studies. He’d inquired, and the admin assistant had told him he was eligible -- even though his formal entry into the program wasn’t until fall. Jackie heard opportunity knock then, and he refused to ignore it.

But he didn’t tell Brian about the interview appointment. He simply didn’t want to have the do you think you’re ready conversation again. It was too painful, too self-defeating.

He thought he’d arranged things well, in terms of being at his best for the interview. The timing of his session with Brian couldn’t have been better. When he awoke early the next morning, even before coffee he felt on top of the world. His path to the life he planned and even sometimes dreamed was finally clearing up after his accident turned it to mud.

The crutches he still used at home stood propped against his nightstand. He took them and used them to rise and move away as smoothly and quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Brian. He headed for the bathroom -- fortunately across the hall from the bedroom instead of right next to it. He showered, then shaved with attention to detail and braided his abundant hair into a tight queue. He took the clothes he’d selected and set aside the previous day out to the front room to dress. Instead of the soft, easy jeans he’d been wearing nearly every day, he donned creased slacks, just loose enough to accommodate his leg -- which was wrapped, but not braced. With precision, he knotted one of Brian’s skinniest ties at the collar of a crisp white shirt, and donned a light gray silk blazer that perfectly matched his eyes. Finally, shoes. He smiled, glad to find the process relatively painless for his damaged limb when the shoe was a loafer.

He went into the playroom to check his look, inhaled the lingering smells of Brian, lube, and sex, and had to quash a sudden urge to ditch everything else to dive back into bed for a breakfast of hot male. He thought the man in the mirror, except for the flush of passion, was ready to make a bid for his place in academia.

Ready, he said aloud, and nodded farewell once to his reflection and once to Marley.

At the door, he ditched his crutches for the single point cane he’d recently acquired. He stepped out into the spun gold of early morning and donned a pair of round-lens shades he’d bought online from Sunny Rebel. Partly because the sun was already bright; mostly because he planned an important stop on the way to the campus, and for that he wanted a protective layer between his brain and Los Angeles. His therapist had suggested he tend to some important mental housecleaning. He’d been wanting to do it for a while, but up until now, courage had eluded him. Now, his spirit having flown under Brian’s direction just last night, he felt focused, purposeful, and brave.

Once more he said aloud, I’m ready. It would be a milestone in healing the trauma that still tortured him from the accident.

He took the bus to within a half block of the intersection of Wabash and Dundas.

The bus kneeled, lowering curbside for an easier exit, and Jackie smiled his thanks to the driver as he maneuvered out to the curb. He used the handrail and his cane carefully to avoid coming down hard on his weak leg. Remembering Jerome’s lessons in using a single point cane, he adjusted his balance and took a few steps determined to approach this place, the scene of the accident, with all the dignity and poise he could muster.

He walked toward the intersection at an easy pace, endeavoring to favor his injured leg as little as possible. As he passed the storefront window of a lawyer’s office, he watched his reflection, and he decided he was doing a pretty good job of walking almost like a normal person. His desire to be normal struck him as odd, and he got a start when he realized that as much as he’d embraced his differences -- being gay, preferring submission -- most of his last five years had been spent in an effort to airbrush his life into looking perfectly ordinary.

But as he neared the corner, he found his introspection derailed. His step slowed, seemingly without direction from his brain, and a shot of adrenaline propelled his breathing, rushing it along as if the next breath of air might be just out of reach.

And he thought it might.

He felt faint, losing track of his body, but instead of the scene blurring before his eyes as he would have expected, everything sharpened into a dysphoric panorama worthy of Salvador Dali.

Since the accident, he had passed this